by Faith Naff
“I am Rainstorm, an acolyte from Tranquility,” he said plainly.
His direct, open answer surprised Ilderra. Her eyes flew open as she gasped.
Viyana’s reaction was strangely similar. Sparrow had warned that an agent of the Temple was wandering around the city, and now he was standing before her. “And what is an elven acolyte doing outside my home at this hour?”
“Actually, I was hoping to talk to you about that,” Ilderra said nervously. If Rainstorm had been gone before Viyana arrived, or if he’d not been so brash as to reveal his true identity, perhaps she wouldn’t have felt compelled to act as she was. However, there was no better option now than to honor his request. In the dark corners of her mind, she figured Rainstorm had planned it this way, and it made her anger grow. “Rainstorm is on a mission from the Temple to look for the fugitives I’m sure you’ve heard so much about.”
“Troupes of acolytes and priestesses have already come and gone in Meadowgold,” she retorted. She watched the elf’s eyes as she spoke, looking for any indication that he was figuring out more than she intended to convey. “I fail to see where one can succeed at something many have tried.”
“It’s my priestess’s plan that a lone spy may find more information than an intrusive group could hope to,” he answered. “I was hoping to employ your assistance in my mission.”
Viyana took a deep breath. She thought of Sunrise, hiding out in the Savage Lands with Zehlyr. Thank the Lady he hadn’t come back with her, or this situation would have turned out differently. “I don’t like the idea of spies roaming around my city.”
Ilderra didn’t breathe. She could feel her heart pounding against her ribs. What had she done? Could she really not help but cause chaos in Meadowgold?
“However,” Viyana continued. “Meadowgold is a friend of Tranquility. I will help you in any way I can.”
“Splendid,” Rainstorm said with a smile.
Ilderra finally exhaled.
“But what is it you’re requesting exactly?” she asked sternly. She was bowing to forces she did not trust, but she wouldn’t do so without a stern reminder that she was still in charge.
“I simply need to know of any strange or unusual happenings you hear of,” he answered. “If the fugitives are indeed hiding in this city, I doubt they could do so without the Lady of Meadowgold uncovering clues.”
“Sounds fair enough,” she replied.
“Beyond that, I simply need your blessing to move about the city as I need. The fewer my barriers, the better I can work.”
“I will not promise you limitless access, but you will have all I can give.”
“Thank you, Lady Viyana,” Rainstorm said with a bow of his head. “I promise, you’ll barely know I’m here.”
Viyana shook her head. “That’s what worries me, acolyte.”
Chapter 18
“I feel I’ll never be able to enter the Temple and not feel overwhelmed by it. The sheer grandeur of such a structure is beyond belief. Still, in the quiet corners of my mind, I wonder if the Lady would truly be proud of such a monument. For when I step within the walls, I feel I am surrounded by the boastings of mortal accomplishments, not the simple elegance of the wilderness created by She whom we worship.”
Lilly, faerie acolyte: private journal
It was an absolutely beautiful night in Tranquility. There were no clouds, letting the innumerable stars above shine brightly against the black of the sky. The forest was still, amplifying the otherwise quiet sloshing of the water against the lakeshore. Fireflies twinkled in the darkness between the trees and the air smelled as though it had just rained. It was a perfect night for sitting by the lake and contemplating the amazing splendor of all the Lady had created. But no one was out. No one was wandering the trees at such a late hour. All of Tranquility was in their homes, in their beds. And the seryans were no different.
No two classes of the Temple lived together. The acolytes lived in their village to the east along with their students. A separate settlement for the priests and priestesses was erected deep in the Wilds to the west. The homes of the seryans were built along the lakeshore southwest of the small bay where the Temple sat. With only five structures to build, they were spaced far apart to give each seryan her privacy. Such solitude was a rare thing for anyone in the Lands of Order, but the seryans did not live as any commoners would. On most nights, it made a quiet refuge where sleep came easy.
For Ladybug, this was not like most nights.
