Today marked the anniversary. Today also marked the seventh week of the terrible task she had been forced to assign Scarlet. She remembered the weeks since as fragments. She remembered the hours involving that wretched artifact as eternity.
A small sigh passed through her lips. She should not allow that thing to burden her thoughts today. But then this was a day of solemnity and reflection.
Even though she could hardly reflect when she could hear her two advisors squabbling outside in her antechamber.
For now, she had to treasure this rare moment of solitude until its inevitable end. She vacantly stared through the windowpane at the masses that had gathered outside. Purples and silvers and blues muddled together until their mergence resembled a waterlogged painting—or a painting viewed through teary eyes.
Fairies throughout the kingdom had been flocking to the capital for the last few days for the annual Radvikari. Storytellers, musicians, and performers benefited from the throngs by recounting the ancient war they all had come to commemorate. But only at night. In daylight they would only tell stories prior to those events, the golden times when everything and everyone prospered. It was a time before darkness descended upon all throughout the worlds.
A time before the witch came.
After all these millennia, the past still haunted and affected them like a stubborn scar. A scar now festering with that artifact close by…and ever closer in her thoughts.
Great Kaira above, we have been through enough. Why does that witch insist on inflicting upon us more torment?
Her lips wrinkled into a grimace as she watched on. There would be no merry dances to the jigs playing outside the castle walls if her subjects were to know the secrets within.
The blissfulness of ignorance was a very effective thing, indeed. Envious, even. But also dangerous if taken for granted.
A knock came at her door. And there ended her reflection.
“Yul,” she said to permit entry, bracing herself as she turned to face her visitors.
The two advisors entered like approaching thunderclouds. It was ironic if anything—as much as the two of them claimed to adhere to their stoic beliefs of Guhulen, the debates between them grew heated to the point that she could swear their auras were charging the atmosphere. Her first advisor, Cia, was a woman older than her and—if she remembered correctly—was nearing her third thousandth vitany. Those years of life were already beginning to show by the wrinkles creasing that stern face, her dulling wings drooped.
“Cyllenar Kuea,” said Cia, that wrinkling face now taut as her lips like in her younger days, “igenthur jin re brentoli ru lirico.”
Of course Cia would tell her she didn’t believe it would be safe in that place anymore.
Surely she knew she was aware of that? Cyllenar’s gaze drifting to the door from which they had entered, she conveyed that very thought in their native tongue of Slabisk, “Guerotu jim.”
Her second advisor, Aru, was a blond-haired man who was currently staring at her with icy blue eyes. His diaphanous wings matched the color of those eyes, and they now quivered behind him in barely concealed agitation. “Ferut Kuenjim, sem iriyulli ni?” he asked, his voice more composed than his body. “Ujagik luwyurshem shenra nui ujukul vuk re inibrento re krisla.”
A muscle in her jaw twitched. Why did she do nothing, he asked? Why did she needlessly entangle herself with an artifact that shouldn’t be in their domain? Perhaps because if she truly did do nothing, this very artifact would eventually bring calamity to their domain one way or another. Still, she remained silent.
“You needn’t keep it with the fairies any longer, Kaibril,” Cia agreed in their language, using the honorific given to the Fairy Monarch. “The elves have already offered to take it from our hands. I would think it wise to accept their proposition.” She took a step closer to Cyllenar and added lowly, “Think of this. The addition of another artifact will only make us a more attractive target in that witch’s eyes. Forget not what has passed several hundred years ago.”
“Believe me, I do not forget those events as I do not forget the events we observe today. But the seers have already confirmed that the witch has knowledge of our discovery, and have seen ominous repercussions if we were to relocate that object,” said Cyllenar.
Cia tilted her head at her. “And if we were to keep it?”
“The odds are more favorable if we were to keep it here.”
“Will you leave your kingdom to the whims of the Fates, then?” Cia asked with a slight note of reproach. “The Fates have been known to be unkind, Kaibril.”
“Yet Kaira commands them, and he is not unkind.” Cyllenar rubbed her brow, her head aching. “My actions may seem mere folly, and yet…one could also counter that shifting its position the span of a thousand miles is also folly. Only through teleportation devices could such transportation be deemed prudent. Yet for weeks the portal stream has been severed.” No doubt by the witch’s doing. When will these chronologists finally fix it?
Aru’s wings fluttered. “So you will keep it here, Kaibril?”
“For the moment, yes.”
“Then what of this Assembly you have now called for?” he asked with a steely gaze.
