Bow Before the Elf Queen: Chapter 1

The rain pelted the ground as if the tepid drops were the hooves of a thousand galloping horses. A crack of thunder boomed, and yet a shrill scream cut through it all. Layala’s elf eyes saw well in the dark, but on this starless night, deep among the looming redwood trees, the darkness almost became a living thing. The low visibility only gave away outlines of the forest, leaving the origination of the scream a mystery. It echoed from everywhere, bouncing off trees that should absorb. Skin prickling, she returned to her task.

She pulled her hood up, covering her waist-length black hair and crept low among the ferns and shrubbery, listening for a whimper or movement. Every seventh day she visited the statues made in honor of her parents with a bouquet of rich blue forget-me-nots. It was the least she could do when they’d sacrificed their lives for her. The most she would do was yet to come.

The fluffy white pup her aunt tasked her with watching snuck out upon her return as the storm brewed, and darted into the Redcrest Woods, the backyard of their cottage. The woods here smelled of mild spice with damp mossy undertones and a hint of sweetness, but tonight, a rotten egg odor drifted on the breeze.

Putting her hand on a crumbling fallen log, Layala catapulted over and dropped low when another shriek ripped through the air. She slowly pulled a dagger from her leather belt. It was a war cry, the sound of an animal or something on the hunt, searching for a meal. She didn’t want to let the words cross her mind, but pale ones cursed by the long-dead Black Mage screeched like that. She’d first heard them when she was a child, like a dying wildcat. The noise made her cringe to this day. If there was one nearby, she must kill the creature or risk it getting to the others in town.

A tiny whimper caught her ear. She searched the underbrush and stopped on the shivering pup partially hidden under a fern frond. His white fur was muddied brown from dirt and grime. Letting out a quiet whistle, Layala scooted toward him, holding out her hand. “Come on, Dregous.” He perked up and began retreating backward. This dog is going to get me killed, she thought. Before he could run off, she dove, rolled, and scooped him around the middle, shooting to her feet.

“Bad puppy,” she whispered as she held the pup against her and started back for the house. “Why do you run away at the worst times? Do you like being wet and cold?”

“Mmmm,” a deep voice purred from behind her. “I smell she-elf.”

A cool sensation ran from the base of her neck down her spine. Goosebumps erupted along her arms. She gripped her dagger tighter and barely turned her head, catching a glimpse of the pale one merely feet away. It was the heavy rain that prevented her from hearing his footsteps. His unnatural white pallor and hair were a stark contrast to the night around them. Even in this dim lighting, the smear of blood around his mouth was visible, dribbling over his black lips and down his chin. The ashen circles around his eyes and that sickly white of his skin, must have been smooth as an eggshell before he turned, was now cracked, and wrinkled like a desert floor thirsting for water. It must be hungry.

“Don’t come any closer,” she commanded in her sharpest tone. “For if you do, you won’t like what comes next.”

“Sounds like a challenge.” He charged letting out a horrid shriek.

Layala’s boots drove into the soft ground as she took off, the pale one right on her heels. She risked a glance backward. A clawed hand was within inches. Using her forward momentum she flipped onto the log, and whirled around, sights locked on the damned creature. The dagger flew from her fingertips. When the blade drove straight into his forehead, a dying groan drew from the pale one’s lungs. His legs gave way and he fell to the mossy ground in a pile of awkward limbs.

Still holding Dregous close, Layala covered her mouth and nose with her cloak and hopped down from the log to get a better look at him. This was the first pale one she’d seen in years. What drew it here to Briar Hollow from the Void? It couldn’t have been her magic. She hadn’t used it since she was young. Perhaps the curse was spreading? No one in Briar Hollow knew how pale ones were made once the Black Mage passed. Some suspected it was like a disease now, infecting elves and killing humans.

She wanted to take her dagger back but thought it best to leave it just in case. Getting too close could be dangerous. If it spread like a plague, she didn’t want to catch it. Becoming that thing, a vile, man and elf eating beast set on serving a master that no longer lived. What they truly wanted was to make all elves like them, a twisted shell of the person they once were.

She wasted no time heading back home. Shoving through the round cottage door, Layala closed it tightly behind her and dropped the iron latch. With a palm on the warm wood, she caught her reflection in the smooth metal. The light blue eyes staring back at her showed the fear still making her hand tremble. That was close. She shuddered at how near the pale one came without her knowing. If he’d wanted to, he could have pounced on her back. Elves had naturally light steps, usually unheard by humans and barely audible by their own kind, and the pale ones were no different. She might have picked up on his presence before he got to her, but it wouldn’t have been enough time.