The faerie seryan’s home was built in the low branches of an elm tree at the edge of the water. Though only usable by a faerie, it was accessible by any creature. It ensured the Grand Seryan could call upon her when needed, even at the most peculiar of times. Ladybug was aroused from her slumber by a rumbling beneath her bed and a series of loud pounds. She rose quickly and fluttered to her door. Flinging the door open, she found a young elf soldier standing at the base of the tree. His fist was pounding against the trunk of the elm as one would knock on a door.
“What is the meaning of this?!” she demanded. She knew her hair was a wild mess and her attire was not suitable for being seen by anyone.
“Apologies, your Grace, but the Grand Seryan summons you to the Temple.”
“It’s the middle of the night!” she snapped. “The Grand Seryan is likely sound asleep!”
“I assure you, your Grace, she is not,” he replied. “You are to come immediately.”
Ladybug was truly baffled. To be summoned like this was a common thing in her position, but never had she been called at such a strange hour. Ever since the Balisekt War ended, Silvermist’s behavior and decisions became increasingly perplexing. She didn’t want to question her leader’s actions or intentions—her discipline insisted she not—but instinct told her that something was wrong. Either way, a call from the Grand Seryan could not be ignored, even if it came late at night.
“I shall prepare at once,” she said.
As Ladybug fluttered towards the open doors of the Temple, she was greeted to a rare sight. The flickering of torches danced along the polished, stone walls. The smell of burning oil was heavy in the night air and she could hear the crackling of the flames. She’d always seen the torches that lined the walls of the Temple, but the massive skylights in the ceiling made their use unnecessary. Their light cast the usually calming faces of the statues in an eerie, almost sinister glow. The Lady’s house of worship looked and felt more like a tomb, and it put her even more on edge.
Silvermist was standing against the left wall. Beside her was a stone pedestal displaying an empty glass box. Ladybug knew what was supposed to be inside: the crown of the Grand Seryan. It was a beautiful halo of gleaming silver shaped to resemble a braid of ivy vines. At its center was a pair of upturned wings holding aloft a four pointed star. It was only worn during big, public events and spent most of its time on display in the glass box. The fact that Silvermist was wearing it now made the whole situation even stranger.
“Grand Seryan?” Ladybug questioned.
“At last, you arrive,” she said coldly.
“Lady’s grace, why are you up at this dreadful hour?” Ladybug questioned. Her tone conveyed more concern than anger, or at least it was intended to.
“I’m up still,” Silvermist exclaimed. “Up waiting for a response from Windsong’s queen.”
“The Rose still has sent no reply?” Ladybug asked.
Silvermist’s hand rested upon the back of a large, stone chair placed next to the crown’s display box. The Throne of the Grand Seryan was another part of Temple décor used more for ascetics than function. The Grand Seryan moved to the front of the throne and took a seat. Coupled with the crown on her head, Silvermist was sending a very clear, very stern message of who was in charge.
“No,” she replied sternly. “There’s been no reply, just as there was no reply to the last message, or the one before that.”
Ladybug’s heart started to race. Ever since the Rose Thorns barred access to Wind
song from Tranquility, all eyes in the Temple had been turned on her. She’d not ordered the Thorns, or the Rose who commanded them, to act in such a way. Truthfully, she had given the Grand Seryan assurance that the search party would be welcomed in the faerie city. Not only did it not prove to be so, but the Rose’s continued defiance was reflecting poorly on her. “Your grace, I assure you that I don’t condone…”
“I don’t care if you condone it or not!” Silvermist shouted. With the Temple so empty her angry words echoed off the walls longer than normal. “What matters here is that you can’t control your tribe.”
Ladybug was too afraid to respond. A cold chill raced across her back as a horrifying realization came to her. The only reason the Grand Seryan would summon her so late was to unleash her full rage without anyone else to witness it. She’d been holding back her anger in the presence of the council, but now it was just the two of them and she’d no reason to do so anymore.
The Grand Seryan took a breath to compose herself before continuing. “Do you know why I’m wearing the Holy Crown? Why I’m sitting upon the throne?”
