21(Summary: Finn has lost her dearest sister. Libby was the most powerful shaman of her coven and she went to the cursed kingdom of Endymythalian in an attempt to help the dying people. She never returned. Finn knows her sister isn't dead so she's going after her. However, as powerful as Libby was, is as weak as Finn is. Can the weakest shaman in the coven do what the most powerful could not?
Vallor is the last elf king of the human lands. It is an honor and a great burden. Cursed because of his own crimes, he feels only helpless guilt as he sees his kingdom and people wasting away. When Finn arrives in his city, he knows that he can't watch another shaman destroy herself for a hopeless cause. Can he save this one woman? Can he save his entire people?
The curse of years past runs deep and rumors of Vallor's crimes have begun spreading again at Finn's presence. She's no good for a king, she knows, but she can't help but be attracted to him. Vallor has no right to love anymore, but he's drawn to shaman beyond his own will. Will they be able to break the curse, or is Endymythalian doomed to die?)
Dedicated to Yannick for helping me come up with then refine this idea. This one is for you. I hope you all like it.
The Cursed Kingdom
"Sweet little blossom...Grow...Please."
Finn frowned at the tiny, wilting daisy peeking up from the dark soil below. It was having trouble getting nutrients through its frail roots when fighting against the emerald green grass all around it. It was the only white flower as yet this early spring and it was struggling. Finn had been spending the better part of ten minutes trying to coax it back to life.
Cupping her hands around it, she touched a long, slender finger to the thin, delicate white petals. Browning as the flower died. It quivered at her touch but still didn't stand straight. No petals fell, at least.
Finn let out a quick breath, blowing an errant strand of hair from her face. The twisting brown lock was shorter than the rest of her waist length curls so it had a tendency to escape and fall right in front of her eye, tickling her nose.
Leaning in closer to the flower, Finn breathed gently on the daisy. She was laying out on her belly, her calf length skirt flaring out around her thighs as her legs kicked gently in the air. Her knitted blue shawl had fallen from her shoulders and sat against her brown dress and the green grass. Her shoes had been kicked off far back on the plains and she had set them down unceremoniously beside her when she had leaned down to touch the flower. The formerly brown flats had been stolen by her younger sisters a few days ago then returned yesterday embroidered with flowers.
They were now Finn's favorite shoes. She normally didn't even wear shoes, but she loved them so much that she couldn't help but bring them with her everyday. Sitting next to the shoes, tied shut, was the newly purchased travel bag from town.
Finn laid down in the grass for a while more, green eyes looking over a freckle speckled, pert nose at the dimming light of the flower. She was going to make this flower grow if she had to spend the next hour perched here in this grass. It was a matter of principle.
It didn't come to that. It only took another three minutes of pushing her energy into it before the dull light of the flower started brightening again along with Finn's face. A large smile broke out over her mouth creating twin dimples in her cheeks as the flower head perked up.
Bright, pealing laughter escaped from her throat as her feet kicked in excitement. It was such a little thing, but this flower would live. It meant a lot to her.
Mission accomplished, she pushed herself up again. The blood rushed from her head at the sudden movement and she had to sit there for a moment to catch her balance again. As her eyes blinked away the dizziness, she heard the soft rustling of grass to her right.
Turning, she beamed at the brown rabbit kit that jumped into her view. He lifted himself onto his back paws, little front paws curling in the air as his tiny pink nose twitched, exposing the soft white fur spread over his belly.
"There you are Ebow," Finn beamed, lowering her hand.
The rabbit kit was so tiny that he fit easily into her palm. She beamed, raising the baby rabbit up to her eyes. One of her other fingers reached up to gently pet him along the top of his head.
:What you doing?: The kit asked her curiously, nose twitching.
"I was bringing the flower back to life," she showed him her success. "See?"
:Pretty!: Her rabbit cooed in awe.
Finn laughed at the sound of his amazement. He was just a baby, everything was new and beautiful to him. It was nice to show him the world for just that reason. Every delighted reaction made her appreciate everything old anew.
Cradling him to her chest, Finn got slowly back to her feet. She continued petting his tiny, warm body as she slipped her feet back into her shoes.
"Did you eat?" Finn asked, cradling her baby to her chest.
:Found the sweet grass. Liked it a lot.:
"Clover? It's already growing? It's early this year."
:Sweet. Like it.:
"I know you do." Finn started walking up the hill again, continuing on towards home. The trip had been interrupted by the crying of the dying flower. Finn hadn't been able to ignore those tiny, silent pleas. She supposed she had a weakness for that kind of thing.
She wasn't far from the top of the hill. As she crested the apex, a bright smile came over her face. The wind swept the annoying short lock of hair from her eyes and the view of her home, her beautiful home, was unimpeded.
Finn had lived here since she was only nine summers old. Yet it never failed to take her breath away. It was the most beautiful place in all the world.
