by Renee Wildes
As they neared the palace, running footsteps approached. A disheveled Queen Dara raced down the white marble stairs, still tying her chamber-robe as she ran. Long, tangled red hair streamed behind her. The not-quite-benevolent torque lay quietly around her neck. The fire in Benilo’s soul awoke as she neared, unwanted desire robbing him of breath. So beautiful… He shook himself back to sense as her husband, King Loren, followed at a more dignified pace. She hated that luring aspect of her half-dragon nature, and the king would not appreciate where Benilo’s attention had strayed. Benilo would not antagonize them by acknowledging it.
An extra shimmer of life stopped him. As realization struck, it was all he could do to tamp down a grin. Queen Dara was pregnant, her daughter but days old.
“Ministers,” Dara panted. “Rather early for calling, but I sensed your need.”
Pryseis had tasted ripe with need, long legs wrapped around him as he sank into tight wet heat… Benilo flinched despite himself. Distance. He needed distance from the queen’s dragon allure—all he could think of was Pryseis. Focus! “I must leave, on healer business.”
Dara stifled a yawn as she frowned at him. “What is it with the men of this land charging off on missions based on visions? First Loren, then Cianan, and now you, Minister? ’Tis a woman, isn’t it?”
How did she ken? “It is an urgent matter, Majesty.”
“It always is.” The queen finger-combed her hair away from her face and turned to Anika. “You’ve seen these visions?”
Anika shook her head. “Nay, but they travel on the wind and I hath felt their effect.”
“Show me,” Dara challenged Benilo.
Dropping his mental shields, he replayed the most urgent aspects of Pryseis’ goblin nightmares for both women. If Dara caught anything else, she had the grace to overlook it.
Anika looked thoughtful when it finished. “I hath seen that pendant afore. Years ago. If the owner be the one caught in the nightmare, then this be a bigger problem than we perceived.”
“How so?” An impeccable King Loren, not at all appearing as if he had just rushed from his private chambers, crossed to his wife’s side. They shared a brief, intimate glance.
“The crystal butterfly belongs to Pryseis, a dream faerie,” Benilo said.
“Her influence, and those of her kind, over them who dwell in the Shadowlands keeps that realm contained,” Anika added. “I kenned her grandmother, Shallan. If that strength be lost, then a war couldst erupt such as we hath never seen.”
Loren and Dara looked sober at that news.
“I would never send one of our own into a goblin stronghold,” Loren stated. “Naught but a madman would volunteer for such, and you are unwell, Minister.”
Benilo silently cursed the king’s empathic powers, which revealed what he preferred to keep hidden.
Pryseis. She needed his help. The lad needed his help. He had to leave. He had to go to them. Now.
“This is urgent, Your Majesty. This is my one best chance. I am the most qualified.”
“All the more reason for you not to go,” Dara argued, planting her fists on her hips and scowling. The torque around her neck crackled with dark fire around its red stone. The spirit energy troubled Benilo, that of the queen’s dragon ancestors, but she seemed to have it well under control. “We can’t afford to lose you, Minister Benilo.”
“We can’t lose her.” The thought made him ill. Benilo kenned Anika did not exaggerate. “I can turn this around. You must let me go.”
Anika looked doubtful at that. He kenned she recalled his earlier confession. However, he would get himself back under control. By the Lady, he could still perform his duty.
“What of your duties here, Minister?” Dara asked.
“I canst oversee Prince Brannan,” Anika stated. “The Ministry canst afford a recess.”
Loren and Dara shared another long look, mayhaps with the silent communication true life mates wielded.
Loren frowned. “If you are certain, so be it. But take care, Benilo. Tarry not.”
Their reservations rankled. Since when had he ever failed to do what was necessary? Benilo bowed and left the palace with Anika. Did she fully ken what she was in for with King Loren’s younger brother? At the bottom of the steps, he stopped. “Go home and rest, Anika. Trust me. You shall need it. Prince Brannan can be…impetuous.”
“I raised five sons, Minister.” She flashed him a serene smile, as if she had not a concern in the world. “I think I canst handle one just-grown princeling. Go save the world, and then come home.”
