Fae-Touched
an excerpt

Chapter 2

Lyria’s mother slapped her across the face for the fourth time that evening.
“What do you think you were doing?!” she shrieked again, hands balled into fists at her sides, cheeks flushed red with rage. “A Fae-touched, one of them, those creatures, in our village! Those things deserve nothing more than the death that one got and you tried to help it!”

Lyria had listened to much of the same tirade since Aryl led her through the door. News travels fast in a village, and plenty of people had seen what Lyria had done.

“Mother… it wasn’t like that… I didn’t even know she was-“
“BUT YOU FOUND OUT SOON ENOUGH, DIDN’T YOU?!”
“But she was hurt, she died right there, I had to try something-“
“IF SHE DIED THEN SO BE IT! There’s no better place for those creatures than rotting with the maggots!”

Lyria felt her own anger rising. Why was her mother always so damn irrational? “I couldn’t just leave her there! King Mornaed says they’re people, just like us, she was barely older than me, I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing! I had to try! I’m not a cowardly hypocrite like you!”

Even as she said it she knew she had gone too far. Her mother was taller than her, and heavier, and a lot stronger. She felt a fist connect with her face again and blood spurted from her nose. The sight of it seemed to shock her mother, for she stood in stunned silence, greying blonde hair pulling loose of its tie and flying about her face.

Lyria stood, defiant. //I will not cry//, she told herself. //I won’t give her the satisfaction, I WON'T//.

Suddenly a loud, booming voice blasted across the kitchen. “ENOUGH! WHAT THE BLAZES IS GOING ON HERE?!”

Lyria whirled to face the door. Her father stood there, a tall, slightly portly man with balding grey hair that had once been a similar kind of red to Lyria’s. His green eyes burned with anger. Within a few strides he had come to stand beside Lyria. He looked into her face, his eyes narrowing, and then rounded on his wife.

“Look at her! She’s bleeding!” As he spoke, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Lyria. “What are you thinking, that you’re going to smack her about until her brain falls out?!”

As Lyria dabbed at her nose, she watched her mother nearly inflate with equal anger. “Clearly you haven’t heard what she did today!”
“Of course I’ve heard! Damn it, you should be proud of her, proud of what she did today! She went out of her way to help another human being-“
“THOSE CREATURES AREN’T HUMAN!” Her mother shrieked. “Who KNOWS what it might have contaminated her with, people will be talking about us for months, Valard, we’ll be-“

“ENOUGH!” Her father roared again. “Enough, Sarthi. You have put this child through enough. Can you not even appreciate the kindness within our daughter? Can you not even understand what she went through? Whether you consider Fae-touched human or not, can you not appreciate that Lyria tried to help someone who died in front of her? She has never even seen a dead body before, and instead of offering her comfort, you try to beat her senseless.”

Without waiting for Sarthi to reply, Valard took Lyria by the shoulders and led her from the room.

They did not speak until they reached the quiet refuge of Valard’s study. He sat his daughter down in one of the armchairs and poured her a small glass of brandy. She sipped it, grimacing at the taste, but appreciating that it would make her feel better. Valard sat down in the chair across from her.

“I spoke with Jolson, the blacksmith.”

Lyria looked up. Her nose had stopped bleeding, but it felt sore, and she could feel the skin swelling. Half her face felt bruised. “Zale’s father?”

Valard nodded. “He, and Zale too, were impressed with what you did today. Temm’s a big man, and very set in his ways, it’s not easy to stand up to someone like that.”

Lyria was silent for a bit, and sipped some more of the brandy. “No one would help,” she said at last. “She died… and no one would help. She didn’t even tell me her name.”

Valard nodded. “Jolson, Zale, Aryl, and some of the other… more open-minded men in the village will take her later tonight and bury her. They will choose a place where she can rest in peace, where none will disturb her.”

“There shouldn’t be a reason to fear she’d be disturbed in the first place.” Lyria said sullenly. She felt tired and raw. “And if someone had just helped her… maybe she wouldn’t have died…”

“She would have died, Lyria,” Valard said gently. “Her wounds were severe. I saw her body.”

Lyria’s jaw clenched, and she nodded. Her knuckles were white around the brandy glass.

Valard got up and came to her, kneeling next to her chair. “I’m proud of you, Lyria. You were very brave today.”

Lyria’s lip quivered, and her eyes stung as she felt tears spring to them and spill down her face. Her father reached for her and pulled her to him, stroking her hair and kissing her forehead as though she were a child. “There, there, my little girl, there, there,” he said in a softly singing voice. “There, there.”