Harlequin

By Manuel Tristante

A juvenile fantasy novel full with magical realism and suspense is here!

An ideal book for readers of Sarah J. Maas, Stephen King, Stephanie Garber and Samantha Shannon.

Author’s note: Let the show begin!

Synopsis:

Come and see!

The show is about to begin.

Amerie’s calm ends when the “Fantasy Circus of Drec Gutan” arrives to the city of Verno accompanied by dark secrets. Memories of a tormented childhood are still latent. It is time to take off the mask and the truth to be known.

Unlike Amerie, Ashel is unaware of the circus’s terrible past and sees in it an escape from a home deprived of love. Luckily, Neylan appears in his life. Like him, he holds much more within than he can tell. Together they will discover not only a friendship that Ashel has never felt, but also a new world of sensations.

Magic, legends, fantasy beings... And the haunting sound of bells.

What will you find?

1 Hints of mystery, thriller, terror, gore and a gothic touch.

2 Strong principles ​​such as the importance of family, love, friendship, sexual freedom, fear or bullying.

3 The magic of the original circus.

4 A story of self-improvement.

What readers say:

“A dark past is hidden under the grand marquee. A story of legends. Friendship, magic and forgotten grudges. A melody predestined to sweeten your ears. Strange events, intrigue and a cynical and scathing task, interwoven by the threads of a hostile being... Delving into this gothic and different narrative deserves more than a simple applause. Come and see. Let the show begin!” Carlos Gran - Writer.

“Harlequin has become my best reading of the year. Something so shocking and unpredictable has not fallen into my hands in a long time. You cannot stop reading! The show has just begun!” Patricia Gómez - Writer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Manuel Tristante
• Release date: Feb 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9781071597545

Book preview

Harlequin

Manuel Tristante

Translated by Denia McGrew

The content of this book may not be reproduced,

neither in whole nor in part, without the prior written notice of the copyright holder.

All rights reserved Distributed by Babelcube, Inc.

www.babelcube.com

Babelcube Books and Babelcube are trademarks of Babelcube Inc.

Original Title: Arlequín

Manuel Tristante © 2020

Translated by Denia McGrew

First edition: April 2021

Second edition: April 2022

Cover design:

Libertad Delgado © 2021

Facebook, Twitter and Instagram: @manueltristante

To my zero readers,

Carlos Gran and Patricia Gómez.

What would be of me without you!

Index:

Prelude

Prologue

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

39

40

41

42

43

44

45

46

47

48

49

50

51

52

53

54

55

56

57

58

59

60

61

62

63

64

65

66

67

68

69

70

71

72

73

74

75

76

77

78

79

80

81

82

83

84

85

86

87

88

89

90

91

92

93

94

95

96

97

98

99

100

101

102

103

104

105

Epilogue

Other books by the author

Comments, reviews and word of mouth are very important for any author to be successful. If you liked this book, please write a review, even if it is just a few lines, or tell your friends about it. This way, others can enjoy it and you help the author to continue creating.

Thanks for your help!

Now, enjoy the story.

Prelude

"I

gnite them, NOW!"

At the command, the spotlights bordering the beginning of the forest lit up and their blinding lights shot into the forest. Light streamed through the tall, thick trunks, branches, and bushes, waking up the quietly sleeping animals.

The sky roared again; lightning bolts made an appearance and the clouds came unstrung, letting the rain fall violently. About sixty men armed with knives, nets, cages, ropes, and torches rushed like the wind through the ancient trees. They marched not without a certain suspicion, with their charms circling their necks.

Since time immemorial, the forest had been the fruit of legends: of wandering spirits, of beasts, of nymphs, of dryads, of green dragons... and Black Magic. There were very few who had ever dared to cross it for fear of getting lost and not returning, or of running into one of those beings who protected their home with claws and teeth. Those who had done so had fueled the myths by not returning. However, not everyone felt that dread of the unknown when a large sum of money was placed in front of them, avoiding doubt for these men to accept once again what they had done so many times in other places.

Men ran with the idea in mind of the feat ordered to be accomplished, trying not to think about where they were. Despite being a place similar to others visited, one did not get used to dealing with different beings.

Water was falling persistently and soon the ground became a quagmire. Knives, sharp as the wind, slashed brambles and vines forcing their way. The cages were left behind waiting for their new inhabitants. Ahead of them flocks of birds took flight, birds straggled from winter, along with fallow deer, stags, wild boar, bobcats, and innumerable mammals and reptiles. Small rodents trembled in their dens with the cries that flooded the foliage, spreading along with the sound of the leaves beaten by the rain. The mist soon rose from the ground, making the expedition more difficult, and a dark shadow like night spread rapidly throughout the forest, proud, triumphant, accompanied by the tinkling of bells.