“The Kriaan Assembly has been summoned so we monarchs of this world may decide the artifact’s ultimate fate. If it is deemed that it should not stay here, it shall be done as decreed.”
He regarded her silently for a heartbeat. Then he said, “You should know I also came to report that we have word from Nexura.”
Cyllenar tensed. “What word, exactly?”
“Nexura will not be able to attend this…Assembly. And if you had already entertained the thought, do not call for a universal conference as of yet. Only the world of Kriaa, at the moment, will be involved with the artifact,” Aru reported.
The first part did not surprise her. That eldritch being was unfathomable.
Cia was furrowing her brow. “Why contain this problem in Kriaa? That demonic thing was not discovered in this world to be begin with, neither were its origins here. Kaibril, this is, if anything, absurdity on our part,” she said, addressing the last words to Cyllenar.
Aru nodded his head. “My queen, I am in accord with Cia. Should—Fates have mercy—the artifact reactivate, we shall undoubtedly be caught in the crossfire. Nexura does not possess the final word, and neither is that being in charge of your—our—kingdom.”
Cyllenar laughed mirthlessly. “Great Kaira above. Our kingdom—along with the other worlds—may very well fall into peril if this matter is not attended to, and if the witch should come to retrieve it.”
As Aru opened his mouth to yet again interject, Cyllenar held up a hand and continued, “Aru, please respect our differences and do recall that I am a firm believer that every action—or inaction—that I do, that we as a kingdom do, will be balanced in a reward or a punishment. Such is the way of the universal scales.”
In any case, Nexura had often supported her throughout the years of her reign with sage counsel. If only that being would have advised her what to do with the artifact now… ah, what a naïve wish. She should know by now never to be dependent on such an evanescent being.
Clear notes, like the hum of crystal glasses, suddenly filled the lull in the conversation. Cia went into the folds of her robes and produced a crystal disc emitting a maroon glow, no larger than her palm. The advisor stared at the glow a moment before rubbing the surface with the knuckle of her forefinger.
The crystal’s surface had until then reflected Cia’s face in a maroon-tinged light. After Cia had rubbed it, the reflection began to muddle and ripple as though her knuckles had touched water. When the disc cleared, a dark-haired woman stared back at Cia with wide brown eyes.
“I must speak with Kaibril,” she whispered. “Is she with you?”
Cyllenar froze, clutching at her robes. Cia, of course, took no notice as she promptly passed the disc to her. With barely a second to compose herself, Cyllenar gazed directly into the woman’s eyes through the crystal and whispered, “What is it, Scarlet?”
“Many apologies, my queen, for interrupting your preparations, but I—I must report a change in the artifact’s activity.”
Ah, so much for composing herself. She could feel the blood draining from her face. “What has passed?” was all she could utter. Then Cyllenar held up a hand. “No, wait. I must see it for myself. We will finish this conversation when I get there.”
Scarlet held a breath. “Truly?”
“Yes. I will see you forthwith. Until then.” Cyllenar rubbed the knuckle of her forefinger into the glass, the image wavering until the glow flickered out. When the disc’s surface stilled, Cyllenar saw only her reflection.
She turned to Cia. “You are far more adept than me at the art of teleportation, I believe.”
As she had expected, Aru protested with, “There is hardly time to visit Scarlet now. You must perform the annual ceremony.”
“I have half of the hour remaining,” she told him, “and this most certainly cannot wait.” And believe me, Aru, I wish it could.
Cia eyed her before heaving a sigh of submission. “As you wish, Kaibril. I will take us to the greenhouses.”
The advisor spread out her hands then and murmured a few words, the silver lights of time magic flashing within her palms. A silver ring glowed into existence at their feet, expanding as it hummed the arcane and ancient tune of magic. The light engulfed Cyllenar until she could no longer see Aru’s disapproving frown nor the room they were standing in.
The spell lasted only for the fraction of a second. When the red spots stopped dancing before her eyes, Cyllenar saw that she was no longer in her chambers. In fact, she was not in a room at all but a passageway—glass walls to both sides with doors leadings to different rooms.
The Garden of Slu. On any regular day, these greenhouses would be bustling with gardeners, and these walls would serve as windows for the nobility who wanted to come and view the plants. But today was not a regular day. Both the nobility and most of the gardeners had gone to observe the Radvikari, and her visit today far from a pleasurable stroll.
