Sara groaned and stared sightlessly at the little sprite, who was visibly shaking with fatigue. Then, she looked down at her chest, which was alight with purple fire, and her head fell back as she screamed in agony. Although the demon tried to stay, tried to burrow deeper into the girl’s soul, it could not withstand the double assault of Pollo’s magic and the unicorn’s potent medicine. Finally, with a howl of frustrated rage, it flew out of Sara’s throat and up into the air.
The sprite yelled in fury and pointed his wand at the streaming river of evil. A bright beam of amethyst light shot out of Pollo’s stick and hit the dark stream of evil with an incandescent blast as bright as fireworks in the summer dusk. As the others watched, the darkness turned white and then disappeared with a loud pop.
Blinking in the sudden gloom, and gasping with relief, the companions gazed around them with the dawning realization that the threat was finally over. Sara blinked back tears and was just about to grab Chloe for a hug when she heard a low moan. Looking over her shoulder, she saw that Onio and Rondel were kneeling over something on the ground some distance away.
As soon as she heard Hissaphat’s wail of grief and dismay, she knew that Pollo, the brave little sprite, was dead.
Chapter 27
Sara cried out and ran to where the sprite lay sprawled on the floor. His face was gray and his wide emerald eyes stared up at nothing. He looked tiny now that his life’s essence had fled, as if he was a cast-off doll no longer needed or wanted by its owner. Hissaphat let out another long wail of sorrow and the two hounds sat down on either side of the cat, surrounding him with their silent, furry solace.
“Move, please…” she muttered to Onio, “it might not be too late” Sara knelt down and lifted Pollo on to her lap. He hardly weighed anything. and she marveled that the sprite had mustered enough magical energy to destroy a demon of darkness so powerful it was able to overcome Timaron, the Unseelie king.
Sara placed her hand on Pollo’s chest and closed her eyes. As her healing power shot into the sprite’s body, her soul traveled upon waves of energy and followed the little faerie as he made his way down a dark road. For a moment, her heart stuttered in fear. Muriel taught her that following a fleeing spirit was inherently dangerous. Some hurts were too deep, some injuries too colossal for the mind and body of the afflicted to bear. Those souls sought the grace of death, and made their way there gratefully.
Muriel told her that many a healer had become lost in the nether world… that ghostly realm of wandering spirits situated somewhere between the dead and the living, and had never found their way out, especially if the being they tried so hard to save grew angry. Many hurt souls did not welcome the healer’s interference and fought back, dragging the healer further into the uncertain mist, rather than face the pain of their previous existence.
Sara did not care about any of that, now. She opened her eyes and looked around. This was the first time she walked in the shadow lands and she shook with fear. It looked to her like she walked on the surface of some apocalyptic, blasted planet. Everything was gray… the ground, the sky, the clouds that chased one another across the silver firmament. There was no living thing- no birds or trees, no water… nothing. Even the stale wind that sent up puffs of dust from the ground held its breath in silence. She walked in the valley of death and it chilled her heart.
Sara gazed around, searching the landscape for her friend, but saw nothing. Then, looking down at the ground beneath her feet, she saw tiny boot prints. She could not help but smile. Pollo was rightly proud of his new boots, which his ma and pa had given him for his name day. They were made of fine brushed suede and boasted higher than average heels, as if his parents knew how desperately Pollo wanted to measure up in the adult world.
Sara recalled the sprite’s excitement and pride as he showed his new footwear off to the most casual acquaintance, not noticing the rolled eyes and barely concealed boredom of the people whose praise he sought. Only Hiss seemed truly appreciative of the boots and showed his approval by rubbing his body across the soft leather repeatedly, causing no end of frustration to Pollo, who was forced to clean the cat’s fur off on a daily basis.
Now, those same boots told the tale of Pollo’s passage, and Sara followed. The silent wind blew sand in her eyes and lifted her braids away from her face, but still, she ran as fast as she could. Coming up over a rise, Sara saw the valley stretch out in front of her as far as the eye could see. She swallowed nervously as she spied the bodies of people and creatures sprawled across the sere plains. Most of them lie still on the ground, but others seemed to quiver in place, as if they did not know which way to go, forward or back… up, or down.