Roots rose from their bed trapping the disturbers who soon mutilated them with their sharp tools. The forest was a strong warrior, survivor of great and numerous battles. It resisted with branches, leaves, trunks, and roots, forcing its opponents to drop their torches to set the living wood on fire. A devastating fire that did nothing to them, as if Death did not contemplate taking them away that night, as if superhuman strength protected them.

The group had weighed that this would happen and was forewarned, because with the flames they wounded and unprotected the People of the Forest, an ancient lineage that, with their songs, made vegetation grow wherever they stepped; that loved and cared for nature like a sibling; that cried in times of drought or when an old animal left life. The same people who, they said, trapped humans for their feasts and used them in sacrifices to their Gods.

The way to weaken it was to raze its source of life.

The only quest of that stronghold was to continue the chain of life, of Mother Nature, and to implant good wherever they went, without disturbing anyone. In spite of everything, for some this was not enough: from the eyes outward they were devilish creatures, evil-minded, who did not age, who had sold their souls to evil; that brought misfortunes, that stole the lives of children who wandered off and get lost in the forest. People that hid a dark power that chilled the entrails and took away sleep.

There were many who had tried to find the whereabouts of the People of the Forest, but no one had managed to reach their position in the very heart of the forest until Cetael, a twelve-year-old boy, entered through the trees one summer afternoon, trying to hunt down a hare, and got lost. He wandered one day and one night until the People found him, welcomed him and cared for him.

Years later, Cetael marched to the exterior with the need to see his family, to show himself as an adult, to report that he was fine and that they should never care for him again, despite the fact that the People strongly asked him to do not do so, for his sake. But Cetael decided to take the risk.

When they saw him emerge from the forest fifteen years later in perfect condition, one night he was kidnapped by deformed, crippled people and monsters of society. He was interrogated and tortured endlessly to tell how he had managed to survive so many years in there. Despite the punches and psychological torment, Cetael refused to betray the People, for the only way to find them was by giving their location away, opening the door for them as they did years ago with him. In this way, the protective barriers would fall for the one who sought. Not even gold would get a single word out of his mouth.

However, when his family was gagged and with a knife to the throat, Cetael began to notice that his strength was weak. Save his family or condemn the People? He had taken a Blood Oath, he could not break the Covenant of Silence or he would be cursed. He could not betray those who saved his life, who took him into their protection and gave him a second chance.

With tears in her eyes, his mother begged for mercy, for herself and for his sisters. Cetael looked at the money, realizing that with it his family would stop suffering hardships.

On the condition of releasing his mother and sisters, and double the money, Cetael agreed and spoke. To his perplexity, the gold never fell into his hands and the knives cut the throats of his family. He received nothing of what was promised. It had all been a sham. Cetael was plunged into misery and desolation. He had betrayed the People and sentenced his own family to death.

He was a scum.

And the curse fell over him.

Prologue

––––––––

T

he heart of the great forest was abuzz with frenzy at the great event that was coming: the imminent birth of the first-born of the Beech Royal House. The People were preparing for the celebration of that important event that supposed the continuity of the royal lineage.

There were many rumors that Queen Galanel was sterile. No matter how many attempts were made, the Queen could not get pregnant, which meant that the lineage would end with them. To this it had to be added that several epidemics had killed King Eritel’s brothers, Galanel’s husband, a few months after the death of King Otrebla, Eritel’s father, due to his extreme old age, so the line of succession ended in Galanel and Eritel.

In the end, the prayers had been answered and the light of a future was growing in Galanel.

The houses, high fortifications woven inside the gigantic thousand-year-old redwoods, as well as in their branches and roots, were adorned to welcome the one who was already rumored to be a boy. However, the joy that reigned on the outside contrasted with the restlessness and fear that reigned within the most beautiful court ever built and seen by the human eye.

In the highest tower of the castle, in one of the seven thick branches of the tallest redwood, King Eritel was meeting with the Six High Priests. His face, already haunted by age, was serious. Heaven had never spoken before the way it does now. The Oracle trembled violently at the wild arrival of unflattering warnings.

There must be a mistake, Eritel murmured, rubbing his forehead. Cold sweat beaded his face. It cannot happen now.

