Luthiel's Song: The War of Mists

by Robert Marston Fannéy

  “But Zalos is not the only one to hold to account.” She felt guilty as she spoke the words. Now how am I any better than Zalos? Asking them to suffer one evil and then to fight against another? Or am I just selfishly trying to use them to save mother?

  I promised the Vyrl, she argued against the dark thought. They have changed.

  Despite her inward doubt, she spoke the words all the clearer. She was fighting with everything to save the mother she never knew. To save the idea of what they might be—the fragment of a family she might save. Her words echoed among the mounds in the heat of day. Burned hotter in the heat of her anger.

  “In the name of Ecthellien, Tuorlin and Vlad Valkire. My bond, my High Lord, and my father, I call the Vale’s rulers Ahmberen and Elshael come forward!”

  There was a murmur among the elves. From the front of the Vale’s army rode the Vyrl upon their eyeless steeds—bone and blackness. She recalled that instant not too long ago when three Vyrl had ridden to claim her as their prize and their food. Now they rode to beg for mercy.

  Vaelros and Leowin followed. Vaelros rode his strange Vale-horse while Leowin sat on the back of a winged lion with ruby feathers instead of fur. Looking closer at Vaelros, Luthiel noticed he still appeared weak and his eyes were bloodshot. Yet it seemed he’d recovered from the worst of the poison. Leowin gave Luthiel a look of amazement and Vaelros’ wan face was filled with relief and longing. Luthiel sighed. As a woman, she understood Vaelros’ look. But she couldn’t return the desire in his eyes. Instead, she gave him her best warm smile and turned quickly to the Vyrl. Though tall and riding great horses they had to look up at her. The werewolf was a giant and he made even the Vyrl’s steeds look like runts. Melkion’s chuckle whispered in her ear.

  “So even a Vyrl may be humbled,” the dragon mused.

  Gormtoth had come behind them and across his great shoulders he carried a chest of black iron. It stood out wider than his frame and was fully three feet deep. Luthiel gazed on them with her best imperious glare. It shocked her how easily it came. What’s happening? What am I becoming?

  “I have bound you as my father did—by blood. Dismount and kneel before them.” Ahmberen and Elshael hesitated. Vyrl did not like to be commanded. She felt their minds reaching for hers, but she walled them out.

  “Do as I say!” she shouted. “You have wronged them. You will show apology.”

  Together and with some of the grace they must have once possessed, they swung off their horses and knelt.

  Not to me, she thought to the Vyrl. To them. She pointed at the fae. Slowly, the Vyrl shifted to face them.

  “Now speak after me,” she said to the Vyrl.

  The Vyrl looked at her and nodded. They did not like this public display. But they understood. She could sense hope along with humiliation and even a little anger. But there was no way she could overcome the pride of Vyrl. Hopefully, she could convince the fae to be merciful.

  “We have wronged you,” she said the words and the Vyrl spoke after. “We were driven mad by hunger but it is no justification. We were angels but we became monsters. We ask you to forgive us.”

  Brought low before the elves, the Vyrl looked out. There were many among the elves who fingered weapons and thought they could end the Vyrl here and now. But many also heard remorse in the Vyrl’s words. These nodded and mumbled their forgiveness. At this Luthiel smiled grimly and continued.

  “I know many of you do not trust the Vyrl. But there is no treachery left in them. My blood has driven out the hunger. They will be our allies. If they live long enough, they will become angels again. No more Chosen will be sent.” She paused and spoke half out of dread, half out of her odd, happy, memory of Ottomnos. “I take their place. I will be both their sacrifice and their living law.”

  “And what if you die?” A fae among them shouted. Her breath caught when she saw he was a Gruagach.

  Mithorden answered for her. “If Luthiel dies then there will be no more hope.”

  The elves looked at the Sorcerer in shock. It wasn’t the answer they were looking for. But there was an awakening in some eyes and many looked on Luthiel in wonder.

