Chapter 1 - Bruised Iris
Chapter 2 - Strange Communion
Chapter 3 - A Fool's Errand
Chapter 4 - The Silvery Lady of Ill Will
Chapter 5 - The Hunt
Chapter 6 - Gnome Gnome, Someone's Home
Chapter 7 - Swoop
Chapter 8 - The Hunt Continues
Chapter 9 - Embrace
Chapter 10 - Pursuing in Ernest
Chapter 11 - Scourged
Chapter 12 - Trip to NettleHelm
Chapter 13 - Indigo & Celadon
Chapter 14 - The Elderseer Refuses
Chapter 15 - Asteroidea
Chapter 16 - Sisters To Consider
Chapter 17 - Secrets
Chapter 18 - ...
Chapter 19 - ...
Chapter 20 - ...
Bruised Iris
"Come, stay near the fire, honey."
Reluctantly, the littlest of the Trubor children tossed the pinecone back toward the woods and heaved a great sigh as he stomped back to the circle. They were nearly home, only an hour or two further, but darkness had fallen early this eve and Iris had decided it was too far to stumble with no light but the moon to guide them. Her tone had broked no arguement, but some resented the decision anyway.
In various stages of readiness, the Trubor siblings were settling in around a small fire. Before he had fallen asleep, Jasper - who was the eldest and who had tuckered himself out carrying the smaller ones most of the day - said that once they built a fire, it was sure that Pa would see the smoke and bring the wagon out for them. Iris, the next eldest, had agreed with him, but wondered now - as the children started to fall asleep - if they were further away than she thought.
Iris pulled her knees to her chest and looped her arms around them, bright eyes - so blue they were almost indigo - watching as her siblings sprawled about. It crossed her mind, as she resigned herself to yet another mostly sleepless night, spent in worry over the little ones, that being a mother was far more challenging than just cooking and cleaning and washing dirty underthings. No wonder her own mother's hair had gone from a lovely, shiny gold to white in just a few years; no wonder she her heart had given out while Clay was still at the breast. A young woman of fourteen, Iris knew it would not be more than a year or two before she too was wed with an infant of her own and for the first time in her life - she found herself dreading the possibility.
She had helped her Pa rear the little ones, as well as keep Jasper in-line, and even so, she had always looked forward to motherhood. To birthing and nursing a babe of her own. But after a fortnight spent traveling from their Aunt's ranch near Pollydance, every moment filled with anxiety about the dangers of the road, constantly on guard, on edge, vigilant - she felt her very life being sucked away. There was a whole wide world out there and she had never been further from the farm than Pollydance - a village about ten days away on foot.
Jasper snored loudly, breaking her momentary reverie, and rolled to his left. The indignant squeak of little blond Lily, just six years old, brought a smile to Iris' face. The youngest of the girls worshipped her biggest brother like he was some ancient Hero-God like Thaddius Thunderkiss instead of a tow-headed farmboy of sixteen. At home, it was commonplace to find Lily curled up like a faithful old hound at the foot of Jasper's bed, so naturally, here on the road she lay close as possible. Iris supposed that his presence made her feel safe and protected in the same way Pa's nearness had done for her as a little girl.
Its funny, she thought to herself, fidgeting with her own auburn braids, she is so very much as I was, yet I cannot imagine my flighty little Daisy being able to herd a bunch of children half-way across the province as I have. Like all of her siblings - save Iris herself - Daisy had their mother's blond locks, however she too had gotten Pa's thick curls. Iris counted her mother's death as the catalyst that changed her from a giggly child into a woman at the age of ten. She also believed the guilt little Clay felt over their mother's death had tempered his personality. And he, still so young to carry such a burden.
That Clay was her favorite siblin was really no secret. Jasper had been a boisterous playmate turned into a girl-crazy farmhand who scarcely gave a thought to his family in pursuit of a different girl with every turn of the moon. Flint, her twelve-year-old brother, was the spitting image of Jasper at that age - always in trouble and eternally shirking his duties. Daisy was every bit the little girl that Iris once had been, but showed no sign of maturing into a young woman yet. Lily, on the other hand, was a hard-worker who embraced all the hardest tasks on the farm - if only to be closer to her idol. Clay, however, was the youngest of her natural siblings and the only one to share her brilliant blue eyes and the burdens that Ma's death had left behind. He was quiet, like she had become, and thoughtful. He would often curl up in her lap, sucking his little thumb, and ask nothing of her but closeness.
That was more than she could say for any one else in the family, even her pretty young step-mother Janis.
Iris sighed heavily, looking first up the western road toward the farm, then back to the south-east from whence they had come. Not even a breath of wind stirred the underbrush. Although Daisy had long ago replaced Iris at Pa's feet, her ten-year-old dignity not yet impuned by dependence on her big, strong father, when a wolf howled off in the distance Iris wished Pa was with them.
Here she sat, surrounded by her siblings, and Iris had never felt so young.
Or so afraid.
Or so alone.
Dawn broke, a bloody purple bruise upon the horizon.
Iris awoke, wincing, with its first wan rays. She had apparently fallen asleep eventually, with a sharp rock at her hip and a lumpy root jutting into her spine. And, she noticed with a little smile as she brushed a hand over his sleepy head, with a four-year-old twined around her feet. Clay roused at her movement and gave her a lazy smile, rubbing his eyes with one fist, the other at his mouth with a thumb firmly ensconched between his lips.
Jasper had already risen, it appeared. From the relieved groan and audible sound of water tinkling against a tree, she realized he hadn't been up long. Pulling Clay into her arms, Iris stood, taking a count of her remaining siblings.
Daisy and Lily were still asleep on the other side fire, a pair of white-blond heads peeking out from beneath a nubby woolen blanket. Flint was poking at the embers sullenly and did not even look up when Iris greeted him quietly. Still, she was relieved to see that everyone was still here an appeared unharmed.
She spent an hour heating a kettle of water to make oaten porridge, washing little faces and hands, and helping her sisters brush and rebraid their hair. Jasper muttered as he paced the camp, unable to eat and worried now about Pa and Janis and the new baby whose early birth had forced Pa to depart Aunt Tedda's early in such a rush.
After enduring a good hour of Jasper's anxious pacing and nervous murmuring, Iris had finally had enough. She dragged him across the road, out of earshot of the little ones.