The stone temple, built to honor the shaman of the region, was in the center of sprawling, unrestricted field filled with trees, flowers, bushes, and grasses. A small stream wound close to the temple, supplying water to the oasis. Not that it needed it. With the presence of so many shaman, those plants there would continue growing even in the middle of a long drought.
The temple was home of Finn's coven. The shaman had taken her in when disease took her parents. It welcomed her, raised her, sheltered her. And, now that she was older, it was her own place as well. She had joined the ranks of the shaman without hesitation when it came time to make that choice. The Price of Tens had meant nothing to her then, she was happy to pay to be one of her family.
Finn started down towards the temple, bright smile on her face. Ebow sniffed at the air, excited at the smells of all the flora growing over the land.
From here, Finn could see her younger sisters playing in the garden. Practicing growing things with abilities they hadn't had for very long yet. They had just come back from the elf providence about a week ago. Finn could still remember doing that very same thing at their age and the sight of it made her smile.
As Finn came down from the hill, aiming towards the front of the temple steps, Mother Mirayam stepped out into the large, open doorway. She looked sorrowful at the sight of her. Finn gave her a bright, beaming smile as she lowered Ebow down into the deep skirt pocket in the front of her dress. The kit assured her that he liked being in there. He enjoyed the rocking motion when she walked.
"You left at dawn," Mirayam said, wrapping her arms around herself as Finn came in closer.
"I didn't want to wake anyone," Finn said serenely, facing the coven mother without hesitation.
"We thought you were gone."
"I wouldn't leave without telling you." Finn walked up the steps. She reached out for her mother, the elder woman that had raised her since she was nine.
Her gray and brown hair, curled close to her head, rustled in the breeze as she frowned at Finn. Her gleaming brown eyes were sad, the few wrinkles in her timeless face had deepened with stress. Finn hated to have to put that look on her mother's face.
It only got worse, drawing in tighter, when Mirayam spotted the travel bag.
"I can't talk you out of this, can I?"
"I have to go."
"No, Finn. You have to stay! You can't do this. You're too-" Mirayam cut herself off, quickly.
Finn looked at her feet. "You can say it. Weak. I'm too weak."
"Finn, that's not what I..." Mirayam hesitated, unsure how to assure Finn that she wasn't insinuating any such thing while still wanting to convince her to stay for that very reason.
"I know I'm not so powerful as Libby, but...Mother, I have to go."
"Finn, no-"
"It's been months! Not a single letter. Libby wouldn't do that. She wouldn't! You know something is wrong. You can't go. You have to look after the sisters and the orphans. Someone has to keep them safe from their new powers and you know I'm too weak to do it."
"You're not weak, Finn. You're just...more focused. Your power doesn't spread out wide like your sisters' does."
"Mother, please. I'm weak in my energy, not weak in my head."
Mirayam shook her head, tightening her grip on Finn's hands. "I've already lost one daughter to that cursed kingdom. Don't make me lose another. Finn, your energy is so...Well, Libby was just so powerful. If she can't make it..."
"But that's precisely why it has to be me," Finn pressed quickly. "Because I'm so weak. I have so little energy to drain. Maybe the land won't affect me so badly."
"Or it will drain you more quickly."
"That's a risk I'm willing to take." Finn gave Mirayam a serious, firm look. "I love Libby. She's my sister."
"You have more sisters here!"
"You don't mean that. You would miss any of us equally if we went missing."
"Exactly. It's hard enough on me to lose one daughter. Libby was loved, and I will mourn her for years to come. Don't double my grief by making me lose you, too."
Finn smiled. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss against her mother's cheek. The older woman had tears in her eyes because she already knew that Finn couldn't be talked out of this. She had to try.
"I'll come back, mother. And I'll bring Libby with me. I'll make her apologize for worrying you so."
Tears fell freely as Mirayam grabbed hold of Finn and squeezed her close.
"You must come back, Finn. If it gets too hard, I don't care how much or little progress you've made, come back. I'd rather have just you then to lose both of you."
Finn nodded, returning her mother's embrace. "I'm going to say goodbye to the sisters. I've got my bag packed already. I only need some food to take with me. Can you...?"
"Yes, of course. I'll get you some money as well."
"I don't need-"
"Nonsense. Your title as shaman will only mean so much. I'd rather you have it and not need it. Go say goodbye, I'll pack your food."
Finn beamed at her before walking quickly into the temple. Mirayam closed her eyes and let a prayer to the Sun Goddess that gave life to all her children.
See to Finn's safety, great one. I implore you. Bring Finn back to us from that cursed land.
Vallor had long ago given up begging the blooms around his castle to grow. They wouldn't. No matter how well the plots were treated. No fertilizer, no skilled gardener, no amount of energy pushed into the soil would ever make anything live again.
The plants around the castle had been the first ones to die.
Endymythalian was a land of death and decay. Over the last four years the famine, drought, and plague had been spreading across the entirety of the kingdom. Reports of entire villages being wiped out seemed to reach Vallor's ears daily now. Rivers, lakes, streams were drying up. Even the hardiest, most determined of plants withered away in the dry soil. The violet fever burned through the population, killing the weak and infirm easily. Torturing those who weren't lucky enough to die quickly.
