“What are they?” I asked, grabbing the book before sitting up to rest on my knees.
“This one means river,” he began as he took my hand and we both stood. “It is part of my Sine; it means I’m flowing, moving, and ever-changing.” His brow furrowed a little and he let go of my hand.
“What did you mean, none of them are yours?” I asked as I noticed another row of the small symbols running along the bottom of the wall.
“We are, each of us, connected to the world in some way,” he explained. “A Sine is like a rune, representing a person’s most primal attribute and something tangible—a river, soil, wind, or snow—connects those runes to the world, or worlds as it may be. The human realm now holds many connections that were once only present in Sayeesies. Most Stalisies Fey connect with only one Sine, but I do so with three. Your mother called my Sine DES. She thought it was funny. D, determined. E, ever-changing and S, Strength. Your mother always believed I was stronger than I should be. I joked with her often that she was merely weaker than most.” He smiled as he recalled those memories.
I leaned against the wall. Sines were only briefly mentioned in the books Traflier had given me. Why? I focused on the hum of the stones pressed against my back.
Moyeth touched another symbol etched about waist height on the opposite wall. “If the Sine we are connected to is taken away or we are too far from it to reach its power, we begin to fade. Most don’t survive long.”
For some reason, my grandmother’s face filled my head, and I had to know. “What was my grandmother’s Sine?”
He seemed surprised by my question—his eyes flitted to the sky then everywhere but at me.
“What was it?” I pressed.
He fixed his eyes on his feet. “Shulun. Our sky, the source of light and warmth in this, her home.”
I knew what it meant from my reading, but I let him say the words anyway.
“When she left this place with your mother, she made a choice to separate herself from Shulun. She knew it would mean her end eventually, but she made her sacrifice for your mother, for you.”
I tried to lighten the darkness that had overshadowed our discussion. “I remember my grandmother, you know. I was not much older than one when she died, but her face is so clear in my head. I can hear her voice, feel her holding me, whispering she loves me.” I breathed a sigh and lowered my head as the memories flooded my mind. “Why can I remember something from when I was only one?” I asked, but Moyeth had already made his way to the end of the alleyway and was gesturing for me to follow him.
“You should ask Traflier about your grandmother. I will show you the way.” He took a step out of the laneway. I didn’t want to tell him I had a map; I was enjoying talking to him, so I slid it between the pages of the book and followed him into the radiant light of what he called The Main Square.
I tried to take in every inch of Sayeesies. Its splendor radiated from the cobblestone streets to the aged-wood, awnings-covered stalls encircling The Square.
I stopped when I caught the eye of a woman passing out a purple bulbous item to children across the other side of the square. Orange spikes protruded from either end of the purple bulb, forcing her to hold it by its middle. The children snapped the ends off as they took hold of them.
The wind lifted the woman’s wavy, waist-length hair and whipped the white-as-milk strands all around her. Smiling, she quickly fingered it into a neat braid and tucked the end into the hood of her blue cloak. Her exquisite skin glistened under Shulun and small tinted glasses shielded her eyes from its bright light. I could have used her in any photo shoot and be guaranteed the commission.
“They aren’t paying,” I said to Moyeth, when I noticed each person she handed the purple spiky bulbs to handed her nothing in return. “What is she doing?”
“Feeding people. In the human world, you pay for the right to eat. So much food is destroyed or discarded when spoiled, if only it had been given freely, no one would be hungry, and nothing would be wasted.”
“But it costs for the people who make the food, the seeds, the water, the labor in tending the crops. Nothing is free.”
“Everyone has responsibilities. We all take part in Sayeesies, some make clothing, teaching, growing crops, anything you can imagine. Everything is provided.”
What will I be asked to do? I wondered. All I knew how to do was take photos and I doubted they had a great need for photography in Sayeesies; they could probably magic any image into existence they wanted. Although, according to the books, hardly anyone actually used magic—though it didn’t mention why.
