CW:
WOW! 4.8K worb chappy with RASKA POV to Start and TRETION next! Um... threats to burn and fear of getting burned. Threats of killing and taking corpses for puppets aaaaaand eating souls. Mhm. Threats of dehumanizing a gerl to burn a new Rift into existing. mhm! Woops!
“Why would she even go out there?” I ask, staring down at the twisting gemstone wrapped about Awnya’s wrist as the little Jellyfish nuzzles it close.
And… all of us rumble in a deep anxiety for that girl's safety. Which… is so new to me to feel. Even Peva took years to warm up to Wren, and the others never really did anything but growl in their general direction. But for them to actively and openly thrum with worry over her? A Fae? A Godling? A gerl who even killed one of their last hosts?
It’s… scary. But I’ve also felt the most safe than I have before. Less twitchy and worried that they’re gonna try and hurt me.
“Dreamer’s Tits!” Awnya spits, glaring out into the desert. “It doesn’t… I…”
We didn’t even bother waiting very long. After Lyra didn’t come back as quick as before Awnya hummed a soft song to one of their little ones and nudged it to wiggle up to the tracking wristband Tretion and she made for this very worry.
Something about sympathetic bindings to all the little ones. A thing to let them track any wayward Jellyfish if they somehow wandered off or dug their way back into the blight between the Rifts.
And the mother holding them, if she got distracted or otherwise didn’t come back. Right now it’s pointing us toward the farthest edges of Theradas. Into the deep desert…
“So, let’s Shift out and get her.” I state and take up Awnya’s arm, barely even needing to think about anything else before Peva sparks up our flame and begins to twist–
“I can’t.” Awnya growls.
I smother the boiling spell to glance over at her. “What? Why?”
“It’s… That’s Blight on the horizon. If I get much closer I… I’m not sure I can survive that. Even with my warding melodies. It looks too thick.” She sniffs again, face pale but filled with rage as she glances over at me. “But you can. Alone. Right? Use your flames to burn away the Rot? Keep yourself safe and pull her back to us?”
I hesitate, spit Peva’s favorite curse, and nod. “It’ll be like leaping headfirst into the mud, but yeah. Shifts don’t work between Rifts. Just… hope she’s not out too far. We’re gonna have to walk back if Lyra can’t toss us free of it.”
“Alright. Just… Come back.” Awnya takes a deep breath, coughs and spits, then takes me by the shoulder. Meets my gaze. “Even… Look, our girl can survive the blight. Easy. This is actually one of the least terrifying things, honestly. So… keep that in mind, okay?”
“Okay.” I nod. “I won’t dive tits deep. Will keep my hops small. That way I can walk out before getting too far.”
She lets out a breath, pulls those Jellyfish close, and steps back. “I’m going to grab Tretion. Then hop back here and wait at the edges under a spell of hiding.”
“Good plan, would rather you not bump into trouble alone.” I reply, voice already dropping and cracking as I begin to Rasp the words Peva’s gifted me.
No idea how other’s Shift or Riftwalk but… for me?
Feels like burning a hole on the horizon and blazing through everything between.
Small though, just like I promised. Little flickers of motion. Barely costs me anything. Like hopping between solid rocks amidst bubbling ash.
I feel it before I see it, can’t help but cackle at the fear that sizzles in my gut. It’s… a pull. Forward. Worse than if you’re on the edge of a steep cliff and looking down. Like some big scary thing is taking a deep breath and if you don’t find something to hold onto you’ll just get sucked into its maw.
A lot like when we did this back in the day, eh Peva? I intone to my First. Leaping between and burning hard. Nothing behind to care much for. Our only future was forward.
Would rather burn what we were away than stay like that. Even if nothing rose from my ashes.
He rumbles in almost manic furiously delighted agreement. And... huh. The others seem to spark with their own appreciation for what we’re doing. Who we’re trying to keep safe.
Dead Cinders… have they all calmed so much after Lyra started hugging us. Bubbling with affections and fear but easily embracing flames that just a few weeks back were sizzling to nip and bite at her. Now going soft and warm for her.
