To Those Who Wait, Hayden Sharpe [big screen ebook reader txt] 📗

sighed. “The real reason I came up here… aside from the fact that you asked me to…” He would not meet my gaze. “I came to say farewell.”

“Y-You… You’re leaving?” I sniffed, sitting up to look at him.

He sat up as well, staring at his hands, and nodded. “Yes. And this time, I will not come back. Not even for that sunset.”

“No… You… You can’t…” I swallowed.

He refused to look at me. “Your mother is right,” he forced out, and I knew just uttering the words was a stab in his gentle heart. “It is high time you were married off.”

“But Eli-”

Eli’s breaths shuddered. “You should wed,” he choked. “You should wed, so that you have descendants. If, God forbid, you were to perish and leave no line…”

“Eli-”

“I… I intend on doing the same.” He flinched as though my mother had slapped him again. “What we have… what we have is wonderful. It is the happiest I have been, and I doubt I shall ever be this happy again.”

“Then why ruin it?” I sniveled.

“I do not wish to ruin it.” Eli rested his forehead on mine and closed his eyes. “That is the last thing I wish to do.

“But someday… Someday they will

understand. Someday, they will have a common enemy to despise, worse than me. And if they see me, they may compare us both and decide to hate the worse threat.” He smiled softly. “When that day comes, I will run, as fast as my legs or wings can carry me, back to you.”

“B-But-”

“Until that day…” he breathed in shakily, and his smile faded. “We must part ways. We must move forward, become spouses, parents, ancestors. We must live on.”

“Eli,” I moaned, holding him close. “I still love you.”

“And I you. I vow I will never stop.” Eli kissed my lips once, tenderly, and opened his eyes. He detached himself from my embrace. He rose from my bed. He moved toward the window. He looked back at me.

“If you still want me then,” he nodded. “I will return to you in a heartbeat.”

“I will always want you,” I whimpered. I got to my feet and stepped toward him. “Eli, please, just for one more night-”

“I am sorry. I love you, Avelina. Do not ever forget.” He looked away. Feathers grew on his skin, and his form shrank down until a tiny owl hopped around on my windowsill. It glanced back one last time, and disappeared into the night.

“I love you too, Eli,” I whined, and slid to the floor. “I will never, never

forget.”

1850

Eli

It was hot.

That was all I could fathom as I traipsed through the forest. It was familiar, yet monotonous. You’ve seen one forest, and you’ve seen them all.

I questioned myself again; why, in the middle of July, was I taking a hike to Crévoux, France? I couldn’t say the reason.

I had assured myself it would be cooler in the mountains, but I hadn’t taken the proximity to the equator into account. It was cooler up north, but Southern France was brutal. Wait until you get to the mountains, Eli,

I told myself. It will be worth it.

The train had taken me to Digne. From there, I walked. And ran. And when I tired of running a horse’s pace, I walked again.

The forest was nice, I supposed. Unchanged from my last visit. Since I had left-- I didn’t even know how long ago it had been-- I had been all over the world. I had met so many people, so many wizards

. Our lines had spread. I had met hundreds of thousands, not even exaggerating, who shared qualities of the lords and ladies I had known in the Middle Ages. In the Americas, Asia, Africa even. I had met shapeshifters and General wizards and Illusion artists, everyone was represented.

Even the psychics, however sparsely.

Studies had been done by the underground magical society; why was Clairvoyant Magic so rare? Was it because Avelina (I would flinch when I heard her name) waited so long to have children? Not many thought so. Most thought it was because of Gawain’s murder at the hands of Cedron and his Dark Magic; the Clairvoyant Magic in Gawain was still settling into the young man’s body, and when it was ripped from its first living host in centuries, it caused irreparable damage to the Magic. When it passed into a four-year-old Avelina through his arms, it was shattered and in desperate need of stability. It found balance in her, but many of her children kept the magical life span and held no Clairvoyant Magic. They found it would pass over some of her children (Avelina had had many over her life thus far) yet root in others, skip generations, be prevalent in some, weak in others.

Clairvoyant Magic was very fickle.

Other studies had been done about the Magics; why, with two magical parents of different types, could a child either display traits of one or the other, or even both at times? Some children had an affinity with one, but displayed traits or behavioral habits of the others. It confounded all, and made my head spin.

Thus, I avoided all of the studies thereafter.

I shook my head and emerged from the trees. Crévoux was a tiny town, a commune, of perhaps fifty or so people. It was nestled in a valley in the ‘French Alps,’ as people had named them. They were ‘the mountains’ when I was growing up. I didn’t care about the names.

