The Empress and the Arctic Tern: The Sky, Earth and Water, #1

By Angie Chasser

An ancient conflict comes to light once more when an arctic tern crashes into a farm during its annual migration, and with it the estranged Lord of a magical race cursed with corruption and eternal wars. He saves the village from a devastating storm, but farmer Arnel isn't convinced of his goodness.

 

His daughter Illa wants to believe that a righteous destiny is in store to be fulfilled. After much debate, they depart on a journey to seek out the Empress of the Seers to learn of his fate, joined at various stages by Emiel the woodworker, Costin the pillager and Sade of the seer race. On the way, they encounter circumstances they would never dream of and foes too dangerous to defeat on their own... But they are going to be the least of their concerns when their morality and trust in one another become the ultimate test.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Minor Works
• Release date: Jul 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393485193

Angie Chasser

Angie Chasser is not an expert in writing, neither did she have extensive studies in literature. But she loves to travel the world and tell stories that inspire the good.

Book preview

ONE. Illa and the Arctic Tern

It all began when an arctic tern crashed into her father’s cabbage patch.

Birdie! Birdie fall! yelled the toddler of barely three in age, abandoning her toy blocks and bumbling on stocky feet towards the patch.

No, Edia. A pair of callused hands swept her off her feet before she could step into the patch. Illa tucked her little sister into her chest to keep her from squirming. Mamma said you can’t go out there, she reminded softly.

Birdie hurt! whined Edia loudly, flailing and shaking her head, which locks shimmered in contrast to her older sister’s dark ones. He hurt!

It will be fine. But Illa stopped short when she noticed the colony of arctic terns above them. It was the time of the year when they in the hundreds embarked on an extensive journey to spend winter in warmer climates. They were synchronized in their movements, rehearsed in their calls, graceful as the gentle wind as they let it guide them southward. Illa used to watch them whenever they passed over her village.

This time, they had turned back, and were circling over where their kin had fallen in a manner alike anxiety. A moment later, they were gliding low enough for the girls to see the expanse of their great wings and noble black-capped heads.

As well as the small people seated upon the back of each bird.

They reminded Illa of dolls carved so intricately that she could see each finger clenching over the reins to keep the fowls’ ride in their control. Each one was dressed differently, but mostly grandiose as the rich of the city. Their heads turned and their lips moved, and Illa’s heart skipped a beat, knowing that they were just as alive as she knew that she was not dreaming. But how was this possible? She had never heard of a people this small.

Help birdie! Edia cried out suddenly, waving a wild hand. It had become clear now that she had been calling out to the people on the birds for their help.

Then Illa watched in horror as the colony made one last circle and directed their flight towards them with no sign of rising up.

No, Edia!

Hugging her younger sister tightly, Illa bolted towards their house. She felt the strength of wings puffing into her like a gale before the coming of a storm, prompting her to run faster without daring a look back. She pushed the door open with her shoulder, hopped into their kitchen, and slammed the door behind her with her hip. She put Edia down in order to free her hands and hold the door in place. Then she waited, expecting an impact of beaks and bodies against it.

But, nothing.

The flapping sound became a mere residue of her mind as it ascended into the sky.  Only when it faded completely did Illa release the tension in her lungs with a heavy sigh, while Edia took to running into their entering mother’s arms with a frightened cry, Birdies fly at us!

The terns! Illa followed up with a squeak. They dove below the canopies and suddenly attacked us! We didn’t do anything!

The terns attacked you? Are you sure? Ovidia exclaimed in her unnaturally hoarse voice, holding Edia in a comforting hug as she cast a sweeping gaze over her elder daughter for injuries. Illa only nodded, still recovering from the rush. Ovidia went and peered out of the window. There was not one bird she could see in the sky though. I didn’t expect them to be aggressive this time of the year.

I think it’s because one of them got hurt. It fell from the sky into our patch, Illa rationalized, going to the window as well to peek back out into the field. There she could still see a grounded wing poking out from behind a cabbage, but no other feathered menace was in sight.

It’s a strange behaviour to be exhibiting, still. They are no longer here, so it might just be a coincidence.

Too big of a coincidence, in Illa’s opinion. She hesitated. Perhaps, it’s—actually, Mamma, is there a kind of people that are miniature in size?

What is that?

I mean, small humans, this big. Illa gestured at the length of her hand. Do they exist?

