Wandering Lark

by Laura J Underwood

  Fenelon frowned. “Sort of makes one think of the marsh lights one sees in Mallow...”

  “Then we definitely don’t want to follow it,” Gareth said. “Those things are said to lead travelers off the dry roads and into the swamps where the travelers either get mired in or eaten by Darklings...”

  “Or the demon...”

  “Right. Stay on the path, Hobbler.”

  The Dvergar nodded and continued into the depths of the trees.

  SIXTY

  “I want to see Talena,” Alaric said as he dismounted from the horse in the courtyard.

  King Culann smiled. “Is it custom in your land to make demands of the King?” he asked.

  Alaric hesitated. “I meant no disrespect, but I feel as though I must see her.”

  “She is well,” King Culann said. “She is with my wife.”

  “With your wife?” Alaric stared at the king who barely came up to his own chin. Culann was capable of looking tall and majestic when he chose, but at the moment, he looked like a mischievous boy.

  “My wife once had a lady in her chamber who was Talena’s mother,” the king said in a matter of fact way. “I suspect my queen is curious as to what happened to that lady after she went away to wed Talena’s father.”

  Alaric frowned. “So that explains it.”

  “Explains what?” King Culann asked.

  “Well, when I was trying to find my way here, Talena insisted on coming along. I thought it strange that she would want to enter the land of her people’s sworn enemy...”

  “They are our kin,” King Culann said. “But they have forgotten themselves.”

  “Forgotten themselves?” Alaric said, suddenly intrigued. “In what way?”

  “To understand that, you must understand what has transpired in the passing of time,” King Culann said. “Come, we will refresh ourselves in my chambers and I will explain...”

  Culann started for the stairs. Alaric hesitated then followed.

  “The conflict is as old as time,” Culann said as he entered the palace, tossing off his riding gloves. “In the age of the Shadow Lords, my ancestors gathered an army at the bidding of the White One. We had a Champion of Light and the Hammer Maid as well. And with the help of the White One’s Avatar, we slew the Champion of Shadows and his consorts.”

  “The Champion of Shadows?” Alaric frowned. “Who was that?”

  “A great warrior king from the realms of the Dokkalfar,” Culann explained. “He had great power, this Champion of Shadows, and it was said that the Dark Mother counted him her favorite, for he swore to bring darkness to the world and set her free.”

  They had reached a long corridor where servants and guards stood in waiting. All eyes stayed forward as Alaric followed Culann down that path.

  “Of course, we could not allow that. But for a time, the Champion of Shadows and the Shadow Lords looked as though they would win...indeed, they spread their darkness far and wide, and shadows covered much of the known lands. But light triumphed over darkness, just as day always triumphs over night...”

  And what happens when night falls again? Alaric thought to himself.

  Culann looked at him and smiled.

  “Then a new Champion of Light will be born, and the Balance will be preserved again,” he said. “For that is what it all comes down to, Magister Alaric. There can be no darkness without light, no day without night. The Balance is all that matters. But the Dark Mother would see it sundered, and spends even her sleeping time trying to best our White One.”

  “And what has all this to do with Talena’s people forgetting themselves, as you say?” Alaric asked.

  “You are not a patient one,” Culann said. “Why she would choose you...”

  Alaric frowned, trying to figure out what that meant. Choose me? For what?

  “When the final battle between the Champion of Light and the Champion of Shadows was fought, the Champion of Light won and the Balance was restored. And there is where it must remain. To push the Balance so that light rules all would be no better than being under the constant rule of shadow.”

  Culann held out his hands as he spoke, and Alaric felt a tingle of magic as the king invoked a globe of light in one hand and a globe of shadow in the other.

  “For the world to be whole,” Culann said, “the Balance between shadow and light must remain even. And this means that all the White One can do is hold back the shadow and put it back in its place.”

  He brought the two globes together and let them float unaided. A gesture of his hand started them seesawing side by side at equal distances from one another. And Alaric was suddenly reminded of the globes dangling from the scales that he saw in the hands of the statue of the beautiful woman in Shadow Vale.

