Luthiel's Song: The War of Mists

by Robert Marston Fannéy

  For Luthiel was to be coronated into a catastrophe. Even now, it was all Mithorden could do to help Luthiel keep the Faelands working together. Rimwold and Ashiroth, except for small enclaves, were not responding to communication. So Luthiel ascended into a state of ongoing war. The long summer heat and new encroaching darkness resulted in food shortages all across the Faelands. So the two Trees of Life remaining under Luthiel’s control—Ithildar and Yewstaff—were being aggressively harvested to make up any shortfall. All about the Faelands there was a deep-seated fear for the wolf in the sky. Conflict broke out in otherwise peaceful communities. Banditry, unheard of among the western fae, appeared and then became more widespread.

  Even more disconcerting were the reports of nightmares. Dimlock and other dark creatures appeared in their usual haunts but well before late fall, when such things normally happened. Garrisons were raised. Moonsteel weapons were distributed and the Faelands began to prepare for an indefinite time of trouble.

  Given the terrible happenings and rumor of more terrible things on the way, it might be thought that the mood of Luthiel’s coronation would have been subdued. Quite to the contrary, it was raucous. Those who supported Luthiel prepared for an even larger party than First Summer’s Eve. In fact, to many, her coronation marked the greatest celebration in living memory—and an elf lives a long, long, time.

  To those who feared Luthiel, who thought of her as the Witch, it was the perfect opportunity to give voice to fears.

  Fae came from every corner of the Faelands to witness and to show their support or antipathy. Long trains of them could be seen for miles around. Women came, children came, beasts and birds. Before she entered there were shouts, roars, chirps and cheers. Some chanted her name. Others tossed straw dolls dressed like Luthiel into the multi-colored bonfires. Some even sang the Blood Witch prophecy and afterward talked loudly of the sky and of the doom Luthiel was bringing to them all. There was food. There was wine. The fae sang and danced. Some of them even dueled and a few were taken away to be buried.

  Through the revelers skipped a little elfin girl. She was dressed in a black skirt and wore high black boots. In the crook of her arm she carried a little straw Luthiel doll. It was one she’d rescued from the bonfires. Now and then as she skipped through the partiers, she’d raise the doll up with both hands and twirl around. She hummed a tune and then broke out into a little song.

  When winds blow hard and darkness falls

  Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf?

  Fa la la la la

  When stars aren’t seen and demons come

  Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf?

  Fa la la la la

  Whose house is strong

  When the big wolf comes

  Fa la la la la

  Twig or wood or stone or life

  Fa la la la la

  Where will the four little goblins fly?

  Fa la la la la

  Now that we see him one and all --

  Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf?

  Fa la la la la

  With the last, she pulled the straw Luthiel doll close to her chest, swinging it beneath her breast as if it were her own baby and then shouted—“Ashes! Ashes! We all fall down!”

  Other fae watched her sidelong for she had a Sith look about her. Some even whispered wondering if she was a changeling. For such songs weren’t sung in the Faelands. They had a distinctly humanish quality.

  At the last light of day, Vanye appeared on a high branch of Yewstaff. He lifted a horn to his lips and let out a loud peal. He was dressed in kingly robes of navy blue with silver patterns. His horn was white and golden and his highly polished Cat-o-Fae glittered on his shoulder like a starburst. Then he descended the long and winding ridge in Yewstaff that served the elves as a stair. When he reached the bottom he stopped and looked up. An expectant silence fell upon them. There was a pause, then Luthiel appeared at the top of the stair. A hushed whisper rustled through the crowd. Dressed in the finest robes the Faelands could weave her, she smiled down to a hundred thousand faces.

  It was just nightfall and all the flir bug bulbs were atwinkle. The nightly star showers seemed even more intense. But the moons were quite dim and ghostly. Few, even those who feared her, could dispute her beauty that night. Never was a bride more beautiful on her wedding day. A crown of light blazed at her brow and it seemed to draw out her eyes—each like a window into an ocean. Some whispered that she shouldn’t have a crown yet. But others hushed them. For she was already a queen of the Vale of Mists.