My Lord, I am afraid there is no mistake, said one of the priests, emphasizing his words with a negative nod. His bony hands trembled. His complexion was pale as the whitest marble, and his skin so smooth that it seemed that time did not pass through him or his long, braided hair, white as the moon. The message is loud and clear. We have asked tirelessly and the answer is the same, to our regret. Danger is coming. As said by the prophecy that our ancestors collected in the Oracle. And now, from today, there are only two days left. Less and less time. We warned you not to let that damned human leave, but again you refused our advice, just like the day we advised you not to show him our location. Now he has brought us misfortune.

The King took a deep breath, trying to compose himself.

I am no one to stop him from going to see his family; neither are you.

Despite putting your people in danger? And also with the condition of being able to return later, knowing what that means?

Nah’Elit, we do not know if Cetael is responsible for the coming misfortune, he said, turning his back on those present.

Do not, my Lord? Let me remember you that our people are protected by ancient magic, the same one that hides us, and only someone who has lived with the People of the Forest can give our location, thus allowing that person to find us.

Eritel massaged his temple, refusing to accept a possible betrayal.

Heaven speaks, the Gods speak, but they do not say who the culprit is. Them and their bloody half-talk. He slammed his clenched fist against the wall.

The High Priests exchanged a look.

I am afraid not, my Lord, Nah’Elit countered, smoothing a scroll on the table. They speak of a birth and a traitor... And then will come darkness, slavery and death.

Eritel sighed. With all the pain in his heart he had to accept the truth, no matter how much he wanted to deny it.

Look at it, my Lord.

The King returned to the table and glanced at the scroll. The prophecy, written in golden letters, occupied the first line:

He who was welcomed will speak,

and to those who seek the way he will give.

The birth of the firstborn this fact will cloud.

The lineage will be no more,

and the People will be all gone.

He read lower and his eyes widened at what the High Priests had transcribed there. Tears of helplessness and fear flowed from his iridescent eyes.

N-no... It cannot be, he muttered, looking up. They talk about my son, they talk about his birth! The same day he is born... Will the raid be? The Six High Priests nodded. No... We must avoid it! My people must be safe. We have been hiding from any danger for years and now nothing will harm us. The birth cannot be seen clouded.

My Lord, you know what to do: move token, Nah’Elit spoke before the silence of the rest. Prepare the troops. We knew this moment would come, although in our hearts we denied it. We saw it far away, while they attacked other people, but now they are closer. Cetael is the culprit that this monster got what he wanted.

Cetael is not the culprit, do not think so! The King defended, refusing to accept that that child with rosy cheeks, who was like the son they always wanted, was the cause of the misfortune that was coming.

"My Lord, Cetael was sent outside a month ago. Two guards accompanied him disguised as humans with the order to observe him for a while. They returned yesterday and affirm the words of our Gods. Cetael has broken his silence, he has betrayed us. He has broken the Blood Oath and is already serving his sentence.’

‘He was arrested, threatened and tortured until he spoke, and although this human seemed different, he was sold for a handful of gold coins. The human being is weak by nature, and greedy."

Eritel looked out through one of the windows. The afternoon was coming to an end.

He gave his word that he would not... Something else must have happened. He was not ambitious.

Your Majesty, stop exonerating him! He is human, he is not like us! We knew the Blood Oath would not work on him! Nah’Elit’s breath hitched. A horrible heat burned his stomach. The human has brought misfortune from the moment he stepped on our town and, although it is painful, there is no going back.

The King leaned against one of the thick branches that served as columns, fainting. None of this could be true, not now. It could not be happening. He looked into the eyes of the six priests. Despite the serenity on their faces, there was deep fear in their eyes.

Our deities will not allow that to happen. Give more offerings! Pray day and night without rest! Do whatever is necessary! But they cannot leave us to our fate.

The Six High Priests looked down at the table, denying.

There is nothing to do, Your Majesty; it was predestined, Nah’Elit reiterated. All attempts are in vain. Sorry, my King. It only remains to do our part to avoid the damage that has been predicted to us... if there is something we can do.

Eritel walked to the window and looked out. His people were still working on having the kingdom glamorous for the big event. The King clenched his fists. Nothing and no one would tarnish the happiest moment of his life. Straightening his back, he turned and grasped the hilt of his sword.

We will fight to the end, he decreed. If that is what fate wants from us, so be it. Do not have the slightest doubt who the winners will be.

At that moment a scrawny boy with white skin and long jet-black hair stepped forward from the shadows, shyly. He was an apprentice to the Six High Priests. Until his training was completed his hair would not be silver again. Black hair was a hallmark of his training.

My Lord, forgive my daring, but could not we try to evacuate the kingdom, get away from here, and build a new life?

