Fîrä

Chapter I

The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished. But this morning, the Ǒrysyä’s clear currents flow eastward again, and soft showers fall from the skyline once more. Our valley of Enhedǔannä—initially at risk of drought due to the Rain Queen’s disappearance—has now been revived with the damp scent of petrichor.

I take a deep breath, allowing the organic perfume to blossom in my lungs. Earth’s richness fills a void within me I didn’t realize was there.

I can’t decide whether the return of the waters is a good or bad omen. A searing, unfathomable hell would unleash upon us were the Queen in distress, so it’s plausible her hostage taker—likely one of the Näephyrîans—is keeping her comfortable. Then again, it would be characteristic of my future sister-in-law to play each of us as fools. A small smile spreads across my lips as I imagine her siphoning riptide powers—moving as a serpentine, undetectable undertow—while feigning still, perfect surface peace. She’d do this, I know, because the last thing she’d want would be for the Näephyrîans to see Enhedǔannä suffering at the hands of a dry spell. The last thing she’d want would be for those monsters to believe they’ve defeated us.

I stare at myself in the mirror of a small pond, studying the way small ripples flee my reflection. It’s as if I startle them with my chaotic long hair, which now frizzes around the crown of my head like a halo. Something’s not right. It’s as if there’s an energy there I can’t yet decipher—one that makes my nerves stand on edge and the fresh scar on my left eyebrow glow. The small, jagged battewound is practically bioluminating, like a lightning bug. What the hell did that Näephyrîan taint his dagger with?

Whatever all of this means, I don’t like it. I decide it’s impossible the Queen’s safe right now, and that I must continue searching for her.

“Follow the signs I’ve left for you, Fǐrä,” I can hear her say. Her voice seeps into the cracks of my mind just as cool, scattered raindrops begin to tickle my warm skin.

Without thinking, I obey. I run my fingers along the surfaces of the path’s boulders, searching for struggle marks. Recently, the Queen and I have become connected in a way I can’t explain. For reasons unknown to either of us, we’ve started telepathizing bits of our thoughts back and forth. It’s a new marvel—one that still needs practice and perfecting. Believe me, I wish it were developed to the point she could magically tell me where she is—that certainly would make this whole ordeal a lot easier. Most of the time, our messages come through unintelligible, like radio static. That said, the Queen’s far more skilled at it than I am. Her words, for the most part, flow in straight lines, whereas mine are sporadic—more difficult to control. Even when I concentrate, my thought waves manifest in unpredictable patterns.

As I stare at some scratch marks in the large chunks of granite, I begin to feel stupid. I want to learn the language of water, but it’s proven to be complicated for me. The Queen’s been trying to teach me for the better part of a year, but it feels like a lost cause. I wouldn’t recognize a note etched out in erosion if it was staring me straight in the face.

“Damn you, Railyňdrä,” I mutter to the Queen, calling her by her name. She’s given me permission to, now that we’re family-to-be.

Railyňdrä is powerful. If she’d wanted to, she could have carved out entire canyons with her force as the Näephyrîans—and their dräeğğalans— dragged her away. I’m not sure why she had to make it so complicated for me to find her, or why she even allowed herself to be kidnapped in the first place. Did she even put up a fight? The Näephyrîans must have harnessed some ultra-divine energy to overpower her like that. I just can’t figure out what could possibly be stronger than water.

I haven’t always been fond of the Queen. We got off to a rough start—she and I. If I’m being honest, it’s because I grew up a bit jealous of her. She’s a few years older than I, exquisitely beautiful, of course, and has always been the silver darling of the village. She wasn’t born a Queen. She earned that title. A decade ago, when the Irolites, our ancestors, came to pay Enhedǔannä their quarter-millennial-visit—during which the next King or Queen of our generation is decided—she was chosen for her adeptness with rain and rivers. I was six at the time, and didn’t quite understand why her abilities were more desired in a royalty role than were mine. From my perspective, rain was wet, dark, and miserable. Rivers were murky and disgusting.