"That's enough, Jasper!" She admonished him. "You're scarin' the children and damn it - me as well."
"It ain't right, Rissy. You know it ain't. Pa'd've seen our fire and come out for us, you know it well as I." He was in a right state now, shaking his head and staring westward. "Somethin' is wrong. Maybe the baby died, or Janis, or-"
"Stop it, just stop it right there."
"But Rissy-"
Iris gave him a rough tug on the left ear. "No. Just listen to me now. If by some chance something has gone wrong with the birthin', there ain't anything we can do out here. Best we collect the children and get home as quick as we can. Maybe Pa's horse foundered on the rush back home and he can't pull the wagon with just the one. Or maybe its nothing at all. Maybe he didn't even see our smoke."
"Rissy, how many nights has Pa ridden out to check out smoke on the horizon? And how many nights did he not notice it?"
Iris frowned. It was true - she couldn't recall a single time that they had spied a fire and Pa had failed to investigate it.
"Well. We're not more'n two or three hours from the homestead, Jas. Let's round up the children and get moving. Now you've got me worried!"
Strange Communion
Lithe words, playing recklessly over the breeze, found her ears, as she followed her siblings through the forest.
Daisy...
Again the delicate sound of her name and more small laughter. This wasn't one of her brother's tricks, or her sister's silly pass times. It came from somewhere nearby, but nowhere Daisy could easily place.
Touch the stones Daisy...
She looked around quickly, hoping to pinpoint the direction.
"Daisy are you alright?" Her sister Iris was looking at her with concern. Iris was always the one with concern, always the strong one. Daisy nodded to her sister, although she kept the voices to herself.
Touch the stones Daisy...
Instinctively she reach out and trailed her fingertips across a few large rocks pressed up against the trees. The stone was cool, like the forest in the shade, but rough like her Pa's skin, tough and aged by weather and circumstance.
You are in danger!...
This time the sound was low and hollow, a sudden urgent hissing, as if the rocks themselves had uttered the warning. Daisy looked around, seeing if perhaps her odd behavior was attracting attention. It wasn't. Her siblings were happy to leave her alone, and her big sister Iris had her hands full trying to get them home with Jasper. One concerned moment was all Iris could spare, and Daisy realized if she stopped walking, they wouldn't notice her missing for a little while.
So, she stopped and faced the stones that poked out here and there amongst the tree roots and forest floor. Hesitantly, she reached for the nearest cold, protruding surface. The moment her fingers came in contact with the rock she heard it again.
Child, you are in danger. All of you!...
How could this be? Daisy wondered. She was too young to know deep fear, but old enough to feel a certain misgiving about hearing the disembodied voices.
"Who are you?" her small voice wrestled the birds and creaking tree branches for a chance to get some answers. She reached out for the rock again.
Great danger! The low voice warned.
She snatched her tiny fingers away from the hard face of stone.
"Daisy! What are you doing!" It was Iris. Daisy backed away from the stones, glancing up at her sister. The look of anger mixed with fear registered on Iris' face urged Daisy to explain.
"The rocks are talkin' sissy," she said. "They are talkin' to me."
Iris bent down an scooped Daisy into her arms. "Don't be scaring me like that. We don't go walkin' alone in the forest. It's not safe."
"But the rocks..." Daisy squirmed, holding her small hands out towards the stones. "They told me danger, sissy, danger."
Iris shook her head. "Little one, there's been no talkin' to the rocks or trees or anythin' else out there for a long time. None of us can use the magic anymore. I've told you before. It's all wild now. Ain't talkin' to you or no one."
Daisy....
"Who's there!" Iris shouted, swinging around. "Jasper? Clay?"
Daisy touch the stones...
Iris tried to keep her little sister in her arms, but Daisy squirmed out and ran to the nearest stone, lacing both her hands squarely on the surface.
Child you must run... the stones spoke clearly, urgently. You must Run.
Iris grabbed at Daisy, pulling her back from the rocks. "What's going on? Who's talkin' to us?"
Daisy pointed to the rocks. "It's them sissy. They are speakin'"
Iris stared at the cold gray stones on the forest floor. Could it be true? She wondered. Could the great stones be speaking again? "What did they say Daisy?" she asked. "Tell me what did they say."
Her little sister pulled herself close in Iris' arms and whispered. "They say run!"
A Fool's Errand
The flaming arrow that singed his hair slammed into a nearby tree with a mighty thunk and Flint did not seem to notice it. He kept on, digging at the gnarled root system, scrounging for mushrooms like some great, trained hog. The thundering of his siblings' feet behind him gave him pause and he lifted his head marginally, glancing back. It took a long moment for him to realize what he was seeing. Iris, with Lily hot on her heels, had little Clay slung over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She was running toward him and only as she drew even with him did he notice the terror in her indigo eyes.
Her mouth was open and she grabbed at his sleeve at she flew past him. A heartbeat later, as he stood slack-jawed with a few grubby fungi in his hands, his ears and eyes caught up to the scene at last and he heard Iris scream.
"RUN!"
Lily stumbled and shrieked, twisting her ankle and splitting her knee open. Flint scrambled toward her, still clutching his mushrooms and scooped his arm under hers. He dragged her to her feet even as she was crying.
A second burst of flame flew past them, skewering the dirt not a foot in front of him.
"Jasper? JASPER?"
He whirled, letting go of Lily, at the sound of Daisy's scream. A pink mist exploded into the air, obscuring Jasper's beet-red, panicked face. His big brother dropped to his knees as a thick, pointed shaft burst through his chest. Thick crimson dripped from the gaping wound. Lily was sobbing, clinging to his leg and preventing him from running to Jasper. After an interminable minute, he toppled forward as if all the bones had seeped from his body.
"JASPER!"
Bloody fool's errand, this is, he thought.
With a muffled curse, Horace leapt from his ill-tempered destrier and gave the black-and-gold barded beast a smack to the neck. His shoulders were aching from the weight of his mail and plate, his thighs throbbed after the long, hard ride, and all he wanted was to shed every scrap of armor or clothing and climb naked as a babe into Lasala's creamy white embrace.
His spear had hit home, he could see that as he strode forward. The kid's blood was still pumping, but weakly; he wouldn't last long enough to meet Karack. I'll catch hell for this shit, I know I will. Fuck. We'll get the others. It'll be enough.