Naught like overstating things. “Hardly saving the world.”
She placed her bird-delicate hand on his forearm. “Who kenneth what that child might grow to become? Doth an elf and faerie save him, who kenneth what his gratitude might bring? That of him and his kin? Our children shape the future. Remember that.”
He shivered at the eerie echo in her voice, the sudden breeze which swirled around them. It was so easy to forget an air mage’s true powers of communication came from ethereal sylphs. The elemental creatures inhabited a nebulous plane betwixt place and time and were known to show a mage what-may-yet-come-to-pass.
Until they blurted out something like this, making the hair on the back of one’s neck stand up.
Her gaze locked with his. “When thou meet the one with the pendant, send them to us. Pahn and I shall greet that one at the border and bring them afore Dara.”
Of whom did she speak? “Very well,” he agreed, mystified. The sun cracked the horizon, setting the white marble buildings alight in a golden glow. Benilo turned to face the rising sun in his morning ritual. He bowed. “Lady, I greet Thee. Bless this day and my mission. May I bring strength to the Light and honor to Thee.”
He returned to his home, Anika to hers. So much depended on his reaching Pryseis and the lad in time. Yet it felt wrong to just leave. Brannan was his responsibility, no one else’s. Forget the ministry. What about his duties at the house of healing?
But Pryseis needed him. He refused to fail her. Time to wake Brannan and be on his way.
His apprentice Prince Brannan slept in his own rooms, oblivious. The long, tangled blond hair and rumpled sheets, blankets tossed back and one pillow on the floor indicated the younger man’s slumber was no more peaceful than his own. Even asleep, stillness eluded the prince. Were Brannan less talented, Benilo would have washed his hands of him a year back. King Loren’s younger brother was the least tranquil spirit healer in the history of the calling. There was so much potential there, if the awake version of Brannan would…stop. Stop moving. Stop thinking. Stop feeling.
For Lady’s sake, stop talking.
Stillness. Balance. Harmony. Only when Brannan got his own four elements under control could he hope to affect those of others. But the apprentice still had too much water in him, compliments of his paternal grandmother, the dowager queen Lorelei. Emotional element, water. Water made for great physical healers. However, the spirit healer’s true power was air. No room for emotion in the ethereal. No reaction. No judgment. Merely calm acceptance.
That was how to deal with true trauma and help the victims find their way back.
Brannan had a long way to go.
Benilo’s gaze came to rest on the jagged, helmet-sized spirit crystal Brannan struggled to clear. Its clouded presence was a constant reminder of his own recent battle toward stillness. It reflected the inner self of whoever held it. Cloudiness revealed turmoil, and clarity proclaimed peace and balance. He drummed his fingers atop Brannan’s desk and shook off a shiver of anxiety. Pryseis aside, an inexplicable urgency had crept up on him for weeks now. He watched Brannan, thought of him in terms of “replacement” and then despaired his apprentice would not be ready in time. In time for what? He held a favorite book a moment too long, stared at a sunset like it was his last.
He acted like a dying man, when he was immortal. He had scanned himself three times. There was naught wrong with him. Except he’d turned into an elven
version of an autumn squirrel for no apparent reason.
If it continued, he would be unable to clear the spirit crystal. He, Minster of Healers and chief spirit healer. If he could not get himself back under control, clear his mind, then where would they be?
A subtle mental nudge stirred the prince. Brannan yawned, rubbed his bleary kelly green eyes and blinked at his mentor. His gaze locked on Benilo’s pack. “What is happening? Where do we go?”
“I am off on a mission for your brother,” Benilo hedged. “You stay here. Anika shall oversee your training in my absence.”
“She is no healer.”
“Have you practiced the meditations I showed you?”
Brannan raked a hand through his tangled hair. “Aye, but I cannot clear the crystal no matter how I blank my mind.”
Benilo sighed. “The crystal does not merely reflect a still mind. It also reflects a still heart. Only when you are empty shall the crystal clear. Anika can help you with your meditation and focus. Mages must practice as much as healers do. She can help you.”
Brannan glared at him. “Yes, Master.”
