And so it has remained for two millennia: the Doors were shut, sealed tightly that none could pass through, not from the Trueplane, and not from the Fae, and their locations were lost to time and memory.
-Fennorin’s Guide to Elven History, First Ed. UE 2342
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MELLARK
Mell stumbled through the bright fissure into more darkness. The drakeman’s claws dug into her shoulders, then let go. She collapsed onto a soft ground, coughing. Her legs burned and trembled under her. The air was thick and warm here, and she thought she might choke on it as she gasped for air.
Clink. She heard the familiar sound of Syrdin sheathing zheir dagger.
Sudden, bright-white sunlight stung Mell’s eyes. Her breath caught as she blinked away tears.
Wide trees squatted around them with their thick roots sunken into ruddy earth. Scattered among those, thin and towering trees formed a second canopy of flat tops that broke a purple sky. In the nearer canopy, broad, fern-like leaves tickled each other with blue leaflets. A luscious breeze set them laughing and whispering, spilling to each other the secrets of the Fae. A flock of scaley birds flitted between low branches, as if chasing their whispered counsel. If she stood and reached, Mell thought she might be able to touch one.
She wanted to touch everything: to look under the leaves for spores, to test the strength of branches, to feel the soil.
Fenn let out a ragged cry and fell to his knees, shattering her moment of wonder. His arm was still bleeding from where the Everguard had stuck him. Exploration and study could wait. Mell crawled next to him and placed her hand on his wrist. “Leygheas.” Her circlet glowed and she felt warmth and light spread through her hand into Fenn’s arm as the wound closed before their eyes, leaving behind mere blood stains on his sleeve.
The drakeman stood beside Mell, facing the spot where they had just crossed the realms. He glanced down at what was now a long, clean scab on Fenn’s arm. “I have to say, that’s an impressive skill, master clergywoman.” He seemed barely out of breath. Not fair. “Is he well enough to travel? We had best move on before they follow us here.”
Galendria gasped. “Is that possible?” She, who had been staring into the trees with eyes rounder than a globe, now set her haunted look on Fenn.
“Erm,” Fenn seemed to shake himself, like one might shake off a bad dream in the morning, “well considering they neither knew about the Door nor have any knowledge of how to see it, or cross it, I doubt it.”
Syrdin crossed zheir arms. “I didn’t come here to take chances.”
“Then we should move on.” The drakeman plucked Fenn off the ground by his shirt, then pulled it down to straighten out the wrinkles. “There you are, newt,” he patted Fenn’s back with a heavy hand, “so lead us on. And I wouldn’t mind a few words on the dangers we’ll be facing.”
Newt? Mell could hardly believe it, but Fenn took the rough treatment in stride.”Right. Well, follow me then. I’ve got a camp prepared not far from here.”
She hauled herself upright, out of the soft, red earth. Her old bones groaned at the effort. Middle-aged, she corrected herself in her mind. Not old, yet.
The forest seemed to stare at her. Blades of grass as thick as fingers tickled at her calves in the snaking, sunlit patches where they grew. An ugly croak jolted her into action. She hurried after Fenn, eyeing the strange scaled bird that had produced the sound. It turned its head to meet her gaze with one beady eye. This one had a pale pink body and its whip-like tail curled around a branch, the white feathers on the end giving the illusion of a mace. Its upper beak overhung its lower, and Mell could see needle-like teeth poking out. She shivered. Even if the whole bird was shorter than one of her arms, she’d still hate to be on the receiving end of those teeth.
“It’s not particularly dangerous immediately surrounding the Door.” Fenn took the tone of the professor he had once been for this lecture. “I suspect that has to do with the primordial energy escaping from the Trueplane, as we call it. Most creatures here are subconsciously driven away by it. For some reason, the clebshoths don’t seem to mind–that’s the birds. They don’t seem to mind much of anything. I haven’t dared to wander far by myself, but I have seen evidence of some panthrae, as well as some large, bipedal birds, a few rodent-like creatures, and swarms of bugs innumerable.”
Right on cue, Mell heard a buzzing by her ear. Two eyes gazed at her from a tree trunk, vibrating. She jumped back, and the two eyes took off on the back of a beetle the size of her hand. Just as she tried to calm herself, a clebshoth swooped down and snapped it up with a sickly crunch. By Lorthen! This place is brutal. She tried to push away images of much larger birds snatching her up like that. Fenn was speaking loudly, for the group to hear. Clearly, he was confident in their current safety. Still, with the invisible “Door” just behind them and eyes glittering at her from the shadows, she felt he should be more cautious.
“I even saw some form of deer, once,” he was saying. “As for what dangers we might face further from the breach, well that would likely be creatures of mythos. Centaurs, dryads, dragons and other dinosaurs, leviathans, treants, fauns,” he took a breath, “nymphs, pixies, sprites, and–well this isn’t really an extensive list. These are just the creatures that I can think of now.”
