Among the servants of Dervalia, there was an elf known for his wisdom. He could recite all of the oral traditions of the elves and reproduce any of the songs: the epics of old, or the poems of new. It happened that when the whole assembly gathered for the Celebration of Elves, the Highfather was so pleased by him that he gifted him with a drop of his own Loth, and he became the Advisor, Cialmara. It was given to him to Instruct the generations in all of the Knowledge of the Elves, for there was no quandary for which he could not offer advice, nor any question for which he could not craft an answer.
-The Faerie Beginning, c. BUE 1000
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GALENDRIA
A late-season blizzard swirled around her parents in their exposed work linens. They stumbled forward, clinging to each other for warmth and what little comfort they could find. An Everguard stood beside them, her eyes like coals of burning black in a white world of falling ashes. She reached out and ripped the Silverstem crest from around her father’s neck only to shove him roughly back with a small pouch of rations. Next to the guard, a shadowed figure in the storm hissed his fangs in a satisfied grin, claw-like fingers tearing at the dismantled Ceann’s robe he held.
A third, final figure stood stiff as the stone under the snow and erect like a mountain. Her voice rang out clear over the wailing winds. “You are hereby stripped of your Etnfrandian Citizenship and exiled from this land. To return would be to face death.”
“Yes, Ar-Athyr,” her father bowed to the stately she-elf, accepting his punishment with the grace of a king. “May the Winds blow warm and fresh streams ever guide you.”
As he turned, Gale could see his ear tips were already blue from the cold.
No, Gale tried to protest, but no sound came out. No, he didn’t do anything wrong. But she had no voice, no strength. She was as unliving as the water on the wind, a cloud of nothing in the air. She had no power, only despair.
Her father stepped away into the whirling veil of snow, becoming a shadow as he disappeared into the unknown world.
He’ll die out there. Please don’t do this, she railed against the storm, against the powerlessness, against the cruelty.
The earth shook beneath her, then all around her. A hand gripped her shoulder. “Atti!” Gale gasped and sat up. Blue walls hung close around her and she whirled to see the thick, unnaturally dark-brown hand that squeezed her. Gale flailed back. “Matta? Atti?”
“Gale, are you alright?” The rich voice of Mellark stirred her from her panic. The round face and large eyes that met hers were wrinkled with worry.
Gale tried to steady herself. Something tickled her face, and she brushed it to find her cheek wet with tears. “My Atti’s in trouble,” she whispered, rising to her feet. “I’ve got to help him.”
Mell’s soft hand caught hers and pulled her down. “Gale, now is not the time to do anything. We’ve barely gotten a few hours of rest. You’ve just been dreaming.”
Gale blinked the woman into focus. She wasn’t enclosed in walls, but sheltered in her tent with Mell, still in the Wildlands. “I was dreaming?”
“Yes, you were crying out in your sleep,” Mell whispered. “Are you okay?”
Now that she was awake, it didn’t make sense that they’d be sending her father away in a snowstorm. And Etnfrandian’s didn’t have black eyes or pointed teeth. She tried to banish the phantom creatures from her mind, but they circled around with her memories of the heartbreak until her tears fell unchecked. “They were exiling my father under threat of death.” She looked down, not willing to admit the more fantastical aspects of the dream. She trusted Mell to handle her volatile emotions with care, but it still had only been a few days since they’d met. “And in the middle of a snowstorm.”
Mell was silent for a moment. Finally, she leaned forward and rubbed Gale’s back. “Hey, it’s okay. It was just a dream. It’s over now.”
It was the kind of comfort one might offer a small child. Is that how Mell thinks of me? She did feel small, and the sincerity of it was comforting. “But what if something like that really is happening? Not exiled in snow, but imprisoned forever? Or if they won’t leave him alone until he tells them everything?” She shivered, despite the humid air. “They’ll ask him about me, Mell. He won’t have any answers for them about our departure, and they’ll believe he’s hiding something. They might ask about everything.”
Her magic, her adoption; it could all be laid bare at the wrong moment.
Mell still petted her back. “But they won’t actually harm him, right?”
Gale couldn’t help but gawk at Mell. Harm him directly? Who would… “Do humans do that?”
