ALLORY JOLTED AWAKE WITH a sense as if her soul had been hooked loose from without her body and returned to her only after a struggle that evaporated from her memory before she could lay so much as a sapphire fingertip upon it. She bent over to fight the residual faintness, trying to ignore the crawling of night in the edges of her vision, remembering to breathe slowly and evenly. Panic attack. Nightmares. Horrible, horrible nightmares … clinging like gluey jungle vines to her mind. Did she even remember?

Only the becoming. Becoming them.

“Alright, Sparkles?”

She glanced up. Ashueli must have been on sentry duty. Now, the Elf slipped inside the cave where they camped that evening, a goodly distance downslope from the end of the pass. Given meat, mounds of fresh mushrooms and rest, those lizards could really put a wriggle on when they wanted to. Yaarah had driven the cart right inside this wide, low-roofed cave and parked it so as to provide partial protection of the wide entrance. Everyone else was asleep – oh, save Xiximay and Harzune. Warrior alertness. Where was Sabline? Or Yaarah?

She put the two Felidragons together into the same sentence and blushed. Private time? Better not ask. They were not off to style one another’s fur out there, anyways.

With a quick nod and a wave to the watching warriors, Allory rose to take a quick swig from a nectar gourd. They had placed Zzuriel upon a boulder a few feet apart from the others. It had already turned white, frozen solid. Poor girlfae. That thawing effect had lasted several hours. Now she was back to her lethal worst.

Best?

I will dare the word. Best!

As she launched into the air to wing over to the Elven Princess, an echo of new music stole into her awareness. Somewhere in her dream world, her harpist must have composed a new melody. It was hauntingly lovely, all complex minor cords and dexterous runs up and down the strings. She knew she had never heard anything like it, yet she recognised its signature technical virtuosity, the style of the complex interleaving hand-runs, in an instant …

“Sparkles! Easy there.”

Catlike reflexes snatched her out of the air an inch from the point of Ash’s shoulder.

The brilliant green eyes regarded her fondly. “Aerial dance moves when one is three-quarters asleep? Not recommended, girlfae. You dreamed ill?”

“I did.”

“Want to talk about it?” Allory must have been guilty of a strange look, because the Elf’s lips curved into a quizzical expression. “Valiant attempt at being a supportive girlfriend – or, how do you say that – girlfae-friend?”

“Duly noted and deeply appreciated.” Deep breath. “Ready to hear something crazy?”

After they slipped outside the cavern into the deep pre-dawn stillness, she told her friend about the soul locket. Ashueli did not act as if she spoke to a sadly misguided sapphire parrot about unfathomable existential questions. Instead, she claimed that it made sense. As someone who had seen over a hundred Giants raised to life, she had no right to judge. Nor did she have any better explanation. If the souls of the freshly fallen could be summoned from inside an invisible soul locket by Scintillant Fae magic, then who was she to dispute the matter?

Allory tried to decide if she found this perspective refreshing or downright annoying.

Ash did have an intriguing observation, however. “When you felt that weight come upon you – when you beat up that poor innocent Giant –”

The Scintillant waggled an eyebrow dangerously. “Aye?”

“Dominating and intimidating creatures two hundred times your size? I truly have seen everything,” the Elf chuckled. “However, you say that the ariayaenvul lies here against your neck. As you know, I’m an Elf and one of my particular skills in combat is what we call complete or three-sixty vision – uh, besides the obvious agility and stuff. What I did not see was any obvious physical pull.” She demonstrated, leaning forward as if a great boulder depended from her neck. “You were not being dragged about like this. Instead, the weight appeared to be centred in your person.”

Allory shrugged dejectedly.

“No, you silly twinkle! That doesn’t mean I don’t believe you. All it means is that this soul locket is probably connected to you – to your body, if you wish – at a more elemental level than you probably imagine. You think of it in a physical sense, yet none of us see it. I’d therefore consider it to be an extension of your Scintillant nature. Have you asked any of the other Scintillants? Do they have the same?”

“I … I don’t think so. Our healing power has been lost for the longest time.”

“Do you remember how you received it?”

An image of a blue hand entered her mind. The shadows stirred in anticipation. Gasp! Before rational thought introduced, Allory fought back, but it was as if she flailed at the wind. Thought-stealer! A flurry of memories hurtled away into nothingness, yet she sieved out a few precious details. What was this? Should she sing over herself?

Through clenched teeth, she said, “All I remember is that it happened when I was a Faeling. A grave danger threatened us all – I wonder if I experienced a flashback to the time of the pogroms, which is impossible, of course. Anyways, a voice said, ‘This is the ariayaenvul. Keep it safe at all costs. Only you can do this. You are Scinntarinae.’ That’s all.”

