Charms of the Feykin

by Charles E Yallowitz

  “You can relay that message to her during the party,” Timoran says while helping his guest to a chair. Fortunatos places a pitcher of ice water and several glasses on the table, but only Sebave pours herself a drink. “I asked you two here because I need to discuss something that will be announced later. I must leave Stonehelm to rescue two of my friends and continue following my destiny. All of you understand why I must do this even at such a delicate time. Tigris will be ruling alone until my return, so I would like both of you to assist her. Please give my wife your support and help keep our home safe in my absence.”

  Cyrus takes a drink straight from the pitcher and hands it to his old friend who follows his poor example. “You talk as if I’d be doing anything else. The warriors are more than willing to support their new King and Queen no matter what. I know that the rest of the citizens agree with them. The hate and animosity you received not too long ago are completely gone thanks to the Second Life curse being lifted. Now as your top strategic advisor, I should point out that this will lead to your wife becoming the more experienced ruler. By the time you get back, she might not ever listen to you again.”

  “I always listen to my husband as long as it’s something I agree with,” Tigris replies as she pats the butt of a spear hidden beneath her bear fur cape. Noticing that Sebave looks lost and confused, she puts a strong hand on the shorter woman’s shoulder. “We asked your Queen to be here because we would like her support as well. Timoran and I are warriors, which means we have no experience ruling a tribe. Put us at the head of an army or give us a war and we’re in our element. This type of leadership is new to us, so we would greatly appreciate any council that Trinity has to offer.”

  “She is too tired to do anything now,” Sebave replies while shifting in her chair. The idea of speaking for her Queen makes the priestess uncomfortable even though she has recently been announced as the new High Priestess of Ambrosine. “I’m sure she would be happy to answer all of your questions when she has rested. We considered asking if you wished to keep any chaos elves in Stonehelm. Not as prisoners, but as willing messengers and soldiers. There are a handful of our people who have expressed an interest in spending more time among your tribe.”

  “I am sure we can come up with an agreement,” Timoran promises with a nod to his smirking companions. He reaches for the pitcher to get another drink, but finds a water glass in his hand instead. Glancing at Fortunatos, he gets the sense that the Jester wants him to act with more manners now that he is a King. “We overheard several of your people complimenting the food and drink here, which has made us consider some beneficial additions to the existing treaty. Something that may be done in an alliance is the implementation of a rotating garrison, which is switched out every month or two. Considering how close the mountain is to Stonehelm, we could even do a switch every week to allow for more of your people to experience your surroundings and learn about their new world. My wife can discuss the details and what we give to you in exchange for the extra manpower.”

  “My Queen says you have given us enough.”

  “Well, I would not feel right taking your men without giving you something in return.”

  “She wanted me to respond to additional offers by reminding you of the time she let you live in Gaia.”

  “That was done so your Queen could use me to sneak into Rainbow Tower.”

  Sebave finishes her drink and runs a finger along the condensation, the cool liquid giving her goosebumps. “In that case, you insult her pride and honor by not letting her repay you without there being more added to our debt. She and the rest of the chaos elves are alive because of your actions, King Wrath. We are free for the first time in our lives and now you work to save our homeland. The truth is that no matter what we offer, it will never be enough to settle our accounts. The Snow Tiger Tribe and the chaos elves will always have an alliance.”

  “She shut you up pretty nicely,” Cyrus mutters with a friendly grin toward Sebave. The man clangs his bracers together, the polished wyvern scales absorbing the sparks that fly off the metal studs. “You worry too much, old friend. How about we get you and your wife into more practical clothing, join our people outside, and show them how the royal couple celebrates? Not that either of you were ever very wild, but you understand my point.”