Casually, he reached a mailed fist down, catching the little curly-haired blond by the collar of her dress. She screamed and kicked and tore away from him before he could get a better grasp and Horace spat another oath as he was left with naught but a wisp of cheap calico.
The little one threw herself atop the boy he had killed and began to sob to hard her entire body shook. Horace felt a little poignant tug at his heart, and felt it callously obliterated it a heartbeat later.
"Round the leftside of the road," he heard Captain Martan bark at the others as the captain reined up beside him. "Ride 'em down. Lord Karack wants them all."
Horace muttered beneath his breath. "He's ain't no fucking Lord."
The Captain either ignored him or failed to hear, but in any case, he put his heels to horse and wheeled around. Probably off to mollycoddle that pansy-ass lord of his, Horace grumbled.
Stooping low, the knight reached an arm under the blond child, prying her from her sibling's still corpse. There was a small stone in her hand and she pummeled him with it as he nudged the boy with his steel-toed boot.
"Ha'kalai'aem vo!" his charge screamed suddenly, her eyes squeezed shut and her tiny hands gripping the stone so tightly they went white.
"Quiet, brat," he said, swinging up into the saddle. "Your brother's dead and if you ain't gonna cooperate, you'll be ne-"
The words died on his lips.
At the edge of his vision, Horace watched the dead boy push himself onto his back.
And then, his eyes opened.
The Silvery Lady of Ill Will
"It seems this young one is conversing with the stones. A rarity amoung her kind."
Horace jerked his mount around to face the womanly voice trailing out of the trees nearby. "Bathsheba!" he exclaimed. "We did not realize..."
The lady emerged, her silvery skin glinting like polished metal in the new light of day. She wore a serene expression, not curious of her shared news, or frightened by the bloodied boy struggling to rise no more then ten feet in front of her. Her long white hair streaked with the colors of autumn, danced in the light breeze, and she lifted her slender arm and gestured at Horace and the struggling girl. "Morketh Domac Nebadra!" she spoke clearly. Daisy went limp in Horace's grasp. "Majesty!" the gruff warrior said. "This lot is tagged for Karack. You cannot..."
Bathsheba dismissed his protest with a wave of her hand. "You have little to fear from the great Lord Karack. He holds no value or responsibility for the magics of old. He claims dominion where his armies should not tread, and takes little heed for the wonders that he's witnessed." A small smile played with the corners of her mouth. "The child will go to him, and your duty will be satisfied. I will not stand in your way. But," she turned gracefully towards Jasper's lurching form, "this one shall come with me to Beetles Hollow. My sisters are interested."
"But Majesty!"
"Warrior Horace, do not let your greed for strong acknowledgments cloud your eyes. I know your contempt, and what you have in your hands is strong enough treasure for dear lord Karack. Leave me with my plaything and rejoin your men."
Her voice left little room for argument, and Horace was not foolish enough to broach any. The Fariekind were rare and few, but terrible and strong. If they chose to show themselves for a prize, then little could be done to wrench such prize from their grasps. With a snort of agreement, he turned his mount east towards the large encampment on the fringe of the forest. He would meet up with his men and deliver the child to Lord Karack. Despite his own feelings, this was his job and responsibility, and he was a man of his word.
Bathsheba watched him gallop away, and when he was out of sight, she turned her attention to Jasper. As if she were floating on water, her body glided over to the boy. He snarled and tried to lurch at her, but in his condition, he made little progress.
"Jasper," she whispered, drawing close to him. "Do you not know how great you are? The stones are talking again, and your young sister has channeled their angry voices." He spat foam and flecks of blood at her. She did not hesitate to admonish him with the back of her hand. "Be still black one!" she hissed. "Soon you will be able to flex your powers. Soon."
She rose and gestured with her silver skinned hand. "Nobackra Nebath Nobarie!" Instantly Jasper collapsed.
"Soon you will be able to unleash you anger on the earth, but not yet." Bathsheba smiled, this time wide and unfettered. "However, now we must find the rest of your family."
Gesturing again to the boy, Bathsheba brought him to his feet, his body suspended in the web of her sorcery. "Now, point the way." Jasper's arm lifted and extended back towards the deeper forest.
"Good," Bathsheba replied. "Let's hunt!"
The Hunt
Branches tore at her face, her arms, her legs. Her patched wool stockings shredded, one shoe gone. The gasping, mewing cry at her shoulder had quieted to a series of grunts as Clay clung around her neck. His grubby little fingers had scraped her shoulders raw and she could scarcsely breathe from his little arms around her throat.
"Iris," Flint gasped, trotting along beside her. His hands were spotted with blood from Lily's split knees and his own scratches and abrasions. "Iris, I can't..."
She stopped, her heart throbbing so hard in her throat she couldn't breathe. Distantly, she could hear the baying of hounds and the jeers of the small band of horsemen who were in hot pursuit. Panic turned her blood to ice and exhaustion made lead weights of her legs.
Flint had done his best to first lead and then carry Lily, but he had not had the years to fill-out that Jasper had, and his legs and arms buckled beneath him once they stopped running. The pair tumbled to the underbrush, silent tears drawing webs through dirty cheeks.
We're breathin' so loud, they'll hear us for sure! Iris lamented, doubled over. Her hands gripped her knees as she racked her brain for any hidden copse or cave or hollow log - any place they could hide.
"We-" she gaspsed, "Know this land inside out, Flint. We spent our whole lives here, playin' and workin'... where can we hide?"
Her brother shook his head, "Don't know, 'Ris, but... gotta find a place fast. They're getting close. "
...iiiiiirrriiiissss....
"What?"
...iiiiiiirrrrriiiiissss....
Clay was looking up at her, terror and trust in equal parts on his face. Lily too, peering up from the wet foliage like a lost fawn trapped in a briar.
"You don't hear it?"
"Jes the dogs and the riders," Flint hissed, "Quiet, 'Rissy, you'll bring 'em down on us!"
Iris tilted her head, listening again for the urgent whisper.
"There! I see them!" A strangely sultry voice cracked across the clearing. Iris whirled to face their pursuers, clutching Clay and Daisy to her protectively. An etherial silvery apparition pointed a graceful arm at them, her stallion's nostril's flaring as it pawed the ground. It seemed to Iris that it was more lion than horse, hungry for blood - her blood.
