THE FELIDRAGON’S FUR STOOD on end as he gaped at the animate flower. He made an inarticulate purring noise deep in his throat, almost a whine, while adding a hapless ‘what should I do?’ gesture with his paws.

“Open it. Wait.” Flitting to the narrow, open pane, Allory peeked out and signalled with her hand. “Over here, little Dryad.”

“Little – what? That’s Faerie royalty, you ignorant – sorry, but – you don’t just ‘little Dryad’ a Dryad, so to speak,” he stammered, drawing back in shock as the mobile stem clearly reacted to her invitation. “Get back, mrrr-ssst! Back! It could be –”

Dangerous? Total rot. Nonetheless, she drew back as the stem extended, landing neatly upon the wooden desk before standing to attention in a completely un-botanical way. Yaarah’s tufted ears had never prickled up higher as the upright stem rapidly budded six more flowers. Inhaling their rich ambrosial aromas instantly caused a wave of dizziness to wash over her. And hunger. Extreme hunger, which also made her feel like some sick carnivorous beast. Why not imagine snacking off a live Dryad? Whatever next? The stem continued to swell before her startled eyes and soon tipped over the edge toward the floor. It formed arms and legs and the swelling nub of a head, the flowers moving and developing fresh buds that became floral hair on the back of a stem rapidly acquiring exotic facial features, but then the outgrowth slowed abruptly, appearing to lose momentum.

Struggling?

At once, Allory extended her hands and sang mellifluously to the Dryad, “Strength, sister. Let me help you – eep!”

Her brief improvisation ended in a high-pitched peep of amazement as a semi-transparent image stepped out of the mould created by the plant. The Dryad was girlish in form, slender and petite in all her dimensions, garbed in a finery of flowers and having soft fringes of roots upon her heels and toes. Her emerald-hued face was elfin like Allory’s own, the eyes considerably larger in proportion to the head than what she had observed in Humans. The Dryad’s black eyes, though, were as ageless as forest pools. They more than hinted at the legendary power of these elemental Faerie, a power literally rooted in and drawn from the natural world. Hers was the legacy of all growing things, the boundless potential of life itself – and though Allory sensed the visitor must be weak after being lost for so long, this Dryad’s spirit-image already stabilised and took corporeal form. Indomitable strength!

Retreating with a half-bow of mingled respect and fear, the Scintillant Fae sat with a bump on the edge of the desk. The Dryad, perhaps three and a half feet tall, advanced to gaze down upon her with a fragile yet exquisite smile.

The apparition said, “You are she whom I sensed?”

The Elemental Faerie’s voice was a whispered melody of wind playing among supple leaves. Her scent was both sweet and tart, a rich bouquet of disparate yet harmonious notes.

Sap of my ancestors, I’m face to face with a mythical creature, and she’s real!

“I –” she croaked. “I am … Allory. Aye.”

“You are a weaver of ariavanae? How can this be? My pain is ended, my soul made new, all around I sense a work great and true – who are you, Allory? Who are you?”

Her brain said something like, Whaah-pop!

She could only repeat, “I’m Allory, as I said, and I’m sort of totally overawed to be meeting you, a real live and sap-buzzing Dryad, I mean. I’m babbling, I know, but this … this is Yaarah, my friend who brought me here. I am a Scintillant Fae, which doesn’t really matter in the greater scheme of things, but I – I …”

I have no idea what to say. Pinch me!

“So tiny, yet so powerful?”

“Um … I don’t know about that. I’m … confused, your Dryadic Majesty. Should I bow to you or something? I mean –”

“The Singer bows before no soul.” Lithely, the Elemental Fae knelt before her, lowering her head. “I beg you, bless this humble Dryad as only you may.”

“I – eep?”

She exchanged stupefied glances with the Felidragon. Yaarah looked physically ill, as if he might fall over any second. Had she wondered at the strangeness or significance of this most unexpected encounter, she should wonder no more.

“In your tongue, I am called Rhanjielle-Seryiansong,” the Dryad continued, as if unaware of or, more likely, unconcerned by their mutual consternation. “I offer elemental sustenance, the opportunity for you to partake of the song of my life, that you might be strengthened for the long journey ahead, for she who invokes the mother-song is blessed indeed and shall be called the mother of my soul, the true mother and life-bringer to all living things.”

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This encounter had just dived sideways into a cocoon of weirdness for which Allory felt in no way prepared. She began to squeak, “But … but I’m only –”

She could not say the word.

“Breezes are only little, yet they stir a whole jungle.” The Dryad read her protest effortlessly, but the dark eyes only grew liquid, infinitely imploring. “Drink of my nectar, sisfae, and enlightenment shall infuse your soul’s sap.”

Said sap tingled madly. This isn’t happening. I must be dreaming.

Several creamy flowers imbedded in the Dryad’s hair presented themselves to the trembling Scintillant. What a gorgeous symphony of aromas … of a living being! Mildly freaked out but also unwilling – unable even – to refuse the proffered gift, Allory unfurled her tongue and dipped it delicately into the heart of a flower. Weird. Surreal. Utterly indescribable. Words failed her as the faint music of a Dryad’s soul lingered upon her senses, yet strengthened by the second. The healing she had somehow initiated – similar to the case of Garobixi, having no idea of methodology or process but merely an instinctual response to trauma – was far from complete, but she sensed that the greatest need now was time to rest, dig deep roots and be nourished by the bounty of the true mother soul.

