“Beware Winter’s army: For while Summer crests from victory to victory, they march on spite alone.”
— ‘Essences of the Fae’, written by Madeline de Jolicoeur
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On any other day, the scent of wood smoke and the dance of orange embers from the fire pit would’ve reminded me of brighter times and lightened the weight on my chest. It did little to soothe me when the weight of failure clouded our thoughts. Roland sat on a log beside the fire and heated a boar over the open flames. Yvette huddled opposite him under a white woollen blanket. Her fingers twitched every now and again. The chill air congealed before her with every breath that she drew.
The ever-present ghost of their hollowness haunted the edge of my thoughts.
I could feel it — a horrible, empty, gaping wound that I couldn’t heal — mocking my failure when I looked their way.
The Angelic keening over my shoulders did little to comfort me.
“I know that it’s insufficient,” my words were punctuated by another popping of the flames. “That nothing I can say will fix this, but… I’m sorry,” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I invited you along for this journey, and you’re the ones who’ve suffered for it. Perhaps if I’d-”
“The blame lies elsewhere, Taylor,” Roland sighed, leaned forward, and rested a palm on his knees as he interjected.
It sounded as if he attempted to reassure himself more than me.
“But-” I could’ve come alone.
A flash of defiance hinted behind his brown eyes as he looked away from the fire.
“Did you load the dice, Taylor?” He asked.
“No, but-” I could’ve decided not to invite either of you.
The blanket dropped as Yvette stood and marched around the fire towards the log I sat on.
“Did you do everything you could to prevent it?” Yvette’s voice trembled as she interrupted.
I bit back at the words at the forefront of my mind. I bit back on telling her that she wouldn’t sound like that if I hadn’t invited her along.
“Yes, but-” it’s my responsibility to care for you.
“You asked us to come with you,” her emerald eyes met my own as she snapped. “You didn’t order us. We knew the risks,” she clenched her firsts and spat on the snow to the side. “We knew it wouldn’t happen to you. So don’t blame yourself.” Yvette bristled like a porcupine facing an overzealous predator. “It takes away our-”
“Yvie,” I tried to interject.
“-own responsibility,” she ranted in a whiny teenage voice. “I’m not a kid any more-”
“Debatable,” Roland muttered. “Especially considering that she thinks cake is an essential survival tool.”
“-I can decide things for myself,” Yvette’s verbal barrage buried Roland. “If I were smarter, none of this would’ve happened. I failed-”
Her voice cut off as I embraced her in a hug.
“Whether you want to be a sorcerer, a princess, a carpenter, or anything else,” I whispered, “you’ll always be good enough for me.”
Roland met my gaze and gave a firm shake of his head, telling me to let it go.
I swallowed back my next words.
Yvette returned to her seat and buried her head in a book. She flipped the pages in quick, jerky motions. He eyes skimmed the text but never settled, and her fingers gripped the edges of the book in a way that screamed, “leave me alone.” The familiarity it evoked turned my stomach and reminded me of darker memories. She only focused this intently when she desperately wanted to avoid necessary discussions.
We sat like three sarcophagi in a graveyard while Roland tended to the fire.
Shadows clung like frost to my thoughts as another pop from the fire intruded upon my malaise.
I stood and went to help with the meal, trying to focus on something practical. Frosted grass snapped beneath my steps. A cosy nook which had once been part of a tropical Summer rainforest now suffocated under a thick layer of ice and snow.
Thoughts circled like invisible tigers on the edge of the firelight while rummaging through our supplies. I knew my feelings were irrational, but that didn’t stop them from sinking their claws in. Acknowledging the issue did nothing to mend it. Wishing myself to feel something else didn’t achieve anything.
My brow furrowed as I pulled out a bottle of Arlesite red. Who packed it? Certainly not me.
“Here,” I said, handing Roland the bottle.
The memory of the first floor lingered, gnawing at the edges of my focus. I tried to push it aside, though it refused to stop pervading my thoughts.
“When did you revise your opinion on indulging in spirits?” he raised a bushy brown eyebrow my way as he asked.
“Haven’t, but I might if this worsens,” I joked. “Found it in the saddlebags. Did you pack it?”
“I thought that circumstances might call for it,” he confirmed.
I held my composure, despite the pallor and quiver in his features.