Suddenly they were all there, forming a half-circle around the small clearing where she and her siblings clustered in fear. Riders in mail and horses barded in steel and silk. The silvery woman, so beautiful and grotesquely alien. A lordly man all in leather, bearing a vast golden torque at his throat and a thin silver circlet about his brow.
Thump... thump... thump... Her heart was striving to burst free from her chest, she could feel it.
The horsemen moved closer, spreading out to close the circle, trapping them. Dogs barked and howled, nipping at Flint's feet as he scrambled like a crab, closer to his big sister.
....nad'uum vaekliamor akan! she heard the cold voice in her brain.
"Nad'uum vaeklimaor" she heard her own voice screaming, as if of its own volition. Desperately, clinging to her siblings, Iris opened her throat and howled. "AKAAAN!"
Bathsheba cursed and clenched her delicate fist so hard her nails drew blood from her palm. Karack gaped like a fish out of water. To a man, his companions were silent and stunned.
"Who has taught them this?"
Horace glanced at the man who called himself Lord and rolled his eyes.
The dogs sniffed around helplessly, giving little confused yelps.
"I seen it with me own eyes, an' I don't hardly believe it." Horace muttered, stepping closer to the tree the children had found shelter beneath.
Though the wet leaves showed each of their little footsteps and the air was still warmer where their bodies had been, the clearing was now utterly empty.
"What are they doing?" Flint asked, peering down at the party.
They were fifty feet in the air, at least, but they hadn't climbed and the trees here were too old and dead to support their weight anyway. He was suspended in the air, and cloaked from sight, it seemed, but how he wondered.
"What did you do, 'Rissy?"
Astounded, Iris could only shake her head and give silent thanks to whatever stone gods had awakened in time to save their lives.
"I don't know," she chewed on her lower lip, holding back angry tears. Only now was she able to wonder who they were, why they had come, and what exactly they wanted with her family.
Gnome, Gnome, Someone's Home
"Pssst."
Clay looked quickly over at the knobby head darting amongst the trees.
"Psst."
He knew that little boys should not investigate odd shapes in the woods, though he wanted nothing more. Iris and Flint had strictly instructed him and his sister to stay still, be quiet and not move an inch from their hiding spot under the gnarled roots of an ancient oak. Iris was still gone, left to search for answers and possibly help, and Flint was roaming the edges of the clearing they'd just come from.
Clay kept thinking that Pa would saved them. Pa always came to the rescue when they were in trouble. This time, however, trouble had come and gone several times and still Pa had not bursting out of the forest shadows to scoop them all into his strong arms and whisk them away to safety.
"Psst." Clay looked again, realizing that he'd lost himself in thought long enough to allow Lily to slip by him. "Lils, watcha doing, Rissy said we better stay put."
Lily paid him little heed, littler still, because she understood very few words and knew he could do nothing to stop her.
There was that head again. It was short and knobby, like a bald, no not quite bald, more like wispy threads of hair, but mostly bald, garden statue. He saw lots of garden statues around his Aunt's big house in Pollydance. Although the statues didn't bounce, bob or demand attention.
"Lils!" Clay tried to whisper roughly, but his sister was already moving closer to the strange thing in the woods.
"Come on kids," the head spoke, loud enough for Clay to hear it perfectly. "I can't keep this up all day. Follow your sister boy."
Clay was startled and slightly afraid, but largely excited by the odd voice and the garden statue it belonged to. This was exactly what any child would love. And Clay couldn't resist a good adventure.
"Lils wait up," he pushed himself off the forest floor. Running as fast as his little legs would carry him he made for the dissipating figure of his sister, leaving his big brother and sister behind him.
Swoop
The little knobby-headed man moved all herky-jerky. Hopping and bobbing like he was dancing, but he was moving so fast it was more like running on little legs. Clay followed, just a few steps behind Lily, and couldn't help but giggle when the little man fell flat on his face.
Lily laughed aloud and dove forward, over a fallen log. He couldn't see her anymore, but he could hear her squeals of delight. It was real nice to hear her laugh, she didn't do that very much. Iris said Lily used to talk and laugh like a normal kid, but then Mama died and now she was so quiet.
Clay worried about her. He worried a lot though.
As he drew closer, his little four-year-old brow furrowed in consternation; Lily wasn't there. She had jumped right over the log where the little man fell, and she should be there, but as he climbed over the dead tree there was nothing there.
The little man was gone. Lily was gone.
Clay stood perched atop the fallen oak and stomped his foot.
"Lily? Lils? Where'd you go?" he raised his voice, shouting. "LIIILLLY! IRIS! IIIIIIIRISSSS!"
Heavy footsteps behind him came crashing closer and as he turned, a pair of strong arms swooped him up, hugging him so tight he couldn't breathe.
"Owie, stop it! You're hurting me!"
Clay pushed away, trying to look up at his captor. And he screamed.
Iris whirled at the sound of her baby brother's scream almost dropping the bundle she carried. Her dress was smeared with blood, her face was mottled with a web of tears, her eyes ringed red from crying.
Oh you Gods, what did you let them do to Janis? Why? she shook with tears, picking up her speed despite teetering on the brink of exhaustion. No amount of helping Pa slaughter the hogs could have prepared her for the horrors she found in their house.
Oh you Gods, she prayed again, following the sound of Clay's scream. Let Clay be okay, let Lily be okay. Bring Flint and Daisy and Jasper home safe. Oh you Gods... where is Pa?
The Hunt Continues
The darkness of the forest was nearly suffocating, the trees seemed to pull so close that Bathsheba had to turn to her side to maneuver in between them. She could sense the true-life returning to the great collective. The tingling breath of magic blew so lightly over her skin, that only the shivering pimples left any trace of its passing. Bathsheba recognized it, nevertheless. Her fariesisters were sensitive to the movements of magic, unlike the thick-headed humanekind. They sensed only what they hacked and mutilated with their axes and swords, wars fought at the end of a blade. Magic was a far greater warrior, unseen for the most part, but strong and deadly. Bathsheba did not permit herself to grin at the thought of the poor wretched humanekind battling against what she knew was coming. Permitting herself that type of luxury would undoubtably undermined her great awareness. Do not underestimate, she reminded herself. Her sisters and herself were as venerable against the coming storm as the humanekind, if they allowed themselves even a moment of blindness.