Which still… really scares me. Reminds me of–
No. She’s not those other Fae. SHE Didn’t hurt you. Even let YOU hurt her then, and would probably fall to pieces if you so much as sparked an angry look her way.
Peva rumbles close as we Shift twice more, and I expect him to nudge me into burning better or to otherwise be annoyed at me for dredging up this memory as the edge of this Rift fast charges us. But he only holds near. Guides our Spark and motions. Letting me come to steady focus when I’m ready.
It’s like a storm by the time I’ve quieted myself. Dust blowing all up around us and starting to bite at my flesh and–
Peva and I howl together, and the Spark zips out to tear and bite and BURN AT THE ROTTEN SCENT OF BROKEN OATHS AND DYING LIGHT!
Like some large writhing snek or birb or… something shaped lover. Clearing us a bubble to look about and consider how much deeper we’d like to go.
“Lyra!” We call out into the sandy storm about. Really glad for the twisting blaze circling about and burning all the spice laden sand to ash.
A pause and… do we hear anything?
Another shift, but this time it only carries us halfway as much as the last. Our bubble of protection shrinks as the storm intensifies.
“Lyra!!!” We roar, louder.
Begin to gather up for one last Shift before–
A shout. Ahead of us and to the left.
Shift that way. Roar louder still. “LYRA!”
Storm is too thick though. Can’t see anything but twisting kicked up sand past our blazing flame and… Wait. A silhouette!
Small, but surrounded in a soul that stretches way too fucking big with little weird things dancing and wiggling at the edges.
So clearly Lyra and her Jellyfish. We all grin and dash toward her. Each step seems… not slower but… like we’re running after something that’s pulling away without moving. Even though I can tell she’s running toward us.
Then she stops. Seems to take a step back.
“It’s alright!” We call out, kneeling even into the ash and sand. “It won’t hurt ya. We… we came to get you out!”
At that her soul pulls close in on itself, but… she takes a step forward.
We don’t move. No matter how much we want to. Because like… She probably sees us like how we saw her the day we burned her.
Everything that would hurt us roaring and spitting.
Ukalon’s tit fucked feathers that hurts to realize.
But then our girl’s stumbling through the edges. Perfectly safe. Clothes are a mess but… doesn’t seem hurt.
Just scared.
Not at where she is but…
The Everflame she’s with.
“Sorry.” We intone as gently as we can while channeling our Spark. “I gotta keep burning loud. Not sure how you’re handling this storm but I gotta do this it to stay alive.”
The fear in her eyes tilts a bit into confusion, so much as she takes a careful step forward. “S– storm?”
We pause, nod. “Yeah. This sandstorm at the edge of the Rift.”
“N– no s– s– storm. F– forest.”
We hesitate. “What? You were in a forest?”
She shakes her head. “N– no. In f– forest. N– now. D– dead Dr– dr– Dreamers Wood. Y– you’re b– b– b– urning i– it down. B– but gr– gr– grows f– fast.”
Don’t know what to say to that.
Lyra tilts her head like she’s listening to someone else, and a weird rippling of… huh.
“That fuzzy spirit have something to say?”
She sighs and looks down. “N– no. L– let’s… j– ju– just g– go? W– words later?”
“Alright.” I say carefully. “Can I keep close till you can Shift us out?”
She glances up, swallows hard, but nods. Asking carefully. “C– can…?”
“Yeah.” We smirk, standing. “Won’t burn ya. Promise.”
A pause, then she very carefully she reaches out with a long tendril and takes hold, visibly relaxing as she senses our affections and joy at seeing her safe and–
And darts forward to wrap herself about me in a hug. Nearly knocking us all to the sand and dirt with how fierce this embrace is.
“S– sorry.” Lyra whispers, but squeezes tighter.
“You’re fine.” We assure her while trembling but hugging back. “Let’s get home. Your girls are worried and waiting.”
** ** **
“Are we well hidden?” I ask my beloved.
Awnya nods and murmurs through her humming song. “As much as I can make us.”
