Dockalfar

by Nunn, PL

  Victoria stood, hovered actually, before her, feet barely touching the hot sidewalk. She did not know the place, or the child. But there was recognition in the little girl’s eyes.

  “What’re you doing here?” The child asked, a certain sweet, tartness to her voice. The girl’s eyes were expectant and Victoria felt a surge of helplessness overcome her. She didn’t know! And she should have!

  “Where’s here?” her voice shook with weakness.

  A sly smile crossed the childish face.

  “It’s home, mommy. What’s the matter with you?”

  She might have been propelled backwards for all the shock she felt at this miniature version of herself and Alex.

  This precocious child with the all-knowing smile. This child that called her ‘mommy’.

  “You never come to see me,” the little girl complained. “I have to play all by myself. When’s ‘Vada going to get here?”

  “ ‘Vada?” Victoria repeated dumbly.

  “Who’s ‘Vada?”

  “You know,” the girl said in exasperation. “What’s wrong with you? Did you hurt daddy again? I hate it when you hurt daddy.”

  Shaking her head frantically, Victoria denied it. “No. No. I didn’t – who are you? Who are you?”

  The secretive smile returned, as though the child knew far more than Victoria ever would. She went back to her drawing, golden head bent. Victoria’s eyes followed the small fingers. Runes decorated the sidewalk behind where the girl sat for as far as the eye could see. The sidewalk seemed to stretch forever. Some glowed faintly yellow, other’s red. The one she was almost standing on, the one the child worked to complete, was so black it soaked light.

  She whispered a prayer and spasmed as pain struck her. Spinning and twisting she was jerked back through the layers of her subconscious. She felt the intricacies of her body. Felt blood pump frantically through her veins. Felt muscles scream with fever. Felt a gaping, ragged hole in her body where none should have been.

  For a brief moment her eyes snapped open, glazed and devoid of rational thought. Exotic, foreign faces hovered over her own. Slanted eyes and long-tipped ears, hair like spun silk. She saw bloodied hands from the corner of her vision holding an evil, rust brown shaft.

  The defiler of her being.

  Blood poured from her body and hands reached forth to staunch the flow.

  Dizziness overwhelmed her and she fought her way back to the place of comfort. The haven from pain – – and was on a mountain surrounded by green, grass covered slopes and far away lush forests. The air was warm with spring scents. She could see the whole of the world from her vantage. A thousand valleys and lakes, rivers, streams and grottoes. Far ranges more desolate than the one she occupied. Deserts beyond that filled with glittering crystal sand.

  But there was no life, other than the vast foliage. No moving creatures. No fluttering birds. She frowned over this, squinted into the distance to study the world. The land’s randomness was too perfect. Too thought out. Almost like a detailed, three dimensional map someone had meticulously constructed. Or a game board waiting for players to place pieces on it’s surface.

  She felt like a game piece herself, always in the hands of someone else. Ever manipulated and drawn down one path or the other against he will. She had been content with that for a while, not knowing she had the power to construct her own freedom. No more, she decided with determination. Perhaps with that ideal in mind, she might be a wild card now. No longer a malleable piece.

  Shadows shifted above her and she started, twisting to look over her shoulder.

  There was no mountain behind or above her. Only impenetrable darkness. She gazed with awe at the void yawning at her back. She did not fear it. She did not know that she should. It merely stunned her by its all encompassing vastness. It’s emptiness.

  But was it empty? Did something slither within its dark maw? She leaned forward into the nothingness – and ceased to be– – then was thrust out with the disdainful dismissal of a valet ousting a beggar from the halls of the most exclusive of clubs. She tumbled down the grassy slope, left with the distinct impression that something somewhere was annoyed. An annoyance not so much directed at her, but because of her – – awareness grayed, flickered to pain, then she hastily pulled herself deeper into her self-made island of safety and saw– – Alex staring at her, concern on his face. His face was thin, his eyes scarred.

