Storm's Clouds, page 6
part #2 of Stormfall Chronicles Series
The smile evaporated from Glynis’ lips. She stood up, looking in both directions over the balcony, then took Lynette by the arm into their room, closing the balcony door behind them.
“You can’t be saying anything like that, not out in the open,” Glynis said in a whisper. “There are some things the Fae Council wants everyone to forget.”
“You mean like the war with Xythox?”
“Yes, but that was too recent for them to fully erase from common knowledge. It happened only three centuries ago. The twyl fae,” Glynis inhaled deeply, “they were millennia ago. The term refers to the ‘dark fae’, the fae who were banished from our midst thousands of years ago.”
“There were dark fae?”
“The dark fae were part of a movement, some say cult, who believed the fae leadership, including the king and the Fae Council, were wrong about our dealings with the world around us. In their eyes, the fae were superior over the humans, gnomes and other races who inhabit the earth, and should rule over them.”
“I can see how it would be controversial.”
“More than that, the dark fae believed in pursuing immortality, or even life-after-death. They believed death should prove no obstacle for a truly powerful mage. They researched ways to extend the life and youth of their members – often by sapping the life force of those they considered lesser beings.”
“Good heavens. Whatever happened to them?”
Glynis glanced around nervously. “No one likes to talk about this. And I mean no one. Even more than they avoid talking about a war with Xythox which the Fae Council pretty much ignored.” Glynis looked back at the balcony window, as if half expecting someone to appear. “The dark fae were tolerated at first, then went underground, and finally attempted to overthrow the king and the Fae Council. It was over five millennia ago. The dark fae were driven out of the fae lands. It’s unclear what happened to them. Some say they perished in the wilderness. Others say they were hunted down and killed by the king’s soldiers. Regardless, they were never seen or heard from again.”
“If they’re gone, then why is everyone on edge and afraid to talk of them?”
“The school of magic they founded remained. Throughout the centuries there have been mages, human and fae, who have sought out the powers the dark fae commanded. Searching for hidden libraries, or lost scrolls which could grant them the power they wanted. Some wanted to bring back a lost loved one from the dead. Others to animate dead bodies into servants who would follow their will. It’s a blemish on the history of the fae which no one wants to admit.”
Lynette shuddered at Glynis’ mention of animated bodies, remembering the kehereth, the wraith which had very nearly been the death of them all. “Animated dead? You mean like the kehereth?”
“How did you know about them?”
“Just something I heard,” replied Lynette, realizing her mistake. It was a chapter of her travels which she could not share with anyone, even Glynis. Lynette forced herself to regain her composure. “I still don’t understand. Are they just trying to avoid an uncomfortable subject?”
“No, it’s bigger than that. Don’t you see? Every human mage who came after, who tried to raise the dead or turn themselves into an immortal being, was using magic the fae had discovered first. Every book on the subject was withdrawn from the library centuries ago. The truth buried or destroyed. The librarians are the only ones who are still told. They are charged with ensuring no records of the twyl fae remain. It’s been this way for centuries, perhaps a millennium. The Fae Council wants everyone to believe no fae could ever do such terrible things. Could rob the life force of one being to feed the appetite of another. That’s what they’re trying to protect: an illusion of who and what they are.”
* * *
To Baxter’s surprise, Captain Iolyn had not teleported them to the fae training grounds, but rather to a small town at the northeast corner of the Feyfell – a town named Amsford. It seemed like a charming enough village, with homes and shops that melded into the trees and landscape. The streets were paved with rounded fieldstones and the entire village appeared to have almost grown from the earth and forest surrounding it.
As they crossed through the town, in the center square, they passed a magnificent water fountain – with water that bubbled up and into the air, much like the ones Baxter had seen at the royal manor. At the center of the fountain was a statue in the form of a mermaid with blue and green scales which shimmered like glass in the sunlight, adorned with a necklace of white gemstones. Water came bubbling from beneath, as if the mermaid was riding a wave of surf. But this was not just any fountain – but an enchanted fae masterpiece, no doubt sculpted centuries before when arche-mages were more plentiful. The whole statue moved and wriggled as if it was swimming across the waves. The mermaid would brush her hair back and wave to passersby as she appeared to bob in and out of the surf.
