Storm's Clouds, page 5
part #2 of Stormfall Chronicles Series
“It was a long time ago. I’m sorry I can’t stay. I caught the sulfurous scent of the beast from away east and followed it.” He walked towards her. She looked young, but even as the fae counted years, he knew she was much older than she appeared. He gripped her shoulders as she stood in stunned silence. “I have walked this earth as a human for centuries now, but I have not forgotten what it means to be fae, or to live as one with the earth. I swear, if there is any way I can, I will bring the fae back to these lands. No one should have to be alone for so long.”
He released her and continued west. She watched him disappear into the distance, unable to follow, wondering if in her years of intense loneliness, she might not have begun to see things after all.
* * *
Baxter reported to the portal early, wearing a hunter green jerkin over his light chain mail armor, with a travel cloak over his shoulders. He had a light, round shield slung over his back, together with a short bow, a quiver of arrows, and the sword he wore at his side. He had spent the previous evening preparing his gear, ensuring everything was in order.
Two fae soldiers were already waiting beside the circle of carved stone mushrooms, which would transport them to the training grounds. They were older than the youths that Baxter had usually trained with. One of them, tall for a fae and quite slender, was stringing his bow. Baxter glanced around, wondering if Iolyn would join them soon, or if some last-minute business would delay him.
“You’re Baxter, aren’t you?” one of the fae soldiers said.
“Yes,” Baxter nodded, surprised anyone knew his name.
“I’m Owain, and this is Sior,” he said, offering his hand. “We had heard about you. There are not many humans whom Iolyn brings on training.”
“I believe I’m the only one.”
“These days at least,” Owain released Baxter’s hand. “Have you ever been on a navigation exercise with Captain Iolyn before?”
“This will be my third patrol with the Captain in the past six months,” Baxter replied. He had needed these exercises, he recognized, to help clear his mind. However grueling the forced marches, obstacles or practice sparing might have been, he was looking forward to being in the field once more. To be someplace where everything was simple, and every decision was plain to him.
“I thought you were traveling with some gnome. Eirlon I think his name was.”
“He’s been tied up with research.” Baxter knew he couldn’t go into more detail. No one was supposed to know they had uncovered not just the relic, but also the notebooks which might explain what the relic did and how it worked. “The Captain thought I could use a little more training under my belt while Eirlon’s occupied.”
“Pleased to finally meet you,” Owain added. “Hope this week’s exercise is helpful.”
“Likewise,” Baxter replied, glancing around and wondering when the other trainees would arrive. “Do you know if the captain will be joining us shortly?”
“Oh, he’ll be along. Nothing could keep him from it. Iolyn and us go way back.”
“Really?” It had seemed as if all the fae soldiers he had met up until now had been young recruits. Well, young as fae went.
“We know Iolyn from the war. He was our commanding officer.”
“Then you served alongside Gwythyr?” Baxter immediately regretted he had brought up the name. He saw Sior, who had been ignoring their conversation up until then, glance in their direction.
Owain nodded, somberly. “Alongside Gwythyr. Of course, he is little known or remembered in these parts.”
“He was barely acknowledged, even after all he had done,” Sior added.
Baxter tried to maintain a detached composure. Owain and Sior wouldn’t have known – and it wasn’t Baxter’s place to tell them. The secret that Gwythyr still lived, although no longer in the body of a fae, was known to only a few.
“Of course,” Owain continued, “now we only see Captain Iolyn when we’re called up for reserve duty.”
Baxter realized he needed to divert the conversation. “Reserve duty? You’re not in the Royal Guard?”
“Oh, we’re part of the Guard alright, just not active anymore. We’ve all gone about our lives. But once every year we get called up to refresh our skills, and to stay prepared.”
“Prepared for what?” It had never occurred to Baxter that the Feyfell might have a need for an army. It was the Feyfell after all. No one uninvited was ever going to get far once they crossed the river and felt the disorienting effects of the spell which guarded the realm’s borders. Someone could wander for hours – only to end up right back where they had started. Baxter knew this from experience. Without the three-leafed clasp he had been gifted with from the princess, he could himself feel the effects – as had happened on an earlier training exercise.
“You’d have to ask Iolyn. You see, each of the lords of the realm has their own castle guard. But none of them are permitted to number more than a couple thousand fae under arms – including the Royal Guard. The Fae Council has its own little army as well – but that lot, they’re more about parades and ceremonies than anything else. With them, it’s all a prestige thing. No commoners will be found among their officer corps. Most of the standing armed forces are a lot smaller, maybe in the hundreds. But that’s where Iolyn takes a different approach.”
“Different?”
“Oh yes. He rotates in fresh recruits each year, trains them for a few years, and then places the best of them on rotation as reservists.”
“How many reservists are there?”
“In the Royal Guard? Maybe twenty thousand who are battle capable. He keeps a few of the more magically inclined in the active population. And he calls up the more experienced veterans, like the two of us, to help train the youth.”