“Come on boy!” she hissed to Jasper trailing behind her. “I must find the remaining four to stand at the circle. My sisters will not entertain a husk like you if I do not have the remaining children alive.” Jasper lurched closer in the darkness, his meager moans and whispers the only sound accompanying their footsteps.
Bathsheba sent her mind out among the forest, trying to sense the location of Jasper’s family. In the ether-air she could hear a chorus of voices, angry and unsettled. She attempted to thread herself into their blustery howls, edging closer to answers that she was seeking. Her hand came up quickly to stop the lurching form behind her. “They are waking up the gnomes and gollems,” she said, more to herself then the boy. “They mean to push us out of their territory much more quickly then I assumed.”
She beckoned Jasper to continue to follow her, moving down an embankment, towards a small clearing ahead. “They will take the children deep into their dream-realm if I do not get to them first. Show me boy!” she hissed urgently. “Where are your siblings?”
Jasper’s arm came up and gestured erratically towards the clearing. Bathsheba nodded. “As I thought.” She gathered her robes and started to run. “It’s coming, boy!” she yelled behind her. “It’s coming fast. Magickind is going into battle!”
Embrace
Koja and Brock galloped up the lane, majestic in their long-legged, graceful gait. Powerful chests and strong, deep loins gave them a strangely proportioned profile yet they had broad paws for better maneuvering in mud or snow and shiny black talons that seemed as dangerous as any you might find on a jungle cat. Their shoulders were four hands shorter than her horse, and they were lighter by far, yet their ilk made excellent mounts for the Smallfolk. Better still, they were gentle giants and so made excellent mounts for children as well.
The sun glimmered across her pale complexion, faintly metallic and bearing a warm copper hue. Her hair streamed down her back, a billowing cloud of burnished bronze. Worry was etched across her fine features, her hands in Gallea's mane bore white knuckles.
High noon diminished their shadows, leaving her exposed and vulnerable with no easily accessible escape routes. Still, she pressed on, knowing her sisters were hunting with equal fervor and how greatly their men outnumbered her small band.
I must find them, I must! Helena told herself, urging Gallea to the left. Munko and Fesha were on foot, but they would find wild mounts if they located the children first. Gnomes often had intense connections to the natural world. When the Stone Gods had stopped talking to the elder races, and to men, They had continued to listen to the races of smaller stature. Helena was not worried about them, the spirits of nature would heed their calls for protection; it was the children of men who concerned her.
The children, of course, and her sisters.
Bathsheba was the eldest, strong and independent, cunning and cool-headed. Demetios was the youngest, and equal parts cruel and devious, vain and vindictive. They had assembled a small army already, led, no doubt, by their bastard brothers, Karick, Mavern and Dukken. It would not take them but a day or two to canvas the entire forest, laying waste to every homestead and farm for miles. Even now, Demetios was likely engaged in one of her favorite activities. Helena could taste the fear and agony of a stranger on the breeze. She could feel his terror as his heart thundered in his chest and the searing pain of golden hairpins, glowing red and white and fresh from the fire, being pushed into his flesh. Her nostrils were filled with the odor burning hair and flesh and the rank smell of bowels emptied and bladders spilled. Helena shook her head, trying to focus despite the barrage of horrors her younger sister's actions brought to her mind. Worse than this man's messy interrogation and eventual death was the heart-wrenching cries of a new mother watching her infant ripped asunder, his brains dashed upon the hearth. The atrocities Demetios had visited upon the young woman once the baby was death had made Helena's skin crawl.
But where Demetios would take her time and have her fun, moving in a roundabout path to her goal, Bathsheba would be hunting the children herself, for she enjoyed the cat and mouse game. Her calculating nature was not to be underestimated. She would be leading bloodhounds and Harriers, hunters who trained day and night from the time they could walk, and these children, no matter how clever could not elude her forever.
A little shriek caught her attention and Helena yanked Gallea's mane. The beautiful bay mare reared indigantly, but turned and raced in the new direction. Koja and Brock loped after her, and then, picking up a scent, the canines put on a burst of speed in unison and shot off into the thick of the forest.
Two of them, at last, she thought, dismounting swiftly. There was a boy, nearly a man, and a girl, perhaps two years younger than him. The children were trembling, clinging together, terrified. Koja and Brock had chased away some snarling hound and were pacing in a half-circle like sentries. Helena could not help but spare a passing smile; her companions were smarter than any canine had a right to be.
“Its alright, my little loves,” Helena breathed, kneeling closer. “I shall get you to safety. You must only trust me.”
“Helena!”
She froze, recognizing at once the husky voice of her eldest sister. A hissing monstrosity lurched at her side and as Helena turned, herding her charges behind her, she knew the Black One to be the eldest of the Trubor children.
“You will never have them, Bathsheba. I do so vow.”
Her elder sister's eyes narrowed, “Come now, little fool, you know what must be done. The darkness descends. Accept the night and join with us. These children have been chosen, they channel the forgotten voices.”
“I have embraced the light, Bathsheba,” Helena stepped back, hunkering down to wrap her arms around the children. She glanced down briefly, watching the shadows grow with each heartbeat as the sun moved across the sky. “And with it, the shadows. Ha'sha kal!”
Intangible darkness expanded upon her command, swallowing the three of them in a cool, black void.
There are no shadows in the night, Helena thought, watching the swirling shades of gray as she stole through the Shadowrealm, And your darkness can never touch us here.
Pursing in Earnest
The putrid stench of vomit and piss followed Demetios even though she had stalked far away from the sight of her recent interrogation. She dusted the last flecks of bile from her golden skin, lifting the length of her arm against the sun in an attempt to investigate further wretch on her person. Thankfully nothing else remained.
Satisfied that she was clean from the common filth of the poor, Demetios paused in the dappled sunlight of an ancient oak. In the distance she watched her small band of men discard the waste. Still she knew little about the location of her prey. Bathsheba would undoubtedly admonish her usage of such a description. These children were devices that she and her sisterkind must have possession of. Spaces long forgotten, realms that shouldn't be touch or crossed into, were waiting to be pillaged. The children were the key, but Demetios was certain that something inside the protection of the trees, was securing the children's safety. Nature was a powerful foe, and equally staunch ally. If one was adept in the quality of incantations, then one could commerce with Nature and all her power. Yet, even with as much knowledge as Demetios was sure she possessed, the forest refused to accommodate.
