by S. L. Horne
“You need to leave. Now. I will not tell you again. You’ve already caused more problems than you could ever know,” she spits at them in the loudest whisper possible, her eyes locked on Elara.
“What problems?” Elara asks. “Never mind. We will leave if you explain one thing,” she adds, not bothering to keep her voice down.
The woman’s eyes shoot her a warning glance. She jerks her head back toward the door, listening to see if her husband heard Elara’s loud response.
“Keep your voice down, Child. I will tell you, but then you must leave. You must leave now.”
Elara nods her head and waits. The woman speaks fast and in a hushed tone. “The vines feed off energy. I have so far been able to keep them at bay, but you are like a walking source of power. You are bringing them into my home.”
Her face sours. “I practice dark magic, if you can’t tell already. These vines are from the light realm. Weeds you only made harder for me to get rid of now!” Her voice breaks from a whisper to a low growl. “You got your answer. Now leave, Child!”
Elara gives Denton a sideways glance, then speaks fast. “We’re leaving, but tell us how to get back. If you want us gone so bad, give us directions to the nearest byway.” Putting her hands on her hips, she stands her ground.
Bitterness clear in her voice, the witch replies. “Return to my yurt, where you arrived. Pity you are so dim; your abilities could be of such great use. The shelter will understand your desire to leave. Most byways will recognize a Traveler and take one without intent, but I have put a protection on mine, so you must first know it has the capability.”
“How do you have your own byway? Are you a Traveler and a Shifter?” Elara asks, confused by how everything works.
“No! You really are short in the head,” the witch says with disgust. “There is no such thing as a traveling witch. We can only have one ability. Well, actually,” she adds correcting herself and eyeing Elara from head to toe, “certain families can have more. Some are lucky enough to have their abilities preserved through folklore or tales. Or through unfortunate breeding.” The last bit is stated through clenched teeth.
"Shifters that practice witchcraft have a special connection to nature,” the witch continues, “allowing us to visit the island where all times meet. We can go no farther, though, and must return from where we came.” She talks as she herds them to the door. “Now leave. And do not come back… Ever.”
They turn to exit the small cottage, the hag hovering over them as they depart. Stepping outside, the door closes roughly on their heels, and they stumble forward. The vines have stretched across the lawn and attached themselves to the house. Like Velcro, the tiny plant ends lace their fingers into the side of the cottage.
Searching for where the forest parts, they enter between thick brush and head back in the direction they came. The leaves do not part for their travel, and they struggle to stay on a clear path. Only a small trodden trail guides them, overgrown in most portions and dark with the shade of the trees.
Birds scatter as the two travel farther and farther, coming upon the clearing only after Elara had concluded them truly lost. Denton walks protectively ahead of her. When he appears satisfied that nothing has cried out to him as alarming, he reaches back and signals for her to follow.
He lifts the flap to the hag’s hovel, and they step inside. Elara reaches for his hand, afraid if they do not enter together, they might not travel together either. As the flap falls down to shield them from the sun, the ground falls away from underneath and transports them into a cold basin of water.
Elara and Denton emerge shivering from the clear water underneath the shade of a grove of ancient trees. Familiar sounds fill her ears as the water clears and runs off her head.
Wiping her eyes, she looks around for her old companion. She is certain they are in the place where all times meet, but the surroundings beyond this body of water are dramatically different from her last visit. Where deep-rooted oaks stood before, now tall, broad redwoods stand. The shrubbery is darker and richer, more shades of green than the varying colors of flowers. The air is damp and thick, the sun reaching its fingers through small openings of branches and leaves.
The closest tree turns and greets the visitors. “Hello and welcome.” Cracking sounds come from the trunk as his eyes open to allow him to see his guests.
Both Denton and Elara respond together, “Hello, Sir.”
Momentarily stunned, Elara looks from Denton to the tree. She’s not sure what Denton said but is certain he returned the tree’s greeting.
“Can you,” she begins pointing at Denton but speaking directly to the tree, “understand him? Can he understand you?” Baffled by the concept, she continues to look back and forth between them.
“Oh yes, we can understand everyone,” the tree replies. “With the gift of being a tree, we have no language. Rather, all willing to listen can understand us.” He ruffles his leaves and stands proud, looking happily down at the two. Denton hears his words and seems to understand Elara’s question, they both stand ringing out their clothes onto the ground. Denton shakes his head roughly and slings the water from his dark hair on them all. Elara smiles, folding her hair length in half and twists her long hair like a rag to expel the water.
Denton looks hopefully at Elara and back at the tree.
“What is your name, if I may, Sir?”
“My name, good Son, is Oidea. May I ask the same of you and your companion?”
