Aerisian Refrain, page 46
part #1 of Beyond the Sunset Series
As I thrust the magic back into its source, I also wrenched on the strands linking my ancestors to myself. I drew them down, hauling them into me. Shortening and condensing and binding until they were thrown down physically as well as magically. The instant they felt my magic leave me, they toppled from the heavens, from the branches of the Tree of Unity. They fell all around me like a bird shot by a hunter, dropped from the sky. At first they couldn’t speak—their voices were gone, the magic, the link between nature’s music and their own ripped away like mine had been.
I was now on the ground, on my hands and knees. I felt, I felt the magic draining from me, felt my voice being torn away. Before it fully vanished, before the ravens could figure out what was going on and resist, I had one final task to complete. I opened the wall between Cole’s Simathe indomitability and my own magic. I grabbed his essence and I wove it all around my labor of recreating the Sanctuary, of binding the ravens, of restoring the land’s power to the land itself. I wove it over and under and around, and then I clamped it down on the top and the bottom like a seal. His strength would forever anchor my work, just as the female fairies and the Simathe had done with the unknown Simathe, sealing him in the tree so long ago.
It was done.
The air went still. The world went quiet. Somewhere along the way, I’d collapsed completely, and for several long seconds I lay prone on the ground with my cheek in the dirt, panting heavily.
“Annie?”
Hearing Cole’s voice from somewhere behind me, I lifted my head and tried to respond, tried to say, “I’m okay.”
Nothing came out. I felt a moment of sheer panic.
Not my voice!
I’d meant to give back my fairy voice, the voice my ancestors had lent me, not my voice. Not my voice altogether!
I tried again to speak but could only groan. It was gone. My voice was gone. Terror, horror washed over me. I tried to push myself up to my knees, tried to stand, and fell. I didn’t have the strength. I had no voice, and no strength.
In that moment, I realized exactly what had happened. I’d been willing to renounce my heritage in order to protect Aerisia, but in so doing I’d become human. Fully, completely, one hundred percent human. Even my human speaking voice, that which had tied me so closely to my ancestors, had been forfeited. I couldn’t feel Cole like I had previously. There was a distant awareness of him, but that was it. I couldn’t feel his strength supporting mine, just like I could no longer feel a connection to the land, to the fairies themselves.
What had I done?
Chapter 60
Wings
“What have you done?”
The Simathe warrior-lord was on the ground, on his knees. When Annie had opened the door between him and her, he’d felt it. When she grasped his strength, his eternality, his essence, everything that made him Simathe, and used it to coat and bind and seal and anchor her own work, he’d felt his vigor drain from him in a rush. Weakened, he’d collapsed, but quickly pushed himself back up. His strength would return; no question of that. This was no different than when he’d thrown himself in front of a dragon to save his Artan. He would live. He would forever bear the scars, but he would live. Because he was Simathe he would survive this too, his strength ultimately replenished, but what scars might he bear?
It did not matter. None of it mattered. All that mattered was the immensity of the thing he had seen and felt her do. The power she’d called to herself was akin to the power of the sea cresting over him. Perhaps the power of the sea had been intertwined with it all. Despite the many centuries he’d spent in this land, he had never truly known it until he felt her luring its magic, its power to herself with her song. He’d also felt the emotions coursing through her: triumph, wonder, victory, rage, a thirst for revenge. He had been shocked at their intensity—until he sensed the faintest traces of other living beings attached to her. It was then he understood that she was bound to the ravens and the ravens to her.
Most of what he felt through their Joining bond was not her in the slightest, but them speaking to her, aligning their wills with hers, attempting to overcome her. She’d been tested; she’d wavered, she’d stood on the brink. He could not speak to her, could not try to stop her. He could have done nothing had she chosen to do anything except what she did—give the land back its magic, thereby stripping both herself and the fairies of theirs.