Mell took a deep breath. “Depends on which humans and the era of history, but yes. Don’t judge us too harshly, Gale. We don’t have as many years to find the truth of things, and even so, other longer-lived species, even elves, have been guilty of it at times.”
Gale’s gut twisted an objection. “That’s horrible! I can’t believe Fenn chose to live in such a nation for so long!”
Mell’s hand hesitated on her back. Whatever she wished to say, she held it in.
I hope I didn’t offend her too much, but it’s just brutal. Gale shivered at the memory of her father being swallowed by the dream-storm. Brutal indeed. “While they may not hurt him, I still wish I could know if he was alright. He looked so forlorn and betrayed, and I could do nothing to defend him.”
“Ah, so it’s the guilt that brought on the dreams.” Mell patted her back one more time and then leaned back. “Sweetie, he’s probably doing fine. No one gains a position of political power like that without being able to dance around a few tough questions. Besides, it’s out of your control. And most importantly, he’ll know that you didn’t mean to hurt him, right?”
Maybe her father was an expert dancer, but engaging an acquaintance in a proverbial six-step was much easier when nobody had mind-reading spells. Yet, just as her father would have faith in her, she should have the same faith in him. “I still wish I could know what’s happened to him.”
“Well,” Mell sighed and began reaching into her bag. “I suppose we could try and find out.”
“No we can’t!” Fresh pain welled up in her, bleeding into her voice. “We’re leaving the Door behind us, and everyone says it’s dangerous to return!”
Mell offered her a pitying smile, “Easy, kiddo. I didn’t mean sneaking back to Etnfrandia. I leave that kind of business to Syrdin.”
Gale recoiled. Syrdin the goblin-thief. Her one complaint against Mell was her faith in that creature.
“I meant we could do a bit of scrying.”
Gale’s attention snapped to what Mell retrieved: the wooden box that contained a rectangular crystal. In the Center of Culture, she had seen a yellowed magic with a musty smell emanating from it, much like Mell’s circlet. “What is scrying?”
“Well, it’s not something I can normally do, but fortunately, this artifact is made for it. It should work like looking through a crystal ball.” She smiled warmly, clearly expecting her words to make sense.
“A crystal ball?”
Mell’s lips closed in a poor attempt to hide her amusement. “Um, well maybe it’s easier if I just explain the artifact.” She pulled the glittering gem from the box. “This crystal can be used in two ways. The first is to catch a short glimpse of the future. The other is to spy on someone right now for about a minute or two.” She offered it to Gale. “Normally, I’d look for you, but since you have capacities for magic, I’ll allow you to do the honors.”
Gale reached out with both hands and grasped this chunk of hope, staring into it. It was cold and clear, and small rainbows of light sparkled in the cut corners. “How does it work?”
“You hold it in front of you, like this,” Mell mimed holding the crystal in with both hands, “and then concentrate your magical energy into the crystal. At the same time, focus on the person you want to see. That’s very important. You must picture them clearly in your mind and let the crystal do the rest.”
“That’s all?” Gale asked. “No incantation?”
“That’s all.”
She held the crystal aloft as Mell had shown, then glanced at her. Anxiety bubbled in her stomach. What if it doesn’t work?
What if it does?
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
Mell nodded affirmation.
She faced the crystal and poured her energy toward it. It began to glow faintly in her hands. She imagined her father, his smooth face and gentle smile, the warmth of his encouragement, and the sadness of his rebukes. A mist swirled within it, and for a moment she feared she would see a winter storm. She refocused her mind on his face. The mist began to take shape, color spreading through the void. It was her father. It worked!
He was outside of his country home, and spots of green grass sprouted in patches between the pines there. He wore only his brown linen garments, as in her dream, but he was not chilled. Her mother was behind him, and an Everguard or two seemed to face him. Though she could not see them, they were removing bindings from his hands.
“Sorry, sir,” Galendria heard a voice she couldn’t quite place echo in her mind. “I wish we didn’t have to do this.”
Gale held her breath. Please don’t take his sigil.
“Worry not, young Deepsun, it is only as much as I deserve, no more and no less.” It was strange how the words bypassed her ears, and yet his voice resonated within her, clear and familiar. Her heart burned.
