Dreams of the Fae: Transcendence

by Anna Patrick Paige

  “Ah . . .” He rubbed his hands over his face, as if I was the most irritating creature he had ever come across. “Salted pork, okay? Damnit, their victims are never this annoying.”

  I retreated to my side of the tree.

  “They’re bandits.” He sighed, softening his tone. “That particular group makes the best salted pork this side of Medial Alexandria.”

  Bandits. I cringed at the word. Merciless killers who stole without reason. I was lucky to be alive.

  “The point is,” he continued, “I’ve got my own history of thieving, and since I can’t tolerate suffering anymore, I free any healthy prisoners they have accumulated. Convenient for you.”

  I tucked my legs into my chest. “And yet you left behind the other two girls in the cell.”

  “One,” he corrected, “and the other girl is dead by now too. Most of their captives are too far gone to help themselves.”

  “That is so cruel of you,” I whispered.

  The stranger spun around, his blue eyes burning with an intimidating brilliance. “I’m not out to be heroic. I just happen to be in the right place at the right time to help a few of them. I’m not wasting effort trying to fix something that cannot be changed. Now shut the hell up, or I’ll finish what they started.”

  My jaw dropped. “You wouldn’t.” If he knew my true identity, he would never dare make such a threat against me.

  He turned back to his side of the willow. “Keep following me and we’ll see what happens.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You’re lying.”

  “Don’t be so trusting.” He readjusted his shoulders against the bark and went still.

  I knew I ought to leave the conversation there, but curiosity overruled my common sense. Though perhaps dangerous and certainly armed, this stranger had yet to bring me any real harm. “What’s your name?”

  “I’m done answering questions. And you really need to stop following me.”

  “And you have the audacity to call me annoying.” I curled back into my knees, deciding not to push him any further.

  I was beyond thirsty, and dehydration cramped my muscles. I reached for a clump of snow and popped it into my mouth. It hurt to swallow, but the freezing powder helped numb the pain. My stranger had not drunk water, eaten, or exposed the slightest hint of discomfort.

  I spent the morning sucking on more handfuls of snow, trying to forget the intense figure sitting behind me. By noon I had consumed so much I was shivering and longing for the warmth of my bedroom hearth. As I reached for the last clump I could eat before freezing, the stranger turned his head just enough to see me out of the corner of his eye. “I’d offer you some water, but you drank it all. Don’t eat any more snow, or you will die.” He went back to ignoring me.

  I buried my forehead in my knees at the thought of those piercing eyes spying on me. How he must view this impuissant woman trailing after him . . .

  I felt faint, weak, pitiful, and more nauseated than I ever had in my entire life. Sleep was impossible, and my body was breaking down. My bottom lip throbbed, and I tongued the deep split where my teeth had bit into the tender flesh.

  Crusted blood and dirt darkened my swollen hands, with gashes and blisters separating one blemish from the next. My fingernails were ripped and jagged, and picking at them only made the irritation worse. Instead, I buried my sore hands under a layer of snow.

  I watched the mountains for hours, mesmerized by the grandeur of my own country. Perfect gray-and-blue peaks stretched as far as I could see, each capped with a white layer of snow. Puffs of low clouds made it difficult to tell where one summit ended and another began.

  This was the land of my ancestors, generations born under the Rose Court burdened to rule these stone ridges. My life kept this beauty alive. My blood. My Mandala. For the first time I understood the critical nature of the Divine. Everyone knew the consequences if a line failed.

  Kenara had been the land of great plains, a western nation south of Podar. Once endless grasslands covered the landscape and abundant spring-fed lakes reflected a warm, cloudless sky.

  One thousand years ago, the Senate had determined that a woman was too weak to govern alone. That an independent, unwed Queen threatened the survival of the Kenarian Divine. Podar invaded with the intention of forcing Kenara into submission. They swore to protect the land under a male sovereign. The misogynism of Divine men is embedded deeply within their veins.

  After three thousand years of Divine power ruling Athera, few in that time truly believed the legends of tied bloodlines. Backed by the Senate, the Podarian King tested the boundaries of Divine command. Being a sea-bordering nation has benefits, and Podar was determined to seize a portion of Kenarian coastline.