  The dress she wore was of white with patterns of flowers and of stars set with clear gems. Through her star crown, were placed flower petals of peach, light blue, yellow, and pink. And the smile she gave them was enough to soften even the stoniest of hearts—if only for an instant.

  She descended slowly, giving them the chance to watch her. Some looked up with anger in their eyes. She did her best to smile at them as well. Of all times, now was when she needed friends the most.

  I’ve gained quite a few. But it never seems enough.

  Finally, she was standing beside Vanye and they walked together through the crowd. A long aisle was made for them and this was carpeted in flower petals. Posts of Yew wood were strung with borders of flir-silk and bright bulbs hung from them like lanterns. They walked along this aisle of lights, making their way to where Belethial, Margareth, Elayethel, and Mithorden stood. Margareth and Elayethel held the crowns. Elayethel held Ithilden’s. It was of blue and silver metal made in a shape like waves that flowed over glittering sapphires. Floating in Margareth’s hand was the Starlight crown. It was a small thing and seemed to be made of mist and globes of light. She held her palm up, fingers outstretched, and the crown made a perfect circle seeming to spin above her hand.

  Vanye and Luthiel drew up to the front. Together, they knelt before the Faelords, Mithorden, and the Wisdom.

  Mithorden raised his voice to those assembled.

  “We are gathered here today to witness an event of historic consequence. For today we crown the new King of Ithilden. We will also crown a lady of great importance. The very daughter of Vlad Valkire, who was the first to rule these lands—Luthiel Valkire.”

  A whisper made its way through the crowd at mention of her name.

  “Before we begin. I would like to say a few words. I have had the rare pleasure and privilege to serve both Valkires as teacher, general and advisor. Luthiel is her father’s daughter. In every way and more. She has proven herself in valor and compassion many times. Her first adventure, to the Vale of Mists, resulted in the restoration of Vyrl. Her second, in the defeat of a terrible enemy—Widdershae and, again a restoration. For now we have living among us Delvendrim who were once thought lost forever.”

  He nodded to a gathering of Delvendrim near the front of the assembly and they gave a cheer and made the sign of Oerin’s Eye to Luthiel who looked over her shoulder and nodded at them, smiling.

  Those who love me, love me well at least, she thought. But those who hate me hate me just as deeply.

  “Finally, before our new Fae Queen and Lord of Ithilden are crowned, I would like to put to rest a dreadful rumor. For some have made mention of the Blood Witch prophecy in an attempt to sow doubt about our new queen. But she is not responsible for the fading light nor this darkness that seems to hunt our suns. That darkness is an ancient terror. Something that has been with all living things since the beginning. Something that returns at the end of each age. Long before Luthiel was born, this terror set out across the heavens and began its hunt for Oesha and her suns. It is not her doing. Instead, it is used by Gorthar as a weapon. Luthiel may well be our best hope against it.”

  Utter silence fell over the gathering. Mithorden seemed pleased. For he smiled and nodded to Elayethel. She stepped forward and raised Ithilden’s crown high.

  “For the lands of Ithilden,” she chanted. “For their magic and their secret mazes. For the great tree Ithildar and for her navies of Aerinwe. For her peo
ple, fair and wise. I give you Vanye, grandson of Tuorlin, King of Ithilden and former High Lord of the Faelands.”

  She lowered the crown, placing it lightly on Vanye’s head.

  “May you rule well, Vanye. May you serve your people with love, honor, and compassion. And may they return it.”

  There was a pause after which Elayethel said “Rise Vanye, King of Ithilden!”

  There was a cheer among the elves and a formation of Blade Dancers drew their swords in simultaneous salute. Then they pivoted and together, their Cat-o-Fae flew out. Making a formation like a great V they shot out over the crowd, swooped up through Yewstaff’s higher branches, made a great arching loop, and then returned to land on the Blade-Dancers’ shoulders.

  “Hail Vanye! King of Ithilden!” They shouted. The cry was answered by the crowd. Vanye drew his own sword in salute.