Holding her palm out, she brushed her fingers across the leaves, vines and stalks of the many plants hanging from the cross beams above as she walked into the sitting room. Aunt Evalyn obsessed over collecting the rarest of foliage. Some would bring luck. Others would put someone to sleep for a week. The one with the bright blue berries and black leaves with sharp edges could cause near-instant death, and the burnt orange leaves of the Pottifer enhanced speed and energy for hours when ingested. Layala had eaten a couple of the leaves once and outran a horse at a full gallop.

The arched red brick fireplace roared as did the tea kettle over it. She dropped Dregous in his crate then grabbed a hook to remove the kettle and stop the ear-piercing whistle. Once it was out, she took off her wet cloak and hung it on the pewter hook by the door.

As she settled down in her rocking chair with a blanket and a book, her mind drifted to flashes of a wildflower meadow. So quick it was almost as if it never happened. Then inaudible whispers of strange voices seemed to fly through the room. Echoing everywhere but nowhere.

She placed her hands on her temples, gritting her teeth. This had happened more lately. Flashes of strange places—places she didn’t recall ever being, but it was the voices, never clear enough to understand anything. What was it? Why did it happen? Was she suffering from delusions as a side effect of her magic she refused to use? A heaviness settled on her shoulders recently, like someone always pushed down. It was a feeling that something bad was going to happen and she couldn’t shake it.

Two boisterous singing men sounded close outside the cottage, saving her from the voices that abruptly cut off. Pounding on the door followed the singing. “Aye, Layala! Come have a drink with us!” Ren shouted.

“You know you want to!” Forrest sang.

An unwanted smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Did they have to drag her out nearly every night? It had become so routine the people in town practically expected it. “You boys need someone else to entertain you for once,” Layala hollered as she folded her arms.

“Only the fair Layala will do,” Ren said, peeking his head in the window above the gray washed-stone sink. She should have pulled the curtains closed. Ren waved at her with a crooked grin.

Sighing, Layala lifted the latch and opened the door to the pair. “By the looks of things, you’ve already started drinking without me.” Ren’s dark blond hair was curly and usually unruly, but extra so this evening despite that the rain had stopped. Forrest’s glassy brown eyes drunk her in as he leaned on his forearm against the doorway, more to prop himself up than to look savvy no doubt.

She wasn’t wearing anything special; black trousers, knee-high boots, a sky-blue long sleeve top that buttoned at the wrists and showed a little cleavage, not much, but what seemed to be drawing Forrest’s eyes tonight was the black corset around her waist. Most of the women in town wore dresses or skirts, and she would too if the fabric didn’t inhibit her movements.

“We might’ve had a couple but the real fun starts when you join us,” Forrest said, and raked his fingers through his dark brown hair. He’d let it grow just past his shoulders recently and it looked good on him. He smiled lazily, and a sharp pain hit her chest. He resembled his older brother so much. Even though it had been over two years since Novak passed, it was still hard to look at Forrest sometimes.

“I suppose I can come out for a little while.” All she’d planned to do was read anyway, so she could get her mind off the pale one she killed.

“Yes!” They slapped palms. “Aunty Evalyn is on a roll tonight.”

“Oh, is she?” Layala grabbed the dripping cloak and threw it back on. “How much has she won?”

“Enough that Baker Oswin owes her two weeks of fresh bread.” Ren put an arm around her shoulder. “We’ll be over to enjoy some of that, of course.”

“Of course,” Layala added with a smile. Her eyes drifted to the woods. Should she tell the boys? No, there was no need to scare them when the creature was already dead. But what if he wasn’t the only one? She couldn’t worry about that now. It’s not as if she could go looking for more at this hour.

The boys sang a song about wine and pretty maidens up until they stopped at the entrance of the Smoky Dragon Inn and Pub. The wood sign hanging from the pole above was of a standing blue dragon with smoke rolling out of its nostrils. Another sign was nailed to the door and it read: No Elves. No Dwarves. No Sprites. Layala was the only exception to that rule.

The Smoky Dragon was where the town’s folk gathered in Briar Hollow for entertainment. Layala and the boys walked inside to air hazy with pipe smoke, the stench of ale, and a hint of cinnamon potpourri. The potpourri was Aunt Evalyn’s doing. She insisted that the dirty old man smell had to be masked with something good.

The pub was set up with several round tables full of men and a few women playing cards to the left, and to the right was the drinking section. Candles burned above on the oval metal chandeliers hanging off the wood rafters, giving the room a warm yellow-orange glow.