  “When the Dark Mother is sundered, when her physical body is demolished, she cannot threaten the balance, but must remain in her Shadow Realm,” Culann said. “But the destruction she wrought on the world before her physical demise was terrible. Whole villages were wiped out. Tens of thousands died. The land was in such turmoil, both here and in Garrowye. But where we began to rebuild on our own, our kin in Garrowye became bitter. They thought that the White One should rebuild for them. But that is not Her way. She maintains the Balance, but she does nothing to upset it. And so the folk of Garrowye hardened their hearts to Her. They put aside their belief in Her and looked for comfort in the bond of family, for it was through the bond of family that they found a way to restore their world. Hard labor was at the heart of it.

  “Alas, because of this, they turned their backs on the magic that was their heritage. They refused to allow magic to survive in their world. Sadly, they did not realized that their refusal to use what magic they have had turned them mortal. And it kills their land as well. For the magic that is in everything has fallen asleep in the land of Garrowye.”

  Alaric took a deep breath. “They are all mageborn as you are here?” he said.

  King Culann nodded. “But they have wasted the power, and by doing so, they have shortened their own lives. Sad, is it not. For when the next Darkening comes, their land and people will perish because they refuse to remember what they are.”

  Alaric stopped. “Wait, the next Darkening? Did you say, the next Darkening?”

  Culann laughed. “Of course. There is a Balance in all things, Magister, and even Darkness will play its part. You have seen to it that the Dark Mother’s body cannot be brought back to life before its time, but there is still a matter of demons, is there not?”

  “Demons?” Alaric frowned and looked back. It occurred to him that Vagner had not followed him here.

  “He is Youngerkin and cannot pass the wards,” Culann said. “And I have told you more than I have authority to share. What else you learn must come from the White One Herself...”

  Alaric frowned. He was getting tired of being told that. Still. “Can you at least tell me why it is that if the magic has been forgotten in Garrowye, you and your people have not invaded their land?”

  “Invade Garrowye? Why should I wish to do such a thing?”

  “For the sake of magic,” Alaric said. “And for the sake of those who possess it and are persecuted for it.”

  Culann cocked an eyebrow. “Because to do so would sunder the Balance of All Things,” he said. “Better to leave the world as it is than to destroy the forces of nature and the Balance through meddling. We cannot make the magic come back. It must return on its own.”

  Alaric glanced aside. What was it he remembered Fenelon saying about the Great Cataclysm? How the Old Ones had meddled with nature, and the world had suffered for it?

  “So how can the magic return on its own if you cannot assist it?” Alaric asked. “Where I come from, we are taught about the Great Cataclysm caused by the Old Ones. Having seen what I have seen in the Shadow Vale, I know now that part of their meddling turned much of the northern world into ice.”

  “And upset the Balance of All Things,” Culann said. “But from this, I see that you do no
t know the whole story. When your Old Ones turned the Shadow Vale into ice, they were trying to keep the Dark Ones from finding the last remaining piece of the Dark Mother. Their actions were but a part of a great war between dark and light. The upheavals they caused threatened the Balance of the world again. So the winter had to come to all the northern lands to keep the Circle of Time from being broken so soon.”

  “I’m afraid all this is sounding rather confusing to me,” Alaric said. “Yet it does explain some things that have never been understood in my world before.” He looked thoughtful. “Does this mean that the fate of the Old Ones...”

  “Was necessary to keep the Balance intact,” Culann said. “And they knew it, so they made the sacrifice willingly. However, they were clever enough to realize that the magic had to live on.”

  “And so they made the First Born,” Alaric said.

  “And passed the legacy on to a select few of the mortalborn to create those you call mageborn. But they gave up their physical selves to keep the power of magic in your land. And you should not believe for a moment that all your Old Ones are gone. Some still live. You just don’t always have the eyes to see them. Remember, your Old Ones, the Hidden Folk, the Stone Folk, the Jotun, the Ettin, the Trowkin...even the Elderkin and the Yougerkin, the Dark Ones, the Shadow Lords and the Dokkalfar. They were all kin of a sort who existed long before the birth of mortal man. And not all of them have an appearance that would be familiar to the humans.”