The King’s face lit up. There was hope in that proposal. He looked away at the Six, but they denied.

Hi’Foul, go back to your seat, Nah’Elit ordered the boy. Crestfallen and somewhat embarrassed, the latter backed into position. My Lord Eritel, you are not being rational. It is true that we are a small number, unfortunately, but despite this fact there is no time to evacuate everyone. Besides, that would only buy us time, but not much more. They have found our habitat. And they will come.

A lump rose in the monarch’s throat. Everything was getting complicated. So what was the solution? Surrender, doomed to disaster?

My wife and son must be safe if I fall. The Queen must leave. The lineage must continue.

Perhaps that is a good decision, the priest argued. Put the plan into practice, as well as the security measures to defend our home tooth and nail.

A sharp knock was heard from the door startling those present. The door swung open briskly and a tall man with hair silver as the full moon came in, breathing hard. He wore a long green tunic with floral motifs embroidered in gold. He was one of the royal healers.

What is it, Verpo?

My Lord, Queen Galanel has broken waters. Your firstborn is on the way.

The King’s hands trembled. He exchanged a quick glance with Nah’Elit, concerned. The priest stood up and watched the sunset: the last arms of orange light were already dissipating.

It will be tomorrow night... He looked at the King. I am sorry, my Lord, but in that state Queen Galanel cannot leave. I am afraid we cannot avoid fate. Let events unfold and trust our deities to have mercy on us, be benevolent, and make a move for and to us. Now go to your wife; must be with her. We will sing, awaken the Lord of the Forest and ask for time.

Verpo entered the room, his face contorted at the conversation he was listening to.

What is it, my Lord? He dared ask, with a hint of fear in his voice.

The King shook his hand, dismissing it.

Nothing you should be concerned about now, Verpo. Go do your job.

The Healer nodded without a word and withdrew, closing the door behind him.

My King, we will meet later, Nah’Elit spoke, rising to his feet. His companions did so at the same time.

The Six High Priests along with the apprentice walked out of the meeting room toward the Oracle, waving their light white robes.

Eritel sank into a chair, pale. A prophecy coming true, an uncertain future. A condemnation to extinction and just at the moment when his most precious wish was fulfilled. Tears welled up in his eyes and fell onto the wooden table. His head was abuzz and his nerves were unhinged. What could he do? What was the best solution? He could not think clearly, not now that his child was going to be born.

Slamming the table, he got up and left the room, pinning his silver hair back.

Eritel found his wife in their chambers, lying on the four-poster bed, in sweat and severe pain. It had not been long since her waters had broken and it seemed that the labor was going to be difficult: the she-elf could not dilate. Two healers, Verpo among them, tried to alleviate her pain with Mother Nature’s ointments and chants while two midwives and an eight-year-old girl, who was learning the profession, attended the delivery.

Oh, Galanel, my love! How do you feel? Her husband worried, sitting down next to her. He took her hands and kissed her sweaty forehead. Despite the moment she was going through, Queen Galanel was still the most beautiful. Her almond-shaped eyes were large and sky blue, and her hair was the most silver, the hallmark of her breed. Her cheeks were rosy with exertion. Our little one already wants to see us.

Our little ones, the she-elf corrected him.

Eritel blinked in confusion. Did she mean there were two of them?

Galanel smiled and tried to clarify, but in response came a scream and writhed in pain. She clutched her belly.

Do something! Eritel implored, concerned. Appease her pain!

The Queen dismissed with her hand.

I-I am fine. Is the natural process, Eritel, and they have done enough for me. Do not worry. No, Eritel, listen to me. Do... She winced. Do not insist.

Eritel bit his tongue, trying to listen to his wife, although seeing her in that state was very difficult for him. His soul was breaking.

From the outside, sneaking through an open window, came a sweet song. A salvo of praises and requests from the Six High Priests to the Forest. The Lord of the Forest received the call and strong new trees began to grow around the kingdom, creating a new impassable barrier. However, although Nature could germinate quickly, some parts were too rocky and the plants could not break through.

With the wind, the leaves flew and they both spread the word of the Lord of the Forest. Branches and roots moved, prepared and created traps, set for when the first human stepped on that unknown and mysterious ground for them.

***

The sky roared in the distance, pregnant with clouds that heralded a storm. It was then that the oppressive side lit their powerful lamps and made their way through the undergrowth, armed with their weapons. A horn was heard, its sound spread like gunpowder and the sky opened. Several lightning bolts made an appearance and a sharp and intense rain began to fall.

The calm terrified far more than the forest itself. If there were so many monsters there, where were they? Why were not they attacking? Men ran without looking back, cutting everything that stood in their way.