The borders of death had finally reached the far edges of his kingdom. For the last four years, it had been slowly, certainly spreading across the land. Sweeping up countless lives in its wake. All originating from Dalamerian, the capital of Endymythalian.
All originating from King Vallor of Endymythalian. The Last Elf King. At the rate things were going, the very last elf king...
The sound of his boots echoing down the cold halls of his palace were hollow and dull. The long rugs placed on the floor meant to absorb the sound did little. They had become worn so thin over the last four years that they might not have been there at all. There just wasn't a good enough reason that any could think of to replace or even just take them up. Not when there were always so many more important things to tend to.
It was early morning. The dim sunlight coming in through the wide windows had barely alleviated the darkness inside yet. Vallor hadn't slept well last night. To be honest, he hadn't slept well in about six years, but last night had been especially bad. The nightmares that plagued his dreams most every night had been vicious to a far greater degree.
They hadn't released their hold on him until just a few minutes ago. Instead of trying to fight his way back to sleep, Vallor had decided to just get up. His valet had long ago quit in order to flee the kingdom and, as he was the third to do so, Vallor had just chosen not to replace him. At this point, he was used to dressing himself in the morning.
It had been a long time since Vallor had worn anything befitting his station as king. Like changing the worn rugs in the halls, it just wasn't important enough to warrant attention. When his wardrobe began falling apart, he had simply replaced it with more sturdy, common materials. The kind of thing one could dress ones self in, considering his lack of attendant.
So where he would have once worn an elaborate doublet, he now wore a simple brown vest over a white cotton shirt with billowing sleeves that tied at his wrists and opened at his throat. His dark brown breeches were tucked into a pair of old, worn brown boots that he wouldn't have been caught dead wearing just a few years ago.
It was amazing how much a man could change when he had to decide what really mattered.
The clothing style was very much human, but that had always been his preference as it had been his father's before him.
We are kings of humans, Vallor, his father used to say. Therefore we should live as humans.
Which was handy. The elaborate, trailing, multilayered robes that elves preferred not only required multiple people to put on but also required equally elaborate upkeep. Elves also tended to have much more complicated systems of class and protocol. The kind of thing that would have just gotten in the way when the kingdom started dying.
Vallor was a proud, pure blooded elf that behaved very much like a human. And he was just as proud of that as he was his heritage. His family had been straddling the line between human and elf for almost as long as the kingdom had belonged wholly to humans.
Behind the human clothes, Vallor looked very classically like an elf. From his long, pointed ears reaching backwards to the flat nose on his face. Even the silver hair on his head was a very traditional elf color, especially for the Endymythel clan he was from. It had gotten a bit long since grooming it also fell under the heading of rather unimportant, so it was hanging down around his face, the back of it tied into a short tail in a leather thong. The hair almost seemed to flow like water as it moved about his head with each purposeful step.
The silver, whirling lines, ubiquitous to the elf people, across his face, neck, and shoulders seemed to pulse just slightly in time with his heartbeat. Legend said that the lines were a gift from the earth spirits when they passed their power onto the elf race. All elves had them, even the rare few, like Vallor, who weren't actually capable of wielding energy.
Vallor was not handsome by elf standards at all. His features weren't sharp enough, the expression in his ice blue eyes wasn't lofty enough. By human standards, however, he was considered attractive. At least enough that he wouldn't lack for companions had the times not been so troubled. As it was, Vallor hadn't enjoyed the company of a woman in such a way in a long time.
That was another thing that fell under the heading of 'unnecessary'.
Though it was early morning, Vallor still had a lot to do. Another good thing about his style change was the simple fact that the sturdier clothing was easier to work in. And, especially with the lack of capable hands, Vallor didn't lack for work.
His first stop for the morning was the palace kitchens. He had been there often as a boy to steal pastries and other goodies. As an adult, now in the middle of a famine, he went there to help the strained kitchen staff by doing some cooking.
The men and women there didn't pay him any mind as he stepped inside. He took one of the spare aprons off the wall and got to work.
He wasn't much of a cook, but he could cut vegetables like a pro. Which he did often in the mornings as the staff boiled the one dish that persisted. A watered down, often tasteless soup. There weren't spices anymore, and whatever was cooked into the stew was often cut into such small pieces that it might not have even been there at all.
Vallor did that until the sun came up. He got into a rhythm of just cutting whatever withered, dry, or even outright moldy vegetables came into his view. The tiny pieces he cut them into enabled the chef to water the soup down even further, to stretch their meager resources as far as they could.
Then, as the dead courtyard brightened, Vallor hung his apron back up and went outside to the healers' tent on the front lawn of the palace. It had been erected during the first outbreak of the violet fever and had stood resolutely since. It was a place to get free medicine, treatment, and aid for the sick, the injured, or the dying.