“Well, it’s yours,” I said as I passed it over.
A pop of the cork and he took a deep pull.
“Why not drink?” he inquired. “There’s no risk to you falling prey to the bottle.”
“I know,” I admitted quietly, “but it’s about more than that. It’s about keeping promises to myself and others.”
“It is inevitable that oaths will conflict over the course of eternity,” he cautioned. “You need to decide which ones to keep and which ones to drop.”
“Perhaps,” I agreed, “but I’m a long way away from needing to make that decision.”
“Best to make it now,” he disagreed with another pull, “rather than be forced into it later.”
I allowed the matter to rest.
Roland swirled the wine in the bottle, watching the liquid catch the firelight, before setting it aside with a soft clink. He gestured towards the spit. I assisted him with the boar over the next couple of hundred heartbeats. Slices of meat were doled out to each person, and soon the three of us dug into our meals, cloaked beneath an oppressive silence.
This isn’t working.
None of us were addressing our problems, and so long as that continued, it would come back to bite us later. Pressing the others might end in a verbal lashing and withdrawal, but… I could open up myself.
“We all entered the tower,” my voice cut through the storm as I spoke around a greasy slice of pork. “We all faced parts of ourselves we don’t like.”
The scraping of cutlery could hardly be heard over the bitter howling of the wind.
“It’s unfair for me to judge either of you from the darkest parts of your reflection,” Roland averted his eyes as I spoke. “I’ll do my best not to.”
Both of them looked up from their plates.
“Talking helps,” I continued. “If you’d rather stay quiet, I get it. Here’s mine. The Spire showed me myself,” I whispered, “because I’m my biggest enemy. I can justify anything to myself with enough time. The se-”
“Taylor,” Roland interrupted. “I would rather you not speak about this.”
“Why?” I blinked and inquired.
“We both understand what you attempt,” he said while gesturing to Yvette. “I don't wish to share my troubles yet.”
“Then don’t,” I replied.
“By unburdening yourself, you create an unspoken debt,” he explained. “One that I would rather not weigh at the edge of my mind.”
Avoiding problems doesn’t make them go away.
Should I press the matter? No. I bit back the unspoken truth, even as it burned the tip of my tongue. I didn’t want to lose my friend. Forcing him to face his demons early was one way to do that. Whispers of the wind soon filled the void left by the departure of my voice.
“Let’s discuss strategy,” the whispers died as I changed the topic.
Roland narrowed his eyes at me before giving a shallow nod. Yvette looked up from her book.
“Kairos will betray everyone,” I explained. “Even if it kills him. He wants to wound everyone in the way that hurts most, I paused. “It’s a pity. He’d be brilliant if he devoted himself to Good. He’s like a cut diamond. He shines, but you’ll realize if you look closer that the gem was polished with blood. The reason he’s hard to beat is that he has the simplest win condition. It’s always easier to be the wrecking ball than it is to be the architect.”
“That’s about as surprising as spring raids in Rhenia,” Yvette grumbled sarcastically. “How do we beat him? Our plan is complicated already. There are lots of parts to break. He only needs to undermine it a little, and he’s already well on his way to succeeding.”
Her claims weren’t without merit. Our plans did hinge on pushing the conflict in a specific direction. One that would be easy to disrupt.
“It’ll be hard,” I admitted. “We need to adjust our plan so it can’t fail.”
“Everything fails,” Yvette glared sullenly as she spoke. “Look at me. Nothing works. Nothing ever works for me. Why-”
Her voice cut off as I took a step towards her.
“-No hugs,” she groused sullenly, as if I’d gifted her a viper.
She leaned into it regardless.
“Attacking him outright could be disastrous,” Roland said. “Should we prepare, or wait for him to make his move?"
“No,” I decided. “It’ll give him the momentum.”
“I don’t like letting him strike first,” Yvette complained. “There’s no telling how much damage he can do.”
“As much as he can,” I muttered under my breath. “With at least three monologues to go along with because he thinks it's funny.”
“There is another possibility,” Roland examined the flames as he mused. “We could adjust the shape of our story into one where even failure is success.”
“That… could work,” I agreed.
Two fragile smiles lit up the camp.
We discussed long into the night, but my mind returned to our earlier troubles. I allowed Winter’s tranquillity to wash over me as I prayed.