She fell to the earth, like the fallen fairies surrounding her. Cole spoke her name, felt her panic. Then he felt his own surge of fear to see the Raven had risen. The power that once radiated from his eyes, his person was gone, but he was still a fairy, even if Annie had rid him of the voice, the unnatural magic he never should have possessed. He was still a threat, and before Cole had recovered enough to gain his feet, he was on the girl, seizing her, wrenching her upright.
“What have you done?” he shouted, shaking her. “What have you done?”
She did not respond. Could she no longer speak? The Simathe caught a glimpse of her eyes, and felt his heart go still. They’d lost their beautiful violet color. They were deep brown, lovely as well, but distinctly human, not fairy.
She had indeed surrendered her heritage, and possibly her voice, as well.
Be that as it may, when the Raven shook her, first fear then anger flitted across her features. She twisted in his grip but lacked the strength to break free. She struck at him with her fists, but the fairy lord whirled and threw her. There was no saving herself. Her body hurtled through the air, landing with a sickening thunk against the massive trunk of the tree she’d revitalized.
“No!”
The fear and wrath coursing through him gave him the strength to rise. He gained his feet and rushed the fairy, but he could not get there fast enough. The fairy’s black wings had lifted him in an instant’s time towards the tree and the prone girl beneath it. Sheer, unadulterated rage was on the creature’s face as he stooped to catch her up.
“Azryel.”
The deep voice boomed, filling the glade, stopping the fairy in his tracks.
“Azryel,” it said again. “Stop.”
The Raven hovered above Annie, who, Cole was relieved to see, was stirring. From where he stood, the Simathe heard her moan, and it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard, for it meant she lived.
Slowly, the fairy lord turned in place, his head cocked to the side, much like the bird for which he was named.
“Long and dark have been the years since I heard that name,” he sneered. “Who dares to call it now?”
“I do.” The unknown Simathe, whom Cole had sensed in the tree, stepped forward. Across the clearing, the two stared at each other.
“You have no power to bind me with my name,” scoffed the fairy.
“You are wrong,” the Simathe said. “You are lord of your order, and I am lord of mine.”
Cole felt a twinge of confusion. Lord of his? But Ilgard was High-Chief. Who was this that dared name himself master of the Simathe?
“You are not the High-Chief,” the fairy replied, echoing Cole’s very thoughts.
“I am more than High-Chief. I am the tirlantha—the First.”
The First. Suddenly Cole understood why this man dared call on the name of the fairy, why the fairy had hesitated, and why he had been the one originally used to seal the fairies’ spells.
The First. The First Simathe ever created. Cole had never known his fate, where he was, or what he did. It was not discussed among the Simathe. Tutors spoke of the First as if he had gone away on business of his own. No other explanations given.
Now Cole knew why.
“The tirlantha,” Azryel, the fairy repeated. “The First. That is who they used to bind us.”
“And that is who bids you let the girl go. Do her no harm, Azryel. Leave her in peace.”
“There will be no peace until she is dead!” the fairy shouted. “Look around you! We are more than you. Our voices may be gone, but we are fairies still. What can two Simathe do against us?”
It was true that the other ravens had been restored. They were on their feet or taking to wing, backing or hovering over their master. Hatred was in their eyes, danger in their presence.
“What can fairies do against two Simathe?” the tirlantha challenged. “Let her go. Escape this place before Braisley and her sisters, before Ilgard and his warriors find a way inside. Go now while you’ve a chance to escape.”
Like Cole, he must have sensed the others outside, fighting the wards Annie had raised against them. Wards strong enough to keep humans permanently at bay, but not fairies and Simathe. Eventually, they would enter.
Cole shifted to stand behind the other Simathe’s back. His attention was locked on Annie, but he dared not move. The Raven still stood over her, capable of slaying her before he or his brother could intervene.
“Let her go,” the First demanded once more. “Fly away to safety. Let there be peace in this land.”
“What peace so long as those who imprisoned us go unpunished? What peace so long as she who wrested away our magic lives?”
