It’s been just under six months since the gods brought the missing back to our realm. It was just over seven years that they were gone. That they were taken from me. The past few months have been full of revelries and joy for everyone else in the tribe, though for us they have been troubled. My wife and daughter were part of those that were missing but since their return, I have not been allowed to see my daughter. My wife tells me little of their time there, but the way she looks at me when she returns from the council I know something happened. I am not of their tribe. Matter of fact, I’m not even the same race. In the weeks since they returned, we’ve had good days but more often than not they are bad. Unable to join in the council meetings I sit in our home, as I’m not allowed out during them either, gnawing at my own soul like a dog worrying a bone. When they made their decisions I knew. My wife did not return home with the setting sun, and when she awoke me I was still in the chair I had long since turned to face the door. The same chair I would sit in and eagerly await her return. My eyes open from a sleepless dream to see her smiling down at me, her eyes alight with a fire I had not seen in them since before they vanished.
“It is time my love. Come”
She pulls me to my feet and to our bedroom where she has laid out clothes, traditional with their standard elvish flare at the wrists and ankles. Emblazoned with a house emblem. Though this time it’s not the broken tree that usually denotes families like ours. Families that either husband or wife has been exiled, like her former husband. I have never been allowed to wear traditional clothing from their tribe, and this brings me joy as our house emblem sits in place of the broken tree that has always adorned my wife’s and child’s clothing, though this joy is undercut by my trepidation of its meaning. Two different trees, wrapped around either other, with the morning sun behind it half visible above the entwined trees. We both quickly change and hold each other, both smiling some of the happiest smiles we’ve had in years, though her eyes still harbor the same sadness. It seems her, no our, tribe has finally accepted us. Our family and our love vindicated. Looking at her crest I once again smile and she grabs my chin and points my eyes to hers.
“We will celebrate later my love. Come.”
She leads me once again, though this time outside. Surprise with a hint of fear is the first emotion that overwhelms my joy as there are no guards at our door. Nor is there a single soul within the canopy of the town. The streets stand silent for the first time that since I arrived in the glade. Slowly she guides me away from the town, south on a trail that leads to the one place that always makes my heart sink.
In time she escorts me to the edge of the Vale of Tears. A glade separating the outskirts of the town and a special place for the elves of this glade. Looking out into the thickly wooded forest its auburn canopy glows a fiery red with the scent of honeysuckle and rye thick as the slow autumn wind twists upon itself within this glade. Gentle hands find rest on my cheeks and I feel my head being turned. Looking into my wife’s face, her eyes fill with tears, both of joy and sadness.
“Remember Myh’Weln, it has been a long seven years for us all. The children though, even worse so. Removed from family, some without mothers, others without fathers, and some without either. Very few, too few, came of age within the Well of Hatred. Many more came to rest within the same. She both returned and yet still resides there.”
Placing my hands on my wife’s cheeks I bring her head to mine. Our noses touch and I breathe her in. The scent of pine and jasmine overwhelm me as it always has, and always will.
“And I will guide her, through both if I must.” Wiping the tears from her cheeks she concludes our talk with a curt nod, both giving me permission to finally see our daughter, as well as giving me warning that I may not like what I see there.
“As I know you always will.” She kisses my lips as her hands grip my cheeks tighter and I feel her smile. She’s telling me she is home. She will always be home in my heart and I in hers. Her lips part from mine and she turns my head downward. Kissing my forehead I hear her whisper a prayer to the Valen, the spirits that reside within the Vale.
