Part One

One

“This really sucks,” she growled. “Why I do always get stuck helping humans? Ugh.”

The huge, powerful wings of a roc lay still in the air as he soared through the sky. Atop the large bird was a tiny albino woman who looked about twenty-five (but in reality was much, much older), and very cross.

‘Perhaps moaning about it will make it go away,’ the roc replied sarcastically, speaking to her telepathically. ‘Besides, aren’t you well known throughout the army for all of your good deeds to the Empire? Or did you forget, in your old age?’

“Oh, you just shut up. No, I did not forget. Yeesh. You’re lucky I still even bother with you anymore, let alone Farol.” She purposefully ignored the fact that, when it came to putting up with Farol, it wasn’t like she had a choice.

‘I see. And what, exactly, would you choose to replace me? Certainly not a horse… that last time did not end well. Unless you’ve forgotten that, too?’

The woman flushed red in embarrassment. He was completely patronizing her! And as if she could forget the last time she’d tried to ride a horse. It’d bucked her off and she was nearly trampled. She shuddered.

‘Ooh, ooh, I know, how about a horse-drawn carriage?’ He let out a screeching sound that was his audible version of laughter, clearly amused by his joke. ‘Please… Imagine you, in a carriage with a driver, parading yourself around like a noblewoman!’

“Are you quite finished?” she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.

‘No, not yet… What about one of those lovely bicycles? I’m sure they’d get you around quickly.’

She huffed irritably, tucking a strand of cotton-white hair behind an equally pale pointed ear. “I’ll get a damn car,” she retorted. “Better yet — a motorcycle.”

A large, amused yellow eye looked up at her. He rumbled beneath her with silent laughter. ‘I’d enjoy seeing you attempting to operate either. You’re very small. Cars aren’t exactly arthi’al-friendly.’

“Well, that doesn’t matter!” She leaned against the bird’s enormous neck, closed her eyes, and nuzzled her face into the rusty orange feathers. “I could never replace you, Warwing,” she murmured with a small smile.

‘Hey, now, don’t go soft on me.’ He was joking, of course, but he was secretly relieved. She had shown little else than sadness and anger the last few years, after what happened. ‘We’re here.’

The roc’s talons touched the solid earth at last, and settled down flat to allow less distance between the ground and the short woman. She swung her right leg over the back and slid down the bird’s side, her feet lightly touching the dirt before letting go completely. She patted him, and he ruffled his feathers.

She crossed the ragged field as swiftly as her short legs could take her without entering a jog or run. This place was in a little town called Mattix, tucked away beside Lun Forest, a huge forest infamous for having those that go in too far never come out. She had been here to Mattixtown once before, but had been to Lun many times. As far as she could see, the normally green and beautiful lands of Lun Province were dead and brown. Her heart sank. What on earth had been happening here?

She approached the broken-down cabin that lay on this particular patch of flat acreage. It was small and square, with a smaller square attached to the back, implying it had two, not one, rooms, and constructed of wood logs and mud. The family who lived in it was very poor, it seemed. Turning her left hand so her palm faced her, she made a fist and rapped her knuckles against the door.

After a moment, the knob turned and a man with fair hair about four inches taller than her peered outside. “Who is it?” he asked.

“Mal’ethil Gysse’lylth. Farol sent me.”

He snorted contemptuously. “As if Farol would trust anything with a dirty half-elf.”

Mal ignored the racist slight and said darkly, “I don’t believe you’re in any position to turn away help of any kind, human. Now, will you invite me in, or shall I be on my way?”

“I don’t need your help, scum!” he shouted. “It’s demons like you that put good, hardworking men like me in these situations in the first place!”

She raised an eyebrow, and stared up at him. Her pink eyes flashed dangerously. He stiffened, and a small sweat broke out on his forehead. Humans were all the same... scared of what they didn’t understand.

“Very well,” she said coolly. “I suppose you’re right. You don’t need my help; you’ve been doing so wonderfully on your own, anyway. My mistake.” She turned and began to walk away, waiting for him to crack under the desperation, like these difficult ones always did.