Out there, Vallor assisted by rolling bandages, grinding dried herbs, and helping to treat the more minor wounds to ease the burden on the already overworked healers. He ate with the other workers in the tent when the watery soup came their way from the palace kitchens. The small bowl was shallow and unfilling, but Vallor's hunger hadn't been fully sated in a long time. He drank the food down quickly before getting back to work.
He did that for a few hours then changed jobs to help the body burners. That was the only profession that didn't suffer from the plague and famine. Vallor helped those men create a funeral pyre of all those who had died yesterday and the night before since the last burning. It was a nasty, back breaking job since the bodies had to be carted far from the population to be burned. It was necessary though since the rotting dead would do more damage if they stayed in the city.
Around noon, Vallor washed his hands then returned to the palace. Not to rest or eat lunch but to make his daily stop at the royal treasury. The underground vaults had been stripped nearly bone dry by the lean years. Vallor had often needed to buy surplus food and supplies from the neighboring countries just to keep his people alive a bit longer.
There was still enough to slip a few coins into a small sack. With that weighing down his vest, he returned above ground. The sunlight beat down on him harshly. It was the end of summer, fall was coming, soon to be followed by winter. Since the famine had begun, even the seasons had changed. Summer clung tight, burning everything and drying the land out. Then it switched almost too quickly and winter's bite sank its fangs into them through late spring. With the cold, Vallor would loose even more citizens.
Though, honestly, he didn't know if his kingdom would survive at all. It had come to the point where Vallor felt like this winter would be their last. And that only made them prepare all the more desperately, trying to hold onto what little life the land had left.
Vallor moved briskly across the lands of the castle grounds. The grass had long since dried up creating a sea of dry, lifeless dirt and brown husks of plants around the cobblestone path that had once wound through a beautiful garden.
The further down the path he went, the straighter his spine became. His jaw tightened. His hands closed into fists as he prepped his will as though for a battle.
The scent of flowers and leaves filled Vallor with a painful longing. The sight of greenery, the sound of water flowing hurt his heart.
The beautiful garden was like a beacon from the heavens. It looked completely out of place. Because it was.
The outer wall was a perfect border between Vallor's dead land and the life inside the mansion. The elf style palace was built in and around a large tree that draped gracefully over the still living land that persisted beyond the gates. Occasionally, the leaves on the tree would fall onto his land. People were known to gather around the tree and hope to catch them for some sort of nutrition.
It was a place immune to the curse because, technically, that land didn't belong to Endymythalian. The land beyond the iron gate and stone walls belonged to the Rhyanon elf clan. The building on it was an elven embassy.
And the single occupant of the home was Enral Dalamar Rhyanon. Vallor's mother. Former queen of Endymythalian. Current ambassador of the Rhyanon clan.
Vallor let himself in through the gate. The garden, once filled with beautiful and exotic flowers, had changed a great deal. Now all the available space was being used to grow vegetables. Beans, carrots, potatoes, beets, and radishes. Most of the food from the palace kitchen came from these gardens. And their single caretaker, Vallor's mother, never stopped turning over the plots of living earth.
She was already hard at work when he stepped inside. Unlike her son, Enral was very powerful. She was, in fact, considered the most powerful woman of her clan. And the most beautiful besides.
Vallor had inherited her ice blue eyes, but nothing else. Enral had straight black hair, a trait of her clan, that flowed freely down to her calves since she retained the taste for elf styles from their forest kingdoms. It used to have always been crafted into elaborate, stunning styles. Since none of her lady's maids remained after the curse started, these days it was mostly just hanging free in that strangely fluid way that elven locks moved.
Her flat nose was sharp, her lips full and usually cast into a hard line, and her thick black eyelashes made her eyes seem larger than they were. She was one of the rare few considered to be beautiful by both elven and human standards.
Her silver elf lines covered her hands, wrists, and forearms with twin errant lines on her neck. All of them showcased proudly by sleeveless clothing she wore that was usually a cross between voluminous elven robes and more simple human gowns. A style that she had created when she had traveled from her elf clan to be queen of Endymythalian.
"Evening, Vallor," she said calmly, standing up from beside her green bean patch. "These should be finished growing in a few hours. Have someone come by to pick them up, all right?"
"Yes, mother," Vallor said calmly, stepping to her side.
Enral's great pool of energy had been stretched to its absolute limits. As she was only an ambassador and no longer queen, she was allowed to live on these lands that weren't Vallor's. And since they weren't his, they were immune to his curse. But since she had once been queen, she felt it her duty to use her not inconsiderable energy to grow food for Vallor's people.
"The beets should be ready by tonight," she continued, looking calmly to a patch in the corner of the garden. "The potatoes by morning."
"Wonderful. Thank you."
"Of course. Well, if that's all-"
"You know very well it isn't," Vallor gave her a small glare.
"Don't you have more important things to do?"
"An infinite amount, but this is next on the list."
"Go back to work, Vallor."
"Take the money, mother."