Those were things Mell knew of. Those were the things she expected. The whispering of the leaves, the hum of insects, the glittering eyes, the overly-bright sun, the finger-like grass, those were the things she was not prepared for. It was so bizarre and otherworldly that she felt she was in a dream, one dancing on the line between a daydream and a nightmare. Only, if it were a dream, her muscles would have forgotten the long run across Etnfrandia.
Some brown tendrils of grass seemed to follow her as she walked. A clebshoth—a vibrant yellow one–landed nearby and these tendrils whisked away, disappearing into the grass’s roots. Mell blinked. What in the Five Realms?
“The camp is decently stocked. Well-stocked for three, but–erm–anyway. I only have two tents. I knew Krid would bring his own. But we are here. See? It really isn’t far.”
A tiny, brown creature with blue stripes scampered into a clearing ahead of them, long antennae-like ears towering into the top of the grass as it disappeared on the other side. That was the brown grass!
The clearing was small, perhaps eight meters across, and had two tents in a style she recognized only from the one pitched in front of Fenn’s cabin. The richly-dyed fabric that lined them, she knew well, and not merely from the clothes on Fenn’s back. Woven from the hair of an Everglow mountain goat, it was light and warm, a highly sought export. Right now, sweating under the rays of a foreign sun, she hoped it breathed.
At the center of the “camp,” a small, clay travel stove sat by a pile of wood–clearly pine from Etnfrandia. A few cushions were placed around it. Some small barrels and boxes were scattered near the tents, as well as a few trunks.
As soon as Mell laid eyes on one of those cushions, other thoughts fled her. Her aching limbs carried her to one, and she collapsed onto it.
“Are you sure we should rest so near the Door? Those guards could easily follow us here.” Syrdin stood at the edge of the clearing, cowl turning slowly as zhe surveyed it.
Fenn scratched under the arm of his glasses. “We wouldn’t want to run off into the forest without any supplies. If it comes to it, you had better try and escape on your own. Krid, you too. The rest of us would be better off surrendering ourselves than trying to escape.”
Creed? Was that the drakeman’s name?
He lowered his snout from the air, huffed a sort-of sneeze, and rubbed it. “Sounds reasonable to me. In that case, some rest to regain our strength would be the best course of action.” He lumbered over to the cushions where Mell sat. “Say, Holy Cleric, the healing you did. Do others in your brotherhood do the same? It is very impressive.”
Mell smiled. “Thank you.” She propped herself up by her hands, which sank a little into the ground, “But yes, it’s a skill we’re trained to master pretty early on. Even the Dalthens–um, novices learn it.” She brushed a dirt-crusted hand on her robe and offered it to him. “I am Mellark, Scholar-Savant of the order of Lorthen.”
The drakeman smiled back. He had an exceptionally broad snout such that the expression seemed to split his face. He reached down and grasped her hand in his cold claws with a contrasting warmth of greeting. “Kridarnn, Captain of the Twelfth Scout Guard of Brikhvarnn, but you can call me Krid.”
Mell nodded. “Nice to meet you. You can call me Mell.”
Galendria sat down with Mell. She still seemed pale, but she held her back straight, as though held by a rod, and she had a small smile painted on her face. Dark circles were forming under her eyes. Keeping up appearances, poor child.
The drakeman looked to Fenn, who approached with a cloth sack in his hands produced from one of his boxes. “So, brighthead, now that you’re feeling better, who’s your other friend?” He nodded toward Syrdin, who still stood near where they had entered the clearing, hood swiveling as zhe kept a lookout.
Fenn took it as a cue to introduce everyone. “Oh, right.” He straightened and cleared his throat, no doubt trying to be a leader and a host. “So, everyone, erm, this is Krid, we met on one of my less successful quests for information on the Faeworld, though the historical yield was plentiful.” He gestured to the drakeman. “We’ve become great friends over the years. He’s a Scout Captain for the Brikhvarnni military.”
He shifted his gesture to Mell. “I think you’ve all met Mell, my friend from the University. She curated the library there for some fifteen years of my career.”
Mell waved her hand to everyone, though she had met them all at this point. Fenn moved his gaze over to Galendria. She was staring at Syrdin like one would stare at the drunk uncle at a family reunion, the one who had tried to steal the entire inheritance two years ago, but still had the gall to show up. That is, with a deep sense of annoyance and mistrust..
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Fenn gestured to Gale, and he took a steadying breath. Poor fellow, he tried to keep her from coming. “This is Galendria Silverstem, Fyr-Ceann of Etnfrandia and a masterful musician. She’s graciously been my betrothed since the first snow this past winter.” He hesitated. “Mell, would you care to introduce Syrdin?”
