The Darkling Tide

by Travis Simmons

  A storm had blown in at some point when they were traveling and the clearing had just been covered with a new wash of snow. The squall was still raining down heavily in the clearing, pelting the gathered light elves with snow, frosting their hair.

  “All of the snow is fresh,” Mari said. “And you think the harbinger and her group came through here?”

  “I know they did,” Celeste said. “This would be the defining moment. If they went right, they are headed to New Landanten and the harbingers. If they went left...”

  “Frost giants,” Skye said.

  Celeste pursed her lips. She didn’t want to think that Daniken would be leading them to the frost giants.

  Mari stepped forward, her left hand stroking her sun scepter. The staff made a resonant hum, and wherever Mari pointed it, the fresh snowfall was blown back, as if by a gentle breeze. Underneath they could see signs of a camp: a campfire long cold, indentations where people had slept, discarded rabbit pelts.

  “She’s feeding them animals from the forest!” Mari half growled the statement.

  “Humans eat meat,” Celeste said. She didn’t like the idea of creatures from the Fay Forest being consumed either, but it wasn’t precisely incriminating. “And we’ve known for some time the dark elves consume flesh.”

  “It’s just horrible,” Mari mumbled.

  “Over here,” Skye said. He stood at the exit of the clearing into the right hand path. He slid his fingers against his sun scepter producing a haze of golden wyrd. Celeste went to him to watch his wyrded inspection. “See, right there, along the trees. What do you see?”

  Celeste drew her scepter from her back and neared the edge of the trail. She also slipped her fingers against her scepter and watched as the golden light ebbed out. There, clinging to the tree like spider silk, was the telltale signs of moonlight.

  “However, this is incriminating,” Celeste said.

  “What’s that?” Skye asked her.

  She shook her head. “She cast some kind of enchantment here.”

  “Right, likely she was hiding this leg of the path,” Skye said.

  Mari came up to them. “But you said they traveled with a pixie, wouldn’t she have noticed this?”

  Celeste frowned. It was a general misconception that all fay could feel wyrd simply because they were fay.

  “What would make the pixie sense the wyrd any more than the humans?” Celeste asked. “If she was looking for it, I’m sure she would. Daphne is young, she never lived in the Fay Forest, and she’s untrained in navigating the trail.”

  Mari nodded.

  “Didn’t you say they were being dogged by darklings?” Skye asked.

  “I did,” Celeste said. She studied the trees and the forest floor, but there was no signs of darklings. “Maybe they are still near them. How old do you think this camp is?”

  “A few days,” Mari said.

  “Alright, we need to find them.” Celeste turned to the left hand path. “There is a couple hours of sunlight left. We can make some ground.”

  The elves held their scepters close, wrapped their arms around the staves and drummed their fingers on the top. The light spread form the scepters, flared bright, and when it waned, the elves were gone, racing along the path as orbs of sunlight.

  The light melted away and Celeste stumbled. It was never easy for her, coming out of the light after traveling. It was like her legs weren’t used to walking, and it took a moment to steady herself. She closed her eyes and let the dizziness pass before surveying her surroundings.

  “A fire passed through here,” Skye said.

  Celeste could see that. All around them the trees had been stripped of life, charred and twisted. There were still parts, deeper in the forest that smoked and cracked from heat. The snow had been melted away from the clearing leaving very little that they could read from the camp.

  “Was it wyrded?” Mari asked.

  Light rippled out of Skye’s scepter. “Not that I can tell.”

  “Alright, at least she hasn’t gone completely crazy,” Mari said.

  It was funny to Celeste that Mari graded crazy not by the notions the dark elves had about opening the scepters, but by their willingness to damage the forest.

  “I would think she’s pretty well on her way,” Celeste said. “At this point we can wager that she’s kidnapped the harbinger and her group and is leading them directly into the Frozen North.” Celeste’s blue eyes pierced through the ravaged forest as if she could see the mountains she spoke of, and the giant’s lands beyond.

