Child of the Sacred Earth: The Lost Kingdom of Fallada, #2

Prologue

There once was a woman who wanted a daughter more than anything. For every year that her womb remained barren, she mourned what she could not have. This woman was a queen, surrounded by all the finery and possessions one could desire, yet it was not enough. In an attempt to please the queen, her devoted husband showered her with gifts and attention, hoping to brighten her days and bring her joy. The longer she went without children the more miserable she became, until her agony turned into bitterness and bitterness into anger. The queen became spoiled and vain, realizing that her beauty commanded respect, awe, and devotion from others. She was, after all, the fairest woman in the kingdom of Fallada.

Despite the darkness slowly growing within, she would often walk through the garden surrounding her castle and fantasize about the daughter of her dreams.

Oh, Enrak, she would say to her king and husband, how I wish to have a daughter with skin pearly as the snow upon the ground, lips as red as our lovely roses, and hair black as ebony.

King Enrak would pull his wife into his loving arms and smile down upon her with indulgence—for he would give Eranna anything she wanted if it were within his power—and say, She would be the second most beautiful woman in all of Fallada.

The queen did not have to ask who he thought was the first; that answer was obvious. With the picture of the child she wished for dancing through her mind, the queen grew even more despondent. Tired of watching his wife suffer, King Enrak journeyed into the Delelm Mountains. The icy peaks bordering his wintery region of Mollac were home to the Witches and Sorcerers. While the royals of Fallada often avoided them because of the danger of practicing the dark magic arts, King Enrak was desperate. He would do anything for his wife.

When he returned from his journey, he brought with him a Witch named Ushma. The humpbacked creature with gnarled tree branches for limbs promised the king results within a year’s time, and the queen was more than happy to have her despite her hideous appearance and dabbling in black magic.

The Witch took up residence at Semran Hall—the towering castle at the center of Mollac—and cared for the queen for the contracted year. As promised, the queen became pregnant and gave birth to a beautiful child. Just as she wished, the girl was born with porcelain skin, cherry-red lips, and hair dark as the night. She named her Desdemona, but often referred to the child as Snowdrop, because of her porcelain skin.

In her heart, the queen was still discontent. One beautiful daughter was wonderful, but two … two daughters of unmatched beauty would be the perfect jewels in her crown. She would train them and mold them, perfect little miniature versions of herself for the world to admire.

King Enrak, however, was pleased with only one daughter. And so, he sent the Witch back into the mountains with hopes that his wife’s disposition would improve with the new blessing of motherhood.

One day, while hunting in the woods, the king happened upon an abandoned baby bassinet, nearly covered by snow drifts. Horrified that someone would abandon a baby out in the harsh, cold climate of Mollac, the king immediately plucked the bassinet from the snow, relieved to find that the child inside of it lived.

The moment he laid eyes on the child—a girl—he loved her, and promised the screaming babe that no harm would come to her. Miraculously, she had survived in the woods alone. Now Enrak would take her home, and Eranna would have her second daughter at last. He carried her back to Semran Hall joyously, in hopes that Eranna would happily accept the child as readily as he had.

She was given the name Jocylene, though there was no pet name for her as the queen could hardly stand to look upon her. Unlike Desdemona, who was a quiet and sullen child, Jocylene was a vibrant soul. Many who served in the castle at the time swore that the babe had to have been born with a smile on her face. However, it was not the child’s disposition that disgusted the queen, but her great beauty.

Hair like mahogany, eyes as green as spring leaves, and golden skin gifted the child with outer beauty that far surpassed that of her mother and sister. The queen hated the child on sight, and wanted nothing to do with her. She and Desdemona snubbed Jocylene and Enrak, each finding delight in the disagreeable company of the other.

It is strange to think of those times before darkness cast its shadow over our kingdom. The loss of our seven royal daughters was a crushing blow, one caused by Eranna’s jealousy of not only her own adopted daughter, but the other royal children of Fallada as well. Banished to the world of men, never to be heard from again, the seven princesses are our only hope of restoring balance to this land.

From my tower in the Faerie land of Goldun, I have watched the things that happen now and those that have not yet come to pass. As queen of the Fae, I alone hold the key to the wall that allows us entry into the world of men.

Things are already looking up, my friend. My scribes, the Brothers Grimm, have brought to me the first of the lost princesses already, Princess Eladria of Damu, the southern desert region of Fallada. Her leadership of Damu’s army on the Day of the Red Dawn dealt a crushing blow to the enemy. In her arrogance, Eranna thought to march upon the desert realm and overthrow it. Oh, my friend, it was such an epic victory for our side. I cannot tell you how proud I am of Eladria, who has since gone on to fight beside her mate, Titus of Mollac, against Eranna’s forces.