  “I hope to live,” she said, then turned toward the Vyrl. “Now rise and return to the Vale of Mists. You are part of the Faelands, now. But you may not live with us three hundred and three years. A necessary parting. As necessary as the old wounds are deep and slow to heal.”

  Then Elshael motioned to Gormtoth who lowered the great chest. As one, they mounted their terrible horses. Ahmberen rode to the chest and lifted the lid. A riches of gold, gems, and the metals of seven moons gleamed beneath the lid.

  “It can never equal the value of lives or vanished experience,” the Vyrl said. “Give a portion to each family who has lost a loved one to our madness.”

  Elshael lifted her voice above the fae. “We hunt the spiders and will aid in the scouring of the mounds. Only ask, and we will hunt them across all the Faelands until they are dead to the last or driven back to their black mountains.”

  This brought a low cheer from the elves. Then the Vyrl were riding back to their army. Ahmberen blew his horn and drew his sword. There was a flashing beneath the suns as the army lifted all its weapons high in salute.

  “To Luthiel!” The Vyrl shouted.

  “Luthiel!” the army echoed. Then it turned and departed into the hills. As it went Luthiel could sense the Vyrl’s bitterness at the humiliation. They were proud beings and shock and displeasure rippled back along her bond with them. It was necessary, she thought back to them. They did not reply.

  She watched them go for some minutes before turning to Mithorden.

  “No more hope?” she said.

  In answer, the Sorcerer lifted his eyes to Oerin whose swelling orb seemed to crown his head in a blue and silver fire.

  “Yes, I’ll tell you more later.”

  A Kindness Unearned

  The Vyrl’s army sifted into the hills. She stood silent, watching. Their thought departed steadily as the distance increased and she was reminded of Ecthellien. Three have died for me now. Perhaps it was exhaustion, but the thought didn’t hurt so much now.

  Across the battlefield lay dead and wounded.

  “Thousands of immortal lives were lost this day,” she whispered. But these words also felt hollow and she knew events were finally starting to overwhelm her. If I don’t feel it, then what have I lost? Or is it just the capacity to feel so much? She wondered if it was just a mercy of the heart that, like the body, when confronted with great hurt grew numb to it. Beyond a certain point, the awareness of pain does no good.

  On her shoulder, Melkion hissed in reply. “They’ve descended into the dust. Never again will they see the light or know.”

  “It’s just beginning,” Mithorden added.

  “If this is just beginning, my heart won’t feel the light anymore and soon life will seem little better than the dust.” Saddened and unwilling to hear or speak anymore, Luthiel urged Othalas away from the hillside. The others followed and stayed quiet as if sensing her need for silence. Without another word, she rode through the army.

  Leowin looked up at her sister with a mixture of sadness and pride. Here was the orphan she’d loved as her own. Her eyes shone and she smiled at the thought she’d known her all these years—as a child, as a friend, and now as queen.

  “You know,” she said to Luthiel, “I thought I’d lost you? I was going to die in the Vale of Mists. You’d run away. At least that’s what I’d thought.”

  Something in Leowin’s voice awakened Luthiel to feeling again. Suddenly the sadness returned. But with it came joy as well. Is this what it is to be alive? To feel such sadness and joy at once? She looked at Leowin. “I know,” she said simply. “I’m sorry.”

  Leowin stared into Luthiel’s sad eyes. She wondered at their age and wisdom. These were no longer the eyes of a child.

  “I didn’t want you to die,” Luthiel continued. “I would have rather lost myself.”

&nb
sp; Leowin couldn’t keep back the tears any longer. “Well, you did, in a way,” she stared into those eyes that were both so strange and so familiar.

  “I lost my innocence,” Luthiel said.

  Leowin looked away. “I should thank you.”

  “I’d do it all over again.”

  “I knew something. The secrets, the Stone.”

  There was silence between them again. The others were quiet or held back out of respect as they continued through the army.

  “You should rest some, Luthiel.”