  Reaching over the table, Timoran takes the glass dome off his crown and returns the circlet to his head. Offering his arm to Tigris, he watches the others head for the door that Fortunatos holds open from the ceiling. With his wife by his side, the champion escorts her out of the throne room and heads for the citadel’s entrance. The five minute walk is quiet since every citizen is at the celebration, which is why the pair are hit by a wall of sound as soon as they appear at the top of the stairs. Clapping, stomping, shouting, and the occasional roar of a nearby snow tiger mix to shake every building of Stonehelm. Even though it is not the first time they have been greeted this way, the sea of raised weapons and mugs still causes the ruling pair to smile awkwardly and blush.

  “What are you thinking about, my Queen?” Timoran asks, his lips touching the blonde woman’s ear.

  “I’m going to miss you, my King.”

  “Know that I have and always will love you.”

  “Save it for the toast, dear.”

  “By Kerr’s rage, I fear I have too many of those in my future.”

  As the rulers descend the stone steps, a rain of lilies appears over the city and the illusionary flowers dissolve as they touch the ground. As Timoran and Tigris reach their fellow barbarians, mugs of Ifrit wine are put in their hands and various platters of food are passed through the crowd. Both of them are so busy greeting their citizens and enjoying the festivities that neither of them notice the empty thrones that are sitting on a raised dais. With a sigh, Fortunatos pats the simple chairs of ivory stone and sends his latest gifts to the throne room where one of them will remain unused until the Snow Tiger King’s return.

  *****

  Under the crimson light of Vir the Summer Moon, Nyx watches the celebration from atop a small fence. Warm winds whip off the bonfires that have been erected along the streets, all of the breezes converging on the half-elf’s perch. The wooly sheep inside the pen are fast asleep, none of them aware of the melancholic woman sitting on their enclosure. Nyx’s gently swings her feet and taps her heels against the wooden beams, but the noise is so faint that even she barely hears it. With her mind thousands of miles away, her surroundings are nothing more than ghosts upon her senses. The channeler sighs and takes another sip of ale, the mildest drink she can find that is not water. Nyx reaches into her pouch to pull out an old box, which holds a bronze signet ring shaped like a wild-maned boar. The family heirloom from her father looks even more beaten up and shabby than she remembers, but the half-elf guesses her misery at Delvin not carrying the jewelry is making her pinpoint every flaw. A few tears roll down her cheeks when she stirs from her trance and watches a couple who are going home. The tenderness and love in their body language nearly breaks her composure, her hands trembling enough that she drops the box into the mud.

  It is a strange sight that saves Nyx from the onslaught of worry, rage, and helplessness that she has been holding back for the last few days. At first, she thinks one of the barbarians is drunkenly stumbling in her direction. Yet the figure is too short and there are antlers coming out of the person’s head. Wide paws blindly grope in the darkness and mismatched feet struggle to follow their owner’s orders. A long tail that fans out at the end is dragging along the ground, the brown and white feathers fraying along the edges. When the oddity gets within a few feet of the sheep pen, a few pieces of silver hair can be seen sticking out from under the ridiculously large helmet.

  “What in all of Windemere are you wearing, Dariana?” Nyx asks as she tucks the signet ring into a pocket and hops off her perch. She takes the antlered helmet off first and cringes when the other woman cracks her neck. “You don’t drink, so how did this happen? Though you do look a littl
e tipsy.”

  “I’ve only been drinking water, but I removed my control ring. My head will clear one I put it back on,” Dariana says with a happy slur to her voice. Shaking her hands, she removes the bear fur mittens and sits down to get a metal boot off her right foot. “Sometimes I want to be part of the fun without getting sick later or risking all of my restraint. There are so many happy thoughts here that I couldn’t help myself. A celebration like this is so rare. Two groups of mortals defeating centuries of animosity. It’s beautiful.”

  “I can’t argue with that,” the half-elf says, taking another look at the party. The clanging of mugs signifies the end of another toast, such an event happening every hour. “There’s a lot for them to be happy about. So, why are you out here and in these ridiculous clothes?”