I looked down on the valley, mapping out the old manor in my mind. It was so long ago. I hadn’t come back, as I had promised. I’ve never broken a promise I’d made her. And I could finally keep this one.

Because now there was a new enemy for the magical realm to hate; a descendant of Cedron who went by the name of ‘Lord’ Aleron. He had brutally murdered thousands of wizards in the late seventeen-hundreds, tens of thousands from eighteen-twenty to eighteen-twenty-five. He amassed many followers, mainly Dark wizards who had been misunderstood. Persecuted. Just as I had. Naturally, some shapeshifters joined his cause as well; therefore, I could take no sides. I cared for all of my descendants, no matter what side they chose. I could only hope they’d have the sense to pick the right

side.

The harsh discrimination had been going down for my kind; gradually, achingly slowly, but it was receding. Some of the right people, I presume, had begun to accept shapeshifters in the world. Not necessarily like them so much, but accept them as a part of life.

I could deal with that. As long as there was no blatant persecution to my children, I could deal with the inaccurate judgements about my kind. There were judgements about every type; the General wizards were stuck up, the Illusion artists were compulsive liars, the Defensive practitioners and psychics were weak because they wouldn’t fight as much. I was glad the shapeshifter hatred was falling only to stereotyping.

It meant I could go home.

Of course, I was a fool to think she would still be there after all this time, but it was a good place to start.

Wagons moved up and down the streets of Crévoux. The main square was where the manor house once stood. I skirted along the edges, just watching the people and horses going by. I was expecting to see the stares of those unfamiliar with a newcomer, but I didn’t expect anyone to recognize me.

“Eli?” someone gasped incredulously. “Eli! Is that you?”

The voice… A man’s. It was soft, shy, as though it was barely used. I remembered one person who had a voice like that.

“Abrahil?” I ventured, without turning my head.

He laughed. “Most people call me Abraham or Abram now.” The shrug was apparent in his voice. “If my name is too hard for them, it is too hard.”

I turned to face him, and saw he had barely changed. A bit of age in his face, but other than that, everything was the same. His smile was small, nervous. “A nice bunch of descendants you have,” I commented.

“Oh? You’ve met some of them?” He blushed.

“Yes. The Specters are shy, quiet, antisocial,” I counted off the traits. “Just like you.”

“Just like me.” He laughed again, but didn’t meet my eye. I raised an eyebrow.

“It is…” he swallowed. “It is good to see you again, Eli.”

“Same here,” I shrugged. And we were silent. I shuffled my feet and looked back to the bustling square.

“Eli, I owe you an apology,” Abrahil blurted out. I looked at him, and he ducked his head.

“An apology?” I repeated. I had not been expecting an apology… from anyone.

“Yes.” He pursed his lips nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, I wasn’t the most… the most tolerant of you, way back when. I shouldn’t have judged you, and I’m sorry. Please forgive my actions?”

“Well, at least you weren’t the least

tolerant,” I shrugged. “But thank you. I do appreciate it. And I wholeheartedly forgive you.”

He sighed in relief.

I smiled. “I still have a little scar on my shoulder,” I commented. “From where you shot me? Remember?”

Abrahil’s face went crimson. “How could I forget?” he chuckled, and looked to the floor. His eyes widened. “Eli! You’re wearing shoes!”

I laughed. “Yes. I keep up with the times surprisingly well.”

“I can tell!” he grinned.

“So.” I stretched a little. “Where is… everyone?”

Abrahil blinked. “Well, surely you’ve heard? For some of them at least?”

“Not really.”

“Well, Marellus died in the Crusades,” Abrahil sighed. “And Cedron perished due to the Plague. Aven was killed over seventy years ago, she tried to protect someone where she shouldn’t have gotten involved.” He shook his head sadly.

I blinked. “And my father? My brother?”

Abrahil nodded and grinned. “They’re still around. I think Matthias lives in Paris; I visited him once or twice. Parnell moved to London. Edana, thank God

,” he laughed, “has moved somewhere in Germany; I don’t know where. We are separated by mountains

! And you’ll be happy to know Morgaine is nowhere near here, I don’t know where exactly. She wanted to see the nature of the world.”

I nodded, words forming on my tongue. I couldn’t say them. Not yet. The moment was here, but I couldn’t say anything about Avelina. “That is

a relief.”

He smiled. “So how are you getting by? I have a small shop that suits me, over on the corner, myself.”

I shrugged. “I do the occasional odd job,” I said. “Hunting for food myself