Chapter One
Wes
It was the fifth knife Wes had thrown without success towards the bullseye target. He normally had no trouble, and often would go outside to practice and impress the girls at the same time. That had all changed, and he was glad on this drizzly day there was no audience.
Orzan was gone, he and Lyssa killed him with the Everspell that was inside her, and he helped her do that. Orzan once ruled the Fae world with fear and controlled the darker side of Avalon, but the Rebels destroyed that, and a new order was taking shape. The world of Fae was changing, but Wes wasn’t changing with it.
“Wes!” Lizzi’s voice rang through the mist that turned to a steady drizzle. “Elijah made chicken and potatoes. Hurry up or there won’t be any left!”
“Coming!” he yelled over his shoulder as he pried loose the last of knives from his failed attempts to hit the target. His mind was elsewhere, and he couldn’t get over the thought of Lyssa.
She was different, but of course she was different to him, he had read her diary. He didn’t know that’s what it was, until it was too late.
Wes couldn’t help but smile remembering the look on her face when she found out —if only she knew what he really thought of her. She was an amazing person that did amazing things in a world she didn’t know she belonged to. Wes wasn’t sure if he could be as brave as she was. She loved her father very much, and that’s what drove her to do what she did.
Wes never had the chance to know his family because they along with his village were destroyed by Drakes, the fire people. Very few survived, and Wes traveled from village to village with his mother. They were like gypsies, leaves in the wind, or seeds carried by the wind never there long enough to be planted in the ground and grow roots. Wes thought the Rebel compound was the garden he could force roots into, but that all changed, and now, he felt someone had pulled him up leaving him to dry out and die in the harsh sun.
“If you get sick, don’t blame me,” Lizzi said, uncovering a plate of chicken and potatoes mixed with carrots. “I’m not taking care of you if you do, and you are packing your own things,” Lizzi sat across from him with a plate of chocolate cookies in front of her.
Wes shoved in a spoonful of potatoes into his mouth. They had a delicious amount of butter and salt on them making them irresistible. Elijah could take the simplest of ingredients and make them spectacular.
“I don’t have many things.” Wes began to cut up his chicken as he felt Lizzi’s eyes on him.
“I can’t believe you didn’t go to the Ivory Shore where all the girls went.” Lizzi munched on a cookie.
When Orzan’s power dissolved, the Rebels came out of their hiding and for their brave efforts were given the luxury of making a future for themselves. Some went to schools, other realms, or joined the sentryship. Sentries were the guardians of the Fae world. Their duties were centuries old, but still remained the same: protect the Fae world.
“I can’t believe you ate all of those cookies,” Wes put his fork down and let out a satisfying belch.
“Yeah, well, they were good.” Lizzi got up, and took his plate and headed towards the kitchen.
Wes held his glass in his hand and stared into the fire.
“Honestly, Wes,” Lizzi said as she stopped in the blackened doorway. “We are the last ones to be here, and I’m leaving in a week for Avalon. I’m going to be a clothing designer and one day work at Vine, and,” she looked at him with her sympathetic eyes. “We have to move on —all of us. The Rebels are no more.”
Wes went to bed that night with Lizzi’s words echoing in his head like a bell. The Rebels were gone because the threat of Orzan was gone, but what was he going to do now? He never thought beyond that, and now he had to. For a moment, Wes wished the threat of Orzan still plagued them—at least he knew what he had to do. It was simple: fight, practice fighting, and make a strong resistance. Wes thrived on being assigned missions that were dangerous and impressing the rest of the Faes with the marvels of his actions. But that audience was gone, and he stood in an empty theater. Lizzi stayed as long as she did for him, and he couldn’t postpone her plans anymore. He had to make a decision to not only give him a direction, but to give Lizzi peace of mind.
“Deravon said you can join him at the Palace as a sentry there.” Elijah suggested as he put pots and pans carefully into wood crates. “He said you could stay with him in his apartment for a while until you found something.”
