Her passive face betrayed no clues – she closed her eyes and tilted her head. I scanned the underbrush, the overhanging branches.
Then, almost impossibly faint, a trilling note reached my ears. My horse shivered his flanks and I patted his neck. The lonely flute called out again, this time more clearly. I couldn’t tell from which direction it came – for all I knew, it could have come from inside my own head.
A breeze rustled the leaves for the first time that day. Something told me that magick beyond my perception was at play.
“Send your friends. Send them now. Bring the others,” Majira whispered, eyes still closed.
Her body was relaxed, her face peaceful. The light breeze caught at the hem of her dress.
I whistled for my friend’s attention and signalled for them to fetch the others. Without hesitation they charged off.
“What’s happening?” I asked. “Did we find it?”
Majira smiled dolefully.
“No. They found us. Do you hear the call?”
I cocked my head. Sure enough, the lone trill continued its strange but not unpleasant tune.
“That flute thing? Is that the call?”
“That’s the call. Go towards it, Herace the Redeemed. Let them bring you in.”
“Go towards it? How? I don’t even know what direction it’s coming from!”
She laughed good-naturedly.
“It doesn’t matter what direction you go. Just go…”
“Um – alright. What about you? And the others?”
She opened her eyes just a sliver.
“Don’t worry about them, Herace. They’ll all be safe. And I’ll follow right behind once the princess arrives…”
I wanted to ask more questions, but at the same time, I didn’t want to look unsure of myself. I urged my horse forward. He took a few steps, and as he did, the dim woods began to change.
The grisly oaks seemed to melt away – the grey sky morphed ever so slowly, ever so subtly. In a way I didn’t even notice a change, yet with every pace forward I was undeniably shifting from Sythir Eoaghn to a place I had never dreamed of.
All around me was a golden light. Dew glistened like diamonds upon delicate ferns – flowers of every sort and variety bloomed in a riotous maze of colour. The trees were dense and strong – I saw maples and cedars and verdant ivy hanging thick as rope.
I couldn’t help but laugh, caught off guard by the kaleidoscopic wonder spread out before me. I turned around to call out for Majira – but she was gone. Sythir Eoaghn was gone. I was alone in the gilded woods, and for some reason, I was perfectly content with it.
I dismounted my horse. There was no pathway to speak of. Reins in one hand, I ventured forth and pushed aside the vivid greenery with the other. I didn’t know where I was headed and I didn’t care.
After a short ways I came into a secluded clearing. Blushing lilies drooped, petals heavy with shining droplets that reflected the honey sun. I felt giddy and couldn’t help but smile. It felt wonderful.
All this time I had wasted traipsing around Sythir Eoaghn, looking for low folk to kill, when I could have stumbled upon here.
No wonder Majira was so whimsical… a single dose of this place was already doing me in.
In drunken marvel I sat down beneath the nodding lilies. They were pink and white and purple and curled elegantly away from bright green stalks. My horse stood idly at the edge of the clearing, nose nestled in the greenery. I closed my eyes.
“Son of the woods. Welcome.”
I opened my eyes. Somehow I had ended up on my back.
A young girl stood next to my horse. At least, I thought she was just a young girl – and no sylfolk, by the looks of it. Then I noticed the immense wings behind her.
“You’re a faerie,” I whispered in awe.
I never thought they’d be so big.
She stroked my horse’s neck. Butterflies and dragonflies flittered all around her. It looked like she was caught up in a storm of colourful leaves.
Bare footed she walked toward me. I sat up. I studied the insects flying all around her and saw they weren’t insects at all – they, too, were fae. The small kind, like the ones used to carry messages.
“My name is Lyrèlie, eldest daughter of the Yvrette. Welcome to Glenn Mereillon,” she smiled.
“Uh, thanks. I’m Herace. Er, Prince Herace. The Redeemed. Lord of Plin Oèn, Guardian of the Amber Bower… you know. All that stuff,” I said.
She giggled, hiding her mouth with a hand.
“I know. Majira told me.”
“Figures. How do you know Majira, anyway?”
Lyrèlie fluttered her wings and flew up into the canopy above, alighting delicately upon a branch. She swung her legs contentedly. Her eyes were narrow, with high cheekbones and a wide, toothy smile. Her face belied vague mischief.
“She knew my mother. And my mother’s mother. And my mother’s mother’s mother,” she said.
Wow, Majira must be really old. Ancient. I wanted to ask how old Majira was, but asking such questions about a lady’s age was quite rude and would have been against my honour.
“So, how old is Majira?”
Lyrèlie giggled at my question and swung her legs.
“You should ask her yourself,” she replied.
It dawned on me that the fae didn’t live very long. At least, the small ones didn’t. A few years at the most. Not sure how long a big one would live…
“Where are your antlers?” she suddenly demanded.
I touched a finger to my left antler. It was still just growing back in. At least they were growing back in evenly.
“Long story. Got cut off. But they’re growing back.”
“Too bad they aren’t growing back evenly. It isn’t too noticeable though.”
I scowled. I never liked the fae anyway. I ignored her.
“Majira has bigger antlers than you. So does Dawn.”