This Dryad would become well again.

Allory longed to weep, but that was when the full taste-explosion of the Dryad’s essence swamped her senses in a wave of glorious, antennae-curling scents, sap-fizzing power and ineffable music. It swatted her beyond the farthest azure heavens of Centresky, all the way into infinity.

An eternity passed.

* * * *

Allory heard herself say, “Rhanjielle-Seryiansong, I don’t understand. I have a Dadfae and Momfae. I am in no way special. How can you infer these things?”

“May I tap into your mind briefly for an explanation?”

“Alright?”

Pursing her lips, the mighty Elemental touched Allory’s forehead between the antennae with her left forefinger. Although she felt nothing, the Dryad smiled, “Understanding dawns. To bear the weight of a billion imprisoned souls is a burden that demands unspeakable strength, dear one.”

Her jaw dropped so hard it tweaked a muscle in the side of her face.

Allory gasped, “I … eep! You know?”

She sensed them?

The locket held real souls? A terror-frisson of comprehension quivered her being.

Green fingers traced the shape of the ariayaenvul at the base of her neck. Aye. Not only did she see it, but the Dryad also touched an invisible and untouchable artefact.

When Rhanjielle-Seryiansong spoke, it was in a whisper that Allory sensed was for her alone. “Keep them safe. Even I do not understand, for much of the ancient lore has been mislaid, Allory Fae. Allow me to explain what I do know. You command physical and mental lineage from your line, as you say, and you are of course demonstrably of the Scintillant Fae. Yet the heritage of a person is not solely a matter of physical inheritance. Just as you argued that there is more to evolution than a simple linear or physical process, so should it be known that there is more to the concept of heritage than simple linearity – especially among the magical Faerie. Sometimes we inherit. Sometimes we step by chance or mischance into a heritage. And sometimes, it seems to this Dryad, a heritage chooses us. That can be a burden both terrible and glorious, and in the bearing of such burdens, is the very soul of our world glorified.”

Suitably ominous …

“Let it be for me to clarify that I believe the ariavana may seek for its dwelling a soul who is matchlessly receptive, a pure soul unafflicted by a longing for greatness, dominance or renown, or more simply put, a Singer who is uniquely able to weave her Song.”

One struck into silence by the import of the Dryad’s simple explanation.

Simply mind-blowing.

Bending lower, the Dryad kissed her smack between the antennae. Allory giggled. “Ah, what’s that for?”

“To teach you that sometimes, the most compelling notes are those we need not sing at all.” With this cryptic statement, the Dryad bowed deeply to her. In a loud voice, she cried, “Hail, Allory Life-Weaver!”

The title smacked her far harder than that kiss.

Had her life ever been weirder? Whatever did this gesture mean?

I’ve just been kissed by plant royalty.

Dazed and uncomprehending, she watched the Dryad withdraw into her shoot. Her enigmatic smile was the last element to disappear. In a moment, the plant retracted to join in with the mayhem being created there in the garden. She had the oddest sense that the Dryad fully intended all she meant when – at some point Allory could not quite consciously recall, but now seemed as certain to her as a fully-fledged memory – she had expressed her desire to bless the Humans with the gifts of a soul grateful for their dogged protection all those years ago. Full connotations of an exuberant transformation of nothing less than the entirety of this environment, starting with the barren soils of their canyon land. Overwhelming appreciation. Gratitude on the scale of a natural phenomenon.

How would the Humans respond?

“Allory …” Yaarah cleared his throat self-importantly. “Allory, I fear we may need to –”

Thump thump THUMP! The door rattled violently, making them both jump. “Yaarah the Felidragon? Are you present?”

His ears twitched expressively. “Into the bag. Now.”

“Leaving?” she breathed.

“Aye. Fast.”

She should have expected this. Meddling implied consequences.

Good drill. In seven seconds flat, one Scintillant Fae found herself suitably bagged and canned, ready to travel. Hmm. Portable canned nibbles for Dragons? Might be a future in such an enterprise, as long as such nibbles did not include enterprising people called Allory. She swallowed back a wave of nausea. Perhaps a touch late to be thinking, ‘What have I done?’

The Felidragon drew the door open, saying heartily, “Hanzubik, trrr-mrrrt, a very good morn to you. How may I help?”

With a sharp inhalation, the man replied, “You have an invitation, delivered at dawn to my office. Here. I suggest you act upon it immediately. In addition, I’m afraid I am compelled to withdraw the convenience of this chamber. I am sorry, friend Yaarah, but you cannot stay.”

“May I ask why?”

The man’s fingers waved past her peephole, indicating the window.

The Felidragon’s tail lashed so hard, he knocked over her bag. Allory suppressed a hiss of dismay. Her work? Why should that endanger Yaarah’s position at the College of Azure? Yet from what she had understood of the Human’s expression, the matter was not open for debate and her companion appeared to read the same, for he bowed and acceded graciously.

“I’ll collect my travel bag and depart at once.”