Julie cursed whatever gods listened. She inquired about a horse from the limited stock in Far Point, but the cost of such a noble steed far exceeded the scepters she took from Judas.

A horse would be much better than walking.

A simple riding horse would set her back two bright eyes and ten chips in Ralloc or similar areas. In Far Point, the price doubled. The availability of horses was scarce, and people begrudgingly parted with the animals at the right price. When she’d asked the stable master, he shrugged, “Supply and demand.”

What in the Underworld does that mean anyway?

Instead of riding happily to her destination, she walked in misery. Minutes crept by like hours as she put the city-town behind her. She thought back to when she decided to leave Judas. For a moment, a state of reservation overcame her, reflecting on the folly for listening to the book. But she remembered Mr. Pleasure and Judas doing nothing to stop him, which hardened her resolve.

Back in Far Point, she’d dropped the appropriate amount of silver down on the bar top to pay for her room, but the bartender shook his head and slid it back to her. “Your friends paid before they left this morning.” She nodded in appreciation. An honest man? Sliding coins across the counter, she left him a sizeable tip before following the main road south out of the village. Julie passed the guards as they opened the huge, wide, wooden gates. On the opposite side, a line had formed with dozens of people waiting to rush into the town to buy, sell, or trade their goods. While technically a city, Julie thought it too small, but could only compare it to Dlad. Perhaps having seen the larger municipality first skewed her perception?

She strolled past the line, giving them little more than a curious glance. After thirty minutes of walking, she passed the last stragglers trying to get inside. The land opened up into rolling hills and sporadic vegetation. Far to the right, barely within sight, lay a forest.

She stared at the ground while she trekked along the dusty road, her thoughts flowing from one thing to the next: Judas, the room she slept in, waking to an open window, and the book she carried. Mostly, she thought about Kam and Lily, more so the latter and the hours they shared together. For the first time, she had a friend, this ostensible stranger. The suns climbed steadily higher in the sky as she trudged on, warming her back from the north. Not stopping for more than a few moments at a time, she kept a slow but steady pace.

The carnage she saw in her Shadowcasting, all the death created by one person’s lust for power, weighed on her. It was all Xilor’s doing. The pointless deaths, the bodies littering the battlefield sickened her, turned her stomach. Some suffocated, drowning in their blood, others impaled through their gut or chest. She couldn’t shake the images out of her head, wanting an end to the pointless butchery. Most of all, she craved to be the one to end it. How she’d manage to stand against Xilor’s apparent power made her skeptical, if not deflated. Judas would have to do it.

She tried hard to push those thoughts aside. When she did, only the daring memories of the Corridor of Cruelty invaded, a place she never wished to return, or to let them haunt her memories. She hoped they were gone, washed away by Harold, Kam, and Lily, but the fresh horrors tormented both her waking and sleeping mind now that the married couple no longer distracted her.

Musings returned to the euphoric, intoxicating presence of coursing magic, when it surged at her call, the connection to Xilor realized. Julie shuddered at the thought. Was she inherently evil like him? A pang of yearning for a repeat of the presence snaked through her. Only the magelust compared, a close second. Xilor felt the pull, and it corrupted him. Would she become corrupt, too?

Judas’s power rivaled the dark lord’s; why hadn’t he fallen under the sway? Perhaps a fundamental flaw within Xilor made him succumb. Maybe there was something wrong with her, too; she was already defective, unable to block the magelust.

Elation rippled through her again, recalling the objects in Mr. Pleasure’s room rising to her command. How had she managed to do it? A dark whisper fluttered in her mind. The voice made it possible. Panic, brought on by the men and their intent, allowed her to focus. What remained unclear in those moments was who was in control, her free will, or the voice lurking in the background?

When Mr. Pleasure freed her, rage drove her to retaliate in kind. Still, the sound of metal striking stone serenaded her memories. A savage bloodlust taking hold, but Judas’s face, his hand on her shoulder, saved her, chasing the voice away. Why did the voice always flee?

You know why.

She shook her head in denial.

You can’t lie to me, the voice purred. I’m a part of you, remember? I see and feel everything you do. Even the thoughts you deny.

