Scars of Alera

1.

*IMPORTANT NOTE* This story isn't related to my other Paid Story, Creatures of the Night, in any way. The two are set in completely different universes.

1.

The trees in the forbidden forest watch over me as I rest against the stone walls of the well. Tall, imposing, and dark. A claw of fear tickles my spine. They tower far above the wooden walls that protect Adaymos from the threatening world outside.

A gentle breeze ripples the water at the bottom of the well. I brush my hands on my dress and lean down to pick up the bucket I was sent to retrieve water with. Sometimes, I dream of stepping outside the gates and getting lost in the forest's depths. I dream of the leaves against my skin, the scent of pine, the overwhelming desire to escape. But fear paralyzes me. There's something taunting about the forest; it's beautiful and mysterious, and yet, the very thing that keeps us trapped in Adaymos.

"Alera!" A shrill voice echoes throughout the village. Imelda. I'd gotten so distracted by the forest I'd forgotten why I was at the well in the first place.

Beyond the marketplace and the guard's cottage, Imelda storms towards me, hands on her hips, and an apron tied around her waist. "You were supposed to be getting water," she scolds.

I stare at the empty bucket beside me and then back up at Imelda. There's a smudge of flour on her cheek—she's been baking. "I know, Imelda, but I—

"Papa sent you out half an hour ago. It takes 5 minutes to walk to the well."

"I got distracted."

"You always get distracted." Her tone is sharp but her expression softens. She sighs. "You were thinking about the forest again, weren't you?"

I gaze back to the ominous forest that cuts us off from the rest of the world. Imelda reaches forward to pull a twig entwined in my pale hair and then settles down on the edge of the well next to me, her arm brushing mine.

The forest makes my skin crawl with fear, but there's something else, too. I've been in Adaymos my entire life, I've never left, nobody ever leaves because of the tales of the forest. But what if that's all they are, tales keeping us from leaving?

"Aren't you ever curious?" I ask. "There are all these tales and stories but nothing has actually ever happened."

"Nothing has happened because nobody has gone into the forest. If we obey the rules, we're safe." Imelda pats my knee, blue eyes wide. "King Verlac promises our safety if we remain inside the walls of Adaymos."

"King Verlac is at the Palace. How is he supposed to promise our safety?"

Settled on the edge of Vaema, the village of Adaymos falls under King Verlac's reign, who makes his presence known through the posters in the village that advertise his son's new engagement. But aside from the occasional appearance of new fliers promoting him, he is a distant figure we will never know. Nobody in Adaymos has visited the palace, and King Verlac has never visited Adaymos. I don't think that will ever change.

"Don't be afraid, Alera. He's a good King. He has protected us from the Kingdom of Ocernica his entire reign. Come on." Imelda stands, resting her hand on my arm. "We best be getting home."

I follow her through the village, mind still on the King. How far away is the Palace? How many days would you spend in the forbidden forest in order to reach it?

In the marketplace, the sun shines through the canopy, creating a grid pattern on the gravel. Imelda tugs on my arm so I quicken my pace. We pass several villagers loitering in the street, and they nod their heads in passing, more at Imelda than me. In Adaymos, everybody seems the same. We act the same, we talk the same, wear the same clothes and eat the same food. But despite the fact that Imelda and I have the same shade of hair and eyes, there is something that sets me apart from the others—ruined skin. Ever since I can remember, I've had marks running from my shoulder to my elbow—like somebody took a hot sword and ran it down my skin.

Papa told me it made me special; I knew what that meant. It made me an outsider. Kids whispered behind my back when I was younger and now people talk about me in the shadows. As I grew older, I stopped wearing short-sleeved dresses. Now, I never wear anything that reveals the marks. It's easier for people to pretend you're normal when they can't see the thing that sets you apart.

"Does Papa need any help with his designs tonight?" I ask Imelda.

"Not tonight."

"I was thinking of meeting Kenna at the Golden Cavern."

Imelda frowns as her eyes dart to the sky. I know what she's thinking—the sun gets lower each second.

"You know what Papa says—"

"Don't go into the forest." I force a smile. "I know, Imelda. Tell Papa I'll be home soon."

✶✶✶✶

The sky is dark by the time I reach the Golden Cavern. Inside, the furnace bathes the building in a warm glow. Laughter and music waft through the streets, drawing me towards the open cottage. The Golden Cavern is the only bar in the village, which means it's always bursting at the seams with villagers when the sun goes down and the children go to rest.

I stand on my toes in the doorway, peering over the heads and trying to tune out the loud laughter that fills the place with warmth. Kenna stands by the fire laughing, wearing a beautiful emerald dress.

She catches my eye and waves me over. "Alera! I was wondering when you were going to come."

I sit on the stool by the wooden table and squeeze her hand in greeting. Behind her, Old Man Jo plays a string instrument for those dancing in the corner. "Sorry. Imelda sent me to get water." Over Kenna's shoulder, I catch Jorge Mendoza sneaking glances our way. Jorge Mendoza lingers a few feet behind her with a hesitant expression. "Mr Mendoza is looking at you."

"He is?" Kenna pats her dark hair self consciously.

"I think he wants to talk to you."

Kenna turned 19 a few weeks ago, and the day she did, she got a lot more attention from the men in our village. Jorge Mendoza is a slim boy who sells produce in the markets. He has curly hair and stands several inches shorter than Kenna. But of all the men vying for her heart, he is the kindest.

"Should I go to him?" Her cheeks turn scarlet and she shakes her head. "Oh no, I can't."

Old man Jo starts playing a familiar tune and everybody around us gets up to dance. They throw their heads back in laughter and spin one another in circles as euphoria seeps into the air.

I catch Jorge's eyes, forcing a warm smile. He takes the gesture as an invitation and wanders over. "Good evening, Mr Mendoza," I curtsey, and Kenna mimics my movement. "How have you been?"

"Good, thank you, Miss Thelene." His eyes dart to Kenna and he blushes furiously. "How are you?"

Kenna opens her mouth to reply but a blood-curdling scream echoes throughout the Golden Cavern. The music fades out as everyone darts their eyes to the entrance. My heart drops to the pit of my stomach.

Ali Cinica stands at the entrance. At fifteen, she's not old enough to be inside the Golden Cavern, but it's hard to focus on that. Her pale green dress is torn down one side and her hair is a mess of curls on her head. Her skin is stained red. Blood.

"My goodness, child." Old Man Jo steps forward. "What happened?"

"Please help me," she cries, "my brother—he's... he's dead."

A deadly murmur runs throughout the Golden Cavern. Everyone knows her brother, a twenty-five-year-old man who helps build the cottages. Without a second thought, Old Man Jo hurries her forward, getting her to lead him away.

I follow the crowd leaking out of the Golden Cavern towards the wooden gates that conceal the forest. Peeking over the heads, Kenna and I try to catch a glimpse of what shook Ali so violently, and when I do, I wish I hadn't followed her at all. Kenna grips my arm tightly as we stand in the entrance and peer across the small clearing before the edge of the trees.

There's a body slumped on top of the grass, claw marks on his chest. His throat has been torn out. Silence falls over the crowd of us as we stare at the body a few feet away, nobody brave enough to step outside the gates to retrieve it. Nobody has ever gone into the forest and returned before, not until now.

The stories of the beasts were true.