by Alison Baird
“Thank you,” said Ailia. “But—” She hesitated. “I really should be going back to my own place. To Eldimia—Ana told you of Eldimia, didn’t she?”
She told us it was a real place. To some of us she revealed where it lies, but not to all—knowing that some even of the Nemerei could not accept such a thing. But she told me. His arms whirled like a windmill’s vanes. The Morning Star! It is incredible, but I couldn’t help but believe. A person would have to be mad to tell such a lie as that, I think, and even someone who was not a Nemerei could see that old Ana was perfectly sane.
“Then you know I must go back there, and muster my forces, if I am to be of any help to you. Because, you see, it’s not I who will save you, but the army of the prophecy—the brave fighting men of Eldimia. Will you tell the Nemerei that, Ralf, and say I’m sorry I can’t join them here?”
The man dropped his arms and made a lowing sound, rolling his eyes. It translated into Ailia’s mind as: Oh—that’s a pity. We would be glad of your presence in our midst, Tryna Lia. Particularly now that Ana has gone.
Ailia looked at him sadly. “Yes, I miss her terribly. And I will miss her even more in the coming days.”
As will I, he said. She was always good to me. He turned and shambled off with his awkward, lurching gait. I must go now, and inform the others. I am so glad you have come at last, lady! Now I know that all will be well.
She watched as he headed down the hillside, then looked at her feet as she felt a furry flank rub against her ankle. Her first visitor was with her still, and she was glad of the company: Greymalkin had an uncanny way of sensing when Ailia was unhappy or ill at ease, and would nuzzle her face and purr. However, Ailia’s spirits were slowly recovering. The dark vision of the night before had filled her with despair, but its power had now begun to fade, like a nightmare that loses its terror in the light of morning. She closed her eyes, recalling the troubling images. She had seen the ancient reptile and, in it, her own tremendous capacity for evil. But that, she now realized, had been Mandrake’s undoing. The fact of his own darkness had driven him to believe he had no hope, that the beast within was too strong.
The Vor was the darker side of existence: the chaotic nature of the universe, the brutality of wild creatures, the destruction wreaked by whirlwinds and earth tremors and volcanoes. But it was not evil. It merely was. It was in her because she was a part of the material plane, because her body was akin to the bodies of beasts and in its every cell and fiber it remembered its ancient ancestry. But the Vor was also a source of strength at need, and it could safely be called upon once it was tamed, contained, and known for what it was. She might yet subdue it, and not be consumed by it as Mandrake had been. She must accept with humility this essential stain upon her being, where his pride had been wounded and his mind turned to bitterness and despair. The dragon could be tamed. She could win the victory that had eluded Mandrake, who had feared and loathed the innermost self, and so succumbed to it in the end and become what he sought to reject.
Ailia opened her eyes and looked around her. The night’s steady rains had washed away most of the snow, and as the earth beneath was uncovered she saw that spring’s banner was already well advanced. Snowdrops and crocuses grew in clumps like nosegays among the fallen leaves, still redolent with autumn’s fragrant decay, and in sheltered places at the roots of the trees and under the overhanging crags, the first daffodils raised their white and yellow trumpets. Farther in, on the forest floor, the scilla made blue spreading drifts. She called the flowers by their old Island names: maiden’s-tears and meadowstar, faerie-horns, morningjoy. The tree branches too were budding. Nothing could resist the summons of the sun. Even where its light did not reach, its warmth did, and in the deep secret places of the earth seeds changed to seedlings, and animals stirred and woke from hibernation, seemingly none the worse for their winter’s interment. The dead silence of winter still reigned over the night, but in the dawn bird calls had begun to chip at that silence, and as the sun mounted the sky their twitterings turned to full-throated song.