“A mock sentry?” He questioned with raised eyebrows. “I’ve been a Rebel for three years, and now you’re suggesting I guard the Palace harmless tourists visit by the thousands every year?” He flicked at a crumb on the table shooting it through the air to the floor.
“It’s not just keeping tourists in order, it’s an honor to keep a tradition living and breathing in our world,” Elijah was a giant, but with his rounded features and gentle mannerisms, he was a likeable one. “Look at me,” he said with opened arms and a smile. “I’m going to be a pastry chef. Now, there’s a miracle. I’ll be the only giant in the school, and I plan on opening my own shop one day.”
Wes smiled. “You’ll be a good one, Elijah,”
Elijah nailed the lid to the crate that contained his precious pots and pans, and then handed the hammer back to Wes. “You, my young Fae, have a world of opportunities waiting for you. You have to let the past go and move on, and the way I see it,” he said picking up the crate that would take two strong Fae to carry, “Not only do many tourist visit the palace every year, but there are many young, lovely female Faes included in that bunch. Trust me, ladies love to be entertained by heroes,” he said with a wink.
Just on that alone would have encouraged him to be a mock sentry. But something had changed, something he never wanted had changed and things would never be the same again.
Wes stood in the training yard where all the young Rebels perfected their abilities. He closed his eyes and remembered the day Lyssa spotted him through the crowd of onlookers. He was using a sword which was his favorite weapon. He knew she hadn’t planned on seeing him by the expression on her face, but she did, and he took the advantage to impress her. But Lyssa wasn’t impressed. Of course she wasn’t, because she wasn’t like the other Fae girls Wes usually went for. Lyssa was different, and that different confused and intrigued him at the same time.
A gush of wind interrupted his reminiscing, and rushed past him causing water to fall from the leaves it had clung to. Wes opened his eyes to a bright, flickering light through the thick vegetation. It was just about summer, and the forest was at its fullest. The light traveled quickly and fluidly around and under tree limbs until it faded, and someone stood among the foliage staring at him.
Wes stood in frozen awe at the delicate looking woman with long, red-gold hair. She smiled at him as Wes rubbed his eyes—she looked exactly like Zoey. But Zoey died, or at least no body was found, but she was presumed dead at the hand of Orzan.
She smiled. “Wes, it’s me, Zoey, and we are in danger.”
She sounded like Zoey and looked like Zoey, but it could be a trick being played on him by a renegade entity or a pixie. Wes slid his hand to the small dagger he always kept on his belt.
Her eyes took notice of his movements. “That’s the dagger I gave to you when you came to live with the Rebels,” she said, lifting her eyes to his. “You immediately put it on your belt and never go anywhere without it. You may even sleep with it for all I know.”
Wes didn’t pull the dagger out, but kept his hand on it. Pixies and entities have ways of knowing private information to get what they want.
“Wes, it’s me Zoey, and I’m not dead.” Her eyes softened. “I’m in limbo, and risking my life to speak to you. You are the one I could always trust…it involves Lyssa…I know how you feel about her. You read her diary.”
No one else could know that, not even a deviant entity or pixie could go that far. Wes
was looking at Zoey or at least an image of her.
“Zoey,” Wes said her name quietly with caution as he removed his hand from the dagger, stepped closer to her, and was just about to yell to alert Elijah and Lizzi when Zoey motioned for him to stop.
“I’m here, and I’m not here.” Her eyes filled with weakness. “I’m on The Isle of Stars, and I can’t leave. But I have an important mission for you, Wes, and I know you can handle it.”
Wes felt an unexpected spark filling him with the burn of a mission he thought were all but extinct.
“What do you want me to do?” Wes asked as Zoey looked at the ground before she slid downward to her knees. “Zoey?” His voice echoed with concern towards the fading image of her.
“I’m weak, but not dead. Lyssa must know that she’s still in danger. Orzan isn’t done. He wants Avalon, and his power is strong enough through his sister and…his son.”
