Luthiel's Song: The War of Mists

by Robert Marston Fannéy

  After Mithorden’s lessons, Vanye came to instruct her in swordplay. If anything, he knocked her around worse than the first time. Leowin seemed to take a grim pleasure in watching and would sit by cheering for her, or laughing when Vanye tripped her up. Eventually, Vanye became irritated and told Leowin to keep quiet or to join in with Luthiel. In an instant, Leowin was standing beside her waving her practice sword carefully through the air.

  In all it was a very bad idea. Both were left grumbling and covered in bruises. Watching the whole exchange, Luthiel realized the tension between Leowin and Vanye was almost at a breaking point. At one time, Luthiel managed to trip Vanye. But he caught Leowin by the arm and rolled her—using the momentum to spring back to his feet. For a brief instant, she was clasped tight in his arms. He came up flushed and red-cheeked. Leowin gasped as if winded.

  From the look on her face, Luthiel realized it wasn’t exhaustion. Afterward, she and Leowin were laying side by side staring up at a meteor shower. It lit up the sky in a brilliant rain beneath the fading stars.

  “What do you think will happen with you and Vanye?” Luthiel asked without thinking. But her sister just lay there, eyes glowing with more than the light of shooting stars. Before she got up and walked away, she wiped her cheeks.

  Luthiel had her own sorts of troubles. Galwin picked her flowers. Vaelros tried to write her a song. It all ended up badly. She did her best to graciously accept these offers but she was too mixed up to take them seriously. She sighed when she realized her worry for so many things would prevent any romantic feelings for a long time to come.

  To throw them off, she would say things that confused them. But she was careful not to be cruel or to play them against each other. She needed their friendship and was wise enough to sense that spurned love can bring the worst kind of hate.

  Stranger was Othalas’ reaction. At first, he seemed to take their interest in her with a few rumbles and half-hearted growls. But as they became more persistent, he grew more protective. She found it both odd and strangely endearing. Perhaps the wolf could sense her distress better than the others. But the primal thing flashing in his eyes made her wonder.

  As they traveled, the sky grew stranger. At night, meteor showers rained down with bright intensity. Dim stars winked out. Moons became redder and Cauthraus grew what looked like flaming hair. Worst of all were the two white points—like comet tails side-by-side—that rose up from the northern sky, growing longer night after night. During the day, the sky was milky white rather than the usual blue. People spoke of an early winter. But the days seemed hot as ever. A few, remembering the Blood Witch prophesy, spoke softly of the terrible ruler they were about to coronate and of the terror she was even now bringing to the land. Some of these deserted and were never seen again. Others argued with their fellows and too many heard them. Rumor of their passing spread throughout the Minonowe, and elves gathered at a safe distance to watch them. Curious children could be seen, peeking through the grass on hilltops, or clustering in the treetops—all daring to get a better look at the witch.

  “If it gets any darker, I don’t think I’ll be the queen of much,” she said to the werewolf as they rode late into one evening beneath the now nightly rain of stars. Cauthraus had risen. It wore a red mane, shining like a dim sun.

  “Two fangs says Zalos left some here to spread nasty rumors about you. We should round them up and banish them. Better yet, let me bite them in half. That should make them quiet.”

  Luthiel trembled. “It’s what they’re looking for. Don’t you realize?”

  “If you’re weak they’ll come in quicker for the kill.”

  “I will not make myself a tyrant,” she said severely.

  “I would not see you become a martyr,” the great wolf growled. “If you don’t use your power others will take it from you.”

  To this Luthiel had no response. So she just sat quietly. They were only a day away from Yewstaff now. She was glad for it. The sooner the better. For it looked like at least part of Zalos’ prophecy would come to pass. As she rode, she thought of Mithorden’s words and wondered, even now, what might be happening in The World of Dreams.

  In Dreaming

  That night, she went looking for Mithorden. The sorcerer disappeared at the oddest times! And often when she seemed to need him most. She finally found him talking quietly to the Valkyrie.