The prophecy’s fulfillment is near at hand as one by one the lost daughters of our great land are located. I speak to you now, on the eve of the second journey of The Adrah, the flying steamship christened with my name in honor of my efforts at finding the lost girls. It is an honor to watch that vessel shooting across the morning sky with my faithful scribes and some of my most loyal Fae warriors on board. I hope and pray that they will return with Jocylene, the lost princess of Mollac.

You see, when Eranna banished the princesses of Fallada into the world of men, we were fooled into believing that all seven of them were gone forever. However, I have seen into Semran Hall and the inner workings of Eranna’s dark fortress. Within the iron gates that keep me and my Fae warriors out, she has hidden her favored daughter, Desdemona. She is now a woman—twenty years of age—one who has no idea what her mother has done by keeping her ensconced within the castle’s stone walls. She is spoiled and petulant, much like her mother, and has powers hidden deep within. Powers that are needed to complete the prophecy linking the seven girls together. For now, her gifts aid Eranna’s side until I can extract her and teach her of her unavoidable destiny.

The two will know the instant I have brought Jocylene into Fallada, and for that reason I have sent a unit of Faerie warriors on the journey for extra protection. In order for the second part of the prophecy to be fulfilled, Princess Jocylene must be returned to her rightful place in Mollac unharmed, and for now this is our first priority.

Here we stand again, at a fork in the road as we travel toward peace in our land. I can only guide those who seek my council in the way I think is best, and hope that our destiny will be changed from one of doom to one of victory.

Chapter One

Rothatin Longspear loved the stillness of the night. There was something about the twinkling of diamond-white stars against the backdrop of a nearly black sky that soothed him like nothing else could. Much like the nocturnal bird carrying him across the night heavens, the Faerie warrior lived for the darkness, the stillness, of night.

Unlike most of his late-night flights, this one was not for leisure. There was a sense of purpose in the air, and he knew the other members of his party could feel it as well. Danger mingled with excitement, as none of them had ever left Fallada. Even he—Queen Adrah’s General and closest advisor—had only seen glimpses of the place called Earth. His queen often allowed him entrance to the dark tower room where the Eye of Goldun showed visions of the past, present, and future. It was an honor, one that had allowed Rothatin to see more of the human world than many of his Fae counterparts.

Despite the stoic facial expression he wore as part of his uniform, he was fairly humming with excitement as well. He had all but begged his queen for the chance to leave this world, even if only for a short time. It wasn’t that he didn’t adore the floating city of Goldun—in fact, he was of the opinion that there was no place in the universe more beautiful than the Faerie citadel built around the beauty of nature. It was the pang of unrequited love that Rothatin was running from, the undeniable agony of looking upon the face of an unmatched beauty with adoration, only to realize that the sentiment was not returned.

Even now, he couldn’t forget the image of her, permanently seared into his mind. Fiery red hair, a heart-shaped face, and a mouth curved like a plump ivy leaf. Princess Eladria was bewitching. The conundrum was that she hadn’t the slightest inkling of her power over him. In fact, Rothatin was fairly certain she strongly disliked him.

With a heavy sigh, he remembered vividly the first time he saw her, standing her ground against six attacking Minotaurs—a feat he’d have thought impossible of a tiny thing like her, so young and inexperienced. At the time, she was merely a girl from the world of men; one who had transformed and blossomed into a woman of strength and beauty right before his very eyes. Watching her come into her power had been a pleasure. Seeing her married to one of the Werewolf Shifters of the west had tormented him.

He saw them together from time to time, happy and oblivious to all but each other. Their mate’s bond was so strong, even a warrior like Rothatin could not break it. Even if he were capable of such a feat, his honor would never allow him to come between a mated pair. So he pined for her from a distance, mourning for what never was and never could be. The massive beast beneath him let out a loud screech as they swooped alongside the flying steamship piloted by the scribes known as the Brothers Grimm. Rothatin snapped to attention at the bird’s call and realized that they now approached the brightest star of the Dyanthine formation, the portal leading to the human world. Queen Adrah had already turned the key that would allow them entrance. Within minutes, he would have left his beautiful world behind for one less familiar. The thrill of adventure shot through him at the thought. Exploring a new world would prove to be just the distraction he needed.

Are you as excited as I am, Archimedes? he asked his beloved bird, running long fingers through pristine white feathers. The large snow owl was as much a part of him as his pointed ears and flowing blond hair, as much a relative as his own blood brother. His best friend.