  “I know. But I want to do something first.” She wanted to see the wounded. To pay her respects and to help if she could. I don’t know what I can or cannot do anymore. It all seems so unclear. So she made her way to where the fallen had been gathered together on the hillside. Elf and beast, faerie and goblin. All wounded. Many dying. Though it was terrible and the field seemed to go on and on, Luthiel knew it could well be worse. She climbed off Othalas, walking slowly through them, touching a head here, giving a whisper of comfort there. When she reached the center, she came to a stop and looked around. Healers drifted among the hurt, weaving their Wyrd, doing their best to mend the broken bodies.

  “I hope things haven’t changed too much,” she said to Leowin suddenly. “It would make me very sad to have gone through so much only to have lost the sister I fought to save.” In a short bound, she was standing beside Leowin’s winged lion. She put a hand on her leg. “You’re tapped,” she said with a half-smile.

  Leowin leapt off her lion and pulled her sister close. She laughed and the tears fell. Caught up, Luthiel laughed as well.

  “It wasn’t easy getting here. But it’s good to finally be home,” Luthiel said. Her eyes returned to the wounded. “Let’s see if we can help them.”

  Leowin nodded and together they walked through the wounded. Luthiel had some idea of trying to use the Wyrd to heal them. But she didn’t know where to start.

  “Mother’s bound to be here somewhere,” Leowin said.

  The word mother made Luthiel stop. It was amazing how much hurt one little word could do. But the thought of Merrin was enough to bring all the rage back full force.

  “My mother’s at Arganoth,” she said numbly. “But I would be very glad to see Winowe.”

  Leowin frowned but kept silent. She was too glad to be back together to start a quarrel. But there was some deep pain in Luthiel and with it came a distance she couldn’t cross. Half the things she said she couldn’t quite follow. Mother in Arganoth? What does she mean?

  Leowin shook her head to quiet these thoughts. You’re not giving her a chance, she thought. She’s been through so much. Leowin wondered how she would feel if her real mother—

  “Luthiel!” Leowin shouted in realization.

  Her sister turned with a start.

  “What is it?”

  “I’m a fool! I just realized something I should have known all along. Merrin’s your mother.”

  Luthiel nodded. “I should have told you. I keep thinking people know things they don’t. But through all that’s happened it’s hard to keep track.” She grinned as she watched Leowin working it all out. You’ve always loved mysteries, she thought with a laugh.

  “It makes sense now! I thought you may be related to Valkire in some way. But his daughter... and Merrin?”

  “—is Zalos’ captive,” Luthiel answered before she could ask the question. “They say he’s trying to force her to marry him.”

  Leowin’s mind was still adjusting, still taking in all the new facts. They were so huge and at the same time so personal. The pain and anger in Luthiel’s voice shot through her like lightning. But Leowin couldn’t help but be overjoyed at witnessing it. To think what secrets she may discover being so close to Vlad Valkire’s heir! As soon as the thought came to her, she felt ashamed.

  She’s my sister!

  But her excitement and curiosity lingered. Was it so bad to want to know about her? Was it wrong to want to witness incredible things? She’s always lusted after the deep secrets. In Luthiel she’d found a way to uncover so many!

  With an effort of will, she brought her excitement under control. Luthiel is hurting, she thought. I’d be hurting too.

  Almost without thinking, she put her arm across Luthiel’s shoulder. She felt Luthiel lean into her. Though taller and stronger than Leowin, she still felt surprisingly vulnerable.

  Not much more than a little girl, really. Yet you’ve defeated great ones.

  “Zalos will kill me if he can,” Luthiel said. “He’s already made me into some kind of monster to half the Faelands.” She stared at her sister with those blue-green eyes that seemed both deep and yet full of light. “You don’t think I’m a monster, do you?”

  “Monster?” Leowin said as if the thought were the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. “You’re a hero! You’ve got the blood of gods and angels in you!”

  “Vyrl have angel’s blood too. Look what good it did them. But they can also be heroes. I’ve seen it.” Luthiel looked away and thought of Ecthellien. “Even Zalos was good once. Don’t you see Leowin? It doesn’t matter what we are. We’re all capable of evil.”

  “But you mean so well.”

