REALMWALKERS

15: Arguing Elves

~ Vianola Sylfiel ~

Elves are rare in the world of Fylthaes, but my two sisters and I are the only ones I've ever known. Our parents.... they're dead. My father was killed by a fae man called Folred, who is an assassin. He's still alive. And our mother died after Isilynor, the youngest of us, was born. Madris, the eldest of the three of us, is the one who takes care of us. She became like a surrogate mother to me and Isilynor.

But now, we live in a hovel on the streets of Ilyena Nytva, a city pretty far from the capital of Syran Nalore.

We live here, as this is how the fae want us to live. They think we elves as lesser beings. Well, at least the majority of them do. The aristocracy do.

In the end, that is all that matters.

We are lesser, and they are the supreme, the righteous. And we are nothing in the face of their power.

"Sister," says Isilynor, who then coughs violently. Isi is sick, she's been sick for a year, and it is getting worse. She might even be dying, so Madras and I have been working as many menial jobs as possible to try to buy her medicines. Her many treatments. But because we are elves, the fae in these places give us a lesser payment. And no one cares enough to fully heal Isi for us.

I smile at her, but Isilynor sees right through that. She puts her hands on her hips, narrowing her mismatched pink and purple eyes. Her scars stand out more today, each of them bright red, pink, or purple in her skin. She is cold, I can tell. But she doesn't show it outwardly. Her blue hair is long and disheveled. She's very sick, and I can tell and sense that she is... withering away.

"You aren't good at hiding your emotions, Vi," she says.

"Isi, I.... are you alright? You seem a bit ...."

"Sicker?" she asks, tilting her head. She gnaws at her lip, then crosses her arms over her chest. "I know. It's not a good day for me, Vi. The night was long, and I was in more pain than ever. I'm sorry, Vi. But .... maybe my sickness is holding you and Madras back."

"No! Don't ever say that, Isilynor! That is a folly. That .... is not it at all. You are our sister. We love you, more so than anything. The reason I get up each day!"

"Yes, but that's because you feel obligated to do so," she snaps. "I can see the exhaustion in your faces and your eyes. I can see the sadness each time we speak. The wariness in your voices. Please, do not lie to me, Vianola. We are .... we need to speak the truth. You and Madras are exhausted. I am dying. And you won't accept that you're throwing your lives away for me!"

"No, Isilynor. We are not doing that. We love you. This is what family does for each other. For those we love," I say. "I do this because I love you, and I want to help you. I want to make sure you do not feel an ounce of pain. I want to help. I need you to know that I am doing this, all of this, because you are my sister, and I love you."

She shakes her head. "No. I —"

Madras enters the small living room we are standing in. "Girls, stop your bickering. We need to go. Now."

"Why?" I ask.

"There were whispers in the mines today. The few elves in this city are going to be driven out. By... well. Not a good way at all."

"They're going to kill us if we don't evacuate?" Isilynor asks.

"Yes," says Madras.  "Gather what you can, I know a secret way out of the city. Come on, my sisters, we must hurry."