The two of them looked at each other, cool gaze to stony glare. Vallor was already holding out the small bag of coins. Enral looked at it, then up to him.
"No," she said simply before turning.
Vallor growled as he followed her around to the next patch; carrot shoots.
"Mother, stop being unreasonable." Vallor said unhappily. "Why won't you just take the money?"
"You're the one being unreasonable. This food is a gift from the Rhyanon clan," Enral told him regally as she lowered herself down beside the carrots. "It ruins the purpose of a gift if you pay for it."
Vallor crossed his arms, angry, as he stood over his mother. He watched as she reached her hand out over the plants. The silver lines on her skin glowed just a bit brighter as the energy transferred from her into the small plants.
The reason they grew so fast was because of that energy transfer. Vallor was sure his people would have died off a great deal quicker if it weren't for his mother's assistance. And while she insisted that the food was a gift, the fact remained that she was practically killing herself to create them. She pushed herself to exhaustion each day, then repeated herself the next.
Guilt was eating Vallor alive. Not just for bringing such a curse onto his people, but for forcing his mother to do this. He hadn't asked it of her, of course. She had started doing this on her own without even telling him. He only found out when he started spotting strangely healthy vegetables in the kitchens when he was on morning duty.
So he wanted to pay her for them. At least give her something. He was already giving her a fraction of what the food was worth in the meager coins he could spare. And while it would have been easier to just accept the food, that also brought with it a danger.
The curse was a many layered, vicious thing. The drought met with the famine clashed with the plague mixed altogether in the general feeling of anxiety and disquiet that permeated the air. It was very peculiar. It traveled only to the borders of his kingdom then stopped dead. The other kingdoms weren't at all affected. Which was why his mother's embassy, as part of the Rhyanon clan lands, was able to thrive even in the middle of all this death.
Vallor was honestly terrified that one day the curse might rebound on her because of the countless 'gifts' of food. He wouldn't put it past the curse to do so just to rob him of that source of free food. So he felt like if he paid for it, he might prevent that fate.
It was probably superstitious nonsense, but he had to believe something...
Vallor didn't bother to keep arguing with her. She wouldn't be able to hear him in a trance anyway. So he walked to the end of her garden and placed the bag on the long wooden table of gardening supplies there. Then he gave his mother another look before leaving.
He still had a great many things to do today.
State business was reserved for the afternoon. Giving plenty of time for Vallor's advisers to gather reports of what had changed during the night and morning. Vallor used to receive those reports first thing in the day, but it was easier to receive it later. The curse liked to work while people were sleeping and often the ax would fall when no one was looking. The violet fever had been the most recent thing to begin in the dead of night and Vallor had been grateful to receive the news of it immediately rather than the next day.
When his father had been king, receiving reports had been a rather dull business. Tax collector numbers, food reserve estimates, and general population accounts. After hearing from his advisers, King Taloos would then go to the throne room and begin meeting with people from the kingdom in an attempt to see to their problems personally.
Vallor was ashamed to say that the personal meetings had been the first thing to go. There was nothing he could do about the only problems people would bring him anymore. Food was already scarce, medicine was used as quickly as it was made, and he was already doing everything else that he could.
How disappointed his father would be if he could see how far Endymythalian had fallen.
Nowadays, Vallor longed for the days when reports had been dull, boring affairs. He actually found himself dreaming sometimes about what it had been like a lifetime ago when this was familiar. All he ever heard now was death tolls, future death estimates, farmable land percentages, and more towns that had been wiped out by the violet fever.
Today he was informed that they were nearly out of wood to burn the bodies. There had been an outbreak of the violet fever in the south part of the city, but it had quickly been contained. It was estimated that those quarantined would be dead or no longer contagious but wishing they were dead in about a week. Drinkable water was at an all time low and, though people were desperate enough to drink even contaminated water, efforts were being made to attempt to clean it somehow. Initial tests weren't promising, but people were trying.
Vallor also approved a payment from the treasury to the eastern kingdom of Miraliker to buy food that the kingdom had a surplus of after a very good growing season. Even Poth, to the north, had more food then they would need for the winter. As though Endymythalian's misfortunes were somehow benefiting the others, every other kingdom was going through a great time of growth and prosperity. The injustice of it made Vallor was to rip his own hair out.
Instead, he bought their surplus food and supplies. The rulers of the foreign kingdoms were sympathetic to his plight, and he had known all of them personally since he was a child, so they were being very generous with their prices. Still, it hurt Vallor to see the amount that it would cost to feed his people for another month.
He then listened to the royal treasurer bemoan their destitution. Taxes had been cut as much as could be allowed. Most couldn't pay anyway. Those that could parted with their precious coin unwillingly. It was only knowing that Vallor only bought them more food and medicine that pried it from their hungry hands.
Still, that wasn't enough to cover the full price for buying more supplies. When King Taloos had died, the treasury had been full and the people had considered their taxes fair. Now, as king, Vallor's treasury was about to be empty and those people that still had the ability to pay taxes declared the decreased demands to be too steep.