  One arm was clutched to his side in a black sling. The buttons on his uniform gleamed dully. It was how she remembered him on the day he had gotten back from the war.

  The bustle of the train station clamored around them. The old, dome-ceilinged terminal rebounded echoes, making hundreds of voices sound like thousands. She had on her green print dress and her little feathered cap, her hair in a fine net underneath it. People stared at her in passing. Men’s gazes lingering and speculative, women’s envious and assessing her for flaws to make themselves feel better.

  Victoria cared little for their opinions or their desires. She had come here for Alex and it tore at her heart to see the wound in his eyes, more than the physical hurt of his body. She moved towards him, slow motion, gliding effortlessly through a crowd that had suddenly intensified.

  Women hauling complaining children, old men in drab suits and fedoras, soldiers on leave or coming home that stood out in tan or green among the civilian colors. And some of the people were lovely. Tall, willowy figures that seemed out of place in suits and heels and knee length skirts.

  They were harder to get past. There was no gliding through them, or pushing them aside. They dragged at her progress, glistening eyes following her hungrily.

  Someone put a hand on her arm. A man with a hat pulled down low over his eyes. He was very tall and she reflexively shrunk away from the strange touch. But his fingers were strong. He gripped the flesh of her upper arm with bruising strength.

  “Aren’t you going the wrong way?” he asked.

  She blinked up at him. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Your train’s over there,” he pointed with his free hand. A locomotive stood boarding passengers on the far right track.

  “You’ve mistaken me,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m here to meet someone.”

  “He betrayed you,” the man said matter-of-factly.

  Her eyes widened in horror. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know very well. You just won’t admit it.”

  She tried to wrench her arm away.

  Physically she was no match. Mentally – she had forgotten how to defend herself that way.

  “Let me go,” she cried. “Alex! Help me.” She strained her neck trying to find him. But he was no longer waiting for her.

  He had gone to talk with the beautiful people. She cried out his name in misery, and the man let her go.

  “You did. You did,” she sobbed, staring at Alex’s back. “Liar!” she screamed. No one was paying her heed.

  They walked around her as if she were not there. She sagged to her knees, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “How could you? How could you, Alex? I loved you.”

  “Don’t you still?”

  Someone was standing behind her. A soft voice and a hazy presence. A tall, slender woman in a gray suit and a wicker handbag held before her. Gray, streaked hair was in a tight bun at her neck, her schoolmarm face long and pale. No face Victoria knew.

  “I hate him,” she said, denying the accusation. The woman sighed, looking about the station with interest.

  “And what did you do to him, child?”

  Blinking in confusion, Victoria pulled her knees up to her chest. The face was unfamiliar, but there was something in the tone. In the aura behind the face.

  “Do to him? I did nothing to him.”

  “Did you not?”

  She wrecked her mind, trying to think what the woman could possibly mean, and finally came up with a dim recollection of a tenuous something that lurked near the center of her being. Some
thing she craved, something that hesitantly craved her. It was new and unfamiliar and all she could picture was lash-shadowed eyes that shifted with the light.

  “Not while I loved him,” she whispered. “Not while I loved him.”

  “Always excuses. You were unfaithful, Victoria. Of your own free will. Was he?”

  Victoria’s head snapped up. “I told you – “

  “Of your own free will,” the woman repeated sternly, and started to back away, towards that east bound train.

  “No – no. Don’t leave me.”

  But the woman was fading. Victoria sobbed, curled into a knot in the middle of the floor and let herself fade to gray…

  Deeper and deeper. Darker and darker. She did not like the visions. She tried to outrun them. To find a place where there was no thought, no memory.

  “Victoria.”

  That woman was after her again. Bothering her with her insistent questions. Victoria ignored the voice/thought.

  “Victoria, you cannot go to this place and find your way back. This void can be crossed only once.”

  “Then let me cross it and be on my way,” she snapped.

  “You are not prepared for the journey.”

  “Oh, leave me alone.”

  “I cannot, child. For I need you. And you, I think, need me.”

