How to Save a Fae (Heir of Dragons Book 2)

by J. A. Culican

  He struck his chest and winked. “I'm built different!” Kaleb chuckled, running a hand through his dark locks. “This has never been done before, right? So there's no reason for us to go into it expecting the worst outcome. Have a little faith in me, Minx. There's every chance that this could work out for the best.”

  I wish I had his optimism, she thought, shaking her head. “If you're really sure about this...”

  “Of course I'm sure,” he shot back. “Have you ever known me to be the compulsive type?”

  Finally, this won him a genuine laugh. Minx dried her eyes. She was still terrified at the prospect of something happening to him, but his hope for a happy resolution to this grim errand was all she had to lean on in the moment.

  The Fae huntress was no stranger to loss. She'd lost her beloved mother very recently and was now watching her doting father disintegrate into senility before her very eyes. Countless Fae—neighbors, schoolmates, familiar faces—had died in the recent struggles, too. And yet, there'd been almost no time for mourning. All that while, she'd had Kaleb at her side. He'd been there to soften the blows, to protect and care for her when everything else had failed.

  The prospect of losing him, in particular, was too much to bear. She loved him in a way she'd never loved anyone before. She loved him with an almost nauseating ferocity—couldn't even be separated from him without suffering mysterious pains—and after all that had transpired between them, she could no longer doubt that he, too, loved her. It was a complete love, a comfort that she had only begun to take shelter in.

  And now, it was possible that Kaleb, too, would be taken from her.

  Together, they began a slow stroll for Pandling Grounds, to join Mau. Their job wasn't finished yet; they still had to make sure that the area was secure—lest Kaleb's participation in the spell be for naught. “It won't do much good for me to roll the dice if Torrent and his guys take over Pandling Grounds and Pan before the ritual is over, you know?” he said as they started back through the tree city. “Let's see how many survivors we have and treat the wounded. I can do a quick run overhead, too, and scare off any loiterers still poking around the ruins of the Trading Center. That might give us a little time. What do you think?”

  Minx's head was spinning. She could hardly discuss matters like battle tactics or future plans without flinching at the possibility of his death. She followed without a word, bumping into Mau after several minutes of wandering near the borders of Pandling Grounds.

  Don't get your hopes up, but... things seem quiet. For the moment, anyhow. The Trading Center is a mess, but the enemy forces haven't pushed through yet. They may come soon—maybe even in the night—but I've been touring the borders and I haven't seen a single Wuff yet. A living one, anyway...

  Her wanderings with Kaleb only served to solidify this encouraging report, but recalling how her pristine morning had been transformed into a nightmare by the unexpected rush of the dark army, Minx knew better than to put stock into first impressions. “I think a scouting mission is definitely in order. Maybe we can gather a handful of men—the uninjured—and send them out for reconnaissance. There's no way the First would ever allow you to go,” she added with a sharp glance at Kaleb. “You're too valuable a resource to us now.” It was true that the First would almost certainly forbid Kaleb from engaging in any risky behaviors before the warding spell had been refreshed, but Minx's words were also subtly self-serving. For all she knew, this would be the last of their nights together—forever. She could not bear the thought of losing him in a nighttime sortie on the fringes of Fae territory. No, until the moment came when the Elders were prepared to begin their solemn work, Minx was determined to keep him by her side.

  They proceeded to take stock of the well and the wounded, finding amongst the sorry masses a handful of warriors who had been trained as rangers. Four of these were rounded up and tasked with patrolling the region. An additional two were instructed to linger on the periphery of Pan itself in set locations, to act as messengers between the scouts and the Fae officials in the city. With the First currently dealing with the Elders, her father enfeebled and the remainder of the High Council either dead or missing, Minx took the task of administration upon herself. She was the most senior of the surviving warriors and, having just become incorporated into the Silence, considered it her duty.

  From time to time, Mau would join the scouts in their solemn patrols, too fidgety to remain idle. The Faelyr, fur constantly bristling at the sight of destruction nearby, was itching for a fight. I wish we could just get this over with. Can't Torrent just rear his head already?