  The only war Athera ever knew began when the Divine Queen of Kenara attempted to stand against Podar and the Senate. Duval secured its borders, swearing to remain neutral. Brisleia ran to Kenarian aid, but they were too late.

  The death of Kenara commenced the instant the Divine Queen’s heart stopped. The planet howled in pain. Kenarian trees wilted and died. Clouds blocked the sun, and the ground turned to ash. The animals fled the land and faded into myth. One quarter of all life in Athera vanished, never to return.

  Now, the country is a void and barren wasteland. No breeze. No life. No sun. No water. Nothing grows. Nothing lives. Even the bordering sea turned to acid.

  Podar took responsibility for their actions by issuing a continental apology. As if that would compensate for the lives lost. Divinity and the Senate have since vowed to keep the bloodlines protected at all costs. It took death to know the importance of the Mandala. Those who bear the mark truly are Athera’s most precious possession.

  I shook my head to banish the history lesson I’d heard one hundred times from Sir Jonathan Helms.

  The sun began to fall behind the horizon. The sky turned red and purple, the last rays of dying light enveloping the mountains in an ethereal glow.

  My stranger took to his feet in a slow, methodical stretch, as if it ached him to move. He rolled his shoulders twice on each side and scanned the surrounding forest before using both hands to lift his hood back into place.

  Then he was gone, disappearing into the brush as if he had never existed at all.

  I jumped to my feet and leaped into the brush where he had disappeared.

  Smack!

  I collided into his back.

  The impact knocked me senseless, making my eyes roll around in their sockets. If I hadn’t felt the wool of his cloak slam into my face, I would have thought I’d run into a tree.

  I fell backwards. The stranger turned faster than I’d ever seen anyone move and swept his arm under my lower back before I could hit the ground. He cradled me in the crook of his elbow until I came out of the daze.

  I opened my eyes to find him peering at me. Now that I knew his face, I could distinguish his gorgeous features under the shadow of his hood. One side of his mouth twitched into a snide smirk as he helped me steady myself. As soon as my legs stopped wobbling, he let me go and continued through the woods.

  Traveling down the mountain strained me as much as going up. Instead of a strenuous climb, I embarked on a chaotic slide. To make matters worse, the stranger increased his speed. My flimsy ankles repeatedly buckled and sent me skidding into the backs of his legs. After I hit his calves for the third time, he cursed viciously and shoved me away in frustration.

  The stranger seemed to travel on air. Never missing a step. Knowing the placement of every stone and stump.

  Late into the evening, I finally found a rhythm to the downhill excursion. I learned to avoid rocks and roots, but my feet had bruised to the bone.

  Once again, the forest grew thick, and the tree canopy hid the misty blue glow of the moon. I stumbled through the darkness. The onslaught of brush reopened the rips on my hands, making me doubt my sanity for following my stranger back into this hell, yet I kept moving.

  Every minute of the long night lasted an hour until the
woods cleared. The terrain shifted to mountain ridges where one misstep would send me tumbling over the edge. We dived back into the forest. It continued like this throughout the day and into the next night—a painful crawl up the steep slopes only to slide down the other side.

  I began to doubt my resolve. He was inhuman. We covered a distance that no man alive should have been able to traverse in the time given. Ready to admit defeat, I prepared to lie down on the mountain ridge and watch him run into the distance—accept my death or allow fate to decide the future.

  As I reasoned with myself, he abruptly stopped. I couldn’t halt my steps quick enough, and my feet slipped over the edge of a cliff.

  My stomach lurched into my chest, and a sharp tingle shot through my legs. My stranger snatched my wrist. I dangled in midair, legs flailing in search of a stable surface. He pulled me up far enough that I could latch my free arm around his neck, and he spun me back onto solid ground.

  “Do you have a death wish?” he scolded, pushing me out of his arms.

  I collapsed. Sick to the core, panting and shaking, I replayed the furiously fast events in my mind. The stranger glared at me, taking a firm hold of the roots dangling over the cliff’s edge, and down he went.

