Aphora picked up the letter again. Her eyes perused its contents almost aimlessly as the words leaped off the page effortlessly though their meaning didn't really sink in.
It had to be a trap. It had to be.
But what if it isn’t?
The day before, the door that led to their little realm had been shaken beneath a short-lived but thunderously loud flurry of knocks. The watcher at the door had run himself ragged to deliver the message and she and Tesha had rushed to investigate.
Aphora hadn’t expected much; she assumed it had been a futile attempt by the Gemlirians to break through the emerald barrier, though Lady Kas̆dael’s little intrusion was not entirely forgotten. Surely the goddess wouldn’t have another “request” so soon.
But when they unsealed the barrier to Arallû, there was no one there. No angry, armor-clad trolls, no dark, mysterious goddess - nothing at all, save for a small letter sealed with a wax imprint that Aphora immediately recognized from her history books.
Meḫḫawû. The emblem of a sidhe.
No one had ever accused her of being a coward, but it had taken Aphora an embarrassingly long time to work up enough courage to even touch the letter. The sidhe’s hatred of the elves was legendary, after all, and she more than half-expected it to be cursed or poisoned.
Instead, she’d opened it to find a confusingly polite message. An invitation, in fact.
To Aphora Antallû, the Lady of Arallû
I know you seek to create an avatar of Selene to watch over your realm, and I know too just what that requires. I am no longer on good terms with many of my kin, but I do not wish to openly strike against them - not till the time is right. If you attack a target of my choosing - one significantly easier than you would otherwise have to fight - I will provide the relic you so sorely need.
I’m sure you’re wondering if this is a trap. But though the old hatred may yet burn strong in many of my old friends, I simply don’t care anymore. It is my own legacy that I care about now, and it is there that we share a bond in common - the desire for the safety and good fortunes of your daughter, and my descendant, Keturah - or as she calls herself currently, Tsia.
If you decide to listen to my offer, simply activate the sigil below.
Imḫullu
Aphora’s mind was in turmoil as she tossed the letter down. She’d never actually encountered a Sidhe, but like most elves, from the earliest moments she could recall, she’d heard of their implacable and mysterious hatred for her people. No one even knew why the Sidhe hated the elves so much, but that hadn’t changed the fact that entering the western plains had been for many a generation almost as good as a death sentence for her people.
Her finger gently traced over the swirling sigil inscribed on the bottom of the letter. Is it worth the risk? Aphora couldn’t even begin to guess how this Imḫullu had learned of her plans for Selene’s temple. Nor could she understand why he’d used the sigil of one of the greatest warlords of his people, Meḫḫawû. But she’d known immediately what item he’d referred to.
The mummified hand of a Sidhe.
It was a tempting offer. It was not that such items did not exist - many Sidhe had died in the ancient war against the Mwryanni, and eventually, against the gods themselves. The Sidhe’s level of power varied greatly - from warlords like Meḫḫawû who had gone toe-to-toe with Selene herself to lesser ones that perhaps even Aphora might have had an outside shot at defeating, but the war had ended in what could be best described as a draw. The Sidhe had retreated into the west, and they’d taken their dead with them.
It would not be impossible, at least in theory, for her to track down such a relic, but she would be forced to travel deeper into the West, and Aphora knew all too well the dangers of such a trip. They had been lucky to make it to Arallû without heavy casualties.
Is it worth it? She picked the letter up again. One path led to the almost certain risk of encountering a hostile Sidhe while the other offered the chance of encountering a supposedly friendly Sidhe. Emphasis on supposedly. She decided it was worth the risk.
Aphora pressed her hand to the sigil and let the essence trickle into it. The swirling arcane symbol glowed a vibrant yellow, and the room filled with the scent of summer flowers and the lingering promise of rain. She poured more essence into it and the air before her wavered. Small bolts of lightning crackled, striking down at the floor as a golden door materialized before.
Aphora placed her hand on the door, hesitating one final time; then she yanked it open.
As the elf stepped through the portal, she looked around in wonder at her surroundings. Aphora didn’t think of herself as old, but it was no secret that she’d already enjoyed a few centuries of life, and as the years piled on, it was hard to avoid feeling a bit jaded. Who wouldn’t, after all, when everything in life turns into another round of “been there, done that”? But the room that waited beyond the portal was like nothing she’d seen before. This is a whole new world.
The room that surrounded her was forged of metal combined with a number of softer substances that were unfamiliar to her - blacks and reds that were definitely neither stone nor metal. A vast window overlooked a city as big as the imperial capital, or even, she suspected, the lost city of the Mwyranni.
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But the world was dark and dead. Lights still shone in the buildings below her, but she could feel the intense, burning cold radiating from the enormous window, and in the night sky, Aphora saw the shattered corpse of the moon.
The tale of the mighty warlord’s victory over the moon goddess - though incomplete - wasn’t one told around the campfire, but Aphora knew it well enough. This must be Meḫḫawû’s realm. But who is Imḫullu?
Her ears flicked to attention as the faint thudding of steps approached her, and she whirled around in time to see a man emerge from the darkness of the hallway. His long, blonde hair was draped around shoulders large enough to support an ox, and though the grizzle on his chin had more than a few specks of grey mixed in, there was no sign of the impending approach of old age. He moved with a sure and steady gait toward her and reached out a giant hand.