Then he fended complaints by the overworked healers. The hungry poor. The destitute farmers. The victims of the lawless. The mothers of infants lost to the fever or hunger. Continuing on and on in that vein until Vallor wanted to rip his own heart out. He would, at this point, if he thought it would be of any help to his people.
"Don't suppose there's any good news today?" Vallor asked, rubbing his aching temples.
His council of advisers shared a look that was hardly encouraging.
"What?" Vallor asked, resigned to the fact that there would be none coming. Not that there had been any at all in recent times.
"There are rumors, my lord," one of the men, Holith, started simply.
"Not those ones again. I've already told you-"
"Oh, no, not those. It's...well, it is related."
"Just tell me."
"I've heard that, sometime yesterday, a shaman entered into the city."
The loud groan of dismay echoed from multiple mouths throughout the table.
"Then those rumors are bound to appear again," one of the men said, dropping his head onto his hands.
"How did a shaman make it all the way here to Dalamerian?" Another one frowned. "It's been years since we've seen a shaman here."
"No, it's only been a few months," someone else corrected. "Don't forget that last one-"
"Ah! You're right. I believe she was only here a day or so, right? Whatever happened to her?"
"What kind of question is that? Obviously she died. Are you suggesting the king did something?"
"Of course not!" The man who had questioned the shaman's fate threw up his hands quickly, eyes darting over to where Vallor was sitting.
Vallor ignored their conversation. He was frowning at the thought of yet another shaman attempting to come here. He appreciated what they tried to do, he really did. However, countless shaman dying on his lands was probably only making the curse worse.
"This shaman came here yesterday?" He asked, cutting off more accusations of disloyalty. He didn't really care about those at this moment.
"Yes, my lord," someone else said quickly. "I hear she was attempting to help heal and feed those in town. In which case, I don't think she'll live beyond today."
"She must be incredibly powerful to have made it this far," Vallor frowned thoughtfully. "She won't survive long here though. Where is she?"
"I've heard that she's traveling towards the city center. Helping people as she can. The famine must be sapping her strength a great deal though for she can only do very small feats after a great deal of concentration."
"Something must be done," someone frowned. "I don't think I can have another shaman's death on my head. They're nice women, really, and it's disheartening to see them perish one after another."
"I will see to her myself," Vallor said, getting to his feet. "If there's no other business...? No? See that the payment for the food gets sent out today. Send men to check to see if anything remains of the northwest woods. We might still be able to obtain lumber from there, assuming that the trees haven't all been wiped out already."
Nodding once to his advisers, Vallor walked quickly from the chamber.
Cursing this woman internally, he began walking towards the exit of the palace itself.
Originally, he had happy, maybe even hopeful, every time he had heard that another shaman had decided to try their hand at healing his cursed land. Which was what shaman were for, really. Ending plagues and famines, increasing the fertility of the land and its people. In the beginning, especially, shaman had been drawn to his kingdom like moths to a flame to try and lend their strength to his ailing land.
Though they were weaker than elves, shaman wielded the exact same kind of energy. The kind that connected them to the land through their Vow of Tens and gave them power. However, because they were the same kind, they came with the same weaknesses.
Just as Enral couldn't leave the embassy for long periods of time, shaman couldn't walk on his land for more than a few days, depending on how much energy the shaman had. The curse over his land sapped their energy steadily the longer they remained and continued to do so until the shaman or elves were nothing but dry husks. As the curse gathered power through the years, so too did the draining effect.
It had only taken a few months for all the shaman native to Vallor's kingdom to die. Any elves that remained either died or fled to the safety of elven lands. It was only a few years after that foreign shaman stopped coming, no longer lured by their duty to their Vow. Occasionally, one would still cross the border despite everything they had heard, but it was a rare thing now.
If this shaman had made it all the way to the capital, she must be very powerful. The less energy a shaman carried, the sooner the land drained them. However, no shaman, no matter how powerful, was ever as powerful as an elf. As the last elf king, Vallor had a great many contacts to powerful elves and none of them could dent the curse on his land. There was no way a shaman had a chance. He had to get this woman off of his land before she died.
Like his advisers, Vallor didn't want another death on his head. He already had a countless number from the famine, the plague, the desperation. If he could save even one number, then that would be something to him.
Finn knew that Endymythalian was bad. Every shaman in the near kingdoms, and no few number in the far ones, knew that the situation in Endymythalian was bad. They also knew that it was a death sentence to come here.
Shaman had set up camps very close to the border of the country. When Finn had crossed, she had stayed as a guest of one of their number and heard the stories of Endymythalian.
The land was dying, rapidly. Far too rapidly. It wasn't natural. All the shaman knew that it had to be due to some kind of curse. There was nothing they could do to stop it though. The power that had created the curse, whatever it was, was far more powerful than any of them had the ability to stop, even combined. Since the king was the last elf king, some speculated that it might even be an elf laid curse.