Hak'ne Fa'fe, she swore. Regardless of the slaughtered entertainment left in her wake, she still remained predominately in the dark. The children were tantalizingly close, but they were hiding, and their attempt to stay that way had lead them away from the settlements and further into the trees. It was deeper into the forest she must lead her men.
"Dukken!" she called, watching him quickly move towards her. When he was within normal speaking distance, she pointed to the deep woods. "The children have traveled further inside. The settlements are providing little in the way of assistance." She grinned, favoring her method of acquiring others to assist her quite pleasing. "Take your whole post and take care to search everywhere!"
Demetios made sure he paid her proper dignities before he left. She insisted on deep bowing in her presence. BeetleHollow was a magnificently proper abode, and she did not dismiss such formalities merely because she was not home. Bowing made her happy. Control made her thrill even more.
She watched Dukken lead his men away. When he was out of sight she stole a bit of time to gather her plans about her, much as she gathered her light robes about her slender body. It was in that stolen moment of time, she sensed Helena cast her transport sorcery.
She found two! The commanding voice erupted in her mind. Demetios realized immediately that Bathsheba was already calling her other sisters to her side.
As custom in her sisterhood, Demetios followed the eldest. If Bathsheba demanded a Joining in order to strengthen their power, then Demetios would accommodate, regardless of her present hunt.
I will be at your side sister she sent her reply. Quickly Demetios cast her spell, her dark hair igniting into a ruby red brilliance. "Dom Naktha Lathu Me," she said the words of the spell, then she melted into the air.
Scourged
His eyes were swollen shut; blood stained his teeth, his hair, and his clothes. He could taste the bile in the back of his throat and wretched again, but had nothing left in his belly to give up. His eyes were dry but he could feel the dried tear tracks upon his cheeks. He felt empty, utterly, completely empty.
The golden woman had ordered her minions to bind them, to subdue, but not to injure. No, that pleasure she had kept for herself. It had been her pale, shimmering hands around his newborn son's ankles when his brains were dashed out against the wall. His fresh, beautiful new life snuffed out, reduced to nothing more than a chunky crimson splash upon a whitewashed wall. Finn, that is what Janis had wanted to name him. Finneas Griegar Trubor, he would have been named after her long-dead older brother Finneas and after himself.
He winced, dragging his left arm forward, then his right. That bitch, the golden lady, had really worked him over. Griegar crept along, blind and on all-fours. A rifle was strapped across his back, but should something attack him it would be more useful as a club for bludgeoning than as a firearm.
After a time, Griegar knocked his shoulder into a tree and sighed. I'll never find them like this... he leaned his back up against the tree. The lady had scourged his back, and it was excruciating to touch it, but it was just as bad when nothing touched the wounds. He grimaced, and even that expression was painful. At least one of his ribs was broken, all of the toes on one foot. I'll never find... them...
And just as quickly as the hopelessness and doubt crept into his mind, a voice rock-hard with assurance contradicted him. It told him to stand up, to head east, to never give up.
Your living children need you, Greigar Trubor, and your dead ones as well...
The voice was tinged with warmth as it echoed in his mind, and though it was distant and thin, it was not tinny.
It was bronze.
Trip to Nettlehelm
In the Shadowrealm, the in-between place, where light was not exactly light and the darkness was a brownish haze, Helena, Bronze Sister of BeetleHollow waited. She brought herself back from the message of hast and fortitude she had sent to Griegar and considered her plight. She had not expected to be surprised by one of her sisters. Normally there was a physic tie that held them together, an unseen conscious path for communication. Once Helena had decided to protect the children from what lay before them, she had severed the physic tie, but held on to a small thread in order to keep one step ahead of her siblings. Bathsheba had, in some way, caught on, although Helena was sure her sister had not expected such betrayal. What Helena had done was the deepest crime against her family. Even her tenacious golden sister was not that foolish.
Yet, now that the veil had been lifted, there was no turning back. Bathsheba would gather the remaining sisterkind and follow her, and if they caught her again unaware, it would be death for sure.
Helena was roused out of her thoughts by the whimpers and sniffs of fright from the two small children she'd saved.
"Do not cry," she whispered gently. "You both have great work to do. We must be off. You want to see your family again, do you not?"
The two children nodded, but otherwise remained voiceless. Helena could not fault them for their fear and uncertainty. This situation should never be thrust onto the shoulders of those so young. Nothing, however, could be done about that now.
"Please follow me," she inisisted to the small ones. "We will find refuge with the faerie kind of NettleHelm. The Elderseer knows what must be done next."
With a little encouragement, she brought the two children to their feet and lead them into the brownish haze of the Shadowrealm. Hast was imperative, she reminded herself. She was sure that her sisters would only be a few steps behind, and her betrayal would quicken their steps.
Everything lay in the balance. On the shoulders of small children, she thought silently. Yet great things rarely came in form of convenience.
Indigo & Celadon
The stories they had grown-up with, the legends that had been their primary education in all things spiritual and esoteric. He could scarcely believe it was all true - it was all coming true and he was smack in the center of it all.
No, not the center. But nearby, at least. Brigan adjusted his cap, a mushroom-shaped bundle of silk and satin that had cost more than the sum of everything else he owned. Probably, in fact, more than everything his whole family owned or ever had. But it was a benefit of being maegabairn... mageborn. Of being one of an ever-dwindling number of Fey in the world, those who could touch the aether and shape it to their will. One who could draw raw power from the Earth, who could hear the Stone Gods, who could-
Bah! he thought, Its coming true, I know it. I feel it, but why won't they listen to me? Just because I'm only a first-tier apprentice? Brigan sighed, dusting his hands over the front of his smock. It too was finer than anything he had owned before his power was discovered, though unlike the cap it was a plain, bleached cotton. No more nubby, nappy wool. No moldy thread-bare hand-me-down furs, no brittle hemp-weave or laceweed trousers, and no more horsehair either! Only smooth silks, satins, the finest, softest cotton and wool, and garments lined in fresh, clean vair or rabbitfur.
Being an apprentice - even a first-tier - was such an honor. The Bronze lady fawned all about him, the gnomes and even her cousins, they all treated him like some sort of prized doll. They dressed him up, taught him ancient lore and signs that a first-tier had no business knowing just because he was the first they had found in two decades, they let him read anything he cared to, danced with him, fed him choice bits and only required that he work as hard as he could at the spells and lore.