“Good. I’m guessing it must be a precious artefact – clearly an esoteric one – of your people?” The Princess punched her fist into her palm. “This is why we must reach the Suylas Deepwoods. We can find answers there – either in the library of Ahm-Shira or from Amazas the Seer. There’s a link here. Maybe it’s your responsibility to keep that power out of the grasp of those vampiari creatures?”

Maybe this ariayaenvul is the very thing which is eating its way through the kingdoms …

Allory did not voice this thought, too shaken by proof of what she had always suspected. Something inside of her must be stealing her memories, corrupting her mind, neutralising any recollection that could perhaps be dangerous to the vampiari. Could it be the soul locket?

Could it be the Wraith’s link to her, like a cage of the soul?

Quake, o Scintillant!

The Marakusians Ashueli had spoken to in disguise had been openly petrified, refugees from a weather phenomenon which had churned its way across three kingdoms already, destroying everything in its path. The swathe it cut was said to be forty leagues or over one hundred miles wide. Nothing in its way survived. Cities, villages, hills, all disappeared as if they had never been, churned into the sea of mud which was all it left behind. The past week of slow progress had been across largely uninhabited ravine country; people said it had slowed, but the hope that it would not enter the Kingdom of Marakusia faded by the day.

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It was on a direct collision course with their capital city of Marakore, home to some sixty thousand inhabitants. Who could imagine the loss of so many souls?

Who could imagine seeing their children exterminated; those bald, green-skinned one-day slavers for whom she suddenly felt sympathy?

Suggids!

The girls chatted awhile longer, then sat together atop a twenty-foot-deep orange mushroom outside the cavern to watch the sunrise – Allory perched upon Ash’s knee. Always something magical about this hour, as Middlesun emerged from behind her armour of seething Dragons to share her life-giving warmth with the world. Joy warmed her soul as she considered the brightening sunlight.

She considered an eleven-inch Faerie making friends with a six-foot-plus Elf; oh, how she chuckled at the vagaries of life. To her, Ash was a giantess. Put her beside a real Giantess, however … and she was now regarding the Scintillant with an amused quirk of her lips.

“What are you thinking?” Ash asked.

“You’re beautiful,” she said, trying to bow to the sky and ending up falling over giggling with a quite ridiculous excess of happiness, “and you make my heart’s sap all sparkly inside.”

“You’re so weird.”

“Thanks.”

The Princess made a show of scratching her neck. “Suggids, I think my allergies must be acting up.”

“To mushrooms?”

“No, it’s the excess girly fizz, bubble and sparkle.”

“Ouch. I need to corrupt you properly … say, shall I do your hair? I’ve an idea for a cute new style we could try – or we could dance?”

“How’s about you impress me with your blade skills and then there might be chance to –” Ash scrunched up her face “– do our Princess hair. Does it have to be cute? Four-letter word.”

“Never know when you might meet –”

“The warty, senile old toad who purchased my contract? Oh, sweet work on the reminder there, Sparkles.” The Princess’ bitter attack whammed the sparkle right out of her. Wheeze. The Elf hissed at once, “Sorry. Suggids! Really … uh, double-sorry with a dollop of tasty nectar on top?”

Allory extended her arms. “Bring on the hugs?”

The Elf pretended to wince. “Oh no, not the hugs! Do I have to?”

“Essential instruction.”

They trained hard. The Elf was harder on herself than anyone, slicing up invisible enemies as if her life depended upon it. So torn up inside. So conflicted. By the time the rest of their cavern camp was awake in a hazy dawn, she had turned her focus to chasing down the two carts full of cages which had to be about half a day ahead on the road down into Marakusia.

Fakori the Purewish Faerie met her as she entered. “I had the oddest dream last night about those two Elves and wished that they might recover.” He wrung his hands awkwardly. “It appears they’re awake, but I might have weirded them. Probably me. It’s always my fault.”

“Er … weirded them?”

“I’m awake,” said the two Elves, sitting up simultaneously.

“Oh, lovely,” said the Scintillant, smiling at the pair of earnest faces. “I’m Allory, and I’ve been trying to treat you both –”

“I am well and returned to my original mind.”

She stared at the pair. Everything about them was synchronised – every mannerism, every beat of their speech, even the blinking of their eyelids.

The twins flushed slightly. “Well, don’t stare at me as if I’m a freak.” Two hands rose to stroke two neat silver beards in perfect time. “If you are those who sell or experiment upon Spheris’ good creatures, then be it known – ah, I sense you are not. That is a comfort. Where is this place? Why are the psychic linkages in my overmind state blocked?”

“I’ve heard of your kind, mrrr-hrrrt,” Yaarah purred, pressing forward. “You’re a psychic twin of the Yaranivuar Elves, correct?”

“Yaranivuar? Wow, you’ve come far,” Ashueli said.

“Twins?” the two mouths chuckled. “What a laughably primitive conception – excuse my expression – of my elevated mental state, good scholar.”

He yowled, “Primitive? How dare you!”