Even if it was though, it would take multitudes of elves to do this kind of long lasting damage. It was almost like the earth spirits themselves had abandoned this place.
The shaman camps around the kingdom had set up places of prayer and offerings to the earth spirits in an effort to coax their mighty powers into healing the land.
In the meantime, from the camps, the shaman were growing food that they would send into the country right there from the border. Every day a few would enter into the country itself to work their energy on the ill and infirm then quickly return before the curse could drain them. Since none could enter for long periods of time, this was the most they could do to help.
All of them had begged Finn not to go when she explained what she was planning to do. They didn't remember meeting Libby, though she could have stopped at a completely different camp. They did assure her that, if she had been gone as long as Finn said, then she was already dead. The curse on Endymythalian was not a forgiving one.
Despite that, Finn was determined. When the entourage of shaman entered the country the next day to distribute food and energy, Finn went with them and began her journey through the kingdom.
It was bad on the border. But at least the border towns had the shaman that had set up camp outside of the kingdom to care for them. The further inland Finn traveled, the worse things became.
She passed through towns decimated by something called the violet fever. It left people covered in horrible bruises, coughing and choking on their own blood, while crying for help from a debilitating fever that lasted for days. Those who hadn't died from the fever and managed to survive were left with bodies incredibly susceptible to pain and bruising until they took their own lives to end the suffering the disease left.
She passed through cities that had been reduced to lawless wastelands. If she had carried anything with her, it would have been taken by people driven mad and desperate by hunger and fear. She wouldn't have begrudged them taking it either. Like most shaman though, Finn didn't travel with much. Shaman believed in a minimalist lifestyle.
Which was handy because 'minimum' was exactly what Endymythalian had.
Finn didn't lack for places to sleep where people still lived. They were desperate to give her food and shelter in the hopes that she could give them something in return.
Finn did her best. She blessed seeds to coax them to grow in this dead land. She attempted to heal the dying. She poured all of her energy, which wasn't much, into giving back to these people. Even if her Vow hadn't demanded it of her, she wouldn't have been able to resist. She couldn't ignore a call for help and these people needed help desperately.
It didn't take long at all for the curse to begin weighing on her. Pulling her down. Draining her of even the small amount of energy she possessed. Sometimes, it was all she could do just to get up and continue moving, much less try to give out her energy to the needy.
Her little rabbit kit didn't fair much better. Ebow whimpered softly from the pain of the land. He wished to be anywhere but here. Though he loved Libby as much as Finn did and he wasn't going to insist they leave, Finn could tell that he dearly wanted to escape.
As soon as they found Libby, she promised her bunny. She knew that Libby hadn't died. They were closer than sisters, closer than the average shaman sibs. Finn would know if Libby had died. She would feel the hole in her heart.
Stubbornly, she kept moving forward. The curse of Endymythalian continued dragging down on her, but she pressed on.
Through one town, then the next. She always asked for Libby. She helped when she could. Mostly, she tried to gather enough energy to keep walking. Finn could easily see how this place was capable of killing scores of shamans. It was a wonder that normal people weren't drained of their life here.
In fact, Finn wasn't all that certain that they weren't.
All the happiness and hope had dried up in this place as surely as the crops in the fields. People had become so desperate that there was nothing growing anywhere, and what little did had all been eaten, down to the smallest blade of grass. Finn insisted that Ebow remain in her skirt at almost all times. She knew what would happen if these people saw a small animal. Even a kit like Ebow wouldn't escape the cooking pot because there was nothing else to put in it.
Days passed, and Finn didn't die.
She came close. A few times, the owner of whatever house she was staying in would have to shake her violently to awaken her from a death like slumber. Which worried Finn considerably. She didn't imagine that she would be able to last for much longer.
Despite that, she kept on traveling.
Dalamerian, the capital city of Endymythalian had been the crown jewel of the country once. A large, bustling metropolis that boasted low crime and high wealth, it was now a shadow of its former self. It stood, dark and dying, with disease and death swirling around the air. As though the curse was strangling the entire country from this place.
The people were better fed here. Marginally. They had access to healers. Sort of. They were healthier here. To a degree. So those that hadn't congregated at the border where the shaman were doing their best had come here instead. Finn imagined it was because the king himself lived here. She wondered what kind of man he was.
Did he look out of his window each morning, witness this suffering, and numb himself to it? Or did he give every drop of sweat and blood to these dying people?
She had no way to know. She also didn't care. This was exactly where Libby had told her she would be going. Finn had to find word of her here or she would have no where else to look.
So she began helping the people.
As before, she didn't lack for places to sleep. Everyone wanted her blessings upon them. No one seemed to mind that it took her a great deal of time and effort to cast even a small amount of energy on something or someone. They were beaten and broken and attributed her lack of skill to the drain that must have occurred on her to make it this far.
It was a convenient excuse and Finn used it gratefully. She worked herself to exhaustion. Until she collapsed, unable to keep herself up any longer. And every person that she met, she asked after Libby. If they had seen her. If they had heard of her.