With an exchange of glances, Cia and Cyllenar began their wordless walk down the passageway while preoccupying themselves with the displays through the glass. Plants of all kinds could be found here—rare to common, exotic to native, beautiful to grotesque, tropical to arctic. The rooms they saw were structured to receive varied doses of sunlight, some rooms operating under spelled sunlight when needed. Cyllenar saw a gardener through the glass tending to a bulbous plant in a room with light snowfall. The frost on the pane of glass framed a large, ivory flower bud that appeared much too large for the delicate leaves and stem that supported it.
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If only they had come for such a mundane plant. She was somewhat relieved Cia had not teleported them the whole way. Whether she wanted to save her energies or give her queen peaceful scenery, Cyllenar did not know—nor care.
As they continued walking, she found she desired conversation, even though Cia wasn’t a woman to offer one. Recalling her recent discussion with her two advisors, Cyllenar muttered, “You Guhuleni and your lack of empathy.”
Cia chuckled to Cyllenar’s mild surprise, and she knew it wasn’t for her sake. Cyllenar added humoredly, “I suppose that’s one thing I can appreciate about your set of beliefs: you would hardly ever be a sycophant.”
“Ah, Cyllenar, I’ll agree with you to a degree. Aru is far more zealous than I, so he cannot understand why you would allow your compassion for foreigners to sway your judgment in your responsibility to your people.”
Cyllenar rolled her eyes slightly. “Yet he, too, is swayed by emotion. That is one of the many things I will never understand of your philosophy.”
Cia tilted her head. “Mmm, mortalkind is a very complex set of beings, my queen. And so mortal-made constructs like ideas will also be very complex and nuanced. Still,” she said, and Cyllenar sensed the return of the dreaded subject as Cia lowly continued, “this is why I urge you again to consider relinquishing the artifact to the elves. We already have one demonic artifact in our care—another which is not tied to our world. Until your great-grandfather decided to bring it within our walls when pressed by the universal conference. You know full well how dearly we paid for that decision. The magic in these walls are meant to protect, not to imprison.”
“We shall find a way to destroy it,” said Cyllenar, wishing she could feel as confident as her words.
Cia must have caught that discrepancy, because she challenged it with, “Destroy it? How would you propose that, when many a mortal who meddled with such affairs—?”
She gently held up a finger, and Cia stopped. “It is best,” Cyllenar said softly, “not to speak of such matters in the dark.”
The lighting about them had darkened, for they were no longer in the Garden of Slu, the greenhouses that held the plants that flourished in light. But not the plants here. That alone was why this part of the greenhouses was called the Garden of Durm.
They encountered no one as they walked down the passageway that had veered off its straight path and now winded left and right into murkiness. So dim and dank had their surroundings become that Cia placed heat charms on both of them and guided with a small white orb of light she produced from her raised palm.
As soon as she had created the light, rustles came from the glass walls on both sides of them. Cyllenar looked to her right and caught glimpses of thick red vines slithering across the glass. She realized then that the vines were slithering away from the two of them—from the light. Their revolting movement made her inwardly shudder, and even though she did not see any more of the dark flora, she still heard the scrabbles and hisses in the darkness, smelled the vile sulfurous odors. No matter how many times she visited, she could not understand how they could be plants when they loathed the light and warmth that gave life to their familiar counterparts. But such were the twisted properties of black magic.
At long last they stopped at a certain glass door, soft light bleeding through to brighten their dusky surroundings the tiniest fraction. Cia stepped forward and pushed the door open for her.
What Cyllenar first registered was the room’s warmth and brightness. The glasshouse she entered was a domelike structure dazzled by the light of the ending day. She knew this to be the true daylight, for twilight had been fast approaching when she and Cia had left her chambers.
Gardening tools and loam sacks lay strewn on the floor near them, soil spilling out from one sack. Looking further in, she saw countless plants hanging from ornate pots overhead and others arrayed into rows upon tables of polished oak. She spotted one plant with a gaping mouth of scarlet teeth-like petals, another with elongated black thorns on vines constantly groping for prey to impale.
Cyllenar was still looking at the strange specimens when she heard fluttering wings within the rows of plants. Scarlet burst through the plants, hovering several inches above the ground. Even when she set herself down, it took a few moments for her wings to cease their anxious flutter. Huffing slightly, combing at the strings of dark hair plastered to her sweaty face, Scarlet smoothed her blue gardener robes before bowing her head with, “A good evening
to you, my queen. I must apologize. I’m dreadfully indecent.”
Cyllenar offered a smile she did not feel. “Nonsense. Your line of work demands much.”
After the exchange of pleasantries, Cia dismissed herself with a bow, giving Cyllenar the creeping notion that her advisor sensed her anxiousness to privately speak with Scarlet. Still, Cyllenar gave her assent and requested her scepter be brought to her for the ceremony.
