Current mood:	somber
Current music:	Master, the Tempest is Raging
Entry tags:	129 demons or men, author:kabochan, contest 02 entry, genre: fantasy, original

CONTEST: 129 Demons or men
Prompt: 129 Demons or men
Universe: Original (Fantasy Fair)
Genre(s): Fantasy
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Angst, prejudice, mild innuendo
Word Count: 999 XD

**Author’s Note: There are two races of elves in this world: the civilized Sylven in the west, and the wilder, elemental Eastern elves. Half-breeds are called Fey and are not claimed by either; the Sylven tolerate them out of civility, but, as the two races despise each other, true acceptance for the Fey is rare. **


Anselan found her in the solar, embroidering with a few other young ladies. They gave him hard looks when he entered. “No boys, Anselan,” said one girl. “You know that.”

He ignored her and approached Vystai. “I want to show you something,” he said, blue eyes bright. “But not here.”

She smiled and set her needlework down. The other girls sighed irritably as he took her hand, but he paid them no mind. Then the two of them dashed through the halls, peering around corners to avoid any of the caretakers. “The gardens?” whispered Vystai while they waited for the hall to clear.

“Of course.” He threw her a grin. Passing the castle gates and entering the gardens, they wove through the trees until the walls were lost behind them. They stopped in a clearing where a jumble of rocks edged the riverbank.

“Actually I come here often, whenever the caretakers don’t assign me some silly task meant to keep me out of trouble,” he scoffed. “I like to be near the water and the trees together. It’s soothing.” Anselan raised his free hand to a tree and touched his fingertips to its bark. “And,” he continued, smiling as he lifted their entwined hands to stroke her cheek, “there are other fond memories in this place.”

Vystai laughed softly and kissed his knuckles, and though she said nothing, her eyes danced. They stood close, listening to the river and the trees and each other’s breathing, remembering escapades away from the keepers of the orphanage. Then she squeezed his hand and let go, smoothly sitting on a large, flat rock.

“What do you have to show me?” she asked, bending to smell the wildflowers growing between the boulders. He watched her long dark hair spill over her shoulder, glossy in the sunlight.

Anselan hopped over the rocks and with a splash planted his feet in the river. Vystai laughed at him, up to his knees in the swift water. “In your boots, Anselan? Mistress Jennya will have your hide.”

He grinned and shrugged. “This is something I’ve been practicing, since the lessons no longer challenge me. It’s easier if I’m actually in the water.”

He stood still, rigid with concentration, his eyes unfocused, and Vystai noticed a swirl of water curl around him instead of following the river’s flow. She gasped and leaned closer; the swirl grew steadily until Anselan stood in his own shallow whirlpool. His face was blank, but his eyes were luminous, the same bright blue as the sky, and he exuded such energy that his fair hair fluttered about his shoulders. A small sphere of water separated from the stream and came to rotate above his palm.

Vystai saw his body relax, as the whirlpool calmed and was carried away in the current. Anselan climbed across the rocks again to hold out the sphere to her. She looked from the sphere to his face, eyes still intense with energy, and cautiously held out her hand.

It spun into her palm for an instant, then shuddered and collapsed onto her skirts. She laughed, and Anselan, eyes fading back to normal, laughed with her.

“Wonderful,” she said. “Nothing like our magic lessons. How did you do it?”

He sat next to her, lips tightening. “My blood legacy, I suppose. They’d have a fit if they saw me using it.”

“What do you mean?”

“My mother was Fey already, and my father was an Eastern devil, so I have more Eastern blood than the rest of you.” He spoke dismissively, but Vystai caught the self-doubt underneath.

“Anselan, there’s nothing wrong with—”

“Vi, they say that to our faces, but they curse us when they think we can’t hear. We’re dirty because we have their blood in our veins, only fit to be servants. They think we’re more like animals than elves. And I’m three-quarters animal instead of just half,” he growled, hurling a rock at the river in disgust.

Vystai forced him to meet her eyes. “Stop. Maybe we have farther to reach to make it in the world. But it’s not our birth but our life that makes up who we are. I wouldn’t change you for all the High King’s gold.”

He was silent for a heartbeat, unconvinced, but the anger fell away from his face and was replaced with sadness. “You’ll be called out soon,” he said. “I won’t see you for a long time.”

She didn’t ask how he knew. “But you will see me again.”

“Yes.”

“Then it will be alright.”

She smiled up at him then, slipped her hand in his, and led him back to the castle. The halls were crowded with young Fey returning from chores and lessons, so Anselan’s entrance with her was not unnoticed. The caretakers and several Fey glared sourly, but did not challenge them.

Master Alden caught them as they passed his office. “A moment, if you please, young ones,” he began. “Vystai, a commission and escort has come for you. Tomorrow you join the Toloridh household, a day’s journey north. You should pack.”

She glanced at Anselan briefly, then curtsied to the caretaker and murmured, “Thank you, sir.” Anselan watched her retreat up the stairs.

“And you, young man. You think we don’t notice anything, but allow me to surprise you.” Anselan set his jaw, but Master Alden continued in a softer tone. “Anselan, you’ve had a hard time of it here where little is secret, but you far surpassed your classmates long ago, and the Mage Corps could use one of your skill. I will arrange a recommendation and commission for you if you promise not to reveal your Eastern magic. Few would praise you for it, and many would condemn you. What do you say?”

Anselan forgot his surliness and actually bowed. “Thank you, sir. Thank you very much.”

“May the stars guide your path, young one. Go gather your things. And change those wet clothes before Jennya flogs you for leaving puddles.”