Her heart raced violently, but she didn’t allow herself to budge. She met his eyes calmly and took his hand. He pumped it up and down vigorously, clamping down uncomfortably hard against her palm, then let it go.
A light smirk played around his lips as he stared down at her. “So you’re the legendary Aphora, huh?”
A sense of relief washed over her. She still didn’t trust the Sidhe, but it was clear now that whatever game he was playing didn’t involve immediately trying to kill her. She could work with that.
“Legendary?” She flashed him a flirty smile. “I’m afraid whoever you’ve been talking to must have hit their head. I’m just a simple rune mage.”
The walls of the dark hall rang as the man tossed his head back and laughed. “Now, now - we both know that isn’t true. Surely, you wouldn’t want to contradict the word of a goddess?”
“Goddess?” She asked carefully. “What goddesses do you possibly know.”
The man pointed a hand to the shattered moon above. “Well, you can see one of them right there, but I was referring to Kas̆dael.”
Aphora narrowed her eyes. “Didn’t you say your name was Imḫullu? Meḫḫawû was the Sidhe who smote Lady Selene.”
The man smiled again - he does that too much - and shrugged. “I felt like a change.”
Her heartbeat slowed as the implications crashed down here. This wasn’t just some random Sidhe; this was one of the mightiest. Any thoughts of attempting to fight her way free if something went south vanished in an instant.
Instead, she offered him the sweetest smile she could muster as she bowed her head. “Lord Meḫḫawû-“
“Imḫullu,” he interrupted her, disregarding her attempts at formality. “Just Imḫullu. Come.” Waving his hand casually, the man spun around and walked straight toward the closest wall. It separated silently before him and she was forced to dash after him, only narrowly managing to squeeze through before the walls closed again.
She stopped and placed her hand on the wall. It didn’t budge. Selene’s grace, she cursed. Her eyes swept back to the Sidhe, who had continued on unperturbed. The room she’d found herself in was much larger than the hall, and she realized almost immediately where she was.
Row upon row of enormous black columns soared into the air, holding up a ceiling of smoky glass through which the heavens’ light dimly shone. There was but one seat in the room, and Imḫullu was already sinking into it. This is Meḫḫawû’s throne room, she realized with a heart simultaneously paralyzed by fear and throbbing with excitement. For as dangerous as the Sidhe was, Aphora couldn’t deny the thrill of meeting such a legend. She certainly hadn’t “been there, done that.”
The Sidhe offered an easy smile and waved her. “Come on, no need to be shy. Don’t you want to hear my offer?”
She approached the throne slowly, bowing again, and the blonde man’s smile disappeared. “Enough of that,” he snapped irritably. “I heard you were a woman of action, not some simpering maiden. Was I told wrong?”
Aphora dropped the formality immediately and straightened her spine. “That, at least, was true, Imḫullu.”
The man’s grin returned. “Good. Now, about my offer…”
He messed with something on the arm of his throne, and Aphora started as a loud noise whirred beside her. A moment later, a small table rose from the ground, bearing on its top a glass-encased box. She leaned forward excitedly as she saw the shriveled, pale hand encased within.
“You need the arm of a Sidhe to summon a hypostatization of Selene for your temple, yes?”
It pained Aphora to start a negotiation at such a disadvantage, but there was no point in denying it - he clearly knew the truth. “Yes,” she admitted reluctantly.
He pressed something else on his chair, and another display rose from the floor. Inside, it held an intricate topographical map quite unlike anything she’d ever seen before. The elf examined it carefully, taking note of a small fortress that was highlighted in red.
“I assume this is who you want me to attack?”
Imḫullu nodded. “The Gemlir lord of this city is getting a bit too ambitious for my tastes. He’s planning to invade his closest neighbor - and current ally - and by my estimations, he will succeed in the attempt. I have no desire to see another Gemlir kingdom arise, but some of my fellow Sidhe might take offense if I’m seen to intervene. Crush him, and you can have your hand.”
Aphora frowned. “Won’t they take offense if I intervene?”
The man grinned. “Attack in two months, and they won’t be around to object. There’s a certain…situation further to the west that has drawn our attention and, much to my kins’ surprise, I’ve agreed to lend a helping hand. You should have no problems escaping back to Arallû long before they could lend assistance, leaving the destruction of their pet lord by an unknown elf a sad mystery.”
She eyed him distrustfully. “Why should I believe this is anything other than a plot to kill me?”
Imḫullu smirked. “If you really believed that, you wouldn’t be here, would you? It’s not like you could escape. But, by all means, I encourage you to ask your goddess about me. I’m sure Selene will verify that I’m, as they say, on the side of the angels these days.”
Silence stretched between them until Aphora nodded her head. “I will be checking with Selene. Perhaps even Kas̆dael,” she insisted firmly, “but I will consider your offer.”
“I expected nothing less,” the man grinned. He suddenly rose from the throne and swaggered closer to her. “You know, I heard you were a woman of action in more ways than one.” She felt her heart speed up as the stunning man practically posed. “Care for a little diversion before you leave?”
There was a reason Aphora had left a string of abandoned lovers dotting the Corsythian countryside - the word “no” was rarely part of her vocabulary. And as she looked at the hunk of a god offering himself to her, she didn’t think it was going to be part of her vocabulary that day either. I mean, who turns down the chance to get with a god?