The Deathsinger: Book 1

Ch. 1: The Selection

WARNING: This story contains depictions of violence and depictions of sexual assault that may not be suitable for some readers.

The end of a hundred year war. Outside the castle walls, bells tolled and elves cheered in the streets, celebrating the king's victory over The Araphel—the dealers of Death magic and darkness. The relief and reignited hope of people in the city were palpable in the laughter, shouts, and sporadic singing of the war-weary citizens. But the jubilation rising in the atmosphere outside did not penetrate the room in which I stood.

All around me, dozens of children huddled on the cold floors, their little limbs wrapped tight around food-starved frames to conserve what warmth they could in the damp, drafty space. For some, being alone seemed to offer a measure of solace. Others, like me, gravitated toward the windows, staring wistfully through the warped glass panes.

I pressed my nose against the glass and wished for a little of the joy outside to slip through the stone walls, for there was certainly none to be found within them. Did the other children gazing longingly out the window wish to shout and sing with the relieved revelers outside... to see whether it was possible for them to absorb some of the joy blooming in the city as a cure to push out the sorrow that sickened them?

Pulling back from the window, I covered my nose to warm it. Did they know the truth as I did? That for orphans, there was no joy or celebration or end to suffering in the king's victory. We would be the ever-present reminder of the cost of war.

Across the room, the heavy wooden door creaked as it opened. A few of the children raised their heads in listless curiosity when a trio of women entered. Brownies from the looks of their drooping pointed ears and wrinkled hands, but their features expressed an unusual sternness for their race. Was their natural kindness another collateral cost of the war?

I watched the newcomers warily, anticipation knotting unpleasantly in my stomach. When the Orphan Snatchers collected me this morning, I went willingly despite not knowing what happened to the children they took. So far, we had been treated well enough—each child receiving a hot meal and cool water to wash away weeks of grime. They then delivered us to a pair of matronly looking women standing outside the castle who ushered us through the outer bailey and settled us in this barren room. No one else had entered the room again until now.

The child beside me, a Vixen of about five or six years old, swiveled her tufted ears toward them and bared her sharp incisors. Vixens were known for their heated temperaments. They were quick to anger and last to stand down; so, I shouldn't have been surprised by the behavior, but it was out of place in a room filled with so many downtrodden children. If her story was even half as bleak as the bleakest child's, I wouldn't fault her for cowering. Instead, her small act of defiance warmed my heart and almost made me laugh. It would be the first in as long as I could remember, which admittedly wasn't all that impressive since my memories only went back two years.

Slowly, the women worked their way through the crowd, stopping and inspecting each child. A few children were pulled aside by the smallest of the three women and hustled into the hallway. Several minutes later, she returned alone.

On and on this went until eventually fifteen of the orphans had been removed from the space and the Brownies had sorted all remaining children into an order only they understood. Even the defiant little Vixen had been put into a group, though I noticed she'd lost some of her bluster.

"Do we put her with them?" the smallest Brownie asked, tapping her nail against her leathery chin. Her round, doll-like eyes, were kinder up close, but it didn't hide the obvious calculation as she focused her gaze upon me.

"Them" was a group of girls ranging in age from twelve to fourteen. They leaned against the wall to my right in a straight line, some of them clasping hands as tears streaked down their faces.