by Ren Curylo
“My name is Frump,” he said as he sat up.
“Welcome, Frump,” Moriko said. “This is Anoba. She’s a friend.”
His eyes widened and his mouth gaped open for a moment before he hit the ground again. “I am humbled, ma’am,” he said. “I never thought to see two goddesses. I have heard many good things about you from the River Fae.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Frump,” Anoba said. “But please, sit up and tell us why you’ve come.”
“I came to ask if you’ve heard about the big fire in Silverwilde.”
“No,” Anoba said. “Have you?” she asked Moriko.
“No,” she answered with a shake of her head. “But I thought I smelled smoke a few days ago. When was it?”
“About five days ago, my lady,” he said. “So you likely smelled it. The smoke drifted all over the world.”
“What happened? Do you have details?”
“I am a Sweet Gum Fae,” Frump said, though both women had already surmised that from his bright green hair that looked like a wig of sweet gum leaves. His eyes were the same green as his hair and his skin was brown as bark. His body was thin, as were his long arms and legs. “There were three dozen or so other Tree Fae Groves displaced in the fire, along with other species of Fae. Some of them have come to live with us here.”
“We’ll have to check out the area,” Anoba said.
“There’s more,” Frump said. “My cousin told me this and I thought you should know. He lived in the burned out Fae village. They lived in the trees surrounding the Elves’ village.”
“The Elves?” Anoba asked in surprise.
“Yes, my lady,” Frump said. “The entire village was destroyed.”
“The Elfin village was destroyed in this fire?” Moriko asked. “Were any of them killed?”
“There were at least a dozen or two, but we haven’t heard any real word, Lady Moriko,” Frump said. “You know how Elves are.”
“Should we check on them in the morning, Anoba?”
“I think so, Moriko.”
Frump shook his head. “You can’t,” he said. “They’re all gone.”
“Gone? Gone where?” Moriko said. “Did they join the other Elf colony at D’win’teasin?”
“No,” Frump said but he stopped short when he saw Anoba shaking her head, looking at him with wide eyes.
Moriko looked at him curiously before looking at Anoba. “What’s going on?” she said.
Anoba sighed. “The other colony rejoined the Lasahala Run group when King Caolán married their princess. She was the daughter of the old king—the one who used to rule before the Elves split apart so long ago.” Her tone held reluctance to speak.
“That’s right,” Frump said. “It was when Caolán dumped Princess Chéile at the altar and Ársa came along and married her that same day.”
Moriko stiffened her spine. So Ársa married an Elf princess and turned her into a goddess. No wonder she was so damned haughty. What an idiot Ársa is.
“Did they go back to D’win’teasin to live?” Anoba asked.
“No,” Frump said. “The survivors joined forces and did a spell to open a portal to another realm and they all left and went there.”
“Another realm?” Anoba asked.
“Yes,” Frump said, “and none of us Fae are sorry to see them go.”
“Why’s that?”
“Elves are assholes,” Frump said matter-offactly. “But that isn’t the entire story,” he said.
“There’s more?” Anoba said.
“Well, there was an old Elf, one of their Elders,” Frump said. “I think his name was Enric. I don’t know him, I never had anything much to do with the Elves, but my cousin said he knew him. Enric said that a while back, some goddess came down and destroyed a bunch of flowers. He called her an Elfin traitor. Her attack displaced a lot Fae. I know this is true because my friend who guards the Amalith Island portal told me about it. A bunch of Fae moved there right after it happened.”
“A goddess?”
“Yes, and we think it’s the same goddess who set fire to the Elfin colony, Lady Moriko, and since you’re the Goddess of the Fae, we felt you should know.”
“What goddess would do such a thing?” Anoba asked.
“Enric said it was Lady Chéile,” Frump said. “He said he saw her as the village fire began to spread, and she disappeared, leaving the fire blazing behind her.”
“You’re sure about this?” Moriko said.
“I’m sure,” Frump said.
