Location: Monthaven
Timeline: Sixth Age, 52nd Year: Late Spring
I know I’ve been rather dismissive of Emcorae’s storyline and you’re probably wondering why I continue to even tell it because it is so far afield from the rest of this tale. Believe me, I’m with you. But the fact is that, to my great horror, Emcorae eventually becomes ‘something more.’ Looking back now—knowing what this clumsy, tear-stained human would eventually do to me, why the irony is almost delicious.
Emcorae Azop wandered the woods bordering the Finch estate, a portrait of unrequited misery. The “date” had been a disaster, and the young man’s ego was as bruised as his heart. Tears of self-pity eventually gave way to a directionless, adolescent rage—at Lynsy, at his rigorous training, and finally, at the heavens.
Oh, the arrogance of short-lived creatures, eh? He screamed at Alyssa as if the Goddess of Love were his personal matchmaker, a cosmic servant who had missed a deadline. He even threw a tantrum at Pan. I suppose when your heart hurts, any deity will do for a scapegoat.
Exhausted by his own lamentations, our would-be warrior then slumped against an oak tree and let sleep claim him. Nearby, Joanne emerged from the brush – sensing the toxic aura of torment radiating from her friend, the elvish mare kept her distance, watching over him with a skittish, silent loyalty.
When Emcorae woke in the dead of night, he found a new, cold resolve. He tried to play the role of the Stoic Exile. “I am a true Azora!” he declared to the indifferent trees. He puffed out his chest and spoke of duty and returning to Arbola, all while his pulse hammered out the name Lynsy like a desperate drum. He knew leaving his family so soon would be a betrayal of their six-year wait, and more importantly, he knew he couldn’t simply “train away” the image of Lynsy Finch. So he compromised with himself: he would take a month to pack and say his goodbyes, aiming to be back in the elven forests by his birthday. It was a masterclass in self-delusion – he might as well have promised the Suskil River it could flow uphill.
As the moon climbed higher, his fortitude slipped. “AAARRRGGH!” he roared again. “Alyssa, why won’t you help me?!”
The Self-Imposed Exile
A week of “quarantine” followed – with Emcorae locking himself in his room and mopping.
But soon the Azop cottage was filled with the savory, comforting scent of Gulunkis—a rich stew of tomatoes, meat, and cabbage. Paullina was cooking Emcorae’s favorite meal – a grandmother’s silent plea for him to rejoin the living. [Honestly, the smell of boiling cabbage was enough to make even an immortal consider ending it all]
Outside his bedroom door, Chich scratched and whimpered, desperate to see her friend, but when Emcorae didn’t open the portal, eventually the dog gave up – slinking away as she had every day for the past week.
Inside his room, Emcorae lay on his bed, staring at a book. He hadn’t read a word, it was just an excuse to keep his family away. Meanwhile, he continued having a high-stakes debate between his Heart and his Mind.
Mind: You’re a warrior. Go back to the forest. Heart: I don’t want to be an Azora. I want Lynsy!
Mind: Lynsy doesn’t want you. Heart: Maybe if I tried again?
Mind: Accept the destiny you’ve been given, not the one you want. Heart: But her legs were so tanned!
And soon he was lost in another teenage boy daydream.
[Yet another mortal taken down by love. It was pathetic. Had I known of Emcorae at the time, I would have killed him then and there – it would have been a mercy to the timeline].
A soft rap sounded at the bedroom door, bringing Emcorae back to reality.
“Go away. I’m busy… studying,” Emcorae called out, not moving from his bed. To his shock, the intruder dared to open the door! “Tiffania!”
“Hello, Em,” she said softly. “Your mama said I could come back.”
The boy’s reaction was comedic gold. He scrambled to hide his unwashed hair and his rumpled dignity. Then he tried to dismiss her with a rolodex of excuses, but the girl just sat on his sister Teree’s bed and looked at Emcorae with that maddening pity.
Emcorae’s moon shifted from embarrassment to defensive panic. “If you’re here to tell me again why Lynsy can’t be with me, don’t. I know.”