No one had. People seemed reluctant to even speak of shaman that had visited this place before. They gave her pitying looks. They knew she was going to die. Until she did though, they were going to sap every bit of energy they could from her. It was her job to give and they were so desperate as to take it all even knowing it would kill her.
When Finn woke up the next morning, with Ebow scratching at her neck in order to restore her to consciousness, her entire body was sore. Like she had been beaten with a bag of rocks. Her joints cried out in pain when she attempted to stand. She had to fight back the urge to be physically ill. She had no appetite any longer and only ate the meager offerings she was given because she knew that she had to in order to keep her strength up.
Ebow bemoaned her state. He begged her to stop helping.
"I can't," she told her kit, stroking his head gently.
:You die!: The tiny thing cried, sounding absolutely devastated by the thought.
"I won't die," she promised him, rather sure it was an empty promise by now. She kissed his head, stroking back his ears. "Come on. We're going to head to the town center today. There's lots of people that still need help."
:Too many. You no help. You die if you try...:
"Nonsense. I feel as strong as an ox!" Finn flashed him a bright smile as she tucked him into the safety of her skirt pocket.
With him out of sight, she could let her exhaustion show on her face.
This land...
The town square was still a place of commerce and trade, even in these troubled times. Finn made her way down and was almost immediately given a space to work. A thin rug to sit on over the stone ground, a goblet of semi-fresh water, and a thin bowl of soup.
Then the people began appearing. Mothers with sick children. Farmers with dead seeds. No one had the violet fever, not here. The fever had been contained to the south part of the city and none were allowed to enter or leave. However, normal illnesses had taken just as much advantage of the hunger and weakness caused by the curse. Those that couldn't be seen by the healers' tent set up near the palace came to her.
Finn did her best. She had to rest often, but she didn't give up. Until the last drop of her own life was drained from her, she would keep giving. Because her Vow demanded it. Because her own morals demanded it.
She began sweating. Her stomach turned. More than once, she had to fight back the gray edges of unconsciousness from her mind. The people were patient with her, because they didn't really have any other option. Though she could tell it cost something for them not to throw themselves at her and beg for that last bit of her life energy.
It was them or her and, well, she was already doomed just from being here.
If it would have helped, Finn would have given it too. She only resisted doing so with the knowledge that, if she kept herself alive she could help more people when her minuscule amount of energy managed to recover. As much as it could while she was here.
She continued asking after Libby but no one had seen her. No one had heard of her. Some questioned whether she had even made it this far into the kingdom. They tolerated her questions only a moment before they demanded her help again.
And Finn kept giving. Even when she retched up the watery soup. Even when she collapsed and had to wait more than an hour to sit up again. She kept going.
She stopped being able to ask after Libby. When she tried, her tired tongue couldn't form the words, and the people didn't want questions anyway. They wanted more from her.
Fix my son. Heal my wife. Grow these seeds. Save my life! Please, shaman. It's your job. Don't forget your Vow! Thank you, shaman. Give life to this soil. Shaman!
Her tired hands lost control of the potted tomato plant she was holding. The owner of the dying sprout barely managed to catch it before she dropped it. He cried out as more leaves fell from the withering stalk. He touched it tenderly as Finn fell down to the ground into an undignified heap.
"Shaman!" Someone yelled, running forward.
Unable to focus, Finn stared off at nothingness. Her mind tried to order her body to get up, to respond, but it was a pointless task. Her fingers couldn't even twitch.
:Finn!:
She heard Ebow cry out for her, but she couldn't answer him.
Was this it? Was this how far she made it before she succumbed? At least she could say that she had helped a few people. Even if she hadn't found Libby.
Libby.
Forgive me...
Finn heard the hush fall over the crowd. She heard the whispers, the murmurs. She could almost see it from where her head had landed against the stone. Though she couldn't see what had caused it.
Vallor wasn't at all surprised to see the shaman collapsed in the middle of town. He was more surprised that she had made it all the way here. People were gathered all around her, begging her to stand up and help them.
Selfish, desperate people that they were. They didn't seem to care that they had clearly drained the shaman to near death. Looking at the state she made, laid out on the stone unmoving and pale, Vallor was worried that they had actually killed her.
When he bent over her body though, he could see the shine of her eyes, fixed and dilated. The very subtle movement of her chest. She was alive. At least partially.
Gritting his teeth, Vallor slipped one hand under her neck, the other under her legs. He stood up, holding her close to his chest as he looked over her face. Cradling her in his arms like a child, he frowned at the state of her.
Gaunt and pale. She had clearly lost a lot of weight in a short amount of time. Which, in this country, wasn't a surprise. Though he would think that the people would try harder to take care of a shaman. If for no other reason than a living shaman was more useful than a dead one.
Ignoring the whispering and pointing from his people, Vallor turned and walked away with the shaman in his arms. Let them talk as they would. Vallor knew that the rumors would resurface again just from this.
But he might still be able to save her. It might not be too late for this one.