The Mirror of the Moon (Revenant Wyrd Book 2)

by Travis Simmons

  “But through all of this First Elf was alone, and he began to feel the burden of loneliness. So First Elf supplicated himself before the Mikak’e and he cried out. ‘I, too, wish to create such beauty as you have, but my body is ill-equipped for such endeavors.’ The Mikak’e saw the truth of his words, and they gave to him a female to love and cherish for all his days, but never to control; a true partner in all things, including the holy act of creation. And that is what they did; together First and Second Elf created such beautiful children.”

  “Unknown to them their first born daughter was flawed, and through this flaw Chaos crept into the fabric of her wyrd. She birthed many from the temptation of others, and she took with her the children she birthed as well as those she bedded away into the night, never to return, and so the Shadow Elves were created.”

  “‘But why?’ First Elf cried out to the Mikak’e. ‘Why would you let her fall to Chaos?’ ‘We did not let her do anything; she made this choice,’ the Mikak’e replied, and it was now that First Elf realized our creators so loved us that they would allow us do whatever we willed, and even provide the way and the means to do so, even if it meant us turning our backs on the Mikak’e.”

  This time when Jovian saw First Elf kneel before the white table that saw both he and the elves brought into the world, it was not in peace, but instead it was in remorse and anger. When the Mikak’e came this time they were as radiant nimbuses of light, white, and brilliant as the world’s first snow alight with the glow of the full moon. There were six of them, and as if to show that they were of a higher station than those that dwelled beneath the heavens, they floated above the white stone table that the elves rightly had come to treat as holy, divine.

  “This made First Elf think, and he talked with Second Elf much about this concept. If the Mikak’e, in all their wisdom, condoned such choices, then all choices must have been predetermined by the decision before anything was ever created, and being so there were no wrong and no right choices. There was only that—the ability to make a choice, and the choice to be right by all accounts.”

  Now it was that Jovian’s attention was drawn away from the fire as the images began to disappear. His focus was drawn instead to another group of elves who were placing a length of pliant vine into a wooden bowl, pouring steaming water over it. The vine was steeped and then passed along the line of those gathered about the fire (which included almost all the elves) slowly making its way to him.

  The old elf across the fire began to speak again.

  “And the decision moved through them all, even though the universe. Through the decision they made their choices, and the choices they made were in accordance to the decision. The will of all, for how could a choice be made if it was never meant to be?

  “For now we see the decision was that which created the Mikak’e, and also that which the Mikak’e gave form. The creator recreated in the creation. The Mikak’e cannot live without the minds of the elves to pay them homage, yet elves would not exist if the Mikak’e had not made the decision flesh. So it is that the decision lives on in us all, the Mikak’e and the elves, for without the decision, none of us would have form.”

  As the wooden bowl came his way, Jovian felt a bit nervous. He wasn’t sure what was in it.

  “Dolcium,” an elf beside him smiled, as if that explained everything.

  Upon taking his first drink of dolcium, Jovian felt his head swim. Whatever it was, it worked fast. Leaning back, he looked to the heavens as his vision blurred and the ground seemed to drop away. Frantically he gripped the log on which he sat in order to keep his balance, and watched helplessly as the stars blurred and drew nearer.

  As if there was an overabundance of moisture in his eyes, the stars seemed to streak light across the heavens in little trails of fire. The little trails of light created a kind of web across the heavens, and then the stars floated closer to Jovian until he stood among them.

  Jovian had the feeling that within the stars was a consciousness he had never before contemplated. There was, truly told, a consciousness to everything he touched, and everything he didn’t. Now with the wyrd of the dolcium coursing through him, Jovian could feel the wyrd of everything that surrounding him and it only took a brief thought of those things not around him for him to feel their consciousness as well.