But they didn't respect him or his visions. They all subscribed so completely to the prophesies and legends of the past, but none of them would listen to him when he tried to tell them about the future.
The real future.
Brigan chewed on his lower lip, watching as the Helena ushered two more children into their sanctuary at Nettlehelm. That made four now. The two little ones seemed to have adjusted rapidly. They had been brought in two days ago, bloody and crying. Brigan had made butterfly illusions for the quiet girl and sung a song about the Hero-Pirate Trance Jones that made the little boy's eyes go wide with wonder.
These two were older, several years. The girl appeared to be of an age with Brigan himself, but that wasn't what he noticed first. Not her disheveled hair, a lovely black as glossy as a raven's wing in the sun, not the torn dress and shredded stockings. Not all the blood either.
Because when the girl entered the narrow, circular chamber, she hesitated only a moment before lifting her chin and peering up.
And as their eyes met, intensely-hued indigo meeting an eeriely pale green, electricity sparked across the distance.
...its her.
The Elderseer Refuses
"It's true my lord. Just as I told you days ago."
The soft rustle of his long robes indicated his movement, but deep inside the cowl and hood, his eyes never strayed from Helena's direct stare. She was asserting herself again, he mused, much like her younger sisterkind. He expected less of her pious straight-backed preaching, and more self-assured forward thinking. His people were renowned for their cautious planning, for their long addressed observation, but not for entertaining indigenous proclamations. He was well aware of the Awakening happening throughout the earth and sky, trees and stone. He was old enough to remember the last time the magic woke up, terrible and fiery, wicked and untamed...and hungry. Magic was nothing if not famished.
"Lady of Bronze, do not mistake my silence for uncertainty. I am not blind." His voice was controled and soft, his way...his people's way. Soft and delicate they spoke and touched, sang and weaved their own sorcery into the web of design. Centuries had taught him that hard words broached a hard retort, anger befit rage and so on. Softness was lulling, a quick elixir to the stubborn. And Helena was stubborn.
"My Lord you must protect those that can not protect themselves."
His white slender hand lifted out of the dark folds of his robe. "Do not assume that I have taken a side, Lady of Bronze. Sides are for those that do not already know the way of things. They choose to assure themselves of an allegiance, the strong side with those they believe will win. Nothing is certain, even for the strong, but they choose nonetheless. I need not choose, for I intend to keep the sides away from Nettlehollow. I will not involve myself with the wicked things that stir once again."
"But we are already here, my lord. I've taken the children from my sisters and brought them here. You can't tell me that you haven't chosen a side, if those that stand for good are here inside your protective shell."
"You brought them here, Lady of Bronze. You took up the mantle of responsibility when you broke the sisterhood and turned on your kind. I did not choose for you. The events you will face in the path now before you, is not within my power to interfere."
Helena wrestled with a moment of irritation. She had sacrificed so much already to see four of the children to safety, only to discover that the Elves would merely stand aside to allow Bathsheba to find her. Not choosing sides, she thought to herself. It was apparent to her that the Elderseer had already chosen.
"So you will keep your secrets to yourself, and condemn the humankind to battle the darkness themselves?"
"It is their battle."
"No, my lord!" Helena replied definitely. "This is a battle that will find us all. It will ravage the plane of the spirit as much as the world of the physical. It will attack without mercy or definition. You cannot allow your people or mine, or the world of humankind to suffer if you can prevent it."
"And who's to say that I can, Lady of Bronze? You put more faith in me then I deserve. I am merely an observer."
"It seems to me that you are a coward!" she shot back. "If you will not take up arms in the name of the righteous, then you have delivered all of us into the hands of evil."
"Limit perception reaps limited results, Lady of Bronze. Is it not I who you brought this choice to, without allowing me the luxury of decision? My people will not involve themselves in your battle without examining the great perspective. Until then, you are welcome to rest here within our walls, but do not call upon us in need, for our powers are not yours to wield."
Helena reached for the Elderseer's arm, hoping that in her touch her urgency could be felt, but the leader of the Elvenkind shook his head. "Do not attempt to sway me, Lady." His voice was soft, but firm. "Take your argument to those who will hear it. Waste not your time in futility." Without waiting for her response the Elven leader turned and walked away.
Always the enigmatic and often frustrating, Helena realized that she would have to approach this situation differently. Further attempts at changing his mind would have to come from a different direction.
Shaking her head, annoyed at his dismissive behavior, Helena stalked back to the temple entrance.
"Lady of Bronze!" She looked over at an approaching elven woman.
"Great Alundra," she addressed the eleven woman. "What does she who commands the elements seek from me?"
Alundra, red haired and lithe, came very close and whispered delicately tense. "I seek to assist you, Lady of Bronze. My people do not share the quiet neutrality of our leader, at least not all of my people. There are those of us who hear the earth scream out in pain and recognize the shift of power. We can not sit idly by and allow such indignities to be cast upon us. Please come with me, there are some people I want to introduce you to."
Helena was surprised. An elevenkind going against the wishes of the Elderseer? This was indeed worth further investigation. Without replying, the Lady of Bronze followed the lady who commands elements out of the temple and towards a new path.
Asteroidea
"So wait - who are you again?" Iris tilted her head. "This is all very confusin' and where'd ya take the little ones?"
Brigan smiled patiently and adjusted his mushroom-like cap again. "My name is Brigan and I'm just an apprentice here in Nettlehelm. We're going to help you, Iris, I promise. And your siblings, such as we can. Really, there's nothing that can harm you at all."
Nodding, the oldest of the Trubor siblings looked around the small, circular room, taking in its details. The walls were not walls at all; from the floorboards to the ceiling (which was nearly 12 feet high) were ancient bookcases made of some richest darkest wood she had ever seen. The places where books had been moved lately were glossy and fine, but mostly they were laced in a powdery layer dust. More books than she had even imagined existed lined each of the shelves. There didn't appear to be any obvious order, tall books next to short ones, red next to blue or green or brown, leather-bound beside those which were just sewn together with thick, heavy thread. Some had printing that shone like gold and silver, others were so faded she couldn't make them out at all. Here and there upon the shelves were curios and small boxes and small statues or carvings. There was a star-shaped creature at eye level, dried out like an old husk, but oddly beautiful with its pattern of ridges and graceful long limbs. It captured her attention so fully, that she heard absolutely nothing of whatever it was the Brigan was explaining to her.