Although there was no sun here, that Sara could see, it was bright. The sky was the color of a winter storm-front, a morbid yellow-gray that cast the ground below it in stark relief. She shaded her eyes against the glare and stared into the distance. Her heart hammered in her chest as she saw some of the crumpled bodies on the valley floor stir and turn to gaze in her direction. Then, she saw a jaunty flash of red.
Sara’s breath caught in her throat. Pollo was walking about fifty feet ahead of her and just starting to crest a hill. Her heart ached at the sight of him. His bright, tomato red hair that clashed violently with the red cap he loved so much, his tiny but magnificently powerful stick, his tall boots… “Pollo,” she screamed, “Pollo, wait!”
The sprite stopped and turned around. His green eyes grew wide and his little rosebud mouth sagged open, in shock. “Sara…” he cried, “what are you doing here?”
“I came to bring you back!” Sara shouted and stared in dismay when Pollo shook his head.
“Sara,” he said, walking up to where she stood, holding her hand out to him. “Sara, even I know that healers are not supposed to walk into the mist. You are not safe here!” His large, slanted eyes were grave with worry and he drew himself up as tall as he could. “You need to go back!”
Sara could not help but feel impressed. Somehow, during his transition from living to dying, Pollo had gained maturity and dignity. The solemn wisdom in his eyes made Sara feel like an ant in the presence of a god. She was not ready to give up on him, though, and she stood her ground.
“Pollo, you don’t need to be here… not yet,” she pleaded. “It’s true that you exhausted yourself fighting the demon but your body is no longer damaged! Please, I’ve lost too many of you!” Sara felt tears and snot run down her face, but she continued speaking as the sprite stared up at her in doubt.
“Even now I am holding your body in my arms and I can feel my powers healing your heart! All you have to do is take my hand and we’ll go back together!” Sara wiped her nose and held her hand out again. She tried not to stare as many of the skeletal, dessicated bodies strewn on the gray valley floor rose up and began shambling in their direction.
She looked down at the sprite and said, “Pollo, please, we must hurry, before those poor dead things reach us! I think that they are beyond my reach and will pull both of us away to our doom!”
Pollo startled and turned around. He looked fearful, relieved and worried as he watched the lost souls make their painful way toward them. He gazed up at Sara and murmured, “You are a foolish girl, Sara, but so brave!” He smiled suddenly, adding, “Hiss and I did well picking you… I think my pa was proud of me!” His brilliant eyes glowed and he reached up, taking Sara’s hand.
Sara pulled the sprite off his feet and up into her arms. Then, she took off running. She had not traveled far from where she first appeared, and hoped she would spot her own footprints and the way back from whence she came. The gray sky whirled overhead, meeting the desolate landscape below and the whole valley seemed to shudder. Sara noticed that it was growing dark, as if the invisible sun had set. Long shadows stretched spindly, grasping fingers of night toward them. Both she and the sprite gasped when a gigantic shape painted the sky black overhead.
Sara came to the spot where her footsteps scuffed the ground and stopped, grasping P
ollo tightly in her arms. She remembered the wood nymph’s instructions and felt deep inside her own soul, looking for the stream of healing she had ridden on into this horrible place. For one panicky moment, it was lost to her. The only thing she could feel was the sprite’s trembling body, and the galloping heartbeat of a terrified teenage girl.
Then, she felt it. The warm, golden thread of energy that marked her as a healer was still flowing between her and Pollo. With a cry, Sara grabbed it and held on tightly. Suddenly, as if cotton was removed from her ears, she heard the wind of the mist world scream and felt the wings of whatever had come to claim Pollo as a prize beat a frantic tattoo in the air around her. Then she opened her eyes to see Onio, Chloe, William and Pike staring down at her.
Chloe sobbed when she saw Sara open her eyes and Onio grinned. Pike nodded and went to help the Rondel and the Sasq warriors clear away the dead elves that littered the Unseelie king’s dining hall.