With a sharp wave of his hand, the fairy opened a transporting door, a portal. Within, Cole could see a clear river and moss colored cliffs guarding the entrance to the world beyond.
“A world for fairies, a world where we can be safe,” the Raven said. “We will go there.” He stooped, wrapped his arms around the girl’s torso and lifted her from the ground. “—But not while she lives.”
“No!”
Cole’s shout echoed in his ears. He sprang forward. The other Simathe sprang forward, but it was too late. The fairy had her. He scooped her up into his arms, raising her high above his head as he beat his wings, lifting them both in the air. He soared upwards, toward the top of the mighty tree, well out of their reach. Throwing down his sword, the Simathe dashed towards the tree, leapt onto the trunk and began to climb. He would not make it, he could not go fast enough. All the fairy need do was drop her, which seemed to be his intention, and that would be it, she would be gone. Through their bond, he could feel the danger to her like it was bodily danger to himself. He was Joined with her; he was meant to protect her.
Perhaps it was the rush of air across her face as her ancestor flew with her, or perhaps it was simply being lifted and hurtling upwards into the sky. Whatever the cause, Annie awakened, still caught in the Raven’s grasp. She saw what was happening and her mouth opened in a scream, but no sound came out. Her hands flailed, seeking the Raven’s arms, anything to hold onto. Her fingers latched around his wrists, but it wouldn’t be enough to save her. Sheer terror was on her face, in her brown eyes. Reaching the top of the tree, the fairy hovered in the air, still holding the girl high above his head.
“Betrayer of your own kind, let justice be served upon you,” he thundered.
And he threw her.
Helpless, Annie fell, careening through space, her limbs flailing wildly. Below was only the ground and certain death. Again, her mouth was open in a soundless scream. From his perch on the thick trunk, the Simathe prepared to lunge for her as she hurtled past, knowing he’d not catch her, but willing to try anything to spare her life.
Then the tree awoke.
A host of long branches, formerly solid and stationary, became pliable, uncoiling like serpents. They stretched themselves, snapping back in the air like a whip before sliding forward. Arms of pliant wood rushed to embrace her, slithering around her, snatching her out of the air before she plummeted to her death. They enfolded her, pulling her into their coil, holding her in place, swinging lightly between heaven and earth.
Nor did the tree stop there.
Even as Azryel, the raven lord, shouted in rage and disbelief, more branches at the summit of the tree unfurled behind him. He did not see them, did not know the tree’s intent, not until they lashed about him, trapping him. Recognizing his danger, the fairy beat his mighty wings furiously, twisting and writhing his entire body, pulling at the unyielding limbs with his hands, shouting curses at the tree. The other fairies, seeing their leader’s distress, flew to him. Lighting on nearby branches or beating their wings to hover close by, they also pulled at the limbs imprisoning their lord. Disregarding their threats and begging, the tree responded by uncoiling more branches to either knock them aside or snag them and draw them back from Azryel.
There was no saving the fairy lord.
The harder he fought to wrest himself free, the more branches shot out to lash about his body and stricture his wings. Enfolding him, they pulled towards the trunk. This was no gentle, protective embrace, as the tree had done for Annie. These limbs were squeezing, crushing. One slithered towards the fairy’s neck, coiling about it several times. From where he yet perched on the trunk, the Simathe watched it all, seeing the naked fear in the fairy’s eyes as the breath was crushed from his throat. The tree was relentless. The fairy was against its trunk now, and still the living branches pushed and pulled. The trunk did not open; rather, it was as if the fairy was dissolved into it. The great tree took the fairy and absorbed him into itself, continuing to smother him with vines and branches and leaves until he vanished. Only the black-feathered tip of one wing remained, and then it was swallowed, as well.
Azryel, the Raven, ancient lord of the male fairies, was no more.
Seeing their leader’s gruesome fate, the other fairies flew from the tree in panic. Those still snared by its branches fought for freedom and, incredibly, the tree released them. The sound of beating wings filled the air as the ravens flew to a safe distance, confusion, fear, and despair marring their faces. Their leader was gone, consumed by their former home. Perhaps they wondered what their fate would be. Who would lead them now?