Minutes later, the trees shook, moved their branches and roots, and brought down the enemy. They pierced bodies, slanted heads... Fear spread.

DON’T FRIGHTEN! RESIST! IT’S ONLY TREES, RAIN AND MUD! WE ARE STRONGER! Came the voice of the leader in the middle of the storm. SET FIRE TO THE FOREST IF NECESSARY, BUT THEY WILL NOT ESCAPE! COME ON! PEOPLE WILL PAY MILLIONS TO SEE THIS NEW CLAN!

The fire spread and the trees began to be mutilated. Smoke rose into the night and a cry of pain ran through the forest, shaking it. Men stood for a few minutes, exchanging glances. What had that been?

Move on! NO FOREST NOR MONSTER WILL BE ABLE TO FRIGHTEN US!

The procession continued to make their way while the forest suffered the evil of the human being and cried when seeing families succumb to the hand of hatred and greed.

***

Galanel screamed once more with a final push, shaking the earth, and the last child’s cry flooded the night. The firstborn had been born. A beautiful, healthy male with silver hair, pointy ears, and rosy cheeks. The first, unfortunately, was born dead.

When the Queen held him in her arms, she wept with emotion and grief. It had been a long and hard labor, one child had not survived and another had. She had mixed emotions, but looking at her little one’s angelic face, everything was more bearable.

He is beautiful, my Lord, the midwife commented, stroking the little boy’s head.

Eritel, excited, left the room yelling at the top of his lungs:

He is born, my son is born! He still could not believe it. Longing for that wish for so long and it had finally been granted. A male! My firstborn!

Nah’Elit, his right hand, stopped him at the bedroom door upon his return. His face was the picture of concern.

Nah’Elit... It is a boy! Well, there were two. One died at birth, but... A boy, as our Gods predicted!

And they also predicted our defeat, my Lord. Evil is already upon us. The King’s face changed its expression instantly. It hurts me to break your happiness, but the enemy will arrive at any moment.

All trace of joy was erased from Eritel’s face as quickly as an arrow crosses the sky in battle. He stared at the High Priest hoping to hear that after all the Gods finally decided to help them, that there would be a solution... The priest’s expression did not change.

No... My son... No... Will I not see him grow up?

The future is uncertain, my Lord. We have to get the young Prince to safety before...

One scream after another silenced the High Priest. Swiftly, they looked for a window. A huge cloud of smoke rose through the treetops. The smell of smoke and wood became unbearable. People were running around, scared and crying. On the other hand, humans had found the kingdom and were arriving with cages, nets, and weapons.

CAPTURE THE BEST! Came a deep voice from the middle of hell.

Eritel withdrew from the balcony, trembling. What a horrible nightmare!

My Lord, get your family away from here! The Priest urged him. He took a horn from a bag and handed it to the King. Make it sound. Now!

Not quite knowing what he was doing, the King sounded the horn. Instantly, a battalion of warriors came out to protect the kingdom. Without looking once more, Eritel rushed into the bedroom, pale. He closed the door and leaned against it, overwhelmed.

Eritel? Sweetie! W-what is it?! His wife called, concerned, nursing the little one.

The King looked down at her and let himself be dragged to the ground, discouraged. The midwives paled at the fear that crossed their monarch’s face.

With difficulty, Galanel put the baby down in the crib and stood up grimacing in pain. She approached her husband despite the healers’ attempt to keep her in bed, feeling weak. She cupped his face in her hands. Eritel looked into her eyes and hugged her, crying.

No... There is no time. You have to run away. You have to run away! Take the boy and leave! Get to safety! They have found us, and the Gods have abandoned us!

Galanel put her hands to her mouth, traumatized. She turned to the carved cedar crib where her baby lay. Her little one... Nothing and no one would touch her child.

She took him in her arms and the offspring began to cry. She turned to her husband, the one who now looked like a helpless and scared little boy.

Eritel...

No, Galanel, do not think of me now, please, but of him! Someone has to survive. Run! Go to the kitchens, take food and flee through the secret passages.

No one has used them in years!

It does not matter as long as they keep you safe.

The woman gulped. She could not do it, not only because she could not abandon her husband, but because she was still weak and her son had only a few minutes of life.

What will you do? I cannot leave without you.

Eritel rose to his feet, grasping the hilt of his sword. Heartbroken, he held his wife’s face with his other hand and gazed at her beauty for the last time. Galanel wept inconsolably.

Do not think of me, think of him, please. Please!

I love you, Eritel.