A headshake was all Ladybug was able to reply with.
“Because it’s a symbol of my authority; a reminder that I am the Lady’s chosen voice in the mortal world. It seems you are in need of reminding that my word is law.”
“Your grace,” Ladybug said in a trembling voice. “I need no reminder of your—”
“Then why do you continue to let your entire tribe defy my holy decree?!” she snapped again. Silvermist’s constantly fluctuating tone had the faerie seryan panicked. She wanted to leave, to fly out of the Temple as fast as she could and hide in the darkness of the forest. She wanted to be alone and safe where no one could find her. More than anything, she wanted to cry, but she didn’t dare do it in the presence of Silvermist.
“I...I’m sorry, your grace.” Apologizing seemed to be her only outlet. Two attempts to reassure the Grand Seryan of her loyalty and devotion had resulted in explosive responses. She needed her leader to get to the point so she could be dismissed. “What would you have me do?”
Silvermist clasped her hands in front of her as she leaned back in the regal seat. Ladybug’s change to a subservient tone seemed to calm the holy leader. It seemed Silvermist had regained her composure and realized how out-of-line she had been, but Ladybug couldn’t help but deduce that her cowardice was stroking the Grand Seryan’s ego. Either way, the conversation was heading somewhere now which meant it would soon be over. “I’m done sending notes,” Silvermist said. Her tone was much calmer now, but still bore the full weight of her influence. “Your queen either refuses to read them or has the audacity to not respond. Therefore, I’m sending you. You will go to Windsong and demand that your queen report to Tranquility immediately.”
Ladybug couldn’t say what she wanted to. Faerie culture had always revered the Rose as the highest authority figure in the mortal world. Her station predated all acolytes, priestesses and seryans. In fact, though Windsong honored and respected the Grand Seryan, they would not hold her word higher than the word of the Rose. Sending her to the beseech the queen would surely be more effective than the letters had proven, but it carried no guarantee of success.
Of course, Ladybug didn’t dare mention any of this now.
“A wise plan indeed, your Grace,” Ladybug said with a bow of her head.
Silvermist nodded. Ladybug thought she saw a small smile on her face, but was convinced it must have been shadows from the torches playing tricks on her eyes. Still, the Grand Seryan’s demeanor did seem much calmer now. “I hope you understand, my words are sharp because of worry, not anger,” Silvermist said. “Windsong openly defies the Temple, and in doing so they defy the Lady herself. They forget Her, they forget their place in this world. It was such brashness that brought about the Blight centuries ago.”
The Grand Seryan rose to her feet and took a few steps forward, inching closer to where Ladybug hovered at her eye level. The faerie seryan winced, expecting her leader’s rage to bubble up once again. However, Silvermist remained calm. Her eyes, once filled with anger, had almost a motherly look of genuine concern in them. Ladybug found the dichotomy even more terrifying. “I fear for the safety of the faeries, Ladybug,” she said warmly. “I fear Her wrath will be upon them if they continue to defy Her divine will. I would not act so desperately or so brazenly if I didn’t genuinely fear for the future of Windsong.”
“You are most kind, you Grace,” Ladybug said in return. “I shall leave for Windsong at first light and bring your message straight to the Rose’s ear.”
Silvermist nodded. “Your actions may very well save your tribe. Go now and get some rest. I’m sorry I had to wake you at this hour.”
“It was no problem at all, your Grace,” Ladybug lied. “Divine inspiration does not keep to a schedule.” The two women shared a laugh as Ladybug fluttered back towards the door. When Ladybug finally crossed the threshold and flapped her way out into the night air, it felt like waking from a nightmare. Her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths and she could feel her hands trembling at her sides. She didn’t know if she’d ever been in actual danger during that whole ordeal, but it certainly felt like she was.
She could hear the doors shutting behind her as she took off towards the trees. She was ready to be home again, but she doubted she’d find any rest for the remainder of the night. It would be many hours of sitting alone in the darkness. She would plan for her trip, she would pack her provisions, and she would contemplate how looking into the eyes of the Lady’s chosen mortal could feel like staring down the Vehlrock itself.