The Sanctuary itself answered.
Long, dangling vines twined about Annie, even as the branches slid back, releasing her. Gently, the vines lowered her to the earth. Clambering back down the trunk, the Simathe rushed for her. The last of the vines slithered away as he dropped to his knees beside her, gathering her up, turning her in his arms so he could see into her face.
“Annie? Annie?” he demanded hoarsely. Her brown skin had paled. Her brown eyes were open but staring sightlessly. She looked as if she were a thousand miles away mentally.
“Annie?” He tried again, pushing awareness into the bond between them, desperate to reach her and call her back. “I’m here, my love. Come back to me.”
She did not speak, but her body convulsed. Her back arched, her spine bending so far he feared it might snap in two. She tried to scream, her mouth opening wide, but again there was no sound. The Simathe couldn’t hold her—she was writhing too hard. She dropped from his grasp, twisting as she fell, landing on all fours. Again, her back arched impossibly far.
“Annie!”
He felt her terror, felt her pain. So much pain. How was she surviving this much pain? Her entire body was wracked with it. He felt her horror that she could not even scream, could not give voice to her agony. He felt her confusion, as well—what was happening to her? Why was it happening?
Cole had no answers, but when she crawled to the tree and used it to clamber up on her feet, sobbing noiselessly, he was there to assist her, pulling her into his arms. When he held her, he sensed the slightest bit of comfort seep through her. If he could do nothing else for her, he could do that, so he continued to hold her, hold her as spasm after spasm shook her body, as her back arched once, twice more. She continued to weep silently from the physical torture, her fingers scrabbling for something to hang onto, digging into his flesh. The Simathe could have sworn that, behind his back, he felt the Tree of Unity itself quaking in response to her pain. Why was this happening? She had given up everything for this land. The land itself had responded by slaying her attacker and sparing her life. Why did it torment her now?
As it happened, even the torture stood a purpose. Her spine bowed a third time and then she collapsed forward, sagging against him, upheld solely by his strength. Cole felt it every bit as much as she did when something stirred in her back, between her shoulder blades. Something buried deep inside her wriggled beneath her skin. Something twined upwards, pushing its way to the surface. Her skin broke and blood gushed, seeping through her clothing. She shuddered violently at the pain, her fingers clawing at his shirt, but once the skin was broken there came instant relief. Rupturing from her back, splitting her clothes, burst forth a pair of wings that unfurled as they were born.
At first, they were slick and wet, cramped from the buds being locked within her body. As they were birthed they slowly unfurled and stretched themselves. The bony frame of the wings trembled beneath their load of feathers: thousands upon thousands of countless shiny black feathers. Raven feathers. Like the wings, Annie trembled too, but her pain was already greatly lessened. The warrior-lord watched with awe as her wings bolstered themselves, expanding, lengthening. Fully extended, they were massive, taller than her. She looked up into his face. She was breathing shallow and fast, afraid and still recovering from the pain. Her eyes were huge in her face, but as he stared into them wonder filled him to see the brown overtaken once more by violet. Only this time the violet was a glowing, piercing color: no longer human, but fairy.
As the agony decreased, strength returned to her limbs. Strength and something else…magic. Not magic as it had been before, but magic of a different variety—related, yet distinct. Until she was able to push back and stand in her own strength, Cole kept his arms around her, supporting her. Slowly, the tree behind him ceased to tremble. Slowly, slowly so did she. Her breathing slowed as her body recovered from birthing her wings. Amazement was in her eyes, written across her face.
At last, she spoke.
“What’s happening to me?”
Before he could answer, he heard the tirlantha warn, “They are here.”
Both Annie and Cole turned to see Braisley enter the glade, backed by dozens of her fairies. Backing them were at least a dozen Simathe. As a group, the intruders took one look at the girl in his arms and came to a standstill.
