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Midafternoon

A fortnight they’d been at this.

First, the ancient oak tree in the center of Yost’s city square had very suddenly shed all of its leaves and died. It was a bit of a fixture, having survived a fire that destroyed much of the city some twelve years ago. Upon its sudden death, likely due to some tree parasites or disease or whatever it is that trees get, there was a sort of mass mourning.

There was a small ceremony. A crowd amassed in the square to hear a speech given by the Lord Mayor, followed by some poignant stories about the tree and being some sort of favorite haunt in their childhood and other such rubbish. As it was told, there was even a band of minstrels playing some soft, sweet melody. All this in the shadow of a dead tree.

A tree. A tree. In a city literally built within a forest, with trees much like it on all sides. Humans are unpredictable, yet highly ritualistic creatures, forming arbitrary attachments to passing things like moths drawn to only very lucky or unlucky flames. They are dangerous, disgusting, smelly brutes and… well.

I’m getting carried away. Where was I?

Yes, for a fortnight.

So then, on the eve after the great dead tree ceremony, the wolves came. They wandered into the city square through all its empty streets, passing beneath illuminated windows and skulking in muddy alleyways from their dens deep in the forest. And when they came to the tree, they began circling it.

That was all.

Circling the tree, round and round, bewitched by something about its sloughing bark or its naked branches. Who could say? By morning, they were still doing it. Three of them, padding in a trampled circle of dirt around the oak’s base, utterly transfixed. Naturally they were shot, skinned, and disposed of before noon. That’s what humans do. But the rest of the pack came that night, and began circling anew. That’s what nature does. Once the humans think they have control of something, it comes right up, smacks them right in their faces, and jerks up its forearm.

I like nature.

They were killed too, of course, but not before this event was witnessed by others not armed with bows and arrows. Word began to spread that the tree was cursed. This was confirmed when, by next morning, the city’s dogs had been called to the tree! All sizes, from big galoots to little rat terriers, padding in a circle.

Now, no one wants to kill dogs. Remember the bit about arbitrary attachments? Evidently one canine is not just as good as the next. But I digress.

The dogs were reined in and dragged back to their homes, where they pawed at fences, whined at all hours, slipped through open doors and became just a general pain in everyone’s neck. All over that damn tree.

Two weeks of this now. No one knew what to do. Chop it down? That seemed harsh. Burn it? Detestable, considering what it represented to these human twits. Curse at it very loudly, cry and scream, and hold one’s head in their hands? That seemed to be what everyone agreed to do, because it was all they did. Yost was a well-off city, thriving off its exports of lumber, ore, and textiles, and most of its residents were able to enjoy long, comfortable lives. But in the face of something like this, they seemed helpless. If I were there it would have all been rather gratifying, but it was just as fun to hear about.

Well, the Lord Mayor finally had a solution. Two elven priests, a male and a female (though who could tell them apart), happened to be passing through, and after much begging and a fat pledge of coin, they agreed to perform an exorcism of the tree. An errant demon, they explained. Frightening but altogether harmless, and seemingly uninterested in humans. Casting it out of the tree should put an end to the canine fixation on some old dead oak.

But this was only a diversion. They hadn’t come for the tree, it was nothing to them.

They came for her.

“Bring to us Marelli Beltran,” they requested of the Lord Mayor. This was along with the coin too, of course. “We have business with her.”

“The Beltran girl?” A notable person. Mostly from her odd appearance and, supposedly rumored, the mysterious circumstances of her origins. Otherwise, she was perfectly pleasant as far as anyone else was concerned. Perhaps, the Lord Mayor thought, she was half elven. It might explain her white hair. “Relation of yours? Or… do you simply need something mended?”

“Never met her,” the female priest replied.

“This is between the City of Veyhollow and her,” the male priest added. What he didn't add was that she had never been to Veyhollow either.

The Lord Mayor had no choice but to agree. Marelli would be sent for.