I glance back toward the city proper, Amwella sight active but… Well, it was never my strong suit. And my new soul, even tuned to the Radiance of the Dream, doesn’t compare to what I lost. It is weak and quite blurry about anything beyond a few dozen feet on the best of days.
I adjust the grip on my stave, glance out into the desert.
On the horizon, a storm seems to rise. A dark roiling pitched cloudthing of furious proportions. Dark and blending enough to make it invisible if not for how high it obscures the view of the far skies.
“And you’re sure that wasn’t there these last days?”
She shakes her head. “Naw, just seemed to really bubble up as me and Raska came out here. Doesn’t seem to be growing too much since just… getting more defined?”
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
The bauble on my wrist still glimmers and glows in the direction of the storm. The child I nudged to activate it long since nuzzled close to my core again, but… its effects still tuned to track our Beloved until I cut off the little link of Amwella.
“And… What are your thoughts on it?”
Awnya takes a deep breath, spits, then takes a moment to steady her song. “Pretty obvious, beloved. That’s the edge. Blighted Rot and Ruin and… Dreamer’s Tits. Never made the connection before. Too young and stupid and distracted.”
“Well… others didn’t share this, and I’m still in the silence on your discovery.” I slip over and regather up a hand of hers in mine.
Letting her touch cool the bubbling worry I’m only just keeping down when she came to retrieve me.
“The… so this Rift’s weird gross spiced smell.” She murmurs into her melody, “Never found it anywhere else. Never liked it. But… Lyra did, and probably still does. I didn’t understand why until now.”
A heartbeat, and I understand. Whisper back. “It’s the aroma of the sands mixing with the Blight.”
She nods, lips twisting into an angry shape. “Yeah… and for our girl who lived for years in a Blight drowned forest, and adores that ocean of Rot… it’s no wonder this place feels such a way to her. I just… Can’t help but get so mad at finding all these little things that big cunt used to tune our girl’s melodies. Thing’s I, of all the Fae, should have noticed and been able to point out and help her see.”
She glances over to me, just for a second but… I see the pain in her gaze. Feel how it mingles with her song. “And you’ve not seen it but… Tretion. There is such a look of something soft whenever she brings us back here. A love for this wretched Rift. Something I’m not sure she’s grappling with well and I’ve no idea what to say.”
I smile gently and nod. “It’s good you never shamed her for it. Or let yourself feel strongly enough for her to be worried. But… this revelation is important, my Beloved. Possibly invaluable. Her seeing and being able to list the sources and reasons for her feelings is important. Tools to help her fray at the threads that link her to that woman.”
Awnya lets out another sigh, then spits again. “Yeah. Yeah. You’re right. We’re doing good. Just… being back here and her running off scares me.”
Squeeze her hand tighter still, “Me too. And this storm might imply we–”
But I stop as Awnya twitches and jerks back to glare at the city behind us, free hand that was already toying at the hilt of her blade now gripping it hard.
Song of hiding still holds but…
“Dreamer’s Tits…” Awnya hisses as she seems to sing her melody of concealment with more intensity.
“Have we been heard?” I whisper.
“There… is a good chance of that.” She growls.
I take a deep breath, and nod. “Just one or…?”
“It was, but… feels more now. This goose called up the gaggle and I think we’re about to get company.”
The little titter of amusement at that word Awyna uses for her kin almost is enough to calm me a touch.
Almost.
“Is there any chance that they’ll not sense us and move on?”
“Naw, they’ve found the loose strands of my song.” She glances at me. “So, run? Try and lead them on a bit of a chase so our girls can slip from the storm and go home without issue?”
Tip tap fingers on the stave. Feel my headstalks sway as I consider the options aloud. “We could, but a single huntress tracked you quickly before, and that was in the midst of a Reaver attack. There are more now, and you don’t have Usete or Lyra to keep the Blight of the Rifts we’d use safely held back.”
“We could just jump to Getrik’s.” She replies.
“Yes, and hope that in their confusion they don’t hover in this spot and pounce on Raska and Lyra when they emerge without understanding what’s happening.” I sigh and look back. “So… I think we delay them with words as long as possible. If they attempt violence we defend and flee to my cousins. Otherwise… Well, we have the godling of this Rift and our duenna hopefully fast approaching. A fight or a retreat will be simple then.”
