Prologue- or so they say

Enter Skye and Phsy Loire.

One last breath rose from her, and a golden color flared through her eyes. Now her body lays motionless in what might be peaceful slumbering in any other circumstance. By the gradual paling in her glowing features it was clear she was passing on. Her little boy kneels beside the bed; his sobs stifled by the blankets gripped tightly in his small fists. Pushing black streams of hair from his face, the boy stares into his mother’s empty eyes and once again lets the tears fall. “Get up,” he hissed through clenched teeth, “please get up.” Still not accepting what was happening he shakes her lightly and yells, “Just get up,” he tugged on her bandaged arm and dropped to the floor, “please!” His mother remained unmoving and his stricken shuddering returns. The gold retreated from her once azure eyes and nothing more remained.

`~`*`~`

With a groan the boy lifts his head, sleepily gazing around. Realizing it was a dream his face flops back against the pillow; through his left eye he stares at the black and white photograph of his mother sitting on a shelf nearby. A gentle knock on the door followed by his sister’s voice tells him it’s time to get up. He stumbles from the bed and falls against the bedroom door, emitting a subtle growl from within his little form. Fighting with the handle for a few seconds, he kicks at the frame to pop the door loose. It always sticks like this, especially in the musty weather of fall. The door swings open with the revolt of rusted pins and hinges and the boy is greeted by the same scene he comes across every morning.

His sister rests near a large, brick fireplace in which a large vat contains the day’s meal. The steam rising from the pot spirals around near the mantle, then hovers in the rafters, trapping the brewing scents of stew within the patchy roofing. He paces forward, bare feet shooting spirals of dust across the ancient rugs decorating the floor. Living in the midst of a forest on the coast never assisted in keeping a house well preserved; all wooded portions of the house have a slightly greenish tint, a testament to their partially rotted status. Even the table isn't spared. On this table are two bowls as well as a bouquet of wildflowers the 'little' boy remembers he brought home from the fields the day prior. Stalking towards his food, his gentle, oval eyes come to rest on the stairs which lead to his sister’s room. The forbidden place. At one time their mother slept there.

Hearing her little brother’s feet pad across the wood and onto the dirty carpet the young woman turns and sighs. Her skin is rather dark, and her hair close to the color of wet earth. Clinging loosely to her body is a pale yellow dress that at one time would have shone like goldenrod. Handmade leather and cork sandals cover her delicate feet, the laces wrap up almost to her knees...he knows she thinks them to be quite lovely. Phsy is a beautiful young woman who has gone entirely untouched by time, save for the disease. Fits of coughing, physical fatigue, and eyes that glow luminescent blue-green. Their mother had had the disease. 

“You dreamnt of mother again.” Phsy’s statement leaves the boy at a loss and he chooses not to answer. For a commoner, Phsy’s speech was devoid of the accent humans associated with the elven kind, “Doctor Heidrich is coming today,” she says, quickly trying to change the subject. 

The boy grimaces and shifts his weight from one foot to the other, “Does he have to?” He makes clear his annoyance, giving the best angry glare he can manage so early in the morning.

A sigh and a roll of her eyes, “We'll not argue this in the early hours of daylight. You eat and do your deliveries and we can fight later.”

Curiously he crawls over and stares into the deep vat asking, “What is that?”

Not looking, she responds, “All things horrid and vile.”

“It looks like swamp water.” 

Phsy glances at her little brother, who gives a sleepy yawn in return. Raising an eyebrow she mumbles, “Its soup, Skye. What in Illithia would mother say if I fed you rancid water?”

With a childish gaze, Skye swipes the bowl of assorted soupy contents that was made for him and starts sipping at it while trying not to burn his tongue. He tries to absorb the food without chewing, and then stares absently at the large basket filled with bread in the corner of their small home. Phsy made them for the other inhabitants of the makeshift village...at least, this time, she had been well enough to cook the breads herself. It was all they could really do to contribute to the micro-society of the valley.

The boy laps up anything remaining in the bowl and shuffles over to a bucket filled with water to wash the wooden dish. His sister watches him in silent scrutiny, making sure everything he does is as it should be. Finding no faults to his performance, Phsy rewards him with a light sigh and says a short, “Thank you,” before passing on the instructions for where each of the loaves must be delivered. Skye listens intently until he is sure she has finished, and then runs back to his room to dress.