  Dariana struggles with the rusty clasp on the heavy vest that runs down to her knees. Unable to undo the latch, the telepath slips the furry garment over her head. She is surprised to find that there are flexible scales on the interior and they smell like stale alcohol, which starts to turn her stomach. Needing fresh air, she scrambles out of the vest and takes a deep breath while pulling the roc feathers out of her waistband. Sensing they are alone, Dariana removes her stain-covered shirt and changes into a sapphire top with a yellow lion embroidered on the back. Once the side straps are tightened, she slips a clear ring over her finger and feels her mind snap back to full clarity.

  “I’m sorry for making you wait, but I thought it best that I be comfortable while we talk about things,” the white-eyed telepath says before taking a seat on the fence. Patting the spot next to her, she waits for Nyx to hop onto the pen. “The two of us and Luke have been inducted into the Snow Tiger Tribe. Those clothes are to be worn by the strongest of the new members, which is me because I defeated Luke in an arm-wrestling contest. Each piece has a special significance to the tribe, but I was told that tonight is not the night for us to learn about their stories. I’m sure you would have been the one to wear them if you didn’t disappear. After all, you’re a Near God.”

  “Did Cyrus tell you about these special garments?” Nyx asks, receiving an emphatic nod from her naïve friend. Rubbing her eyes, the channeler can feel a slight headache brewing in her skull. “First of all, I should point out that they may call me a Near God, but you’re the actual daughter of a goddess. I would say that makes you stronger than me and more deserving of the title. Second and most importantly, I’m pretty sure Cyrus just had some harmless fun at your expense. Those things stink and look like they’ve spent the last few years in a closet instead of being preserved like real treasures.”

  “I thought it was odd that he did this when Timoran and Tigris were somewhere else. One would think such an honor should be done in front of the rulers,” Dariana says with a shrug. She stands on the fence and holds out her hands to bask in the moonlight, her perfect balance never faltering. “I will never get tired of being awake and feeling nature on my skin. The thought of this lasting forever makes me happy and open to all the joy in the area. I love basking in the vibrant energy and opening myself to the world, which is why I felt like I was going to cry the moment my mind grazed your little cloud over here. Do you want to talk about it?”

  Nyx takes another sip of her drink and stands next to her friend, the half-elf’s footing a little shaky. “Nothing to talk about. I’m worried about Delvin and Sari. I’m angry that I can’t leave right now to save them. It doesn’t help that I still want to tell Delvin how I really feel and give him my family ring. The idea that they’re dead keeps popping into my mind, so I’m terrified that I lost my chance while he was always honest with me. Everything seems to be weighing my heart down and coming to the surface at once. Guess I’m out of distractions tonight and simply wanted to be alone.”

  “So you don’t want to talk about it?” asks the telepath asks while scratching her head in confusion. She cartwheels off the fence and stretches her back as her friend clambers down. “I’m sorry for prying. We’ve had this discussion before and nothing more can be done with words. You need to act, which is what we will do in the morning. I’ll be using my power to . . . persuade the dangers of the wild to stay out of our way. There will be no delays or distractions during our journey.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Now I have to go since someone else wants to talk to you.”

  Scanning the area for Cyrus, Dariana gathers the foul-smelling clothes and jogs toward one of the distant bonfires. Nyx is about to call out to her when the telepath stops to talk to Tigris, the silver-haired champion pointing toward the half-elf. With long strides, the Queen heads for the sheep pen where her target is nervously waiting. Not knowing what else to do, Nyx goes down to one knee and bows her head. The gesture causes the blonde woman to pause and scratch her head before gently lifting the shorter woman up by the arm.

  “I feel I should apologize again for being suspicious of you,” Tigris says, performing her own small bow. Seeing the anxiety on the champion’s face, the barbarian sighs and sits cross-legged to reduce their height difference. “You are very much like one of my people, which caught me by surprise. Though now I’m happy you are this way because I want someone like you to protect my husband. Timoran is strong, wise, and brave, but he needs friends like you. Nobody can travel this road alone and I’m glad you are by his side. In fact, it appears all of your companions have the utmost faith in your strength and loyalty. You truly are an impressive woman, Near God.”