“My name is Denton. I believe her name to be Elara, but we cannot communicate as we do not have the same tongue. We have journeyed far together, and I have a request to ask of you. Would you do us the honor of helping us communicate?” Denton bows low and respectfully at the towering tree.
“It would not only be my honor but my duty. Denton, companion of Elara, what would you wish to say?”
Elara watches, enthralled by the size and beauty of the tree, but also by the prospect of finally being able to communicate with her new companion.
“Oidea, I wish to ask her where she intends to go.”
The tree takes a moment to think of what Denton has requested. “Travelers most rarely have a destination. I sense you do not have one yourself, Son. It is the nature of Travelers, after all.” The tree looks down at him, and both Denton and Elara wait. “Ah, yes, your question.” He turns to direct his words to Elara now. “Your young companion wishes to know where you are wanting to go.”
Elara looks at Denton, then back at Oidea. “I have so many things I wish I’d told him or could have asked him before now, but nearly all of it has vanished from my mind.” She looks at them both again before answering. “I am trying to go home.”
Oidea’s face reflects sorrow as any tree’s face can. “Do you know where that is, or are you searching for it like many Travelers do?”
“I am trying to return home. I know where and by what byway I entered. Would you be able to ask him a question for me, Oidea? Can you ask him why he saved me?”
“Denton, your young companion responds that she is journeying home. She requests to know why you saved her.”
Denton looks at Elara as he answers. “I was fishing when her body floated to the surface. I pulled her into my boat to help her breath again. I don’t really know why, but I just couldn’t let anything happen to her after that.”
“Elara, your companion loves you,” the tree responds in a serious tone.
Denton startles and protests with the tree.
“That is not what I said!” he argues and Elara giggles.
Oidea’s leaves rustle as his trunk shudders with a low laugh.
He corrects his translation. “Elara, your companion saved you from the water and from there did not wish to see anything further happen to you.”
Denton’s face is hot, and his tan cheeks tinge red. “Why do you want to go home, Elara?” He looks at the tree, and the desperation on his face is enough for Oidea to remember the seriousness of their situation.
; Oidea turns to Elara. “Why do you wish to go home, Young Lady?”
“I…” She looks down at her feet, surprised by the emotions welling up inside her. “I want to find my mother. My real mother. I want to know who she is.”
Translating the sentence to Denton, the tree asks a question of his own. “But you are a Traveler, and it is common to not know your family, as it is the curse of the ability. Some are fortunate enough to know a family, but if you do not know yours, how do you know where your home is?”
Denton responds before Elara can. “She is not a Traveler, she’s an Omni.”
Elara waits patiently for Oidea to translate Denton’s words, but the tree does not immediately speak. “That cannot be so,” he says after a long pause.
“It is, and she is not aware. Please tell her. It’s important she knows. If you tell her nothing else, please explain to her what she is,” Denton pleads.
The tree looks over at Elara with a new expression on his face, one of sorrow and desperation. He is reluctant to speak but does so. “Your companion, he… He wishes for me to tell you…” Oidea looks back at Denton, torn between duty and his own beliefs.
“Just tell her, please,” Denton coaxes him.
“You, my young lady, are not a Traveler,” Oidea tells her. The bewilderment on her face is clear, and he pushes on. “You are an Omni.”
“What do you mean by that? I do not know what that means.” Looking back and forth between the tree and Denton, questions multiply in her head. “Why do you look so upset when you say that?”
“Oh, my sweet child.” Oidea sighs. “It means you have been born of the light and the dark. Because of this, you can change the events of time with no allegiance to either court. Your heritage gifts you the ability of sight, travel, and the nature of interference.” He pauses, trying to think of the right words. “Your abilities, once known to other Fae, will be sought after. Your gifts come with the curse of the greedy. They will hunt you, and they will hate you. Because ultimately, they will fear you. No matter where you go you will not be safe.”
He looks back again at Denton, a small amount of resentment evident in his expression. “Your actions alone can change the entire course of the Fae.”
Silence envelopes them as Elara absorbs the information. The knowledge of her birthright weighs heavy in the air. Fear stabs deep into her chest, and as she wraps her mind around all she’s learned, she wraps her arms around herself and shutters.
The witch's words come back to her. “Like the inbred you are. You fuck with balance. You’ll fuck with the plans, and you’ll bring nothing but trouble with you wherever you go.”
This isn’t what Elara expected or wanted when she set off searching for answers. All she wants is a simple life, to find somewhere she belongs. And what plans was the witch talking about?
Denton looks at her with apology in his eyes, his pain apparent, then addresses Oidea. “There is one other thing.” The tree turns to Denton, clearly unwilling to do any more translating, but duty-bound nonetheless. “The woman who helped us, she told me Elara has two names. There are people already looking for her, who know her by only one. She said this might be what has saved her so far, but it will not last forever. They will find out soon enough.”
