Dreams of the Fae: Transcendence

by Anna Patrick Paige

  The cat meowed, calling my attention to a new reflection.

  I jolted to my feet. The majestic white stallion watched me from the other side of the river. Untarnished and the color of newly fallen snow, he stood with impeccable grace, a crimped mane that reached past his shoulders floating on the breeze. Up close he was massive, seventeen hands at least, and appeared misplaced among the varying shades of brown and black in his herd, who faded in comparison to his sovereignty. He narrowed his jet-black eyes at me with such intensity that I backed away from the bank.

  “You are quite far from home, little Divine.”

  I locked eyes with the steed, and his thoughts and feelings filled my head. The onslaught of information hit like a battering ram. He knew everything about this valley and its inhabitants. As the leader of the horses, his eyes and ears spanned from the highest mountain to the shortest blade of grass. He could see through me, down to my bones. The etching of the Mandala carved into the side of my skull, hidden beneath muscle and flesh, was not masked to him.

  He reflected my own image back to me, and I saw myself standing across the river, disoriented, hurting from the amount of information boring into my brain. The Mandala pulsed under my skin. I fervently pushed the image from my head so the mark wouldn’t appear and cupped my hands over my ears, but the noise was internal.

  “What is your purpose here?”

  “My name is Ayleth. I’m the Princess of Alamantia,” I whimpered.

  The stallion cocked his head. “I would not have believed a Divine exists that is also a Fae. Miraculous.” He turned his gaze behind him. My throat collapsed when Darric appeared, gliding his hand along the steed’s immense back. Darric laced his fingers into the alabaster strands of his mane and scratched behind his ear, muttering something I couldn’t hear.

  Threads of amusement seemed to enter the horse’s eyes.

  “What are you doing out here?” Darric hissed at me.

  I quivered with terror. Run. I couldn’t move.

  “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is right now?” he yelled, revealing a frightening stentorian tone to his voice that made my ears throb.

  “You know this mongrel, Fae Princess?” the horse inquired.

  I gave a small nod, afraid to answer verbally.

  The stallion’s pink mouth pulled into something resembling a smile. He nudged Darric’s shoulder with his nose, and my stranger responded with an obdurate glare. In three large steps, Darric crossed the shallow brook and stood so close I could smell the floral scent coming off his skin. I craned my neck back to see his face.

  “Trying to leave the valley on your own?” he asked snidely.

  “We shall speak again, Fae Princess.” The white stallion eased away from the river with the herd trailing behind him.

  The cat hissed from beneath my dress and slapped Darric’s boot. He furrowed his brows at her, then eyed me suspiciously. “Where are you from?”

  I bit my lip and shrugged.

  “Fine.” He briskly drew his sword. The fine blade rang with a musical chord—a weapon fit for a king. Impossible that he could have acquired it without theft. He moved effortlessly with a weapon in his hand, as if he was built for combat.

  My teeth chattered, terrorized nerves taking over my body.

  He grew a devilish grin upon witnessing my fear. “You really wear your emotions on your sleeve.” He tapped the face of his sword against my shoulder. Satisfied with scaring me senseless, he slid the blade back into the scabbard.

  I breathed a sigh of relief. When had I become such a coward? Had the bandits broken me? The days blurred together. It felt so long ago that I had successfully escaped Alamantia—only to be threatened with death in every moment left of what could be a short existence.

  Darric Ursygh!

  My temper blazed. This was all his doing. I was in this valley because of him. I had tried to abandon my pursuit, but he had insisted I continue following. If not for him, I could be settled in that forest by now, trying to begin a new life.

  “You owe me an explanation!” I demanded, finished with his intimidation.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “You lied to them.” I stomped my foot on the grass.

  “Whom?” He crossed his arms over his chest, grinning at my tantrum.

  “Bromly and Flint. You helped me here. I remember. You saved my life. You detoxed me. You caught me when I fell. You waited for me at the bottom of the cliff. You even . . .” I held my breath, trying to ignore the burn filling his eyes. “. . . took my hand to keep me going.” I felt as if I was recapping a dream he had no way of understanding.