  “But why lead them to the giants?” Mari asked. “Isn’t it the harbinger’s blood she needs to open the scepters?”

  “Yes,” Skye said. “But she must have to wait until the harbinger has slipped enough to the darkling wyrd before she can take her blood.”

  “Then she will gather it up, leave the group in giant territory, and bring the blood back to New Landanten to open more scepters.” Celeste wasn’t sure that’s what Daniken was doing, but it made the most sense. “Come on, they can’t be too far ahead of us now.

  “We shouldn’t have left the cave,” Leona said, her voice weak, her breathing heavy. They were racing along the forest path, their meager supplies forgotten.

  All Abagail could think was that her sister was right. In the cave she had felt safe, even though the back end of it had been outside of the trail, she still felt secure. Now that they’d left the cave, the darklings were back and so was the harp music.

  The harp twanged loudly, and out in the forest, above the caws of the darkling birds they could hear uproarious laughter. It was small, almost thin. Abagail knew beyond a doubt that it belonged to the elle folk.

  “I thought we killed them,” she muttered.

  “No,” Daniken said. “Just sent them away. This time it sounds like they are inside the Fay Forest, and away from their lime tree grove. They have crossed over into Agaranth from their shadow world.”

  “Hard to imagine there are some worlds worse off than this one,” Rorick said.

  Everyone ignored him.

  “So what’s the plan?” Abagail asked as they drew to a stop to rest. “We can’t keep running. We will have to face them eventually.”

  “And when we do,” Daniken said. “We are going to need the wyrd of your plague to help.”

  Abagail nodded.

  “No,” Leona said. “We can’t do that.”

  “What do you suggest, Leo?” Abagail asked. “That we bring down the warding and let the darkling birds and elle folk overwhelm us? You and Rorick won’t be able to do much, not with close range weapons. Wyrd is the only weapon that can reach them off the path.”

  “But last time you used your darkling wyrd, you punched a hole in the warding,” Rorick told her.

  “Yes,” Leona said, as if proving her point that it was better if Abagail didn’t use her wyrd at all.

  “Dammit,” Abagail cursed. “She’s right.”

  “I can heal the warding,” Daniken said, but she didn’t sound certain.

  “No, it would be too much, shadkin would slip in long before that,” Abagail said. “We have to keep moving. How much further until we reach the harbingers?”

  “I’m not sure,” Daniken said. “I told you that the path seems to be changing, I don’t even know where it’s leading us.”

  Abagail crossed her arms over her chest. Great, we’re doomed.

  Daphne fluttered up off Leona’s shoulder as the sounds of the cheering elle folk and the demented harp music came closer.

  “Then we run,” Daniken said.

  They didn’t make it long before they could hear the elle folk running beside the trail. The darkling birds took wing, melting back into the forest and allowing the elle folk to get as close to the trail as possible.

  Abagail watched one of the little people stumble over a twisted root. He fell into the warding and there was a bright, sizzling flash. The barrier rippled and blasted him further back into the forest. Abagail couldn’t se
e if he got back up.

  A bow twanged and an arrow flew true. Abagail knew where it was headed, right for Daphne.

  “No!” she yelled, spinning to face the elle folk. Her hand thrummed and it seemed as though time slowed down. She let her mind flow with the time of the wyrd. Abagail watched the arrow sifting through the air, arcing toward the pixie. She felt the wyrd thrum through her in time with the slow wing beats of the pixie.

  She held up her hand and thought how she needed to stop the arrow. She needed to save Daphne from the elle folk. Abagail felt the skin of her palm opening up, waking to life like an eye. Silver light bloomed along the surface of her hand. There was no pain this time, there was only calming relief. She aimed the Sleeping Eye on her hand toward the arrow. A beam of silver light struck the shaft of the projectile and it unraveled, falling to the ground like sand.

  Time resumed its normal course. Abagail stumbled to a stop and held her hand up again.

  “Get behind her!” Daniken ordered.