Her father, with that noble grace he always bore, reached up around his neck and removed the pendant hanging there. He handed it to the Everguard.
She clasped its twin where it hung under her dress. No!
A tan hand appeared with a beautifully carved wooden replacement, which her father strung around his neck. The fibers of Gale’s being relaxed. He’s not exiled.
“Oh, Atti,” she heard herself whisper.
“For what it’s worth,” the Everguard spoke softly, “I appreciate what you said about Fenn. As I’ve told you before, I don’t believe he means harm either.”
Gale’s eyes grew wide and she leaned in. Who is that?
“You’ve told me before? Lad–Captain, when was this?”
“On the night of the incident. I saw you from the wall–”
Her father’s brow only creased in further confusion, and he leaned conspiratorially inward. “Sir, I was not alerted until the whole chase was finished. I was in my home.”
Color began to drain from the vision, their voices growing distant. No, Gale urged it, I want to hear what they say. This conversation seemed important.
“Please tell me exactly what hap–” Then it cut off. The time was up.
A final drop of relief slipped down her cheek. Truthfully, it was not hard to gather what had happened. The Guard must have spoken to Fenn that night while he was disguised as her father. She wondered if that had put her father under more suspicion. In any case, he was safely home. Her best guess was that he was being forcibly retired and had been granted to live in his small country cabin on the mountainside. Better than that, the guard had implied that he had spoken well of Fenn. Oh foolish Atti, you should have distanced yourself from us. But she smiled as she thought it. He would always have faith in her and now, it seemed, also in Fenn.
“Well?” Mell prompted.
Gale wiped her cheeks and let her smile show. “He’s alright. He’s perfectly alright.”
Mell huffed with relief, and it occurred to Gale that partly it might be relief that an emotional crisis had been averted. “That’s good then. Maybe you can get a little sleep.”
Gale nodded.
“Great, then I’ll go take watch so poor Fenn can rest, too. It’s got to be near that time. Rest well.”
Gale watched her leave, and then, as the tent flap stilled, picked up the crystal again. She held it aloft, gazing into the multitude of colorful bows dancing under the blue reflection of the tent. Could I see more? She willed her magic in. It refused, as if simultaneously full and drained. She sighed and lowered it in her lap. It would be too much to ask for such a power to be unlimited.
She set it in the box, but hesitated before she closed it. Something about the glimmer of the crystal seemed familiar. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the Truth’s Eye. She turned it over, watching its crystal embedded in the stone cylinder glitter in the same manner as the scrying one.
What if? She held it up to her eye and tried to pour her magic into it. It didn’t respond.
She lowered it to her lap, shoulders sagging with disappointment. Instead, she recalled the patches of green grass behind her father, the dignity with which he had accepted his fate, and smiled. I know my Matta and Atti are safe, and that is enough. She pocketed the Truth’s Eye and laid down to peaceful sleep.
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FENNORIN
Where heretofore my thoughts had been of the gods and Fae, I find them now on Hethbarn and Etnfrandia. When did we forget our path? Who carved our gods into the very foundations of our City, and who forgot them?
Simpler, yet equally unanswerable: how is it that my father possessed an enchantment? I can only assume it was placed on the bow. It is, by far, the most exquisite work of the set. I can’t help but feel that there is more to these artifacts, more to all that my father has hidden. If I had never left Etnfrandia, if I had behaved as he had hoped, perhaps he would have told me. Perhaps I would have known my tribe, my natural magic, and what shreds of knowledge remain in the Center of Culture.
But then where would I be? Without knowledge of the world outside, entrapped in a life I was unsuited for. I would have never found this place.
However perilous, it is a discovery worth sacrifice. Even to have only met a Watcher, my journey already feels justified.
My journey. But what if she had slayed Krid? Or any of us? The cost to this world would be high, perhaps too high for me to bear. But objectively? What cost is worth the Truth? I do not know.
Today, we begin our journey onward. Let us see what wonders we can uncover, what I can bring back to our lost people. Perhaps the betrayal I have inflicted on them, the pain felt by Kit, and doubtless by the likely former-Ceann Silverstem, will be worth it in the end, even to them. Only, I hope to sacrifice no more tha–
“Lorthen! This constant sun is confusing,” Mell’s hushed comment behind him made Fenn jump and drop the loose page he had been writing on. “I think it’s time for my watch?”