Three… two… one—

“W-Wait a second!”

Cracked. Mal smiled.

She turned and asked sweetly, “Yes?”

He was nervous, and clinging to the door frame. “Look, okay, I didn’t mean all that. It’s just— y’know, with those things running around here at night… a man can’t help but be scared out of thinking right. Please, help me?”

“Mmmm… You sure you want the help of a ‘half-elf’?” she asked sarcastically.

“Forgive me, Gysse’lylth. I meant arthi’al. Of course I did.” He stumbled from the doorway and collapsed at her feet. He clutched her pale white hand in both of his and looked up at her, his stormy grey eyes pleading. Tears spilled down his cheeks. “I beg of you, save my family. I’ve already lost my wife. They’ll come for my children next!”

Mal was not really supposed to pity this human, but she did anyway. By helping him, she’d simply be obeying orders. Her kind, the arthi’al, were not typically fans of humans, and for good reason. While the elves, a rather distant cousin of the arthi’al, were respected by humans for their academic achievements, the arthi’al were often thought less of simply because of their height (Mal was abnormally tall for her kind—most were lucky to hit four feet, and she was five foot two) and albinistic appearance. The term “half-elf” was a derogatory name, to imply that the arthi’al were not good enough to be treated the same as elves. And though the arthi’al were entirely their own species separate from elves, humans tended to mush the two together because both claim the Zircof Isles as their homeland, and both have pointed ears.

Mal’s own experience with humans had led her to the conclusion that, though they were relatively worthless as a whole, and certainly did not have a good reputation, a good deal of them were actually all right. And, for an arthi’al, she was exceptionally patient, and far more sympathetic. That was why she was well known in the army, and police networks, because despite all her insistance on the contrary, she really did like, and sometimes went out of her way, to help people.

The man, named Harold, led her inside of his small home and locked the door tight. Both knew very well those locks meant nothing, but clearly they helped heighten his sense of security, if only a little. Harold of Mattixtown saw her to a table and scrambled to start some tea.

A curious grey eye framed by blond curls peeked out of the doorway to the other room. Upon eye contact with this strange, pale woman with pink eyes, a gasp escaped the child’s mouth and the door slammed shut.

Harold scowled, then sighed. “My poor daughters,” he said, sitting across the table from Mal. He held his head in his hands. “Daphne’s too young to fully grasp what’s happening, but she’s terrified. And I’m certain that Alicia knows, but she pretends not to. She’s trying to be brave for her sister.” He moved his hands to his face and began to tremble.

Mal fingered the rim of her tea cup as she listened. She took a sip, and wrinkled her nose. It was too watery, and the flavor that she did get was bitter and smelled foul. She set the cup back down and wiped her hand on her ratty, worn-out jeans.

“Farol did not much elaborate on your dilemma,” she told him. “Just something about giant bugs.” She picked up the cup again.

“Ants,” he whispered. His voice shook. “They have a nest nearby; I don’t know where. Somewhere in the forest. It may sound funny, giant ants and all… but really, Gysse’lylth, they’re as big as you are. They only come out at night, and since my home is right on the forest, well, you can imagine where they’d head first.” He paused to recollect himself, then spoke again. “The first night, they... took my wife, Sarah. She was outside getting more water from the well, because Daphne was sick. But I heard a scream, and when I ran outside, I saw three giant ants walking away, one carrying Sarah on its back. She wasn’t... moving.” He returned his face to his hands and began to sob.

“Before eating their food, ants will typically take it to their colony first.” Mal looked at him over her tea cup. “They probably killed your wife first so she’d be easier to carry. No struggle.” She knew that she sounded heartless. Good, she thought. Then he won’t think I’m spineless. She took another sip of the dreadful tea and set it down. “You’ve tried shooting them?”

He nodded. “I have a shotgun. It did no good, though. They come every night, and wander around the field, stealing all of my crops, tearing up my land, and scaring my daughters. When they took Sarah away, I tried to shoot at them, but they never seem bothered by it.”