The scepter…in retrospect, Cyllenar should have brought it with her. The ancient relic was a wonderful supplement to her magic and would have given her the security she wanted. Her father had wielded it before her, her grandfather before him—and before him her great-grandfather, the one who’d taken the other artifact into his charge. She pondered on Cia’s words, wondered if he would have approved of her decision to take another one into the fairies’ care.
Kaira above, not even the scepter could destroy that thing. Great-grandfather Aresti…grandfather Ethri, dear Father…guide me now. I fear I have only let more black magic into our house…and I fear the witch will come again to retrieve that magic.
Suddenly her prior spark of desire for conversation withered in the shadow of the looming topic. Glancing about the room, she asked, “The others are off at the festivities, I presume?”
“Yes, Kaibril.”
“Ah, Scarlet. Your dedication to your work is admirable. I thank you.” Cyllenar turned her gaze to the light filtering through the glass. She asked, “I am curious, Scarlet. If the Garden of Durm houses plants of the darkness, why does the light enter this room?”
Scarlet’s wings were fluttering in edginess. Nonetheless, she answered, “This glasshouse holds the plants of twilight, the plants that desire little light. The twilight is a period of transition, my queen—a period in which many species of the light and darkness may coexist. During the high daylight hours the glass is spelled to dispel the light. Only around this time and the early morning hours is the spell inactive.”
“I see.” She’d only ever seen this glasshouse at night. “Would the spelled glass also possess the properties to dispel sound from within?”
“I suppose it should—ah.” Understanding dawned on Scarlet’s face, and then regret. “Kaibril, I am not acquainted with—”
“Oh Scarlet, please disregard proper etiquette. If you know not the magic, then I shall perform it. I will not collapse of fatigue as decorum likes to imply,” said Cyllenar.
She then raised her hands to the glass walls. The hum of magic could be heard, but its usual glow unseen. The air began to tremble and the glass began to vibrate, causing the dwindling daylight to flicker and shimmer before their eyes.
The Spell of Soundlessness was completed within seconds. Scarlet’s fidgeting stilled with the air, folding her hands at her waist as she waited upon Cyllenar.
Cyllenar then realized her own rigid posture. Forcing her muscles to relax, she proceeded to walk down the sixth row and softly asked Scarlet, “What has passed?”
Scarlet clenched her robe, her eyes downcast as she recounted what had transpired.
Dear Kaira, it was awakening. Cyllenar uttered lowly, “It spoke to you in Kriaan?”
“Y-yes. My father is Kriaan, so I know the language, my queen.”
That would explain her Kriaan name. Cyllenar dismissed the fleeting thought. “Did you feel compelled to do so?”
“Certainly not, my queen. Whatever resides within the…rose is fortunately not yet capable of compulsion.”
That revelation, at least, was a stroke of fortune. Cyllenar smiled weakly. Every person
knowledgeable of the rose tried to call it anything else, as though acknowledging its presence would bring misfortune.
Scarlet whispered, “Dear queen, what have you given me? Forgive me—you told me of its ties to the ancient war, but you plainly spoke not all. How am I to investigate this specimen when you tell me so little?”
Cyllenar tried to keep her voice even. “My silence is not out of churlishness, Scarlet, believe me.” Scarlet was too involved with that thing as it was. Deeper knowledge would only further ascertain misfortune’s gaze upon the gardener, and consequently the kingdom. Now she had the misgiving that she should have aimed the Spell of Soundlessness within the glasshouse rather than around it.
She could sense its presence even before she reached the end of the row, its chilling aura far more intense than the cold she had encountered on her walk here. When those lustrously dark petals came in sight, encased in its enchanted glass prison, she could only think how feeble a prison it was, although not for its physical fragility.
“I understand your research is impeded,” Cyllenar spoke finally, “but all the same, have you come upon any findings? Any theories as to how it may be…destroyed? I had hoped your dealings with plants of black magic might aid your study of this particular specimen.”
Scarlet shook her head ruefully. “I regret to tell my queen that I have not. It is like holding a living viper to dissect without being struck. I have never encountered a specimen like this. It is not a plant. It is…unnatural.”
It was unnatural. Staring at the flower, she couldn’t be relieved when she found no alarming signs of surging power. “It is not enough,” Cyllenar said, shaking her head. “Alas, time and not I wishes to press you, Mistress Scarlet.” What lies within desires to awaken—yearns for freedom. Cyllenar put a hand on the woman’s shoulder, giving as much reassurance as she could
through the contact as she added, “I know overseeing this artifact is dangerous. No harm shall
befall you. I will see to it that the number of guards posted here is doubled.”