During her sojourn in Arainia’s hotter climes Ailia had forgotten how very beautiful the early spring was, and how miraculous it seemed after the long winter. She breathed in the moist air, and began to feel the stirrings of a corresponding change within herself, a waking to new life. Not the same life, not the old one she had known here in Mera, and that her fleeting loss of memory had sought to reimpose. That had gone forever. But different hopes lay now within her, like a bud curled within its leafy case. “Ana! Oh, Eliana, where are you?” she whispered. She could almost see the old woman, with her pale clouded eyes and her neat white hair, sitting in the chair within the cave’s entrance and smiling. She could almost hear her voice. “You are here,” Ailia said. “You haven’t gone, not really. There is something of you still in this world.”
Around her all was still, save for a pair of nesting robins flying to and from their new home in an old oak, and the soft wind stirring in the boughs. At her feet Greymalkin sat and purred with content.
JOMAR, LORELYN, AURON, AND TALEERA hastened uphill, the bird-woman grumbling at each turn of the old stone road. “This miserable human form!” she panted. “I don’t know how you endure it. Walking everywhere—if I had my wings I’d be there by now—” She paused for breath, staring about the mountainside. “There’s no one here to see. Perhaps I could risk taking my own shape—”
“I wouldn’t,” Auron said. He was puffing himself, and his plump face was flushed. “There may be hunters hereabouts, or Valei spies.”
“And we’re nearly there anyway,” said Lorelyn.
Suddenly the bushes at the side of the path rustled, and a girl with tangled red hair and smoldering green eyes emerged and confronted them, barring their way. “If it is the white witch you are looking for, then go back! I warn you, don’t come here again—and tell all the other villagers to keep away too.” Her eye rested for a moment on Jomar and Auron in puzzlement. “We have warned you before. Selenna is ours.”
“We aren’t villagers, as you can plainly see,” Auron replied. “The white witch, as you call her, is our friend. And the mountain belongs to no one.”
“Now get out of the way,” added Taleera, “if you don’t want to be hurt. You can see for yourself you’re outnumbered.”
“I am a witch!” the disheveled young woman cried. “I do not fear you, even if you are Nemerei.” But she retreated a step as they advanced.
“If you are a witch, then whom do you serve?” demanded Taleera. “Are you aligned with the white arts or the black?”
“Good or evil,” she said, her lip curling. “You see all things in those terms. I serve one who decided to seek after the knowledge that was forbidden, that others would deny him. Even though it meant that he was outcast forever afterward, he took that path knowing the consequences to himself. The echo of his great deed still rings throughout the universe, and his name became a banner for generations of humankind. We bear his name, for we carry on his noble aims into infinity. And for this we too have been reviled—we Modriani.”
She’s quoting from somewhere, Lorelyn thought. At her side Auron was nodding his head. “Ah yes, the Modrian cult. Black witches. I have heard of you.”
“But this is nonsense!” exclaimed Lorelyn. “You’re talking as if Modrian-Valdur was some sort of hero. He was the monster, the Fiend who brought war to the worlds—”
“He brought change,” countered the girl in a proud voice, “and suffering and sorrow are the birth pangs of change. There is no victory without pain. You know that.”
“But he caused others pain, not himself,” Lorelyn argued.
“So that they might grow. And in any case, as a god he was beyond pain.”
“Are you are in league with the Zimbourans?” asked Auron.
“Of course,” the witch replied. “They are our brethren, fellow servants of Modrian-Valdur.”
“And you spy on the Nemerei for them, perhaps?”
She made no reply, but did not deny Auron’s charge either, and the triumphant smile did not leave her lips. “Then you are twice a traitor, whoever you are,” said Taleera. “To your homeland, and to the Tryna Lia.”
“Tryna Lia!” she mocked. “You had better seek your savior elsewhere—if she is that woman who dwells in the Faerie Cave, as rumor has it, she has no power to match our Master’s. I have spied on her, and she has not even seen me.”
“But you didn’t dare go near her, obviously,” said Jomar.
Her smile dropped away. “Our allies know of the white witch. We have sent messages to them. They are coming for her, and will take you too if you don’t leave at once.” She drew herself up. “Go now, or we’ll destroy you and all your Conspiracy. Modrian’s day has come. They tried to imprison him forever, the other gods: but his new Avatar is here. His winged ships own the air. And when he conquers the world he’ll punish all those that did not serve him.”