Ovidia raised a brow. What are you talking about now, my Illa? There is no such kind in this world. You must be in shock. Why don’t you stay inside, and may as well watch the pot for me? I must send Edia to bathe. She’s a mess.

Illa’s shoulders drooped. Had she imagined those little humans then? Or perhaps the wind was playing tricks on her? Yes, Mamma...

Ovidia and Edia left up the stairs, leaving Illa to her duty. While she was swift to follow her mother’s instruction, her eyes never strayed for more than five seconds from the field through the window. She was worried; the fallen tern had not moved even a tenth of a cubit.

As soon as she could take the pot off the fire, she scanned the sky to make sure that the birds had left the vicinity before exiting. She made her way down to the patch with courage in her steps, ears open should the flock return to avenge their companion while never tearing her gaze from the landed avian until she was able to see for herself what had gone wrong.

Oh, no, she whispered.

The tern was dead.

She could tell because the steady rise and fall of its body was absent, indicating the loss of breath. One of its grey wings was drenched in red, suggesting injury that mayhap was caused by a foreign article. She lowered herself to her knees, reaching out to gently stroke over its head and down its back to the tail. It brought no reaction from the tern.

Poor thing.

Indeed.

The mournful voice of a male caused her to look over her shoulder, supposing that a neighbour had come for a look after the earlier commotion, as it was unlikely that it should go unseen.

But she saw no one.

I had her since she was a fledgling.

There it was again. Illa turned the other way, and to the left and the right, and still sighted no one.

Pardon me, may I pass?

A third time, and she realized where the voice came from. She looked down.

A man, as little as the one she had earlier seen riding on a tern, stood by her tucked toes. He appeared younger, with hair of brilliant blonde that was almost silver, and eyes of jade that were tiny as beads but sparkled enough to be visible through his bangs. He wore purple and black garments that were white at the seams, accompanied by a black travelling coat and a thin chain laced by colourful charms. He was as real as a full-grown human, yet the way he folded his decorated armlets over each other and jutted out his lower lip in apprehension were comical in his size.

Illa jumped like a surprised rabbit, blinking rapidly as if it should clear away the illusion if any.

I tried to ask nicely, so move, will you? You’re in my path, the little man scoffed, nodding towards her foot, which length quite literally matched his height.

Illa immediately scooted to her left, nearly tripping on a stone, so that he had a clear straight course to the bird. She knelt on the soft grass and watched with disbelief as he skipped over and put his ear near the beak to listen for breath. Of course, there was none. He shook his head, patting the beak softly.

She protected me during the plunge. Threw me onto the cabbage just before she hit the ground. I wouldn’t be alive right now otherwise, he spoke as if to someone but not to Illa.

I’m sorry, Illa said anyway, keeping a cautious distance. Then, remembering the attack earlier, she continued hastily, My sister and I did nothing.

Up the little man looked, beady eyes focusing on her. Illa froze, wondering whether she had offended him. Then he took his hand off the creature and pattered towards her. She quickly moved backward a couple of steps, making him pause though still staring at her. He again pattered forward for her, and again, she shifted away from him. He stopped, a corner of his lips twitching up.

Why do you shun me? he asked.

Why do you run to me? Illa asked in turn.

It is faster than to walk when I am small.

That is not what I—you know you are small, so why are you small?

Why trouble yourself with trivial matters?

It is not trivial when there is no humankind I know in your size!

Then know you now, I am standing right before you and swear no threat. The man bowed deep, and then straightened once more. The birds will not return, for vengeance is not in our blood.

You swear that? Illa asked.

By my blood.

Illa felt a certain candour to the answer, and nodded her consent. It didn’t stop her from stiffening however when he eagerly sprinted forward until he was in front of her. He extended a hand. I’m Mikkel. What’s your name?

Illa blinked once, before tentatively taking the hand between her finger and thumb in a mild shake. It felt as real as a human’s, but more vulnerable to shatter if gripped too tightly. Illa.

He nodded and flashed a friendly smile. We are friends now, Illa. Therefore, you must help me.

I’m sorry? That escalated too quickly for her to register.

But Mikkel rattled on as he took back his hand to point towards the dead avian, I’d like to give her a proper burial. Perhaps over there by the woods. She liked trees. Bring her a blanket and carry her out there.

Wait, you can’t assume that I will help you, Illa pointed out quickly.

Mikkel raised a brow at her. You wouldn’t be that heartless. You just told me your name without thought; does that not imply a desire for friendship?

He had a point, but she added, What if I had lied to you?