What are you? Julie’s breath burned in her lungs as she waited.

I’m the part that’ll keep you alive, the voice declared.

Julie tensed at the declaration. Judas was the voice’s weakness. Why do you always flee from him?

Because you’re ashamed and don’t wish him to perceive that part of you. The voice fell silent, fading away.

Did the voice speak the truth? A part of her unrealized? Had it always been, and Julie just denied it? If anything, the voice awoke while in the thrall of Mr. Pleasure—when he broke her.

“You’ll find that pain and torture can be a pleasure, he had said. ”You’ll learn to love it, for it is the only thing that makes you know you’re alive. Pain connects everything. If you survive, you’ll appreciate the pain of other things—the things of the world—and they’re nothingcompared to what I’m going to do to you. In that, you may find comfort, for your life will be painless compared to this.”

Midday approached when she finally stopped by a small stream for a longer break. She worked her way down to the running water and knelt to douse her neck, face, and arms in the cool water. Cupping her hands together, she dipped them into the brook, bringing the cupped hands to her mouth. The crisp water refreshed her parched throat, moistening her dry lips. A contented sigh escaped her.

After satisfying her thirst and cooling herself off, she returned closer to the road and sat beneath the shade of a large oak tree. With her back comfortably resting against the trunk, she drifted off into a light doze.

Voices and the splashing of water awoke her. Eyes snapping open, her head darted around her immediate area for signs of threat. Seeing none, she climbed to her feet and took a few steps along the path towards the creek. She hunched, staying low. A few feet later, she spied a group of nine beings huddled around the stream. They were humanoid. Loose stones clattered down the gentle slope when she adjusted for a better view. With battle-honed reflexes, they jumped in unison, each assuming a unique stance, weapons drawn.

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In a panic, she rose from her concealment, backpedaling. Her hands groped through her robes, searching for her wand. Just as she thrust it forward, taking aim, a twirl of a man’s staff sent it flying towards the stream. Weaponless, defenseless, the man advanced on her.

The vow tumbled in her mind: I will never again be helpless.

Attack him! the voice urged. You don’t need your wand to destroy him. A man further down the hill barked an order, halting the progressing man.

No, not a man: an elyf.

Now that she could see them clearly, they were all elyves, but unlike any she knew. Skin of pale amethyst, their eyes varying with intense hues: cerulean blue, pale turquoise, strong olive-yellow, smoky-gray, and vivid gamboge-orange to name a few. The man with the staff had red—scarlet more than crimson or rose. Each had vibrant, eccentric hair ranging from taupe to an ashen-gray color.

A flurry of conversation erupted between the nine, punctuated by gestures. It sounded fluid to her ears, a merry and smooth poetry. Her eyes darted between them as they spoke, to discern if they scrutinized her as she did them. At any given time, one watched her while the other eight ignored her.

A consensus seemingly reached, they gave her their undivided attention. Further down the slope, one male came forward, replacing the elyf nearest her. He knelt, then stood just as quickly, speaking, “You must forgive our transgression,” he spoke in soothing tones.

“You speak Myshku?” she asked, perplexed.

He laid a hesitant, soft hand on her shoulder. “My name is Iddrial.”

“Careful,” broke in the elyf with staff.

“Peace, Ahn,” the leader reminded him. Iddrial removed his hand from Julie’s shoulder. “We didn’t mean to startle or harm you. We thought you to be someone else.”

“It’s dangerous to tell her our names,” Ahn persisted.

Iddrial turned his head to the side, seeing Ahn out of the corner of his eye. Julie’s gaze followed, noting their tense defensive postures. “She doesn’t have the faintest idea of who we are, Ahn.”

“Not yet,” a female elyf muttered.

Iddrial communed with them in Thymulous, the tongue of the elyves. Eight of them retreated, leaving Julie alone with Iddrial. His eyes were vivid gamboge, a shade or two darker and more orange than her own amber eyes. Dark ash-gray hair with thin strips of leather twined through reached his stubbled jawline. By the time Julie took all this in, the eight returned. Iddrial held out his hand, never taking his eyes off Julie, and proffered her property once it reached him.

“I believe this is yours, wizard.”