He dons a simple pair of white pants, a blue cotton chemise embroidered in seashells and beads, laced sandals that much resemble Phsy’s own, and a wide belt that covers from his tiny hips to his fragile ribcage. As he walks from his room he finishes adjusting the large belt and growls playfully at his sister. She waves him off, “Finish up before mid-morning,” she calls. Skye yawns and lifts the basket, careful not to tip it. The cloth that coats the basket is a pale red; beyond that Skye determines the first item is to go to a young elf taking care of his great grandfather a few houses down from them.

As he passes from shack, to tent, to semi-built house, he leaves a loaf of bread with each family, all of them very appreciative. A few of the older elves attempt to get the boy to talk, knowing full well they'll only get a nervous two or three word answer. His expression remains distant throughout the entire process, only altering for a moment at the sight of a stray dog following him. The wagging of its tail left a small whish with every motion...there was an occasional whump when the poor beast's tail hit a tree too. He flops the animal's ears around when it gets close enough, but doesn't bother with the dog much more than that.

After finally delivering all the bread, Skye collapses in a pile of leaves with a deep sigh. They fly about him, gently rustling; their earthy tints pale the blue hues of the heavens, and amplify the white of clouds. Whether they are rain or snow clouds he isn't sure. That morning he remembers noting today was the coldest day of autumn thus far- so maybe they are snow clouds, and maybe he shouldn't have worn his sandals, and maybe a coat would have been nice. His deep azure eyes scan the bare treetops for anything of interest, but finding nothing he rolls through the leaves lazily. He pauses to stare at a small caterpillar he nearly squished as it scrambles to find a safe hiding place again. 

“Blue Boy!” Skye jumps at his sister’s voice and rolls to face her. She smiles down at him, “Did you finish?” After a pause she pokes him with her delicate foot, “Or have you gotten lazy on me?” she asks grinning furtively. 

Skye blows a leaf away from his face mumbling, “I’m done…” He watches her gentle eyes; behind her green irises drifts a subtle golden spark. It wasn't right.

Phsy lets out a giggle before patting his small head saying, “You are far too young to give me that face.” His scowl remains and his thin arms wrap around her legs. “What’s wrong with you?”

The little boy hisses into her dress, “I don’t want you to see him.”

“Who?”

“Doctor Heidrich,” the words come out through a lethal snarl.

Phsy smiles to herself, “Why do you hate him?”

Now playing with his braid, twirling it around his fingers, he continues to look disturbed. “Humans are trying to kill us.” He glares into her eyes. They still weren't right.

Restraining her frustration Phsy explains, “Not all Humans are bad people, Skye. They can be just as nice as you and I, or as mean as the devil himself. You need not worry about them mindlessly killing us,” her eyes glow slightly, the gold bursting out and overtaking the green, “not yet anyway.” Skye's brow furrows and he puts a tentative hand on her wrist.

After a long silence Skye whispers, “He smells weird.” Phsy smirks and watches him become distant again; his interest caught by the swaying treetops ever persistent at reaching the stars far above. When he speaks his words seem directed at the world itself, but it becomes clear the message is to Phsy, “If he says he can cure you, why does it only hurt you more?” No sound escapes her; she wonders for a matter of seconds what he's thinking as he turns his gaze back to her, but sighs it away.

A sudden piercing pain in her forehead causes her to grit her teeth. Skye watches her form start to collapse and he lunges to catch her head before it crashes to the earth. With the added weight in his arms, he winces and moves Phsy to the pile of leaves. Desperately he calls out to anyone near enough to hear, “Somebody, help!”

No one responds and he tries again, louder this time, “Phsy needs help!” Nina, the young, blond elf-girl who just lost her mother pops her head out her window in alarm. Skye points, “Get Balthazar-” she rubs her arm hesitantly before rushing off to find her father. 

Balthazar bursts forth from his back door a mere instant later; he appears a giant, crafted from years of blacksmithing. An elf at heart, Balthazar looks more human than anything else. He scoops Phsy up into his all-encompassing arms and asks in a cautious tone, “What happened?” Skye trots after the hulking blacksmith- every three of his small steps were barely one of the giant’s. Growling now, the large elf concludes, “Damn disease ah’ll bet.”

Struggling to keep up, Skye gasps, “She fainted.” Nina hops close behind, trying to see Phsy’s face. Phsy is carried to Skye’s room, which happened to be the closest, and is rested on the cheap bed. Balthazar turns to his daughter and shoos her away, along with Skye.