  “I don’t need anyone.”

  “You need more folk than you think.”

  “I was not unfaithful.”

  “To yourself. No. To him. Maybe. To the preconceptions of your own beliefs – that is another matter.”

  “I hate him! I hate you! I have all that I need.”

  “Just because you have appeased your soul, do not let your heart wither.”

  “You speak in riddles. Let me be.”

  “I cannot. For I am here too, at the brink of this void. It is so very hard to return to the place we left. It seems so little to return to. This place makes all those concerns of that other world trivial. But it is illusion. There are things you love in life, child that you can never reach across the void. Go back!”

  Victoria distanced herself, studying the other presence. The foreign mind within her mind. It was warm and familiar. It woke memories. It reminded her lingering traces of pleasure and joy.

  She thought of spring days in the park by the river. Dozens of couple out in the warmth with picnic baskets and the gay rush of the season in their veins. She thought of the wonderful feeling of being the center of attention on a dark lit stage, singing from her heart and soul to the enraptured faces of her audience. Slipping in a song of her own making amongst the favorites they demanded of her. Seeing the appreciation. She recalled the warmth of male arms about her and the smell of musk. Alex…. She sobbed with the budding sprouts of misery. Her heart cried for him and there was nothing her rational mind could do to stop it. Her heart she wore on her sleeve like an armored corsage, demanding and hurtful. Her soul…. her soul cried out a different tune.

  That craved a thing she could put no name or form to. All she knew was that deep inside her, in that place that was her essence, she yearned for a darkness and a shadowy seduction that was a stranger to her, yet at the same time hinted at familiarity. She would never discover what that was if she fled across the void.

  “Neira’sha? I want to go home.”

  “Which home?”