It was only when the mermaid winked and waved at him that Baxter realized he had been staring at the scantily clad statue. He ducked his head, feeling his face blush red.
Baxter and the soldiers in Iolyn’s party passed through the center of town, receiving waves from a handful of fae children at play. On the other side of the little settlement they came to a ford across the River Liore. Iolyn had their mages cast a camouflage spell where they would be crossing, before sending two scouts ahead to survey the opposing shoreline. Baxter waited alongside the rest of the young soldiers. He noticed Owain and Sior had taken up defensive positions, bows at the ready. It seemed unlikely they would have need of such precautions, but it was apparently second nature to the two veterans. Meanwhile, the younger fae soldiers milled about, chatting. A moment later, an all-clear signal was whistled from the other side of the ford, and the entire group began making their way across.
The river at the ford was waist-deep this time of year. Baxter and the fae guardsmen had to hold their knapsacks up, above their heads, to keep their provisions from getting wet. On the other side they took a moment to dry themselves. A younger fae handed Baxter a towel. He went to dry himself with it, expecting to end up only a little less soaked than before. To his surprise, the strange little towel seemed to absorb all the moisture, leaving Baxter’s clothing as dry as if he had never waded across. Baxter passed the towel back with a thanks. The group proceeded beyond the boundaries of the Feyfell, traveling to the northeast.
It was not long before they reached a narrow road, connecting the human city of Fairhall in the west to the outlying human communities in the east. Iolyn directed his charges east, parallel to the road – keeping it within sight but at a safe distance. Twice, their party came to a halt and flattened themselves against the terrain as farmers and merchants passed on the road. Both times, the fae mages kept them camouflaged and out of sight.
As they grew closer to the neighboring human village, Baxter was astonished by how close they came to the tilled farmland and homes of the villagers. They passed just beyond the edges of the fields, within earshot, but staying within the shadows of the forest where their mage’s magic could best conceal them. A lazy farmhand was dozing against the stone fence which marked the boundary of a farmer’s field. They passed within a few feet of where he sat, propped against a rock wall. Baxter could have reached out and touched him. From there, they turned southeast – towards the foothills of the Feideid Mountains.
The fae soldiers moved silently past the human settlement, even when carrying their heavy packs of supplies and weapons. Every step Baxter took seemed loud in comparison. He somehow found every dry, fallen leaf and twig to step on. The fae soldiers would glance his way from time to time, as Baxter noisily tried to keep up. All he could do was smile sheepishly in return. As they climbed into the foothills, the terrain became more broken and movement slower. Unlike when they had been passing through Amsford or when they were standing at the banks of the river, the young fae soldiers spoke little as they made their way. They knew they were no longer in the Feyfell. In the outside world, they were expected to move with caution, and without being seen or heard.
At last, as night set in, they set up camp in a fold of the hills, designating night-time watches with rotating shifts. The younger fae guardsmen were still full of exuberance and smiles – if a little less boisterous than they might have been within the confines of the Feyfell. Baxter envied them their carefree attitude and boundless optimism.
As he sat, eating his dried travel rations, Captain Iolyn came to sit next to him.
“You’re faring alright?” Iolyn asked. The Captain always made the rounds with his soldiers, taking time to speak with each and every one of them.
“Yes,” Baxter replied with a smile. “It’s good to be out in the field again – even if it is only a training exercise.”
“This is your first exercise so far from the Feyfell. Is it what you expected?”
“I guess so.”
Iolyn studied Baxter’s features, trying to interpret his response. “What’s on your mind?”
“I’ve noticed a lot of differences between the younger fae and the older,” Baxter replied. “How they handle themselves, I mean.”