Illa! As if on cue, her name came hollered from the house in the voice of her worried mother.

Mikkel gave Illa a look of amusement as a tinge of heat rose to her cheeks. All right, fine. I must take the blanket from the house, so give me a moment, she stressed.

Mikkel looked pleased. Thank you, friend.

Illa could not help casting another gaze of incredulity in his direction, before picking herself up and hurrying inside to respond to her mother. She debated on telling about Mikkel, but decided against it or she might be thought as mad. After reassuring the worried adult, she grabbed an unused towel as well as a garden shovel before returning to the spot where she left the small man and his bird.

Mikkel had not left. He was leaning against the bird’s neck, smoothing down ruffled feathers with his hands. Illa noticed that the bird was now laid neatly, wings folded carefully by her sides and tail straightened behind her. The picture now appeared pitiful, for despite Mikkel’s discourteous attitude, he must feel sorrow for losing what must be a long-time companion. Illa hesitated at first, not wishing to ruin the moment. But she could not stay long or her mother would question. Er, she began awkwardly, though it was enough to attract his attention.

You have the blanket? Great, he said, stepping away from the bird. She’s becoming dry. Hurry.

Illa spread out the towel on the ground, and then carefully picked up the bird with both hands to place her in the middle of the soft fabric before wrapping her like a loaf of bread. Once the bird was tucked in completely, Illa took her up again as she stood, and walked to the edge of the trees pointed out by Mikkel as he jogged beside her.

You will be a fine nurse, with your wrapping skills, praised he.

I don’t think it is the nurses’ job to wrap dead creatures, Illa told him in horror.

They do among my people, Mikkel refuted. Birds don’t live as long as we do, nor are they free from illnesses, so the nurses must tend to them as well.

I believe we have animal-carers among my people. Nevertheless, it sounds like a tedious task, Illa expressed, imagining it would take more than one small nurse for the task. She arrived at the preferred spot and laid the wrapped bundle on the ground to dig a hole deep and large enough for the tern. Fortunately, the skills she had gained by assisting her father in the fields paid off so it could be quick. How am I able to hear you? Your size does not match your volume.

Can you hear the mouse that is five paces from here? Mikkel asked instead.

Illa thought for a moment. She could, hence she could not argue. All right. But why have your people not returned for you?

Make this here wider, could you? You won’t be able to get her tail straight here, Mikkel spoke as though he had not heard the question.

Illa followed his instruction regardless, digging until Mikkel advised her to stop. She placed the shovel aside, lowered the bird carefully into the makeshift grave, and proceeded to fill it with her hands. It was a strange process, as Mikkel’s apathetic tone made it difficult to feel any ounce of sadness. She tried to recall when the previous head of the village passed away mere years ago, he and his coffin buried deep in the centre of the village graveyard. The atmosphere had been heavy and depressing, filled with sobs of sadness and frowns of solemnity. But not here, although it had appeared to Mikkel that the life of a bird was as important as that of a human.

She thanks you for your help, said Mikkel when she had finished replacing the earth to a small mound.

Illa looked at him in confusion. Who?

My bird, of course. He nodded to the mound.

But she is not alive.

She is. Mikkel raised an eyebrow at her. She is alive in my memories. That is enough. The philosophy was a new concept to Illa, and Mikkel could tell from her puzzled expression. I have seen what your kind calls a funeral. How should I say this...? He paced a little, hand to his chin in thought. It is too sombre. Indeed, you may not see them again, but if that is why you grieve, then should you not grieve for the traveller whom you may meet once before never again seeing them?

But you are not close to a traveller, as compared to a family member or a friend, Illa countered. Your feelings for them are different.

Mikkel raised a brow. You mean to say, if a fellow human should die, regardless of whether you know them, you will not grieve? Your feelings are different although death happens the same to all?

Well. Illa was unable to process the depth of his reasoning.

Mikkel shook his head. Nevertheless, I do miss her. I will miss her. But as a Himin, we cannot dwell on losses. We must keep moving. He started walking in the direction of Illa’s house. Illa quickly retrieved the shovel and followed.

Where do you keep moving to? she asked, more out of curiosity now. What is a Himin?

I am hungry, was his unrelated reply. You were making food, weren’t you? I’m sure you can spare me a bean.

Hold it. Two large strides brought Illa to his side, and two fingers easily grabbed hold of his coat and lifted him into the air, ignoring his howl of protest. Illa looked at him at eye level, her frown deep. This is not right.

