by Brindi Quinn
All the same, Feligo carries my pactor with the proud stance of a knight.
We were lucky to come across a man such as he.
The longer we travel – the more blood that is pricked – the thicker the air becomes. Mugged from the humidity of accumulated water, the enchanted falls mist the jungle with dewy air. The sound of falling water rushes and roars. If Feligo wishes to speak to me anything, it is lost in the din.
I hold my Gold enchant firmly before Feligo, leading the ill-directioned fox to the battlefield, where wait a lady and her witch; a count and his captive.
My heart aches for the things that may come. My breath, though unreal, comes short with anxiety. I cannot allow my pact to be severed. If color is exterminated from the world, what will happen to us? Awyer and I must remain together. He is my most important person – the one who makes me real.
The one that . . .
My body tenses as my mouth opens wide and an unrecognizable sound escapes.
“What was that?!” I ask no one, alarmed in the aftermath.
A second time it occurs, and my eyes water in accompaniment. I find comfort in rubbing them. Never has it felt so good to rub them! A third time, the phenomenon threatens to arise. I do not understand what it is until I see the same on Feligo.
A yawn.
Naefaeries do not yawn! But then, I am less naefaerie than I once was. I tire under the strain of sleeplessness. We are at our limits, we who wish to defeat Ark; and should Mael and Techton behave hostilely when we find them, we will be no match for them, either.
After some helping of minutes, we reach a cliff – the very edge of our floating island. There is no sign of Bexwin and there is no sign of Pedj, and I have misjudged our location. Though I aimed directly for the falls, the metal bridge connecting our island to the central falls is farther along the cliff’s edge. Feligo sees it without my guidance and sets course, keeping careful footwork along the skinny piece of land between cliff and jungle.
Now that we are free of the forest, I am able to see the sky’s disruption more clearly. From the golden heavens, drippings of cloud yet reach – a direct line between central falls and sky. Mael and Techton arrived by those means? In awe I think on the greatness of their combined power.
Over the edge of the cliff, the ground is nearer than distant but farther than comfortable. A fall would lead to certain death.
From this height, the full shape of the central falls shows. A rounded island, much like the one we travel upon, releases water of unknown origin over its edge and into the abyss below. Along the sides unoccupied by water, vines and flowers dangle, giving lifelike appearance to the landmass. The island is a lion. The vines are its mane – a grand mane of weeping vines intermingling with the earthy roots dangled from the bottom of the mass. The bridge that is our goal stretches through the air over the farther-than-comfortable ground. Thin and long, it invites those stricken with wanderlust to tread at their own risk.
Feligo, stricken with urgency more powerful than wanderlust, trots swiftly to the bridge. We are lucky he is with agions intact. A person with unsteady bearings would not be able to move as he does.
Ever he carries Awyer strongly in his arms, but my pactor’s frame is heavy in its own right. Lean muscle lines the bones beneath his skin, making him far more difficult of a carry than Mael or I or even Pedj. The burden takes its toll. Feligo unleashes another yawn. I mirror it. Heavy are my nonexistent limbs. So heavy that I wish to sleep.
“A little farther!” I urge, knowing that my words are wasted – but to which the Maestro’s ears unfeasibly prick.
“What!?” he shouts against the din in reply. “Either I almost heard you, fae, or the sound of the water is playing tricks on me!”
Impossible. I can barely even hear him over the noise, and he, at least, exists.
At the edge of the bridge, Feligo pauses to inspect the solidity of the structure before proceeding. It was my fear that Bexwin or Techton or Mael or even Ark would be waiting to welcome us with an enchant to dislodge the bridge or to stall us in some other manner – but the only thing lying in wait for us is the cry of the falls, somehow much louder than it was from the ground.
Wait . . .
Louder?
Yes, as I recall it now, at ground level, there was no crash to accompany the rushing of water, for the abyss’ bottom was indiscernible. The same is true of now, but the rushing itself is louder than is natural. Much, much louder than it was when we first inspected the hole beneath the falls!
