Zephyrs

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  A Short Story

  The Khloe Alwell Series

  By: Alexis Donkin

  Copyright 2013, Alexis Donkin

  All rights reserved.

  Zephyrs

  The lightest zephyr blew across the curtains, sending them dancing in the afternoon sunlight. Along with the chirping of insects and birds as well as the laughter of young women from the fields, the poet could only smile.

  “Zephysus?” she called, “Zephysus? Zephysus?!”

  “What?” He blinked blearily at the woman.

  “Are you alright?” asked Daeva. He blinked again finally seeing the person before him. The poet stared at Lord Aries' latest tryst. She was a vision – her skin perfect cream, her hair dark, and her eyes... Zephysus frowned. Behind Daeva's eyes was a darkness, rife with tragedy, anger, and terrible grief. For as perfect as she appeared, she was ancient and as everyone knows, with age comes past. With past, comes sorrow. She was from Uruk and the daughter of two of the Otherworld's favorites: Lilith, whom everyone loved to love, and Ammon, whom everyone loved to hate. Like everyone in the Otherworld, Zephysus knew bits and pieces. He knew they had been killed in one way or another, but the details were another matter.

  It had been centuries since the tragedy of Uruk. Those from the small town were largely silent on the subject. A few, however, would talk. A few had talked, those without shame, anger, or overwhelming sorrow. And still the story was shrouded in mystery! The poet sighed and looked out his window.

  “I'm fine.”

  From his perch in the tower he could see much of the territory belonging to Aries, his leader. For whatever reason, Aries had taken a liking to Zephysus and let the poet hole up in his fortress' tower composing this or that. As much as the 'Lord of War,' as he was called, liked to fight, he also loved the written word. A well turned phrase appealed to Aries almost as much as the winning tide of battle. Zephysus smiled to himself. As Otherworlders went, he was luckier than most.

  Zephysus was bred from old stock. The son of full-blood Otherworlders, as they had come to be called by some humans. Others called them gods, which turned Zephysus' mouth sour. It was ludicrous for humans to revile them so highly. He'd seen every kind of altar and sacrifice, some quite gruesome or obscene. All were made to appeal to the so-called gods.

  “Of course you are,” she said wryly.

  Zephysus sniffed.

  Some liked the worship. One Otherworlder called Dionysus had quite a tidy crock going, which he'd concocted with a group of half-humans from another veil. Zephysus sneered at the disgusting debauchery they'd engaged in. It was that very type of behavior Aries and his allies were fighting against.

  The poet took a deep breath.

  There were problems with that too. Zephysus himself didn't particularly care for fighting. He'd never been very good with a sword or a spear. Whenever he tried his hand at archery, the arrows seemed to be repelled by his target. To compound matters, he was stringy by Otherworld standards. As a child in the nemeton, he'd been bullied by his peers for being smaller. The memory caused his muscles to tense. Really, he belonged in the tower writing sonnets, not fighting on a battlefield.

  “Zephysus?” she asked

  “Hm?”

  “Don't you want to hear what I have to say?” she asked, this time with impatience. He blushed and nodded, his eyes catching a green glint hidden just below her neckline. The pendant. He'd heard stories about Daeva – how she never took off the strange necklace. He'd heard the necklace was special beyond the unique filigree – that it seemed alive. In addition to the unusual qualities of the piece, he'd also heard the emerald was absolutely enormous. Zephysus licked his lips itching to see the thing up close.

  “Yes. Yes that would be good,” he mumbled as he frantically searched for a stylus. “Aha!” He grinned clutching the shaped quill and dabbed it in a nearby pot of dark ink. Smiling, he looked up at Daeva with brows raised.

  “You're not writing this word for word are you?” She frowned at him.

  “Hm?”

  “These are just my recollections.”

  “My dear, it's for inspiration. I don't intend to write the whole history of the Otherworld!” He grimaced. “Let that be for more boring people!” Daeva laughed and Zephysus understood again why Aries preferred the older woman. There was barely any gray in her thick mane, hardly a wrinkle on her face, yet Zephysus knew she must have been close to 800 years old.