  Minx, who remained at Kaleb's side in a peaceful glade near one of the established messenger outposts, knew that things weren't nearly so simple. Even if Torrent is defeated, things aren't going to go back to normal, Mau. The world is forever changed. The kind of life we knew just weeks ago is gone, unfortunately. If we survive this... if we win out, then there will be time to rebuild. She couldn't help but look at Kaleb as she continued. But some things will be lost forever. Not everything that's been destroyed can be replaced.

  The scouts tread silently about the smoldering ruins of the Trading Center and fanned out beyond its broken borders, taking stock of movement on the plains. They sometimes glimpsed small groups of roving warriors, but they were careful not to engage them, lest they put themselves at risk. Instead, they watched as stray Wuffs and Krah wandered about the plains, many of them injured. None seemed poised to stage a push further into the lands of the Fae, and as the day progressed into evening, even these distant sightings dwindled. By nightfall, the only evidence of surviving dark warriors came in the form of far-off orange lights issuing from their hasty campfires.

  The whole of Pan breathed a sigh at this tenuous peace. The air remained saddled with tension, and the eyes of the scouts remained wide and alert even as the first group was replaced by night-shifters, but a pleasing silence stole over the land and almost seemed to smother the foul memories of the day prior.

  As she'd done the night before, Minx remained beside Kaleb, dozing intermittently against his crimson bulk. The comfort afforded by his nearness was incredible—therapeutic, even. Nestled against him, she felt safe despite the chaos of the world around them. She never wanted it to end, to be separate from him again; they were two sides of the same coin, made to be together. As darkness reigned and the silence persisted, she half-fooled herself into believing that the two of them could indeed remain this way forever.

  But the morning brought noise and her illusions were quickly dashed.

  The skies were at war against themselves as dawn drew near. The clouds had begun to churn, and in the powdery light of the new day bolts of lightning had begun to streak across the plains. From overhead, warm raindrops began to pelt the two of them through the canopy. The inclement weather was no great bother to the pair, until they rose and received a progress report from one of the scouts.

  A ranger stationed just a short distance away claimed that there were signs of heavy snowfall just beyond the Trading Center, in the plains. Another scout, returning shortly thereafter, reported dust storms brewing further out, egged on by ruthless winds. Both men were sober and insisted that their reports were genuine—though neither could hazard a guess as to why such disparate weather conditions were sprouting up all across the area. “I suppose the world is just coming apart at the seams,” offered one.

  Minx and Kaleb made a tour of their own, studying the aberrant conditions for themselves. Sure enough, the reports were correct; the land was being subjected to foul weather of every kind. Strangely, lightning storms, dust storms, rain and snowfall were all represented.

  “I've never seen anything like this before,” began Minx. “What does it mean?”

  The dragon shifter shook his head. “I guess it's going to be one of those days, huh?” offered Kaleb, trying to lighten the mood. His tone, though, was completely devoid of humor.

  Something was happening, she was sure of it—something
that the whole of Aleio could not ignore. “Things are coming to a head,” she muttered, watching as lightning surged overhead.

  Chapter 22

  The voice came to her as she stared out across the wild plains.

  The dragon... Please, bring the dragon.

  Minx, who'd been on her way with Mau and Kaleb to see the First, stopped in her tracks as the voice of Heilo Lake resonated throughout her mind. It startled her most because she'd never expected to hear that voice again; she'd heard nothing since the lake had been tainted by Torrent's dark magic. Now, the lake was calling out to her weakly, the voice reduced to a low whisper.

  That the lake was finally reaching out to her again, on this morning when the skies were glistening with both snow and lightning, could not be a mere coincidence. Something big is happening, she thought to herself. Even the lake, despite its troubles, is taking notice.

  As a member of the Silence, if there was one she was to obey without question it was Heilo Lake. Obeying the voice's demand, she reached out and took Kaleb's hand in hers, looking away from the aberrant dust storm brewing in the distance. “I... I guess the Elders must be ready for us,” she began. “The lake just reached out to me.”