Awnya pauses, then grins quite wickedly. “I think we can weave words well enough to keep them from trying something stupid. They’re all confused already as to us being here, and probably don’t know that we’ve been about this city for days. As far as they know we’re just visiting.”
“Exactly.” I nod and meet her grin with one of my own. “Shall I follow your lead? Or…”
She cracks shoulders, then nods. “Yeah, but toss your melodies in as needed. Spark up that stave when you feel it’s right but… know that’ll ruffle their feathers when you do.”
I begin to carefully link my Amwella into my stave, but keep the flow small and steady so as to not have the weapon’s nature blaze too brightly to those watching or listening.
“Ready when you are, Beloved.”
Awnya steps up to me, drawing us both into a deep and passionate kiss that sets my headstalks to writhe and grasp at this wonderful girl, then pulls back. And with a smirk turning us to face the city as her song of hiding fades, humming the final twistings of it to wind into things of peaceful greeting and curiosity as our forms are revealed to any watching.
It takes what feels like a short eternity for a dozen Fae figures to waft into view as if stepping from behind a curtain. Their own veils of concealment only removed when they stand with others.
“Heya,” Awnya calls out, gripping my hand tighter. “Didn’t expect to find any other Fae in a Rift like this. What brings you all out and about?”
One of the women takes a single step forward. Like most Fae she seems of a younger age, but from her eyes and tone and form I think she’s quite the elder. Perhaps one my Beloved told me of?
“Awnya…” She calls out, voice pressing but steady. “What are you doing?”
My Beloved ignores her words and replies, “Hey Opherity, been… what? A decade? More? How’s life in the Wood treated ya?”
The Fae huffs in annoyance. “Do not play the fool. You know why we are here.”
“I do?” Awnya tilts her head in mock confusion. “That’s a new melody to my ears. Because I made it very clear what I was meaning to spend my life’s songs doing, and unless you’re here to help me free some really desperate sorts… I’m stumped. This really isn’t a place you’d come to for a nice relaxing stroll.”
“Little Sparrow, this is cascading beyond all good reason.” Opherity presses past my Beloved’s attempts. “The Dream is fading faster than it has in living memory, and that girl is at the center of it all. Where is Lyra?”
“Huh. Well that’s also quite the mess of words you're mangling into a tune.” My Fae replies calmly, but amber eyes blaze with anger. “Because a girl like that seems the type to need love and kind sorts gathered about to offer her help when asked. Not… a dozen Fae set to pounce on her and drag her off to some abandoned Rift like some slaver’s newest prize.”
“Awnya.” A strange feline Fae begins to hiss, but Opherity silences him with a glare before turning back to regard us.
But this time she actually pauses. Eyes dancing for the first time to me. To the hand in Awnya’s and the stave gripped opposite. Iris glimmering with Amwella sight but… not seeming to consider the children nuzzled close to our cores.
“You… must be the Watcher we were told about. Tretion, correct?” She says to me.
“Matron, Tretion. Opherity of the Fae.” I correct steadily. “Granddaughter to the late Detlina.”
“Ah, yes.” This Fae nods, then seems to decide on something. “She… was fortunately not a woman I had the displeasure to meet. If the tellings of her were accurate.”
“Quite. She was horrid.” I reply simply. “Her final home was actually here in Theradas.”
“We... Look, Matron Tretion. From the state of your soul I can assume that the tales about your end were either untrue, exaggerated, or adjusted to ignore your return to the Dream?”
I weigh the impulse to spit venom at this Fae. Throw all manner of well-deserved anger at her and the gathering Fae at her back for their part in that event.
But I take a deep breath, steady my mind and focus on our goals here, and nod. “Awnya was honoring my wishes when she kept certain details private. Not giving lies, but… a respectful gesture to a grieving woman who very much did not wish to be pulled into pressing questions about the fate of my lost love.”
Opherity sighs, but only softens her words. “I can understand that. And would love to have you fill in the gaps for us as to the events after and around.”