“Sure, that is Syrdin,” Mell waved a hand in the direction of her companion, “zhe has been a most loyal and skillful travel guide and companion to me on my journey here. And I believe we all owe zhem our gratitude for a successful escape.” She was referring to the darkness that had escorted them the final distance to the rift, though Mell had not known Syrdin to possess the ability. After months of travel, Syrdin still manages to surprise me.
Fenn raised his brows and cocked his head. Had he not realized that was not my magic?
“An impressive skill, yes!” Krid pumped a tight fist into the air.
From zheir place a few paces away, Syrdin acknowledged the cheer with a small flick of one gloved hand, not even shifting zheir gaze off the forest.
“Yes,” Fenn was quick to affirm. “I’m deathly curious what kind of magic that was, if you don’t mind revealing it. And I’ll surely add any extra pay you require before you go on your way.”
Mell gritted her teeth. Syrdin did not like to be asked about zheir abilities, or history, or motives. Not anything personal, really.
Syrdin turned. “My magic is my own,” zhe replied, arms crossed, “and I’m not planning to leave. Not that I could with the Everguard crawling around the Door. Not for a while, at least.” There was a growl to zheir voice, an impatience.
Fenn blinked, taken aback. “Not leaving? You were hired to help us retrieve the artifacts, not to accompany us to the Wildlands. Surely someone like you could sneak away, once things settle down.”
Mell couldn't help but notice he referred to the place by its Elven name when he spoke to zhem. It finally clicked in her mind. For them, this wasn’t the Fae, a land of mythos, but the Wildlands, their origins.
“And now you couldn’t pay me to leave,” zhe said. “I’ll take my artifact when you are ready. Mell already settled the rest. But from here on I have business in the Faeworld, same as you. I’ll be happy to accompany you, free of charge.”
Mell’s mouth dropped open. Zhe never told me that. She was accustomed to Syrdin’s abrasive behavior, but this was different. A self-insertion. Syrdin had at times shown interest in the Faerie gods, often engaging Mell in conversation about them. What is zheir goal?
“Who agreed to allow you along?” Galendria interjected, chin aloft. “I failed to hear it.”
“I think the same could be said to you, miss flower,” Syrdin retorted.
Galendria huffed. “Considering my betrothed organized–”
“Your betrothed asked you to stay behind. You shouldn’t be here.”
“Galend–” Fenn’s soft attempt to cut in was ignored.
“Only out of concern for my safety.”
An old chink in Mell’s neck started to ache again from the rapid swiveling of her neck between the two.
“If you say so, your majesty.” Syrdin leaned into the words, a smirk in zheir voice. “But you’ve made yourself a burden, whereas I am useful in the world outside your little sheltered kingdom.”
Galendria’s mouth snapped shut. “At least I have manners,” she mumbled.
“Please,” Fenn waved his hands, finally gathering their attention, “don’t argue. This is a dangerous place, and Syrdin did just save our skins back there. If zhe has business here, we’ll hear zhem out before we decide anything. And Galendria, after some rest, you really should go home to your father.”
Mell squinted. Go home? Doesn’t he realize–?
Galendria flinched. “I have business here as well.”
“What? Galendria!” Fenn protested. “You do not!”
“I do,” she stood, walked up to him, and pointed a finger straight at his chest, “it’s you.” She must have burned the words into him with her eyes, because the moment hung meaningfully in the air before she stomped past his shoulder, marching for the edge of camp.
“Galendria.” Fenn called after her softly.
“What?!” She swirled her head, pausing.
“Don’t go far?”
She clenched her jaw and raised her head, plucking her way over to a knotted root just outside the clearing. Mell could just see the green of her skirt through the rather blue foliage, though the squalling protest of a disturbed insect pinpointed her location anyway.
That was rough. Mell turned toward Fenn, who stood gazing after Galendria, mystery sack forgotten in his hand. She felt pained for them. No kind of relationship was more difficult than a romantic one, and she was beginning to doubt that there was any romance involved here at all–not on Fenn’s side, at least.
Fenn sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He paused to look at his torn and bloodied sleeve, then back at Galendria. Mell could see the worry written in the creases of his brow. She lifted a hand. She wanted to ask. There seemed to be some kind of complication between them. More than an arranged marriage would merit.
“So, I guess congratulations are in order for your betrothal.” Krid came over and ruffled the hair Fenn had just fluffed. “I wish you’d said something in one of your letters! I don’t have an appropriate gift!”
Mell cringed. Hopefully, what Krid lacked in social cues he would make up for in a fight.
“Partnerships don’t work that way in Etnfrandia.” Fenn pushed away his friend’s hand. “They’re arranged, and all the man can do is affirm the betrothal, or deny it.” He hushed his voice, glancing toward Gale. “In my case, denial wasn’t an option. A gift would hardly be appropriate.”