She looked surprisingly alert for someone who had only slept a few hours, especially a human. Usually, she needed to be awakened for her watch.“I suppose it is.” Fenn retrieved the paper and folded it into his satchel’s inner pocket. He could stitch the page into his notebook once he retrieved it from Syrdin. “It almost seems itchy, doesn’t it? Having the sun on you all the time?”
Mell cocked her brows. “You may want to write that one down. It disturbs my sleep, but I’d never say it itches.”
“I just mean it wears on you after a while, like a scratchy fabric or a wet sock.” Fenn tried to explain his discomfort in understandable terms, but the feeling wasn’t something concrete. “I never imagined I would miss the moon so much.”
Mell grunted in thought. “I thought the new romantic movement would completely go over your head, and here you are composing in it.”
The romantics? As in the writers of flowing, emotional verse? He chuckled, realizing how his words had sounded. For a moment, he felt they were back in the Assandial libraries, discussing literature by the hearth.
“Alright, enough of that, or I’ll start writing prose about the depth of your eyebags. Go to bed. We have a lot to talk about tomorrow.” Mell scooted him toward his tent, and then turned and plopped in the middle of camp with a “rest well.”
She may be alert, but her body is tired. He smiled at the familiarity of it. The dry jokes, the mother-like shooing out of her library; he had missed it. He stepped into the shade of his tent and was immediately reminded why he had been writing on scrap paper.
Syrdin still lay sleeping, zheir back to him, the notebook by zheir head. If he wanted to retrieve it, now was the moment. Bent under the tent roof, he crept around zhem. Zhe stirred, and Fenn held his breath.
“All is divided,” zhe mumbled, curling inward. That left the notebook further from zheir head. It also pulled back zheir hood a little further.
He had seen glimpses of zheir lower face. A piece of a sharp chin, the flash of a toothy grin or a lavender-colored sneer. But now he could see more: the square line of zheir jaw as it ran to zheir ear; the white marbling on zheir amethyst skin; the bend of a nose that was broad, like Mell’s, but smooth. He found himself staring as he snatched his book, studying what he could of zheir features. Even among the colonies in Brikhvarnn, he had not seen a skin color quite so rich or varied. Most had been a frosty shade of gray, or perhaps a muted lavender. Most of them had worn a shock of pure-white hair. Syrdin was no exception. A strand fell across zheir nose and created a stark contrast against the bunched fabric of zheir cowl.
Syrdin’s nose wrinkled. “All divided…reborn…” It wasn’t quite Elvish, but a dialect mixed with the murky language of the Dark.
Fenn felt a chill like icy water dripping down his spine. He wanted to back out of the tent. Mell would only shove him back in here. He had studied the dialect in preparation for his trip to the Brikhvarnni colonies where he had used it to learn some of their history. But to hear Syrdin speak it with such mystical words set him on edge. All divided, reborn.
What does it mean? There was no telling what nightmares would haunt zhem as zhe slept. Perhaps zhe was only dreaming of old doctrines from days lived in the Darkcaverns. Zhe wouldn’t be the first colonist he’d met with history there. But then zhe would have known what glowmoss was.
Fenn shoved his book into his satchel and likewise slid himself into bed. The last thing he wanted was for Syrdin to catch him staring at a face he wasn’t supposed to have seen, listening to zheir dreams. He hated how much he feared zhem. He had no reason to believe zhe meant harm, other than a fear of zheir race and zheir affinity for knives. But I have no reason besides Mell’s recommendation to believe otherwise, do I?
Fenn reached into his sack of magic baubles and pulled out a rolled bundle of pink fabric. The soft material was embroidered with moons and stars and tapered from a round, open bottom to a point. Night Cap: Wear for Sweet Dreams, the edge read in Allspeach. He ran his finger over the silver-threaded runes inside the rim, considering. He didn’t like to rely on magic for sleep, but between the violence of the day and his trepidation for what awaited, he doubted he could on his own. He sighed and set it on his head. When he laid back, he set his mind on the secrets of his people, rather than Syrdin’s, until dreams of a people filled with magic and knowledge whisked him away.