Sior was testing the weight of his bow. Judging from the two quivers of arrows he was carrying, Baxter judged he was expecting to see a lot of use from it. A group of a dozen younger fae, dressed in the uniforms of the Royal Guard with the horse-head motif emblazoned on their left chest, approached. They were laughing at something or another Baxter had not caught – his command of the fae language being somewhat limited.
Abruptly, the younger fae grew quiet, and Baxter turned in the direction they were looking. It was Iolyn, approaching at a leisurely pace and chatting alongside his wife, Yvette. She was carrying a small child in her arms.
Baxter had seen Yvette a couple of times before: a short, slight fae woman with large, doe-like eyes – but he had never seen Iolyn’s daughter before now. In human terms, Baxter would have placed the child at around four years old – although he knew the fae aged differently from humans, and the child was probably much older. The little girl was dressed in a pale brown dress, her head on her mother’s shoulder. As they came to a stop at the edge of the assembly point, Yvette let the child down to stand and say goodbye to her father.
It was the only time Baxter had ever seen Captain Iolyn in a sentimental light – kneeling to say goodbye to his young daughter. “You listen to mommy,” he told her. The scene was tender, so out of place with everything Baxter had come to expect from the stern Captain. The way the child hugged him, her little fingers clasped around his neck.
The Captain arose, hugged and kissed Yvette – then turned to join the soldiers who had been waiting. His expression instantly shifted, becoming again the battle-hardened veteran Baxter knew him to be. It was as if the previous moment had been a lifetime distant.
“Today,” Iolyn said, addressing the assembled throng, “we will be conducting a navigation exercise, heading across the river to the north, and then back again. Along the way, we will be conducting drills to test our readiness.” Iolyn paused, his eyes panning across the assembled soldiers. “Do not disappoint me.”
Iolyn led the way onto the stone circle – Baxter following with the others. The Captain glanced back, ensuring everyone was fully inside the ring. He placed his hand across the three-leafed clasp which held his travel cloak in place. “Agora.” A mist descended around them. The forest became obscured. Baxter once again experienced the dizzying sensation of being transported through forest, rocks and trails, to another stone circle – leagues away from where they had stood only moments before.
* * *
Lynette had been combing through the Central Library for Magic and Lore for hours. She had meant to research one of the herbology spells they had been practicing in class but had long since lost track of time. There were so many floors and branches of the library to lose herself in: the soaring ceilings, the golden-green light filtering in from the windows, the echoing halls, and of course, the row upon row of bookshelves which stretched out in every direction. For Lynette, growing up in a human, peasant village where girls were expected to be little homemakers with no ideas of their own, the world of books had always been her refuge. It had been her safe retreat. And here, there were more books than she could hope to read in a lifetime.
There were so many sections to lose herself in: an entire wing devoted to potions and herbal remedies, still more on history, another on mystical creatures, another wing devoted entirely to illusions. Lynette had spent days in the library, just learning her way around, perusing the titles and glancing through the pages.
Today, she had wandered into the branch devoted to the healing arts – a subject she continued to have difficulty with in class. Her old teacher, Delyth would have loved to have been lost in a row of books such as these. She corrected herself. No, Delyth almost certainly had been lost, in this very same library, along this very same row of bookshelves – during her own years at the academy. Paging through the healing spells reminded Lynette so much of her late teacher.
Lynette ran her fingers across the pages of the book she was perusing. Every letter crystal clear, the ink unfaded, as if it had been committed to paper and ink only yesterday. Many of the volumes, Lynette knew, were one-of-a-kind, handwritten tomes, collected by the master mage or healer who had researched them. Each included the name of the author and the date on the title page. A few of the most popular might be reproduced in greater quantity. But others, like the volume Lynette was holding now, were the product of unique, painstaking research by an ancient master. Some of the volumes were already thousands of years old, preserved by fae magic – as crisp and clear as the day they were written.
Lynette went to shelve the volume she had been paging through. It was only a rudimentary healing book, but it was still a year or two more advanced than she was. She could sense the care and love which had gone into every page. Delyth would have been so proud to see Lynette standing there now.
As she reached to re-shelve the volume, Lynette noticed another tome, its teal spine poking out from the shelf. She glanced around. She hadn’t noticed the book before and hadn’t seen anyone pass by. Here and there she had seen sprites, going about their business on gossamer wings, re-shelving books. But not here. For such a spacious library, there were surprisingly few students or scholars. The “fae curse,” she reminded herself. Too few fae born into each generation to replace the ones who had come before.
Lynette gently slid the teal volume back into place, aligning its spine with the other books on the same shelf. She was too easily distracted. Lynette looked back at her notes. What had she come here for? Oh yes, the herbology section. Now which direction was it in?
Lynette glanced around, trying to orient herself, when she realized the same teal-bound tome, which she had noticed protruding from the shelf before, was again slid half-way out. Could the bookshelf be tilted?
Her curiosity piqued, Lynette drew the book from the shelf and opened it. It was a volume on advanced healing spells, the kind reserved for the gravely ill, wounded or dying. It was magic far beyond anything Lynette could comprehend. Although she was pleased her command of the fae language allowed her to pick up most of the words, it was too advanced for a fledgling student such as herself.