“There is only a little to add. Some odd possessions of my family were able to gift me a new life. But… one that has been limited these past years. Disallowed me from traveling even. I’ve only just recently, and with Awnya’s help, found a way to heal my Amwella enough to move about.”
“I’m sure there is more to this tale than that.” She murmurs. “You both will come back to the Fae Wood with us now. To answer questions and help us find the path to settle this unfortunate twisting of our Dream’s Song.”
A pause, and I appreciate my Beloved not spitting anger and tripping this into aggression too early. Letting me speak to delay.
“I… have to refuse. Fae Opherity.” I reply carefully. “I was offered quite wretched hospitality on both my prior visits. Captivity and intrusive mind magic to keep me compliant followed by my death during the last. Even my awakening wounded me in ways I’m not sure will ever heal. If you are polite I will consider a later talk elsewhere alongside a Promise Song of peace.”
Opherity shakes her head, gestures past us. “I trust you see that storm on the Horizon, Matron?”
I hesitate, feigning thoughtfulness but mostly to gain us more precious time, then nod.
“If we do not find the newly mantled Godling, and soon, that storm will sweep forward and end this Rift and all around it.” She explains. “None will survive. But… if we can find this girl. We can strip that mantle away, gift it to another and settle them here before so much is lost.”
“And… what would become of the past one who holds the mantle?” I ask while carefully holding my headstalks still to avoid obvious signs of fury bubbling past softer words.
“She…” Opherity pauses, seems to consider her reply, then sighs heavily. “The girl will survive. Barely. But if the tellings of her history and nature are true then she can be given the place at the center of a new Fae Wood. The Dream will flair anew like it hasn’t. New life given heathy soil to blossom from. Your lover will be that rich soil.”
Awnya lets out an enraged growl. “I remember when my dad took me to see the Hearthfire at the center of the Twilight court. That’s… is that what she’s gonna become? Just… just…”
She trails off, an attempt at calm distaste ruined and sparked to open fury.
From what little she explained after our talk with Heklis, their plans for Lyra would be akin to death. Probably worse.
Forever burning. Soul to warm the life and happiness around her but… not her own. Not alive. No body or form or wishes or delights of a life well lived. Kindling for others desires and flames.
“One.” Opherity states evenly, but her eyes are hissing. “One girl for countless more to thrive. To not attempt to weave that into the Dream would be selfish beyond measure, Awnya.”
“That girl is everything the Dream needs, but… Not what it deserves.” Awnya spits. “At least not for you lot. Dreamer Blight you for wanting to settle that cruel song on her.”
The Fae flinches at those words. So much so that I worry she’s pressed us into motion too soon. Struck away all deceit that words would garner our cooperation before the right time.
But then I smell a wash of soot, hear the gentle fading of a song of concealment, and feel a warm tendril wrap about my soul. Feel our snoozing children perk up and coo happily at their mother’s return. But… not even a whisper sound or motion at our back.
“Fine.” Opherity very nearly growls while her expression twists to sour anger, then chirps a little song to what I assume are unseen hunters prowling close. Completely unaware of our own hidden allies' well-timed return.
A pause, the tendril about my soul pulls away, but… nothing else happens.
The Fae woman’s anger turns confused, then she makes that sound again.
But… still nothing happens.
“You expecting something?” Awnya quirks an eyebrow and smirks at the group. “Maybe some… really odd Fae to pounce on us from under some impressive songs of hiding?”
“I…” Opherity’s eyes go wide. “What did you do?”
“Huh?” Awnya grins. “Be honest, Opherity. Were you actually doing anything but buying time for them to get close enough to snatch us up?”
The Fae’s flesh goes pale, and she takes a step back. “All those souls disappearing. That… that was you all!?!”
“No idea what you're singing about.” Awnya shrugs.
“She’s here.” Opherity hisses, then begins to twist such an odd tune from her lips.
The other Fae panic a bit. Stumbling backwards but adding to the melody.
“Out.” Comes a strained hiss from nowhere as a tendril reclaims my soul in its grasp.
“Of course, Beloved.” I reply, turning to face where I think she’s standing. “When you're ready. Straight to the primary haven, if you please.”