Looking to her left, Sara gazed at Pollo and saw that his whole body was glowing pink. His eyes sparkled with happiness as Hissaphat scrubbed his cheek with a raspy tongue. Then, he sat up and everyone gasped in awe.
“What?” he asked self- consciously, pulling uncomfortably at his torn and dirty tunic.
Chloe grinned and said, “Pollo, look!”
Pollo craned to look behind himself and his mouth sagged open in disbelief. His tiny, deformed wings had grown back and were sticking haphazardly out of the back of his tunic. His mouth stretched into the biggest smile imaginable, and he peeled his shirt off, revealing his new wings.
Faerie wings are not tangible, like bird’s wing but made of pure energy. Incandescent filaments of light, like flights of fancy. Pollo’s wings were brighter than most and the walls of Timaron’s chamber lit up in swirling rainbows of color as Pollo rose into the air, beaming with laughter and joy.
Timaron sat down and watched the human witch heal the sprite. His heart was heavy with grief and shame. He had started this, he knew it, and he wondered if his heart could bear the sorrow of his own actions. From the time he was a young elf, he had felt resentment and fury that his people, the elven folk, were banished to this realm. It did not matter to him that this place of magic was every bit as large as the human realm, and just as beautiful. His heart was sour and his hatred grew over the years.
When the demon had come to call, it was disguised as the most beautiful of she-elves, of course, but it was devastatingly effective in persuading Timaron to declare war on man. False promises of a lost land and eternal glory rang in the Unseelie king’s ears and filled his heart with greed. The shadows that rimmed every living thing in Unseelie took control and this was what was left of his dark dream. He looked at his ruined court and thought his heart might break in two.
Tears fell from his eyes as he watched the noble human witch work over the sprite and he realized, now, that he had been wrong… about everything. He also realized that since the war was over, and the demon spawn sent back to the depths of hell, he would be removed from office, and rightfully so. He was not fit to rule and most of his court was dead anyway, victims of his own cruel folly.
He watched the Sasq warriors lift his dead courtiers, and their ladies’ up and carry them away to be burned or buried. He saw the sturdy dwarf fetch a pail of water and clean the tables of elven blood. Tears streamed from his eyes and Timaron’s shoulders shook with the grief of his actions. Then, a sound rose into the air. The king lifted his head and listened. It was music, soft and deep. It filled the air with a cry so sweet that Timaron’s spirit began to heal.
William stared at nothing as his fingers flew over the frets, and the violin sang of times long gone and times still to come. It sang of love and hate, peace and war, courage and fear, pride and humility. It sang of the glory of the fae and the promise of man. It sang sweetly and long and when it finished every creature within the antechamber trembled with awe. William sat down with a thump and mumbled, “Whoa… was that me?”
Soft laughter filled the air and after a moment, all was still and quiet. Then, the king spoke.
“I will go now, to my ending,” he said softly, “but before I leave, I want to thank you all for what you have done… for me, for the faeries and for the land of men.” He bowed his head, weeping.
“I have let loose a terrible evil and many have suffered for what I did,” he whispered. “I beg your forgiveness, now.”
He looked at Sara and Chloe. “I have stopped the tempests in your world and cast a spell of forgetting over the humans that dwell there. I cannot bring back the dead, but there will be no more trouble for humans from the fae.”
Turning to Onio and his tribe mates, the Unseelie king bowed low and said, “I thank you, mighty Sasq for your help. Always, even in my hate and sorrow, did I consider your kind to be a marvel.”
Finally, he turned to Rondel. “Young elf, you have proven yourself to be resourceful and brave. I now appoint you steward of Unseelie, until a new privy council can be conveyed. Before I go, I will express my wish for you to be appointed king,” he sighed. “Although, I fear that any words from my lips will be dismissed outright.”
Turning again, to the girls, Timaron said, “I will take you back home now. You have done something my own people could not, and done it with daring and valor. Are you ready?”
Sara and Chloe looked at each other for a moment, and Sara said, “Yes sir, but please give us a moment to say goodbye.”