Krid grabbed him around the shoulders and forced him to look in the direction of the sulking Galendria, lost to their view. “But why would you say no? She seems like a strong, lovely mate to me!”
Mell closed her eyes. Mate? Seriously? While Fenn did not seem disturbed by the terminology, it still seemed insensitive .
Fenn chewed his lip at the ground. He continued in a soft whisper. “I’m not exactly suitable. And she–well, it’s hard to explain if you don’t know our culture.”
Mell leaned forward and spoke gently. “Please try. I want to understand, too.”
He sighed. “It’s as I’ve told Mell before, I am essentially a disgraced noble. A Skill-less One, if you will, Krid. I couldn’t–what would your people say?– grow a family to health, even if I wanted to. But when Galendria initiated our pairing–and not for the common kind of marriage mind you, but a contract for a family–well my father threatened to take away my cabin refuge if I did not comply.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Mell shook her head. “You’re telling me that a marriage and a familial contract, those are different things?”
“Yes, one for child rearing, and we also have another for permanent union.”
Krid’s throat grumbled thoughtfully. “So, you don’t marry your mates?”
“Sometimes.” Fenn rubbed under the bridge of his glasses.“Galendria’s parents are married. Mine aren’t. My mother is married to a dancer.”
Mell snorted. “Can’t say I blame her there.” That was probably an insensitive thing to say. She of all people ought to be sensitive to this topic. She understood what it was like to be trapped in a relationship that impeded her priorities, one no longer motivated by any mutual love. It had been the same for her after she had sworn fealty to Lorthen. But for Fenn, the problem hadn’t packed up the family and headed for a new town, leaving him behind with a mix of relief and guilt. No, his beautiful little problem chased him into the Faeworld.
Krid removed his arm from around Fenn and he scratched his beard-like spines in consideration of the concept.
In a culture that esteemed art above all other accomplishments, it did seem strange to eschew love within the family. Mell had believed art was inherently romantic and emotional; that was one reason she’d never taken it seriously as a topic of study. Could it be their longevity? I didn’t stay married for seven years; I can’t imagine 700.
Krid finally shook his head. “Makes no sense at all to me. You should just marry her privately if you love her.”
Mell glared up at Krid. Drakeman skulls must be exceptionally thick.
Fenn had turned a concerning shade of blue. ‘I–th–no–erm–” he opened and closed his mouth a few more times while the waiting drakeman crossed his arms. “It’s just, we barely know each other. For six-or-so years since my return, I’ve only seen her at festivals and such, and–”
“Six years!” Krid’s frustration was expressed in an exaggerated throwing of his arms. “That’s a long time!”
“Not really, and we’d never spoken on matters of im—”
A shriek tore through the air. Gale sped back through the trees, careening toward them. Krid brandished a long, scarred sword and charged past her as she joined Fenn and Mell. Fenn pulled out a miniature crossbow of his own. “What is it? What’s wrong?” he grabbed her arm, staring past her.
Mell didn’t remember climbing to her feet, but she was on them now. She peered at the treeline where Krid stood at the ready. Syrdin dropped out of a tree right by the drakeman, and he spun on zhem.
“I–i-it just jumped out of the grass! From nowhere!” Galendria’s skin had turned pale under its bronze complexion.
“What did you see? Are we in danger?” Fenn was bent toward her, eyes flashing back and forth between her and the woods.
She opened her mouth, then suddenly turned very red and closed it. For a moment, Mell thought she must have been bitten or stung by something uniquely poisonous with the way her face flushed.
“Probably not. I’m now realizing it was fairly small. And I’ve just frightened you all very much.” She shrank down into herself.
“What did you see, Gale?” Fenn repeated, voice gentle, but his hand was still closed around her arm. “I’ll know if it was dangerous.”
She looked at the ground, very coylike. “It was red-brown, like the dirt, and about the size of a fox or a groundhog, and it sort-of leapt from the ground right by my feet in a big arc.” She turned her eyes up now, taking a pleading look. “I mean, right by my feet. It practically jumped across my lap.”
That would jump-scare me, too, in a place like this.
“Oh, the dirt-divers.” Fenn released his hand and patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry, those won’t hurt you.”
Mell closed her eyes and breathed out. No danger. When she opened them, Syrdin was saying something to the drakeman, who then sheathed his sword. They all turned back to Fenn. He met their expectant gaze with an absent stare, mind elsewhere.
Mell cleared her throat.
“Oh erm, that’s a creature sort-of like a mole. It’s not dangerous at all. I’ve seen a few of them. They’re almost cute if you manage a good look at one. They seem to swim through dirt the way fish swim in water, and sometimes they jump up for air. There’s nothing to worry about.”
Fenn finally remembered the burgundy sack hanging from his hand. He lifted it up and pulled out a round loaf of dense, brown bread. Barley bread. “Why don’t we all have a bit to eat, and then call it a night?”