What should I do?
Could I follow through with our plan without discussing our qualms first? I’d never leaned this hard into using narratives as a weapon before. Heroes that entered major battles while quarrelling usually came through the other side better off from the experience. On the other hand: treating major conflict as relationship therapy flew against every instinct that I had.
Could I afford to do otherwise?
No.
We’d banked nearly everything on the success of this mission.
Dawn arrived and we prepared for departure. Mounts bridled, burdens secured, we rose into the sky. Crisp air howled through my hair as we soared over trees buckling under the weight of snow. Tendrils of ice extended far into the territory once claimed by Summer. Trees that once bore succulent fruits now hunched under the weight of snow. Their branches were bare, their trunks less vibrant than skeletons. The air rang like frozen crystal in a brittle wind with every breath, a stark reminder that our time had nearly run out.
The strength of Winter’s grasp exceeded my expectations.
The last green of fields were now blackened by decay, and Summer’s many outer cities and bastions lay buried beneath mountains of frost.
At long last, a familiar speck appeared on the ground. Storm clouds churned like warring tides with golden flames overhead, hinting at the conflict to come.
We slowed and descended.
All of us gawked mere moments later as details filled in. Aine’s walls — once a symbol of Summer’s might — now sagged under the weight of Winter’s relentless siege. Frost coated their surface, creeping higher like an inevitable tide. Summer fae clasping golden banners rained fury from the walls on the entrenched army of Winter, only for it to splash harmlessly against seamless barriers of frost.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Winter’s army had been divided into three hosts to the north, east and south of Aine’s circular walls. Each host shared the same composition. Deadwood soldiers hunkered behind walls of frost on the ground, fae nobles patrolling the sky above and unicorns held in reserve.
Princess Sulia and Prince Larat were nowhere to be seen.
“That’s Kairos,” my eyebrows feather dusted the sky as I pointed to the west of Aine.
Only the Gods understand the enigma of Kairos Theodosian.
A ditch had been extended outwards perpendicular from the north-west of Aine. The army of Helike camped behind palisade walls, providing covering fire to a group of nymphs sallying forth against a platoon of deadwood soldiers to the north.
“Should we strike now?” Roland rested a hand on the pocket of his leather coat as he asked.
Devils laughed from inside my stomach.
“No,” I swallowed back my desire to fight. “It’d be seen as a betrayal on our part. Summer wouldn’t allow him to camp there unless he’d allied with them. As ugly as it is… we wait for him to betray them first.”
I wouldn’t even allow this much if they wouldn’t return to life.
“Is that a ritual site?” Yvette asked as she gestured at a tiny irregularity — nothing more than a fingernail in length from our height — deeper into Kairos’s camp.
Light flared as I sharpened my gaze.
A circular swathe had been scorched from Summer’s fields, and a large flat platform had been raised just behind the palisade in the now empty patch. Wagons stacked high with reagents encircled the back side of the platform. Robed figures inscribed arcane sigils into bloodstained iron sheets. Large segments of the working flickered between darkened hues like a chameleon’s skin. The entire structure had almost been completed.
“It is,” I confirmed.
“Can you tell me what it does?” Yvette’s voice quivered even as she raised it. “I can’t see it from here. You know enough to guess, right?”
My fingers tightened around the truce banner.
I examined the ritual for several hundred heartbeats more before answering her question. The centrepiece of the array bore all the hallmarks of an adept or even master sorcerer. An elegant circle surrounding large piles of…something. Presumably a catalyst of some sort. That small piece showed signs of being designed by an artisan beyond my skill.
The vast majority of the array — which stretched out a fair distance beyond the centre — appeared to be nothing more than the haphazard work of novices. Segments of poor spell work had been copied repeatedly. It reminded me of the kind of solution a five-year-old child would come to if asked to sum every number from one to a million. Plenty of paper wasted, even if the kid arrived at the right answer. The ritual had the same problem. The desolation would be… considerable even if it worked.
I doubted the Tyrant cared.
“It’s a trap,” I declared. “Designed to funnel power from something into a series of escapements and power an unspecified spell with it. I can understand most of the ritual, although I can’t guess the end result.”
“Taylor,” Roland murmured, “look to the field.”