The willowy elves, clad in their silvery robes and ivory jewelry, both settled on a bench outside the city hall. Just down the curved path to the city square, the dogs that got loose from their owners could still be seen circling the infernal tree. While the male priest opened a book in his lap, the female quietly watched them.

And they waited.

She had been sitting on the floor of her small apartment, sorting through stacks of clothing in order to determine what garments were ready to be picked up and what was still in need of repairs or construction when a guard pushed through her front door and ever so kindly demanded that she accompany him, giving her very little room to refuse.

So she went with him.

All she had with her was a backpack, filled with clothes that she picked up in five minutes, and she wasn't entirely sure that what she had would be enough. She had no idea where she was going, why this person had approached her, or what was going on.

People generally left her alone, to her own devices. Her reputation had grown as a seamstress, despite her appearance that she worked to disguise, but she felt that she was not going somewhere to sew or repair a garment.

Despite asking, her guard would tell her nothing. He gave no indication of where they were going or what she was going to do, and indeed, said very little beyond his initial prompting. She did not know that it was because the guard did not know of the reason for her summoning, but she still tried.

There was nothing she could do to get an answer, and instead she lapsed into silence along with the guard, instead observing her surroundings and the man standing next to her, trying to determine where they were going, why they were going, and why she had been called.

The Lord Mayor sat with the elves, nervously tapping his foot. He wanted to be sure they honored their agreement, so he wasn’t willing to leave them alone. The male priest continued his reading, unperturbed by the world at large, including the very odd assembly of canines that had arrived to circle the demon tree. Apparently more empathetic, the female priest continued watching, noting that a new dog had recently joined the enthralled pack.

Moments later its owner had come after it, pleading and calling with the animal to come home. It didn’t work, of course, so she was forced to pick up the animal and carry it away, while it caterwauled and struggled in her arms.

Poor thing.

Suddenly coming into view was a member of the Yost townguard, with a white haired girl in tow. Out of respect, the female elven priest rose to her feet, reclaiming every inch of her lithe, willowy grace. She gave off the presence of an older sister, welcoming an estranged relation back into the fold.

“Byalin, she has arrived,” she ushered to the male priest, who closed his book and lifted his head, but remained seating.

The Lord Mayor got to his feet at once, looking something like tumbling idiot next to the fairer race. He was a corpulent, well fed man who his his chins within a thick, graying beard.

“Aha, Miss Beltran!” the Lord Mayor greeted, as if they were old friends. To best recollection, they had never before spoken directly. “So good of you to come! Ah—” He beckoned to the guard, only to dismiss him with a gesture. “That’ll be all, Devon, thank you kindly. So, Marelli!” Unsure where to go next, he trailed off and glanced at the elf.

“There is a matter we bring that involves you personally, Miss Beltran,” the female elf spoke, ignoring the Lord Mayor in such a way that it seemed she was unaware that he had spoken at all. “I am Jawene, a priestess of Lum, the moon goddess. This is Byalin, a priest of the same.”

Byalin spoke some phrase in elvish. Although the words were foreign, it sounded friendly enough to be a polite greeting.

Jawene stared at the girl a moment, considering the red in her eyes. She seemed disconcerted.

“Janus of Red Crest has died.” It was no one Marelli has ever heard of. “My condolences, Miss Beltran, but I must inform you that Janus has left you, and only you, an inheritance. To claim it, you must accompany Byalin and I to his home in Crens.”

Marelli looked at the people around her, realizing that it wasn't solely humans there, and for the first time, her appearance was not wholly unusual. The blue ends of her hair seemed to shine in the light, her white strands glowing even more. As the female spoke to her, her forehead creased in confusion.

"I do not know of a Janus or of a Red Crest." Her words were honest; she had no idea what the woman was talking about. She had never seen these people before in her life.

"I do not know how you know my name, or how you knew where to find me, but you have fetched the wrong person." Everybody's eyes were on her, and she was becoming very uncomfortable.

"I wish you the best of luck, but I must return to my home and my work." She turned to leave, but the guard that had brought her there grabbed her arm, preventing her from leaving and turning her around again, forcing her to face the people.