There was one servant of Anruwan who did not love the fields and flowers, but frequented the forests, visiting the beasts therein. She would sing to them, and they would gather to her and listen. It was she who taught the morboran to sing and the sudfied to dance. And so it happened that one day Dara saw her dancing with the dryads and nymphs, delighting in his creation, and he loved her.
-The Faerie Beginning, c. BUE 1000
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SYRDIN
Syrdin stood hunched among the carcasses of panthrae, zheir attention fixed on the treeline. The pond lapped behind zhem, peaceful despite the battle that had taken place moments ago. Syrdin did not share that peace. Something was still out there. Zhe could feel its presence, its gaze.
“Syrdin, can you make sure there aren’t more of those things hiding out there?” Krid’s voice carried a harsh edge. He was taking command. Good.
Zhe gave the drakeman a curt nod. Zheir side throbbed with all the ferocity of one of those faerie cats, but zhe would do this without complaining. The situation was desperate.
While the drakeman ordered the others into a unified effort toward camping, Syrdin slipped into the shadow of the woods. Zhe clung to the underbrush, peaking through the foliage. With every step, zhe felt the gaze of an unknown creature watching, a lingering presence that would disappear every time zhe chased it down. Neither fluttering of wings nor crackling underbrush, nor even a whisper of any tangible being accompanied the vanishing gaze. It’s not one of the big cats.
The one panthrae who had run off left deep tracks that grew sloppy, then dragged along the ground. Before long, zhe found it collapsed in the dirt. It gasped and panted, bleeding out. Suffering.
Syrdin rounded it and knelt by its head. Its blue eyes gleamed with an animal intelligence, a recognition that only a predator who has become prey knows: the knowledge of being hunted, beaten, and seeing one’s end. Memories rose unbidden. A glaive to the gut, a dagger raised over zhem. Zhe knew that feeling.
Zhe slid off a glove and placed a hand on its head. Its fur was soft against zheir skin. It closed its eyes, accepting its death. Compassion tightened Syrdin’s chest. It was harmless now, its family slaughtered. In zheir memory, a pool of blood glittered on a stone floor, curly white hair washed in it.
“I understand,” Syrdin whispered. “And I’m sorry.”
Zhe steeled zhemself. It’s already dying a slow and painful death.
Zhe ended it quickly, that presence still watching zhem.
All of the other panthrae tracks led toward the pond with no confusion. There were no more around.
Zhe melted into the shadows and emerged back on the shoreline where the others were setting up a makeshift camp. Krid had somehow produced another of those hollow logs. On it sat a shivering Galendria with Fenn still at her shoulder, pressing a cloth against the wound Mell had mostly healed. Gale was pale and shaking. Shock.
Syrdin suppressed the urge to snort. She may be pathetic and sheltered, but she did heal me. Syrdin would never admit it, but zhe would’ve been stomped on if not for that spot of healing.
“Are you alright, Syrdin?” Mell approached the camp carrying the bags they had discarded near the adjacent shore. Blood seeped down her face from a slash in her forehead. “I don’t have a lot of magic energy left, so I’m not sure how much more I can heal.” Her eyes roved up and down Syrdin, taking in zheir hunched, uneven stance and blood-stained leggings. “I figured I should offer it to you first.”
Syrdin set zheir jaw. Zhe probably had had a few broken ribs—possibly only bruised now thanks to the she-elf—and a deep bite on zheir leg, but nothing dangerous. “I can take care of myself. I’m not sure those two could say the same.” Zhe flicked a hand toward the Etnfrandians. Tit for tat, Gale. Healing for healing. Never say I owe you.
Mell scanned zhem one last time, doubtful, but handed zhem a roll of bandages and turned away. “Alright then. Let me know if you need help.”
