Yelora

Yelora felt every muscle tighten but said nothing. The mistake you have yet to make. She turned away.

“You killed an Elemental, possibly the only one that exists. Why are we not talking about this?” Kashur cried.

“What’s done is done and cannot be undone!” Yelora snapped.

“Anyone who finds out will denounce you! You need friends, M’lady. And I’m here, offering my friendship, despite everything!” He rattled the shackles again.

Yelora shoved the portal in his direction. “You want to be my friend? Teach me how to use this.”

He blew out an exasperated breath. “It’s a Wizard’s tool, tuned to celestial magic. An Elf can’t activate it.”

“Then activate it for me.”

“How about I activate it and we both go back to the Wizards’ Lair?”

“I have somewhere else I need to go.”

“Where?”

She hesitated. She should not have to rely on him, but with the Imperial and Dwarven armies traipsing around the woods near the crash site, it wasn’t safe or feasible to go on horseback.

He leaned against the wall with a coy smirk. “I can’t aim it if I don’t know where you want to go, so you have to tell me.”

Damn him. She pressed her lips together. “Creation Falls.”

His entire demeanor softened. “Is that the place you told me about? Where baby Elves are born?”

She bristled at what she saw in his dark eyes: pity. “You weren’t supposed to hear any of that! You tricked me.”

“I apologized for that. This is because of what the Oracle said, isn’t it?”

“You weren’t supposed to hear any of that either!”

“That’s what all this is about, isn’t it? Solving the Elves’ infertility problem. Securing your people’s future.”

Tears pricked at Yelora’s eyes, and she hated herself for showing even more vulnerability. She dug her fingernails into her palms to redirect the pain and nodded. No use hiding it now.

“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.” The Summoner stalked in small circles as far as his shackles would let him, as if thinking hard on this new information.

“I could kill you where you stand and make my own way to the Falls,” Yelora seethed through gritted teeth and immediately regretted it. The threat sounded as empty as it was.

“Relax. I’ll take you. Will you trust me then?”

Yelora studied him. Not much more than a boy, sloppy and unshaven after having been imprisoned for so long, yet not angry at her, not bitter or jaded or weighed down by responsibility. There was a hopefulness in his dark, soft expression. A naivete that Yelora despised, yet at the same time coveted with a longing so deep and hollow it seemed to eat away at her best instincts.

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“I go alone. This is a sacred place, not meant for your kind.”

“I’m guessing it’s sacred enough that you don’t want to, I don’t know, leave a portal open to it? One anybody could just walk through, which is what will happen if I don’t go with you.”

“You’ll close it behind me.”

“And then you’ll come back alone, on foot, with a new baby and the lands crawling with enemies? Not the most motherly move.”

She grunted. “So disrespectful, always! And Elves don’t have mothers.”

He smothered a grin. “If I go with you, I can close it from the other side, and then I can open it again when it’s time to go back.” He cocked his head. “It’s the safest option for the baby.”

“You can secure the portal opening until I get back. I’ll post an Elven Guard with you.”

“And if this place gets overrun by Dwarves and Imperials while you’re gone? There’d be a doorway right into your sacred Creation Falls, and your Elven Guard might not be enough to stop them.” He paused. Blinked. Smiled. “Let me go with you, M’lady. I’ll be respectful, I promise.”

She glared at him some more, but he was right. It was the best option. She motioned to his shackled wrists. “Turn around.”

He started to do so, slowly, a cocky rebelliousness emanating from every motion. She marched forward, seizing the shackles and spinning him the rest of the way around. She thought he was going to protest her rough treatment, but instead he said, “Be careful of the gloves!”

Right. His odd power to make things grow or age. She used a hand-spell to unlock the shackles, then spun him back to face her. He was smiling, a little too pleased with himself, as far as she was concerned. He opened one gloved palm for the portal and a second one out to her.

She hesitated.

“Don’t you want to make sure I don’t portal off somewhere else without you?”

Reluctantly, she slipped her hand in his and relinquished the portal.

“Or,” he said, as he flicked the compact open and it swelled into a room-sized oval of blinding blue light. “You could just follow me in—it takes a good few seconds to open and close, but it’s more fun this way.”

Yelora snatched her hand away and peered into the blue light.

“Now think of Creation Falls,” the Summoner said, rubbing his wrists. “While you do that, I’m going to cast a protection spell over myself so you can’t knock me out again. And then I’m going to get the rest of my oatmeal.”

Yelora closed her eyes and imagined the thick jungles of Feywild Glade, deep in Elven lands, the seat of Creation Falls. The waters there were sweet and unspoiled, the foliage thick and lush and shiny with abundance and the magic of nature. When she opened her eyes again, there it was, swimming inside the portal’s mouth.

The Summoner had collected his bowl of oatmeal. “Now just step thr—” he started to say.

But Yelora was already gone, swallowed by blue.

A moment later she was in the humid jungle, the sky blocked by gigantic trees, the air thick with the smells of living things. Her slippers sunk into the warm, wet loam. She was here!

The Summoner materialized behind her. “You could’ve waited for me,” he complained, spooning oatmeal into his mouth. “I was in the middle of a sentence.” He dropped the spoon into the bowl to free up a hand, and, with a twist of his wrist, the blue light collapsed in on itself, folding up into the small compact now pressed to his gloved palm.

Yelora plucked it from his grip and slid it into her pocket.

The Summoner didn’t protest. He was looking around. “This place looks kind of familiar.”

“It’s not,” Yelora snapped. “You’ve never been here before. No Imperial has. This part of the Elven world keeps itself hidden.”

“I thought there was supposed to be a waterfall. I don’t see a waterfall.”

“You can wait here.” She stepped out of the loam onto a snaking root, balancing easily on her toes. “Enjoy the scenery. Smell the flowers. They’ve got a lovely scent, like nothing you’ll ever experience again.” She waited, smiling at him. She cocked her head to the side just a little, as if in flirtation. Small details worked wonders on weak-minded men.

“Really?” The Summoner pointed to a yellow bloom. “This one?”

Yelora nodded coyly. He sniffed. “Wow, you’re right. That’s quite nice. Heady and exotic. Wait a minute... Oh no, not aga—”

Yelora’s smile burst into a small laugh as he crumpled to the jungle floor. He’d be fine here. Safe. She wouldn’t be long. She hadn’t brought the royal contingent with her to drag out the birthing ceremony, so it should go relatively quickly.

She turned and disappeared into the jungle.