Iolyn considered Baxter’s observation for a moment, watching the youthful fae quietly joke and laugh with each other. They had performed well, as expected, but still seemed carefree. “I think it has more to do with their different experiences than with age,” Iolyn replied. “Tell me Baxter, when you were young, or rather younger, did you imagine yourself becoming a soldier?”
“Yes,” Baxter replied. “Among other things. I used to watch the palace guards during festivals, or the soldiers patrolling the gates.”
“And how did you imagine it would be? How it would feel to be a soldier?”
“I don’t know.” Baxter looked down at his hands, trying to remember when he was a boy growing up outside of Enbor. “Like I would be doing something. Protecting the people and places I had grown up with.”
“All of those ambitions are foreign to most fae. When young, most fae imagine themselves as caretakers of the wild, or being able to speak with the animals and trees using more than a few halting words. They imagine themselves living in unison with nature, not ruling over it. The more ambitious might imagine becoming a mage of renown, or a healer, or for their abilities to entertain a festival crowd with music or illusion. Very few ever imagine themselves as a soldier or imagine the fae realm might somehow need protection. Those of us who did become lifelong soldiers, like Owain and Sior, did so because it was forced upon them.”
“Was that how it happened for you?”
“Yes. I was a young fae, like many of the recruits you are training with today. Just becoming an adult. It all changed when the war came, when Xythox’s raids killed people I had known and loved, destroyed places I had grown up with and cherished. War was forced upon us. Once done, it could never be undone. We could never be the same again. Which is why Owain, and Sior, and I can never go back to the way things were. We will always know what is out there.”
* * *
Lynette made her way across the courtyard, to the veranda adjacent to the royal garden. Olwen had already set out hot tea and sweets for her and Princess Elise.
“Hello Olwen,” Lynette waived. Olwen always seemed like such a nervous soul to her. Always running to or from one thing or another, her grey hair bobbing, her plain, blue dress and white apron so out of place amongst the colorful gardens which surrounded the royal estate. “Am I early?”
“Oh no,” Olwen replied, setting out another tray of sweets. Lynette could smell their fresh, fruit-filled aromas from where she stood. “Her highness went for a ride early this morning. She was supposed to be back by now.”
From over the low, stone fence, there bounded a red fox. He darted across the courtyard and onto one of the chairs at the table.
“Sweet, blossoming gardens!” Olwen exclaimed in surprise.
The sound of hoofbeats became louder, resounding across the cobblestone path that looped around the gardens, and led into the surrounding countryside. From across the bend in the road, came a white horse at a gallop, Princess Elise urging her mount on. The horse leapt over the stone fence and into the courtyard, before the princess drew the horse up to a halt. The white stallion snorted.
“Okay Gottfried, you won that one,” Elise said, sliding herself down from the saddle. She was wearing her riding outfit: dark breeches, and a snug, green waistcoat. Elise began to raise her stirrups, her horse sweating from the exertions. “Sorry I’m a little late. Gottfried gave us quite the run. I just need to untack Brutus and brush him down before I join you.”
“My lady!” Olwen exclaimed, her hands on her cheeks. “Your hair! This is hardly proper for a royal!”
Elise’s long, dark hair had been pulled back into a braid, but here and there strands had worked their way free. A few stray hairs dangled across her face. Elise shrugged and brushed her hair back as she took the reins of her horse. “I’ll be back as soon as I take care of him.”
“You can call a groom from the stables!” Olwen protested.
“I can take care of my own horse, thank you Olwen. Lynette, please have some tea with Gottfried. I’m sure he must be parched from the run.”
Elise disappeared, heading towards what Lynette assumed was the stable. The little fox, still panting, stood on his hind legs and pushed a cup and saucer towards Lynette. As if on cue, a sprite – appearing in the form of a tiny, winged fae that glowed with its own, inner light – materialized out of nowhere, and began to pour tea for the two of them.