“And reward those that did?” said Auron.
“The world will be our inheritance,” the girl replied, with the fierce confidence of the fanatic. “You will see.”
“Oh, this is too silly for words. We’re wasting time, standing here and debating!” Lorelyn drew out her sword and brandished it. “Come along then, if you want a fight. Otherwise, leave us to go our way in peace.”
The girl took one look at the bright adamantine blade, her green eyes widening. Then she turned in a whirl of red hair and dark cloak, and fled back down the mountainside. Lorelyn sheathed her sword again. “So much for her.”
“She will be going to alert the other Modriani,” Taleera said.
“Let them come,” retorted Jomar. “They’re not real sorcerers, just a lot of ignorant idiots. Where is this cave of Ana’s?”
Lorelyn looked up the mountainside, and then pointed. “There, below the peak—I think that must be it! That sort of crack in the rock, do you see?”
She started up the path again, and the others followed her. But when they drew closer to the cave Jomar laid a hand on her shoulder. “There’s someone there!”
They all halted, and stood staring at the narrow opening in the hillside. A figure stooped at its mouth, tending a small fire there. It was wrapped in a hooded cloak, torn and threadbare.
Lorelyn gasped. “Ana? Ana?”
The figure stood upright, and then they saw that it was taller than Ana. They hastened toward it, and as they drew near they recognized the face in the hood.
“Ailia—we’ve found you at last!” Taleera cried.
She pushed the hood back and smiled. “Oh—I am so glad to see you! I was beginning to wonder if you would find me.”
“Well, you did make it rather difficult for us.” But Lorelyn was beaming with joy. She ran up to her friend and hugged her. “You were being spied on, did you know that? One of the black witches of Modrian—”
“Yes, Ralf came back here to warn me about her. He saw her as he was walking down the mountainside, and spied on her in turn.” She nodded at the ragged beggar man who was emerging from the cave mouth behind her. “You remember Ralf, don’t you? He is still with the other Nemerei, and is going to take them a message from me.”
The man tossed his head and bellowed. I’m not fast as couriers go, Lorelyn and the two in human guise heard, but I’m reliable. I really should start up a business.
Ailia smiled, and turned back to her friends. “And I found my foster family again, Lori. They are all safe—for now. I am sorry to give you such a chase. I came here looking for Ana.”
“You’ve found her?” asked Jomar.
“Yes. She is here.” Ailia gestured at the mountain, the woods, and the range beyond. “Here where she belongs. In this place, and in us.”
“Ah.” Auron exchanged glances with the others. “I understand.”
“Perhaps not completely,” the Princess said. “I didn’t really understand either, at first. I grieved for her, but now . . . I really do feel that she is with us still.” Her voice softened until they could barely hear it. “And Damion too.”
“Ailia, you must come back with us! Why did you run away like that?” said Lorelyn.
“I wanted Ana’s guidance. The Nemerei and the Loänan—they wanted me to use my powers to kill.” Ailia looked away.
“And you didn’t want to. Oh, Ailia—”
She shook her head. “No! I did want to! I was so full of rage, for Damion’s sake, that I might have done anything. I would have been a light, as the prophecies said—but a burning light, like a thunderbolt that falls from the sky and blasts the earth. I decided that I mustn’t fight until I could do it without hate.”
“The time to fight is now, whether we are ready or not,” Auron said. “The enemy moves. Temendri Alfaran is taken.”
She cried out in dismay. “Taken! But what of the Emperor? He was not slain?”
“No, he escaped, taking the palace of crystal and the Dragon Throne with him. We do not know where he has gone. But Talmirennia and its peoples have suffered a terrible blow.”
“Ailia.” Taleera stepped forward. “Mandrake is coming here to Mera. He’s launched his first assault, and Arainia is next. The Loänan say he’s put down all the Valei who won’t obey him, killed the rebels, and seized control of their empire. And it’s much larger than we ever imagined.”