Indeed, it is very rude to pick up a man much smaller than yourself. Mikkel folded his arms, allowing himself to dangle without resistance.

No—sorry—I mean your definition of ‘friend’. If we were friends, we must have mutual agreements when making decisions. Here, you are making them without consulting me. I am no friend to you, but rather a servant.

Really? I’ve always thought they were the same. Mikkel’s eyes told her that he was honestly surprised.

Do your so-called friends serve you at your feet day and night?

Mikkel paused for a while, considering her tone of disdain, before shrugging. I don’t truly have any friend then, if we should consider the exclusivity of roles.

Illa was not surprised. From the way Mikkel had interacted with her so far, his social skills were demonstrably less than sharp, acting as if he owned the land and expected orders to be followed. She wondered if it had to do with his status, as his attire did seem exquisite. But she had not known that nomadic people could possibly be wealthy unless they were famous merchants. So many questions she had regarding this curious kind, yet she was unsure of whether to be involved in their affairs, especially one that nearly attacked her. It was like encountering a new beast for the first time, uncertain of whether it was carnivorous or herbivorous.

However, the decision could not be hers. Mikkel had his arms now crossed over his stomach, complaining about how he could have the birds steal the food from her kitchen. Apart from that, she was taught not to let a person go hungry, whether or not she knew him. She sighed in resignation. Fine. You don’t look like you will eat much anyway.

You’ll be surprised, was his pleased response as she placed him on her palm for the ride. What’s for dinner?

Tomato soup, meat pie, and polenta.

Mikkel was bewildered. You don’t appear impoverished.

Illa laughed cynically. We get by. My father built the house, grew the crops, they do well from spring through fall, and we sell plenty at the market to suffer winter.

Mikkel whistled. That is impressive for a farmer. But I’m afraid the crops won't last through this fall.

Why do you say that?

He licked a finger and held it up above him. The wind. It brings misfortune this year. I recommend you pack up all you have to storage instead, if you don’t like to starve.

Illa’s brows creased with scepticism. My neighbours have lived in this region peacefully for over a century. I highly doubt anything of that sort should happen. Besides, we aren’t the only ones who need food.

No, but can’t have everyone die together, can you? What about the future of the community?

Illa let out a huff, opting not to answer him. Nothing good would come out of arguing with Mikkel, who came to win easily with his strange and stubborn philosophy. The weather has been fine, said she with conviction as she opened the door leading into the kitchen. It does not yield strong wind this time of the year, I know of it.

Lady, I’ve been traveling by air since the day I was born, and there is always a first to everything. Don’t say I didn't warn you, Mikkel drawled.

Don’t be rude! I have a name!

Who’s being rude? asked a male voice not belonging to Mikkel.

Pappa! Illa gasped, slamming the door in reaction. She looked from the tall older man, whose brows were raised in questioning, to her hand—which was empty. Mikkel was gone.

Was there someone with you? her father Arnel queried, rubbing his stubbled jaw as he strolled past her to peek curiously through the crack of the door.

No! I was just—there was a small man—

A small man?

—riding on a—a—I was talking to myself, Illa finished in embarrassment, straightening her clothes. She didn’t want him to think her mad when she had no proof. Pappa, you are early.

Oh, yes. Sold out early at the market, said the older man cheerfully, taking off his jacket to hang it on the back of a chair. What about dinner? Can it be early too?

Dinner? Yes, of course! Illa was searching the ground for Mikkel. Where had he gone? It will be done in a minute. I’ll be sure.

All right. A pause. Daughter dear, are you sure you were just talking to yourself?

Illa looked up very fast, awed by her father’s clever observation. Yes. Why do you ask?

Arnel watched her for a moment, before shaking his head. It’s nothing. Thought you brought a friend home for once, let it be even a small man riding on a pony; you never have had a friend over.

Oh. Illa hung her head in shame. Her father shrugged, striding over to give her an assuring one-arm hug, his height more than enough to place his chin on her head.

It’s all right. I’m not worried, though I might be if you keep on talking to yourself. With a grin and a comforting pat on her head, he left to head upstairs.

Illa felt no comfort nonetheless. She knew how her father worried, even if he did not show it. Shaking the feeling away, she turned to the stove to check on the food.

Why did you lie?

She squeaked in surprise, shoulders jumping and then relaxing quickly when she saw Mikkel peering out at her from between the pickle jars on the counter. What do you mean?

You did bring home a friend, Mikkel pointed out, folding his arms defiantly.