“Son?” Wes questioned as Zoey slipped the rest of the way to the floor, image fading. “Orzan has a son? Where?”
Zoey didn’t answer as two hands grabbed her and lifted her up as her image faded like a ghost.
Wes stood there for a moment hoping Zoey would come back, but she didn’t.
“Orzan has a son.” Wes rubbed his chin wondering who it was, and where he lived.
He looked at the spot where Zoey had appeared, and cautiously went over to it. He kicked at the ground, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Her mirrored image was there, but just like a ghost, all traces of magic were gone.
Wes had to tell Elijah and Lizzi. Orzan had a son that could take over where his father left off, and if Lyssa was still in danger of Orzan…
Wes turned to sprint as fast as he could back to the compound, when he ran into something hard as a brick wall. Pain shot through his nose and forehead as he smacked into whatever it was full force. He tried to see what or who it was, but his vision went dark. He thought it might be Elijah, but it was too solid like rock.
Wes bounced to the ground as the sound of screeching encircled him. He knew the unmistakable sound was the call of landmerrows —creatures of the earth that can be either friend or foe, depending on who employed them at the time. And since Merlin had gone to Avalon, and the Rebels were no more, landmerrows served someone else. Wes hoped that someone wasn’t Orzan’s son.
With eyes still out of focus, and blood pouring from his nose, Wes tried to reach for his dagger when a strong hand clasped around his wrist.
“I am no enemy to you, Fae. We share a common concern,” said a familiar voice that Wes thought he’d never hear again. “Avalon’s battles are not over.” It was Dane, the Drake that brought Lyssa to the Rebels. But Wes didn’t totally trust Drakes as their past with the Fae had always been clouded.
“Where are you? I can’t see,” Wes said through the spattering of blood from his mouth and nose. Dane kept his hand around his wrist as Wes heard the landmerrow’s vines that acted as arms for the creatures, curled and flop on the ground all around him.
“Fae were always the delicate creatures.” Dane’s voice sounded disappointed mixed with a slight enjoyment.
“Let go of me.” Wes demanded as hissing erupted behind him. “I didn’t hit you that hard—why can’t I see you?!” Frustration filled him.
“Like I said, Fae are delicate creatures that managed to survive by several strokes of luck in these lands.” Dane’s voice sounded amused as more hissing erupted all around Wes.
He tried to pull his hands loose from Dane’s grip. “I’m not here to try to hurt you. I’m here because the one thing we share in common is the well-being of one important Fae—Lyssa.”
Wes quit trying to free himself, and stared straight ahead into the blackness that filled his eyes. Before he could say anything, something whizzed through the air that sounded like angry hornets.
Dane let go of Wes, and he tried to get up, but Dane shoved him back down with his foot. Screeching landmerrows surrounded him, and it sounded like a battle had suddenly came down upon them. Darts, he could only guess that’s what they were, shot by him, some barely brushed by Wes.
Could it be Orzan’s son or some other creature employed by him that was attacking them? Wes’s vision slowly returned, and he scanned the area to find everything had swiftly fallen into silence. The whole commotion of battle dissolved just like Zoey’s image. Where had they gone, or was he hallucinating everything? Gingerly, he touched his swollen nose. No, he had run into something very hard. Dane was just here with landmerrows as his backup.
Wes stood up, and started to head back, when from out of the shadows something stung him in the back of the neck. No sooner had he placed a hand on the base of his neck, his vision blurred. Wes fell to the ground face-first, and knew no more.
Megan
“No, that will never do,” Megan’s mother said.
“But it’s perfect,” Megan looked at her reflection in the mirror.
“You need something that says royalty, Casperinia.” Megan scowled at the sound of her true name. It was her Banshee name, and she hated it. Megan had grown accustomed to the sound of her Etherling name —Megan— it had a better sound and was attached to a life she’d rather be living than one filled with appointments, rules, engagements…it never ended.
“I don’t care what you think is royal, and what isn’t.” She twisted and turned in the dress that hugged her every perfect curve.