  He chuckled nervously. “I’m flattered you think I’m capable of such heroism, but none of that happened.”

  “Yes, it did.”

  “You were intoxicated.”

  “I know what I saw. I know what you did. The forest of wisteria, that’s how we got here,” I pressed, anxious for him to admit the truth.

  “There is no wisteria in these mountains.”

  “Yes, there is!” I squealed.

  “No, there isn’t. You were under the effects of a deadly poison. A hallucinogen.” Why was he denying this? I may have been poisoned, but I had not completely lost my senses. “Go back to the Hovel. I’m sure someone is waiting for you.” He proceeded to follow the herd.

  Aggravated, I trotted to keep up with him. “I’m not done talking to you yet.”

  “Well, I’m done talking to you.”

  “You roam the countryside breaking into prisons, stealing, killing for pelts, tracking horses—”

  “Horses are expensive, and I would like one.” He skidded to a halt, causing me to grind my shoes into the dirt to keep a distance from him.

  “That one?” I pointed at the beautiful herd leader.

  “Unique things intrigue me, and he is the fastest.”

  “You’re a thief.” Antagonizing my stranger may not have been the wisest decision, but at the moment, I hardly cared.

  “Occasionally.”

  “A bandit—”

  “Salted pork for my brother—”

  “Who kidnaps women—”

  “No, just you.”

  I gaped, and he laughed, running his eyes over my body in the same lewd manner as Prince Marcus. “Come on,” he grumbled. “You need to go back to the Hovel before you die out here.”

  The sun had left the sky by the time Darric and I arrived at the cavern. I stayed a step behind him, letting the wind roll his rustic scent over me. I never imagined the only thing pleasant about my stranger would be his appearance.

  “Good job keeping her here,” Darric snarled, kicking the log where Flint was sleeping. Flint’s red head hit the ground with a thud.

  Bromly gave a hardy laugh from deep inside his belly. “I see you found Darric, Aya.”

  “Not intentionally,” I said flatly.

  “You’re still alive, so it can’t be all bad.” He winked.

  Flint rubbed a fist into his sleepy eyes and offered me a single sprig of lupine. “I picked this for you,” he said sweetly.

  An awkward silence fell over the cavern. Bromly focused harder on peeling a potato.

  My cheeks seared red. I was used to receiving gifts, but Flint presenting me with a flower in front of his brothers felt painfully embarrassing.

  Darric watched from the doorway of the Hovel, leaning against the frame. He crossed his arms over his chest as he tried to stop a laugh. Ridiculous. I had never met anyone more purposefully infuriating. Anger added an additional layer to the humiliation. I’d had enough of Darric Ursygh.

  “If it wouldn’t pain you too much, Darric, would you stop staring at me?” I fumed. “Does my face have spots?”

  Now he laughed. “No, it’s red, actually.”

  I pressed my lips together and snatched the lupine from Flint’s grasp. “Thank you. That’s nice of you.” I quickly brought my attention back to Darric. “Don’t you have a horse to chase or a rabbit to kill?”

&nb
sp; He pulled the hood of his cloak over his head to shade his brow, once again becoming the cryptic stranger from the bandit cave. “Keep the fire low,” he said to Bromly and left the cavern.

  Darric disappeared for three days, though my new companions insisted he was nearby. A basket of fresh trout appeared outside the front door every morning as proof. Apparently, he never truly left the valley without giving some indication of when he would return, but he never said where he was going.

  “He wanders, occasionally to towns and cities. He tends to seek solitude. He’s always been that way, even when we were kids,” Bromly explained. “He would be home a lot faster if he had a horse, but he’s being rather stubborn on that subject.”

  “Is he gone often ?” I asked.

  “Not as much as it seems. It gets lonely out here, so even when he’s causing a ruckus, it’s nice having him home.” He rubbed his beard. “He stays long enough to create work to keep us busy. He does his share—hunts and crafts—then heads out.”