“Fine.” Syrdin took the bandages and picked zheir way over to the shore. The gaze of the unseen one followed zhem. Syrdin glared back at it, but nothing was there. Zhe kept an eye on the rim of the forest while Mell added an extra touch of healing to Galendria, a weaker spell this time. Zhe felt a twinge of jealousy at how easily Mell could call upon the power of the gods. Sure, the cleric regularly needed to replenish her energy wells, but she could do things beyond mortal power, manipulating both mind and matter. Syrdin struggled to access zheir own connection to Ath-togail at all.
The goddess stirred within, shrinking away. Syrdin set zheir jaw, not daring to reach out to the goddess. The intensity of the disembodied gaze set them both on edge. Hidden from the Etnfrandians by reeds, Syrdin settled on a tree root over the pond and slipped off zheir boots. As zhe peeled the linen from the newly formed scabs on zheir leg, the stinging maroon marks dribbled afresh. Against zheir skin of purplish gray, it was almost pretty. Another memory resurfaced: her mother in a slim warrior’s dress of the same color, muscled and beautiful at the temple’s altar. It had been a dress of bloodshed, a promise of no mercy.
Syrdin hurried to clean and dress zheir wounds. Though she scrubbed at the bloodstains on zheir linens with soap, they left discoloration. Zhe grit zheir teeth and gave up. Some blood stains were never meant to leave. Instead, zhe slipped on zheir boots and moved on. Something needed to be done about that gaze.
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GALENDRIA
“This is why I didn’t want you to come.” Fenn said it softly, as if it should be comforting.
She shivered in her seat on the log Krid had found for them. Fenn was standing at her shoulder, hands pressed against a cloth on her wound.
It throbbed through the clouds hanging over her mind. Her eyes stung with tears that wouldn’t fall. “Because you knew I couldn’t handle it?” She could hear her voice speaking, but the words seemed distant.
“No! Heavenly stars, no!” Vaguely, she could feel the jostling of his hands as he shook his head. “Because–because it is dangerous! People were going to get hurt. But now I’m glad you came. You’re…” his voice grew quiet. “You’re stronger and braver than I am.”
She spun her blade in the dirt absentmindedly, the point drilling the earth by her feet. Am I brave? Her father had called her that too, whenever she’d get hurt as an elfling. It had made her feel big then. Now, she only felt cold. And hurt. “When I followed you, I didn’t expect this.”
“Danger?”
No, that wasn’t it. She leaned forward and clutched a hand over her heart, staring unfocused towards the ground. Not at the bodies of the wildcats strewn by the pond, fur crusting over with blood. Her heart pounded under her fist. “Bloodshed.”
“Oh.”
He sounded as hollow as she felt. Oh? She traced her thumb on the hilt of her sword, listening to its hum. Is that all? We killed creatures today. We could have died.
Her body shook in a dry sob, her eyes refusing to release the emotions hanging over her.
“You did an amazing job, Gale.” Fenn seemed far away, despite his nearness, his pressure on her shoulder. “You saved me. I could barely shoot the whole fight, and you summoned the courage to save me.”
She hung her head. Courage. Death. The purplish blood staining her blade gawked at her, and she convulsed with the urge to fling it away. She closed her fist tightly over the hilt, leaning into its comforting song: three notes shifting into one another in a slow, smooth movement.
“Gale?” The hand on her shoulder shifted painfully, and Fenn’s shadow appeared on the ground in front of her where he crouched. Warmth tickled the hand that clung to her blade as he worked his spindly fingers under hers, prying them open. She didn’t understand what he was trying to do until he took the hilt and pulled it from her grasp. The gentle hum disappeared, and she was left with the bleak stillness of the moment. She peered through blurred vision to see Fenn place her sabre carefully on the ground. It looked small, lying on its side like that. A gentle touch closed around her now empty hand as he encased it with one of his, his other still pressed on her shoulder. “What’s wrong?” he whispered.
She blinked, wishing the tears would fall. She was nearly choking on them. Nothing came: neither words nor tears. Her mind was blank without that hum. She tried to focus on the warmth of Fenn’s hand around hers.
He could have died. The panic she had felt when he had first fallen shook her again.