  He thought of home—the Neferis Plantation and the fields surrounding them. Though there was no wheat here in Whitewood Haven, he could, nonetheless, feel the consciousness of the wheat back home swaying in the breeze. Jovian thought of Dellenbore, and instantly he felt the collective consciousness of all the dwarves below the ground swell up to greet him like a welling heat from below.

  Everything he thought about seemed to lend unto him its consciousness, its story, its wyrd.

  The consciousness from the stars was different though, almost human yet completely and utterly foreign to him. He figured this might be what the consciousness of a god felt like, but then at once knew it wasn’t what a god or goddess felt like at all.

  That is when they began to appear. Jovian knew at once the figures he saw gathering just at the edge of his vision must have been the Mikak’e, for they were like nothing he had ever seen before. In an effort to get a better look at their large human-like figures, he turned his head.

  But some force didn’t want him seeing them directly. As he turned his head, his concentration broke and he started becoming more aware of Whitewood Haven. All he could see was that each robed figure was indeed in the likeness of humans, with the exception that they were extremely tall and appeared to be stretched, their bodies and features much longer than they should have been. He was loathe to call them gangly, however.

  Jovian quickly looked back up at the streaking starlight before he became too aware of Whitewood Haven and finally began to relax, even with the figures of the Mikak’e surrounding him.

  “Don’t look, only see,” the Mikak’e spoke in unison, their voices droll, unremarkable. At first Jovian puzzled over their words, but he was not given time to dwell on them, for he was then joined by another consciousness.

  “Jovian?” Angelica’s voice spoke to him, and he peered around to find her but could not.

  “Where are you, Angie?” Jovian asked, and as he said these words he felt something within him separate, and another figure formed out of the substance that was before only him. Angelica’s form wavered for a moment as she came from his etheric body, and she turned to look, only to have the same warning repeated to her as her image began to fade. Jovian knew that this wavering of her etheric image meant that she was being drawn back.

  “Don’t look, only see,” they repeated as Angelica came back into vivid focus.

  And so they saw. In the blink of an eye the white light of the stars turned yellow. The glow darkened and became rougher, more abstract. The soft glow was no longer that, and before they knew it the serene starlight had vanished only to be replaced by a fire as intense in heat and vision as that of a forge.

  From within the flames images appeared … visions.

  There were three images in the fire, though they did not appear together. Instead the figures were as elusive as the Mikak’e. Three figures, seemingly shadows in the licking flames: one small, two large. Indeed the two larger ones appeared to be human—women.

  Between the two women the fire parted. From within it emerged a large metal disk attached to a silver chain which floated on the heat of the fire. Before long the medallion was rotating and they could see with startling lucidity each and every line and crack in it. The way the edges were studded with metal spokes, like a small wheel; the way the center was set with an oval lapis stone, and even the intricate carvings along the edges. Three circles adorned the medallion, one encircling the Lapis, the other two framing the carvings in a larger circle at the rim of the disk. Light lavender lines of power slithered like lightning across this empty space in the center.

  As the crackling wyrd crossed the surface, they felt a stabbing pain in their
palms. The pain was barely noticeable at first, starting out as a dull throb, but then, slowly, it increased in intensity as the hissing wyrd increased.

  In unison Jovian and Angelica both cried out as the pain lanced up their arms causing the most discomfort in their wrists where the bones felt pinched together. The sensation of needles pricked their palms, tendons tore in their wrists, and sharp, irregular bursts of throbbing pain shot up their arms.

  As soon as the pain had come it vanished, taking with it the image of the medallion in the flames.

  When the medallion had completely vanished, the other two forms began to take shape. After having just been shown their family medallion, they weren’t surprised to see the two female forms were their sisters.

  Joya was dressed in a grand, lacey black gown like she would have worn back at the plantation. The fire did not seem to touch the flared skirts, nor the gathered fabric of the bustle. A large fan was clasped in one gloved hand, and the other hand gripped tightly to Amber’s white gloved one.