Megan looked over her shoulder and smiled at herself in the mirror as her mother gazed disapprovingly behind her.
“It doesn’t matter what I think is royal or not. It isn’t a personal preference.” Her mother stepped in front of her and looked up at her daughter. “You are royal, Casperinia, and you can’t change that.” Her eyes shifted to the slinky, black, glittering, and perfect dress. “It isn’t about what you like; it’s about what is expected.” Her blue eyes held their steady gaze on Megan. “And you need a different dress, and you will wear the blue one.”
Megan’s lips curled with distaste. “No.”
With a flick of her mother’s fingers, a store attendant popped up behind her.
“Do you need assistance?” The wide-eyed girl asked.
“We will take the blue dress we tried on. Alterations will be done at our residence. Please schedule an appointment with one of your best seamstresses,” she said in a cool tone as the clerk left with a quick nod.
Megan knew there was no use in arguing with her mother.
“I expect you to be on your best behavior.” She looked at Megan who gazed sadly into the mirror at the dress she’d rather be wearing. “Look,” her mother’s voice turned soft as she stepped closer to Megan. “What we want and what is expected of us are two different things. We must compromise our wants from our duty as representatives of the Banshee race. We hold many in our confidence, and that, you never want to destroy, especially now.” She raised her eyebrows at Megan. “I need to have you presentable at the Conference. It will be my chance, and I need all the ammunition I can get.”
Megan gazed hard at herself in the mirror after her mother excused herself. Megan was a Banshee that was good at executing spells, nearly had her call down that could control the winds, and had fallen in love with an Etherling. She wasn’t princess material, and never had been, but since the Muse brothers were gone in what the media claimed to be a tragic accident, Megan knew differently.
The Fae world was changing, and her mother wanted a piece of it for the Banshee race.
“Princess Casperinia,” said a cool voice that sent a chill over Megan like a sudden gust of a winter’s wind. “Your mother just left…missed her. But I see you had success today.” Her painted-on, pastel pink lips curled into a smile.
Megan composed herself with a quick smile. “Success—” She let her words trail off with a shake of her head.
This wasn’t a princess response to a comment that she didn’t understand, but Izzet Mus
e stood before her. Her cool voice matched her appearance perfectly. Dressed in a pale blue skirt and matching bolero jacket, her hair, skin eyes and lips looked like someone had stuck a straw into her and sucked up all of the color held in every cell from her skin to her hair. Megan had met Izzet before on the few social occasions since her encounter with her at the Muse’s mansion, but every time Megan did, she couldn’t help to inwardly shudder at Izzet’s ghost-like appearance.
“Yes, successful, you found a dress for the Conference Ball.” She replied tilting herself backwards as she chuckled. “And it’s a lovely one too, blue, I believe. Beautiful color and it will look remarkable on you.”
“Thank you,” Megan said feeling unnerved at the idea of Izzet watching her. “Yes, blue is a very nice color.”
“I always thought girls with blonde hair, such as yours, amplify their golden locks from the contrasting color. And I also believe blue is one of the colors representing the Banshee race,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone as she placed her finger to her chin. “You are certainly the epitome of what a Banshee should look like, aren’t you?”
Megan felt her insides curl with uneasiness. She didn’t like Izzet because she was always talking to Faes that way as if she was some deranged serial killer or some mental case. Megan knew Izzet, being the Muse’s younger sister, had been used by them for mysterious experiments, or so claimed the rumors that ran through gossip grapevine. And Izzet didn’t do anything to change the way Faes thought about her. She slinked around popping up and making everyone uncomfortable by just the sound of her voice. For a moment, Megan wondered if she was ever any different, but then again, she didn’t care about Izzet Muse, she had other things to worry about.
“It isn’t our appearance that makes a Banshee; it’s our beliefs and hearts that dictate that.” Megan really did believe that, but what she had for her beliefs and in her heart were undetermined as far as her Banshee lineage.