  “He’s an ass,” Flint jumped in, crinkling his pointed nose in contempt. “I don’t miss him much. It was his idea to come up here, yet he gets to travel, an’ we’re stuck. He’ll leave again soon, an’ it’ll be peaceful ’round here.”

  With Darric missing, Bromly and Flint familiarized me with life at the Hovel. I learned to collect firewood and where to find kindling. The firepits generally had coals buried just below the surface layer of ash, but Bromly insisted I wade through the entire process. He promised to teach me to tend the garden outside the cavern once I mastered starting a fire.

  The wonderful thing about Bromly Keene was his discretion. He taught me what I needed to know to keep Darric pacified about my living at the Hovel and didn’t question my history or how little I knew of household chores. By the end of the second day, I could peel and slice vegetables quicker than either of them.

  “You’re a fast learner,” he complimented.

  Flint was oblivious to the idea that I was anything other than a lost peasant girl. He didn’t care to help with the chores and opted to spend the evenings playing a flute Darric had made for him when they were children. Darric hated it, as noise carried throughout the valley, and often Flint would play just to annoy him. After hearing his music, I didn’t blame Darric for disliking it; Flint was a horrible musician.

  The evening of my third day awake, the three of us sat by the cavern fire. The sun had not yet fallen behind the mountains, and Flint’s fragmented tunes disrupted the spring twilight nestling into the valley. I looked forward to the change in season. Winter lasted a minimum of six months in Brisleia, and summer was always welcome.

  “It’s a good fire.” Flint winked flirtatiously.

  Bromly poked the coals with a stick, sending sparks into the air. “I think we can probably leave you alone to tend the flammables, Aya, and not worry that you’re going to burn down the Hovel.”

  A rustle in the brush abruptly halted Flint’s playing, and the crickets ceased their early night’s song.

  “Is something wrong?” My voice unsettled the still forest.

  “Shh, shh.” Bromly waved his hand, his face hard as he listened intently. An impending sense of doom moved over the Hovel.

  The rustling grew louder. Something was rapidly approaching.

  Darric exploded from the brush, his drawn sword sending glistening rays from the dying sun in all directions. He rushed towards us, urgency written across his face.

  Bromly and Flint sprung to their feet as quickly as Darric bridged the distance to the cavern. Flint’s flute twanged as it bounced off the stone; he stumbled for a bow and quiver resting by the Hovel door and nocked an arrow into place. Bromly gripped an axe and took refuge behind his log.

  My stranger leaped across the flames and swung his body around me, tucking me to his chest with one strong arm around my waist. His cloak landed over us, hiding me beneath him and blocking my view of the cavern.

  He held his sword in front of us like a shield and clutched me in a protective grasp so formidable one would think I was about to fall to my death. His skin felt hot and slick with sweat, and his chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. Any chance I had of staying calm was shattered by the rhythmic pounding of his heart against my ear. His breath parted my hair as his lips grazed the top of my head. “Don’t move,” he whispered.

  Fear flooded my veins. My eyes darted, trying to see past the mess of wool, metal, and flesh.

  “He went that way,” said a gruff, gargling voice. My entire body shook at the crunch of footsteps. “Damnable rogue.”

  I couldn’t breathe quickly enough. My lungs were going to collapse.

  Flint pulled his arrow back at the ready. Bromly crouched behind his log, a shaking hand clutching his axe.

  The figures appeared as vague silhouettes through the brush. Four men. I recognized their clothes and demeanor, their toothless gapes and dirty faces. Bandits. And not just any bandits, but grotesque residents of the cave where Darric had freed me. I inhaled to scream, and his free hand flew over my mouth before a sound could escape.

  “There!” one bandit yelled, and the four charged to the cavern with a fierce determination.

  Flint let his arrow fly. It pierced the closest attacker in the shoulder. The bandit grasped the wound, his ankles buckling in unnatural directions.

  “Get inside!” Darric roared. He shoved me towards the Hovel, sending me skidding across the ground until I slammed into the wall of the house. The cat ran to my side, hissing and spitting furiously at the intruders.