I should ask Traflier about magic, too.
Moyeth viewed me with amusement then quickly turned his attention to the beautiful woman.
“Do you know her?” I asked, trying to regain his attention.
“She is Phoneas Marx,” he said, snapping his eyes back towards the path ahead and regaining his step.
“She’s beautiful,” I said, walking beside him. I had a feeling Moyeth liked this Phoneas, and I never could keep my nose out of anyone else’s business.
Once, in high school, I’d spent an entire week setting up my two friends, Angus and Marlie. My genius plan: pretend each had asked the other to the Friday school dance. It worked out well for them, but not so well for me. At the dance, Angus thanked Marlie for inviting him and my covert matchmaking was a bust. They eventually forgave me. I thought I spotted somewhere online that they were still together. I didn’t spend a lot of time on social media; I liked it better to talk to a person than type on a screen.
“Don’t you think she’s beautiful?” I prodded.
Moyeth stepped up his pace. “Why should that concern you?”
“Well, it doesn’t actually,” I said, jogging to catch up. “But if you aren’t careful, with her smile she’ll be snapped up in no time.” I nudged his arm.
A contagious smile spread across his warming face and his eyes came alive, glistening in the golden light of Shulun. “She already has been snapped up, as you put it. Phoneas is my wife.”
I stopped walking and stood frozen in playful shock. Catching up again, I noticed his smile remained unchanged. He gave a grinning nod to Phoneas as we passed closer. She passed another fruit to a child then winked at Moyeth.
Within a blink, that colorful energy was back again, a wildly vivid mist. The Granny Smith apple-green energy encircling Phoneas reached out to Moyeth’s darker green, it swirled as if grasping for hers. Their love radiated strong enough to pull their auras towards each other. As fast as it had arrived, I blinked and the lights were gone.
“Traflier is in there,” Moyeth said, as he pointed to a huge tree, with what appeared to be a stained-glass door set into the trunk. “I know you’re special Des, but be careful wandering around alone. I’m not sure the Dazerarthro could get into Sayeesies, but we don’t know enough about the prophecy to be sure. It could already be here, it could be anyone.”
I followed his gaze to the tree. Its enormous branches swayed, as if trying to pull me closer, and the breeze joined in pushing at my back.
The tree had to be hundreds, if not thousands, of years old. Its branches reached high into the cloudless sky, disappearing into the light of Shulun. The trunk surrounding the oddly positioned, stained-glass door was the width of three apartment buildings on my block in Enmore.
I turned to thank Moyeth, but he had already gone, half skipping towards Phoneas. He stopped for a moment, taking a fruit from her and biting down, red juice trickling over his chin. Phoneas swiped the drizzle with her index finger, wiping it on the small apron tied around her waist. They both stood, locked in each other’s gaze.
I envied them. I had been engaged once. His name was Mathew, and we were college sweethearts. However, as was true of so many other relationships, ours was one of soaring highs and sinking lows. Miscommunication was the straw breaking the camel’s back: he’d thought my communicating that I would love to marry him actually meant: Mathew, please go screw around
behind my back and in my bed.
The first of his belongings I’d thrown out of my apartment was his signed Allan Border cricket ball. I’d pitched it out the window, and smiled as it soared over two apartment blocks before I lost sight of it. Those buildings were nowhere near the height of the massive tree where I was supposed to find Traflier, but they were high enough.
I turned away from Moyeth and Phoneas and walked the final steps to the tree. I knocked loudly with the chrome and red glass knocker that sat above the large gold handle. After a minute, there still came no response, so I pushed on the door and it clicked before swinging freely open to reveal a room the size of a changing room at Target.
Barely big enough for two.
I stepped onto the coral-stained wooden floor and as I did, the stained-glass door slammed behind me. The rainbow lights from the sky of Sayeesies leapt through the many facets of colored glass onto the white-washed walls of the enclosure.
