Birth (Once, Upon A New Time Book 1)

Book summary

Count Witon, his wife Belamay, and Persky, a rare Human/Elf hybrid, seek to escape endless war by founding a utopian society on a mysterious island. As they gather diverse pilgrims and embark on a perilous journey, they must confront unexpected dangers at their destination that test their resolve to forge a peaceful new world.

Excerpt from Birth

He spent at least part of every day in the room. Witon stayed beside the bed of the recovering creature, talking, until the patient could no longer continue, till he faded into healing slumber. But each day the time grew longer; each time their bond grew stronger.

“Tell me of your life, Persky.” He couched a gentle request, made with the familiarity of having spent four whole days together.

Witon had learned the Elf lad’s name on the first, but since then had only discussed such things as literature and the strange tales of their land, of Witon’s life, his parents, and his family’s rise to prominence, descendants of a line of the earliest settlers of Minra Enra. Witon even told him of his eyes and the myth that there was once a Centaur among his ancestors, one so powerful that at least one child of each generation was born with the silvery eyes of the species.

“My brother, Mitren, has always been jealous of them.” Witon chuckled fondly at the thought of his only brother. “I remember this one time, we were young, no more than four or five. He… he tried to push mud in my eyes, to turn them brown, like his.” Witon shook his head as loving laughter rang deep within his voice. “I had no dinner that night.”

Persky’s slanted eyes stabbed him. “You were punished?”

“Oh no! But my father was a very smart man, if of an old way of thinking, and his punishment was… well, it was as hysterical as it was ingenious.”

“What did he do?”

“He filled Mitren’s breeches with mud and made him sit in it for the rest of the day, even at table. I couldn’t stop laughing long enough to get a single bite of food in my mouth.”

Witon’s laughter boomed freely, harmonizing with Persky’s own twittering guffaws; there were few things as binding as laughter entwined. Finally now, on this day, Witon felt he had earned the creature’s trust enough to ask about his own life.

“Tell me of Ramarra.”

“I am not an Elf.” Persky dropped his slanted-eyed gaze at the mention of the Elf city. “Neither am I Human.”

Witon hung in the silent wake of Persky’s words. He sat perched on the small stool by the cot in the corner of the room, with his long legs bent wholly in half, knees up near his shoulders; he moved not an inch as he waited.

At length, the creature looked up, his light brown eyes flecked with green. The sadness in them struck Witon as hard as any sword ever had.

“I am neither… and both.” A declaration, a confession.

Witon accepted Persky’s truth as a gift. He reached out and took a long, thin hand in his. “Your parents?”

Persky shook his still bandaged head. “Both gone, both killed, by their own kind.”

Witon’s tongue clucked against the roof of his mouth, an ugly sound for such ugly behavior.

“Neither species would accept what they had done.” Persky’s voice cracked but he gave it no heed. “I have heard that my mother, a Human, was a great beauty, and my father a great thinker. I hope I have a little of both of them in me.”

Witon gave no such assurance. They were still too little acquainted for such a declaration; it would have chimed sharply of false flattery.

“How did you survive?”

“My uncle took me in.” Persky hitched himself up with his good arm. Witon jumped up from his stool, arranging the pillows so the creature could sit up comfortably. But Persky tried to push him away.

“Ye mustn't, Count e’ Lahkrok, ‘tisn’t proper,” Persky protested, his good limb trying ineffectually to wave Witon’s attentions off.

“Nonsense,” Witon insisted, without a second’s hesitation and finished his ministrations. “There is no rank here,” he said, retaking his place upon the squat stool, “there is no one species or another. There is only Witon and Persky.”

The Elf-Man’s wide mouth dropped a bit as his slanted eyes blinked. He dipped his head at the honor bestowed upon him. With a quick glance, Witon could see both geneses in this enigmatic creature; the green of his skin washed pale with human blood; the slight point to his ears, not the sharply angled ones of a pure Elf.

“Besides,” Witon said with a chuckle, “I am not a true Count yet, as my father Trilon still lives.”

“And may the Stars grant him a long life,” Persky replied, with the fine manners of their land.

“You were telling me of your uncle,” Witon prompted, as he poured them each a mug of ale from the small table between them.

“Yea, ‘twas my father’s brother.” Persky took a long draught from his mug. A mustache of foam remained behind and he wiped it away with the back of his good hand. “He was a cruel man. He brought me into his home, true, but as a slave. I have served him thus for the whole of my life, all three and thirty years.”

“Three and th…?” Witon spewed the small portion of ale in his mouth, dousing them both, grateful for Persky’s smile rather than a frown of disgust. “But I am four and thirty. You… you cannot be… what I mean to say is…”

Persky gave a small shake of his head and held up his hand, though it held his mug still. “’Tis true, I assure you. But I cannot explain it to you. They say my father was large even for an Elf, standing close to seven feet at least. My mother, too, was tall for a Human,” Persky explained with pride. Though he had never known his parents, the esteem he held them in, for their courage in allowing their love to cross boundaries few ever dared, shone bright in his eyes, in the tender upward curve of his lips. “My uncle claimed my diminutive stature to be a curse, wrought by their indecent love. I say ‘tis a blessing.”

Witon’s brows rose at that. In a land where even Humans grew to great heights, himself standing at six and three, he could not imagine how such a pint-sized anatomy could be a blessing. His confusion must have shown on his face, for Persky answered his question without being asked.

“It has kept me alive, I have no doubt of it,” Persky said. “They put me on the front lines, at the strongest points, to lure in whatever enemy they battled. I was their… bait.”

