Page 51 of Darkness Births the Stars #1
CHAPTER
Rada
D alath sat gracefully on a bend of the Gloirien River. Like a beautiful bouquet of flowers, its colorful wooden houses with their dark, gleaming shingles glowed against the backdrop of the steep white limestone cliffs as I guided Poppy out of the woods.
According to the village elders, the rise behind the village had been a gentle slope before the war.
One of Yggdrasil’s mighty roots had drilled deep into the earth, its magic keeping the forces of Chaos at bay for centuries.
When the Tree had fallen, its roots withered, creating a rugged cliff over the village that ascended toward Milford Ridge.
Chaos reigned up there, with storms of untamed magic erupting unexpectedly and perilous creatures wandering the woods.
Over the years, the protective enchantments had weakened, allowing Chaos to increasingly disrupt Dalath’s tranquility.
Recently, the attacks had become so frequent that a small local fighting force had been established, as Rasga and the royal army were far away.
The soldiers had taken up residence in the newly constructed barracks by the river .
“We are nearly there,” I threw over my shoulder with a quick glance. Calder was kneeling next to Yarmin, who had fallen unconscious, Calder’s hand clasped around his.
The waters of the Gloirien raged with white foam as our wagon raced over the bridge leading to the village’s main square. Bane let out a worried mew beside me. The river’s tide was high, a sign that rainfalls had been severe up on the Ridge.
The market square was already bustling with life.
Horse-drawn carts and wheelbarrows overflowing with vegetables crowded the area, while villagers with baskets slung over their arms moved about.
I shouted for people to clear the way as I steered Poppy to the far end of the square, her hooves clinking loudly on the stone pavement.
Familiar faces turned at the sound of my voice, worried questions flying through the air, but I didn’t waste time answering them. My focus was solely on reaching the House of Healing, located next to the Temple of Order.
With a sharp tug on the reins, I halted Poppy in front of the low wooden hall with its narrow windows. I jumped off the wagon and hurried to the large blue door. Three loud bangs with my fist, and the door flew open, revealing Kyree, the healer of Dalath and one of my closest friends.
“Attack by a Cave Troll,” I said, skipping any formal greetings. “One leg wound. I staunched the bleeding, but he needs help immediately.”
“Where is he?” Kyree’s hazel eyes sharpened as he immediately followed me to the wagon. His expression darkened when he saw Yarmin. He gave Calder and me a curt nod. “Help me bring him inside. Quick.”
The three of us carefully lifted the wounded soldier from the wagon bed and carried him into the House of Healing, trying not to jostle him too much.
The entrance hall was spacious and inviting, with floors and walls of warm, honey-colored wood, every surface impeccably clean.
Kyree jerked his chin toward the first of several doors.
Behind it, a smaller room awaited. Yarmin groaned softly as we gently placed him on the bed in the center of the room.
The soft glow of lyrin -stones caught on the pale dove-gray of Kyree’s right wing as he hurried outside at once.
Calder’s worried gaze met mine. “Do you think the healer can help him?”
I gave him a reassuring smile. “Kyree is one of the best healers I’ve ever met. Don’t worry. Your friend is in very capable hands.”
At that moment, the Aerieth returned, carrying a basin of hot water and his healing supplies.
He cleaned Yarmin’s wound with swift, decisive movements, then settled onto a stool next to the bed, a look of deep concentration on his face as his fingers trailed over the cut.
Air stirred faintly as Kyree wove tendrils of magic into a delicate pattern, a soft glow surrounding his hands as he added traces of Water.
“Oh, you need to use magic?” Calder’s dark eyes widened at the sight. He quickly moved toward the door. “I think I will wait outside.” Before we could respond, he was gone.
A scoff escaped Kyree at the soldier’s hasty retreat.
“Some things never change.” His hazel eyes, flecked with gold, shifted to me, a mix of amusement and frustration shining in their depths.
The healer would have caught attention even without his wings; the way he had severely pulled his curly black hair into a knot only accentuated the ascetic handsomeness of his face.