Benilo let that go. “I expect progress and good reports when I return.”
“Is it dangerous, where you go?”
Benilo nodded. “But this is something I must do. I ken not how long I shall be gone. The house is yours whilst I am away.”
Brannan looked as if he might argue, but something in his mentor’s face stilled his words. “As you wish. Take care, Master.”
Now Brannan chose to be quiet? Mayhaps Benilo should have gone off months ago. Leaving his house, Benilo squelched the urge to run, kenning the Minister of Healing racing through Poshnari-Unai would stress her residents. Also, make him look ridiculous.
It must be a good omen, traveling into the sun. Surely the Light of the Lady traveled with him on this mission. The mission. Pryseis. Over twelve hundred years he had walked these lands and he had never seen a faerie. His body tightened, and he cursed. Dream notwithstanding, little was kenned of the faeries themselves. What shy, reclusive people to work for the Light but not mingle with other races. How had Pryseis become ensnared? Had she clung to the lad or tried to escape?
And the lad. What of his parents? Did they worry and comfort as any parents? Had they exhausted all recourse and even now prayed for a miracle? He snorted. Doubtful goblins would view an elf as a miracle. Or even welcome. Too many arrows traded. Too much blood spilled.
If what Anika said was true, so long as the goblins squabbled amongst each other, the rest of the world was left alone. The faeries were the true miracle workers. But then how perilous the situation must be to have snared one of them.
Benilo’s long, purposeful strides ate up the distance to the eastern frontier, where the barriers shielded the elven realm from the wilds of the Shadowlands. He saw the distant shimmer ahead, the watchtower and gates where a small company of rangers stood guard. Even now a ranger mounted up. Benilo continued walking, watched the white war mare canter ever nearer.
“Minister Benilo!” The ranger saluted. His mare tossed her head and spun about Benilo.
“I have urgent business beyond,” Benilo informed him. “I must be allowed to pass.”
“But My Lord, the Shadowlands are a perilous place. Where are your guards?”
“I travel alone.”
The ranger shook his head, but held his peace as he accompanied Benilo to the gateway. The watch captain greeted Benilo. “Queen Dara told us to let thee pass. Hast thou weapons?”
Benilo shook his head. “Nay. I do not hunt. Plants shall suffice.”
The rangers frowned, but held their tongues. The younger entered the watchtower, to return a few minutes later with a skin of hot spiced khaffa. “It is not as good reheated, but—”
“I thank you for your kindness—” Benilo shouldered the drink, “—and take my leave.”
“The Lady guide thee, My Lord.”
“Strength in the Light.” Benilo ducked under the barricade. He shivered as the tingle of the barrier passed over him and fortified himself with a deep breath of bracing, ungentled wind as he took his first step on the other side. No magic softened nature’s force here. The Shadowlands. So fearsome a name, so fearsome a reputation, though it felt and looked no different than what he had left behind. Rolling wooded hills and meadows basked in the unsheltered glow of full spring. Winter’s chill was gone, trees sported leaves rather than buds and flowers bloomed.
He strode through a field of bright blossoms the pink-orange of the sunrise. Fat bumblebees careened through them like drunken cadets. He approached the wooded edge, where delicate purple flowers—the same amethyst as Pryseis’ eyes—greeted him. Tender young strawberry and hukoberry plants sheltered amongst ferns at the base of trees. A white birch border yielded to oak and maple.
A shockwave of pain, not his own, zinged along his nerves. He froze and sense-cast. A tiny heart pounded in terror. Pain, a terrible wound. The temptation to lie still warred with the need to be home. She was needed at home…young to feed. A mother rabbit. She had been hit by…silent feathers with talons.
Must have been a juvenile owl, still learning, to have missed the kill.
The world was full of predators. He must never lose sight of that fact. Predators…like goblins. Prideful, clannish, territorial, quick to judge and take umbrage, goblins resisted all attempts at truces and alliances. They viewed peace as weakness. The strong exploited the weak. They fought amongst themselves—and the rest of the world. He headed right into their midst, for the sake of Pryseis and an unkenned lad.
Madness, but someone must fight the predators. Darkness could not win.