  “That means a lot coming from you, Snow Tiger Queen,” Nyx replies, shifting from one foot to the other. Uncomfortable being the only one standing, she takes a seat on a nearby barrel that rocks beneath her weight. “You spent so long thinking Timoran would never be with you again. I can only imagine how painful that was. Yet you survived it and now you’ve been reunited with him. That’s a type of strength that I’ve never had to develop and I’m not sure I can.”

  “Timoran mentioned your feelings for the Mercenary Prince and how you were robbed of your chance to tell him the truth,” the blonde woman admits, unsure if the channeler will be upset about people talking about her love life. Seeing no sign of having pushed too far, Tigris relaxes and moves closer. “I have a secret behind my survival, which I’m going to pass on to you. With my husband and I together again, I no longer have a need for these trinkets. They may seem silly, but trust me when I say that they kept me going even on my worst days.”

  Tigris holds out her hands, which are covered in brown leather gloves that go halfway up her forearm. A silver pebble is in the palm of each one, the tiny dot barely visible in the crimson moonlight. Leaning forward, Nyx can see that the pieces of clothing are adorned with faint outlines of entwined bodies that are made to resemble vines. When Tigris closes her eyes and gently hums, the gloves vibrate and the pebbles spin in place. Two translucent images appear in her hands, one of herself and the other of Timoran. Floating off the tiny stones, the illusions drift toward each other and embrace before dancing in a slow circle. A sigh slips from the Queen’s mouth and she lets the magic fade away, her eyes watery when they open. The figures remain until she turns her hands so that the pebbles face the ground.

  “I call them the Soothing Hands,” Tigris says in a soft voice. She removes the enchanted gloves and offers them to the champion, who makes no move to take them. “Timoran bought them for me in place of an engagement ring. Silly man never dreamed they would become invaluable to my survival in the mountains. Even with such importance, I feel that they will do more good with you. Let this gift help you remain strong.”

  “Thank you, but I lose my magic if I use an artifact I didn’t create.”

  “How long does that last?”

  “Anywhere from a few minutes to several days. It depends on the power of the item.”

  Tigris forces the gloves into Nyx’s fists and keeps the woman’s hands closed with her tight grip. “Isn’t that a minor sacrifice for some peace of mind and hope? If you truly love Delvin then such a loss is worth it
. Like him, your magic will return to you.”

  With a few tears on her cheeks, Nyx puts the leather gloves on and they immediately spark to life. Unlike the ghostly figures that Tigris created, the new images that appear are solid and highly detailed as if the channeler has created perfect doubles of herself and Delvin. Instead of dancing, the illusions awkwardly meet on the ground and have a silent conversation. The small warrior ends up saying something, which causes his magical companion to throw a punch. He catches the attack and they kiss before the real Nyx cancels the spell. Blushing at the display and unwilling to meet Tigris’s gaze, the channeler takes the gloves off and stuffs them into her bottomless pouch.

  “We have a complicated relationship,” Nyx states, her cheeks redder than the summer moon.

  2

  After two weeks of traveling without incident, the champions are within sight of the coastal village of Anpress. The jungle port is shrouded in the shadows of lush trees and is only distinguishable by the dock that is nothing more than a suspicious line against the green. Even from his high vantage point, Luke finds it difficult to discern the buildings from their surroundings. He gives up after a few minutes of straining his eyes and stares at the cloudy sky from his perch in the crow’s nest. There is a storm coming from the east and the Little Sister has managed to stay ahead of the squall since they entered the open ocean. Judging by their change in direction and reduction in speed, the forest tracker can tell that the ship will run out of luck soon. Glancing at the deck, Luke watches the crew make adjustments to the sails and prepare for the storm to overtake them. The short stop at Anpress will eliminate their modest lead, but the only other option is for the griffin to fly everyone to the village. It is an option that has been repeatedly denied since the champions do not want to scare the locals. At least not unless something sets off Nyx, who is leaning over the prow of the ship and practically jumping in anticipation.