  I groaned, rubbing my fists into my eyes. I couldn’t do this. Down the side of a precipice? Was he serious? I had to stop pursuing him. I looked back in the direction we had come. The nonexistent path led nowhere up a nearly vertical climb.

  I leaned forwards to peer over the cliff. The treetops were covered with beautiful purple, pink, and white blossoms. I felt dizzy.

  The acrobatic stranger quickly descended using the small ledges and roots. A few feet from the ground, he let go of the rock and landed with a thud on the grass. Pulling his hood from his head, he looked up at me, and blond wisps of hair brushed across his forehead. Even from afar, he was stunningly handsome. Seeing him at the bottom made the distance seem shorter than I originally anticipated.

  Unnerved, I eased myself to the ledge. A concerned meow came from behind me. The little cat sat on a nearby branch, awaiting my decision. She gave me more confidence—a reminder of the hard journey I had traveled and a physical manifestation of my own strength.

  I dangled my feet over the side and took hold of the same branch the stranger had used to lower himself onto the rock face. My arms ached from the weight of my own body. The smooth stone was easier to grip than expected, but finding places to plant my feet increased the challenge. Each time I lowered my foot, I feared not finding the next step. Each time panic seared my brain until I found a solid surface.

  The stranger paced, watching and, to my surprise, waiting. His insistent gaze made me feel rushed and unsteady. I looked down to gauge the remaining distance: higher than I was tall. He stopped in my periphery and crossed his arms over his chest.

  I shut my eyes. I held my breath. And let go.

  The soles of my shoes slammed into the ground. The blow radiated up my legs and into my hips. I toppled over and fell flat on the grass, my ragged breaths reassuring me I was still alive.

  My stranger-turned-escort stared at me with a raised eyebrow. The cat broke his gaze when she dropped on all fours next to me. He grabbed the hilt of his sword and prepared to draw, but the feline didn’t linger. She rushed past us and disappeared, kicking up fallen petals in her wake. My stranger gave me a quizzical look and recommenced walking.

  I lifted myself from the ground and brushed colored blossoms from my dress. Thick emerald grass sprouted through a maze of caramel-colored trees twisted and bent over each other in a lovely dance that created intertwined systems. No brush or shrubs crowded the forest floor, and a plethora of white, pink, and purple petals floated through the air. I looked up, and my breath hitched. Hundreds of thousands of flowers hung from the tree canopy. Rays of early morning sunlight pierced the blossoming branches, illuminating the woods in a warm orange glow. The sweetest floral scent filled my lungs. I had never seen anything more spectacular. Even the roses growing throughout Alamantia Palace couldn’t compare to the beautiful splendor of this forest.

  My intuition on the cliff had been correct. It was time to stop pursuing him. Ambrosia told me to find safety, and here among the sunlight and petals, I felt inviolable and serene. This was where I wanted to stay. This was where my journey would end.

  The wind shook the trees, sending detached flowers falling to the ground like snowflakes. I held out my hand and caught several silky blooms on my palm.

  The stranger stopped and turned to face me. He stood a moment, waiting for me to follow. When I didn’t continue, he walked back to my side. My heart responded by thumping against my ribs.

  He took my hand and brushed the petals from my palm. “It’s wisteria.” His voice held the same heady tone from the first time I’d heard it. Then he did something I never expected; his calloused grip wrapped around my bruised and battered hand. He weaved our fingers together and tugged me with him. Distracted, I kept staring at the enchanting way our fingers looked while interlaced. So much of him exuded a hard and foreboding nature, yet he was capable of this gentle touch.

  He kept me beside him through the miraculous forest, walking at a slow pace comfortable for my sore feet. Why wouldn’t he leave me behind? Had he taken pity on the lost waif chasing him with such vigor?

  I shook my head, trying to clear a sudden fog taking over my brain. He led me to a crag in the corner of the forest. We rounded the rock and stepped into a lush valley completely surrounded by steep mountains. The stranger plucked a pink petal out of my hair. I knocked several more from my shoulders before he smiled and released my hand.