She flipped through the pages, the hand-written lettering so crisp and clear. The pages began to turn on their own, as if a gentle breeze were blowing them. Lynette shuddered, glancing around. Could someone be playing a trick on her? She had never heard of fae ghosts before. Was such a thing even possible? She glanced across the page the book had turned to, and a phrase caught her attention: the words “twyl fae.”
Lynette re-read the paragraph. It was describing a spell for preserving the life of someone close to death – holding them back from death’s doorstep until they could be resuscitated or healed. The paragraph ended with the sentence: “Beyond this, there is nothing more to be done, for risk of following the fate of the ‘twyl fae.’”
What did it mean? It must have been her lack of understanding of the fae language. She flipped back to the title page. Date of publication, 12414 by the fae calendar. The book would be 3815 years old. The author was listed as Afon Springfollower, High Fae Healer. She looked again at the cryptic paragraph. The lettering was precise, neat, and without blemish – as they almost always were in the fae library.
Lynette carried the book, her finger lodged at the page in question, seeking the nearest librarian. She spotted an older fae woman with grey hair pulled back into a bun, wearing a silver-grey blouse which matched the color of her hair. She was seated behind a desk, a pair of round spectacles perched on her nose. Sprites flittered to and from her piles of books – some sent to retrieve requested texts while others were sent to reshelf.
“Excuse me,” Lynette said, trying not to speak too loudly. “I have a question.”
The librarian smiled warmly. “Yes? What can I help you with?”
“I found a reference in a book I didn’t understand. What is a ‘twyl fae’? Are there any other books on the subject? Maybe I’m just not understanding the words.”
The librarian’s face turned pale. “Where did you hear this term?”
Lynette turned to the page of text in question, tilting the book so the librarian could read. “Here,” she said, pointing to the paragraph. “It says, ‘Beyond this, there is nothing more to be done, for risk of following the fate of the twyl fae.’”
“It must have been a mistake,” the librarian said firmly. “There is nothing by that name.”
“But what did they mean to say?”
“I wouldn’t know,” the librarian snapped. “It must have been a mistake.”
Lynette straightened herself. Why had a simple line of questioning registered such an emotional response? “I’m sorry,” she replied.
“I’ll reshelf this book,” the librarian said, holding it firmly.
“It’s no problem, I can do it.”
“This book is not for first year students,” the librarian insisted. “I will see to it.”
Lynette released the book and stepped back. She had been about to protest. She was a second-year student, after all, not a first.
But she realized it was probably pointless to argue the matter. How had she caused such offense? She turned to leave. When she glanced back, just before exiting that wing of the library, she saw the librarian still watching her.
* * *
Lynette returned to her quarters, closed the door behind her, and slumped against the wall. What had she said or done to cause such hostility? Who should she ask? The princess? Was there some etiquette she had violated?
Glynis was on the balcony, reading and enjoying the cool afternoon air. Lynette crossed the distance and opened the door to the balcony. “Busy?” she asked.
Glynis looked up at with her dark, wide eyes. “I was just reading to her,” she said. Her little tree was in a large pot on the terrace. Below them, the Fae Academy gardens swept away in a maze of pathways, flowers, and buzzing insects, with the classroom buildings visible on the other side of the garden.
“Glynis, is there something . . . something strange I should know about the central library?”
Glynis’ ears perked up. “Strange? Why, what happened?”
“I thought I saw something move in the library. Books move.”
“The library is alive, you know,” Glynis told her.
“Alive?”
“Yes, it was built in the days of the arche-mages who established the academy. The library has its own life force, like a tree, drawing its energy from the earth. It will often move books around when it wants you to find them.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes, my mother used to tell me lots of stories about the library. She’s a librarian, in the botanical wing. It’s how my parents met you know.” Glynis smiled and blushed. “It won’t do it for just anyone, and it’s not the same for everyone. The library can’t talk, not like you, or I, or like a tree or anything. But when someone is looking for a book, or if the library has something it wants you to find, it may help you to find it.”
“I had no idea.”
“Usually it only does this for advanced students. But it does it sometimes for me also. It helped me find a music book with notes to play for my darrow tree,” Glynis smiled. “Sometimes the library will rearrange whole sections of bookshelves. Drives the librarians crazy,” Glynis covered her mouth as she giggled. “Once, it moved an entire section from the history wing, to the animal wing. The librarians were so furious.”
Lynette leaned back against the window. “I’m not crazy then?”
“Oh no. That Eirlon friend of yours is known to disappear for days in the history wing. There are secret passageways, secret rooms and collections you know, which the library will open only to the most elite of the academy’s graduates. Even the librarians don’t have access to them. It’s said no one knows the historical collection better than Eirlon does. Why? What happened to you?”
Lynette took a deep breath, trying to organize her thoughts before she spoke. “Well, I was in the healing arts branch – I know, not really my thing. I was just reminiscing about my teacher, Delyth, when this book slid out. I mean, it was a book on healing, but it, well . . . Glynis, what does the term ‘twyl fae’ mean?”