Scarlet bowed her head. “I thank you, Kaibril.”
She pitied the woman. Scarlet was sworn into secrecy while secrets still were kept from her. All the same she labored to discover a way to destroy the rose—a task Cyllenar was increasingly afraid she had given her in vain.
Cyllenar somberly smiled and murmured, “Go spend the rest of Radvikari with your kin, Mistress Scarlet. I believe I appointed someone to take your stead.”
Scarlet blinked. “Nightfall approaches, my queen…and surely after this incident, that would be unwise?”
“It is undoubtedly. But it is far more unwise to leave you in your fatigued condition.”
Scarlet’s shoulders relaxed, obviously expecting her to have agreed with her. She bowed deeply. “Kaibril, I am indebted to you,” she said, the edge softened from her voice.
“I should say I am far more indebted to you. But I must now take my leave of you,” she responded. “The ceremony must be conducted.”
“Of course, Queen Cyllenar. As every year before, you look ravishing.” Cyllenar hadn’t even looked at herself ever since her maids had finished dressing her, so absorbed had she been in her brooding. She noticed now that they had gowned her in flowing purple robes and elaborately braided golden thread into a couple of her scarlet locks, leaving the rest of her hair to cascade down her back. The maids had done her well—she preferred the looser attire.
“May Kaira go with you,” said Scarlet as she escorted her to the door.
“And may the Fates be kind to you,” Cyllenar responded.
She raised a hand, and the air quivered again as the spell was dismantled. Scarlet opened the door for her, and there waiting was Aru with her scepter in his outstretched hands. Cia had wryly predicted as much before her dismissal. Apparently the woman just might have the power of foresight.
“My queen,” he said to her, bowing as he held out the scepter.
“Aru.” She wrapped her fingers around the smooth silver rod, pulling it close to her. The encrusted diamond-cut amethyst flashed radiantly when the light touched it. “You must have flown with swift wings,” she said with some amusement.
Aru had never been one for humor. He frowned and replied, “Fly, Kaibril? In the enclosed space of the castle? I should never be so ill-mannered. I had a teleporter acquire it for me. And as I was already on my way to see you, the trip was not long.”
“I see,” said Cyllenar, fingering the large jewel absentmindedly.
With that, Aru escorted her out the twilit greenhouse, and together they departed for the ceremony.
“We must make haste, my queen,” said Aru when they were well away from the glasshouse. He provided a light with one hand when the dimness enclosed them, the other hand at his back. “The ceremony is to begin in seven minutes.”
“Very well, Aru.”
Something in her tone must have caught his attention, because now he stared at her. “You
are troubled. What has Scarlet told you?”
“There is far more than I dare tell here. I will explain the rest when we all congregate.”
He nodded then and offered no more conversation. Meanwhile apprehension was slowly
building up like a torrent within threatening to drown her. She could not help but quietly utter to him, “Thirty-two thousand years, Aru. And still we are ordering the chaos.”
“You never told Scarlet what would happen if it reactivated, have you?”
“…no.”
“Then you only told her that it was an evil relic of what happened thirty-two thousand years ago?”
“Yes, but…even I am not fully certain that the legends are true to what they say.”
His upraised arm stiffened. “The legends are too vague to be reliable.”
“That is why I relied upon Nexura’s counsel.”
“Nexura was there when it was locked away,” said Aru. “How does that being not know how to destroy it?”
“Nexura never discloses all, and never discloses why. Though sometimes I wonder, Aru, if the artifact is not for us but the humans to destroy as the legends stated.”
Aru lowered his hand and extinguished his glowing sphere, for light had welcomed them again as they reentered the Garden of Slu. Yet somehow they were still wandering through the dark passageways of the Garden of Durm.
He gave her a critical look. “Then all our preemptive measures have been for naught, Kaibril. And if matters are dependent on the humans to destroy the object that threatens them, then it will be too late for them and possibly us.” Aru paused, glancing ahead at the path before them. “It simply seems too long for old scars to tear and wound anew, Kaibril. And yet…”
So she once had thought. But since its discovery, it occurred to her that perhaps they and the other worlds had fallen into complacency in this period of security. The original intention of the Radvikari to keep them vigilant, to keep the war’s memory, was on the cusp of fading before that complacency.
It was why Cyllenar now gave him a mirthless smile and finished his statement.
“And yet history tends to repeat itself.”