Atti, please tell me we’ll be alright. She would believe it if he told her. But her father wasn’t here.
“Sorry to interrupt. I thought you might want more healing? Syrdin turned it down.” She jolted at Mell’s voice suddenly coming from behind her.
Healing. Her shoulder still throbbed and the cold within her gripped her very soul. Gale swallowed down the lump again and tried to speak. Her body shook again. I want to go home, not to be healed. The thought surprised her.
“I-I don’t think it would hurt,” Fenn answered for her. “She’s still bleeding a little and her hands are cold as snow. I think she’s nearly as pale, too.”
On the edges of her awareness, she knew she should be embarrassed to be seen like this. The feeling didn’t come, hovering just out of reach with all of her other emotions. Mell circled in front of her, searching her face. “Yeah, I’ll heal you a bit more, but Fenn,” Mell turned her head toward him, “she might just be in shock.”
Shock? Gale’s mind stirred at the unfamiliar use of the word, but she couldn’t focus the thought into a question.
“Can you heal that?”
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Mell shook her head. “That takes time and some comforting.”
Comfort. Gale was shaken by a sob as the word resonated within her. Comfort. That was what she wanted. For her mother to hold her, and her father to tell her they’d be safe, that no one would be harmed anymore. Comfort. Her comfortable, familiar home. Tears began to drip down her face.
She felt the warmth of Mell’s spell ease the pain in her shoulder, but the pain inside her, the inner chill, the longing, did not leave. Mell removed her hands and stood.
“Mell, perhaps you should hold on to Gale’s sword,” Fenn said.
My sword? True, she didn’t really want to be near it right now. She wanted to be home, far far away from this violence. She tried to wipe her tears on her sleeve while Mell stooped for the weapon. But there is no going home, is there? She had pushed away the thought for two days now. This time, it wouldn’t go away. It crashed down, bringing with it the deluge of the emotions that had been hanging over her: fear, pain, loss, and others she didn’t recognize. Her body shook, racked with sobs as her tears flowed freely.
“Gale? What is it?”
She hadn’t realized she had closed her eyes. When she opened them, Mell was gone, and all she could see were Fenn’s, their storm-color brewing with concern.
Another sob escaped her, fresh with tears. That was not what she wanted to see in those eyes. Peace, joy, even love. “I w-want to g-go home.” She melted into herself, leaning her elbows on her knees and burying her face in her hand not held by his. The reality of the situation was dismal. They had stolen priceless artifacts, smuggled in outsiders, and fled to a wild and dangerous world. Their return would be unwelcome. She’d face prison. She convulsed again, the pain of loss tearing at her. A prison where she could see her Atti sounded a whole lot better than here. “I want t-to go ho-h-home, Fenn!”
“Oh, Gale.” It sounded like a plea, like he was begging her to say anything but that. She felt his other hand join the one clasped around her left one. “Gale, I’m sorry, I…” His voice trailed off.
She lifted her face, and nearly hid it again at the sight of the deep creases of worry pinched into his brows. More tears trickled down her cheeks. She wished he would wipe them away; that he’d tell her they could go back to her father and mother, so they could wipe them away, too. She shivered again.
“Going home could be really…bad.”
She convulsed again with a whimper before she could choke back the lump in her throat enough to tell him, “I know, I-I wo-would be impr-pris—” she gasped, “be arres–rested.”
He squeezed her hand, completely swallowed by his two, and stared at the ground. “So, you realized after all.”
It wasn’t a question. She nodded as her body shook all over again. I’m so cold.
“Can’t we b-both go home?” Even in her distressed state, she knew she was asking a lot of him. But in that moment, the ache for that choice, for that easy future consumed her. “J-just turn ourselves in-in and face our ss-entences? And then go b-back to our lives?”
His shoulders sagged. “Gale, for what I’ve done, mere imprisonment would be a very light sentence. And if you returned alone…” his eyes tore back and forth between hers, as though willing her to understand, then they dropped away. “I’m sorry, Gale. I never wanted to get you involved.”