  “I’ve not seen the Dark Forest in an age,” the sorcerer was saying. “It’s amazing to hear how large it has grown.”

  “The hunt masters ride almost with impunity,” Elonwyn replied. “Hundreds of humans turn Changeling each year. It’s only a matter of time before Romas comes to the Dark Forest in war.”

  “Maybe it’s what the Forest Lord wants?” Mithorden said, stroking his chin. “Oh, hello Luthiel!”

  They all stopped talking out of respect for the young queen. It made Luthiel a bit uncomfortable.

  “I need your help with something.”

  The sorcerer nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

  Luthiel glanced at the Valkyrie. For some reason, she felt uncomfortable talking about it in front of them. So she lowered her voice and leaned closer to the sorcerer.

  “It’s about Dreaming. Like what my father did. I think I need to learn how.” She looked meaningfully at the army. “Zalos is poisoning them against me. It gets worse every day. Othalas says I should make examples. But I don’t want to match cruelty with cruelty. The only way I can think of changing this is to go to them in dreams.”

  Mithorden shook his head. “I cannot tell you.”

  “How many times are you going to say that?” Luthiel replied.

  Mithorden smiled. “I don’t know how your father did it. I asked him once and you know what he said?”

  “What?”

  “He said ‘I cannot tell you.’”

  Luthiel sniffed in exasperation.

  “But I do know he used Methar Anduel,” Mithorden continued. “He would step into the World of Dreams while he slept. You did it with the owl, remember?”

  Luthiel nodded fiercely. “I know! I just didn’t mean to and I don’t know how I did it.”

  “Maybe if you decided to go looking for the owl?”

  Luthiel felt a chill run over her. “But the owl is dead.”

  “Yes. But if that’s the last thing you remember of the dream world then it may be a good place to start. Try thinking about it before you go to sleep. Keep Methar Anduel close!”

  She frowned. Thinking of the owl made her feel afraid and uncomfortable. It was a terrifying dream. One that almost got her killed. “Thank you, Mithorden,” she said solemnly and then walked off to her bedroll. When she got to it, she found that Othalas was already asleep nearby.

  Not fair, she thought. He can just ball up and sleep anywhere.

  She plopped down and lay in her bedroll for a time watching as stars fell and the moons ghosted across the darkening heavens. When she thought of the owl, only violence came back to her. The flash of jaws. The fall of bloody feathers. She tried to turn back to the clearing. To think of the owl alive on the branch. But she kept returning to dragon jaws. Methar Anduel gave comforting light and she focused on the small spark inside, letting its warmth hold her eyes. She found herself drifting off into the light. It surrounded her. Finally she succumbed to sleep.

  She felt as though she floated rather than stood. But the strangest part was she could look down and see herself sleeping beside Othalas. Everything seemed to come out sharper. Brighter. The World of Dreams swayed around her. She had this sense of Other. A threatening presence beyond her sight. A blackness in the sky near the northwestern horizon. She remembered Gorothoth, reminding herself his first rise was still a day away. Small comfort, for the sense of Other remained.

  Like a spirit, she began to drift away. It was strange. She simply thought and she moved. If she looked at something, she could be there in an instant. She slipped through her army. Some, still walked awake. At first, she was worried they might see
her and not understand or worse—be afraid. But no one seemed to notice as she passed among them.

  I’m invisible.

  Not knowing what else to do, she made her way to those who slept. She started with a group of Blade Dancers she’d seen glaring at her earlier. For a time, she stood there, watching them sleep. It was strange, for if she looked at their faces she could see flashes of their dreams. Now and then, something would rise up from them—a white spark or a shadow. It would hover above them for a time and then drift off—slowly taking shape. It made her feel uneasy and she wondered what lurked in this world she’d entered.