  Abagail felt everyone, including Daphne, follow the orders and clamber in behind her. She let the wyrd ripple out again. She focused her mind on protection, keeping all of those around her safe. The moonlight emanating from her palm flowed out of her. She fed the power with the thoughts of an orb and the wyrd obeyed, snapping into the shape of a globe around them as the first rain of arrows took them by storm.

  When the arrows struck the orb they disintegrated like the one she’d intercepted had done.

  “Alright,” Daniken said. “Now at least we have cover.” She drummed her finger against her scepter and took aim. A flash of silver light cut through the forest from the tip of her scepter, felling elle folk wherever she aimed.

  The scepter sang as the elf attacked, and Abagail wished there was something more she could do. Her hand was still humming, and it was still wrapped in silver light. Abagail couldn’t be sure, but she felt as though the shadow plague was lessening its hold on her arm. She couldn’t check because it had already crawled up out of sight under her shirt. But there was just a feeling that the silver light lessened the darkness on her arm.

  Which means, if it’s that much different than the golden light, I might be able to do something more.

  It was risky. If she was wrong it would mean blasting a hole in the warding. But at the time Daniken was the only one able to attack, and though she was causing devastation wherever her silver light blasted, she had also said that the scepter could run out of wyrd and only be replenished in the light of a full moon.

  “I’m going to try something,” Abagail said to Rorick. “Keep your eyes open.”

  Rorick frowned, but nodded. He tightened his grip on his hammer. It seemed he already knew what she was going to try.

  Abagail let the wyrd take her over, let it fill her body and merged her mind with the flow of power. She felt the Sleeping Eye open within her palm, and she pointed her hand toward the left side of the trail. She imagined the same beam of light coming from her hand that was coming from Daniken’s scepter.

  Abagail rocked back when the blast of silver wyrd exploded from her hand and took the elle folk by surprise. She opened her eyes, watching the power flow out, throwing the little people backwards into the Fay Forest. Some crashed into trees, falling broken and limp to the forest floor. Others were skewered on jagged branches, blood pouring down to the snow dappled ground beneath them.

  But the barrier held true.

  Abagail laughed in delight, not that she was killing the elle folk, but that she could do something to protect her group that wouldn’t bring down untold legions of darklings upon them.

  She felt the shadow plague lose a bit of its grip on her arm, but she kept her mind focused.

  “Abbie, its working!” Leona cheered.

  There was no time to celebrate, the elle folk were pouring out of the depths of the forest and toward the edge of the trail. As she fought, Abagail knew they were safe. As long as she was able to hold the shielding the arrows couldn’t hit them. As long as Daniken and she were able to attack, they could best the elle folk.

  Every attack of the Sleeping Eye cut down troves of elle folk. They vanished like fog burned away by the sun, leaving behind a miasma of black smoke that drifted ineffectually to the forest floor.

  She felt the shadow plague losing its grip on her arm. Now it was below her elbow, and creeping farther. Abagail felt a storm of emotions within her.

  The archers were gone. No more arrows fell at them.

  Abagail stopped her attack soon after Daniken relented.

  “My staff is nearly depleted,” the elf responded. She was breathing deep, winded by the attack.

  Abagail held her hand up before her face. The attacks had reduced the shadow plague once more to a dark glove covering her hand.

  “It seems that works like my staff,” Daniken said.

  Abagail nodded, but she was looking at something else on her palm, and the elf’s words didn’t register. When Abagail first contracted the shadow plague, it had started out like a spec of ink on the palm of her hand. The more she used it, the more the plague had spread. Now something else was happening. Where the shadow plague had started, another light was growing.

  This time it was white.

  The spec on her hand shimmered and eddied like light through water. The light reminded her of the rainbow flagstones of Eget Row. There were so many hues.

  “So, you’ve bested the archers,” a wicked voice called from the edge of the forest.

  “Yes, and you can’t touch us here,” Leona taunted him.