Though young, I was intent on mastering the thaumaturgy of the sun. I became passionate about this idea, I think, because as a child, Momma always told me I was the light of her and my father’s lives. One summer, when they saw how eager I was to master a divine energy, they sent me to the Divinity Academy to harness my skill with the sun. Momma says I was beginning to show exceptional promise at one point. For one reason or another, though, the Irolites overlooked my hard work and chose Railyňdrä—making water the elite and most sacred element of my generation.

“Enhedǔannä has enough sunshine for five hundred more centuries,” the Irolites told my family.

And just like that, Enhedǔannä had a new Rain Queen. Logical as the decision was, my young heart was shattered. Imagine how I felt just four years later, when my brother became betrothed to my rival—the beautiful and powerful Railyňdrä.

I digress.

I’m sifting through handfuls of slippery, crushed stones, still doing what I can to look for signs of water and struggle—when I hear them: the Näephyrîans. Their footsteps are stealthy—almost feline—like those of a leopard stalking prey in the springtime’s pulp. I can only imagine what they think they’ll do to me if they find me here—a sixteen-year-old girl traveling the valley alone—something forbidden now that Enhedǔannä’s under siege.

I have zero intentions of letting them catch sight of me, though. That is, not until it’s too late. I pull my onyx hood over my long curls and crouch in the grasses, becoming one with the dewdrops affixed to the leaves. I can see their half-elven, half-ghoulish figures slushing through the wet sediment. I can feel the callousness on their breaths—a tangible ghost that crawls down my neck.

They’re stealing the water. They have been, for months. I watch as they plunge buckets into muddy puddles and throw the liquid skyward, where it then trickles down into huge wooden troughs fastened to the backs of their ersucoons. The poor behemoths snarl at the growing weight. They’ve been slaves ever since these monsters invaded our lands. The next victims are us, the Enhedǔännians.

I continue to watch and listen. Their dialect is throaty and harsh on the ears, but I understand the gist.

“What we’re really looking for ought to be around here somewhere,” one laughs.

“Eh, get over it, mate. We’ve already got the Queen Bee and access to all the water we could need.”

“Damn dräeğğalans, I bet if the King knew how much water those damn beasts would require, he would have picked another element for his little biochemistry experiment.”

“Well, I guess that’s where the other one comes in. Evidentally, if we can get our hands on her, we won’t need the Rain Bitch so much.”

I clench my fists. Over my dead body they’ll talk about Railyňdrä that way. And who’s this other person they’re looking for? There’s no way anyone else is more powerful than the Rain Queen.

There’s a small, tactile self-defense knife with a wooden handle strapped to my shin. It was given to me by Xaviêr, my older brother, who spent months teaching me how to use it once word had gotten out that the Näephyrîans might raid us.

Stupid Xaviêr. I curse him out quietly and shake my head. I have to save his dumbass now too, since he foolishly set out in a passionate rage to rescue Railyňdrä.

My right-hand grazes the knife’s handle in contemplation. I then smirk. I don’t know why I always toy with the idea of using this feeble thing. I guess it’s because I’ve been conditioned to believe I am the lamb—that I am the victim—and that this is self-defense.

I am not the lamb, though. And this is not self-defense. This is revenge.

The assassin daggers are extensions of my soul at this point, and they always win. With one swift movement, I reach over my shoulders and pull the two sharp weapons from their scabbards. I then leap over the wet grass, flying into the air with them extended above my head, like wings.

They don’t see me hurling through the wind, white-hot. They won’t until it’s too late. I’m fast, and I’m deadly. One strike is all I need.

My name is Fîrä. I don’t have any elite powers—that I know of, that is. I’m just a kick-ass assassin.

I’ve come to rescue my soon-to-be sister-in-law, Queen of Rain.

Oh…and my dumbass brother.

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Author's Note: I wrote two versions of this chapter. If you are interested in reading this chapter from a different character's perspective, check this one out: