And Boidhan loved his wife, and she became with child. But when it came time, there were not one but two in the womb. The first was born laughing, and to her were given the Skies to fill with the endless Joy of her imaginings. The second screamed her way into the world, and to pacify her wailing she was given the Moon, that under it she might forever howl her mournful songs.
-The Faerie Beginning, c. BUE 1000
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MELLARK
“Wasn’t walking straight up to their hollow always the plan?” Mell huffed up beside Fenn on the rim of the hollow, her muscles still aching from yesterday’s foray into long-distance running. She let her eyes rove over the place. The gently glowing people flitted like butterflies; many of them stopped in place to gawk. Little knots served as doorways to miniature homes decorated with leaves and twigs. A particularly large branch had open-backed seating in a circle where a handful of men stood blinking at them. The portly lady they had been chasing zipped between groups of the others, trilling in a language Mell was disappointed to discover she did not understand.
“Erm, I suppose it was the plan.” Fenn stepped forward, straightened his ever-hunched shoulders as much as he could, and cleared his throat to speak.
“Can you understand them?” The thought that she might glean another Fae language from him thrilled her.
“No, but I suspect they will understand me.”
She would not have called Fenn’s voice melodious by any stretch of the imagination, but when he next spoke Faerish, it lilted rhythmically. This, she could understand, if just barely. She studied the language, but had heard it spoken a seldom few times.
“Sweet pixies, we come to request your aid.” He bowed formally.
They had the attention of the whole community now. The portly one squealed in delight and circled around Fenn. Tiny glowing particles dropped from her as she did. Several others joined her, circling the group. One lifted a strand of Mell’s braids while another inspected her sandaled feet.
With a jolt, Mell realized the pixie had swapped languages, her giggling taking the form of words. “Outlanders here!” “Outlanders here!”
“Yes, yes, outlanders from far away,” Fenn replied, “and we need your help.”
Mell watched, enraptured, as a twiggy little boy with bright purple wings tried to pry the metal clasp from the end of her braid. “What are you doing there?” she tried in Faerish as she pointed to him. He prattled at her in that chirping language she couldn’t understand, grabbing her finger and inspecting it. It tingled where he touched it.
“Hey! Hey!” Fenn’s angry cry pulled her attention to where a pixie had stolen his glasses from his nose. He swiped in the air blindly and knocked both his glasses and the pixie with them to the ground.
An angry wail erupted from where she fell. The gentle glow around the creatures all took on a threatening red cast.
“Eeeeee!” A pixie male charged them with a screech of anger. He made motions of throwing, and tiny spears appeared in his hand with each movement, launched at Fenn.
Panic spiked in Mell. Fenn could not see to sidestep it.
“I’m terribly sorr–” The first spear had fallen to his left, but the second hit him squarely in his chest, knocking him back a step. He sputtered, grasping his chest.
Krid growled behind Mell, and she heard the clang of metal as he unsheathed his sword.
Other pixies were pouring from the trees, all aglow with red. Another pixie threw a spear at Fenn and gashed his outstretched hand. Blood erupted from the wound, a surprise to Mell.
She moved to heal him, but Gale was quicker. She was at Fenn’s side. “Yglia,” she whispered. Healing magic. Fenn gasped, falling to his knees.
Mell changed spells, stepping forward with the one that had worked so well on the elf guard. “Ceasefire!” She commanded the pixie male. With her other hand, she dipped her fingers into a pouch of salt, readying another spell. The creature hesitated for a moment, then cocked his arm for another throw.
She heard the swish of air as Krid waved his sword. She gritted her teeth and held one hand in the symbol for shield while with the other, she threw salt. It glittered and formed a dome over Fenn.
“Don’t hurt them!” Fenn’s order took her by surprise. “Please, we meant no harm.” He pleaded in the sing-song language to the pixies. The whipping of wind stopped behind her, Krid’s blade coming to a standstill. A lack of high-pitched cries told her his swing had missed.
A spear was absorbed into the dome, and another landed at Krid’s feet. He growled, and she glanced back to see him take up his fighting stance once more.
“We wish to make a deal!” Fenn cried.
The pixies stopped in place, as though frozen in time. The glow changed from red to vibrant yellow in an instant. “A deal?”
“A deal!” Another echoed. The cry was taken up, rippling through them.
Oh gods, what has he done now?
----------------------------------------
FENNORIN
Fenn reached for his glasses with a shaky hand. Before he could fumble around in the dirt, Mell knelt beside him and pressed them into his grip. He pushed them on his face, standing unsteadily, then bowed low. “I apologize for hurting one of you. It was not my intention. We are only passing through and need your aid.” His voice wavered as he clutched at his chest where blood stained his tunic. Somehow, Gale had relieved some of the severity, but it still throbbed with pain. How does she know how to do that?
The pixies barraged him with a cascade of high-pitched insults.
“Pants-pooper!”
“Mother-hater!”
“Murder-monger!”
“Magicless dunderhead!”
Their pinched voices overlapped, an onslaught he could barely hear over his own pulse as it pounded in his ears. “Please, hear our request, and we will be on our way.”
A pixie in a short, leafy gown endowed with flower petals flew forward. “What gift, what praise, what offering do you bring, that we should allow this deal, this thing?” She squeaked at him.
He blinked at her. “Gift?” He’d known the pixies might fixate on a deal, but he did not know how to make one. He could sense Mell chomping her tongue near him. “We did not know to bring one, for we are not from this land. What offering would suffice?”
The pixies giggled, a strange, tinkling sound. Then, swift as a blink, they scattered into groups. A wife leaned into a husband’s ear, a group of girls circled up here, another group hovered by the trees, whispering to one another. A moment later, the groups broke up and reformed with different folks in them, changing formation like dancers on cue to music he could not hear.
Then one zipped up to the ear of the one facing him. That one’s wings were more akin to a moth. If he were a little less hurt, he might like to sketch it. He moved his unharmed hand from his chest to his arm. The bleeding gash was long, but not terribly deep. He shivered. The warm liquid made him sick to his stomach.
“The yuka fruit!” the frontmost pixie exclaimed finally.
“The yuka fruit!” another echoed. “The yuka!” “The yuka!” A chirping chorus of pixies repeated the name in a frantic moment of euphoria.
Yuka... Yuka. Fenn squinted past his pain trying to place the name of the fruit. He turned to Mell, hoping she knew.
“And just what in the five realms is the yuka fruit?” Mell was losing her patience. She’d been short of it all day.
“A pink fruit!”
“A long fruit”
“A five-sided fruit!”
“The best fruit!”
Their voices clipped over one another, like baby birds after a worm. Fenn glanced confusedly between them, dizzied by the many sounds–or perhaps it was the sight of his blood. “Where does it grow?” He managed.
“The yuka tree!”
“Yes, the tree!”
“The tall tree!”
“The straight tree!”
“The grove!”
Mell turned to Fenn and asked in Allspeech, “You don’t suppose they mean that grove of taller trees with the shiny leaves we passed through, do you?”
Fenn squeezed his arm tighter. He would not call that tree tall, but perhaps next to the squat gnarled ones, the pixies might think so. “Yes, I believe they do. Perhaps it was not such a bad thing that I stopped to have a look. If I recall their fruit clusters were a shade of pink.”
Krid puffed out frustration next to them. “Just what are you thinking of doing?” he growled. His eyes roved over Fenn, resting on his injuries. The drakeman’s claws were flexed, ready to strike. The pixie’s attack had severely disturbed him. Fenn suspected the fact that he understood nothing of the language did not help his unease.
“A trade of sorts,” Fenn hugged his arm to his stomach, hiding it from himself as much as Krid. “We bring them fruit and they give us information.”
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Krid nodded sharply.
Fenn turned back to the pixies. “We’ll bring you this fruit, then you’ll listen to us?”
“Deal!” the pixie-wife said.
“Yes!” another echoed.
“Of course!”
“Hooray!”
“Yuka!”
They frittered around and scattered into the trees, laughing and giggling, undoubtedly spreading the news of a bumper crop of fruit meant to come their way. The last one in the leafy dress started to fly away with the others, but turned back. “Be gone and hurry back! Otherwise we might attack!” With that, she stuck out her tongue and zipped away.
Fenn did not intend to spend another moment with the bizarre little creatures. He turned on his heels and sped out of the pixie village, his throbbing arm still clutched to him. The others followed close behind.
“Fenn! Wait!” Gale caught his shoulder. They were a safe distance from the village–probably. He stopped, teeth clenched against the pain.
“You’re still hurt.” Her voice was gentle now, soft and sweet. Her hand reached for his, gently removing the one pressing his gash.
He winced. The throbbing doubled when he removed pressure.
Mell stepped up and tapped Gale’s shoulder. “I got this one.”
Fenn thought he saw Gale stiffen as she stepped to the side. “Of course.”
He chose to focus on the even pressure of Mell’s hand and watch the glow of her headpiece. The “eye” encircled by the triangle was the first and last spot to hold light. The throbbing eased, then disappeared. His muscles relaxed. Only a small, scabbed scratch remained where the gash had been. His chest puncture, too, had healed completely. “Thank you, Mell.” He glanced at Gale. “Both of you, really.”
“No,” Gale’s voice shook. “I wasn’t able to heal you properly. My spell is too weak.”
“No, not at all, it’s…” Fenn waved his hands around to deny her claim. He was very grateful, even if her abilities confused him. “Really, Gale, I’m not sure how you have attained your magic, but I’m glad you have it.” He put a hand reassuringly on her shoulder, relieved to find the movement didn’t hurt. “If you had not reacted so quickly in the moment–” A lump formed in his throat, a gag reflex against troubling thoughts. “Well if you, both of you, hadn’t stepped in to protect me…”
He noticed Kridarnn standing nearby, gaze affixed in the direction of the pixie village. “You too, Krid. You were ready to battle them all.”
Krid didn’t acknowledge his words, too focused on monitoring the hollow.
“Do you really think we can trust the pixies?” Gale was blushing under his hand. He snapped it away.
Mell snorted. “No way.”
“But, well, it’s the best lead we have right now.” Fenn shivered at the thought of returning to the pixie hollow.
Gale nodded. She turned, doubtless as ready as Fenn felt to be further from the pixies. Then stopped. “Where’s Syrdin? It better not have wandered off with the artifacts.”
Fenn jolted. He’d nearly forgotten zhem.
“Around.” Krid’s terse reply bespoke irritation.
He squinted through the foliage around them and thought he saw a flash of zheir tunic as zhe disappeared between some trees. Why didn’t zhe help with the pixies? Though perhaps he should have been annoyed like Krid, he was mostly curious.
That was a problem for later. He took a deep breath and stepped back in the direction they’d come from. As they walked, he stole glances at Galendria. Where did she learn that magic? She appeared lost in thought, unfocused on the glistening leaves that brushed her skirt as she slid passed. Or so he’d thought. She looked up at him suddenly, and he flinched, caught staring. She turned her head, hiding her expression. She’s embarrassed. He didn’t know that for certain, but it seemed likely. Why? Because magical pursuits are illegal? He had been extremely uncomfortable when she asked about their pursuit of the gods that morning. It could be a similar situation.
He peeked back at her again, then noticed the presence of someone walking near him. Mell’s heavy steps fell in with his.
“You really didn’t know she could do that?”
“I didn’t know any Etnfrandians could wield any magic until yesterday.” He kept his voice low, but elven hearing was much better than a human’s. He could only pray that Galendria wasn’t listening. “I really want to know how.”
“Then ask her about it.” Mell nudged him and raised her brows as if saying, go on.
Fenn felt his will drain out through his boots at the thought. It shouldn’t be this intimidating, asking her questions. I’m just talking to her.
“If you don’t, I will.” Mell took one step toward Galendria before Fenn stopped her.
“I’ll do it.” He crossed the group and let Mell take the lead.
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GALENDRIA
Gale let her hand brush her shoulder where Fenn had touched it, treasuring the memory of it. He was grateful for her magic. Her magic! She dared to believe he was impressed. Certainly, the wide-eyed glances he kept throwing her direction seemed to say so. Or his expression could be compared to her confused gawking at the lizard-man.
Doubt rippled through her. Any other Etnfrandian would be outraged. The years of secret practice piled upon her, heavy with guilt. Her father had warned her that practicing magic could earn her exile, or at least banishment from the city’s upper tiers. She had practiced anyway. She couldn’t help it. It was her only connection to–
“Gale?” Fenn’s voice next to her made her leap out of her thoughts.
She shook herself. He would never be bothered by something like that. It was why she had chosen him for a partner.
“Yes, Fenn?” She turned her head up to him. He didn’t say anything. He only pushed his hair up and looked at her as though he were trying to read her like one of his study books. She found herself glancing at the blood stain on his shirt. It was at about her eye-level, making it all too easy to stare. If only I’d been able to fully heal it. “Does it still hurt?”
“Hm?” He followed her eyes to his shirt. “Ah. No, it’s healed.”
She nodded. “That’s good.” She found herself pulling her hands into her sleeves. Stop that. She straightened. She had hardly done that since she was a child. Fenn still wasn’t saying anything, so she opened her mouth again.
But then he spoke. “It still makes me jumpy as a rabbit, though. How dangerous this realm can be, I mean. One minute, those pixies were curious and giggly, but the next…” he hung his head. “And those big beasts. It makes me fear for our adventure. What is lingering in the trees, ready to leap out if we misstep? It’s not safe.” He wore a tense expression, wincing at his own words.