She did understand. He had attacked the Everguard, a betrayal to the nation. And as for her, it hadn’t been just her physical well-being he had been trying to protect, but her life. Her whole life. Is it too late? Fenn likely feared the scrutiny she’d face alone. “I wouldn’t tell anyone, Fenn. You know I w-wouldn’t. And I’d still be there when you returned home, waiting.”
“Gale, please,” his voice rasped with desperation, “I know. I do know that now. But I don’t think–,” he shook the hand he held. “I suspect that they may have ways to make you tell them. There are spells for that, and my father possessed magic he wasn’t supposed to. Gale, I don’t know if any secrets are safe if the Ceann Council questions you.”
No secrets are safe? The very wind left her lungs. She kept many of those. Never mind that she was trapped. If they could force the honest truth from her, it would not only upend her life, but her father’s and mother’s as well. “Oh.” It was all she could say as dizziness overtook her. “Oh, frosts.” She felt her body shake, and everything spun.
“Woah, hey, hey,” she heard Fenn’s voice reach a panic, and then one of his hands caught the side of her head as it fell. Black spots clouded her version. “Breathe, Gale, breathe. Slowly.”
She tried. She was gasping. Her chest felt tight. She scrunched her eyes closed against the spots.
“Hey now! Keep them open. Look at me!”
She tried to take in a slow breath. It was ragged and limped along, her lungs not obeying her. Still, she opened her eyes. The world was tilted, but Fenn’s eyes filled most of it. There, she could see her own–wide with fear–reflected in his glasses. “I can’t go back,” she whimpered.
“Gale.” Fenn’s voice was firm. She blinked away the spots and took another staggered breath. The storm was gone from his gaze, replaced by the color of the pine-covered mountain, strong and sure. “You don’t need to go back, Gale. We… we will figure this out. We’ll all look after each other, just like you said yesterday, and make it through this together. ”
Hadn’t that been what I wanted? To be a part of Fenn’s team. For him to rely on me.
He was still speaking. “You’ll have my back. Mell will have yours. Syrdin will have hers. And so on. We’ll all be… okay. I won’t leave you to suffer this alone. None of us are alone.”
But he had left her. The memory of his abandonment swirled into her thoughts like a dark cloud. He’d left for a hundred years to venture around Hethbarn. And he had planned to leave her again. Not alone. She had been with her father and mother then, and with her people whom she loved. His intention had never been to hurt her. She inhaled, almost smoothly this time, held it, then exhaled. She hadn’t meant to sacrifice her whole life to follow him here. Is it really too late? Is there no outcome that would allow us to return home peacefully?
She grasped Fenn’s hand where it still supported her head, twining her fingers around the gaps between his, and leaned her cheek into his palm. She ought to have been embarrassed, but she simply absorbed the comfort of it. Then, slowly, with a regretful sigh, she dragged his hand down. She brought it to meet their other hands, hers still closed in his. She shifted her grip and gave both of his hands a squeeze. They were large, gangling hands that dwarfed hers. She could trust those hands to catch her when she needed them to. “Thanks, I’ll hold you to that.”
“Good, then.” He leaned back, pulling from her grip. “Feeling a little better?”
She nodded, wiping the tears that still trailed her face. A hiccup escaped from her, and she covered her mouth. “Sorry.”
He smiled a little. “Snow in spring.”
Somehow, seeing that little smile made her want to cry all over again. She swallowed back the urge as she shook with another hiccup. Think about something else. “I guess we lost our clue back in the pond?”
Fenn worked his way back onto his feet, wiping mud off of his knees. It was a silly thing to do, as covered in a mess of dirt and blood as he was. “Yes, but I doubt we would have gotten information from it anyway. It didn’t speak, so unless one of us is secretly a druid, we weren’t going to get far” He eyed her with a playful gleam that twinkled over a softer expression. He was still watchful of her.
A joke? She cocked her head at him, confused. Druid… does he mean me? “I can’t speak with animals if that’s what you’re implying.”