He instructs, “Take ‘im an go play’n. Ah’ll cover here.” He glances at Skye, his daughter immediately seizing the boy, dragging him - against his will- outside to the leaf pile once again. 

Nina looks at Skye with pity; the only response he can muster is a sigh. Of all the people he might want to see right now....This odd elf-girl was only a few years older than him, they often got stuck doing things together. According to her it was an attempt to prepare them for marriage some day later in their lives; the very idea was thoroughly distressing. Phsy just laughed whenever he tried to bring it up. Nina's gold hair was usually pulled into two giant curls that much reminded him of springs in mechanical devices and clockworks. Skye would really prefer that if he “had” to marry, it would be someone besides this springy-haired freak. 

Still far beyond worried, Skye ignores Nina’s ramblings and gazes back towards his home where Phsy’s quiet, hesitant, voice can now be heard. Skye recalls the harvest festival years earlier where she had used that same voice to sing to her husband-to-be. The young elf never made it to the wedding, he had taken all his belongings and left. He hadn’t shown his face in the village since; he vanished without cause- or so everyone thought. Phsy had been hurt deeply that day and her loneliness still reigned supreme. Since then Skye and Phsy had become nearly inseparable; her constant worsening condition only made problems seem that much greater. 

Finally noticing Skye’s aloof stares and lack of response, Nina grumbles and grinds the boy’s face into the leaves, “Don’t yeh evuh listen?!” He returns the gesture by cramming a fistful of dead grass into Nina’s mouth.

After wrestling, essentially drowning each other among the leaves, the two stop and creep over to the window below Skye’s bedroom. “What’re they say’n?” asks Nina. 

Skye glances at her briefly, studying her expressions as he begins relaying the conversation. While his eyesight is in a state of constant degeneration, his hearing is always growing more acute. The small boy’s eyes close and his voice becomes as a mirror 'image' of Balthazar’s. “…He’ll be comin’ round again ah s’pose?” 

His voice alters again to match his sister’s as she replies in a distant, restricted kind of way, “I need the medicine- when I refuse to take it, this happens. Skye hates doctor Heidrich, but this is the only way I might be able to control the disease. Even if it is just a little control, at least I have it.”

Silently the blonde settles down into the long ferns, and other plants growing near the base of the house. She listens carefully as Skye pauses again to change his voice. Each time he does this, his eyes glow for a brief moment- as she has observed multiple times before. The glow is subtle, and is easily missed or overlooked, but when noticed it was wholly fascinating. As it went: his pale blue irises would flare green, followed by a shimmering orange-gold glow. It all happened in that split second it took Skye to process another’s unique voice, and then copy it into the words of mimicry he now used. Much to the amusement of others, Skye would often answer in someone else’s voice; at times he could age his voice and sound much older than he really was. Nina dismisses her thoughts of this puzzling ability, Skye barely says anything to anyone, except his sister, anyway. 

In the voice of her father, Skye sighs and mumbles, “Jes’ rest easy. Sometime no one’ll be thah te help yeh. Ah don’t want yeh goin’ like yer mum. Keep that boy close.”

Skye’s voice varies one last time to echo his sister in saying, “Thank you, Balthazar…” The creak of a chair can be heard, followed by the eventual thud of a heavy door. Nina latches on to Skye’s arm and tugs him back out to the leaf pile; he remains silent, but his eyes have a strange glassy appearance to them. 

Both children watch as Balthazar lifts Phsy from the top step of the stairs, much to her surprise, and return her gently to the earth next to a large pine tree. She smiles warily at her little brother, who stares back in a combination of fear, worry, and happiness. “Come, Nina,” Balthazar commands; Nina runs to his side immediately and glances back at Skye, who in turn looks blankly through her. 

“Thank you for your help,” Skye’s voice is soft, the rustle of the wind across a leaf and  newborn puppy fur. The man pats Skye’s mass of black hair and then nods to Phsy as he heads back towards his home. Phsy rests her hand on her brother’s shoulder and looks down into his void expression. He starts to return home without a fight. 

Nina calls after them, “G’bye Blue Boy!” Skye looks back at her and waves ever-so-slightly; that was more than he usually attempted. Astonished the blonde grins, then waves desperately and cries, “Bye!!” Skye chances to look at her once more before following his sister. 

Author's Note

All comments are appreciated.