  I looked behind me to capture one last glimpse of the wisteria forest, but it was gone, hidden somewhere behind the crag.

  The valley opened into a paradise with long jade blades of grass and a river babbling through a rocky bed. In the distance, a midsized lake at the base of a tall rock formation received a cascading waterfall. Mist wafting into the air shrouded the mossy green boulders bordering the bank.

  A herd of Brisleian horses gathered by the still thawing river. One colossal white stallion stood guard. He watched us intently as we proceeded across the valley, seeming to take special interest in my stranger.

  Rabbits bounced in the grass and nibbled on the abundant wildflowers and lupines. The untouched beauty, so full of life, rendered me speechless. I wanted to stay here forever. I wished to make a home for myself and live isolated among the trees. It was a perfect place for a hidden Divine to take refuge.

  I plucked a yellow peony from the grass and twirled the stem between my fingers. My steps slowed; the desire to keep up with my stranger faded. Twisting the little flower, I weighed the odds of survival on my own. The delicate petals broke under the ministrations of my overly eager hands.

  My stranger was several paces in front of me, but it didn’t matter anymore. He looked back only once and smirked, seeing my idiotic smile at the broken bloom. I trailed him for the entire length of the valley, taking in the beauty and watching the sparkle of sunlight dance over the river.

  The feeling of bliss was cut short when I realized he was heading for the entrance of a cave. A huge cave. A cavern. The opening was taller than the gates of Alamantia City. I dug my feet into the dirt. I was not going back into the gloom to be tortured by a new group of perverted, evil men. Why didn’t you listen to Ambrosia? This man had never taken pity on me. It had always been something more sinister.

  I prepared to run.

  Sensing my terror, the stranger spun around and rapidly returned to my side. He put his hand on the small of my back and leaned close to my ear. “It’s not what you think.” His warm breath sent a strange tickle down my spine. I savagely glared at him. He raised a questioning eyebrow and shrugged. “You’ve followed me this far.”

  My spirits weakened. He disappeared into the entrance before I could make sense of what I wanted. At least he had given me a choice.

  The fear of losing him overrode all rationa
l thought, and I stepped into the cavern.

  My eyes adjusted to the dim light. This was no cramped tunnel leading into a rotten room full of bandits; the ceiling rose even higher than the arched entrance. Moss grew up the rock walls, and a spring of crystalline water bubbled in the back of the cavern. Near the pool, a little square home was built against the stone. Green vines grew readily over the dwelling, and a thick layer of moss clung to the thatched roof, where sparse wildflowers miraculously grew without sunlight. The rest of the building was crafted from wooden planks with the bark still attached, and support beams braced a wall that seemed to be weakening. There were no windows, only a single point of access covered by a heavy brown fur. A round metal chimney jutted from the center of the roof, and gray smoke billowed towards the cave ceiling. Stacks of firewood lined the side of the home, along with piles of woven baskets full of vegetables.

  In the center of the cavern, a fire crackled, and a cauldron hung from a spit just above the flames. A creamy liquid, filled with chunks of carrots and potatoes, simmered inside the pot, and the lovely smell filled the room. Three cut tree trunks formed a seating area around the fire, and a set of carved wooden bowls rested on the bark. My heart warmed at the sight.

  My stranger dropped his haversack next to a seating log, then walked to the dwelling, pulled back the fur door, and went inside. I waited by the cavern entrance, unsure if I was meant to follow. Someone lived here, and they might not appreciate me walking into their house as though I owned it.

  I continued to absorb my surroundings. The entire left side of the cavern housed crude wooden racks, most with animal hides stretched across the frames and held tightly in place with twine. A second wave of new smells hit my nose—a sour musky stench from baskets of smoked meat and fish, and piles of dried furs: rabbit, wolf, fox, and deer. It was an incredible amount of contraband. Under Brisleian law it was illegal to hunt the King’s game. The Divine are charged with keeping their country safe and alive, so everything belongs to royalty. This was as great a crime as bandits killing lost peasants in the woods.