  Amber was the exact opposite of Joya, dressed in the same type of gown barely held up by lace straps clinging to her milky shoulders. Her yellow eyes showed none of the malaise they had in the Foothills of Nependier, and her hair was clean, a beautiful, intricate pile of honey locks on her head held in place by diamond pins. The two sisters truly were complete opposites of one another, even down to their hairstyles. In Amber’s opposite hand she clutched a white fan identical to Joya’s black.

  The two sisters smiled, but the movement of their mouths did not stop there. Angelica and Jovian felt an intense love for them that went far beyond that of siblings, daughters, they heard from somewhere deep inside their minds. They didn’t have time to examine the source of the voice because a horrific change was happening in the flames.

  The first screams of pain issued from Amber and Joya’s mouths; Angelica and Jovian reached for each other’s hands, tears peeking out from their eyes as they watched, helplessly. The flames caught on the lacey fabric and melted it.

  The flames did not stop with the hem, and instead raced with mind-boggling speed up the length of the skirts until even the girls’ hair caught fire.

  With outstretched arms Joya and Amber reached for Angelica and Jovian, but the distance separated them. Instinctively Jovian and Angelica extended their hands as well, to pull them from the fire that blackened their skin, but the space between them that moments ago was so small suddenly became just far enough away that the tips of their fingers could not touch the tips of the shriveling gloves clinging in melting strands to their sister’s blistering hands.

  The two of them tried to look away, but the horror of the vision froze them in place. They were helpless as they watched Joya and Amber cling to one another’s hands, not able to rest themselves from the flames that were inevitably killing them.

  Skin cracked and hair withered as they watched, and soon the red-pink moisture of tissue could be seen through the blackened, peeling fissures in their face and arms. Lips cracked and blood oozed down their faces, but one thing remained: the clear blue of Joya’s eyes, and the feral amber of Amber’s.

  Jovian and Angelica’s attention was drawn lower, to their linked hands which were still gloved, still somehow whole, despite the fact that their other hands were in ruin.

  “Don’t leave me!” Joya cried out in anguish. The pain, they realized, was more than that of physical pain, but also emotional. The two of them looked back up to see the identical opposites of Amber and Joya, now both blackened, seemingly the same form, looking at each other. Silent tears evaporated on Joya’s ruined face, and slowly their hands lost their grip.

  Angelica and Jovian felt their hearts breaking in more ways than the loss of their sisters; they could not explain the pain they felt for they had never before felt its likeness.

  As the flames towered higher, Joya finally released Amber, their once untouched gloved hands now withering in the heat as the rest of them had. Amber was instantly engulfed in angry flames, lost to the unyielding fire.

  With a sudden, pain-filled cry, Angelica and Jovian came back to themselves. The drug and the spirits no longer fogged their minds, yet they still could not think clearly. Somehow they could sense one another more strongly than ever before. Angelica and Jovian were not surprised that this was happening, as their bond had only been growing stronger since they had left the plantation. But still, Jovian was stunned when an answer came from his calming thoughts.

  It’s only a vision, Jovian, it’s only a vision, Jovian told himself, closing his eyes against tears that threatened to seep.

  Grace, who had not partaken in the ceremony, stood at the edge of the firelight, watching the two of them like a vulture. The old lady’s arms were wrapped around herself, keeping the chill of air at bay, and she leaned against a tree as white as the wrappings the elves had given her. The long gray hair (normally bound on top of her head) now cascaded in loose spirals around her shoulders, landing at her waist.

  Grace watched them as if she expected something to happen, expected their reactions to the ceremony to reveal a truth she had guessed at.

  It’s only a vision, Jovian, he repeated, not opening his eyes to see his old teacher watching them. Nonetheless he could sense her watching him, as if he could see her image through other eyes that were not his own. Why did she look at him that way? What did she want? Suddenly all the old malice he had felt for her, all the distrust, came back. Why had she not told them sooner? What did she want? It was obvious that Porillon was using Amber to get to the medallion, but what did Grace want from them? Was she looking for the same thing Porillon was: a way to the medallion?

