Page 49 of When the Wicked Sing
For reasons he couldn’t understand, he thought of Mari. The pull he felt toward her was unlike anything he could describe. But her future didn’t have him anywhere in it. That much was certain.
“I don’t need anyone to help me, Kenna. I’ve survived this long on my own. I’m fine.”
He gave Leo one last stroke on the head, and as he turned away, he heard his sister softly say, “And that’s what scares me.”
Chapter 26
Marianafollowedthevillageleader down a spiraling wooden staircase that wrapped around the trunk of a colossal tree. The staircase creaked softly underfoot; its wood worn smooth by countless steps. The boots Spiro had given her pinched her toes, and the ache in her feet made every step feel longer. At least the sweater and leather jacket they’d provided were warm, warding off the crisp morning air.
As they descended, Spiro exchanged greetings with several villagers passing by. All of them had the same stone-gray skin. Their movements were unhurried but purposeful, their simple leather coats and fitted pants blending into the earthy tones of the massive tree’s bark. Their boots were nearly silent against the damp wood, a sharp contrast to Mariana’s uneven steps.
No one gave her so much as a second glance. They seemed entirely focused on their errands, barely acknowledging her presence. Mariana wasn’t sure whether she felt relieved or unsettled, but their indifference gave her time to take in the beauty of her surroundings.
The early rays of morning sunlight pierced the towering canopy above, scattering golden light that made every droplet of dew glisten on the leaves and vines. Clusters of moss swayed gently in the breeze, and small, glowing insects flitted between the branches like tiny lanterns. Despite the sweater’s warmth, a chill settled into her bones as she realized just how far above the ground they were. Her stomach flipped every time her gaze strayed toward the edge of the staircase, where the forest floor stretched impossibly far below.
Back home in the depths of the sea, she’d been surrounded by shadows, the press of water, and the steady heartbeat of the ocean. Up here, the open air felt foreign. The unfamiliar height made her palms sweat despite the bite of the cool morning air, and she clutched the railing tighter to steady herself.
Spiro slowed as they reached a small cabin nestled against the tree’s massive trunk. Moss draped over the edges of its sloping, a-frame roof, dripping raindrops. The doors were open wide, spilling warm, golden light onto the damp wooden platform outside. A faint smell of fragrant wood drifted from within, inviting and calming.
Spiro motioned her forward, and Mariana stopped before a standing plaque that read: “History is only forgotten by those who have lost their culture. May we never forget our past and those who lived it.”
Those words echoed through her mind as she stepped into the warmth and gazed at the walls.
“Wow.” Mariana could hardly believe her eyes. Every wall was lined with floor-to-ceiling paintings framed in ornate red wood, each of them unique with bright colors.
“This is our historical gallery,” Spiro said as they both approached the first painting on the left. The tiny plaque beside it said: “The Ascension.”
Mariana lifted a hand to her mouth as she marveled at the artistic creation. Four figures glowed high above a war where chaos and destruction reigned. Mariana instantly knew those were the Four Generals. Each figure burned a different color, symbolizing the four magical elements.
For the sea, the figure named Tarquin glowed in various shades of azure. Next was Magnus, with the power of the sky, who shone as golden as the sun. To its right was Cornelia of earth, who glowed a brilliant array of mossy hues. And lastly, Minerva glowed the chilling bloodred of spirit.
Behind each of the Generals was a hazy, bright white figure with no distinguishable face or features. Those were the Gods.
The painting depicted the origin of the fae.
Mariana had heard the story from Astra when she was a youngling and quickly decided she preferred the story of Seraphina and the origin of sirens.
The Gods had first created humans to use as pawns in bloody battles. Eventually, they grew bored with how quickly the humans perished and created the fae: resilient, immortal beings that could endure generations of gruesome, entertaining wars.
This time in history was called the Blood Era.
The Four Generals each had their own battalion with thousands of expendable fae and took orders from their God or Goddess. The fae were ordered to fight each other, rebuild their populations, and then fight again.
The bloody cycle continued for thousands of years until one day, the Gods vanished. The Generals could no longer hear their orders, and the war ceased as confusion spread. However, peace was not what came next.
Mariana moved on to the next painting labeled: “The Infernal Wars.” It was a particularly gruesome masterpiece of a bloody battle in the middle of a forest.
The Infernal Wars occurred when the Generals began fighting to establish lands to build great kingdoms. For nearly three thousand brutal years, the fae realm had been ripped apart and united over and over again as, one by one, each of the Generals perished.
Slowly, the power bestowed only to the Generals began to spread as they mated, and dynasties were born with magic flowing through their veins.
Tarquin was the only General whose power did not spread, as he was the first to die, before reproducing. Supposedly, he had been murdered at the start of the Infernal Wars by his lover, who sided with General Minerva. Mariana had always found that fact interesting, as she wondered whether there would be fae with power like her own if Tarquin were never killed. There was no known record of how potent Tarquin’s magic was due to how quickly his life had ended.
Mariana stepped up to the next painting, unsure about its story. The plaque read: “Mocanus: Challenged to Rise Again.” Confused, she took a step back to observe the entire painting. A lone warrior stood among a field of fallen, broken, bloody bodies surrounded by huge boulders and broken trees. Everyone had the same stone-colored skin as those who lived in Kythera.
The painting appeared to be of a dark and painful past. Mariana could practically feel the emotion radiating from the last warrior standing. It must’ve represented a gruesome battle that ravaged their people.
Taking a seat on the bench facing the painting, she contemplated what was happening in the scene. Who was the warrior left standing? The figure was blurry and had no distinct features, yet it felt so familiar …