Archimedes screeched again in answer to Rothatin’s question, his large, yellow eyes fixed on the looming stars of Dyanthine.

From the ship’s deck, Wilhelm Grimm—the more adventurous of the two brothers—called to him, waving both arms in the air in a dramatic attempt at getting his attention.

Come closer! the old man bellowed, grabbing hold to the rigging and stepping onto the ship’s rail.

Despite his melancholy mood, the sight of the old scribe hanging from the side of the ship with the wind in his hair lifted Rothatin’s spirits. The Grimm brother’s taste for adventure matched his own.

Would you like a ride, Wilhelm? Rothatin asked. There is room in my saddle for two, and Archimedes is more than strong enough to carry us both.

Without preamble, Wil let go of the rigging and leapt onto the owl’s back, fitting perfectly in the saddle behind Rothatin.

Good of you to invite me! Wil said with a boisterous whoop.

Of course, Rothatin replied with a good-natured chuckle. He knew Wil would have found his way onto the back of the bird eventually, invitation or not.

The blinding flash of the portal enveloped them as Rothatin pulled gently on Archimedes’ reins, banking left a bit and following the steamship. The other Fae followed suit, and soon they were enveloped in starlight. Vibrations hummed through his veins as they passed through the star. Behind him, Wil gripped the sides of the saddle and held on tight.

Columbus, Georgia

Joss, get your lazy ass down here!

Jocylene Sanders came awake like a bullet leaving a gun, shooting straight up in bed with a jolt. Her bleary eyes fought for focus as she faintly registered sunlight streaming through the curtain of dark brown hair hanging in her eyes. For the split second between waking up and actually placing her feet on the floor, she liked to pretend she was someone else. She was sixteen again, living in a lovely, two-parent, suburban home with an SUV in the driveway, a dog in the backyard, and bacon frying in a kitchen painted a sickeningly cheery shade of yellow. Her walls were covered in posters, and every surface from the dresser to the sleek computer desk was covered in typical teenager memorabilia: a homecoming mum, set of poms poms, maybe some colorful picture frames featuring her and clusters of smiling friends. Downstairs, a mom with a beautiful smile poured glasses of orange juice and scrambled eggs while a dad with dapper gray hair at the temples and wearing suspenders and a tie, read the morning news on his laptop.

Get a move on, you stupid cow!

That did it. Jocylene’s fantasy crumbled and she brushed the curtain of her hair aside to greet her reality. The bleak and bare walls of the room she slept in surrounded her in a drab cloud of gray. The lumpy futon that served as her bed was the only piece of furniture other than the small, chipped nightstand that held her charging cell phone and a shade-less lamp. A closet with no doors yawned open to the room, sporting two pairs of jeans and a collection of graphic tees—the only clothing Jocylene owned besides a worn, gray hoodie. The shapeless pullover belonged to an ex-boyfriend, one Jocylene would sooner forget than remember, but it was all she had during the winter months as protection from the cold.

Speaking of the cold … She jumped from the bed and scurried over to the closet on bare feet, hugging her arms around her torso to ward off the morning chill. Would it kill the old hag to turn the heater on every once in a while?

Your siblings are getting hungry!

She rolled her eyes, pulling on a pair of clean jeans and a T-shirt with a picture of a turtle on the front. In block letters below it read: Junk in the Trunk. A pair of socks and sneakers followed. She secured her hair into some kind of messy knot on the top of her head as she descended the rickety stairs from her attic room to the second floor of the house.

Jocylene came up short when her three foster siblings ran past her, their footsteps like thunder on the wooden stairs as they clambered down to the first floor.

Slow down, she warned, knowing Mabel would bruise their butts if she caught them running in the house. Unfortunately, Mabel had not yet taken up her vigil in front of the TV, and was holding one of the kids by the arm just as Jocylene rounded the corner on her way to the kitchen. She intervened before Mabel’s flyswatter could make contact with six-year-old Vince’s face.

Hey, Vin, why don’t you go set the table for me?

She did her best to inject cheer into her voice as she swiftly and skillfully plucked Vince out of Mabel’s grasp, steering him toward the kitchen. The boy took the reprieve gratefully.

You got it, Joss, he said as he trotted toward the kitchen, leaving her to face a swaggering Mabel alone.

Jocylene could tell she was drunk already. Mabel raised the flyswatter and swung it toward her face. Jocylene dodged the blow and a cheap, bobble head figurine took the hit, falling to the floor with a ‘thunk’ and taking down a few other tacky knickknacks with it. Mabel swayed on her feet, her limpid blue eyes glassy and narrowed.