  Abagail frowned. Even if they were safe behind her bubble of wyrd, she didn’t think taunting these little bastards was wise. Leona must have caught the look her sister gave her because she cleared her throat and looked to her feet.

  “We shall see about that,” the leader of the elle folk said. His face was still lost in the shadow of his horrible hat. The other elle folk gave him a wide berth. The harpist stood beside him, nearly draped over his form like a cloak.

  “Elf, I’ve heard that this warding is getting weak,” he called to Daniken.

  She didn’t answer.

  “Would be a shame if it ever came down, wouldn’t it?” He said.

  The harpists shoulders lurched with what Abagail could only imagine was laughter. She untangled herself from her king and stepped back. She folded herself on a stump, and rested the harp on her lap. Her fingers began strumming a tune on the harp, and all around them, power rippled.

  “What’s happening?” Abagail asked. She could feel the power of the harp in her protective orb. It was working with her wyrd in a way she couldn’t understand, almost as if it were searching for something. As soon as the music found the beginning of the orb, Abagail understood what the harpist was doing.

  She’s unmaking my protections! Abagail raised her hand and tried to will the power forth, but she couldn’t. All she could think about was how if the elle folk managed to unmake the warding of Singer’s Trail that they would have to fight off the darkling birds as well as the elle folk.

  “What are we going to do?” Leona asked.

  “We can’t wait for them to attack,” Rorick told them. “Abbie, you need to do something. Take out the harpist, it’s the only way.”

  “Right.” Rorick was right, all she had to do was work through her concern, and kill the harpist.

  She raised her palm again, but just then her orb of wyrd came undone. The power flared and rebounded on her, driving all of the wyrd back into her. A hot, stabbing agony flared up her arm. Abagail gasped in pain, feeling like her arm had just been torn from the socket. She stumbled, light blooming before her eyes.

  The plague flared and slithered back up her arm. She felt it crawl up her neck, tendrils of malaise seeking her brain. There it stopped, wreathed around her ear like darkened vines.

  “Abbie!” Leona called.

  But it all seemed in slow motion. Abagail fell backwards, her body slamming into the trail, roots and stones dug into her
back. The call of the darkling birds swam around her, dragging her down into oblivion. As her vision turned to darkness she saw the warding of Singer’s Trail begin to ripple the same way her wyrding had moments before.

  What are we going to do? Leona wondered. She wouldn’t let herself cry, no matter how much the fear was building up inside of her, looking for an escape. She had to be strong.

  She reached for Abagail’s sword where it lay half in her limp grip, and mostly on the ground. Her sister’s eyes fluttered, like she was dreaming, or being taken by haunting visions.

  Leona didn’t have to have any kind of wyrd to see the ripple the harp music was making on the warding around Singer’s Trail. If it came down, they were doomed. She dried her eyes of tears that hadn’t yet spilled, and stood. Her hand quivered where it shook around the sword.

  “Daniken,” Leona said. “Kill the harpist.”

  “There’s not enough power left in my scepter for an attack. It would only damage her,” Daniken said.

  “Good, aim it at the harp then,” Leona said.

  Daniken nodded, a blush creeping across her bluish cheeks.

  Her finger drummed on the scepter and a beam of silver light shot out of it. The harp made a horrible noise like a woman screaming, and all Leona wanted to do was cover her ears, but she didn’t. She grit her teeth and waited for the scream to stop.

  It finally did, with a twang of broken strings, the scream died away.

  The harpist growled. She stood and threw the harp at the elf. The instrument sailed through the warding and landed a few feet from Daniken. Rorick smashed it to pieces with the hammer.

  Leona was about to ask if they had anything else up their sleeve, but she remembered the look that came over Abagail’s face when she had last taunted the king of the elle folk, and she kept her mouth shut.

  She looked back at her sister. Before the plague had left her almost completely, but now Leona didn’t see any evidence of the point of light that had bloomed on her sister’s hand. Now the shadow was further up, twining up her neck and encasing her ear in knot work.