I didn’t— Oh, he was referring to himself. You’re the one who disappeared first.

Mikkel shrugged. I am a shy person.

You were not shy with me, and you just accused me of lying.

Mikkel did not reply, busy tasting from the spoon left out on the counter.

Illa sighed, taking a spatula. Will you be going off after you have had food?

Mikkel thought for a moment with his tongue stuck out to cool it. I have to find myself a bird. It will take a while, as it is late into the migration season.

So you’ll be staying. Illa wasn’t sure if she liked that.

I am small. It’ll hardly be a burden, Mikkel pointed out as-a-matter-of-factly. Your family will barely notice that I’m here. Except the young one. She’s sharp, as all her age are.

As long as you promise to keep quiet, and find a bird as soon as possible, Illa exhorted. I don’t like to keep this secret all winter.

I didn’t say you have to keep me a secret. Mikkel gave her a mock look of disbelief.

Illa nearly banged the spatula against the bottom of the pot. Mikkel, please. My father is the sole breadwinner of the family, my sister is barely of learning age, and my mother has to care for her amidst the chores around here. Hence, I have enough to worry about and would wish you do not cause us further trouble. There is a reason why we do not have a pet.

A pet? Mikkel looked offended now. I thought we are friends.

No, you claimed that we are friends without seeking my consent! We have discussed this! Furthermore, your birds attacked me! I do not think we can be friends on that basis!

She didn’t mean to snap, but she felt that he had crossed the line with his impudence and she could no longer tolerate it. It had gotten through to Mikkel anyway, as he stood rigid for an instance, staring at her speechlessly. Finally, he sniffed, uncrossing his arms. All right. I am not your friend. I understand. But you agreed to give me food, so food I will have before I take my leave.

Illa managed to only roll her eyes to that remark. She obtained a saucer to place some food onto it for him, as well as a fruit fork and a teaspoon to use if he wished, even though they were still too large for his hands. He sat cross-legged on the counter in front of the oversized meal, looking content as he began digging in. He must have been truly hungry, for by the time Illa had finished setting the table, he had already polished the plate.

Delightful for a poor man’s meal, he said as if a compliment, dabbing about his lips with the dishcloth. I shall make a move then.

Illa perked up to that. Oh. Is that all?

Yes, told you I will go, didn’t I? Or have you changed your mind? Mikkel smirked as Illa shook her head quickly. Then may fate decide if we should meet again, Illa. And do heed my warning about the storm.

Illa watched him sprint off, only to be startled when he opened the window and hopped out of it, disappearing over the edge. She hurried over, but when she stuck her head out to see where he would land, he was already gone.

Perhaps this strange meeting was all a dream, she told herself. Although the saucer and utensils proved otherwise, and her younger sister telling their father of the arctic terns during dinner reinforced it. Arnel reassured them that some animals exhibited communal behaviour to attack when they sensed danger, but mentioned naught on the existence of little people or presented an idea of it. Illa decided that there was no point bringing it up anyway now that Mikkel had left.

A peaceful week went by before she began to wonder how he was. Animals both tame and wild were common in the neighbourhood, she had taken notice recently in light of her encounter with the little man, so it was not unlikely that one or two would hunt him down upon sight. Most terns would have begun holing up in nests or made their southward journey, so she could not be certain that he would find one so soon.

Her worry showed, and her father saw.

Did you lose something, Illa?

She turned her head to the question, blinking. No, I did not.

Really? Arnel lifted a stack of straw baskets to put in the back of the wagon. What are you looking for then?

Nothing. I was just looking around. She resisted scanning the ground another time, bringing a couple of empty pails to him.

I see. Well, yet another early day! he commented, pulling a sheet over their possessions and following his daughter to the front. People must be starving. Fortunately, we have plenty to spare for winter at the farm.

Illa nodded, settling next to him and arranging her hair from her face. She noticed that the wind had begun to pick up, which prompted a thought to her. Pappa, has there ever been a day with particularly bad weather anytime in your life?

You mean like a bad storm? We had one when you were a wee five-year-old, you remember? Arnel urged their horse through the market towards home. You were so frightened that you bolted straight into our bed with us. But it was only an hour summer storm, didn’t even damage the crops.

Oh. Nothing worse than that then?

None that I remember. Ostavale is well protected by the mountains. Arnel glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. Is everything all right, Illa?

Yes, it’s all right. Illa pretended to be intent with watching the passing view, which consisted of