AFTER SEVERAL HOURS OF further medical examination and procedures, with her sight somewhat blurrily restored after quaffing another indescribably repugnant potion that tasted as if it were derived from corrosive suggid slime, Allory divulged her famished state and promptly received a stern telling-off followed by the precipitate arrival of a tray of thirty-three unique nectar ‘niblets’ prepared in advance by Chefturi the Cuisine Sage, a light green Pixie whose extreme waddle even when airborne betrayed an undeniable adoration for his craft. Hands gesticulated and hairstyles transformed nineteen to the dozen as he explained his creations to an increasingly rapt audience of one.

Never trust a thin cook? Well, Chefturi was perfectly enormous. She adored him at first sight.

“Please, my dear Scintillant Fae, which delight will you choose first?”

“Uh … this looks delicious? What is it?”

Overwhelmed and enchanted, the tiny object of all this largesse found she had opted to start with the charbis honey and arambis essence infused with a hint of torjummis juice – whatever under Middlesun that was – and topped with a tart cistraberry glaze, served in a delicately frosted crystalline sugar shell.

The gourmet delight touched her tongue. The world stopped.

Someone shook her shoulder. “Allory?”

Chefturi gazed imploringly at her. “How is my creation? Acceptable?”

She opened her eyes. “Sorry, I was just –”

“Sorry? Oh, oh … I am overcome with shame, my life is ruined, my career lies in tatters!” he burst out before she could insert even half a word. Wringing his hands, he moaned as if his very dust pained him, “I simply do not understand how I could have failed so miserably, woe is me! Woe, woe …”

What in Spheris did I just set off? Allory rubbed her antennae in confusion.

“Woe!” he moaned. “I am undone!”

“Sage Chefturi,” she squeaked in alarm, trying to catch his hand to stop the tearful tirade, “It was nothing like that – nothing bad at all. That was … a sip of pure bliss.”

“Bliss? What is this – how does bliss taste?” he gasped, dabbing theatrically at his streaming eyes.

Hmm. Pixies obviously leaped to histrionics at the buzz of a wingtip, too. She had better rise to the occasion, which for a shy soul who had never in her life spoken in public until her arrival at this Pixie volcano, was not guaranteed. Especially since Yaarah was making horrified faces and attempting a great deal of very bad sign language over to her left side, behind the Cuisine Sage’s back. Right. What to make of all that?

Allory announced heartily, “It’s a perfect antenna-curler!”

The anguish-shadowed green eyes searched hers in patent horror. “It … it ruins your antennae?”

Her jaw sagged in disbelief.

Yaarah clapped a paw to his forehead and yowled, “She means it’s good. That’s good, right?” His expression suggested this had better be the truth or delicate blue necks would be wrung by fierce paws. “Allory, tell him. Go on.”

“Good? It’s gooder than goody – uh, sorry. The uh … pure wonder of this creation … has quite stolen my ability to speak intelligibly.”

She licked her lips, trying to decide how she could bend the conversation toward asking for another of these marvels. Meantime, the Felidragon quirked his eyebrow as if bemused by the idea that anything beneath Middlesun could stop her from speaking. Mirth burbled gaily inside her breast. She touched her stomach as it voiced the howl of a starving lymanx, a fearsome feline night hunter of the jungles.

The Felidragon nodded to cue her to elaborate further.

Allory said, “Chefturi, this creation is simply outstanding. It is miraculous. I had no idea you could craft such a sensational nibble out of a substance as simple as nectar.”

His chest swelled. “Oh …”

Allory regarded the laughter swelling inside of her with something approaching alarm. And this? Sunbeams indeed. The extraordinary taste had led her directly to the discovery of what she had dreamed about, an inner quality of immaculate radiance which somehow permeated the sap of her soul. Could it be the trauma which had unleashed it? Or the interaction of her innate Scintillant magic with Pixie dust-magic? Or Chefturi’s fabulous skills?

“Indeed,” she murmured. “This is like tasting … pure sunbeams.”

“Oh, I say!” The gold buttons on his unashamedly emerald jacket strained across his chest and down his front. “Oh, do you mean that, my dearest Scintillant Fae? I implore you, tell me that you do.”

His green eyes fixed upon her, as imploring as a kitten begging for food. Deny that? No way in all the jungles!

Allory ventured, “Am I permitted to taste another? I cannot possibly resist.”

The Felidragon purred warningly.

“By the holiest dust of my soul!” Pling! A button whizzed past her left ear. “Oh dear. I do apologise – but please, try this one – this is a subtly fizzy, tormis-spiced marragis-blossom layered over a bed of green-cherry compote with a delicate hint of peppery simazi-herb.” Zing went another button. “It is as exceedingly rare as you are, o delightful muse,” the Pixie urged, waving his hands in impassioned circles as he picked out another sugar shell, this one filled with a delicate orange swirl in a cream glaze. “Here. This one. This will be utterly sensational, I promise you.”