Not then.
Not now.
Not ever.
The rabbit’s heartbeat thundered in his ears. Benilo crouched afore where she cowered in tall grass, peering up at him. Peace. Tranquility. Help. This was why he had never hunted, never once tasted meat. There was no blood on his hands, on his breath, on his soul. “Be easy. I can help you get home to your younglings.”
He touched each of his chaotic elements. As earth surged, fire flared, he extended his healer senses. Gentle but erratic, they engulfed the small creature in a soft cocoon of Light. The wounds closed. Fire’s touch chased away any chance of festering. A trickle of water replaced her lost blood. When he was done, he released her from the elemental hold.
She shook herself, blinked at him and scuttled off.
So small a thing, and barely under his control, but rewarding all the same.
He frowned at the bit of a headache which lingered from the effort of doing what should have been effortless. Why could he not heal himself so easily? What chance of banishing the darkness from another if he could not banish it first from his own soul?
He glanced up to see a red squirrel staring at him. The busiest gossips next to crows and jays. He entered their domain as an element of their natural realm, not predator. Oft afore had he used his connection with birds and animals to aid him. It might come in handy now.
He followed a rill which wound ever deeper into the shadowed forest. It gurgled as it tumbled over rocks, chasing away the sense of foreboding. The canopy thickened, the sun filtered through dense foliage in intermittent patterns of light on shadow. Dampness increased, the temperature dropped. Moss grew heavier on the trunks of trees and morels abounded. A rapid tapping signaled a woodpecker nearby. Everywhere vibrant life pulsed. No sense of wariness or alarm. No danger. They would ken. They would tell him.
Clouds obscured the sun, and thunder rumbled. Benilo halted where a dying oak had fallen against its surviving neighbor. A perfect place to pitch his small tent. He entered as the first fat raindrops fell. The sound against the oiled cloth was a soothing chorus. Too long had it been since last he’d ventured out on his own. Destination aside, the journey itself satisfied. Here he felt the four elements all about him, richer and grander and purer than back home in the elven realm. Wind and rain and snow and seasons. Thunder and lightning. Sto
rms and rage and fury. Heat. Cold. Challenge. Struggle. It invigorated him, stripped away lethargy, complacency.
He felt it, even if he could not control it. Would that be enough when the time came?
He nibbled a chunk of wey-bread and a slice of dried snow-apple, washed it down with the now-cold spiced khaffa. A scruffy mouse stuck its head into the tent. Its whiskers twitched as it sniffed at the unfamiliar scents. Benilo tossed it a crumb of bread and the last bit of apple and smiled as the tiny rodent stuffed its cheeks, then whisked away. Benilo laid a coarse rope of hemp and horsehair around the edge of the tent, charmed to deter any snakes drawn to his warmth, especially the fearsome green tree viper. He wrapped up in his cloak and lay down, using his pack as a pillow.
Somewhere out in the rain, Pryseis mirrored his journey and purpose. Or did he but mirror hers? Drawn by a lad’s need. The crystal butterfly shimmered in his memory, amethyst wings flashing in dream-light. Amethyst…like those flowers. Like her eyes. Pryseis. A creature of Light and air, the sun and the wind. Of fire, of passion. Did she yet feel his presence? Even as he still felt hers?
Chapter Three
Pryseis wiped away a tear and stared into the flames as Dax tossed another branch onto the fire. The dance of light in shadows spellbound. She tried to ignore the bloody carcass of the male tree-hare sizzling above it. She’d nibbled wood violet blossoms and a few fiddleheads. However, true to his troll nature, Dax needed meat to live. She accepted that, but still the death saddened her. One less heartbeat in the pulse of a world diminished by its loss.
Beyond the fire’s glow and the edge of the cave entrance, rain fell in a steady chorus. She stared out at the dark, reached for the wind with every fiber of her soul. It alleviated the great looming weight of the cave behind her. Earth and stone and metal. Such foreign elements. So heavy, unmoving.
What was she thinking, traveling into the heart of the darkness?
And now there was no going back. Her banishment was still hard to swallow. What would she do when this was all over?