Witon struggled for a moment with the truly incomprehensible notion. As the truth of it took hold, as he saw the deep hurt of it in Persky’s fair eyes, the anger birthed a monster inside him.

He stood up so fast, the stool tipped over. He spun on booted feet, grumbling over his shoulder, “I bid you to excuse me for a moment.”

“Of cour—” Persky began, but Witon had already strode out the door.

~*~

He walked a circle in the large foyer of the manor house, not knowing what to do with himself, with the anger seething inside him. He looked up the curving staircase that would bring him to Belamay and her arms, but Witon felt he had no place within them.

The thudding reached his ears, though they roared with his rushing blood. Witon stomped out the double front doors, marched about the grounds till he found the source.

A stable hand wielded an ax, chopping wood for the house and its many hearths.

Witon almost smiled as he stomped toward the young man, grabbed the sharp tool from the shocked lad’s brawny hands, and set to the task himself.

With each thunderous blow upon a stump, as he split and splintered the logs into pieces with such force that they flew from their base, Witon growled and grunted. He cared nothing for the bewildered stare of the young man standing nearby, or those that joined him in audience as Witon’s wailings and strikes grew louder and harsher. As sweat dripped from his body, soaking his fine jerkin and hose, he cried out his anger at the unjust world, damning those who had made it so, cursing those who had hurt so fair a creature as Persky.

Witon reached out a hand, the unspoken command for yet another hunk of wood to split, but this time it remained empty.

“There is no more, M’lord,” said the young man whose job had been so neatly done for him.

Witon turned then, turned out of himself for the first time since he’d begun, saw those standing around him in a confused bunch, the huge pile of split logs as high as his waist beside him. As it grew, the other diminished, shrank and shriveled away. The anger desperately needing expression had had its say, and not a soul had been hurt, save, mayhaps, for Witon’s own back.

He turned the ax, handing it back to the stable hand by the handle, slick with his sweat. “Might I have a cloth or rag, if you please?”

“Of course.” The lad took the ax and ran for the stable, returning just as quickly with a cloth, clean but stained with remnants of much use.

“I thank thee, most heartily,” Witon said to the youth, wiping his face and hands, turning his depleted body once more for the main building.

“’Tis my… pleasure,” the lad said, with great and true enthusiasm.

Witon smiled; why should he not? He’d finished the boy’s hardest task of the day. But not Witon’s; he had one of great importance left to do.

~*~

Witon entered Persky’s room with as little formality as he had left it by.

Persky stirred from a half sleep, roused by the powerful presence suddenly and keenly felt. “I am sorry, My Lord, sorry if I offended—”

Witon stilled him with a hand held up sharply, and crossed the room with a few scant strides, stunning Persky as he knelt by the small bed.

“You have offended no one, my good creature.” Witon’s voice quivered. “The world has offended you, deeply. I swear to you, I will make it right.”

Persky shook his head, pale green skin blossoming with pink. “I… I…”

“If you would do me the honor, I would have ye come live with me.” Witon gave him no pause. “Live with me in my home, with my family, become part of our family.”

This time Persky would have his say. “Your father would never approve.”

“Perhaps not at first.” Witon nodded, already thinking how he would broach the subject to the aging and ill Count. But he knew he could not have become the man he was without his father’s influence; they shared more than blood, Witon knew it as well as he knew his own name. “But you need not concern yourself with it.”

Persky’s slanted eyes grew round. His mouth worked, but he said naught.

Witon smiled. “Does that mean you will come?”

Persky nodded. “It would be the greatest pleasure I have ever known to do so.”

“Hah! Wonderful!” Witon burst with joy. Grabbing the stool, he drew it closer to Persky’s bed and sat once more. “Now, this next request… well, it is not so easily answered and I pray ye will take time before answering.”

Again, Persky nodded silently, yet with a perplexed furrow upon the smooth skin of his brow.

Witon began to talk, began to tell this creature of all his political efforts to bring peace to Minra Enra, and finally revealed all he had told Belamay of this new land and his designs for it.

“Amazing,” Persky whispered at the end of the story.

“Indeed,” Witon agreed.

“But… what it is you wish to ask of me?”

Witon chewed on his top lip. “I ask your help, Persky. I ask ye to come with me to the leaders of each species and see if they wish to be part of this new world of ours.” Already, Witon felt its reality… knew it belonged to at least him, Belamay, and Persky; a start.

Now, Persky’s skin blanched of all color and he became almost as beige as Witon himself. “Me? You want m… my help? How could I possibly help with such an insurmountable task?”

Witon once more took his hand. “You can tell your story, just as ye told it to me. If there is anything in their hearts that longs for peace, it will be touched by such a tale.”

Persky left his hand in Witon’s, staring at the pair that looked so different in their skins and their formations, and yet were so similar in so many ways.

Looking up, he smiled, for the first time in a very long time. “I am at your service, My Lord.”

Witon grinned, broadly and merrily, gave Persky’s hand a squeeze, and, to Persky’s utter astonishment, stood and offered the Elf-Man a deep bow. “And I, Good Sir, am at yours.” It was how one lord would reply to another.

Seeing Persky’s flabbergasted expression, Witon laughed, put one hand on each side of the creature’s head, and gave his forehead a hard, smacking kiss.

“Get well, Persky,” Witon called over his shoulder as he fairly skipped from the bed to the door. “Get well so we may go home.”

“My Lord!” Persky cried, stopping Witon in his tracks.

“You must call me Witon.”

Persky nodded. “Witon?”

“Yes, Persky?”

“You will change my life.”

Witon sniffed as he smiled, as he gently shook his head. “No, my friend, you will change all our lives.”