“That’s just because mine are growing back in. Okay? In a year or two they’ll be back to their full size, and twice as big as Majira’s,” I huffed.
Lyrèlie tilted her head quizzically.
“Why don’t you like Majira?”
“What? I do. She just… she’s hard to understand. That’s all.”
“You think she’s hard to understand? You haven’t met her lover. He’s hard to understand.”
Lover? Majira had a lover? A fleeting and inexplicable feeling of jealousy passed through me. I’m not sure why I cared. I didn’t even like her that much. And she didn’t like me.
And apparently she was really old.
“Well, I’m sure I’ll meet him and I’m sure I won’t understand him either,” I said.
“No, you won’t. They love each other, but they won’t say it anymore. It’s very sad,” she sighed, and fluttered from her seat above back down to earth. “My mother knew all about it.”
“That’s unfortunate. Really, it is,” I said, standing up.
I felt dizzy. A sprite jumped onto my shoulder, stuck his tongue out at me, and took off. Not sure why.
Lyrèlie ran up and took my hand in hers.
“Do you want to see?”
“See what?”
“Everything.”
“Everything?”
“Glenn Mereillon. The whole thing.”
“Uh, sure. How long will that take? Dawn and the others should be here soon.”
She let go of my hand and ran to the edge of the clearing, stopping to pat my horse. The other fae flitted around me, nattering for me to follow.
“Come on! We don’t have much time!”
I sighed. Why did Majira have to leave me alone with the fae…
I took my horse by the reins and followed along.
It was going to be a long wait.
16
Dawn
“See? Nothing to worry about. He’s been lying here for hours,” Lyrèlie said.
Or
tham knelt down next to Herace, who was lying on his back, hands behind his head. His eyes were half-shut and there was a small, silly grin on his face. He seemed to be looking out over the shimmering lake without a care in the world.
“Are you sure? Herace usually isn’t so… calm,” I said.
“Herace… Herace! You alright?” Ortham asked, waving a hand in front of his face.
“Never been better,” Herace mumbled back.
With a lazy hand he plucked a blade of grass from the lakeside slope and gently put it into his mouth.
Ortham looked back to me and shrugged.
“Seems fine… not at all like himself, but fine, I suppose…”
“There’s no reason to fret,” Majira said. “He’s merely under the influence of fae magick. Every enclave produces an aura that effects one’s emotions. It’s part of how they stay hidden.”
“Yeah, I remember it from last time. Made me feel pretty great,” said Ortham, clasping his hands together. “I’m sure it’ll hit me again soon, eh? If it knocked Herace out in a couple hours it shouldn’t take long for me.”
Lyrèlie laughed.
“No, Herace needed a special dose,” she said.
That explained it.
“Well, guess I’ll just hang around with ol’ Herace here,” Ortham said, easing himself down to the ground with a grunt. “Fetch us when you’re done…”
Ortham copied Herace by taking a piece of grass and putting it between his teeth. Looking at the two lying there, content as could be, almost made me laugh. Despite everything, they were really becoming… friends. It was a little strange, but not unwelcome.
“Then let us go,” said Majira, wrapping an arm around my waist.
We walked comfortably side by side as Lyrèlie traipsed ahead. A balmy breeze flowed through the grass, carrying with it the floral perfume of the season. I felt relaxed under Majira’s aunt-like embrace.
We skirted the lake’s edge, heading toward the immense shape of the Holy Oak. With knotted limbs it reached outward, canopy thick with dark leaves, a living mountain atop tumbled boulders. We stepped over deep, narrow creeks whose water was clearer than any I’d ever seen.
“Majira,” I asked, “where are we going?”
“The Holy Oak,” she said, pointing to the great tree.
“How exactly do you know about Glenn Mereillon? It’s clear you know Lyrèlie pretty well.”
“Not just her. I have known many of the Yvrette, the greater fae who tend to this place. I knew those who came before, those who passed their memory on to her.”
“You mean her ancestors?”
“In a sense, yes. You must understand, princess, that the fae are not born. None of them are. They simply come into existence, growing up from the earth. And the greater fae are even stranger.”
I didn’t really understand what Majira was trying to explain.
“So they just kind of… show up? How?”
“They appear like blossoming flowers, like many of the small folk. Born of the earth, by the Maker’s will, by the flow of magick.”
“And the greater fae?”
“The greater fae live and die, and in dying, a new fae is born. They preserve their memories in the basin of a flower which grows above the place they pass away. And from that flower blooms a new fae-child.”
I was both fascinated and unsettled. I watched Lyrèlie dancing ahead of us, frolicking through the tall grass, surrounded by a swarm of faeries and sprites and pixies.
“So Lyrèlie remembers everything that her ancestors ever did? That’s a lot to carry around.”
Majira smiled at me.
“No, my dear. If we carried the weight of the past with us, we would never get anything done in the present. She likely only has the vaguest recollections of those lives past.”
“You know a lot about the fae. I wish you had been my tutor when I was young.”
“So do I,” she sighed.
We approached the base of the Holy Oak. Its massive roots coiled down through the crumbling boulders upon which it sat. Lyrèlie waved us forward to a cleft in the rocks. Majira got down on her hands and knees and crawled in.