Something is different up here. Either the water has been enchanted to roar, or the bottom of the abyss has risen. Peering down over the side of the bridge does not give way to answer. I can see little from where I stand.
The intuitive silverfox picks up on it too. He eyes the air we pass over with suspicion and search.
The mystery of the roar aside, the journey over the bridge is without event. No traps have been set. No trickery has been played. No craft exerted. Yet, indisputably, the central falls is our goal. That is where the cloud arms touch. That is where Mael and Techton are.
At this point, I tire greatly. Even greater than before. The sleepness affects me. Before this curse, I did not understand the need to sleep. Now, I would give anything to rest with Awyer in a forgotten storehouse atop a pile of partially sifted grain.
Feligo’s shoes make a clanking sound upon the metal bridge with each new stride, all but drowned out by the unnatural sound of the falls. His hair sticks to his face, shoulders, and neck as he runs – a mixture of sweat and dew. Cascade Yel’ram is alive with warm airflow and moisture, the nearer we come to its center.
Over the bridge we pass, and at the other side, a stretch of plant covers the ground. Waxy-leaved and woven like tapestry, it creates a plushy mesh, in which the front of Feligo’s boot catches, bidding him to slow.
The mesh reaches onward, until butting up against a massive, still pool of water in the near distance. A still pool? Gold in reflection of the sky, the pool is the mouth of the rushing falls. It does not make sense by physical means. Then again, Yel’ram is not a place totally physical in nature.
Near the edge of the golden pool, wading ankle-deep in water, they wait. The Count and Pedj, Techton and Mael. A fine grouping of danger.
My heart skips.
Mael has changed little in the time since I have seen her. Her bosoms remain tied by only a stretch of fabric. Her skirt, dirtied and torn at the bottom from weeks of journey, situates far below her navel. Her hair – formerly gathered in a ponytail – is disrupted. Pieces of it fall out around her face. Speaking of which . . . hers is a face marked by clarity, determination, and strength I have not seen her wear previously.
I grow afraid.
In contrast, Techton has far changed from the last time we saw him. The bags beneath his eyes have darkened drastically, giving him an altogether sinister appearance. The hair of his chin has expanded to include a stubble which covers the lower half of his face down to his Adam’s apple, where sits something new. Around his neck, a golden collar gleams, connected to a golden chain of equally bright burnish. It is strange enough to see such attire on a man, but perhaps strangest is that Mael holds the other end, much in the way a master leads its wolf.
Of the four of them, only Pedj takes notice of us. Or at least of Feligo and Awyer – I remain unseen. When he lays sight on them, he begins to hop up and down, but he does not move from his spot at the edge of the pool. Most likely, Bexwin’s Void holds him in place.
Feligo sets Awyer down safely a short distance away from the bank before shouting something I cannot hear, unsheathing his sword, and sprinting full-speed toward the edge of the pool where the others tarry.
I am deserted. Alone with my resting pactor, I lose Feligo to the roar of Cascade Yel’ram. If I follow him, my pactor will be left unprotected, but if I stay behind, I will have no impact on the events that are to unfold!
Frozen and unsure which course to take, I watch Feligo march to the othe
rs. Shouting inaudible threats, he comes at them with a soldier’s daring. Boldly, he goes where I cannot. Strangely, the others do not move. Pedj waves his hands over his forehead, but Mael and Techton and Bexwin do not respond.
It is all too odd. The noise. The eerie calm of our enemies. The way Pedj hops about, almost as if to ward us away, rather than drive us on.
. . .
“Something is not right!”
. . .
But by the time I have called it, it is too late. Feligo makes contact with the mirage. Feligo passes through the mirage. Feligo treads into the enchanted water, and . . .
The roar of the falls lessens. The dangling offshoots of cloud remain, but gone are the false images of Pedj and the others, and with them, Feligo, too, disappears.