No stops in Blighted Rifts to hide our trail. Straight to Getrik’s home and the wards that will fuddle any attempts to follow us. Then back into our manor.
It’s impressive, how our Beloved somehow manages to keep her song of heavy concealment woven amidst all else she spins. Only her Riftwalking song laden in a bit of Blight enough to fray the edges and begin to reveal her shape and form alongside the two other bound and restrained Fae in her tendril's grip.
Her song begins to engulf us, twisting and hissing and seeming… so much harder than I’ve ever witnessed. Like she’s stepped in waist-deep mud and is trying to climb free. Just as she’s attempted to explain.
Still moving though, clambering out and shredding anything that might try to bar her path but…
That pause is enough.
A strange crack echoes from behind, and I twist to see…
Feathers?
Dancing and flitting all about. Slicing at the pitched sand and air and eventually seeming to cut a split and…
A new figure stands amidst the Fae. Cinderkin in form with horns sprouting from flesh while more of those feathers writhe from a soul that dominates the space about them.
“Lyra, now.” I whisper as I understand the creature these Fae have called into this place as their ally.
Ukalon.
But her song strains as those feathers twist and weave all about. Shredding the air and song. Splitting the Riftwalking melody Lyra was almost finished with.
Her song shatters, leaving our Beloved huffing and coughing. Raska steps up, Sparkflame blazing from between her horns as she slips an arm beneath our Beloved’s shoulder to steady her.
“Well isn’t this one a delight?” The Godling of the Perch titters happily while dead eyes lock on our Beloved.
Lyra looks up, and her eyes go wide as she takes in the flesh and soul of this new threat, still gripping those two Fae tight and shoving them to kneel in submission but… trembling.
Terrified of what she sees.
I begin to gather up my Amwella, carefully dribble it into the maw of my stave. Attempting to use Lyra’s shattered weaving as enough distraction to cover my preparations.
“Ukalon.” Opherity spits. “Attend to your Oaths!”
But… the Godling only tilts head in consideration of our entire group. Then they turn back to regard the Fae about us “Where is my fellow Godling? Where is Dreadweave? Did you not convince that one to sidestep the precise tunes of old Oaths in favor of upkeep the desired harmony?”
“They… should have heard the song that called you to us.” Opherity says. “Delayed, but it matters little. You’ve had your mantle for thrice as long as Furthonois did. Act.”
“They cannot flee.” Ukalon grins cruelly. “And we’ve no interest in shedding flame when patience will reward us with a less costly victory.”
“But–”
“Then we can just burn the lot of you and leave before the old cunt of a rock bitch gets here.” Raska, voice boiling with the thrum of her joining flames, cackles while rolling forward to stand between us.
“Oh, you could try, little Everflame. But… who says you could catch us? Much less scorch. Mayhaps a few of these Fae as they scatter about this Rift.” The godling smirks, then purrs to Raska. “But… please. Spend your Amwella a bit to wet appetites.”
“Dreamer’s Tits…” Awnya hisses, glancing over to me. Pointitly ignoring the stave in my hand as I’m not looking at the blade at hers.
Both of us preparing hidden strikes for the most opportune moment.
Raska’s spark zips out at her growled command. Bellowing and twisting into an overly large beast and hissing twice as loudly. “Try it, feathered cunt!!! Come take a bite!”
An obvious goading. One even she knows won’t work.
But… she can probably feel my stave’s coiling strike writhing in preparation.
“Oh, don’t worry…” Ukalon coos as a wicked grin splits her face. “I think… yes. Your corpse will make a good addition to my collection. Amwella a good little treat for my–”
Stave lets out an audible burp as the limit of its capacity is reached.
Raska spits commands, sending her writhing beast of a Spark forward toward the Fae and Godling.
Awnya sings melodies of ice and cold to make the shifting sands turn solid and slick.
All while Lyra focuses on reweaving us a song to escape this Rift. Slamming her everything against the godlings odd spell that cut off her first song. The smell of spice overwhelming the air all about us as the sands of Theradas itself seems to try and stop her.