My eyebrows left the skies and inspected the surface of the moon as a frozen bolt tore wooden chunks from the walls of Aine. Sprouts of wood blossomed and repaired the hole only a moment later.
I back traced the arc of the projectile. A subset of the deadwood battalion in the north had wheeled something that resembled a frozen ballista out from within their camp. The armies of Winter were not known for their strategic talent. Yet here they were, not only performing feats of engineering, but also employing both military discipline and strategy.
“See there,” Roland said, “Kairos is launching an assault on Winter.”
I exhaled as hundreds of Helike’s soldiers pushed past their defences towards Winter. A small army of gargoyles circled overhead like vultures, cawing and taking bites from the fae in the air. His men ducked behind their shields as a barrage of bolts passed overhead.
“Puzzling,” I said with a frown. “Any idea what he’s doing?”
Kairos directed his forces with a madman’s glee, his laughter cutting through the chaos like a dragon’s claw. Troops scrambled to obey his erratic commands, their faces a mix of awe and terror. Soldier after soldier would be shredded by the fae. Daggers bored holes into my heart. Should I intervene in their defence? Even the deadwood fae fought with the strength of lesser Named compared to the army under the Tyrant’s command. Helikean bolts glanced off bark as if they were grown from steel.
“I don’t know,” Roland admitted. “Of all of us, you are closest to a strategist.”
False blood trailed down my lips as I set aside my desire to help. I glanced away. The empty sting of defeat stole over me. No, I’d seen the devotion in his soldier's eyes. The actual slaves — save for the ones lifting the platform with the throne — were back in his camp. Everyone else who fought wanted to follow the Tyrant.
“I’m not a strategist,” I denied, “but this isn’t military strategy. He’s setting up some kind of story. Kairos survives by knowing exactly when to run, even if it means trampling over others. He only loses when everyone else catches up to him.”
This is also notable, but less important than the ritual.
“He’ll betray Summer,” Yvette muttered. “Just watch. Stab them in the back when the opportunity presents itself. Fits with everything else he’s done. I bet if we cut him up, we’ll find a special organ that just oozes with betrayal.”
I cast my thoughts to the memory of the ritual and manifested a miniature illusion of it before us.
“We’re not cutting anyone up,” I said sharply. “Watch and tell me if anything changes,” I ordered Roland. “What can you do with this?” I asked Yvette.
She grimaced as she examined the ritual. Her eyed glazed over the drainage sections and narrowed in on the segment which I didn’t recognize.
“This is supposed to animate something,” she stammered. “I think it's necromancy. I’m not entirely sure. This isn’t magic I’ve used or recognize. The power expenditure is awful. Who de-”
Necromancy? I scanned the centre of the site once again. The materials could be bones. It’d even fit. Past Tyrants had a habit of throwing bone dragons crafted from their enemy’s fallen at the walls of Delos. It lined up with what I knew about the Tyrant as well. I turned my gaze back to Yvette. The second fallback called for a major working. I’d given up on it due to Kairos upsetting our plans but… this presented an opportunity.
“Yvie,” guilt lanced me as I interrupted her gently, “focus. Can you use it?”
“Probably not,” she mumbled. “At least, not for anything complicated. It shares little similarity with any magic I use. I’m sorry, I’m not good en-”
Use plans where even failure is success.
My heart thundered as the epiphany washed over me. A wave of guilt followed in its wake. Could I do this? Could I ask Yvette to struggle through a major working where I expected her to fail.
“You’re fine,” her voice died as I interjected once again. “Could you repurpose this into a scrying spell?”
The Order of the Red Lion had succeeded in reverse engineering the scrying ritual used by praesi sorcerers over the past year. The principles were allegedly simple once they’d been decoded, although I hadn’t had time to read the theory myself.
“You want me to turn a ritual for animating zombies into a scrying ritual,” the words ambled out of her mouth with the speed of a tortoise.
I’ve heard you talking to slow wizards at Constance’s Scar in that tone of voice.
I did my best to ignore the tightness in my chest or the hot stinging at the corner of my eyes as more soldiers perished.
“Trust me,” my lips twitched upwards as I replied, “the question isn’t stupid.”
A feminine winter fae with a presence that rivalled Larat turned its attention towards kairos’s forces. Frozen hell rained down upon soldiers from above. The Tyrant ordered a retreat while the gargoyles harassed his foe.