“I assumed. But not to worry, we have a whole team to discuss a plan with. We will find a way.” He reached a hand out toward her. “Shall we go join them?”
She hesitated, and he took notice.
“Or, if you are not ready for another adventure, you–we can stay here a bit longer.”
Ready for another adventure? She wasn’t ready. She was rattled to the core and raw from crying. She wasn’t sure that when she stood, her legs would support her. She reached for his hand anyway. But we will be in it together.
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MELLARK
Galendria was trembling when Mell approached. She plodded through the reeds, grass, and damp earth that rimmed the lake all around. The two elves were oddly silent. Fenn was crouched in front of Gale with one hand holding the cloth onto her wounded shoulder and the other holding her hand. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet. It was as though he wanted to pull away, but the concern mounted on his shoulders would not allow it.
Poor things. “Sorry to interrupt. I thought you might want more healing? Syrdin turned it down.”
Galendria gave no response. Not a good sign.
“I-I don’t think it would hurt,” Fenn’s answer pinched with anxiety–both for Gale and for himself. “She’s still bleeding a little and her hands are cold as snow. I think she’s nearly as pale, too?”
Mell circled around and inspected the girl. Her eyes, rimmed with red, were dilated larger than the bright sun overhead could possibly merit. She did appear pale, and her breath was shallow and came in shudders. That’s not from her wounds, at least not her physical ones. Still, it could help her. “Yeah, I’ll heal you a bit more, but Fenn,” Mell met his gaze to see the worry trapped behind his glasses, “she might just be in shock.”
“Can you heal that?”
Lorthen, wouldn’t that be nice. Mell shook her head. “That takes time and some comforting.”
Mell bent and placed her hand on Galendria’s shoulder, releasing her healing. The girl’s color improved very slightly, but she still trembled. As expected.
“Mell, perhaps you should hold on to Gale’s sword.”
The sword? Mell glanced at the shimmering, blood-stained sabre that lay on the ground by Fenn’s knees. She searched his face, silently asking why.
He clenched his jaw and widened his eyes in an expression that suggested he meant more than he said.
Mell stooped and clasped the hilt. The sword hummed in her hands with the notes of a celestial choir. I knew it! She gawked at Fenn. He stared at her expectantly. “It’s singing,” she mouthed.
He nodded slowly. “Creation,” he mouthed back.
Creation Magic. Mell turned it over in her mind as she retreated away. It was that school of Dara’s magic she had suspected from the beginning. Though most Wood Elves preferred druidic disciplines, Mell had never encountered these musical creations outside of their tribe. While she could access Lorthen’s power through the focus built into her circlet–and only after a test of fealty–, Wood Elves accessed Dara’s power through their innate connection to him: the trace of his magic left from the birth of their race. Galendria had no religious connection to Dara and no magic focus, so that left only one conclusion: she was by blood a Wood Elf.
Fenn had claimed there were no Wood Elves in Etnfrandia and had therefore concluded she had forged a connection. However, if Mell had seen Gale out in Hethbarn, a Wood Elf ethnicity would have been the natural assumption; she bore the tanned skin, hazel eyes, and brown-gold hair common to the tribe. It seemed obvious, but how?
Mell had seen her father, Ceann Silverstem. She didn’t appear entirely unlike him, but he was too pale-skinned and dark-haired to be a Wood Elf, or especially a Sun Elf, their ancestors. What of her mother? If Mell had seen her, she could have concluded more. Either way, Fenn was wrong about her; of that, Mell was sure.
“Anybody feel like we’re being watched?” Krid’s low growl roused Mell from her thoughts as she approached the others. She followed his gaze out to the treeline some ten meters away. Nothing was there, yet she felt it staring straight through her skin into her soul. Phantom spiders crawled on her back and she shivered.
“Yeah,” Syrdin, just returned from treating zheir wounds, was slowly, gingerly setting zhemself down on a patch of grass, “and not by those cat-things either.”