“What’s wrong with a good, honest slab of raw meat?” Yaarah inquired. “A dash of salt, a few peppercorns –”

“Ignore the barbaric carnivore,” the Cuisine Sage sniffed with the disdain of a true artist regarding a lesser life-form. “Now, Allory Fae, if I might offer the slightest instruction, please dip the tip of your tongue right into the middle of the sugar pot and allow the nectar to slide upward so that you experience the changing tastes in the order I envisioned … slowly does it … don’t rush it. Very good.”

Allory’s eyes flicked shut in flabbergasted response. Wow! Wowee …

She heard the music again, gentle yet as powerful as the waters that sculpted caverns beneath her jungle. As irresistible as it was compelling, it whisked her away into glory.

A minute or two later, she heard Yaarah purr, “Mrrr-prrrt, has she expired of ecstasy?”

“Would you look at her smile?” Chenixipi put in. “Dust of my ancestors, I’m so jealous. Who wouldn’t want to die as happy as that?”

“Allory Fae?” the Felidragon prompted.

Before she could think farther upon it, she heard herself breathe, “I heard the music of the world’s soul.”

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

Her nape prickled. True insight – and what an insight it was!

Ten thousand scrolls could not have described the expression that wreathed Chefturi the Cuisine Sage’s rotund features as he apprehended her words. Frightening, thrilling, impossible to understand how deeply he seemed moved by her admission, but after the longest moment, the extra-large Pixie leaned far over upon his glittering bed of pixels and bussed her lightly upon the forehead. She smelled his particular Pixie fragrance, a kind of dry, dusty yet intriguing magical scent that brought to mind crystal lilies.

Dusty lilies, if that made any sense whatsoever.

“Thank you, I am eternally indebted,” he murmured and departed the chamber without another sound or gesture.

She stared after him. “What just happened?”

Chenixipi breathed, “You touched the dust of a Pixie’s soul, Allory. Such is the power you possess.”

“I … I don’t understand. I really don’t.”

Shrugging eloquently, she said, “Nor do we. Yet I have never seen Chefturi respond like that. For all his undoubted genius, he has always been plagued by self-doubt and he also has a difficult past. I believe you just gave him an inestimable gift.”

Allory could only shrug helplessly.

“Actual understanding is vastly overrated,” the Pixie assured her, drawing an aghast yowl from the scholar Felidragon.

“I … I still don’t … never mind,” she spluttered. If he was moved, she was shaken to the core. She wrung her hands and pulled on her antennae. “Please … I didn’t mean to offend – Chefturi, will he be alright?”

“It’s alright,” they chorused.

“You did nothing wrong, mrrr-prrr,” Yaarah put in.

Again, this instant spurt of dread. What was the matter with her? Deep breath. “Chenixipi, Yaarah, can you tell me what’s happened these last few days? Please, I need to know.”

As she sampled several more of the glorious tropical nectar delicacies, each as spectacular or unusual as the last, the pair between them told her of how she had reacted severely to some ingredient in the original sleeping potion. The Healer Sage had acted decisively to keep her alive, slipping the breathing tube down her throat before it swelled shut entirely. After that, she had cleaned the infection out of the wound and the surrounding tissues using a range of magical incantations, Pixie dust and poultices, which Chenixipi described in exhaustive detail. Allory was sure she would not remember the half of it. Then came the complicated, ultra-delicate surgery. Inixipi had trained and used her microscopic pixels to carry out the finest labour on the nerve bundles and muscles.

Along the way, Allory learned that Faerie anatomy was dissimilar to other creatures. Indeed, many magical creatures had their own particular organs, circulatory and nervous systems, mental faculties and the like. Her nerve bundles included features no Pixie Healer had ever encountered before, but neither had they met or treated many Faerie in hundreds of years. The principles were held to be universal, however, except that her repair had refused to ‘take.’

This turned out to be a complicated topic in its own right. Inixipi turned up at this point to examine her patient. She explained the delicate magical structures and processes which considerably complicated or sometimes entirely eased healing; the best healing came from within, she said, and offered that Yaarah explain his part.

“I thought I might help … ahem, by a sort of subterfuge,” he admitted. “The Pixies were at their dusts’ end when you remained in a coma and the surgical repairs failed to take root. So, they recruited me.”

The Healer Sage wagged a finger in his direction.

“No, hrrr-prrr, the Dragon was not right,” he admitted. The two Pixies made identical noises of disapprobation. “Aye, aye, I know you think I’m that footloose, fickle and full-of-hot-airs Felidragon from before, but I really have changed and that for the better, I would like to assert.”

“Less yammering and more precision would indeed be desirable,” Inixipi suggested.

Toothy grin. “Many scholars share this fault. Essentially, while you were unconscious, I tried extremely hard and by devious means to convince you that you had already mastered the ways of ariavanae and were able to apply them to your own flesh and healing –”

“Yaarah!”

He spread his paws. “I apologise.”

“That’s blasphemy – oh. Maybe not … well, I’m not sure. Sorry.”

“Both feet stuck in the nectar?” the Felidragon grinned.