The floor beneath me vibrated as it descended out of the light and into darkness. It continued to hum with movement and, after what had to be several minutes, my mind returned to the morgue and the walls began to close in tightly around me. My heart raced and my skin prickled with nervous energy.
I forced a deep breath in my attempt to calm my nerves, but it only made my head swim. Relief washed over me like the ocean tide when light flooded the room with its warming glow. Nevertheless, that relief was short lived.
“What the fuck?” I yelped as Traflier grabbed me, pulling me forwards. His powerful hands spun me around and hustled me to a chair by the large wooden desk. Across the room, floor to ceiling bookcases covered an entire wall, drawing my attention. My gaze went to the several piles of books stacked in towers around the room.
“My dear, my dear, how nice of you to visit me here! I would have come to see you if you had called for me. Have you finished your reading? Do you have a question about something in the books? The one in your hand, my dear—do you have a question about The Book of L?”
I shook my head and focused on his face. Turning the book over in my lap, it took me a moment to remember why I had come.
“There is something missing, something was taken.”
He snatched the book from me.
Rude much! I thought as his features darkened.
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN SOMETHING WAS TAKEN?” he shrieked, fanatically flipping through the pages. Finally reaching the back of the book and the drawing of my mother, he flopped onto the bench behind him.
Traflier sat frozen in thought. His entire body stilled, only the movement of his chest rising and falling proving that he was alive.
After a few moments of silence, I walked towards him.
“What was taken, do you know?” I asked softly, stopping a few steps away.
Traflier gazed up at me, and a tear ran down his cheek. His brilliant, yellow-green eyes welled with sadness. I rushed to his side and threw my arms around him. He hugged me back, tightly at first, but after a moment, his arms barely rested around me. I took his cue and let go.
“Your mother must have done that,” he said fingering the edge of the torn page. “She took what she believed was hers and wrote that little poem.”
“Song,” I corrected hastily and I swear his ears actually tweaked. “It was a song she used to sing to me. The music came to her inside her head when she was pregnant with me and she sang it to me all the time, even before I was actually born.”
“Your mother had many gifts. She was… special.” Traflier’s voice wavered on the last word.
“The Dazerarthro isn’t in any of the books you gave me,” I pointed out, happy for the awkwardness surrounding the topic of my mother to be over.
Traflier stood and paced the room. I made my way to one of the green leather chairs. It took me back to my childhood, the way its enormous back curved around my willowy frame, wrapping me in its enormity. My mother loved chairs like these, she owned three she had lovingly rescued from the sidewalk and recovered herself in her favorite dark red velvet.
Traflier continued to pace in front of the bookshelves, glancing at the titles as if searching for something, but not finding it. He stopped pacing and rested his arm on one of the shelves. A distinct look of frustration crossed his face. I couldn’t tell if it was frustration caused by not finding what he was searching for, or by the question I had asked.
“The Dazerarthro is evil,” he said.
This I knew, but I held my tongue.
“The scrolls say,” he continued, “that the Dazerarthro will manifest in the guise of a Fey. This is how Jax came to find you, as you know. However, what you do not know is why. Your heart beats slower than most and your energy is different, too. You are a child of a Stalisies and a Tanzieth. This is not exactly uncommon, but the fact your mother was… powerful in her abilities and your father possessed gifts I’m not even privy to understanding, means you, my dear, are a mystery unto itself.”
I wondered, for a moment, why he didn’t know what my father could do and considered whether my father might have had something to do with Mum leaving home all those years ago.
“Would the Noxuer have killed me, if I was the Dazerarthro?” I asked. I wished desperately for it to be simple: find the Fey the Dazerarthro became then get close enough to stab it, or scratch it—something—any contact with the Noxuer.
The look on Traflier's face dispelled the small amount of hope I had. “No. The Noxuer could not have killed the Dazerarthro.”
“It can’t kill me, either. So why do they all still believe I will save them? What if I am the bad guy?” I was pretty sure I wasn’t, but I couldn’t understand their blind faith.