“And to think you used to complain about my ideas being sloppy,” she complained.
“Write it down and frame it if it makes you happy,” I muttered.
“I suppose that I could do it if I cut out all the interesting parts in the middle,” she said with a sigh. “Wouldn’t it be better to use this ritual for anything else? That’s a lot of wasted power.”
“Could you,” I tested the words, “scry something that happened in the past?”
A Summer fae whose power rivalled Sulia’s took to the field in contest to what must’ve been Winter’s princess. The Princess ignored the Summer Prince in favour of battering the army of Helike. Kairos’s forces had pulled behind the palisade walls as the two fae royals battled overhead.
“Hypothetically?” she brushed aside a golden lock as she mumbled. “It’s possible. I don’t see why it matters.”
I feel like such a terrible parent for asking this.
“Yvie,” I said in a grave tone. “Feel no pressure to follow through with what I’m about to ask you. I understand if you say no, and I’ll love you for it regardless.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“What do you want me to do?” she accused.
“Think of yourself as the architect for this ritual. One responsible for building a tower,” I explained. “A tower that will reach all the way up and touch upon the moment that the fae were first created by the Heavens.”
Yvette tensed and stared at me for a long moment. I’d told her this story before. She’d understand the enormity of the task before her and why I felt so awful for asking her to undertake it.
“Fine,” my heart leaped as she nodded her agreement. “That’s easy to do in principle,” she whispered to herself. “Erasing the centrepiece and replacing it with a far simpler construct isn’t hard to do. I just don’t see the reason.”
“We’re going to weave an illusion that crosses the full battlefield and rewrite the ending of the story,” I explained.
“That…” she trailed off. “That’ll take a lot of power to achieve that kind of feat. An unreasonable amount of power. We don’t have anything near that much power. What about the des-”
“Don’t worry about the power,” I interjected, “or the desolation. I told you I’d blow up Arcadia if that’s what it takes.”
“Taylor,” Roland heralded my attention. “We’ve been-”
The buzz of wings alerted me to the arrival of one of the fae.
“Lady Taylor,” a musical voice whispered, “Summer has little time for games. Who do you fight for?”
A winged figure clad in an elegant green and gold jacket which wouldn’t look out of place in Cordelia’s court drew even with my platform. He juggled fiery green apples between his palms and tossed one every now and again at Winter fae below.
“The Tyrant will betray you,” I stated.
“The mortal is not our concern,” the fae said with his lips pressed in a line. “He is bound by pact to kill the Princess of Silent Depths. So I ask again: Who do you fight for?”
The next piece of the mosaic slotted into place.
I pulled the cloth off the banner and stuffed it into a bag.
“Summer,” I said abruptly. “Have you recovered the Sun yet?”
“The Sun remains in Winter’s clutches,” the fae replied.
“Then we’ll reinforce the north wall,” I said.
Both sides needed to balance on a knife’s edge if I wanted to force them to capitulate. Summer stood at the verge of defeat, which meant… they were the side I'd need to reinforce.
“Attacking the soldiers of Helike would violate our agreement,” the fae warned.
“I won’t do anything unless they attack first,” I replied.
The wind howled as we hurtled downwards and landed at the imposing base of the wooden wall. Mr apples hovered behind me like a bad omen. I scouted out a steward and handed off our mounts, before the three of us mounted the battlements. The walls lurched violently beneath us as another hail of projectiles struck, only for defenders to return a barrage of gold.
Roland and Yvette flanked me as I stared between the teeth on the walls.
Golden banners whipped as the wind screamed around us, their brilliance dimmed under Winter’s shadow. Beams of liquid fire splashed against barriers of frost. The ground blackened as the inexorable advance of deadwood soldiers pressed ever closer. I raised a barrier of Light as another storm of darkness crashed against the walls. Yellow cracks spread through the once green and brown barrier beneath us.
I winced.
The fate of Aine looked grim.
Were there any stories I could frame this fight as that I didn’t need to play a part in? I didn’t want to join the battle until the Tyrant had shown his hand, but I also needed to bait him out. Time. We needed time. I considered the stories I knew briefly and settled upon the least risky.