Loud chatter and clinking mugs rang in her ears. Sometimes with her elf hearing the noise overwhelmed her senses. She learned to tune much of it out over the years.

Briar Hallow’s horse trainer shot to his feet, throwing his cards down. “How can you win so often?!” He shoved a stubby finger at the man across from him, one of the young guards. “It isn’t possible.”

“Old Boris is at it again. Always accusing people of cheating when he’s lost everything,” Ren drawled. “Maybe Layala will toss him out on his arse once more.” Forrest and Ren snickered.

She hoped that wasn’t the case. “I only did that because he grabbed my behind.”

“The black eye was the best part. Lasted a solid fortnight, it did,” Ren said. “The men at the training yard ridiculed him endlessly.”

“I know. I was there,” Layala said, smiling.

Aunt Evalyn waved them over to her table, her golden bracelets clinking. Her shawl, bright with red, blue, and yellow floral patterns, hung loosely around her shoulders. “Boys dragged you in here again, I see.” She grinned and patted the rickety, wooden chair beside her. “Have a seat.”

It wasn’t long before Layala knocked back a couple mugs of ale and had a pipe in her mouth. She didn’t enjoy smoking; in fact, she downright despised the stench, but it made the men bristle and she wanted that. After what happened to Forrest’s brother Novak because of her, she’d never love a man again.

More ale. Smiles came easier. Her head felt a little lighter, her body warmer. Aunt Evalyn started telling stories about Layala’s mother and father. She always did this when she had too much to drink. At least she hadn’t brought up Novak tonight. There was only so much talk of death a person could handle.

Aunt Evalyn’s stare was fixed on the foam in her metal mug. “I can’t believe it’s been almost twenty-five years since…” she trailed off. “I loved your mother like a sister. She was one of the only elves that ever treated me, a lowly human, with decency and respect.” She snorted, shaking her head. “If only I could have done more. If I could have convinced her to come with me.”

“She wouldn’t have left my father to die alone. You raised me. Kept me hidden. You did what she asked.”

“You know what the last thing she said to me was?”

Layala sighed and nodded. “One day I’d have to fight.” Although it had been so long now, nearly twenty-five years since the High King of the elves killed her parents, it was hard to believe the day would ever come.

“Yes, and she was right.” She slammed her hand on the uneven tabletop. It rocked and shifted, nearly spilling the contents of Layala’s mug. “One day he will come for you, Layala. I’ve trained you. The folk of this town kept you hidden. Not a one has ever breathed a word outside these borders about you and who you are, but I fear this peace we have found won’t be forever.” Her Aunt’s crooked finger got much too close to Layala’s nose. Evalyn’s black curls had gray at the temples now and her deep brown skin had earned some wrinkles around the eyes. “He will come. And you know what needs to be done. What you need to do.”

Bringing her mug to her lips, Layala took a drink. Her eyes unfocused as she stared at nothing. She’d kill that bastard. That’s what she would do, and his heir, too, cut that wretched bloodline from this realm. And finally put a stop to those who murdered innocents in her name as they hunted her for magic. She hadn’t spent countless hours in fight training and mastering weapons with the guard chief for nothing.

A giant of a man, Briar Hollow’s only blacksmith, practically fell into the chair across from Layala and Evalyn. His drink sloshed over the sides. “Boys said you wanted to test your knife skills, elee.”

She was elee, slang for elf—an outsider. Even if the word was to protect her identity from a passerby who might hear her true name and suspect, the title painted her as different. All her life she wanted to fit in, but she couldn’t change her pointed ears, or the way she moved a little too quickly. Even if she could pass as one of them for a brief exchange, humans still sensed something alien about her. Inherently knew she wasn’t one of them somehow. Distrusted her.

Layala glared at Ren, who stood off to the side of the table, waggling his bushy eyebrows. Her eyes flicked to the burly man, and she drained the entirety of her mug. “I don’t want to humiliate you, but if you’re in the mood to be embarrassed, by all means, take that bet,” she said and took off her cloak. A couple men whistled. Layala rolled her eyes. “Oh hush, I removed my cloak not my top.” Human men were so easily aroused. She pushed up her sleeves to her elbows, more for show than anything.

“You can take that off too!” someone yelled. “We won’t mind.”

“Oye!” Forrest shouted and put his hands on Layala’s shoulders. “She is a proper lady. Don’t harass her.”

“Thank you,” Layala said. “So who is to be? You, John?” He should know better, but her looks deceived. She was tall, slender, with big blue eyes and elvish beauty, but they forgot how often she trained. To become the deadliest she-elf in all of Adalon was her sole obsession for years.