Izzet nodded her head. “A very good philosophical view you have on the Banshee race, Princess Casperinia.” Her voice was soft and for a moment, it lost its cool edge.
Megan nodded back. “If you’ll excuse me, Izzet, I have other engagements to attend to.”
“Of course, and I’ve a dress to pick out as well—have to make a good impression.” Her pallid eyes for a split second flickered with a spark that Megan found disturbing at the same time enchanting.
She watched Izzet for a moment as she wound her way through the dresses, and stopped for a brief moment by the wedding dresses covered in their clear, protective plastic bags. She ran her fingers over one and gazed at it lovingly for only a second, and then was out of Megan’s sight.
Megan shook off her conversation with Izzet and hoped she didn’t talk or see her for a long time. Besides, Megan had issues of her own and plans of her own that she would rather concentrate on.
Rain had steadily fell from the lavender sky since she arrived at Vine. She was the famous designer of the rich and famous of Avalon. Her creations were worn by many, and even had rumored to be worn in the Etherworld —the place Megan had a normal teenager’s life, and had fallen in love with Craig Hartford.
Megan smiled at the thought of him when they were at the Rebels’ compound and played fetch-the-stick with his pet mog. It was such a simple thing to fall in love, Megan thought. One her mother took away and deemed it un-Banshee-princess like. She was a princess and always under her mother’s thumb. Love for a male, especially Etherling, was weak and unacceptable.
“Casperinia!” A voice pierced through her like a spear from out of nowhere as she approached the black and silver carriage parked in front of the dress store. “What are you wearing to the conference this year?” A man, tall in stature, asked flashing a camera in Megan’s face.
“I…” She shielded her eyes from the light of his picture-taking as more camera-toting Fae joined him in a flock of photographers.
“All of you move!” Boomed the voice of Mimir as he got out of the gleaming carriage.
He towered over the crowd like a dark cloud descending over a flock of frightened sheep. Megan had to smile as their picture-taking ceased.
“Princess,” he said softly in his deep voice as he took Megan gently by the arm, and guided her towards the carriage just as a brave photographer clicked a picture.
With a quick grasp of Mimir’s hand, the camera was snatched from the photographer’s hand. Mimir’s green eyes glared at the Fae with emerald flames. Even his black, wavy hair pulled back and held securely at the nape of his neck, seemed to curl tighter like a snake readying itself to strike. The Fae cowered as Mimir crumpled the large camera in his giant hand, all the time glaring with a scowl.
Plastic, glass, and other camera parts sifted through his hands to the stone pavement in small chunks. At this point, most of the other photographers took off not risking their lives with the temperament of a Giant. Megan couldn’t help but to smile at the man as his face turned red.
“I just got that camera!” He shouted towards Mimir that looked unconcerned as he brushed his hands together, and flicked the remaining camera parts from them. “Ooo, you will hear about this!” His face turned even redder. “You,” he pointed his finger at Mimir, “Will. Hear. About. This!” His tone grew more threatening with each word.
Unaffected by the photographer’s threats, pulled out his sunglasses, put them on, and appeared calm by the whole camera-crushing incident.
The Fae still had his finger extended, when Mimir quickly glanced in each direction, grabbed the Fae’s finger, and it snapped like a twig.
“I didn’t break your camera,” Mimir said through the Fae’s screams of pain as he held his injured hand.
“Mimir, let’s just go,” Megan said, stepping beside him.
“You fell and broke your camera the way I saw it. You should watch where you are going.”
“Really, Mimir,” Megan slid her hand through the crook of his elbow. “Let’s just go.”
Mimir nodded as they left the Fae kneeling on the ground holding his finger as they got in the carriage. Megan slid in the back seat as Mimir closed the door. She looked over her shoulder just as a photographer came out of Vine and clicked a picture of them leaving the scene with the injured Fae on the sidewalk.
Megan turned around as the carriage with its white, leather interior, and new smell, sped off with Mimir humming a tune.
People of Fae Page 41