Lady Of Lake And Arrow |A Swan Lake Retelling|: Book One

Chapter 23

Oh Be Clever - River

WARNING: There is a scene of violence (Mentions blood and corpses. Whether this makes you squeamish is entirely up to you). Otherwise, read ahead!

Clamias. The God of the Four Seasons. He is said to be able to shake the world to the core if he wished. Of course, that didn't come without consequences.

The Four Seasons were a force of nature itself; always changing, an eternal thing. Even Clamias could not control it completely–only guard and tame its chaotic disposition.

But being the god of it, Clamias's personality mirrored the seasons. He could change fairly easily–sometimes going as far as letting chaos leak into earth's very surface and attempt to destroy it.

Therefore, he is also seen as the God of Destruction.

- Gods And Other Divine Beings Of Our World -

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Terhen sat on his bed in his room, removing the knives from the sheath around his waist and laying them flat on the table. The one candle ignited in the room gave out a warm glow that lit the darkness of the night. He welcomed the heat, occasionally letting it erupt and dance around his fingers when he felt like it.

The knives gleamed, the leather hilts worn under his touch. He still could not forget the way Jessa looked in the clearing that day, the cunning gaze dissolving as she knelt in unmistakeable agony.

It reminded him of Lark, a novice whom he had worked with time to time with Hester's lot in the Keep. The memory of his blood-covered body made him shudder.

Please, Lark had said. Please . . .

Oh, that had been pleas for mercy alright. But the tone of the former novice's voice indicated something else others wouldn't normally expect.

Mercy . . . for a quick death. That was what it was.

Terhen shook his head, refraining himself as he felt the temperature go up in his room. The candlelight flickered violently. Shadows swayed on the wall from the light it cast.

He sighed, and with a flick of his hand the candle's flame sputtered out. Moonlight streamed in through the windows, creating streaks of dim light that he couldn't help but notice of how there was a vast difference between it and fire. Terhen lay on his bed, an arm over his head as he stared at the ceiling mindlessly. Sleep would not welcome him so soon.

Then someone pounded on his door, jerking him abruptly out of his stupor. He rushed to the door, heart racing, suddenly fearful of the worse possible outcome.

There was no small amount of relief when he saw it was only Raya standing in the doorway.

Well, not until he noticed the panicked expression on her face.

She was still in her nightgown, wearing a cloak that was hastily buttoned and was almost sliding off her shoulder. Her eyes were wild; hair disheveled. This was very much unlike the Raya he knew.

The next words she uttered were enough for Terhen to grab a short knife from his table and dash out of the tower with her within minutes.

"Jessa," she'd said. "There's something wrong happening."

–––

Ryland was asleep when he felt the caress on his face–like a brush of feather across skin.

His eyes snapped open, and he sat up on his bed, touching his cheek. But there was no one in his room, only the rustling of branches of the tree outside his window.