And I my life. And our little Tahiel. He kissed her and then brushed his lips over his son’s forehead. The little boy stopped crying and held his father’s gaze. The King remained strong. He had to be, for them. I will accompany you to...

A crash silenced him. New cries rose and the castle shook: humans had entered it. Time was running out.

By the Gods! Faster, faster! Eritel tugged at his wife’s arm, and as they were about to leave, Nah’Elit blocked their way.

My King, in her state, my Lady cannot walk down the passage. Eritel met his wife’s gaze; his advisor was right. It was built to protect only boys and girls, those who can perpetuate the lineage. Maybe that is the solution right now.

What little hope they had harbored vanished from the Kings’ faces. Galanel cradled her little boy in her arms, making up her mind that it was the end. Her breath hitched. Why had he had to be born under those circumstances? Why did the Gods pull their damn strings without caring in the least who suffered? It was more than clear to her that there were no divinities, but coincidences and predestination. The same fate that had made the assault on the castle coincide with the birth of her son.

The midwives screamed in sheer panic when they noticed the smoke approaching the room. The daughter of one of them cried, searching for her mother’s skirts. Nah’Elit stopped his gaze on the little girl before positioning it on the King.

My Lord, perhaps there is still salvation. That girl, the midwife’s daughter can save the Prince!

The monarch turned, appreciating how time stopped around him. The fate of his little one in the hands of a girl no more than eight years old?

But she is just an apprentice, and a kid too! Eritel complained.

Quickly, Galanel crouched beside the little girl and caressed her face affectionately while her mother protected her in her arms.

Ignore him, child. Please, you are my son’s salvation.

The girl looked at her mother, not understanding. The midwife bite the bullet, trying to be strong. She did not want to be separated from her little girl, but it was better to see her go and live than die.

My daughter, you must run away, you must run away with the Prince and be safe, she explained with tears in her eyes, kneeling in front of her. Make me proud of you. I love you, Nayairea.

Mother...

Galanel placed the baby in the girl’s arms.

Please, please, run away with my son. Get safe, please, she begged her. Take care of Tahiel! Closing her eyes, she murmured a chant as she made a simple gesture over the baby’s forehead, and covered his face with the blanket.

Nayairea obeyed without saying a word.

My Lord, escort them into the passage, Nah’Elit suggested, gazing at the bedroom’s door.

Eritel looked at his wife, then at the little ones.

I will come back, my life, he whispered, broken. Get safe in the meantime.

Both mothers said farewell to their little ones and their children left them behind, at the mercy of luck, heartbroken, devastated, appreciating how their most precious treasures were possibly leaving forever.

Eritel, sword in hand, led the kid through the corridors to the kitchen. Tahiel burst out crying, upsetting the girl and the father.

"Shhh! Hush, my little one, hush."  

Distraught, the King searched for a wicker basket in which to put some food in while Nayairea did not look away from the door. The commotion of the humans was heard closer and closer...

Dammit!

Eritel dropped the basket and ran to the fireplace. He pushed aside the cauldrons in which the dinner was boiling, spilled the liquid, extinguishing the flames and pressed several bricks; a door opened. He seized a torch from the first knockers, lit it with a stick, and, taking a breath, asked Nayairea to go into that cold and inhospitable place.

Protect yourselves, little one. The passage leads to the outskirts of the forest; there you will be safe.

Nayairea nodded with frozen words and ran with the baby in her arms without looking back. A little further on, the road forked in two. Indecisive, she took the one on the right.

She advanced quickly, trying to be strong. She heard screams, the King’s sword, and suddenly a piercing scream echoed off the walls. And then she knew that the King had died.

Loud voices echoed behind her. Nayairea was startled and felt fear paralyze her. But she could not stop, she had promised.

Heartbroken, she quickened her pace down that passage without knowing where it would end. The screams resounded again and the sound made the baby burst out crying again. The sound spread like wildfire.

The girl’s heart was going to leap out of her chest. Tension and terror were taking over her. She tried to appease the crying of the little one as best she could, but no luck. She picked up the pace with the misfortune that she tripped with a rock. Avoiding falling forward, she threw the full weight of her body to one side and fell backward, bruising herself, but holding the baby without a scratch.

In pain, and her face contorted with panic, Nayairea looked back. What was reflected in the distance, on the walls, were the torches and shadows of humans?

They could not escape...

"One last try," she told herself, standing up. She grabbed the torch lying beside her and continued, limping.

The girl wandered all night through the passageway feeling the breath of men behind her, until her little legs could not take anymore and, in a nook in the wall, she slipped. It was narrow and one had to look very closely to notice it, but she managed to get inside.