With a tentative hand, she accepted. Without a further word, the eight fled, crossing the stream and fading into the wildlife, disappearing without a sound behind trees, ferns, rocks, and shrubs. Iddrial took two steps backward before, he too, crossed and vanished.

Once out of view, she hurried back to the oak and collected her pack. She shouldered it and set out at a brisk pace, distancing herself as much as possible in case they decided to return and take her captive, or worse.

“Do you plan to walk the whole way?” a voice said from beside her.

She spun, brandishing her wand. Breath quickened as she searched for who called out. At first, she thought the elyves followed her, but she didn’t see anyone. Out of her peripheral vision, she perceived movement close to the ground. Eyes and hand redirected, and she stopped herself short.

A small creature stood beside her, a woman, beautiful with an athletic build, and no more than nine inches tall. Her voice, pleasant, a coy grin on her face. Julie’s hand dipped, lowering her wand. The small woman was an unavailing threat. The mage squatted down, enthralled by the tiny being whose hair shone bright like sunlight and spun gold.

“Why do you ask?” Julie queried the being, intrigued.

“Most wizards teleport, use porting stone, or buy a portal. If they can’t, they ride a horse. But you’re walking, why?” Her voice sounded like the soft rustle of wind chimes.

“I’m not like other wizards. I can’t teleport far distances yet. Can’t do it at all, actually.”

“At least you can, most can’t. And not everyone’s fortunate enough to be born with wings.”

Julie took an instant liking to her, but she couldn’t be sure if she pined for companionship since Kam and Lily went home, or if it was something deeper. Her soft voice charmed the wizard, and she radiated with an inner light, reminding her of Staell, the unicorn.

“My name’s Julie. What’s yours?”

The other gave her a brilliant smile. “I know. You’re the mage from beyond, and we share a bond through the wing in your wand.” She paused. “We talk about you in the community a lot,” she added, as if the explanation filled in all the gaping holes of her thought process.

How does she know so much? Julie gave voice to the thought.

“I’m a fairy,” she declared. She twirled around. “See the wings?”

Julie leaned closer and could just detect her translucent and crystalline wings about half the size of the tiny woman. Light glittered off her as she twirled. A familiarity stole over Julie.

“Where’s this community of yours?” Julie inquired. As she stood, hot pins of tingling stabbed her shins and feet, falling asleep from squatting.

“In the Melodic Mountains. That’s where almost all fairies live.”

Just where I need to go! “What’s your name? You never did tell me.”

“I’m Ava, daughter of the elder fairy, Fiosana.”

“Pleased to meet you Ava, daughter of Fiosana. Are you traveling, too? Where are you headed?”

“Wherever you are,” the other replied. “I’m to accompany you as your familiar. It’s my honor, Head of Creatures.”

“I didn’t expect company,” Julie admitted. A faint whistling floated through the air, the creature hovering at eye level.

“You’ll want me to accompany you.”

“Oh yeah? Why?”

“Well, for one, my mother’s wing is in your wand, hence our bond. Secondly, unless you want to walk the whole way, I can teleport us to wherever you wish to go. Within reason, of course.”

“Of course.” Julie suppressed a smile. In truth, she was mystified by Ava’s proclamation, the daughter of the fairy who gave up her wing. Her ability to teleport came as an advantageous bonus. Ava, like most fairies, was from the Melodic Mountains, where she needed to go, to the Place of Origins.

“You have a bond with me? Why didn’t you come sooner?”

“You were … mating,” the little creature said.

Julie blushed at the thought of Ava knowing. As she reddened, Ava was quick to add, “Only I know, no one else. Don’t worry. Where do you wish to go?”

Choking down embarrassment, Julie answered. “To the Place of Origins.”

Ava blanched. “Why? There’s nothing there.”

“So, you know it?

“Yes. There’s only one place that isn’t for fairies. There has always been only one, and there can only be one. Fife Doole’s old hut.”

There had only been one? Julie thought to herself.

“Lead the way,” Julie suggested. Inwardly, she smiled and her embarrassment faded with rising hope.

A blue swirl opened before them, and Ava floated towards her, resting on her shoulder. Together, they stepped through the gateway.