“Just listen, Em.” Tiffania’s voice was a cooling balm. “Lynsy wants me to tell you some things. And… I think you’re going to like this: she does want to see you again.”
The boy’s face went through stages of grief and ecstasy in. His mind transitioning from “I must return to my calling” to “I am a panting golden retriever” before she even finished her sentence, but it was quickly tempered by Tiffania’s grave expression when she added, “if you still want to see her after what I tell you.”
The Prince of Orkney
Tiffania began to unravel the knot of Lynsy’s life. She spoke of how Lynsy had thought of little else but Emcorae since their meeting, but then she turned to the shadow: Diked Dinus, the Prince of Orkney.
The engagement had been brokered years ago, back in ’47, as part of a trade agreement between Merrill Finch and King Karl Dinus. At thirteen, Lynsy had experienced a “puppy love” for the seventeen-year-old heir to the throne. It was exciting, royal, and sanctioned by her father. The wedding had been set for this spring, only to be delayed by Diked for “King’s business.”
“If he really loved her,” Emcorae muttered, “nothing would be more important than marrying.”
“I know,” Tiffania sighed. “But it gets worse. Diked changed. By the time he returned in ’48, he wasn’t a sweet boy anymore. He was conniving, manipulative, and walked with a cruel sense of entitlement.”
Tiffania’s voice broke. She began to cry, the soft sobs alarming Emcorae. He rushed to her side as she clung to him. “Oh, Emcorae, please promise me you will rescue her! He has been so horrible!”
“What did he do?” The fire of the Amorosi began to kindle in Emcorae’s chest.
Through a hushed, painful conversation, Tiffania revealed the truth of that spring in ’48. While their fathers were away, Diked had isolated Lynsy. He had drugged Tiffania’s wine with a sleeping potion to ensure she wouldn’t interfere. That night, the Prince decided that “consent” was a word for commoners as he had his way with his fiance.
Tiffania wept, her hair a curtain of brown misery. She spoke of Lynsy’s brother, Dugan, who’d apparently been misled by Diked into believing it was a consensual encounter. When Dugan could no longer ignore Lynsy’s screams, he’d broken into her room tried to save her. A fight broke out and Lynsy fled, broken and terrified. It was a sordid tale—the kind of thing mortals do to one another while they claim to be “civilized.”
“How can the wedding still be on?” Emcorae yelled, his fury boiling over. “Why didn’t her father kill him?”
“Merrill doesn’t know,” Tiffania explained. “Diked left the next day. Lynsy stayed locked in her room until her bruises healed, making me tell everyone she was sick. Dugan was too ashamed to speak to anyone, and Lynsy… she thinks it was her fault for not submitting to her fiancé.”
The room fell silent, save for the distant, cheerful sounds of Emcorae’ mother and grandmother in the kitchen, oblivious to the tragedy being discussed.
“Diked hasn’t been back since,” Tiffania said, “but he sends letters to Merrill and Dugan—never to Lynsy—to ensure the ‘business arrangement’ stands. He only cares about Merrill’s wealth.” Then Tiffania looked desperately at Emcorae. “Don’t you see – Lynsy’s trapped. She doesn’t dare break her father’s oath and so she’s resigned herself to a life with a monster. But you can save her Emcorae. If you still want to.” And she hesitate as she asked, “Now that you know she isn’t the unblemished angel of your fantasies, do you still… want her?”
Emcorae felt a cold, sharp clarity. His training as an Azora was meant for protecting the innocent and facing darkness. Here was a darkness more profound than any beast in the Arbola Forest. The self-pity of the last week vanished, replaced by a singular, burning purpose. “I love her, Tiff, I don’t care about the past. I AM about her future!”
Tiffania smiled through her tears. “Then go to her, Emcorae. Go now!”
Emcorae raced out of the house – never realizing he was walking into a trap set by the very gods he’d cursed earlier.
The Apocrypha of Azazel 