  “I've never told anyone what happened after my parents' deaths.”

  “All the more reason to speak now!” A single brow quirked.

  “You think someone's going to try to kill me?” she asked quietly. Zephysus sputtered.

  “No, no! Of course not! I just meant, isn't it time that someone know what happened? What it was like those days? I mean, it must have been horrible!”

  “It was. My brothers and sister – from my father's side - we were closer than ever. We had a common purpose. I always thought – well, that's neither here nor there. In the end, it didn't matter.” She shifted in her seat, her eyes far away.

  “What do you mean?”

  “After my father's death, a shock wave went through the People. While Zeus continued to rally the Otherworld against mixing with humans and humanity in general, we tried to build bridges as much as we could. It was hard.”

  “How so?” asked the poet as he scribbled a mixture of notes and ideas frantically.

  “Well, my half human brothers had a difficult time in particular. Cain and Abel were not accepted in the village.” Daeva's face grew dark and Zephysus shivered despite the warmth of the day. “There were attacks. Vicious things. There were careless hunting parties where arrows came much too close to heads. Jibes were thrown as they walked through the village that would have curled nails. It came to a head when they were ambushed in broad daylight by a group of pure-blooded Otherworlders.”

  “What happened?” whispered Zephysus.

  “A few bumps and scrapes, nothing permanent. As far as the perpetrators? Nothing.” Daeva grew even colder. Zephysus glanced at his desk to see a thin film of ice cracking as it hugged the wood.

  “So they left Uruk?” he asked shakily.

  “They did. They took their families with them.”

  “Their families -” swallowed Zephysus as the ice melted, “were they half-human as well?” Now Daeva's eyes watered.

  “All the differences the elders feared would come to pass for the diluted Otherworlders did. Cain and Abel passed away several centuries ago. Their children are already feeble. Theirs have already reached the middle of their lives.” Zephysus frowned.

  “And the abilities are different.”

  “Yes. They were limited. The more human they became, the fewer their abilities. My great-nephews and nieces have significant limitations. They began to separate from one another – have strengths and weaknesses. And then of course, it was also incredibly difficult for them to jump from plane to plane – veil to veil. Some of them were never able to do it.” Zephysus frowned. To not be able to teleport oneself from place to place at the speed of thought was horrifying.

  A creak from the doorway made Zephysus' head turn.

  “Hello?” he called. Daeva looked around the room in confusion. “Did you hear that?” he asked Daeva. Her brows rose.

  “Hear what?”

  “I must be imagining things.”

  “As I was saying,” she cleared her throat, “the differences between the diluted bloods and the pure bloods only made the conflict worse. Lines were drawn. Territories developed. Battles began.” Daeva's voice grew husky. Zephysus stopped writing.

  “And people died,” he said quietly. The stairs creaked again from beyond the doorway. Zephysus glanced that direction but the sound stopped. Daeva hadn't noticed anyt
hing. Zephysus blinked. Was he going mad?

  “Yes. More died. Others were maimed, and not just in body.” The woman shook her head. “Ahura was killed in battle. That was a great loss.” An image flashed across Zephysus' mind of fire and blood soaked soil. He could almost smell the dead field, covered in still bodies. Ahura's pale face held sightless eyes staring at nothing in particular. A sorrowful chanting was at the edge of Zephysus' consciousness – the chanting of grief. Startled by the vision, Zephysus blinked and shook his head vigorously. Once again he was staring at his notes on top of his desk, safely situated in Aries' tall tower.

  “What happened with your other siblings?” asked the poet hastily.

  “Vairya was driven mad with grief over Ahura.” Suddenly a horrible screaming surged across Zephysus' thoughts. It was bloodcurdling and wracked with profound pain. Zephysus' hands went to his ears and he hunched over in his chair. Daeva, lost in her thoughts, didn't notice. “Enlil disappeared with his wife. They hid in the veil of my parents. It seemed the safest place for the two of them. Enlil, being my father's