“And that’s when you filed a report to Farol.”

“I had to. I had nowhere else to turn. He left me that jewel for me to talk to him with. I don’t like to ask him for things, after all he’s done for me, but…”

A loud screeching noise tore through the air. Harold sat straight up and burst out through the front door with his gun. Mal sighed, wondering what could possibly have made her bird yell like that, and followed the human.

“Alicia! Get back in the house!” Harold cocked his gun and aimed it at the roc. “You stay away from my daughter!”

Mal stood beside him and pushed his weapon down with her arm. “Calm yourself,” she murmured. “He’s mine. And your bullets will do less good against a roc than against your big bugs.”

He was shaking, regardless. A tiny girl of eight years and perhaps a little under a foot shorter than the arthi’al stood but twelve feet away from the oversized bird, her back to her father and Mal. Her dark brown hair was tied in two messy braids.

A wind swept through the barren farmland, and the roc was slowly advancing toward the unmoving girl.

“Warwing,” Mal called. In her native tongue, Arthish, she commanded the bird: “Do not move.”

The roc stopped in his tracks instantly; Mal hurried over to him. She patted the big bird lightly on the side. He ruffled his feathers. She looked over and saw the girl, Alicia, staring intently at Warwing. She had the most captivating dark brown eyes.

How did she get of the house? Mal wondered briefly. A back door, maybe?

For a human, and for a child, Alicia was very pretty. She had high cheekbones, a full mouth, perfectly placed eyebrows, and despite the family’s obvious food shortage as of late, was not abhorrently thin. Mal could see the potential; this girl, if she lived long enough, would grow into a very beautiful woman.

‘I… I don’t understand,’ said Warwing to Mal. ‘I felt the strangest calling; when I looked, I saw this girl. I was fascinated; I had to get closer.’

“You’ve seen plenty of humans before,” she replied, still speaking in Arthish. “What makes her so special?”

‘I felt her. In my mind. It was as if she were poking around in there. Not dangerously; she was just curious.’

“What do you mean, poking around in your mind? Are you saying she’s some kind of mind-reader?”

‘Of course not. Mind-readers don’t exist; I know that. I just, I don’t know how else to explain it.’

“He has the same name as you,” said Alicia, drawing bird and woman from their conversation to look at the human child. “You call him Warwing, which is the Common translation for Mal’ethil. But why do you two share a name?”

Both Mal and Warwing froze with shock. This little human child… how did she know any of this? Even if she could, somehow, pick up on a stray telepathic thought that Warwing was having concerning their names (which sounded pretty far-fetched to Mal), how could she possibly translate it? Arthish was a special language known only to the arthi’al and their birth companions, creatures that accompanied their personal arthi’al throughout life. Warwing was Mal’s.

“You look like you’re not even thirty,” the child went on, “but you’re almost two hundred and fifty years old. A baby for your kind. Aren’t you?”

Before Mal could answer, or demand any, Harold walked over and made his way into the conversation. “I don’t know what’s going on here,” he said, “but we’d best go inside. The hour of twilight is upon us.” He took his daughter’s hand and led her back toward the house.

Mal looked up at the purple-and-pink blackening sky. A gust of wind shot through the skies, blowing back her shoulder-length white hair. She could pry answers from the child later. She looked fondly at her bird. “Well, my friend… looks like it’s time.” She patted him again and he took to the skies as she followed the family into the house.

A/N: How to pronounce Mal'ethil Gysse'lylth. For Mal'ethil, say "mallet" without the t, and "heel" with a t in front. Malle-theel. For Gysse'lylth, say "kiss" but with a g instead of a k, pronounce the E before the apostrophe like "eh", and lylth rhymes with filth.

Arthi'al is pronounced like are-thee-all. Make the 'th' sound in thee, so it's like you're starting to say "thief", without the f. Arthish is are-thish. Thish rhymes with fish.

For those who work best with phonetic guides, I'll do my best: MAL-eh-theel GYSS-eh-lilth, AR-thee-all, AR-thish.