She shivered. “Yes, I can see why you planned this trip with the soldier now. And why you wouldn't want me to come here with you. Near-death experiences aren’t exactly a part of my repertoire. Or they weren’t. But I do have magic to help me, and all of you. But I suppose you didn’t know that. I mean, how could you have? But now we can all look out for each other. It’s going to be alright,” She stumbled through her words, hoping her meaning broke through. “We both had secrets, Fenn, but we can move forward honestly now.”
She caught a glimpse of his pensive expression, the one where his nose and brows wrinkled just a touch. Was my message clear? He should try to include her in the group. Mell thought of her as an asset. He could, too. Not just some potential matron, some old friend with high social standing, but a partner in his expedition, in life.
“How is it that you wield magic?” he asked at last.
She felt a spike of nerves followed by a rush of excitement. The time had come to share a secret of her own. She let the giddiness out as she spoke.
“You already know that I’ve always been fascinated with Wood Elf legends.” She saw his lips twitch with a smile, doubtless remembering their childhood games of pretend. She’d be a Wood-Elf princess or warrior, and he was supposed to be her guard or guide or something. “I got curious about the magic, so I asked for a book on Wood-Elf magic from my father. I begged him for it for some twenty years, I think. And he eventually conceded–as always–and I received it for my fiftieth birthday! He must have smuggled it in for me.”
She shot Fenn a mischievous smile, and her gestures grew more animated as she forgot her worries in the moment. “Then I studied it in secret. In the privacy of my room, I’d read and re-read that book and try out the spells. My dad was irate and threatened to throw it away, but it had significant overlap with my singing, so I could practice without him knowing. You know, a lot of those Etnfrandian songs are laced with magic themselves. It’s a wonder no one has noticed.” Even as she poured herself out to him, she found herself omitting information. It was all too natural after a lifetime of hiding.
Fenn rubbed at his mouth and chin, seeming to digest what she’d said, not even seeing the underbrush fading out as the trees grew denser. They had been there before, Gale noted.
“Wood Elf Magic?” he said finally.
“Well, yes.” She smiled at him. Her obsession with the Wood Elves had begun before their friendship. Surely he won’t question it.
But shouldn’t he?
His brows were furrowed deep in thought, working out some problem.
Once again, she stilled her fingers from fidgeting with her sleeves. “Is that unusual?”
“Hm.” It wasn’t much of a reply. “The only thing I can assume is that somehow you’ve forged a connection with Dara, a thing most Etnfrandians can’t do.”
She tilted her head. “Dara?” Can’t? She suppressed the panic that rose in her as she realized she was not ready to tell him everything. Not all at once. Bosom secrets she’d sworn to her father she would only share if she married threatened to spill out. But Fenn isn’t like others, so why worry? She had no answer, only the clench of fear in her stomach. Of guilt. Liar. Pretender.
Fake Etnfrandian.
He had started muttering to himself under his breath. She caught the words races, gods, Silverstem, aligned, and unheard of. “I’m going to have to search this out. Perhaps it’s just a matter of a bit of Wood Elf in a family line, but it is very strange. Just imagine the possibilities! If any elf can forge a connection with any god, why, we could master any magic we please! I could learn Anruwan’s magic! Or–even better–Cyalmara’s!” He strode on with extra pep in his step. “This is great, Gale! You’ve completely upended my working theory on Elven magic, but it’s wonderful!”
She blinked away her anxieties and focused on the moment. If she was understanding him right, he had believed until now that only Wood Elves could learn the magic of that race, or at least learn it on a deeper level with a connection to the god, which must be Dalla, or Dora, or whatever Fenn had said. She was glad he was so excited about it, but it also seemed she’d misled him. “But what… you said that could mean there’s a trace of Wood Elf in the Silverstem line?”
He slowed his pace again. “I find it highly unlikely. The tribes were separate until the Unification Era–that’s after the Third War. Especially the Wood Elves. They and the Night Elves remain separate, and it’s not like Etnfrandians would welcome a Wood Elf immigrant. Still, I cannot discount the possibility.”
Galendria sighed in relief. She did not understand this talk of three wars, but she understood he might not be misled after all. Even better, he was excited about her magic. He took her abilities in stride, and she would do the same for his interests. Though, if she were perfectly honest, she still questioned their venture. What lost knowledge could be worth risking life and limb for? Their people were perfectly content living the way they were. They had no need of the deities or their magic.
Even as she thought it, she felt the tension of her inner self straining against the thought. She wouldn’t be the same without magic. Would others feel the same, given the chance?