I took one last good look around me, drinking in the beautiful sunlit day, the placid lake, the whispering trees, the dappled flowers. I breathed in the scent of honeysuckle.
Then I got down and crawled in after them.
Inside it was dark – we crawled for a long time. My knees scraped against the rough ground. A few times my antlers caught against the side, letting me know when I was getting too close to the tunnel’s edge. I could sense that we were heading down, very deep down.
After a while I caught a glimpse of the tunnel’s end. A soft orange light glowed.
Finally I emerged at the end of the tunnel, and Majira helped me stand. Mushrooms radiated with a muted, pulsating light from nooks and crannies, illuminating a spacious cavern. It was almost identical to the room that housed the healing pools, but I could tell we were even deeper than that.
“Now we are safe,” said Lyrèlie. “None can see us, none can find us. Not even the fae.”
“Excellent,” said Majira. “Now, to ensure you were not being watched…”
She raised a hand to my forehead. I expected to pass out, to see all white again, but this time there was no concussive force. My mind simply felt calm.
“Does this mean I’m not being watched?” I asked.
“If you felt nothing, then yes. It means the first time was sufficient to cast them off long enough for us to hide.”
At the centre of the dim cavern Majira sat with Lyrèlie, legs crossed. I followed along.
“Princess Dawn, are you ready?” Majira asked, eyes half closed, arms outstretched toward me.
“Ready for what, exactly? You need to remember, I hardly know anything about magick. I really only know what you’ve told me, aside from the absolute basics.”
“Then consider this your first true lesson. Together, we are going to dream delve.”
I reached out and let her grasp my hands.
“And what does that mean? Share a dream?”
“Not exactly. True dreams are immaterial – they exist only in our minds. Your dreams, however, are sensations of a power unseen - we are going to go look for it. We are going to enter a place on the edge of the Void and Creation, a space not yet in either order or disorder.”
“Sure,” I replied, not very sure at all.
“Don’t worry, my dear. Lyrèlie will stand watch, ready to pull us out should anything happen. There is nothing to fear.”
Her telling me there was nothing to fear made me think that there really was something to fear. But I held my tongue. I was just eager to end the lurking nightmares, and if this would help, I was prepared to do it.
“Close your eyes, Dawn. Close your eyes…” Majira soothed.
I closed my eyes.
A cool, fluid sensation spread out from where her hands touched mine. Through my fingertips it washed up my arms, up to my shoulders, into my neck. It was like my entire body was being submerged in cleansing water.
There was a hush – all was soundless, mute. I could not even hear the beating of my heart. There was darkness. The darkness thickened, becoming more complete, deeper than any sunless catacomb my mind could conjure – I panicked.
I opened my mouth to breathe, to gasp – but there was no air, nothing.
I opened my eyes, but opening my eyes revealed only a lightless abyss. There was only blindness, deafness. I lashed out, touched nothing – there was no ground, no walls. I was horribly lost. Every sense screamed out for direction, for substance. I shouted. No sound came out.
Something touched me.
I turned. It was Majira.
I opened my mouth to speak, and to my surprise, words actually came out.
“Majira! Oh, what a relief!”
We were standing in total blackness – except, I could see Majira as cle
ar as one would expect to see in broad daylight. I looked down. There was no ground there – my hooves touched nothing. There was no horizon, no ceiling.
“Where are we?”
“The edge of the Nothing. The cusp of the Void. It is called the dreamscape.”
I looked around. It made me dizzy. There wasn’t anything to get my bearings on – I could have been floating in the starless night sky, or a thousand paces beneath the ocean.
“Our bodies are still beneath the Holy Oak. Only our spirits are detached, free to roam here. We cannot stay long.”
She took me by the hand and we walked forward. With each step the darkness softened. There was a glimmer on the horizon – a horizon that until then I could not see.
“Soon I will teach you how to dream delve on your own, and how to take others with you. The things you can learn in this place are beyond explication with mere words, my dear. But be careful… gazing in for too long can confuse your mind, warp your perception of the real world…”
The ground beneath me began to solidify, taking shape as a smooth, dark surface. It spread out in every direction, featureless and obscure.
“Is it always like this? So dark?” I asked.
“No, dear. But this is always where we arrive; in chaos, in unoccupied space. When you dream delve, you must learn to always move forward – your every step will either create, or reveal.”
The ground began to shiver – the glossy, obsidian surface splintered into thin slivers. I grabbed on to Majira.
So far, I really didn’t like dream delving.
The black slivers softened at the edges as I watched. Then, slowly, they took on a colour.
It was grass.
I bent low and tore up a piece, twirling it between my fingers. It felt like grass. I placed it between my teeth, chewed, spit it out. It was definitely grass.
A dark shape formed up ahead. Like smoke becoming stone, an immense column appeared, tendrils stretching up into the black. Gradually it too took shape – it was the Holy Oak.
“Why are we here?” I asked.
“Only to show you. Now I want you to find something.”
“How?”
“Well, how do you find anything? First you need to want to find it. Then you need to imagine where it could be. Then you need to look in that place.”
Day of the Hunt (The Faun Quartet Book 2) Page 13