“Ah, this I already knew.” Oidea turns from Denton to speak directly to Elara. “You hide from something more than your heritage, don’t you?” Glancing at Denton again, he says, “This, dear boy, is not a story meant for translating. This is a story better left untold until the time is right.”
Denton opens his mouth to protest, but Oidea stops him. “I understand, and will explain better, but no further questions on the matter.” Addressing Elara again, he says, “Until you have decided fully on one name, one true self, you will not have full control of your abilities. This in part protects you from those who seek you out and also puts you in danger. Without control, the result of your actions will ripple across time, unguided.”
“So, what do I do? I don’t want this! Please, tell me what to do,” she pleads.
“That is not for me to decide. I am a tree, I protect places of strong magic, I do not know everything. I can be a mentor only in things I have experienced in my long life, but you…” Oidea smiles. “I have met no one like you before.”
Pondering this, and exhausted with the translating, she asks, “Then do you know how I can talk to Denton when we leave here? I appreciate your help, I really do, but I would love to be able to have a conversation with him myself.”
“This, I can tell you. There is a man, he is elusive and often difficult to track down, but he can grant you the ability to understand one another. I have a feeling he would do this for you as a favor. He is very… how can I say this…?” The tree thinks on his words. “Rebellious. One can say that he dislikes the courts.”
“You are wonderful, Oidea, thank you. Do you happen to know where we can look for this man?”
Turning to Denton, Oidea lets him understand what they are discussing. “The man you seek to assist you in the ability to understand each other has a love for markets. One market, in particular, is rumored to be his favorite. If you choose to find him, I recall another Traveler having dealings with him there shortly before the time of your birth.”
Elara jumps forward without warning and wraps her arms as far around the tree’s trunk as possible. The size of Oidea dwarfs her small stature. His leaves flush a brighter green. “My! You are very welcome, Young Lady. Now, take the basin three down from this one, and the byway should understand your intentions and lead you to the right place. Off you go now.”
Denton smiles at Elara’s enthusiasm, and they tromp into the stream, following its winding path to the instructed basin. Reaching for each other's hands, they step in together and immediately sink beneath the surface, the water returning to its still nature the second they disappear.
Chapter 19
A bright blue plastic door appears before them, and the smell of human waste fills their nostrils. The air is hot and dank, the space tight, and they fumble around each other in the close quarters. Elara finds the latch to the door, the only way out, and they step out of a public porta potty.
“Of course,” she mumbles under her breath as she looks back at it. Scoffing, Elara discards the jokes that could come of this from her mind.
A busy farmers’ market sits before them, scattered with people and dozens of stalls selling various foods and other items. She realizes only now that Oidea never described the man they are supposed to be looking for and she has no idea where to start.
Denton, looking at the forlorn expression on her face, nods and offers encouragement by tugging her forward.
Crowds of people mingle about, and the excitement in the air sweeps them along. Walking with the flow of people, Elara gazes into the booths as they pass and at one, in particular, stops to admire a beautiful gold trinket. There is something about the piece, something that pulls at her memory, although she can’t figure out what.
The short-haired vendor behind the table appears flushed from the heat, and Elara asks the aging woman if she is all right. The woman admits she is overheated and in much need of a break, sweat beads on her face as she dabs it away with a cloth. Putting the golden trinket down, Elara offers to watch the stand for her so she can get a drink and use the restroom. Much appreciated, the woman relinquishes her bench and promises a fast return.
From behind the cloth-covered folding table now, they both look down at the many wicker baskets scattered before them. Assorted children’s toys and small trinkets overflow the woven bins. They each pick up a small toy to play with, startled when a bright red-haired pregnant woman comes up to them and asks for a price. Buying time to figure out the answer, Elara directs her attention to the golden glass cylinder that initially drew her attention to the table. She searches around and quickly finds a sliver of paper sticking out from underneath one bin and tugs on it to discover a pricing list. They exchange polite conversation, and the woman beams f
rom ear to ear talking about her daughter soon to be born.
Wanting to do right by the stall owner, Elara returns the eager energy by encouraging the customer to make a purchase. “This is a beautiful piece, you can feel the quality in the weight! Let me take that Ma’am and I can wrap it for you. What is your name?”
“Oh, thank you! You are so kind. My name is Io. And yours?” She places a hand on her growing belly and shifts her weight on her feet, placing the other hand on her lower back in a sign of discomfort.
Elara fumbles the toy and glances at Denton who is now busy keeping an eye on other customers who have stopped to inspect the vendor’s wares. Turning her attention back to the woman before her, Elara stutters a response. “It–it’s my pleasure Io. My name is Elara. How far along are you?” Laying the paper out flat on the table, she rolls the scope in it and tucks the sides of the paper in on itself.