Ailia hid her face in her hands. “Yes: I must face Mandrake, and soon. He and I must meet. The longer I delay, the longer this war will last.”
“But—if he wins—”
“He mustn’t win. I will have to use all of my powers. And I once hoped never to have to use them for violence. And . . . I won’t lie to you: I still fear him. Mandrake tempted me when I went to his world. With power and—and other things.” She looked directly at them again. “I almost gave in to him. That is the truth, which I couldn’t find the courage to tell you before. But I am ready to come back with you now,” she added. “Whether it came from Ana or not I don’t know, but I believe I’ve found the answer I was seeking.” She turned to Ralf. “Would you Nemerei please tell my family down in the city that my people have found me, and I am leaving the country now? Tell them I will come back someday, if I can. And could you ask one of your members to look after Greymalkin for me?”
The man squawked his assent and shuffled off down the hill. “He will take no payment,” said Ailia. “He says the Nemerei see to his basic needs, and he requires nothing else. Now I will come with you.”
“Good! Things are moving, Highness,” Taleera told her. “And we must move too. The enemy marches, and even now we may be overtaken. We cannot let him choose the battleground.”
7
The War Between the Worlds
SOFILIA, QUEEN OF THE SYLPHS, stood in the royal gardens gazing on the revels of her court. There was no palace here such as humans built, and only a very few marble buildings scattered about the grounds; some were little more than roofs raised on pillars, to keep off the rain. The sky was a soft rose-pink, like a sky at the first blush of dawn, save that here that hue never left it. It was clear but for a few gossamer wisps of cirrus, very high up, while lower down there swarmed multitudes of flying shapes, delicate in form and tint as butterflies or wind-blown flower petals. These were her people, gliding and soaring freely on their fragile-seeming wings. They came to earth to rest and sleep, and take their food, and work: but there were no roads and little foot traffic in this world, save of the very young or very old. All others traveled through the pathless air.
In the royal gardens this world’s never-ending summer reigned: the grounds were such a mass of flowers that in most places the underlying turf could not be seen. Pink, crimson, scarlet, and wine-red were the predominant colors, and in and out among the huge blooms went those of her people who were taking their ease on the earth. The women wore long loose garments of a weave fine as the cirrus clouds, and their wings flowed behind them like diaphanous capes. The men and the infants wore only cloths about their loins. The latter, with their absurd
tiny wings that could not yet bear their weight, laughed and played together and gazed longingly at their elders in the heights above.
The queen felt alone, cut off from the happy scene before her. For many moons now she had been ill at ease and apprehensive. She had been first to throw in her lot with Ailia, declaring her support for the Tryna Lia in the Emperor’s hall on Temendri Alfaran. Her example had swayed many of the other peoples, convincing them to turn against the Loänei Mandrake and his disturbing allies. But in offering to stand at Ailia’s side, Sofilia was aware that she had made a weighty decision on behalf of her people—these same innocents now at play in the sky and among the flower beds—and that harm might yet come to them as a consequence of that decision. They would not condemn her, even if harm did come; for the sylphs looked to the coming of the Tryna Lia as did all other peoples in whose veins some human blood still ran. But this knowledge did not allay her growing unease. This morning she had awakened with a premonition of disaster that she knew was no mere lingering dream. Like all the sylph-folk she was a Nemerei, and her extra sense was forever attuned to the vast web of the Ether, feeling in it every least tremor of power and thought. Yet without any specific warning, she did not know what action she should take.
And so it was that she felt a sharp stab of fear, and yet no surprise, when a discordant chorus of cries shattered the peace around her.
Looking up, she beheld many black shapes descending from the dome of the sky. Sylphs were abandoning the air in fright to seek cover among the gardens and forests below. But the black shapes were swifter, and from their jaws sprang a withering flame. They tore through the butterfly swarms of her people and sent them tumbling earthward, like blossoms shaken down by a storm.