Chapter 19
Even though the acolytes were tired, even though they’d been traveling all day with very little rest, Oakleaf didn’t stop to make camp when the sun went down. Normally, such a decision would have been met with anger and bickering, but she heard not one word of protest. The road had taken them into centaurian territory now. With the forest now shrouded in darkness and the potential for centaur patrols wandering about, no one could sleep even if they tried.
Though the Temple had sent search parties out for weeks, none of them had ventured to the centaurian city of Ironhoof. The centaurs were a solitary race. Though included in the Tri-leaf Pact, their culture cared little for the neighboring tribes. They didn’t revere the Lady and despised the very notion of an all-powerful female. Most centaurs seen outside the borders of their own territory, especially those found in Tranquility, had left Ironhoof permanently to escape its brutish ways.
As Oakleaf trudged on through the ever darkening Wilds, she couldn’t help but doubt the sanity of her decisions. Tranquility had avoided Ironhoof in this search for a reason, as an entire band of the Lady’s faithful would find no hospitality there. Adhering to Tri-leaf Law would keep them alive and free, but she and the rest of her company would have to tread very carefully.
It didn’t help that she knew it was all in vain. She’d purposefully sent her troupe to Ironhoof because she was certain the fugitives wouldn’t be there. Seryan Moonbeam’s order that they march on Meadowgold further confirmed her suspicions that they were hiding somewhere in the human territory. Rainstorm was already scouting the area, hoping to find them before a large force from Tranquility scared them off. She had to buy him more time, and the unexplored Wilds of centaurian land were the only destination that made viable sense.
Oakleaf’s defiance was a big gamble. If her efforts turned out to be fruitless, she would pay dearly for her treachery. It was very likely she could be excommunicated, banished from the Temple for the rest of her life. However, if her rogue efforts paid off and led to the capture of the fugitives, her intuition would likely be considered divinely blessed. In time, she could be a contender for Moonbeam’s seat at the table.
She could even become Grand Seryan one day.
As she trudged through the ever-darkening Wilds, Oakleaf’s mind raced ahead in time to each outcome. She wanted to anticipate her rich rewards, but knew sh
e should prepare for the worst. No matter the outcome, she had to make sure that blighted faerie paid for her humiliation.
That was the part of her plan that she couldn’t fully formulate. Not only was that faerie a Rose Thorn, she was their captain. It was a title that meant little outside of Windsong, but it still meant she couldn’t do considerable damage to her without first acquiring more influence. One elven priestess had little say in the grand scheme of things, but being the priestess who found the fugitives through divine intuition would earn her favor with the Grand Seryan. If she had Silvermist’s ear, she could convince her to push Windsong on bringing the little insect to justice.
She could just picture it, an army of Temple soldiers marching to the faerie city and demanding their captain be brought out in shackles. She’d be led back to Tranquility in a cage, pleading for her freedom all the way to the Temple doors. There, Oakleaf would sit at the Grand Seryan’s side, staring coldly into her tiny eyes as she cast judgment upon her. Would she have her imprisoned? Enslaved? Executed? She couldn’t decide, but each choice made her heart race and her breaths quicken. Unfortunately, it also distracted her from her present situation.
The acolytes in her company noticed before she did; thunderous gallops were echoing from the blackness between the trees. Faint slivers of moonlight reflected off swords and spears drawing closer. When Oakleaf finally realized what was happening, they were already upon them. She and her troupe stopped. With wide eyes, she watched as the centaurs emerged from the darkness all around her. She couldn’t number them, but there were easily two centaurs to each acolyte with her. A trio of the horse-men blocked the road in each direction, trapping them where they stood.
Unable to move and fearing for their lives, the acolytes’ eyes all turned to Oakleaf, whose first thought was a hope that the darkness was hiding the terror on her face from those under her command. Her hands shook violently at her sides and her legs felt too weak to hold her up.