Traflier smiled. “You are special, gifted in ways that no one truly understands. The prophecy tells of a Fey who has the power to end the battle, a power unmatched. The seers foretell this person to be you. The seers are never wrong.”
I stood abruptly, marching over to the desk. “But what if it’s not true?” I yelled, slamming my hands down on the desk’s smooth surface. “My mother was your great-granddaughter. Can’t I just be one of you?” I stepped backwards a step. “I’m not different, not powerful, and definitely not the one who will be able to kill the Dazerarthro.” I collapsed back into it the chair behind me.
A loud creak drew my attention, and I spun my head around to where a man suddenly appeared, out of nowhere.
I stumbled out of the chair, going behind it to use it as a shield.
The man’s charcoal travelling coat hung over his arm, swaying heavily against his grey suit with each step he took. There was something familiar about him. The tall lamp illuminated his face.
He has my eyes, I realized.
I froze in place as his husky voice boomed through the room. “You are more special than you know, and it is time you knew everything.” He walked closer and held out his arms, as if beckoning me into them. I looked to Traflier, he frowned at the man, shook his head and turned to take a seat in the other reading chair.
“I loved your mother with the entirety of my being, Desmoree, but I will not accept the privilege of being called your father until you see fit to accept me as such.” He lowered his arms and draped his coat over a tall pile of books. “Your mother entrusted me with so much. I fear if I had only had her courage, she might still be with us today.”
“You’re my father?” I asked, my voice wavering. I took the tiniest step forward. “And, you think it is your fault my mother is dead? She lived a long life—well, what I thought was a long life until I heard what it could have been—but she had a heart attack; no one is to blame.” The words spilled from me before I could stop them, thankfully, my mind caught up.
What the hell are you doing? Of the times I had contemplated what I would say when I first met my father. I’d been sure I would swear at him, tear him to shreds for making my mother raise me alone. I would call him a coward. Hit him, throw things, flip over furniture.
I’d had the entire confrontation planned in my head a
million different ways, but now, somehow, I was spewing forth words of reassurance and understanding. Who had I become? Where was my fire?
He smiled, and it was like striking a match; all of a sudden, I was alight in rage.
“YOU LET HER LEAVE THIS PLACE!” I took two steps towards him. “You let her go! She could have lived here, could have lived longer, and at least then I would know who the fuck I am!” I took another step forward, balling my hands into fists by my side. “I would know everything I would need to about her, and my other family and dream messages, and daggers that kill everything.” I took the final three steps between us and shoved against his stone chest, it was like trying to push a train. “If you honestly love someone, you keep them safe. You do everything to protect them.”
I could see Traflier out the corner of my eyes nodding to himself. I peered up into my fathers eyes, my eyes. My rage intensified and I gave another shove, this time knocking him backwards a few steps.
His expression of initial shock I had managed to move him at all turned to a smirk. I lost my shit.
“What is so fucking funny?” I roared, and I’m sure the ground trembled bellow me. “How is any of this the slightest bit funny? You think your words are enough to make up for everything, for any of it? Well my daughter I know what you are, blar blar blar. You arrogant, up yourself prick. You have no idea who I am!”
Traflier stood silently and moved towards the bookshelves as I took a deep breath ready to continue my onslaught, but that familiar, heavy feeling encroached on my mind.
My legs went out from under me and I fell, darkness devouring the world.
#
I didn’t dream, so when I woke encased by the smell of the familiar flowers, I was unafraid to open my eyes. Light danced around the beautiful silver flowers, rays of color hopping from petal to petal as if playing a game of follow the leader. The room hummed with life. Vibrating color and shadows across every surface.
“I could get used to this,” I said and a chuckle came from behind me. I turned my head to see Jax positioning a fresh vase of flowers on a table by the wall.
Enchanting the Fey- The Complete Series Page 6