The Puppeteer

Prologue

Prologue

Luca and Camden knew they could run faster than the soldiers, but the real question was whether they could run longer. Luca was already panting, his six year old legs in danger of giving way.

Camden let out a soft whimper as the otherwise dark forest into which they were fleeing was illuminated with the huge, majestic, heartbreaking fire which was consuming her home, but she did not slow down. They needed to get to the closer to the village fast, then they’d find a safe space.

Luca tripped over an unfortunately placed gigantic mushroom, but his sister just scooped him up and continued running, though she was concerned that his weight would slow her down enough for the soldiers to catch them.

“I can run now.” He whispered, so she let him down, so the two continued running through the forest until they came across a dark cottage. Panting, Cam rapped at the door. This was a witch’s cottage, they would be safe from the soldiers here.

The door opened slightly, and the children crept inside.

“Have they gotten your parents?” A voice from the kitchen called.

Luca choked on his own tears, finally realising what had happened over the course of that crazy night. He shuddered, as Camden bent down and hugged him. She lifted his hood and removed her own headscarf to reveal two sets pointy ears which alone were enough evidence to prosecute them, and every other elf who walked the land of Ekaiah. The witch walked into the room, wearing a long, patched dress and carrying a tray with two bowls of soup and two cups of chamomile tea.

“Eat, if you like. The tea is quite calming.” The witch informed them. “You may stay as long as you need, but the village is safer than my home. Government spies have noticed hooded figures entering my house and never leaving, which can clue them into what political stance I take. I drive a cart with my potions to the marketplace twice a week, and when you are prepared to leave you can hide in that.”

“Thank you so much ma’am,” Cam said softly, her voice shaking a little with tears she would never again let out, “You are so kind, and we shall take your cart to the village the next chance we get, as we wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“Oh you certainly aren’t intruding, dear. I would gladly oblige to anything which could help to resist the king. It seems they must always be oppressing one minority group or another, wouldn’t you say?”

“Clearly! What did elves do to anybody, ever! We are a peaceful people, but all the stupid king can think about is killing us.”

“Child, you mustn’t talk of the king that way. You may be condemned to death as it is, but they have a tendency to torturethose who talk in ways which might arise a rebellion. You wouldn’t want that, hm?”

“I suppose not.” she decided, after some hesitation.

Luca stared up at the witch, his huge brown eyes flickering in the light of the hearth. “May I make you something for helping us?” He asked more than offered, as if her accepting his gift would be a kinder deed that his offer in itself.

She smiled, “Of course you may, dear, is there anything you need?”

His eyes travelled down and up the front of her dress, examining every part of the fabric, “Turn around, please.”

After looking over her once again, he listed, “A needle, scissors, thread, and... two square meters of any fabric you choose. Do you have those things?”

The witch produced them all from a room in the back, and Luca set to work, carefully designing a far more lovely gown than any human could imagine.

Camden watched her brother’s nimble little hands weave the needle through the cloth, crafting before her eyes a long, elegant dress fit for royalty.

“I never cease to be completely transfixed when an elf is at work.” The witch observed. “Now what might your craft be, child?”

Cam stared at the ground in shame. “I don’t believe I have one. Or at lease I don’t know of it yet. Luca had it easy, as sewing is something most people try early in life. But if I do have a craft it must be a very rare one, as  I have tried to do all of the common ones, and none of them fit. I’ve always been in hiding with my family, so I don’t get out enough to try and learn about myself. I’m too busy staying alive.”

The witch was sympathetic, “Don’t be ashamed. I once knew an elf who did not find his craft until he had twenty seven years on him. And do you know what it was?”

“What?” Cam asked, genuinely interested.

“He designed the most remarkable tombstones you should ever see. People would pay him a thousand silver whits for their grave to be marked with a tombstone of his making. But, alas, he grew old and died many years back. Needless to say, his grave was so extravagant that it was looted but a week after his final resting place had been sealed.”

Cam smiled, the story surprisingly encouraging. “How long ago was this? Hasn’t it been centuries since elves have been allowed a burial?” She realised something, “Wait, how old are you?”

“Don’t you know that that’s a rude question?” The witch winked, “I am, however, surely the oldest person you will ever meet.”

Luca stood up, proudly displaying his work, “Do you like it?” he asked the witch hopefully.

“Oh, but it is almost too marvelous for human hands!” she cried, but still took the dress into the back room to change.

            Luca grinned at Cam, and she smiled back, ruffling his hair. “That was very kind of you.”

            The witch pranced through the kitchen to the table, her old muddy boots standing out clearly below the beautiful dress. “This fits better than any dress I have ever worn,” she declared, “and you measured me with nothing but your eyes.”

            Luca grinned widely, “I know. I’m really good,” he declared, revealing his level of modesty. “You shouldn’t wear that too much or else a soldier might realize that you have been with elves.”

“I shall have to take that risk, as I may never wear another thing again.” she lamented, “whatever shall I do with my other clothing?”

Luca smiled again, and yawned loudly.

“You, my dear, must head to bed.” the witch informed Luca, who she escorted into a room with a straw bed and candle.

“Cam, honey, you may stay up as late as you need. You may share the bed on which your brother rests. I, on the other hand, am off to my potions.”

In response to Cam’s questioning expression the witch explained, “I do not sleep.”

And it was left at that.

Cam did not sleep that night at all but stared at the fireplace, remembering the moment she had realised that her house was on fire and her parents caught.

That was not going to happen to her brother, if her life depended upon it. And something inside her knew it would.