“Nah, me apprentice, James,” the blacksmith John boomed, waving over the skinny teenager leaning stiffly against the wall in the corner.

With wide eyes, he approached. “Yes, sir?”

“Go stand against the wall there. Back flat. I gots a bet with Ren, says the elee can’t stick an apple to the wall off yer head. He say she can.”

Those big brown eyes of James slid to Layala. The bump in his throat bobbed. “M-me? Let the elee throw a knife at me head?”

“Yes! Hurry boy,” John pushed him toward the wall. “If she knicks ye, I’ll give ye a bronze shepin for yer participation.”

“And when I don’t, you still give him a shepin for his participation.” She pulled a knife from her belt and set it on the table. If the boy was taking the risk, he should get some reward. “You have an apple?”

“Eh,” the blacksmith patted down his person. “Didn’t think so far ahead. An apple anyone?”

A small crowd had gathered in a half circle around them. Mostly men with smoking pipes in their mouths and mugs in hand. One woman with too much color on her cheeks and half her bust hanging out of her corset, stood center. There was a chorus of mumbled “no’s” while the patrons looked amongst each other.

“I do,” called a smooth, deep voice from further back.

The group collectively turned and opened a space to reveal a hooded figure holding a bright red apple in his palm.

“Have an apple.” A sliver of amber light snuck under the hood to reveal an unfamiliar scruffy chin and straight nose. A stranger, here in Briar Hollow. Layala gripped her knife’s handle tightly and the speed of her heart shot up. The tall, broad man walked past her, and goosebumps erupted over her flesh. She shivered with an eerie sense of familiarity although she couldn’t fathom why. He placed the perfect apple on the crown of the boy’s head.

Layala stared at this intruder even as he sauntered toward her. Some deep instinct inside her told her to run but she stood firm. Mud covered the man’s black boots to his ankles, however, his dark cloak hung an inch off the wooden floors was pristinely clean, crisp even, suggesting he hadn’t walked far. The cloak didn’t look damp; he’d been indoors and not in the storm, but who here housed him? No one spoke of a traveler. The inn’s rooms sat empty this time of year. The townsfolk always warned Layala or Aunt Evalyn if any unknowns came through so she could stay hidden.

After clearing his throat, Ren asked, “Any other bets?” He raised his jingling pouch, carrying on as if it was usual for a stranger to visit the Smoky Dragon.

The man’s cloak brushed her arm as he stepped around her and made for the bar top.

After a moment’s pause and no one moved forward, Ren frowned. “No takers? You have such confidence in the elee who’s at least three mugs of ale in?”

“Even ten mugs of ale in I’d be able to do it,” Layala bragged. She’d find herself flat on the floor with that number but everyone laughed. The skinny teen trembled and slammed his eyes shut.

“Quit shakin’ boy,” the blacksmith bellowed. “Yer gunna get yerself stuck like a pig. Maybe ye should put the apple in yer mouth.”

More laughter. Now half the pub patrons gathered behind her. Her gaze drifted toward the man at the bar top. His back was to her. He peeked over his shoulder as if he knew she stared. She jerked her traitorous eyes away, embarrassed she’d been caught.

“What’s the holdup, elee? Nervous?” Blacksmith John jeered.

“Not even a little.” Layala closed one eye, willing her fuzzy mind to focus. Years of knife throwing granted her confidence. The motion of throwing a knife was so second nature she didn’t have to think. The whoosh of the blade gliding end over end cut through the air, and with a thud, stuck the apple to the wall. James sagged to his knees, murmuring a prayer of thanks.

Half the crowd cheered, others groaned.

“Oh ye of little faith, do you not know I’m the best in the hollow?” Layala smiled at John and winked. “Now give the boy his coin.”

John slammed his hand on the table. “Damn it all, Ren.” He pointed a large, dirty finger at Ren. “You knew she could. Forrest told me she’d miss.”

“It’s part of the game, John!” Ren laughed. “Of course I knew, that’s why I made the bet. You owe me a new knife. I’d like my name to be on the blade too.”

“Do I get one since I clearly bet on myself?” Layala added.

Bystanders burst into laughter then went back to other amusements, clearing the way to the bar top where Layala expected to find the man but he was gone. She did a quick scan of the room, and didn’t find him among the many bodies. The knots in her stomach loosened, and feeling like a weight lifted off her shoulders, she took her seat by Aunt Evalyn again. Her secret was safe for another day.

“Nice throw.” The hooded stranger made himself comfortable in the chair across from her. His rich soothing voice sent a chill down Layala’s spine. “Where did a pretty elf like you learn to do that?”