As I turn to enter the Vale, I hear the shallow thumps of the bachelor males of the tribe butting their weapons or feet to the ground in rhythm with the Vale’s swaying canopy. The single women begin to sing in the Ayn’Wylns tongue. A somber song, about a lost maiden who enters the vale, never seen again till one day another brings her back to her tribe. As I get closer the married men of the tribe, who until this moment have stood shoulder to shoulder, create a path for me to enter the vale. Their voices join the song. As I reach the opening within the tangle of men their wives begin to add their voices. Creating an underlying melody that lights the Vale’s canopy with blue light, brightening the early morning to the point one could confuse this twilight with noon. Each brushes a shoulder or my upper arm symbolically imparting some prayer to strengthen my resolve. The chief of this long-forgotten elven tribe stands with his wife, their voices stronger yet still among the many. As he steps aside he reveals their daughter, the same age as mine, in a dress so beautiful words fail. Some of the bachelor men lose their rhythm receiving a withering glance from the chief. If this moment were not so important to my family I would have given over to laughter, receiving one of those stares as well. Her voice joins in, quiet but pitched higher than the rest. A verse of welcome amongst a warning. I am the first non-fae to ever hear this song in its entirety. No history books in the world have ever recorded this moment, no story will ever pass the lips of men or women in taverns about this tale. Nor do I even care. My mind and heart are set on my child. The one of the returned who is hurt the most. The Princess of the vale turns to one side, one arm outstretched to the forest biding me to enter. I step past her and cross into the Vale of Tears.
The moment I cross the threshold the music ceases, though I know each one of them remains outside and still singing, still either stomping feet or thumping hafts to the ground, the magic of the vale will not allow their song to enter. Red and yellow wisp lights flying to and fro just under the canopy begin to flash with a warning, a welcome, and a distrust. The lack of fae blood within my body is an insult to the fairies that once lived here. If it were not for the song, these lights would have surrounded my body rending my flesh from bone. I push forward ears strained listening for the slightest sound. My feet begin to move, a mix of willpower and desperation urging them forward but I use all of my will to keep from running. Running now would mean certain death for not only myself but my family. Failing here would be the worst insult I could bring upon them. I whisper a prayer to the forest in the tongue of the Elves of the Vale.
“En ty’wyln narl’thyn cul mal.” A wish from a man with fae faith.
The lights which a breath before shown with warning, now became dormant. Flitting away back to whatever holes they call home. Answering my prayer, giving me my wish; allowing me here in their place. Bending to the ground I lick one finger, placing it in the dirt and drawing a small pattern on my forehead, the exact place my wife’s lips were placed. When I stand again the wind whistles through branches and, now I’m allowed to run.
After running for what feels like hours a sharp pain announces its presence in my side, and my breath becomes gasps adding to the melody of my staccato footfalls. Everything hurts, my lungs, my legs, and now the stitch in my side, all screaming for attention. The pain in my heart tears at them with a vicious shout. My brain echoes my heart’s insults ordering the rest of my body to follow suit. A woman’s shout snaps my head toward its direction and my stomach falls and the pain of my run is forgotten in an instant. A melodic voice, broken in pitch by pain and loss. A mournful sound, a cry in the language of the Vale. As it has for over a decade now, my brain immediately translates it into the language of my people.
“… I said where are they? Why do you hide my children?”
The millions of pieces my heart has reconstituted once again shatter as it did the day they went missing. This is why she was not allowed in town. She’s broken in ways very few can understand. Hurting, a portion of her soul torn asunder. Her sobs grow audible as I push through the underbrush into the clearing she’s in. Her clothes, once a beautiful verdant green, are now stained with mud, blood, and debris from within the Vale. Clothes not of this world. Clothes of the Well of Hatred.
“Leth’Wyln!” I shout as once again I will my feet forward. She turns her head to me. Years of rage and anger within her eyes and levels one finger in my direction.
“No, you should not be here! Leave this place. I am not yours to fight!” Her anguish written on her face, her eyes full of tears, and blood coming from her nose and mouth.