"...so we need to find the maegabairn. Do- do you have any questions, Miss Trubor?"
She blinked. "P-pardon?"
The young man smiled, shaking his head. "You did not hear a word I said, did you?"
Blushing, Iris nodded. "N-no, I'm so sorry Brigan. Its just... " Her eyes drifted back to the strange star-shaped husk and she moved toward it. "What is this? What is it made of?"
Brigan gingerly picked up the object she indicated and held it out toward her. "This is a starfish; well, the dried remains of one. They're sea creatures, they live in the shallows mostly and they-" He turned it over on his palm, showing her the intricate underside. "Have mouths on this side. They actually vomit their stomachs into mussels and clams and oysters and eat them that way."
"That's disgusting," Iris commented, peering down at the starfish in awe. "They sure don't look like any fish I ever saw."
"No, I don't suppose they do. Have you ever seen the sea, Iris?"
She shook her head.
"There are so many wonders in the ocean. These starfish are just one of them. You know, if they are attacked and lose an arm or even more, they can actually regrow the missing limbs?"
"They can do that? Just...grow it back?"
Brigan smiled at her. "Oh yes. There is magic in the sea, the deeper it goes, the stronger the pull. One day, when I am a full Maegabairn, I shall learn to breathe water like a fish and-"
"My Pa says that we are born knowing how to - how to breathe water. He says inside our mamas, even cow- and dog- and horse-babies, we all breathe water inside her."
Brigan was taken aback by her comment, and paused to consider the ramifications. Certainly he had never been told any such thing in the classes, nor read it in any book. But- it made a certain queer sense. He had seen himself in visions, breathing and floating deep in a lagoon, talking to fish and sharks and whatnot.
"Oh. Um, yes, well. I- I-" he stuttered, and then gave her a nervous smile. "I had never thought of that before."
Iris laid her hand atop his, covering the small starfish and letting her fingers brush over his wrist.
"I think, Miss Trubor, that there is a lot we will learn from each other."
Sister to Consider
The first time a spark of a flame appeared at her fingertip, Iris nearly fell off her chair. The second time it lasted longer and singed her bangs. The third time took about thirty-five tries and flickered out even quicker than the first.
They had begun the lesson at dusk and by the time the moon was setting, Iris could kindle a palm-sized globe of flickering white flames. She knew how to hover it at shoulder-height, and after suffering a painful burn or two, she understood the danger as well as the wonder.
Brigan taught her that Fire was both the easiest element to call, and the hardest to learn to control. It was for those reasons that they taught flame as the first conjuration. The fickle nature of fire made it a perfect learning tool. You may be amazed at the breadth and scope of Magic and its many uses, but you must also respect its power for it is not to be taken lightly. That coda was one of the first rules they taught the Trubor children. Iris took it to heart immediately but she could tell that some of the little ones were much more in awe than frightened. They would soon begin lessons too, but for now, it seemed that the bronze lady and the Elders were content to keep them in the lower levels of their headquarters. Safe and secure and easily defensible.
Each morning brought new worries that no one would explain to her, and it frustrated Iris more than she could say. She had heard her father's name more than once and she was even certain that she had heard him crying out late one night after they had first arrived.
Sometimes she asked Brigan if he knew anything, but she believed him when he said she didn't. Mostly. He had kind eyes and he seemed sincere, but she had lived long enough to realize that many people were not as trustworthy as they seemed or as she wished they were.
She lay abed despite the glowing water-clock which told her that outside, on the surface that she had not seen since arriving, dawn was breaking upon the forest, turning away the gloom and sparkling upon the dew. She sighed heavily and sat up in her cell. Her eyes were closed, the room was dark, but she could see as clearly as day - not the small room she called her own, but the forest floor. A smile played upon her lips as she set out for a morning constitutional without leaving her cot. She watched a squirrel scampering along a branch so thin she was certain it would break, but it didn't. Its little tail bobbed along behind it like it had a life of its own. After a time, she let the images go and climbed from the bed to wash her face at the basin and rebraid her hair neatly. Today was going to be a big day, if Brigan told it true. He said that they were going to work on a new conjuration - something special.
Iris discovered she was excited as she sat on the edge of her bed with a book in hand, not reading it. Too eager to continue learning to sleep and too impatient to study, Iris Trubor again closed her eyes and let her gaze wander throughout the forest. Idly taking in the sights of the early morning and enjoying each illusory step amongst the trees.
Iris had not told anyone about her Secondsight.
If they were so determined to keep their secrets, she would damn well keep some secrets of her own.
Secrets
Demetios was not one to wait. Though the trees were awake and the stones were discussing ancient incantations, she was not privy to their great knowledge. It annoyed her that out there in the deeps of the forest were those that could here the nature-language, and furthermore, her sister Helena had betrayed her siblings and had possession of the Trubor children.
"We cannot follow them into the Shadowrealm if Helena has already reached Nettlehelm. The great Library will offer her all she needs to set the Change into motion."
Demetios glanced over at her sister Bathsheba and smiled. "So? We attack Nettlehelm. We bring out the power of BettleHollow and use it to raze that Elven city to the ground."
"Do not be silly sister," Bathsheba replied. "We need the children to unlock what lies deep in the belly of our home. Without them we are left to fight alone."
"No, that isn't exactly true." Demetios motioned to the silent undead Jasper nearby. "We use him to link his siblings together. They are not aware of the power they hold as a collective. We can use that to advantage. Otherwise we will have to follow Helena into the Shadowrealm."
Bathsheba considered what her sister had said for a moment. "As far as we know our sister hasn't informed the children of their powers. Although I'm sure she is working on collecting a fighting force to combat those of us that would use the children against the ancient magics." Bathsheba paused. "You have a point, sister," she went on. "Japser may be more useful then I originally imagined. Gather the rest of our forces."
Demetios nodded. The elder sister had spoken, she had fallen right into her hands. Once BeetleHollow was emptied of it's power, and the magic was granted to her, she would start the fall of this world by assuming control of her sisterkind. She smiled to herself. It was too delicious not to savor. First ultimate power, then Helena would pay.
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