“There is a story from the land I came from about this,” I shouted across the battlefield. “This isn't a war, it’s a race to Aine. The distance to Aine is not just far—it’s infinite. Every inch the armies of Winter close shatters into a hundred more. They’re chasing a phantom, running faster, harder, breaking themselves against the idea of the walls. And by the time they fall, it won’t be to steel—it’ll be to a race they could never even hope to finish.”
Every mortal combatant paused and shivered as a feather-light presence brushed over the battlefield.
The city rippled as a Summer gale whipped around it.
Reality rippled with it.
My perception of Aine warped as distances stretched out.
The horizon itself folded inward. North, South, East, West. All were as one. The battlefield became an endless corridor where every step forward brought one no nearer to the goal on the other side. The army of Winter which had once seemed so close now appeared trapped in a living illusion where progress was forever denied.
Another barrage of winter’s projectiles fell from infinitely far away.
None of them struck true.
She must’ve heard my words.
I winced as my companions emptied their stomachs over the edge of the walls. Several tense moments passed where the onslaught continued unabated before Winter determined their efforts were futile. I smiled and whispered a prayer under my breath, thanking the Gods that my attempt at telling Zeno’s paradox had worked.
One step forward, and my grin widened even further.
I’m not participating in this story.
The whispered warning of Angels trailed a chill across my neck.
I glanced at the Tyrant’s line, the distortion causing my mind to split in every direction. The pain of seeing everything simultaneously lanced through my head like salt over an open wound. I forced myself to focus. The cost of hesitation wasn’t worth paying.
A single crimson eye met my own from across the endless tunnel. I glared at the tyrant as I saw the slaves suspending the Tyrant’s platform on their backs from behind the fortifications.
“Oh, Taylor,” his voice sounded scandalized even as his arms trembled on the sides of the throne, “how unsporting of you.”
“My gods find no issue with this,” I answered piously.
“Pfffft,” he snorted, “even your advisor and pretty little princess think otherwise.”
I spared Roland and Yvette a glance. Both of their mouths slammed shut. The filthy traitors.
“Never fear,” I joked. “Their impiety is noted and will be held against them later.”
“Fine, fine,” he said with childlike glee as he climbed to his feet. “Then allow me to compose a strongly worded grievance.”
The only reason I’m allowing this monologue is that I can’t interrupt it without violating one pact or another with Summer.
“Go on,” I waved dismissively and sighed.
Let’s get the Evil over with.
Time almost seemed to slow as the two battling royals passed over the ritual site.
The region behind the Tyrant’s fortifications lit up and wailed like a banshee. Both royals struggled against invisible bonds, only to become caught in an eternal fall down a corridor with no end.
With a flourish, he raised the ivory sceptre high and grinned as he spoke: “The sun sets on the Age of Wonders, heralding the glorious chaos to come. My name is Kairos Theodosian, Tyrant of Helike. And I say that my Rule extends even beyond Creation. Come, Summer and Winter alike. Bend knee, or perish.”
And there’s the ‘surprising’ betrayal.
Colour leached from the atmosphere as bolts of excess energy crackled up from the ritual and connected with the clouds above. Both fae Royals slammed into the circle below in spite of the abstract geometry. Dark tendrils twisted and writhed around the pile of bones. Two gargantuan skeletal dragons wreathed in shadows took to the sky only a heartbeat later and landed on either side of his platform.
A lead weight sunk in my stomach as the Prince of Deep Drought died.
No time to hesitate.
Kairos had made a mistake. He’d backed me into a corner in the one place where I didn’t care about collateral damage and I had the bigger arsenal. He could raise the stakes as much as he liked. I’d match him blow for blow.
“You said I couldn’t attack Helike so long as they were on your side,” I addressed Mr apples. “I assume this counts.”
“Yes-”
“Roland,” I turned towards him and interrupted the fae. “Help Yvette sneak into the Tyrant’s camp and disable the enchantments on the slaves. Then find and recover Summer’s Sun.”
“What if it’s-” Roland began.
“Yvette,” I interjected. “Stick with Roland for now. Summer is likely to evict the Tyrant from those fortifications. Kairos has neither the time nor inclination to clean up his messes. See about building me my tower afterwards.”
“What about you?” she asked.
“Me?” I asked rhetorically. “I’m going to kill those dragons.”