“Thank you, Frump,” Anoba said. “We appreciate the information. Please don’t hesitate to contact either of us if you have a need.”
“Thank you, Lady Anoba,” Frump said. “Do you think you could Travel me back home? It’s quite a walk from here.”
“Certainly,” Anoba said. She took his slender hand in hers and sent him on his way.
After a few moments of silence, she turned to Moriko and said, “It looks like the viper is going to be a bigger problem than we first thought.”
“Ársa is such a fucking dumbass,” Moriko said bitterly. Phaedrus 7, 762 Na Réaltaí
Ársa “I told you to tell her,” Anoba said, glaring at her brother as Moriko vanished from the hallway outside his door. She disappeared almost as soon as she said it.
“Who was that? Ársa?” Chéile asked shrilly from behind him.
“No one you need to be concerned about,” Ársa said. He turned around and brushed past his wife, jostling her aside as he reentered his chamber.
“Ársa, I think a woman coming to your rooms to see you in the middle of the night is my business,” she said turning to follow him inside his chamber. She closed the door behind her.
“I didn’t say it wasn’t your business,” Ársa said. “I said it wasn’t anything to be concerned about.”
“You’re obviously concerned,” Chéile persisted.
“Shut up, Chéile,” Ársa said.
Chéile’s eyes flared. “Don’t you dare tell me to shut up,” she said. Her loud tone reverberated in the room.
“Don’t shout at me,” Ársa said quietly.
“I want to know who that bitch was and what she wanted with you,” Chéile demanded.
Ársa stared at Chéile for a long, quiet moment. “She is my Forester,” he said. “She is a dear friend, and I should have told her about you, but I didn’t. Now, I’ve hurt my best friend because I was too weak to do the right thing.”
Chéile narrowed her eyes. “I can’t see why this is such a big deal if she’s just your friend,” she said with a suspicious tone.
“Considering that you have no friends and have never had any, Chéile, I can see why you don’t understand.” She is here and Moriko isn’t. He wanted to lash out at her, hurt her.
“I don’t need friends,” she said with a snide smirk. “I have you and apparently that’s the prize Moriko was seeking.”
Ársa spun around and glared at his wife. “I’m not sure you have what you think you have.”
She grinned. “I am your wife, and that’s something you cannot readily or easily change. I have researched your laws, Ársa, and to rid yourself of me, you’d have to either kill me—which I don’t think you will do—or divorce me, which you cannot do without the unanimous agreement of every member of your crew. While you no doubt have a faction who would side with you regardless, Moriko and Anoba and a few others are not sufficient. Besides, I expect Moriko would have to abstain since her vote would be considered a conflict of interest.” It was the first indication she gave that she recognized Moriko as the woman she had scryed Ársa with. “I have been working on building my own faction,” she continued, “and they won’t agree to grant it were you to petition for divorce. It looks like you’d better find a way to deal with your Forester.”
Ársa opened his closet and removed a jacket.
“Where are you going?” Chéile asked.
“I have things to do,” Ársa replied tersely.
“Moriko?
” she asked. “Is she what you have to do?”
“I need to talk to her, she didn’t deserve to find out this way,” he said.
“You had better give up on her, Ársa,” Chéile warned. “I’m your wife and I do not intend to sit idly by while you sample other women, especially not that one. If you value her, as you say, you should not see her again.”
Ársa sighed. “Do not threaten me, Chéile,” he said, looking coldly at his wife before he Traveled out of his bedchamber in search of Moriko.
5 days later
Phaedrus 12, 762 Na Réaltaí
Chéile A few weeks earlier, Chéile decided that she needed her own private space where she could work on her Rootwork training without anyone sticking his nose into her business. She wanted to be able to have all her supplies and components readily at hand instead of having to keep it all hidden away as she always had. She wanted to be able to scry any time she pleased without those loyal to Ársa telling on her.
She had secured a Seirbhíseach for herself, so Ársa’s staff couldn’t spy on her. She had also gotten her own gan-sreang so she could learn as much as she could about the culture and history of Ársa’s Envoy. Knowledge of their laws was imperative if she intended to maintain her position here.