  “People of Ithilden!” he cried. “I promise to serve you well and with heart. As I promise to serve the great lady who will be my Queen!” At this, he bowed once to Luthiel and then, sheathing his sword, stepped to the side so that she was alone.

  Now Margareth came forward. There was a warm look in her eye. Again, Luthiel wondered at the sense of comfort about her. At the strange familiarity. Then, Luthiel was startled as Margareth knelt so that she was eye to eye with Luthiel. She leaned close and then in a quiet voice, sang softly to Luthiel.

  Born of the blue abyss

  As my moon I stand alone

  My beauty is with loss entangled

  Forged a soul of sea and stone

  My lover was the great Valkire

  My enemy the ancient Vyrl

  Yet Vlad was broken by his sire

  Left me alone to bear his daughter

  Luthiel felt a chill come over her and it had nothing to do with this lady’s breath whispering past her ear. As she pulled back, she looked deep into her eyes and there found great love.

  “Mother?” Luthiel whispered, afraid that if she spoke too loud the spell would break and her hope would be ruined.

  With a smile, Merrin nodded. “I wanted you to know who it was that crowned you. Long have I watched you from afar. Always wishing to be closer. But terrible danger kept me away. I am sorry, Luthiel. But you must know this—I am very proud of my daughter. Ever have I loved your father. I love him still and you are the miracle that came out of my love for him.”

  Out in the gathering, fae were whispering. Jostling to get a better view as Luthiel and Merrin spoke. But all they saw was the Wisdom speaking privately with Luthiel. It seemed to add tension to the assembly and a great air of expectation. The mood touched all but Leowin whose brows lowered as she strained to hear. Her face puzzled as Merrin spoke. Then her mouth fell and there was wonder in her eyes.

  Finally, Merrin kissed Luthiel on the cheek, and then rose. Looking down at her, she said—“Are you ready?”

  Luthiel nodded. There were tears of joy in her eyes. Despite all the troubles, despite all those who still hated her, this moment was one of the happiest in her life. Merrin had come to her! Merrin was free of Zalos! Her own mother would crown her Queen of the Faelands! The tears spilled out and ran down into her ears. She almost laughed. At her hip, Weiryendel seemed to hum merrily.

  Yes. My father’s sword would know her well.

  “Fae of Oesha!” Merrin cried out with both joy and spirit. “On this day we are most blessed! For I am here to crown not one who came to power out of desire. But one who came to it out of love.

  “Love you ask? How so?

  “Well it was love that made Luthiel venture alone to the Vale of Mists to save her sister.” She nodded toward Leowin who stared at them both in amazement.

  “Love it was also that brought her here to you. For by her mercy, by her grace, she came to ask you to forgive. To forgive even Vyrl—in the name of love.

  “What is so great about love? Why is it so celebrated?

  “True love is the very sign of divinity. If you are filled with love then you are filled with the most essential thing in all creation.

  “Fae of Oesha. You are blessed. For the queen of love has come to be your queen. The queen of mercy. The daughter of Aëdar and Elohwë. Who has proven herself to be an angel.

  “Rise, Luthiel, in the name of love you came and in the name of love I crown you!” Then she placed the Starlight Crown above Luthiel’s head and it hovered there like a halo. Slowly, it dropped down until it touched her Netherduel. Then, picking it up, it lifted back above her head and was filled with light. Slowly, it began to spin. Winds moved with it, rustling her dress making her hair blow. Then it stopped and she was there before them all, crowned in brilliance.

  “Hail Luthiel! Queen of the Faelands!” Merrin cried out. “Hail Luthiel! Queen of Love!”

  The calls were echoed by the assembly and then, as one, they knelt before her.

  Queen of Love? she thought. Do I deserve such a title? What of the vengeance I would wreak on Zalos!

  But the thought felt hollow now. For Merrin was with her and she wanted nothing more than to spend time with her. To know her. Luthiel’s heart was singing. But a small voice deep inside called out. Never forget! He betrayed your father!