Timaron nodded sadly and watched as the two girls threw their arms around each of their companions. He smiled as tears fell and even the Sasquatches bowed their heads in friendship. Little Pollo bawled, and Pike threw his rock pick at the wall. Hiss wound his body around the girl’s ankles, and Rondel whispered instructions to the half-elf hybrid, on where to meet for further instruction if she so desired.
William grinned and played a ditty on his fiddle as he lifted his feet high and danced. Onio gave Sara a hug and whispered something in the girl’s ear that made her blush with pride and pleasure.
The two hellhounds grinned, panting, as the girls turned to face the Unseelie king once more. Then, Timaron snapped his fingers, and Sara and Chloe were gone.
Afterword
Sara awoke and sat up from where she lay on the ground. Chloe was lying next to her, still sleeping, and Sara stared about at the high hills, grassy hollows, and distant mountain peaks of her hometown. Birds were twittering and the sun shone brightly in the cloudless skies. She smelled pinesap and saw the twinkle of a small brook that wound through the fields below. She listened to a dog howl and thought she heard the high-pitched warble of a car alarm. They were home!
Sara couldn’t believe it, but she knew that hardly any time had passed since she and her friends left this realm to help the faeries on their quest. The glades still clung to icy shrouds of snow, even as buttercups and bluebells raised their petal faces to the warmth of the sun. Months had passed, and lives were lost in the faerie lands while Sara, Nate and Chloe trained for and carried out their mission. Only a few days had gone by, however, here at home. The faeries had promised the teens that they could, and would, bend time, but they had not promised that everyone would remain safe.
Sara’s eyes filled with tears and she dashed them away with trembling fingers. No, Sara acknowledged, the faeries never promised our safety, and had actually tried, in their own way, to warn me about the hazards. I was the one who brought Nate to his death. It is my fault he is dead! Tears welled up again and spilled down Sara’s cheeks.
“Hey, Sara,” Chloe had woken up and she touched her friend’s shoulder in sympathy. “It’s not your fault, you know. Nate knew what he was getting into when he came along, and he trained for it, too.” Chloe eyes sparkled with angry tears. “You know what bothers me the most, though?”
Sara shook her head and Chloe continued. “What bothers me is that Nate’s parents probably don’t even know he’s gone! Nate’s mom is so drunk half the time, she’s probably just pissed that Nate isn’t keeping the
house clean, as usual.” She gritted her teeth with rage. “I don’t even know if his dad knew Nate existed, except as someone to beat up on,” she wailed. “Nate was the sweetest boy I’ve ever known, and his parents didn’t deserve him!”
The girls held one another, weeping, and the birds in the trees ceased singing, as if in respect for the girl’s sorrow. Finally, Sara pulled away and whispered, “What are we going to tell our folks, Chloe?”
Chloe wiped her nose on her sleeve, thinking for a moment. “We’ll tell them that we got lost in the woods, okay? It happens a lot up here… hikers, snowmobilers and hunters get turned around and the next thing you know, a search party is sent out to find them. My mom has told me about having to treat people with hypothermia and dehydration who got lost in these mountains. I think that’s our best bet.”
Sara stared into the distance and heard a dog howl… maybe the same dog she heard earlier, although it sounded closer now. Turning to Chloe, she asked, “What do we tell them about Nate?”
Chloe closed her eyes and murmured, “We say that we saw Nate’s dog, Mike, get killed… run over by that Cadillac. We say that Nate was so upset he ran into the woods and we followed him, to comfort him, you know, but that’s where we lost him, and ended up getting lost ourselves.” She sighed, adding, “I know that a lot of the people who get lost up here are never found.”
“Anyway,” Chloe concluded, “depending on how much time has passed; I think that’s the best story, don’t you?”
Sara nodded and replied, “Well, we sure look the part!” Chloe held her breath for a moment and then let it out with a small laugh. She looked down at her soiled clothes and dirty hands, grimacing in disgust. Then she inspected Sara, whose blond braids were ratty and filled with leaves and twigs. In addition, the girl’s pretty face was streaked with mud and shiny tear tracks traced pink trails through numerous, bloody scratch marks on her cheeks. Chloe realized that she smelled bad, and doubted Sara smelled like a peach either.
The War of Odds Page 17