  Darric jumped over the fire and caught the injured adversary. His cloak blocked most of the attack from my sight as he drove his sword into the man’s chest. The bandit cried out and retched, his eyes bulging as blood filled his mouth and dripped from his lips. Dead. Darric withdrew his blade, the miraculous silver coated in shiny crimson, to block the first downwards swing from the second assailant.

  Horrified, I lay in a crumpled mess by the fur door. Darric fought with more grace than any swordsman I’d ever seen. Each attack was executed without a stutter. Each left me in awe of the swift movement of his sword and the amazing flex of his lean muscular arms. He flowed from one maneuver to another effortlessly, anticipating each oncoming action from his enemy.

  Flint mounted a log to gain leverage and shot another arrow. It grazed Darric’s opponent’s lower back, but the bandit continued his uncalculated strikes even as blood soaked his dirty clothes.

  “Damnit!” Flint groused and snatched another arrow. His aim moved between targets, unable to find a suitable opening that wouldn’t injure his brother.

  Bromly exploded from his hiding place to plunge his axe deep into the spine of the third bandit. The man arched his back and crashed to the ground with the thick metal blade buried in his body. Planting his foot on the bandit’s back, Bromly pulled his weapon free and landed another crushing blow. Blood flooded out of the gaping wound, exposing the white of severed vertebrae. He struck again. The crack and crunch of shattering bones filled my ears, and broken ribs pierced the man’s fabric and flesh.

  I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I screamed, pouring all the air from my lungs into the chaos.

  A fourth bandit crept around the outside of the Hovel, trying to remain undetected. He grinned with teeth the color of bark, delighted to see me helpless and cowering alone.

  Noticing the sneaking villain, Darric spun around to grab the man’s shirt and hurled him away from the Hovel. The bandit tumbled across the cavern, regained his footing, and drew a pathetic rapier from his belt.

  Darric grasped the hilt of his sword with both hands and, in one fluid motion, pulled the handle apart. A dazzling spark of white light ran up the center of the blade as it split in half, creating two separate weapons. The sing of metal lingered in the cavern. Such a blade couldn’t exist. It bent the laws of nature.

  Darric held one sword in each hand, dual wielding against two opponents. His skill evolved into preternatural agility and unprecedented
power. He blocked every attack made against him with ease, and the intruders soon exhausted themselves trying to stand against him.

  He almost seemed to be toying with them, enjoying the fight, until one brilliant flourish of his left sword stabbed the fourth bandit through the abdomen. The blade reemerged, jutting out of the man’s back. A demented smirk encompassed Darric’s mouth as he ripped the blade back through the bandit’s core, sending a flurry of bloody entrails scattering across the ground and into the fire. The sickeningly sour smell of burned human flesh filled the cavern. Utterly stunned, the bandit dropped his rapier and clasped the chasmic hole, holding the tumbling pieces of his own viscera in his hands. He fell, landing in a puddle of blood and chopped organs.

  The final assailant wavered, terrified of the futile fight. With his back bleeding down his legs, he couldn’t withstand the constant blows Darric dealt with one sword, then the next. The barrage became too much. He tripped over the seating logs and screamed in horror as he crawled to get away.

  Darric snatched a handful of the bandit’s greasy black hair to expose his neck. He ran his dripping blade over the man’s throat, slitting him open from ear to ear. Trachea and tendons popped apart like strained ropes before the blood flowed. The man retched and jolted. Darric released his grip and let him fall, the bandit’s head nearly severed from his shoulders. Red gushed onto the cavern floor in the violent spurts of his fading heartbeat. Then all movement ceased, and the brutality ended.

  The forest went deathly silent, and the sun dipped behind the mountains. Darric stood in the last rays of the evening light shining into the cavern—the silhouette of a menacingly dark figure with sparkling swords against a dying day. Blood dripped off his blades and coated his hands. His chest heaved, and the lean muscle in his arms rippled with fading adrenaline. His eyes fell on me, and a form of relief lessened the tension in his shoulders.