I am alone. But for my resting pactor, I am alone in a field of squishy, meshy ground, near to a pool of unknown enchants, beneath a sky of golden cloud.
“It was a trick!” I shout to the air, my voice again audible. I make haste to flit to where the others supposedly were, only to find nothing but calm, stretching water. Inconspicuous, but certainly enchanted. The feel of its magicks are strong in the air.
That image was made to lure us to the water. The others are not here. Not a trace of them lingers!
But there is more to it. Something still does not feel right.
Focusing on the Gold in the air, I come to the conclusion that the others are here, but not here. Just as surely as I feel the enchants in the air, I feel them. They are within a fold of some sort? But if I seek answer, I will not find it in the water. The pool is unnervingly calm, barring the far, far side, where water tumbles over the edge without palpable reason, forming the falls of Cascade Yel’ram.
What in the Vessel is going on?!
I dare not enter the pool. With magickal properties all its own, water is one of the only things able to touch me. If it serves as a transport of some sort . . . I cannot risk being pulled too far from Awyer!
Alone.
For the first time, I am truly alone.
I dart back to my pactor resting upon the waxy ground. I crouch over him. I make contact with his skin.
“Feel me. Even if no one else can,” I whisper. And then into his chest, “What should we do?”
Long have the others helped me shoulder the burden of Awyer’s sleeping state. I cannot do it alone. I am weak and small and unreal. I cannot hope to care for a sleeping mortal, solid and heavy. I cannot move him. I cannot shelter him. I can do little.
“Don’t be a wretch, faerie.”
Interrupted by a familiar voice, I whirl to see that I am not alone. In the midst of my sulking, a creature has slipped in undetected. More than one, as it turns out, for the gray creature is backed by ten neat rows of hovering agents.
At once, dread takes me.
Ark and his agents. They are here. In the time it takes to blink, they are here?
But I did not feel them arrive! Usually, they are preceded by a darkened cloud of Void and a tumult of wind!
“This haven lingers on the edge of Dimensia,” says Ark, as though to answer, and his voice wastes little time slipping me into seducement. “The air, the water and the ground don’t react as they’re supposed to. Even you don’t react as you’re supposed to.”
I do not?
With a gray hand, he gestures to my legs.
Ah! It is true! My feet and knees settle upon the ground just as sure as if I were mortal. Come to think of it, how did I know that the ground held a plushy quality in the first place? How and when did I know what it felt like to the touch? On the way here, I yawned. And the closer I neared the central falls, the more drained I became!
My vision blurs. I teeter, unsteady, on my knees.
“I am asleep?” I ask.
“Not quite, faerie.” Words, sweet and fine, slither into my ears. “But you will be soon.”
“I will?”
Nothing makes sense. Ark is here. So suddenly he is here and the others are gone, and I am very, very tired.
“You have to sleep,” he presses. He is at my side. His face, dark and emotionless, closes in on mine. “I can’t get in. One or more of them spelled the water to keep me out. I need you to sleep, and let me use your body. Got it, faerie?”
“N . . . no.” But it is hard to resist the honeyed taste of his words.
“Oh? But it’s your fault we’re in this mess,” he says evenly. “I told you not to come here. I gave you ample warning. You disobeyed time and again. Now, Queen Necromancer is on the verge of awakening that beast, and you and your sisters will never use power again.” From behind him, a few of his agents bob. “How do you feel about that?”
How do I feel?
Anything I have done I have done for my pactor.
Ark takes a different approach. “You’re lonely, aren’t you, faerie? You long for touch.” In his palm, he takes the end of my hair. This is the closest I have ever been to Ark, boogeyman of the necromancers, corruptor of the Azurians. His hands are much like a man’s, but for their Voided color. Under his influence, I watch my hair turn from white to black.
“Ah!”
“Your soul is more woman than it ought to be. That’s why I’ve let you live this long. Is your wisdom being clouded? Even if it is, you can’t deny you’re tempted by what I can offer you.”