  Almost completely by accident, she noticed the thread. It happened when she looked down. But there, like a thin strand of gossamer, was a silver thread touching her back and then running away to her body. If she concentrated on the thread she could still get a sense of her body—comfortably asleep many yards away. She turned her eyes back to the dreamers.

  So how do I speak to them in dreams? How can I change their hearts as my father did?

  Not knowing what else to do, she knelt beside one and touched him. He seemed to tremble and then pulled the covers closer despite the summer heat. Before her eyes a scene came together. It was as if she looked through a window and into his dreams. She saw him running through a forest—bow in hand. A brother ran beside him. They chased a deer through an early spring rain. She felt water on her face and realized she was there in his thought. She appeared before him bathed in a ray of moonlight but her face was warm as if with inner fire. Seeing her, he stopped, his eyes filled with awe and fear.

  “I know what you thought of me,” she said at a whim.

  “Would you bewitch me even as I sleep?” He raised his bow and shot an arrow at her. She held out her hand and the arrow turned into a sparrow, flying away with a chirp.

  “I am too late for that. You are already bewitched by a fear and a shadow on your heart.” She stepped forward, lifted her hand and touched him on the chest. “I release you—fear no more.”

  He gasped and fell to his knees. Suddenly, the dream grew dark. A shadow seemed to be draining out of him and into the dream. For a light fell on him and, overhead, the stars and moons grew bright.

  “I did not come to hurt you,” she whispered. “Nor did I ask to be queen. You should not be wary of me but of those who lust for the power I would have gladly refused.”

  There was a flash and she was slipping away. She found herself in the camp again. The Blade Dancer was sitting up and, for a moment, it seemed he saw her. But he blinked his eyes and the recognition faded.

  “Strange,” he said. Then he shook one of his companions awake. “Arthes, I just had the oddest dream.”

  His companion wasn’t happy about being awakened so abruptly. “A dream? Is that trouble worth waking me for?”

  “It was about her.” He nodded toward where Luthiel slept on the hill. “Our new queen. I think we might be wrong.”

  “Wrong? She’s a friend to Vyrl, plain and simple.”

  “You’ve twice been sent by Vyrl to name Chosen. Are you a friend of Vyrl?”

  “She let them get away with murder. Now look at the sky. See how its grown darker since her return? And still summer! You think it wise we let her rule?”

  “But Zalos is hardly any better. He makes dark deals with dark things.”

  “Because he has to, I hear. You know politics. It’s hardly ever a matter of choice between good and good, but the least of two evils.”

  “I just don’t think she’s evil, Arthes.”

  Arthes gripped him by the shoulder and smiled. “I understand why a young fae like you might have good dreams about her. She does seem fair. But seeming fair and fair are not the same. Sleep on it and if you feel the same way tomorrow we’ll talk some more. For now I’m tired. Good night!”

  So here are the limits of dreams, she thought. But it did seem to work for the young Blade Dancer. So she moved through the camp, entering the dreams of those she could. Some were closed to her. Over time, she realized she could only enter a dream. If a person slept without dreaming there was no place for her to go. One other thing she discovered—singing seemed to work on any dreamer within earshot. She wished she’d learned this at the night’s start, for it would have saved her a lot of time.

  As she walked, she made a song telling of her journey to the Vale of Mists. Telling how, if she didn’t go, her sister would have been sent to be food for Vyrl. How the Vyrl made a bargain with her to save her sister’s life. How her blood saved them from madness. Luthiel’s song entered their dreams and they could see things as she had. Walk her paths. Share in her fears and triumphs. They trembled at the first sight of Othalas and struggled through the Cave of Painted Shadows. They listened to the Vyrl’s plea and were forced to make the tough choices along with her. They saw the Vyrl’s transformation and witnessed Ecthellien’s sacrifice.

  A number woke up shaking their heads. One shouted out “What else could be done!?” before sitting upright and awake.