Chéile had brought in a crew of Seirbhíseach carpenters to remodel her suite of rooms. She had them remove the wall between the rooms she chose and the empty one next door so she had more space. She designed and had them create a wall of shelves to store her bowl, bottles of liquids, and her dolls. They had built a chest to store the herbs, buttons, threads, needles fabrics, and yarns she used to create those things.
She pulled her dolls out, lovingly inspecting each one before carefully placing it on the shelves, mindful of who sat next to whom. She was surprised at the sheer number she had accrued. She had dolls from her old life as an Elfin princess, as well as her new one as the High Goddess.
She stood back and looked them over appreciatively, smiling at each one. When she came to the doll that looked like Ársa, she picked it up and kissed it. She rubbed it on her cheek and stroked its hair lovingly. She whispered to it with her lips against its face. Chéile started to set it back on the shelf but paused within inches from its spot. She poked the doll into her cleavage before turning away from the shelf.
She reached for another of her dolls, looking at it critically. She frowned. It isn’t as good as some of the others are. I don’t think it looks like Moriko at all. But, oh, well, that’s who it is and it will have to do. I haven’t seen her enough to replicate her as well as I’d like.
She pulled her Ársa doll from between her breasts and held them up together, Moriko in one hand, Ársa in the other. She moved them around, circling one another, chanting in a low mutter under her breath. She turned the Moriko doll’s back to Ársa, continuing her chant. After a while, she took both dolls to the shelf and set them down, far apart from one another.
Ársa might not come home tonight, but he won’t spend it with that little forest tramp. Chéile pushed her husband and Moriko from her thoughts. She sighed. She felt lonely. And why shouldn’t I? I spend most of my time alone. I have no friends here. It’s not like in Lasahala Run where I used to walk around the village with the other girls. Even though I know they looked down on me, I still miss it sometimes. I wonder—
Chéile decided to look in on the Elfin village and quickly assembled the silver bowl and fluids she needed. She hadn’t checked on the Elves since the fire. Who had survived? Are they rebuilding? She glowered at the bowl as she set it up and prepared her spell. I hope Caolán and Ly’wyn’tas are both burned to a crisp.
Soon, the area was visible in her silver bowl, but nothing was stirring. There seemed to be no signs of life at all. Most of the village was in ruins; nearly everything was destroyed. She took note of a newly built graveyard. There were hastily crafted markers for what looked like half her village. She dearly hoped their king and queen were among those buried there. But where is everyone else? Perhaps they went to D’win’teasin to live.
Chéile tried to shift her scry to that location, but she couldn’t find anything and never got a good enough connection to be certain she was looking at the right place. She had never been to D’win’teasin. After several tries, she gave up.
She decided to scry on Ársa instead. She found a shaky image of him. He looks desperate, she thought. What is he doing? An ocean’s high tide of rage swelled within her as she realized he was searching forest after forest, no doubt looking for his precious Moriko. He’s crazy as Ifreann if he thinks I’ll let him go that easily.
He’s a boring old bastard tonight. There must have b een something wrong with my attempt to contact Lasahala Run. I’ll try it again.
She used a technique she had been creating for the last few weeks. She desperately wanted to get better at Traveling and her scrying bowl had become a perfect aid. If she could see a place clearly, it may help her Travel to it. No place was more familiar to her than her old home village so she focused on it.
She watched intently as the visage of the burned out village became increasingly clear. She could hear the night birds chirping. She felt herself waver as if she had the shakes. She could smell flowers off at a distance; feel the wind on her face. She smelled the acrid scent of smoke still hanging in the air after all these months.
It’s dark now, so dark. I can’t s ee anything. She suddenly realized she had her eyes closed. She opened them to find herself standing, physical, and real, in the center of the burned out village. It worked. It actually worked. I’m really here. When she had Traveled from Na Réaltaí to Lerien before, she had done so with the aid of the portals set up for the use of the few crewmembers who could not Travel on their own.