“No . . .” I protest, but it sounds weak even to me.
“You’ve never felt more physical than you will when you let me in. I’ll be inside of you, moving you, filling all of the emptiness. You’ll feel me bending your fingers, drawing your lungs, and making you firm.” His voice is vapor. “Let me in.”
I cannot do that. It is clear to me now that the water will lead us to the others. Ark cannot enter because the others will not let him. He requires a vessel, someone allowed to enter the pool. I cannot let him have me! I do not wish for Mael to rid the world of color before my questions are answered, but if I allow Ark to use me to stop her, I do not know what he will do to the others! I care for Awyer most, but . . .
There is no right way, is there? No, sometimes there is not a right way.
“Sleep, faerie.”
The agents backing Ark grow impatient. To them, I am nothing more than a deserter. When one of them moves to protest, Ark raises a hand, sending her back in line before she can speak out. He places that same hand atop my head. Though he is our greatest enemy, he does not move to harm me. Never has he moved to harm me.
That is because of my unique condition, as he once called it. My love for Awyer protects me from wrath.
“Sleep, and let me in, faerie.”
“I will . . . not.”
“In that case, I’ll take you by force.” The hand atop my head turns forceful.
Ah. I spoke too soon. Getting to the others takes precedence.
In groggy intoxication, I back into my pactor. If only he could save me now. To be saved by him now would be a heart-skipping experience indeed. He may not wish to be a hero, but neither do I. None of us do.
Yet we all need saving. We all save and are saved. Pedj. Techton. Feligo. Mael. Awyer.
“I see.” The gray man’s hand relaxes. “You’re worried I’ll end your pact. Oh, stop your drama. His Gold will come in handy. Besides, I’d like to experience firsthand those feelings you have for each other.”
That does not make his offer better. My compromising feelings are not for others to know. I try to tell him so, but –
“Shhh.” Ark’s whisper echoes through my mind. “Hush, little faerie. Go to sleep and let me in. What’s the big deal? I’ve already been inside of him. This will make you even.”
That is true. I had forgotten. Ark spied on us through Awyer all those days ago. Why, then, does he wish to know our feelings for each other?
“You . . . already . . . know.”
“The boy doesn’t let his emotions run as you do, faerie. His are guarded by a wall too ancient to crack. For his, I’d have to probe. Yours, however . . .” Ark’s
eyes are unblinking. He reaches for me, taking my head in the palm of his hand. I feel my eyelids close partway under the weight of a hundred days.
I feel myself release.
Chapter XVI: Time
Ark is gone. The agents are gone. Only the pool of water remains. Only the floating island remains.
Now I am asleep. It is much clearer to me than just a moment ago when I was in that half-state of slipping. Has Ark entered me? I feel no different other than that somewhere, in a distant part of me, I feel myself move. That part of me is too minor, though; I cannot close in on it.
“Awyer!” I call to my pactor now that I can. “You must come to me! Much has happened! Very, very much, and I do not know where to go from here! I believe that Ark is at this moment using me as a vessel! Mael is about to raise the draggar, and I still do not know what will become of our pact if the Mother Colors cease to exist! What is more, she is destined to take Pedj’s life in the process! You may not believe it, but I have grown fond of him. And the others, too! Never did I think they would matter to me, but I do not wish to see them perish! Even Feligo, whom you have yet to acquaint with, is a valiant man, undeserving of Ark’s wrath! And to go further, Ark’s wrath itself is not born entirely of evil! You would not believe it, but his intentions stem from–”
“To understand Ark, understand his agents.” Awyer’s voice speaks from above me. I look upward and he is standing on the sky. But when I look again to my own feet, it is they that stand upon the sky.
“Aaah!”
I fall from the sky and into Awyer’s arms. He catches me and holds me to his chest. Warm, it beats with a strong heart. I begin again to rattle off my list of questions that need asking, but he silences them away by pressing his mouth to mine. Only a very short time it lasts.