Ungrateful bitch, she snarled, her voice raspy from years of smoking cigarettes. She scratched herself and hitched up one of her sagging, knee-high support hose until it disappeared under the hem of her shapeless housecoat. Her hair, which had once been blonde, was now nearly white and standing on end. Dark facial hair sprouted at her chin, a few rogue bristles dusting her upper lip.

Get my breakfast, Mabel commanded as she lumbered toward the living room. Don’t let them kids eat all my jam, neither. I want it.

Sure thing, Jocylene flung over her shoulder as she breezed into the kitchen. Michael, not at the table, she chided the ten-year-old science genius fiddling with his robotics project. Shouldn’t you be done with that by now? she asked as the shy, dark-haired boy sheepishly placed his project back in its shoebox and slid it into his backpack.

It’s due today, he said meekly, eyeing her from behind his round glasses. I just want to make sure it’s ready.

Jocylene pulled a box of pancake mix out of the cupboard and breathed a sigh of relief as she eyed the label. ‘Just add water’ meant she wouldn’t have to worry about using precious eggs or milk to give the kids a treat. They got so few of them in their poor little lives.

It’ll be great, she promised as she measured out the mix. I’ve seen it work. You’re going to win first prize.

Michael straightened at the table and beamed under her approval. Jocylene just knew the boy would be someone important someday; if Mabel didn’t screw him up first. Vince slid into his seat at the table and gave Jocylene a secretive smile.

Thanks, Jossy, he whispered, his cherubic lips struggling around the words. The ‘s’ sounds dragged out in a lisp. That was a close one.

Jocylene tried on her best disapproving grown-up look as she stirred the batter, but Vince’s blond curls and plump cheeks made it difficult.

Don’t let it happen again, she said in hushed tones as she slid a frying pan over the stove and flicked on the gas burner. You know how she gets when she’s drinking.

As she turned to spoon the batter into the pan in perfect little circles, Jocylene felt a flash of anger rip through her. It wasn’t fair; those poor kids shouldn’t have to tiptoe around a mean drunk like Mabel all the time. They were kids for crying out loud. Unfortunately, Mabel specialized in crushing the spirits of little children. She’d crushed Jocylene’s long ago.

Now twenty years old, she didn’t have to take the abuse her foster mother had been dishing out ever since Jocylene appeared on her doorstep at the age of nine. But she wasn’t going to leave the little ones to suffer alone, and she and Mabel had a deal. In exchange for taking care of the kids and keeping the house clean, Jocylene was allowed to stay. It had been a hard deal to make, especially since Mabel was ready to kick her out the door the second she turned eighteen. She’d known appealing to the woman’s lazy side would win it for her, and offering to take the bulk of the childcare off her hands had done the trick.

Jocylene needed no reminders of why she did this. The faces of three little angels did the reminding for her. That third face was peering up at her now, framed in ash blonde hair and dotted with ginger-colored freckles.

Jossy, can you tie my shoes? four-year-old Gracie asked, index finger hanging from between lips as red as a cherry.

Jocylene flipped her pancakes, then knelt to face her favorite foster sibling. Not that she didn’t love them all, but she had practically raised Gracie, saving her from Mabel’s neglect when she was first placed in the home as an infant. While Mabel was content to let the poor baby cry through the night, Jocylene just couldn’t stand it. Every night after Mabel had fallen into an alcohol-induced slumber, Jocylene would creep down from her attic room. At the time, Gracie’s bassinet was shoved into the corner of the room she shared with then two-year-old Vince. The poor toddler barely got any sleep with the racket Gracie made, her back arched and lips trembling, clenched fists flailing as she screamed her little head off. Her heart would break every time she glanced down into that bassinet.

She spent so many nights with that baby against her chest, she began to feel a connection deeper than anything she could have imagined. Many times she wished that Gracie was truly her child. It certainly felt that way as she bent down to tie Gracie’s worn Keds.

What a colorful outfit, she said with a chuckle as she took in Gracie’s rainbow-striped tights, pink tutu skirt, and lime green cardigan over a white tank top.

I love my tutu, Gracie defended, twirling a few times with a dramatic display of whimsical pink netting and tulle. It was the best birthday present ever.

The thing had cost Jocylene about a week’s worth of gas, but it was worth it to see Gracie smiling on her birthday. Mabel never celebrated them. It was up to Jocylene to see that the kids got something.

Well, you look like a princess, Jocylene replied, flipping the pancakes onto plates and coating them with the honey she kept hidden in the back of the pantry. Mabel could keep her stupid jam—the little ones would get the good stuff.

Gracie beamed proudly and crawled up into her chair at the table. Any compliment likening her to a