  Alaric glanced off at the visible line of the horizon that he could see through the tall windows of the king’s chambers. All his life, he had heard stories of giants who became mountains, Old Ones who became stone circles or trees...and of Keltoran bogie folk and demons in Mallow. Now to know that all those stories might well be true...

  If there were more things in this world than mageborn eyes could see, that was a scary thought.

  “Come now, let us refresh ourselves, and hurry to my wife’s domain,” Culann said. “If you are lucky, your Talena will be there still. You might even be allowed to speak to her before she is taken back to the tower...”

  Culann turned and clapped his hands, and servants seemed to materialize out of everywhere. Alaric was ushered towards the curtains in Culann’s wake. They passed under an arch and entered another chamber. The bath turned out to be a large pool of water steaming and scented. Fresh clothes were brought out, and Culann showed no sign of being the least bit embarrassed as he began undressing.

  Alaric took his time undressing and getting into the water. Seated on a bench that ran around the inner rim of the pool, he realized his chest was itching terribly. He rubbed the spot over his breastbone in absent thought as servants brought sponges, crawled into the water and offered to scrub his back. He assured them he could manage for himself and tried not to stare as men who looked even younger than the king cleaned every inch of the royal body while Culann leaned back and closed his eyes. Alaric concentrated on cleaning himself, because something Fenelon said about Ronan whispered in the back of his mind.

  And staring, even in admiration, is just plain rude, he scolded himself.

  “Why is that?” Culann asked.

  Alaric looked up, stopping in the middle of raising his sponge. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Why is staring in admiration considered rude?” Culann asked.

  Alaric’s face heated. “You...can hear my thoughts?” he asked.

  Culann smiled. “Only the more obvious ones. Deeper thoughts require probing your mind, which I perceive is always hidden under a cloud. So why is it rude to stare in admiration?”

  “Well...it just is,” Alaric said. “My mother always said so, at least.”

  Culann laughed. “And we do as our mothers bid no matter how old we become,” the king said. He nodded. “My mother, thankfully, does not live at the palace anymore.”

  “Really?” Alaric said, glad to have the conversation go elsewhere.

  “She has her own place in the mountains to our east,” King Culann said. “I was pleased that she went there to live after my father passed away. She was always trying to tell me what to do even after I became king.”

  “How did your father die?” Alaric asked. “I mean, if you and your people are immortal...”

  Culann’s face shifted into a soft frown. “My father was murdered by one of the Shadow Lords,” he said. “He was out hunting, and he made camp, and as he slept in his tent, a Shadow Lord crept in and cut his throat.”

  “But I thought the Shadow Lords were all trapped in places around the world.”

  “Not all, alas,” Culann said. “A few of them roam free, hiding in the old caves and the darkest parts of the forest, waiting for the time when the Dark Mother will rise again. Which is why the Balance is in so much peril right now.”

  Alaric felt Ronan stir just a hint. He tried to concentrate on the bard’s spirit, but the movement stopped, leaving Alaric feeling a little cold.

  So there were still Shadow Lords loose in the world.

  Fenelon would have been interested in that information.

  “You will turn into a prune if you stay in the water much longer,” King Culann suddenly said.

  Alaric looked up. The king had already risen from his bath and was being wrapped in warm towels and dried. Alaric pulled himself around, looking for a towel. Two servants stood at the edge, holding one for him.

  He sighed and drew out of the water, and before he could reach for the towel, they had it wrapped around him.

  Frowning, he resigned himself to being dried and dressed, just eager to get the humiliation over with. Because his mind was working on the bits of information that King Culann shared as they bathed.

  There were still Shadow Lords in the world.

  Had Tane Doran been one of them?

  SIXTY-ONE

  The blue lights were growing more frequent now. Gareth watched them with wary eyes. He did not like the way they flitted in and out almost teasingly. As though they hoped he would follow them into the depths of the Stone Forest.