The baby cried, hungry. Nayairea rocked him and covered his face pleading him to be quiet or they would be discovered. Anguish ran through her body and the urge to cry was getting stronger.

Hush, hush! She begged in terror.

The men’s footsteps were getting closer and closer and a lump grew in the little girl’s throat. She extinguished the torch by burying it in the sand on the ground and the darkness welcomed them into its bosom.

She closed her eyes, thus trying to make time pass and everything to go faster.

The footsteps were heard a few inches from them. She held her breath and listened to the footsteps fade away. They had not been found, the men had passed by.

Nayairea leaned her head against the wall, feeling her legs damp from not being able to contain her bladder. The baby made a pretense of wanting to cry and she uncovered his head, running her hand over his cheeks.

The hours passed, and in a grip of fatigue and fear, she fell asleep.

She awoke with a start amid nightmares. She looked around and her breathing eased somewhat when she remembered they were safe. On her lap, Tahiel slept. Carefully, she poked her head out. Darkness enveloped the passage; it seemed there was no danger.

The idea of ​​retracing the path crossed her mind, but she rejected it instantly. Tucking in the little Prince, she continued the path of the passage, feeling the wall and sharpening her gaze to the maximum, alert in case those men were still hanging around.

The night surprised them when they emerged at the edge of the forest. The moon was already shining on a clear sky. How long had they been in there? The smell of smoke spread through the area. The hooting of an owl made the girl turn, ready, fearing it was the men. But there was no one there, just an uneasy calm.

She looked around without knowing what to do or where to go. They were exactly in the forbidden zone for someone like them. They must not go beyond the forest, they could not cross the boundary. But what other way out was there?

Tahiel cried loudly and fear spread again in the little girl. Her gaze darted around, alert. The child needed to eat or by crying he would reveal their position.

Despite her young age, her mother had raised her with the necessary knowledge so that she could survive alone at any time, but her training as a midwife had not reached the point of how to take good care of a newborn. The Prince would die in her arms if someone with good gifts for it did not attend to him.

Since she took him in her arms she had not dared to look at him. When she did, she discovered to her surprise that he looked human, unlike her. The boy did not have the characteristic features of their race: no silver hair, no pointy ears, and no pearly skin. Why?

Brave, and with a racing heart, she set out until she entered the streets of the strange and inhospitable city, shaken. An unknown world to her.

A metallic sound made her turn. The mist rose from the ground smelling of feces and urine. She held the baby closer and continued on her way, and a new noise shocked her away. Quickly, she covered the child better and deposited him in the middle of the street, at the mercy of their Gods, and she fled into the unknown.

In the darkness of night the baby’s cry woke up a servant from a nearby house. Startled, the woman went outside and what was her surprise when she found in the middle of the street a newborn trembling because of the cold, and hungry. Troubled, and crying to the sky, took him inside.

Finally, after a few hours, her Lords agreed to adopt him.

And they called him Ashel.

Fourteen years later

1

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D

ecember arrived with low temperatures and overcast skies that threatened to dump water over the great city of Verno, and the warning seemed to drag on as the days passed.

As every morning, men marched to work and the shopkeepers prepared to display their best products in the central square. One more day, the factory chimneys did not take long to expel large quantities of smoke, thus starting the day. The hubbub spread through the streets like wildfire.

Tired and with dark circles, Ashel sat on the edge of the bed as the daylight crept in through his window, waking him up. He shook out his curly amber hair, savoring. In the middle of the night, that nightmare in which someone was chasing him through the forest had caused him to lose sleep again and wake up with a start.

It was not the first time he had had that dream, and it was always the same: Ashel was in the great forest, on the outskirts of the city, in absolute calm and, without warning, a creak behind him broke his tranquility. Turning around, not without suspicion, he found himself in front of a person his own size, dressed in a long dark green cloak and a hood concealing his face. Moved by a strange fear, Ashel started to run, but he was getting nowhere, for he was running in circles. When he came to realize his legs would slow down and the one hiding was in front of him again. He pulled back his hood showing his face; it was no stranger, it was he.

Just then, Ashel woke up, stunned, not understanding anything about this nightmare. He did not know why he was scared or why he was chasing himself.

A chill ran through his body as his bare toes touched the cold floor. Had they forgotten to light the fireplace again? At that time the bedroom was usually very warm. Catrina, the housekeeper, used to take care not only of the bedroom, but also of the child, just like a personal maid. On many occasions she took care of other tasks other than those for which she had been hired due to lack of personnel. Over the years, the service had abandoned their jobs in search of better opportunities, fleeing the servitude and slavery to which they were subjected under the roof of the rich.