“You can talk.” She rubbed her antennae again, wishing that the light would return to wash away all her horrid hangups and make an all-new Allory, one who truly shone. “My head’s still all fuzzy inside. Misty brain-sap. So, am I to understand that you basically tried to manipulate and hypnotise me into self-healing?”

“Mrrr-frrrt,” he spluttered.

Inixipi clipped him over the earhole. “You didn’t!”

“Er …”

“Thanks, friend.”

“I was desperate,” he protested. “They convinced me they were desperate. Don’t cluck like a pair of parakeets, you ridiculous pair of dust-heads. You came to me first –”

“Which I now regret,” Inixipi said.

“Speak respectfully to my great-grandpixie, you caterwauling wretch!” Chenixipi snapped. “Or, I’ll – I’ll –”

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll have Henzaroseflash sit on you!”

The Felidragon clacked his jaw shut and glanced over his shoulder as if he sensed a very large, aggressive pink Hyperdragon sneaking up behind him.

“That’s right,” Chenixipi added knowingly. “I think she might even enjoy sitting on you. She’s taken quite the fancy, I’ve noticed –”

“Scaly for furry?” he miaowed. “Mrrrwll! That’s a vile insinuation!”

“Children, settle down,” the Healer Sage admonished. “Chenixipi, that is actually a mortal insult among Dragon tribes.” Yaarah began to correct her in his pernickety way, but she added, “Between megatribes, I meant. For example, green and blue Hyperdragon tribes exist in addition to the more endemic pink. While it isn’t common, pairing up between the different colours would be acceptable, whereas a Hyperdragon pairing with a Forestal Dragon would be unacceptable. Pixies and Scintillants are both forms of Fae but we are incompatible. Our natures are far too dissimilar.”

The younger Pixie sighed, “Fine. I still like the idea of her sitting on him, however. Please let me have my fun, great-grandpixie.”

“Not now,” Inixipi rapped. “Allory, I’ve examined the wound and I can confirm that whatever you did, you succeeded in triggering the deep healing processes and I believe that you are well on your way to staging a full recovery.”

She studied her toes, fighting off tears. “Thank you.”

“Now tell us, dear, what exactly did you do when you woke up? What happened? You sounded afraid.”

“I had a nightmare,” she replied hesitantly. “I dreamed I was dying.”

Inixipi said kindly, “I’m sorry, dear. You’ve been through a great deal in a short space of time. My bungling with the anaesthetic potion did not help, did it?”

“You couldn’t have known, Inixipi,” she said. “I’m beyond grateful for all you’ve done.”

Including having a large Dragoness squash some of the pomposity out of Yaarah?

Oof. Naughty thoughts.

Allory fingered the ariayaenvul with a sense of brooding, of foreknowledge. It felt so heavy these days, like a seed pod ripe to bursting with an unknowable harvest.

On a whim, she said, “Do I have something here?”

Both Pixies eyed the spot curiously. Chenixipi even touched her neck. “Here? Nothing at all.”

“What do you mean, Allory?” the Healer Sage asked.

They could not see it either. Behind them, the Felidragon’s eyes grew smoky, as if filled with troubled thoughts. Thoughts undoubtedly to do with a certain Fae’s fragile state of mind. A mind that served up impossible visions as if she really were present at times and places she knew for a fact she had never been to.

Allory could not agree more, but neither could she bring herself to speak of the amulet. Those words would not come.

Instead, for the first time, she found herself able to tell these concerned creatures about the kind of fear she was so accustomed to, the fear that petrified her very soul, the fear that stole, diminished and destroyed; the fear that had lived within her since birth, she wanted to say, making the runt of the seven this timorous person she had become. The character and pervasive nature of this fear puzzled her, however. Having lived with it for so long, Allory realised she doubted now whether it rose from within her or had come from somewhere else. Maybe she needed to ask Inixipi if Faeling or even pupal trauma could trigger such irrational, all-encompassing phobias. If only she could be rid of these self-destructive feelings, which she hated; yet they exerted such a hold upon her that she feared – that word again – that her soul must be irredeemably scarred.

Could all this dread and distress be of her? Or did it arise from elsewhere, as she had begun to suspect of these recent dreams, bizarre and lucid as they were?

How would that even work? Could these visions be clue to an undetected or undetectable malign influence aimed at her? Why bother to pick on the runt? Did this affliction also work against the Faerie-kind? Could the migraine dreams accompanied by the persistent, ever-present image of the obsidian boneyard, somehow be at fault?

You must remember … little blossom. Shiver!

Whatever the case, according to the knowledgeable Healers, she had just proven something she felt convinced she had learned from childhood was impossible. Self-healing using the power of ariavanae? Aye, that was the only logical conclusion. The result must be genuine. After all, she had no idea how she had accomplished it, so that rang true of everything she knew about her usual levels of aptitude and skill.

Anyone harder on me than me?

Time to switch leaves. Do something positive.

“On a much more important note,” she put in diffidently, “when do you think I’ll be well enough to see the snow? I’ve never walked on snow before. Is it really cold?”

Her companions burst out laughing.