“Fight I will. Never will you stand without me.” My words shake something loose within her and one eye twitches. Reaching her I take her into my arms, but she squirms and wiggles trying to break my grasp. Even before the Vanishing, she would always try to break my embrace but never once did she actually give it a meaningful try. This time though I feel her fight with all of her remaining strength. I squeeze her even tighter to me. Her struggles last but a few moments but in my mind, it goes for ages. Her sobs shift in tone and she embraces me the way she did as a young child before the torments of the other children hardened her heart. I kiss her forehead and brush back her tangled hair with my hand.
“Speak to me child. Tell me your song. Allow me to learn the new chorus. Let me rejoin your song.”
“I….I am not yours.” Her sobs choke her words, the sting of them anew upon my broken heart. Though she’s tried this tactic many times before, never has it wounded me as the way she said it now.
“You know that to be false. Though you are not of my blood, you are of my heart’s song. Now and Always.”
She pulls her head from my chest and looks up at me, a new fire within her eyes. Fueled by venom and rage it takes every ounce of willpower and self-control not to let that look tear into my heart and soul. I bring her head to mine, and she allows it for the first time in her young adult life. Tears begin to well in my eyes at the feeling of acceptance but I push them away. She’s allowing me into her heart again, which brings me untold joy, but also immense fear. Our foreheads touch and we both begin to sing the songs within our hearts. Mine, full of wonder and joy as it tells of when I stumbled into a place I have never seen before, looking for something I knew I had not lost. Hers, wracked with fear and pain after the loss of new things found. A third voice interrupts our song. Not in tune with our hearts it's a sour note that brings ruin to her verse, and sounds the ending of my chorus. A voice spoke in a tongue I have not heard in decades. Common. This new voice speaks a strange sounding Common, different than that of my knowledge but Common still. My brain shifts its words and accent to something I can understand. The strange magics of this vale working its little miracles in my life.
“And who the fuck is this? You bring another man to my home?!”
I turn to look at the new voice. My brain knows he is not real, but a vision created by the Vale when my daughter allowed me to join in her song, sharing in her pain. His clothes were the same verdant green as my daughters, close to the same color as the ones my wife wore when they first returned. I stand to face the man pushing my daughter behind me gently. The sound of footsteps light on the floor of this vale catches my ear and I turn my head, keeping the new man within sight. My wife joins us, though I know it is not really her, she can not come in this vale during the song they sing now. An image of my wife, back in the clothes they wore in the Well of Hatred. She looks to me and nods, a resigned smile on her face knowing that I am here, I will stand for this family as I have for years now, as I will till my song fades.
“Where are my children? Bring me my children! They must go home with me!” My daughter screams once again. The man points toward her and goes to speak but I move in between his eye line and my daughter. In a soothing voice I hear the image of my wife begin to console my daughter.
“Hush child. Look, he is here. I told you he is here. We are the highest notes in his song. He will never forget us.” My daughter’s sobs redouble and I turn my head to see her face buried in my wife’s chest. A deep bellowing baritone voice enters the song of my heart. It’s rage turning the rhythmic harmony of my song into a discordant dirge.
“Where are her children?”
“You mean these?” He waves backward behind me and the keening wail of my daughter returns louder than before as the forest shows us a house. A house made of brick and wood unlike one would see in the human lands spread out through the forests of this world. In a window, two children wail. One about the age of five, the other barely three. “They will not go with this bitch. She will not go either. They are mine, they are all mine!”
I shake my head. “No. They are both. Neither just yours, neither just hers.”
“Who are you to tell me what is what?” The man stalks closer to me, his large hands covered in a dark substance. He flexes them into fists and relaxes them.
“Her father.” My cold words catch him and a surprised look alights his face. His face changes, eyebrows perking up, and a wicked smile bearing teeth yellowed and stained show themselves through it.