  It wasn’t an easy story for her to tell. She still ached at the loss of Ecthellien. Still she felt as if she’d done wrong by freeing the Vyrl. But she sang on. And the song showed her heart and many understood, in dreaming, the troubles of Luthiel in life.

  By the time Oerin’s Eye brightened the eastern sky, she’d passed through about a quarter of the camp. She returned to her body and entered a deep, dreamless, sleep.

  Lineage

  She woke after only an hour, finding the Wyrd Stone cupped in both hands and feeling oddly refreshed. Camp broke and as they began the last day’s march before reaching Yewstaff she thought she could sense a small change. Fewer people scowled at her and many returned her smiles openly. There was still a sense of anger and she realized there was a lot of work ahead.

  She wondered if what she did was wrong. Did I manipulate them? If they knew, would they feel betrayed? She remembered the Vyrl’s blood in the cup, the blood on her hands when healing. Am I the witch after all? As the doubt passed through her she rebelled against it. No. She would have sung the same song in the waking world if they would only have listened. She’d told no lies. Made no demand. She’d just found a way to share with them.

  She realized then the power of this troubled time. To exploit dreams. To turn them into nightmares. And by doing so to gain great power. As surely as others were doing even as she tried to free them.

  They continued along the path and the great tree grew ever larger.

  “It really does look big as a mountain,” she said to Othalas. “They’ve always seemed a mystery to me.”

  “Few know about the great trees.”

  “Do you?” she asked, feeling a sudden spark of interest.

  The great wolf gave a gravelly laugh. “More than most.”

  “Tell me,” she said, tugging on his fur for emphasis.

  Othalas shook his head and gave a playful growl. “Well I will! If you just stop that!”

  Luthiel let go with a laugh. “Go on then. I’m waiting for your words, oh wise wolf!”

  Othalas snorted. “Some say they’re World Trees. But that’s only true about Anaturnar, the great tree of the Dark Forest. His roots stretch all the way to the heart of Oesha. These other trees came from different worlds.”

  “Different worlds?”

  The werewolf gave a gravelly chuckle at her wild-eyed expression. “None of the great races arose here. They sailed across the sea of stars. And what do you think bore them?”

  “‘The sailors on the starlight sea,’” Luthiel said thoughtfully. “I’ve always loved that story. I’d imagined they came on some kind of great sailing ship.”

  “Mmmmmrrrrrr Hhhhhurrrrrrr,” the werewolf replied. “Half right. They did come on great ships of a sort. Living ships. Trees of Life.”

  Luthiel looked at Yewstaff with renewed interest. They were closer and she could see it much better now. Its branches grew out in great swoops and curls. They spiraled around making it look like a giant green to
rnado. “That’s a ship?”

  “It was. Once it set root to Oesha, it became a part of this world. Never to leave again.”

  “Amazing!” Luthiel said. “How could a thing like that be made?”

  “The knowledge is lost. But it is said they grew with eternal fire cupped in their roots. Fires as hot as stars. Do you know the old myths, Luthiel? The ones that even most elves have forgotten?”

  Luthiel laughed. “Which ones? I know a few.”

  The great wolf chuckled. “But there is one old myth you may not know of a world far away. A place that long ago was only inhabited by humans. Yet from them arose elves, goblins and all other dreaming creatures. Even angels.”

  Luthiel shook her head. “Now that’s beyond believing. Everyone knows elves are the oldest race.”

  “Just because elves live longer now, doesn’t mean they came before. But what would you know? You only grew up with elves. You’re not one of them.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your mother Merrin, is she an elf?”

  “Well, I don’t suppose. She’s queen of the blue moon. Some say its living spirit.”

  “And that would make her?”

  “Aedar—an angel.” Luthiel’s voice trailed off as she stared into the sky. “Now I suppose you’re going to tell me angels are a younger race than elves or some other equal absurdity.”

  “They are,” Othalas said with a gravelly laugh.

  “Now you’re really not making sense!”

  “Remember, long ago, I was a human. So I had access to histories the elves have never seen.”