  She admitted to them all it was general consensus that Sylvie’s children could use the medallion, and she had also told Porillon that she had three in which could also use the medallion. If Porillon sought retribution for her fallen master then what did Grace want?

  Dammit, Jovian, it was only a vision, he yelled in his mind, and he felt Angelica stiffen on the log beside him. Stop acting so damned strange; you’ve had visions before.

  Yes, we’ve had visions before, and you died. Angelica’s voice intruded on his thoughts. For a moment he was startled. How could Angelica hear what he was thinking? Then he remembered their unity in the ether, and he thought, at first panicked, that something was wrong. He didn’t feel wrong, and neither could he feel Angelica in the way he had before. He felt like just Jovian, only with a stronger link to Angelica.

  As far as I can tell it’s just a stronger bond. His sister’s answering thought came to him. However, if it lasts, I’m sure we will learn more about it on the way.

  How can you be so calm about this? Jovian asked. How can you rationalize this?

  I’m not calm, not at all. I don’t like this, Jove, but you must not be able to feel that over your own anxiety. You must admit, however, that it will come in damned useful. At that point he opened his eyes and looked into Angelica’s smiling face. Though grief clung to her eyes, she was not as worried. We can’t change what we saw.

  Nor should we tell anyone else, should we? he asked uncertain.

  I suspect if they were meant to know they would have been shown as well. No, they shouldn’t know about any of it, most of all our new bond.

  If it lasts, Jovian said.

  If it lasts, she agreed. Now stop looking at me before Grace suspects something.

  Joya vowed she would never tell any of them what she had seen in the fire. Thinking about the shapes that had plagued her mind made her stomach churn, made her nauseous. She wrapped her arms around her stomach as another cramp stole through her body, and she hoped that her cycle was not coming along with the horrible feeling that accompanied the vision.

  She had barely noticed the change in Angelica and Jovian, and even seeing them now, looking at each other as if they could read something deeper than any of them could see, Joya barely noticed the flash of amber that bled through their eyes. She might have thought this change odd; certainly Grace
did with the rapturous way she watched them, but Joya’s mind was riveted on the horror she had seen in the fire.

  Something she would never tell them. Something dire and about Amber. No, she would never tell any of them….

  But it doesn’t have to be so, a deep voice spoke into her mind. All you have to do is take my hand, and I will show you the way to stop this from happening.

  The words the voice of wisdom promised were wonderful, like a salvation she was not sure she could ever feel again. She almost accepted then, but something held Joya back from taking his offer.

  Even still the pain in her stomach was answered, and rivaled, only by the shiver up her spine, causing tremors through the lemniscate at the base of her neck. Joya yearned for the wyrd of the voice of wisdom …

  “Were you given the vision?” Lockelayter asked Maeven, who nodded solemnly, his gaze fixed on a spot far distant than the clearing.

  “Yes,” he grunted.

  It was Jovian’s turn to answer the question next. “Were you given the vision?” Lockelayter asked, coming to stand before him.

  The vision; the burning flesh; the horrendous screams; the hopeless look; the helpless feeling; Jovian fought down the sickness that bubbled up in his throat like acid. He nodded his head once, squeezing out a constricted, “Yes.”

  “Were you given the vision?” Lockelayter asked Angelica as he had asked those before her.

  Yes,” she answered.

  Finally Lockelayter turned to Joya and asked her, “Were you given the vision?”

  “Yes.”

  Lockelayter returned to the far side of the fire and stared at them from across the flames. At once he looked like a vision from the Mikak’e, his multi-hued brown hair warmed by the golden glow of fire, his golden skin shimmering in the dancing light, the white wrap around his waist colored honey by the crackling flames, the silver belt at his waist, and silver bands at his wrist and upper arm shinning clean in the light, his violet eyes, large and veiled in shadows, in mystery.