  “Mean well? I did with you, yes. But not with others.” She thought of Zalos and how she’d kill him in a moment given the chance. “Sometimes I wonder if well meaning really helps so much.”

  “It should help.”

  “Don’t you realize? We all do terrible things. We do them to survive. Even in day to day life. We eat animals—don’t you think they see us as monsters?”

  “But they’re just animals. They don’t think as we do.”

  “What did thinking ever have to do with being? They have lives. They have feelings. They have experience. It took me to see through an owl’s eyes to realize it. And he died for me too.”

  Leowin frowned. She’d never gone so deep or put so fine an understanding to things. It was truth. It disturbed her. There, Leowin. You wanted mystery. You wanted deep secrets. Now you’re up to your neck in them!

  “But it’s natural for us to eat them,” Leowin said in self-defense.

  “Why is it so? We have a choice. Long, long, long ago our ancestors chose to eat animals. Maybe they did it to survive through a difficult time. Who knows. But they stuck to it. Over time and generations we got better at it. But we’re lucky. We can still eat other things too. We only subsist on death and suffering by choice.” Luthiel paused and looked at the werewolf who walked a little ways off beside them. “Othalas has no choice. By his body he is forced to kill in order to survive. In a certain way, I am like Othalas.”

  Luthiel felt strange. It was almost like she was watching someone else do the talking. But it felt good to have these things off her chest. She’d always shared deep things with Leowin and having her near made her feel free to unburden her mind.

  “Othalas? How could you be like him?”

  Luthiel drew Weiryendel. Leowin took a deep breath and held it. The crystal blade contained beauty—both joyful and sad. Its music and light expressed it perfectly. She noticed small factures in the blade and its abrupt incompleteness. Its light gleamed through, drawing each imperfection in a tiny rainbow.

  “Because people must die for me. This sword was broken. Now it is nearly reformed because three have died. It’s like Vanye said. My Wyrd is feeding on death.”

  “Who’s died?” Leowin said in a half-whisper.

  “An owl. Ecthellien. Now Tuorlin.”

  “The High Lord didn’t die for you. He died fighting spiders.”

  “No Leowin. He died because he went against Zalos. He died because he sided with me. His talent, Leowin! He saw me! I was the messenger, remember?”

  Leowin stared in shock.

  “How am I any different from Zalos?” Luthiel continued. “My Wyrd feeds on death. Zalos was right. I’m flawed.”

  Leowin had finally regained her composure. “I don’t see it that way, Luthiel,” she said quietly.
“They all may well have died for you. But it seems that at least Tuorlin chose to. Maybe your Wyrd feeds on selfless sacrifice. On heroism. On unearned acts of kindness. It’s in your nature. You did it for me.”

  Leowin paused and thought about what she was saying before she continued. “There’s another word for a kindness unearned. It’s grace, Luthiel. Your Wyrd responds to grace.”

  Luthiel lifted her arm and rubbed it across her eyes. When she’d cleared them, she looked at Leowin and then at Weiryendel.

  “Grace? If so, then it’s you who’s to blame for it all.” At this, Luthiel laughed. Its music made Leowin smile.

  “How could I? It was your Wyrd.”

  “My Wyrd! My Stone! It all started there on my birthday. You said it yourself—with love and a song. You awakened my Stone with an act of selfless kindness. You awakened my Wyrd with grace.”

  “And you returned the favor by saving my life.”

  “One good deed in return for another,” Luthiel said with a grin.

  “Grace for grace,” Leowin replied. “You know, I just thought of something. I know a little about how the magic of dreams works. Do you think it’s possible your Wyrd is acting in honor of those who’ve been heroes to you? Do you think it’s possible these acts make your Wyrd stronger? Strong enough to repair your father’s sword?”

  “I don’t know. But one thing’s certain. I don’t like the idea of people dying for me.”

  “Then you should think twice before running off to do it for others!”

  At this Luthiel laughed and Leowin grinned. It was good to be back together. It felt strong. It felt bittersweet. But there was something deeply right to it all. No matter what else happened in life, they were still sisters and that mattered most.