Her heart pounded and she couldn’t keep the grin from her face as she looked around her. If she could master this, she could go anywhere, do anything. Things were going in the right direction for her at last.
The village was empty. There was no sign of life anywhere except for a few shoots of grass valiantly poking up through the scarred ground. Most of the buildings were in ruins, heaps of burned boards and beams collapsed upon themselves. She concentrated on the Elves to see if any of them were nearby. She picked up nothing. No living Elves were in the vicinity. Where are they?
She walked toward the newly created graveyard. So, they stayed long enough to bury their dead. She began to walk among the graves, reading the hastily created markers stuck at the head of each one. So many names. The consequences of her actions began to weigh on her. She had done this act without thinking, and now it was real. She knew all these names, she could put a face and a smile to each one. She remembered each voice as she read the names aloud.
As she moved among the rows, she read a name and cried out, collapsing to the ground. Her shoulders shook in sorrow and she wept aloud, wailing in the twilight. Her mother’s grave lay before her. She sat down and cried, staring at the marker with her mother’s name on it before she noted the one to her left that bore her father’s name. Her wailing renewed as she prostrated herself on her mother’s grave. There was no grass to cushion her or protect her clothing from the damp dirt but she didn’t care. She lay there for an hour crying, sobbing out her sorrow at the realization of what she had done, and exactly whose lives she had taken in her rage.
She felt as if an iron door in her mind slammed shut with an echoing clank as she sat up and dried her tears at last, smearing dirt, ashes, and soot across her delicate cheek. If that miserable king and queen are here, it may have been worth it. This whole thing is, after all, their fault. They shouldn’t have treated me so badly.
Chéile rose on shaky legs and finished her circuit of the graveyard, looking at each marker until she reached the end and came to the older graves. There was no Caolán, there was no Ly’wyn’tas. Damn them. They had somehow managed to escape. But where are they?
She turned to walk away from the graveyard and spied a small building that was still mostly standing.
It was scorched but not burned to cinders like the others. It sat on the outskirts of the village. It’s where that old hateful Enric lived. She picked her way through burned rubble toward the old shack.
She pushed the door open with a squeak and stepped inside. There was a scrawled note on parchment tacked up to the wall of the empty hut. In Elfish, it said:
To Ársa, we have relocated to a new land of promise with less treachery, recently found by our sorcerer. There is an evil afoot in this land of man and our holy people have prophesized that it will only bring us harm should we stay. Our king and queen are safe, as is the baby she carries. We will overcome this tragedy. Perhaps we’ll meet again. Beware of the danger in your midst. ~ Enric
Chéile’s knees shook and she let her breath out in a woof. She stumbled backward, saved from falling only by an old chair that faced the hearth. She landed hard in the seat, rocking it back on its rear legs momentarily. She steadied herself and stared at the note. Her fit of rage had not accomplished what she desired. Unless— unless Enric was just saying these things because he knows what I did and he thought I’d return here. He was always an old bastard. He has never liked me. After a few moments, she pulled herself together and looked the note over again. She realized that Ársa must never see this note. Can Ársa read Elfish? She stood, snatched it from its tack on the wall. She wadded it into a tight ball and dropped it to the scorched floor before she Traveled back to her chambers on Na Réaltaí.
1.5 weeks later Phaedrus 27, 762 Faedrell Province Ceann’nathair
Moriko Moriko had done her best to stop the spread of cold hatred that crept through her. She awoke in the predawn and knew she had failed. She couldn’t stop it from overtaking her heart, her mind. The sense of betrayal she felt was profound and filled her completely.
Adding to her morose mood was the fact that she had left the comfort and familiarity of her forest to camp here, in an open meadow that she had never visited before. Now, she lay in the darkness, staring at the ceiling of her small tent, with no forest anywhere nearby. This province only had woods in the southern part. Here, where she was, in the far north of the northernmost province of the northernmost continent of Lerien, the terrain was mostly meadows, cliffs, and caves.