  The Dance

  Immediately following the coronation, came the dance. The dance they’d been planning for weeks now. It had seemed a useful tool for drawing out her enemies in the Council. Rictinno had, just before the coronation, exposed three plots—one assassination attempt, and two abductions. Not all too surprised, she learned Cambian was behind the assassination and Tannias the abductions. Both were being held, awaiting trial. She felt a twinge as she thought of Tannias. Father of Vane and lord of Rimwold. She wondered if his father was behind his son’s actions. Perhaps now she’d have the chance to find out.

  People gathered for the dance. A place had been made between two vast roots. It was sprinkled with flower petals and great vines of flir bug bulbs cast dancing light all about. From one of the roots, a flat shelf projected and on this were a group of minstrels with lulutes, kal sticks and thom thoms. These were four of the best known in the lands—Viel for her voice, Keth for his skill with the lulute, Sonde for the thom thoms, and Sosh, his wife, for the kal sticks. They’d practiced for the better part of a week and Luthiel smiled at the beautiful music. Many flir bugs, free of their bulbs and seeking mates for the summer, drifted through the air, making it seem filled with sparks. Already fae were dancing—elves on the ground and pixies in the air.

  Luthiel found herself surrounded by a throng of lords and ladies, all wanting a chance to speak with their new queen. Luthiel did her best to be polite and greet them all. But she found herself anxiously searching through the crowd for Merrin. Time dragged on, but the press of people showed no sign of thinning. At last she saw her drifting gracefully through the crowd surrounding Luthiel. Relieved, she turned to the lord speaking to her and politely but firmly begged her leave. Weaving through the crowd, she made her way toward Merrin.

  Luthiel smiled. “It’s beautiful,” she motioned to the dance as she came up beside Merrin. Standing so near, Luthiel had to resist the urge to reach out and embrace her. Instead, she stood and looked at her, drinking her in.

  “Mother.” Luthiel tested the word and liked the way it felt on her tongue.

  Merrin put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “Shhh. Keep quiet about that,” she whispered. “I must still be a secret.”

  Luthiel nodded. “Promise me, then, you’ll spend time with me. There’s so much I want to ask!”

  Merrin’s eyes glistened with moisture. “There’s so much I want to tell, Luthiel. I intend to spend as much time as possible.”

  Luthiel drew in a deep breath and smiled. Despite the beauty of the music, all she wanted to do was find some private place where she and Merrin could go and talk. Without saying another word, she leaned forward and embraced her mother. “I love you,” she whispered.

  “And I you,” Merrin replied, holding her tight.

 
Then she forced herself to let go and Leowin was there, grabbing her hands and pulling her off into the crowd. “Be careful,” Leowin said in a low voice.

  “You knew?” Luthiel said, feeling a pang ripple through her.

  “Not before you!” Leowin hissed.

  “When? How?” Luthiel asked, this time confused.

  “When you did. How? Well, I am a Secret Finder after all,” Leowin said slyly. Then Leowin was pulling her again, skipping merrily as she went. “A dance! A dance! And much better than the last one! This time, there’s no need to be afraid of Vanye!” She hopped and swung Luthiel around her. “My sister! Queen of the Faelands! We must celebrate!”

  Then she took her hands and made her do a spin. By this time, Luthiel had lost sight of Merrin. I can’t run off just yet. People will expect to see me.

  “Ah! But first some drinks!” she cried as a fae with a silver tray stacked with crystal glasses walked toward them. She scooped two up and handed one to Luthiel. “To you Luthiel!” she said, raising the glass. Some of the Fae who’d been watching Luthiel and Leowin, laughter in their eyes, raised their glasses as well. “Who saved my life and this land too! May your reign last from now ’til the end of time!” She tipped the glass and drank down some of the bubbly blue liquid. It ended up being blueberry wine. The finest of which came from Yewstaff itself—whose limbs supported a number of blueberry orchards.

  Luthiel drank as well and couldn’t help but press her lips together as the stuff tingled on her tongue. “This is superb!” she said to Leowin.

  “Haven’t had any yet?” her sister chided.

  “Well, no.”

  “Then drink up! You’ve earned yourself a little fun!” And with a laugh, she hooked Luthiel by the arm and ran her back into the crowd so they were much closer to the players.