“No, I guess they don’t,” I replied. Many mortals still felt deeply unsettled by the use of magic, especially if it was inherent magic and not the familiar power of a lyr - or lyrin -stone.
But then, it was understandable; the rise of magical abilities had always been closely linked to the rise of Chaos over the ages.
Since Yggdrasil’s fall, more mortals had been born with powers that allowed them to manipulate the threads of Order—and Chaos—in the world without the additional help of a stone.
Enlial’s children had always boasted the highest number of magic users among them, next to Tanez’s Dryads.
This was not the first time I had seen Kyree work.
Briseis and I had assisted him during times of need, the most dire being the winter six years ago when a terrible fever had swept through the village.
The three of us had been close ever since we arrived in Dalath a decade ago.
Our friendship had been forged in sorrow and blood, in those dark, desperate days after the war.
Briseis and I had tended to Kyree’s grievous wound when we found him and little Alona on the road to the village.
I could understand why we had sparked gossip.
An Elf, her half-blood babe, an Aerieth who had lost his wing, an orphaned Drakuul child, and a Human warrior with shadows in her eyes.
Yet we had found a home here. Peace.
Now that peace was threatened. And I could only hope the reason behind that threat was not residing on my farm at this very moment.
“Do you need my help?” I asked, my eyes darting to the window letting in bright sunlight. “If not, I will try to find out more about the origin of this attack.”
Kyree shook his head, not glancing up from his task.
“He lost quite a bit of blood, but the cut is clean and easy to close. The challenge will be to prevent any infection from setting in; Troll claws are nothing to trifle with. But he is young and strong. He will survive.” A pensive expression settled upon his face.
“You should talk with Adesh. This has not been the only attack recently.”
Sound advice. The commander of the local militia was level-headed and efficient. “We will see each other later,” I said, briefly pressing Kyree’s shoulder in farewell .
As I stepped outside the House of Healing, I tried to avoid looking at the Temple of Order next door.
Disconcertingly, it felt as if the stony stare of the Sky Lord were following me in disapproval.
Whoever had carved Aramaz’s proud features over the entrance of the temple had captured my estranged husband’s stern frown a little too well for my comfort.
Calder was waiting for me next to the wagon, gently stroking Bane.
I had barely made a move in their direction when the temple’s grand wooden doors swung open.
The sweet sound of a hymn to the Light filled the air as Father Arallan emerged, followed by a procession of believers.
In smaller temples like this, the local priest served all Ten equally.
The colorful ribbon over his white robes, as wide as a man’s hand, proclaimed his allegiance to the forces of Order: gold for Light, blue for Water, red for Fire, silver for Air, and brown for Earth.
“In Order we find purpose. In purpose we find peace,” Father Arallan declared loudly, his rich baritone echoing across the square. I frowned as the prayer resounded around me, repeated by many voices.
Curse it. With all the excitement of Noctis’s stay on my farm, I had lost track of the exact dates.
It must be one of those days when the farmer’s market coincided with a holy feast of Light—a day I usually avoided visiting Dalath.
Now I noticed that the fountain in the square was adorned with colorful fabrics and flowers, and a quick calculation in my head confirmed that it was Talyrbai, marking the midpoint between the Spring Festival and Midsummer.
“May the Light protect us through our darkest nights.” The tall priest with his round, amenable face had barely finished his prayer, his spread hand raised to his forehead in the sign of the Ten, when an angry voice rang out next to me.
“What a load of dung! The Ten will not protect you. The bloody Aurea sat in their pretty palaces and did nothing while one of them destroyed half the world.”
I tensed up as Calder stepped in front of the procession, barring the way.
“Bloody fools you all are. Praying to those who don’t give a rat’s ass about your fate.”
I closed my eyes in frustration. If he didn’t stop causing turmoil, Portia and the other detractors in the Council of Elders would not let me hear the end of it.
Father Arallan raised his hands, trying to calm Calder down. “The ways of the gods are not always easy for us mortals to understand. Sometimes we are tested beyond what we think we can endure.”
Calder had lost his entire family to pillaging Rakash war bands, so I doubted that sentiment would placate him. I swiftly followed him through the crowd.