  “It did?” asked the dragon shifter. “I didn't think it could, after what Torrent did.”

  “Me neither. This is the first message I've gotten in a while. But the lake is telling me it's time...”

  “I see.” Kaleb nodded gravely. “Where will the Elders be working? Where should we meet them?”

  The answer came from behind them. A quartet of heavily-armed guards surrounded a lone figure dressed in the flashy ceremonial armor of the First. The leader of the Fae, expression stern, replied, “We will actually be meeting them near Winterlimb.” He appraised Kaleb as his security detail drew nearer, his demeanor softening in a smile. “I'm glad to see you're still here. I take it to mean you haven't changed your mind?”

  Kaleb grinned. “No, I haven't. Are the Elders willing to try things my way—to use me in their ritual as a living creature?”

  The First nodded. “It was a matter of lively debate, to be sure, but they've agreed to try it. They spent much of the night studying their manuscripts, and there's nothing in the old books that forbids such a thing—or so I was told. Now, the only question, is whether it'll be efficacious...” He motioned toward the plains, grimacing. “Aleio itself is revolting against Torrent's meddling. We must act quickly, or else our efforts will have been for nothing. Are you ready?”

  “I am,” replied Kaleb.

  Minx, though, was anything but. Mau, Kaleb and the First's entourage started back into the woods in search of old Winterlimb, but the Fae huntress could hardly stay on her feet. She fought back tears as she shuffled behind them, her mind flooded with terrifying thoughts. This is what the lake wants... it's what my people want. But what if it doesn't work? And what if... Since Kaleb had volunteered to take part in the ritual, she had been shaken by the possibility of his death. Now, as they were marching through Pan, about to begin the work of fortifying the shielding spell about the territory, it was no longer abstract to her. The fear was very real, and no matter how cool and collected Kaleb remained, she couldn't calm the thrashing of her heart or keep the tears from crowding in her eyes.

  The procession continued until they arrived at the treasured old tree—and such was Minx's unease that she nearly overlooked its marked withering. Winterlimb, the ancient tenant of Pan whom all the Fae adored, had seen much better days. Bark, once dense and brown, had lately grown brittle and washed-out looking. Its lowest boughs had shrunken, the branches having taken on the look of drooping vines. The ground surrounding Winterlimb was littered with foliage, as though the leaves themselves had chosen to jump from a sinking ship. In this era of violent change, even Winterlimb could not wholly escape the corrupting influences of the enemy. It pained her to see it; a vivid illustration of all that had gone wrong in the world as of late.

  A number of Fae Elders were already waiting at Winterlimb's side when Minx and the others arrived, and they were each wearing white robes quite different from their usual, simpler, garb. The Elders greeted the First with a bow and then looked immediately to Kaleb. Their glances were studious; they were appraising him the same way a builder might approve the raw materials for a construction project. A few paced about him, and they uttered things to one another in conspiratorial fashion.

  “Thank you for coming,” began one of the Elders—a bearded ancient with hunched shoulders. He moved slowly toward Kaleb, patting his shoulder with an almost fatherly tenderness. “I hope you will accept my sincere apology for what comes next, young man. You see, ordinarily this ritual is carried out with a mere dragon's hide—that is, a skin detached from its host. Although this has never been attempted to my knowledge, I rather expect that your participation as a living specimen will make the whole ordeal more time-consuming... and painful. I cannot guarantee your safety, and I expect your suffering will be immense...” He cleared his throat. “I could not in good conscience follow through with this without informing you of the risks. Will you still proceed?”

  Minx stepped toward them, drawing in a sharp breath.

  The words surging to her lips were stopped by Kaleb's reply, however.

  “I will.” The dragon shifter was determined to follow through.

