Frey (The Frey Saga, #1)(4)
It was a legacy of the Viridian Forest clan. Well, so much for the magic. I pulled another volume down. A diary of Momar the Ancient. This was going to be like greasing a monkey.
I sat for hours exploring the early texts, stories of the river clans and their battles with the Imps of Long Forgotten, firsthand accounts of the Trials of Istanna, and the long lineages of the eldest families. A whisper roused me from my studies. I realized it was late so I decided to retire and start again the next day. I rose unsteadily and heard the whisper again. No, not a whisper… wind. I glanced behind me to see paper falling to scatter on the floor. I looked around, but the library was practically empty. Someone on a higher level must have accidentally knocked the pages down. I bent over and read the closest document. It was an account from the northern clans. I was stunned but somehow managed to act quickly, stashing the papers in my shirt before attempting a casual exit to read them at home.
I made it out of the library and almost to the gate when I noticed a dark figure behind Virden Day’s tree. Chevelle. It looked like he was speaking with Virden. He turned his head slowly toward me… and I was staring into his eyes again. Oh give me a break; he’s half way across the village from you. But I was staring. I flushed, yet again, and turned away. The pages stuffed in my shirt felt like they were burning. I quickened my pace, caught my toe on a root, and stumbled. As soon as I righted myself, I wasn’t able to stop myself from peeking back to see if he had noticed, but he was gone. I didn’t know if I was relieved. My mind went over the encounter again as I made my way home. Did he always wear such a stern expression? Why was he looking at me so intensely? I had my answer: because you were staring at him, idiot.
It seemed to me Fannie always knew when I didn’t want to be bothered and went out of her way to ensure I was. I quietly entered the house, hoping to slip right into my room, but there she was, smack in the center of the sitting area, drunk as a two-day jamboree. She stopped me on my way through and forced me to sit, her audience. I watched her as she rambled. She wasn’t much of a looker. Dull blond hair with muddy brown eyes, and she was heavy, which was unusual for an elf. After a long evening ducking her verbal jabs and listening to her theory on the council’s secret underground conspiracies, I finally made it to my room.
I flitted my fingers and light flooded the tiny space. I took a quick inventory in the light: the seal on my wardrobe intact, my drawings still scattered appropriately across the floor, a stash of cheese on the table beside my bed, and my mother’s pendant hanging from a woven leather chain above my pillow shooting refracted beams across the bed. I smiled.
I scanned quickly through the pages I'd brought home from the library, trying to find some order. I hadn’t even considered there might be missing pages, but I sorted what I had as best I could, sitting rigidly while anxiously reading through each page. The first pages contained a detailed description of the writer including his lineages and how he came upon the information. He was apparently a record keeper for the Grand Council and was responsible for copying scrolls and adding new information for each of the northern clans from their various local libraries.
Some of the information was sketchy: gossip from the neighboring fairy guild about strange activities and reports from travelers about deserted villages. Or maybe not deserted, one description seemed to imply the village was not only empty of elves, but empty of all evidence it had ever been inhabited. There were maps of the mountains and forests, showing each village and town.
The next pages were a copy of the record keeper’s report to Grand Council about his findings. And his horrible conclusion. There were definitely missing pages here, but something dreadful had happened for certain. His official report should have been factual and serious but the description was loaded with superstition and fear. Even his script became shaky as it reached the final word… "Extinction". Something had wiped out the entire region? All the northern clans were gone according to his account.
The last pages were lists of clan members in order of family names. There must have been thousands, but still pages were missing… F… G… L… N… V…
As I reached the end, I took a deep breath. I had gotten so involved in the terrified man’s story and page after page of family names, I had forgotten why I was reading in the first place. I sighed. Of course, the pages with the V names were missing. I suddenly felt guilty for the selfishness of the thought while looking over such loss but I waved it away and tucked the pages under my mattress. I lay back on the bed and, looking up at my mother’s pendant, slowly closed my eyes, trying to remember…
I could see her face, beautiful and far from ordinary. Her gentle smile. Her long hair waving loosely around her shoulders, moving slightly with the wind. She wore an elaborate white dress with bell sleeves and a low-cut neck. Her pendant hung there. It started to refract light but there was only darkness around my vision of her. The wind picked up and her dark hair began to whip back away from her face. She was smiling, glorious now, her arms outstretched. The pendant started to glow and the darkness cracked. The wind was howling, screaming. Everyone was running, running away and screaming. I could barely see now for the wind. Or maybe something was covering my face. I screamed but the sound was lost. I tried again, but suddenly I was mute. Blind, mute and still. And yet I knew everyone was dying. Running and screaming and dying. I was overcome, my ears, my chest felt like they would burst.