With great stealth, Catrina entered the room at dawn, watched Ashel for a few seconds, smiled and lit the fire, so that when he got up the bedroom was warm. Within an hour she returned and woke him up with the greatest of pampering for him to go to school.

Ashel did not blame her, much less that this time it was not that way. The woman was already elderly and it was normal to forget some things, especially in that house when his mother did not stop overwhelming the few remaining personnel, either with excessive work or pointless minutiae. And not only to them, but to the family in general, although Ashel used to discern in this part, since his name was the one that sounded the most in his mother’s mouth. When it was like this, punishment was coming, and always for anything.

How did his father put up with his mother? Her character was terrible, a difficult person to deal with and, for Ashel, somewhat bipolar.

"They’re both alike," he reasoned. Yes, that is why they had been married for so long; only they could stand each other. His father was a little more reserved, although when he imposed himself it was better not to be around.

On countless occasions Ashel had come to wonder if he was really their son, because he did not understand why so much contempt for him. On the contrary, his sister received no punishment. She seemed to be perfect in every way and if she did something out of the ordinary there was not a word to it and she was left unscathed. In the boy’s case, it was better to run. They were not on an equal footing. One way or another, he was always the bad guy. He had thought about it many times and never got an answer or reason.

Fortunately, in that regard, he was not caught by surprise.

Ashel got to his feet scratching his butt and yawned. He searched the closet for his clothes and got dressed as quickly as possible, chilled to the bone. Catrina had inevitably forgotten about him.

He went into his personal bathroom, washed his face with cold water, and started to go downstairs to the living room. There, luckily, the fireplace would be lit and he could get warm. His surprise was when he found the door locked.

No, not again... he muttered, fighting the urge to hit the wood with his fists.

They had done it again, they had locked him up again so that he would not come out until they wanted him to, that is why Catrina had not come up to light the fireplace, that is why he had not been woken up to go to school; that is why he was locked up there, like a beast, like a strange creature, like a common thief. Again, for a trifle.

Ashel had had to go to bed without dinner and it looked like he was going to spend the whole damn morning without taking a bite as well. He was already beginning to tire of such punishments. Could not they be a little more considerate? He was not evil... He was just...

Different from them, he whispered to himself.

The previous afternoon he had entered his father’s office, a large, high room where there was more wood than hollow. Shelves full of large books, a large mahogany table, several busts... and a strong smell of cigars and cognac. It was a forbidden place for both him and his sister. When his father came home from working at the bank, he locked himself there and did not want to be bothered. He was visited by tall and short men, skinny and chubby, in suits, with top hats and canes, and always, persistently, a horrible look of distaste. There was laughter and long conversations as smoke rose from under the door, and it was all secrecy.

The previous afternoon, Ashel had come down from his room to the kitchen in search of something to eat when he noticed that the door was ajar and a blue light, fast as the wind, was moving inside. Puzzled, and somewhat confused, he came over and took a look. There it was, dancing in circles, a bluish flame. A spirit? He did not believe in those things, because he did not believe in anything that he could not see with his own eyes, because his mother had made sure that all fairy tales were forbidden in that house.

Brave, and daring, he opened the door wide. As soon as he did so, the flame stopped its dance, remained fixed in front of him, as if observing him, and extinguished without a trace just at the moment when a hand rested on his shoulder, making him scream with panic.

What are you doing here, in my office? Who gave you permission to enter, Ashel? How many times have I repeated that you cannot enter, that you are forbidden even to approach?

His father, tall as a tree, frowning day and night, had closed his right hand into a fist. His face was contorted in a frown. His long black mustache seemed to tremble. And his gaze, eyes dark as night, stared into his son’s, wounding him.

Father, I don’t... Answers crowded Ashel’s mouth, wanting to get out, but fear held them back. I-I didn’t want to. The door was open and something was moving in-inside, like a light. When I entered...

The sentence did not finish leaving his mouth as a slap crossed his face.

A moving light, Ashel? A light?! Don’t you know how to get attention anymore? Get out of here! Go up to your bedroom and don’t come out until tomorrow. And don’t reply, please.

With a sore cheek and tears overflowing his eyes, he ran up to his bedroom and locked himself listening in the background to his mother ordering to leave him without dinner and with the possibility of extending the punishment. Because it was not enough with the one of his father, she must have the last word.

The boy was not hurt by the slap or the screaming, no, he was hurt by mistrust and the fact that they did not believe him when he was telling