  “Very well...” The hunched Elder motioned to his fellows and Kaleb was led closer to Winterlimb. “Let us begin at once. The ritual will take a considerable amount of time. In fact, because of these odd circumstances, it could take days.” He spared a glance at the First. “One way or another, the shielding spell will be refreshed, but... we must ensure that the lands of the Fae are not conquered in the interim. Are there enough troops to defend the city at this time?”

  The First did not have a good answer to this question. He, like Minx and Mau, knew just how poorly the forces of the Fae had fared during recent battles. Finally, he offered a slow nod. “We will do our best to deflect any attacks. The land and sky seem at war with themselves; perhaps our enemies will think better of invading during these turbulent times. If they do arrive, we will do everything we can to repel them.” Here, he turned to Minx. “Right?”

  It was all the Fae huntress could do to nod blankly. In that moment, Minx could scarcely remember how to nock an arrow, much less how to hold her bow. She felt numb from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes, and couldn't pull her wide, misty gaze from Kaleb, who was presently being stripped of his armor. His muscular form, clad only in his thin undergarments, was stationed in the shade of the great tree, and the Elders were positioned all around him, about to begin their work.

  From where he stood, he turned and locked eyes with Minx, a gentle smile playing across his lips. “Take care of yourself, Minx. Things might heat up out there. I'd love to help out, but I'm going to be a bit tied up...”

  Again, she nodded, holding her breath to keep the tears from erupting.

  She was in no state to work, to take on a new mission, but her objective was plain.

  Till the shielding spell had been refreshed, Minx had to make sure that the territory and her people were not overcome by the enemy.

  The two of them were fighting their own battles now—and neither of them could be assured of victory.

  Chapter 23

  The ritual was a lengthy affair—an extended tour of the limits of Kaleb's endurance. Throughout their work, the Elders often winced and apologized for the immense suffering they put their subject through. “Usually, we only use a dragon's hide,” explained one of them unhelpfully when Kaleb's writhing grew to be too much. “I'm not used to the dragon still being attached...”

  It had begun simply enough, with his being disrobed and bound against the trunk of old Winterlimb with sturdy ropes. From there, the Elders had begun to mark his body in strange symbols. A brush dripping with dark ink was dragged across his bare skin, leaving him covered in an odd, flowing script quite unlike the modern writings of the
Fae. These characters were scrawled across both arms and legs, as well as the chest and forehead. Except for the chafing of the ropes that held him, the dragon shifter's discomfort in this stage was negligible.

  But then the chants began.

  The Elders, standing all around Winterlimb with their heads low and quivering hands outstretched, began to utter the words of their spell in a low voice. The head Elder—the bearded one who had spoken earlier with the First—moved his arms from time to time as if to signal the others and keep their chants unified. As Minx watched from afar, she felt that the Elders purposefully kept their voices low, so as to keep other Fae in the vicinity from picking up the exact wording of the chants which were necessary to draw the power from Kaleb's body. The ritual was carried out in this public space, but its workings were closely-guarded and known solely to the Elders, who had passed it from generation to generation from times immemorial.

  Within minutes of the chanting, Kaleb began to show signs of distress. He twisted against his restraints, teeth grit, and sought to hide his discomfort. Certain parts of his body twitched; muscles began to spasm involuntarily and he was fast coated in a layer of sweat. He winced as if being held over a low flame, struggled as though haunted by a severe itch he couldn't reach, but did not raise his voice in complaint. The Elders sometimes stole glances at him, evidently bothered by his reactions, but never ceased in their chants. Now that the ritual had begun, they would see it through to the end.

  Minx could not remain at Winterlimb's side all day; as the acting field marshal, she had little choice but to break away from the ritual on a regular basis. Pan's meager forces had been assembled in the stretch between the city and the still-smoldering Trading Center, and the nervous survivors required her firm guidance lest they fall into disarray. A few had been dispatched as scouts, just as had been done the day before, and so far she hadn't received any concerning reports from them. The battle of the day prior, the savage weather conditions ripping across the continent and Kaleb's fiery destruction of the Trading Center had seemingly slowed the enemy's advance.