Olwen, still murmuring under her breath, went back into the manor to collect a broom and dustpan to clean up the mud which Brutus had tracked into the courtyard.
Lynette took a seat at the little table. It felt odd, having tea and sweets, sitting across the table from a red fox. The fox pulled his saucer and cup closer to the edge of the table, leaned across and began to lap up the tea. Lynette wondered what she should say to a fox, focusing her practiced skills into conveying her thoughts into something a fox could understand. Trying to keep her phrases simple. The sounds which came out of her throat resembled a low warble. “Do you play chase with the princess often?” she tried to convey.
Gottfried looked up at her and responded in a low growl. “I can understand fae and common perfectly well. I just can’t speak it. You don’t have to try to speak fox.”
Lynette was startled. Usually, when she heard animals speak, it was in short sentences or phrases. “Do you play chase with Princess Elise often?” Lynette said, speaking in the fae tongue.
“Usually once a week. She tries to find me. I try to get to the other side of the lake and back. Some days I let her win.” His voice was alternately a growl or a warble – but he ended in something which sounded to Lynette like laughter.
“I’ve never known a fox who was so talkative,” Lynette said.
“We were fae once,” Gottfried responded. “Like the fae who were bonded to their trees and became dryads. Some of us came to resemble the animals we were closest to. There are actually quite a few of us in the Feyfell – certainly more than there are dryads.”
Lynette’s feeling of the surreal was continuing to grow. She was speaking with a fox in the fae language, and he was responding in yips and growls – which she somehow understood. This was nothing like she had expected it to be.
“Does the princess always chase after a fox, or are there other fae animals she practices riding with?”
“It’s a royal tradition with the foxes,” she heard Elise reply. “Gottfried is just the most recent fox to play the game. Isn’t that right Gottfried?”
“Someone has to teach her how to ride,” Gottfried teased.
“Really Gottfried?” Elise responded.
“Your horse turns like a cow,” Gottfried said, looking up.
“You say that about all horses,” Elise said with a smile.
“That’s true,” said Gottfried, going back to lapping his tea.
“So, you just . . . chase him?” Lynette said.
“He has to try to evade my charm spell,” Elise replied, sitting down at the little table. “Why? Whatever else would you do?”
“Well it’s just, you see, there’s a human tradition, among some royalty . . . to hunt foxes. You know, to kill them.”
“Why ever would they do that?” asked Elise. “Do the foxes raid their farms?”
“No. I think the royals do it for sport,” Lynette replied.
Gottfried hissed.
“Monstrous,” replied Elise.
* * *
Lynette helped guide the floating platform down the pathway – herself on one side, Glynis on the other, each pushing it to the other side if it started to veer off-course. “Are you sure about this Glynis? You won’t be able to see her as often if she’s planted so far from the academy.”
Glynis steadied the urn holding her darrow tree as she guided the platform. “This is what she showed me in her vision. She’ll soon be too big for the urn.”
They were pushing the floating platform down a pathway. They had already left the academy grounds and had nearly crossed to the opposite side of the fae capital of Glysing. The soldiers in their bright red uniforms, standing guard outside the offices of the Fae Council, gave them only a passing glance – their plumed helmets barely moving as the platform with its potted tree floated by. The two of them made their way to the park on the northwest edge of the city. As they entered the garden, Glynis seemed to be concentrating, perhaps listening, as they navigated through the pathways. A mother and child out for a walk passed by. A couple of fae children at play gave them room. At length, Glynis motioned Lynette. “This way, over there.”
They pushed the floating dolly off the pathway and onto a little hillock overlooking the river which flowed past the northern edge of the city’s lovingly tended parklands. The floating platform stopped. “This is the spot,” Glynis said. She strode forward, a piece of what looked like chalk in her hand. Lynette watched, wondering what they would do next. She hadn’t seen any shovels loaded onto the dolly, and even if there were, it would take her and Glynis all day to clear away enough earth to fit a tree as big as the potted darrow seedling.
