Journey of the Half-Elf - Book 1

Chapter XII - Breaking The News

"Not long left, Father," Guinevere reminded herself, now just ten minutes away from the house. As she approached Border-land, the difference in the land and the air became much more apparent, but she already knew this.

Unlike the North of the
Border —strictly proclaimed as Elf-land after the end of the Great War— the Elven influence here was visibly weaker. Strangely, in the four viciously overcrowded cities lining the Border, the five sapient races of the Great Isle lived mostly in peace, seemingly well distanced from the harshness of life in the New South, as well as the New North.

Gastan's house stood before her. As Guinevere stepped down from the horse and walked it into the stable, she pulled a juicy red apple from the bag and eased it into his mouth, continually stroking his neck as she connected with his soul. "Stay here. Do not leave until I return."

With her ride kept in place, the 16-year old drew the knife from the bag and proceeded to search for her father.

"Father!" She shouted. "Father, where are you? I need to see you."

Guinevere approached the closed door. She attempted to knock, but it simply slid open; the lock was broken. As her eyes widened in fear, the young woman immediately burst through the door, rapidly scanning her surroundings.

"FATHER!! WHERE ARE YOU?! FATHER!!" She yelled. As her mind surged with fear and paranoia, Guinevere barrelled through the living room, her eyes darting back and forth between the flipped and damaged furniture, trying to make sense of what had happened. She then ran into the bedroom, only to find it empty. Just then, a hand touched her shoulder, prompting her to spin around and slash with her knife — luckily she missed, but her necklace did not.

"Ow," he said as the Wolf-mouth slapped his temple. "Easy, Gwinna. It's only me." He caught her sleeve-covered arm before it could move past his neck.

"Father? Oh, thank the Gods," Guinevere dropped the blade and pulled the man into a tight embrace.

"Ooh," he smilingly groaned from the strength of her grip. "You coulda killed me, ya know? Well, I don't half blame ya.
Ah, I missed ya, kid. Nice tunic, it uh... suits you... by the way, you've lost a fair bit of weight, and height." He laughingly responded, patting her on the shoulder, not realising that she had burnt herself there.

"Ah- ow," she winced. "I missed you too," she told him, placing Dawn's necklace back under the tunic.

"What's that shit on your neck and chin? And your hand?" He pointed to it.

"Oh it's nothing. A minor scrape. I... slipped earlier. But I am fine."

"Hm... alright then.
So, what brings you to my... well, it ain't much of a humble abode right now, is it?" He chuckled, kneeling down to pick up the dropped knife, handing it back to her.

"Father, I came here because I need to... tell you, something. I do not want to, but I have to. Wait, what is that awful smell?" Guinevere moved away from him and cupped her burnt hand over her nose. "It smells like-"

"Dead bodies?" Gastan interrupted. "Yep, you'd be right."

"What?" She gasped in shock. "What happened here, Father? What did you do?"

The brown-haired man sat down on the edge of his bed, patting the space beside him.

"I didn't do anything. Last night, I was just cleaning the stable when two of his soldiers rode up to the front door. They kicked it down hoping to find me. They pulled down the cupboards, smashed all my plates and chairs in some shitty attempt to draw me out. It obviously didn't work. The second I saw the armor, I knew who they were. I got my bow and the silver arrows and I shot them both in the neck. I killed the first one easy, but the second one somehow survived. He pinned me down and tried to stick a Flamebolt in me eye. He told me that I was next, by order of Guingeras. He almost got me, but I kicked him off and pushed an arrow in his throat.

They're both buried out back. Don't worry, I already salted the ground and drew the silver runes, so no hungry Zulwraiths're comin' for 'em tonight."

"Wait, you said Guingeras? What?" Guinevere cried.

"Yeah." The man nodded. "Gwinna... there ain't no easy way to tell you this but... as that Elf was dying, I made him tell me what he meant by that. He..." Gastan wrapped his fingers around hers. "He told me that they'd burned the old man, and the... the whore Queen. And... and that little one was next, after me.

His eyes began to sparkle; his voice began to break.
"Gwinna, I... I am so... so fucking sorry I weren't there. This tunic, I know it ain't yours. You took it, didn't you? You didn't have nothing else to wear... I don't even wanna imagine what them bastards did to ya.
Shit, I'm a useless fucking father. I couldn't protect Ela, or you, my own daughter. I just, forgot you.

It shoulda been me instead of her. I'm nothing. Worthless. I didn't even ride there 'cause I was afraid of what I'd see.
You're better off without me, kid." Gastan continued to vent his anger and self-hatred.

"Do not say that, Father. There was nothing you could have done." Guinevere grasped his arm. "There was... nothing I could have done either.
Father... this is what I came here to tell you. I did not think you already knew."

"Ela and Gaiagan. They buried?" Her father needed to know.

"Yes, I buried them. But... I forgot to salt them and draw the silver runes." Guinevere dropped her head into her hands, kicking her own burnt ankle. "I'm useless, not you."

Despite his frustration, Gastan understood his daughter's pain. "When did you dig the graves?"

"About... a few days ago. Three, maybe four I, I don't remember." She replied, lamenting her failure.

"Okay. Alright, as long as we ain't too late, we can get there in time. I ain't having one of them Zulwraiths take her body. Come on, you ready the horses and I'll get the salt. Let's go, Gwinna."

As he got up from the bed, Gastan casually gripped her hand to pull her up, when she yelped once again.

"What happened?" He asked, looking down and finally noticing the black scars running further along her arm than just the back of her hand. "What's this? This don't look like no minor scrape."

"I..." Guinevere struggled to speak.

"You what? Explain this. Show me the rest of your skin. Roll up your sleeve." He demanded.

"I don't want to, Father." She pulled her arm away, quickly getting up to stand above him. As her father, Gastan did not care, grabbing her wrist and rolling the sleeve up himself — what he saw had left a gash of shock across his face.

"What is this? Did those soldiers burn you too? I'm gonna kill 'em. I'll fucking kill 'em all!-"

"No, Father," she interrupted. "This... was not them. This was..."

"Who? Did Guingeras do this?" Paternal anger flickered in his hazel eyes. 

"No." She gulped, before confessing the truth. "I did."

"You... burned yourself? H-how? Why? Did an incant backfire? I-I don't understand."

"I will explain everything later, I swear. For now, let's get to the Manor before it is too late. Please, Father." Guinevere begged him.

"Fine," said the man as he walked out of the bedroom, followed by his daughter. "But I will get an explanation for this."

With the salt-pouches filled and the horses fed and watered, Gastan and Guinevere were ready to ride to the ruined Manor.