  He wondered too if Fenelon was feeling the same sensations Gareth had become aware of as soon as they followed the path into the trees. Probably not since Fenelon was mentally cataloging the trees themselves.

  “That’s an oak,” Fenelon said. “And that’s a hemlock. And over there, that looks like a willow. I know a dozen mageborn who would pay high prices to have these trees in their gardens.”

  “Stone trees in a garden?” Hobbler said.

  “Sure.” Fenelon said. “Think of it. Lovely shade all year round. Never a need to rake the foliage or worry when there is a drought. And they don’t even need trimming.”

  Gareth sighed. “When are you going to grow up, Fenelon,” he said.

  “Hey, just because I have not lost my fascination with the world and its multitude of curiosities...oh, look! An apple tree!”

  Gareth rolled his eyes. Fenelon dashed off the path to examine the tree more closely. As he did, the blue wisps of light gathered in force. Gareth tensed. That didn’t look promising.

  “Fenelon, maybe you better not do that...”

  Fenelon waved off the suggestion and continued into the trees. His lantern bobbled in and out of view. The deeper he went, the harder it became to see his light. Gareth snarled, “Fenelon!” but there was no answer. It was as though his son had given in to the will of those gathering lights.

  “Where’s he going?” Hobbler asked. “Why is he stepping off the path?”

  “Because he’s a Greenfyn,” Gareth growled and stepped off the path to follow. “Come on, or we’ll lose him for certain.”

  “We could just as easily become lost ourselves,” Hobbler complained.

  “Then stay here and wait for us,” Gareth said.

  “Alone?” Hobbler said, glancing around at the bluish light forms that now seemed to gather among the branches of the trees.

  “Your choice,” Gareth called back.

  He heard feet thumping rapidly across the ground,
and as he stopped to get his bearings and another bead on Fenelon’s lantern light, he felt a small body smack into him from behind.

  “Hey!” Gareth shouted, momentarily distracted.

  “Sorry,” Hobbler said. “Which way?”

  Which way, indeed? Gareth swung back around, searching the stone trees to no avail. Fenelon’s lantern had disappeared.

  “Horns!” Gareth snarled. He stretched mage senses, seeking his son’s essence among the trees. To his surprise and dismay, there were many essences here, shifting and moving like milkweed. He glanced overhead and saw that more and more of the blue lights were gathering. “Horns,” he muttered again and scanned the forest in anger.

  “Fenelon!” he shouted. His voice echoed around him, and then his cry was taken up by voices not his own.

  “Fenelon, Fenelon, Fenelon...”

  “Oh, no,” Hobbler said.

  “Oh, no what?” Gareth asked, glowering at the Dvergar.

  “You’ve awakened them...”

  “Them who?”

  “The Hidden Folk,” Hobbler said, his voice trembling with terror. “We’re doomed!”

  Gareth snarled an oath under his breath and once more scanned the trees. The blue light brought out details that even lanterns and foxfire did not show. He could see cloverleaves, moss and flowers under his feet. A butterfly on the trunk of a tree, frozen in time. All of it made of stone, as though some great carver had the skill to breath life into them. No wonder Fenelon had leapt into the woods. These wonders must have called to him.

  But I’ve got to find him. Gareth seriously considered climbing a snarled old oak of stone when he noticed that blue lights gathered over another part of the Stone Forest. Of course, if they were overhead here, they would naturally be where Fenelon was.

  “Come on, Hobbler,” Gareth said, grabbing the Dvergar by the scruff and dragging him along. “Fenelon is this way.”

  Hobbler had little choice but to give in with a whimper of terror. But he went all the same, sticking close to Gareth. And as they ran on, the lights overhead followed them, leaping from tree to tree. Now Gareth could see that the lights had shape and form. Human...or human-like. They were ethereal and beautiful, and at the same time, terrifying, for he could see their faces now. But he hurried on, heedless of their presence, determined to do one thing.