Sabline touched his shoulder and bared her fangs at the Elves.

“Peace, good Felidragon,” said the twins, in a faultless duet. “I sense yours is a lively and sensitive intelligence. I misspoke. We shall have many fruitful discussions together, I believe. Now, I am Hazintwine. One name, one mind, two bodies. It’s just the way I am and most likely the reason I was captured – another curiosity for study, no doubt, like this delightful Purewish Faerie here or the fierce Phoenix. Chameleon Fae and Felidragons I know, and you can only be a Dark Elf warrior of the Ahlumviar –”

The Princess spluttered, “I’m no Dark Elf!”

Four silver eyebrows peaked identically at her. “Intriguing. Do explain?”

“Well, I – I am Princess Ashueli of Durhelm Castle, daughter of Zinueli Sylvanchild. I’m Synshuviar – an Elf of the forest glades. Obviously.” Allory dropped lightly onto her friend’s right shoulder, concerned at how rattled she sounded. Scowling at Sabline, Ash added, “We are here in Marakusia on our way to the Suylas Deepwoods. Tracking more Slavers. Trying to … to heal Spheris, essentially.”

“A noble cause in a time of great need.” Hazintwine tucked their hands into the voluminous moss-green sleeves of their robes. His robes? His plus one? How did this even work? “Well met, Your Highness. So, may I conclude that you stand against whatever entity has been perpetrating these widespread attacks in the psychic realms?”

“We do indeed, mrrr-prrrt,” said Yaarah, still sounding deeply miffed.

“Then I am fated to join you – unless you treat this unfamiliar, delightful miniature Fae upon your shoulder as a pet, Your Highness? Then we could never be companions. Nor friends.”

“I’m no-one’s pet!”

“You could say that again,” Ash chuckled.

“Aye!” Allory folded her arms crossly, before deciding that a dash of humour was needed. “Actually, the opposite is true. Do regard my fine royal perch, my personal antennae-polisher and lowly servant –”

“Get off, you overgrown mosquito!”

Ash mimed swatting the Fae. Allory threatened to pull her ears off.

Bounding to their feet with Elven agility despite their advanced age, the twins called Hazintwine inclined their heads and said, “Besides my vaulting intelligence, I am an excellent archer with double the firepower of any single-minded Elf. Also, I am a competent cook. May I join you?”

“Treat my Yaarah with respect and I won’t even have to punch a few holes in your skull to see if some of that vaulting intelligence leaks out, gnurr-hurrr-harrr!” Sabline purred, lacing her words with murderous charm. “Welcome to the team.”

Yaarah nuzzled her flank with a fond purr. When he noticed everyone else watching, however, he quickly sat down and decided an imaginary spot on his left foreleg needed a thorough licking.

So feline.

Gold really was a transparent colour, at times.

After a quick trail breakfast, they hitched up the lizards and picked up the pace. A fine morning threatened to turn overcast as a more standard weather front moved in from the mountains, pushing a frisky breeze ahead of it. With a fine road of smoothed flagstones easing travel, they made quick time, crossing stream after stream spanned by well-maintained timber and stone bridges, but during the morning, began to pass more and more Marakusians streaming up the road. They descended steadily out of a region of low rolling hills into flatter pasturelands. Vividly coloured mushrooms of all shapes and sizes dominated the landscape, from fields of yellow buttercup mushrooms no bigger than Allory’s little finger to cerise giants towering three hundred feet tall. The largest were used as Marakusian villages – a bit like a cocoon, she supposed, with an entire village carved into the woody stem of a single giant mushroom.

Allory loved the bright mushroom colours, but growing accustomed to the violently clashing colours in their stripes, spots and swirls would take time, she suspected. A mad artist had been at work here, splashing luminous pink over lime-green blotches, or alternating crimson, mauve and baby pink stripes. Not a personal favourite.

While Ashueli took a spell at driving in the early afternoon, Yaarah briefed the new arrivals on their mission and history. The Sabrefang muttered something about a ragtag army and decided they ought to break into the cargo to see if they could find anything useful. They uncovered quantities of dried foods, leather goods, quality linen bedding and a crate of cooking utensils – nothing exciting. Varzune, however, discovered a hidden compartment on the underside of the cart beneath the driver’s bench and this proved to be a real treasure – literally. He extracted three sacks of fine red rubies, two artworks undoubtedly stolen from a royal household and someone’s golden crown.

The Chameleon Fae acted so silly about his find, he and Xiximay had a stand-up argument.

Allory brought the Phoenix Fae together with Zzuriel to cool off one party and warm up the other. Perfect. Maybe they could just hold hands for the rest of their lives. If one would not act as if the touch revolted her and the other, noticing the flinch, did not act frostier than any icicle a winter ever spawned … sigh. At least Zzuriel was not killing people instantly anymore.

Result?

Faeling steps, Allory Fae. Dinkiest dance-steps ever.