“Good.” He charges me, and not even two meters away he pushes off the ground with his right foot. His right hand comes up as he pulls it behind himself at shoulder level. I close my eyes and breathe out slowly, opening them once again as the man’s fist looms in my vision. I let my legs raise me just an inch or two, adjusting my stance and leaning into the punch. It strikes my shoulder with a thick slap and I feel something give. A spark of pain erupts from my shoulder as a hiss escapes my mouth. The momentum of the strike begins to turn me as I reach out with my other hand, pain searing through my shoulder, chest, and back. I wrap the inside of his elbow with as much force as I can muster and his arm begins to collapse as his momentum is shifted to the side just enough to pull him off balance. With my left foot, I stomp downwards towards his left shin and he brings his leg up to disperse the energy of the hit and stop it from breaking his shin. With all of his weight now on his right foot, he begins to twist in my direction in a vain attempt to envelop me in his arms. As I struck out with my right hand, my left also began to move. With a well-practiced speed my left-hand chops at the man’s chest. Pushing him back as his left foot stomps the ground as he tries to regain his balance. Without giving him the chance to catch his breath or balance, my left-hand grabs onto his shirt and pulls him to me. My head lowers just a fraction so that when it meets his chin it bounces across the top of mine. The man stumbles back as once again my left foot strikes outward, though this time to a place in between his spread feet, I swing my knee to the right as hard as I can making contact on the inside of his right leg, just under the kneecap hard enough to buckle it. As his body leans to one side my left-hand strikes at his throat. Not hard enough to kill, but hard enough to collapse his windpipe long enough for this fight to end.
“See my child, he fights for you now, as he always has, and always will.” The image of my wife’s voice forces my mind to sharpen as I breathe heavily through my nose preparing myself for the man’s counterattack. Though as he falls his image dissipates as sand in the wind along with the vision of the house and the sounds of wailing children. If this fight would have been real, it would have heralded my end. He was too big, too strong for me to fight like that at this age. When my breathing evens out I turn to see the image of my wife has vanished as well and my daughter sits on the dirt floor of the vale knees to her head sobbing. I rush to her and wrap my working arm around her.
“Why? You are not of our kind. You are not my sire?” Her speech broken by tears and pain stands as a testament to her broken heart.
“Though I may not have been there for your birth. I was there for your dance, your first song, just as I was there for your skinned knees I am here for your broken heart.” I squeeze her as tight to me as one arm would allow. “As I will be here when your heart mends, I will be here till you are ready to sing again. I will always be. You are the heart of my heart. The child of my song.” She returns my squeeze as her sobs double in strength and sound. I kneel there holding her, my head on top of hers. Eventually, her tears stop and I find her asleep in my arm. Slowly I adjust my position and lay her head on my lap. Leaning back onto the tree she took cover by I let out a resigned breath.
When she finally awakens she looks up into my face. I smile and brush her hair just like I did when she was younger. “Did you have a good nap child?” I feel the pieces of my heart crumble even more as she shakes her head.
“Full of fear and loss. How can….” She begins to sob again and turns her head into my stomach. I continue to brush her hair with my hand as I soothingly shush her.
“I can not answer that. Your loss is great. Too great for many to bear. Though remember this child. You have people here who know of your loss. I am one of them, even though you may not agree. When you and your mother vanished, I felt the same as you do now. I know the feeling of losing a child. But now I know the feeling of that child returning, where I know you may never know that feeling. I am here child. I am yours.”
It takes some time but eventually she stops crying again and rises to her feet, one hand outstretched. Taking it she lifts me and shoves herself under my good arm, wrapping her arms around me. Together we walk from the vale. When we cross its threshold the song returns to my ears. The tribe now in a single line as far as they can spread. My wife’s voice is the first to stop as she rushes to us gathering us both in a hug, tears falling onto us. Slowly and reverently the Princess stops her song, followed by the wives, then unwed women, and so forth until all that’s left in this glade is silence. With the order they started their song, they turn and leave. The chief stands a moment longer and looks to me. A rare smile upon his face as he nods and turns to follow his family. Looking up I see the sun beginning to set and realize we've been in the Vale for almost a full day. Tired, one arm broken, and still in immense pain I can’t help but to smile; my family now once again whole.