  And that was a question she did not know the answer to.

  ~~~

  A dozen panic-stricken, agitated sets of eyes snapped to the door way as Ashara marched into her chamber of council. All of her elders were there, and some of the more powerful of her magic users. Venaimar and Eklarnar, Ehram and the lady Mendalah. Others that had been Ashara’s advisors over the long years that the Seelies had lived in this grove. There were folk missing that should have been there. Whether they were occupied else where or had been lost in the final thrust of Azeral’s forces was yet to be known.

  Ashara stopped ten paces into the chamber and stared at the pale faces around her. Most of the elders bore no weapons. Had borne no weapons for ages past counting. It was their faces that held the most shock, the most chilling fear. The younger sidhe were the ones with the eyes fevered from combat. Expressions hardened with grave worry. Okar stopped several steps behind her, off to one side.

  Support if she needed it, regardless of his own ideas of her plan.

  The tumult, when it came was jumbled and repetitious. Voices calling out that the wards had been broken. That the wood was afire. That the great hunt was on its way. Ogres by the thousands were thrashing their way towards the keep. Seelies had been killed. There was the blood of war in the earth of the grove.

  Ashara listened to it all in silence.

  She stared and waited for them to realize her lack of contribution. Gradually they did so and quieted.

  “It’s the human girl’s fault,” one final voice accused. “She brought this on us.”

  Ashara turned her eyes to the speaker, facing the lady Mendalah coolly. “You may be right.”

  “Of course I’m right,” the lady said, long elegant face rosy with nerves, slender hands clenching the sword hilt at her side. Her white blonde hair was cut short, woven with earthen beads. She was old to Ashara’s court. One of the first to join her in founding the keep in Neira’sha’s Grove. She had once been Lady of her own court. She never quite forgot that.

  “She fled from him and led him here to us. Now we pay for her folly.”

  “Would you have me give her over to him?” Ashara asked. “Perhaps he will graciously thank us for our cooperation and leave us in peace. Do you think he will do that, Mendalah? He does so have the reputation for kindness.”

  The other’s brows beetled. Hazel eyes grew hard. “Who should know better than you, Ashara? I merely raise the subject of blame.”

  “To what purpose? It will alter nothing. Whether the girl stays or goes, the hunt will descend upon this keep.” Her gaze left Mendalah and swept the rest of them. “And this keep is in no position to defend itself. This court has lain dormant too long, caught up in our own pleasure. We forget that there are factions in this land no so content to idly pass time as we. We forget the courts with Unseelie masters. He will take this keep. His magics are war magics, ours no longer are.”

  “We can combat the hunt,” Ehram cried. “They are not so much stronger than we.”

  “Perhaps the hunt,” she agreed. “If we are very lucky. But it is not merely the great hunt that howls at our door. He has an army that we cannot match. Whose minds and bodies we cannot hinder if we are occupied trying the match his court magic for magic.”

  “What will we do then, lady?” old Venaimar asked, quiet at the window, hands hidden in the voluminous sleeves of his robe.

  “We leave this keep and let him have it if he wishes.”

  There were gasps of shock and outrage. Harsh whispers, both mental and vocal.

  “Are you quite mad? Where will we go?” Mendalah demanded.

  “East,” Ashara said simply.

  “East? There’s nothing east for us. The whole of this court cannot outrun the hunt. We could not even outrun his army of ogres.”

  “She is right, lady,” Ehram concurred with Mendalah. “We’ve not horses for all, and the way this many folk afoot will move with sluggishness at best.”

  “We will move quickly,” Ashara said sternly. “And the hunt will not follow on our trail. They will be quite occupied with this keep. As to what we move towards. We go to a place far safer than this one ever was. The Vale of Vohar.”

  There were not even any immediate gasps of surprise. Her most trusted merely stared at her in shock. Gradually her announcement sunk in. The explosion came soon after.

  “By the Four, Ashara!” Mendalah exclaimed. “You intend to send us from one death trap into another. You have lost your mind.”

  Half of them echoed Mendalah. Half of them looked at Ashara as if they did doubt her ability to lead them. Okar could stand it no longer. He stepped to her side angrily,
glaring at the bunch of them.

  “What choice do we have? Should we hold out in this keep while the enemy lays siege to it? Will we allow ourselves to be starved out? What one of you thinks these walls will hold up against attack? This is not a fortress! It was never meant to be. And Vohar is a Seelie place. It will welcome us more than Azeral and his.”

  “You’ve no more sense than to side with her,” Mendalah accused. “Vohar is a place of ghosts, and ghostly runes that no one in living memory has tried to pass. It will welcome us no more than Azeral.”

  “The operative word, Lady,” Ashara said quietly. “Is ‘tried’. No one has tried. Neira’sha knows its runes. She knew the last of the last of those who lived in that vale.”

  “She never lived there! She is on the brink of void herself this very moment. What if she never comes back to us, Ashara? Then even your slim hope will be for naught.”

  “What might you suggest, lady?”

  Mendalah gazed at her. There was nothing on her face but honest worry. Fear for what lay at their gates and what Ashara suggested they do to avoid it. No more fear that Okar felt himself. But badly voiced before the council. It did nothing but compound their nervousness and belittle Ashara in their eyes. Finally she said.

  “I know not, Lady. I know not. But I fear in your desperation you lead us astray.”

  “I pray not,” Ashara whispered, barely heard. “For at this moment, I can think of little else to do.”

  ~~~

  A great shield went up about the white keep. It started at the inner gardens and circled the Seelie court. It was magical in nature and the result of a dozen powerful sidhe working in concert to enforce the older wards that protected the keep. It was built layer by layer throughout the long night. Thickened to an almost visible shimmer when the morning’s mist floated down upon it. It was most certainly strong enough to hold back a hundred ogre and goblin troops.

  One did not expect it to hold the combined force of the great hunt for any prolonged amount of time. It might be hoped that it would hold their attention though.

  One place did the shield thin and repeatedly flicker into non existence. A tiny area to the extreme east, off the regular paths of egress gaped to admit refugees into the forest. Scouts went first, marking a path free of lurking enemy. They covered themselves in illusions of nature.