I stood, feeling the need to alert the captain regarding the Fae. They sounded like something we needed to be concerned about.
“Nay, Speaker of Languages,” said the old wizard, sensing my intent. “They will do ye and yours no harm today. They smell upon you the orc blood. If there is anything that unites the Fae it is their hatred of orcish kind. Your killing them has earned you passage this day. I’ve already talked with Marvella of Sunken Pond. She says we may pass on to the Hidden Cave, but to be quick about it. Best to heed the pond maid and be on to the cave with some haste.”
The wizard went on like this. Speaking as though I should have some sense of who these people were and why they were important.
“Aye, ye are safe to pass on as long as none of yours are lured off into the deeps of this haunted place. Deeps and hidden places even I am not allowed to enter unless the circumstances are dire. Eld places from when the first kings came forth and hoarded their magical treasures in deep tombs and grottos guarded by ferocious servants of the old Eld, still powerful, even in these darkest days.”
If he had meant to put my fears at ease, he should have stopped after Aye, ye are safe to pass. I wondered how to get on the comm and let the sergeant major know his Rangers weren’t supposed to get “lured” off into the woods. Without sounding like a freak who was enjoying the Good Vibe Potion and the Hippy Walk a little too much.
“What do these… Fae… look like?” I asked after a moment. “In my world, where we are from—”
I wanted to say that I knew the word fae. I knew it meant fairy. So were we dealing with vicious Tinkerbells or what here? But the old man interrupted me with something even more stunning.
“Your world! This is your world, Speaker of Languages. I know where ye are from. I’ve studied the lost pages of the Book of Skelos. And I’m far older than I might look. Ye and your kind are from the Before, and ye are not the first.”
Intel!
Intel that indicated there were others from the mission that had started at Area 51. I needed to develop it. Look at me… I’m doing intel.
“We know,” I said. “We met one. One of ours who seems to have been here for at least twenty years.”
“Aye,” said the wizard. “I can guess which one you mean. A bad sort, that one. And it was the council’s concern that ye could be more from the same bolt of cloth, as it were.”
“King Triton?” I blurted out, and the old wizard, who seemed to have been working himself up to tell some fascinating tale probably just to hear the sound of his own voice made a face that indicated I was very rude in spoiling his ending.
”Yes. King Triton is the one.” Vandahar stood with a groan. “You’ve deprived the storyteller of his right. An old man of his enjoyment.”
“Sorry,” I said. I meant it.
The wizard put away his pipe, apparently still miffed about me spoiling his story. “But… yes. Yes, that’s one from the before. Before the Ruin and the time of the Titans. No good is he, and now he serves a dark master indeed.”
“We knew him as Chief McCluskey. He was a SEAL. And do you mean he serves that… the Dark Prince… you mentioned earlier?”
The wizard harrumphed and we set off along the trail again, falling in behind another team of Rangers making their way. We entered into a series of forested hills beyond the quiet and fragrant pond we’d sat beside.
“Not Dark Prince, Speaker of Languages. The Black Prince. Lord of Vampires and ruler of all the Crow’s March. But no, such is not that one’s master, even though we of the Hidden Council have long suspected he mayhaps indeed be have the same curse as the nightwalkers.
“King Triton is a thrall of the Nether Sorcerer, who rules and watches from distant Umnoth. He was broken in the tower and he has only recently returned to this region of the Ruin. Tales abound that he fought in the War Against Skeletos with the shadow companies and was there when the great wall tumbled down and the city collapsed.
“His master then sent him into the west, allied to the Black Prince, with the charge of making war against Mourne. The last kingdom of the elves that lies against the edge of the world and the Lost Sea beyond.”
That was a lot to keep track of. But it was intel and I was sure if I could break it down into some format the captain and the sergeant major found digestible, and not crazy, it might help us navigate the world we found ourselves in. I was making mental notes on what to clarify and what needed to be explored and expanded, but I didn’t want to stop the flow of information coming from the old man. So I let the wizard continue as we walked into the sunshine of the forested hills, following an old road that twisted and turned about their rises, weaving in and out of fantastic trees that seemed to have kindly faces if you didn’t look too close. I was sure it was just a trick of the light. But the more and more we passed others with the same phantom disposition, the more it became obvious that the trees were like living sentient things with smiling, peaceful old faces in their knotty trunks. Their eyes closed as though dreaming. Dozing in the hot sunshine filtering down through their soft leafy tops.
Then again, maybe that was just the Good Vibe Potion and the Hippy Walk.
This day was pleasant and the opposite of everything we’d experienced here so far. You know, back when an entire orc horde had been intent on wiping us all out at Ranger Alamo. This forest was dark and mysterious, but in an exciting way. And maybe there was something to that.
The wizard went on and on about enigmatic events. He hinted at old grudges this world seemed to have against itself, but in time, as the day turned toward the afternoon, he turned to me and said…
“But these are things that were going on long before ye and yours arrived here in the midst of events, Speaker. And soon your king must make a choice as to whom he will serve, and to what cause your warriors will fight for. Mind me well: there can be no middling ground here. Choose, or events will choose for you. Darkness waxes full, and the little good that is left in this world wanes indeed.”
He began to walk once more but continued talking, expecting me to keep pace.
“The Shadow Elves, who have offered you safe harbor here, are guests and outcasts themselves. And truth be told, not all their kind are expecting good of you. Only that girl who braved death and fangs to see if there was some… light… that could be had in fellowship with you… only she believes. The days of the Shadow Elves are numbered more than most. It is the age of men now. The elves have been hidden since the fall of Ruined Tarragon. Never mind what they say about Mourne. ’Tis a kingdom of death with foolish notions about glory and honor. But…”
Here he sighed and stared at the ruins of a tower we could see from our vantage point along the side of a hill. Carved in stone, giants with wings held up the sides of the tower. The top was like the flared points of an iron crown. It seemed a dark and moody place and different from the other ruins and places we had passed.
“But… I must say,” continued Vandahar, “their cause is just. The Shadow Elves, that is. They have come a very long way to fulfill a promise. Unfortunate for them it was a bad bargain to begin with. But they aim to see it done despite the odds and great creatures who serve the Nether Sorcerer and who are allied against them at this very hour. Though they are alone… they are not without possible allies. There are many who strive against a common enemy. Perhaps, Speaker of Languages, that is why you’ve come here… ye and yours… perhaps these… Rangers as you say you are… perhaps they might lead the way forward and bind to them many in a final war against a dark force like nothing the world that was, or the world that is now, has ever seen before. Perhaps the Shadow Elves are the last flame that flickers before the approaching storm. Perhaps they will show the Kingdoms of Men… the way through.”
Then he turned toward Last of Autumn, who had fallen away from the scouts after safely passing the Fae and retaken her position following behind us a ways off. Head down as though pr
aying, or tired. “She seems to think so, and though I am old, Speaker of Languages, and at the last of my time, so do I. Perhaps things turn now. And perhaps they turn for the better.”
He began to walk again, mumbling “perhaps” to himself as we started back down into the forest.
Chapter Forty-Seven
The afternoon was hot, and as the forest began to heat up, it came to life with strange and beautiful butterflies. Or at least that’s what we thought they were at first.
But they weren’t butterflies.
They were tiny humanoid figures with giant multicolored butterfly wings that ranged across the spectrums of yellow and red. They came like a sudden passionate and chaotic swarm out of the deeps of the forest, raced past the teams of tired Rangers, turned—and then were suddenly everywhere.
It was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen in my life, and for a long moment I stopped thinking about coffee and the lack thereof as I’d been doing as I trudged along. Then they started whispering. Whispering like a chorus singing a quiet song they could barely contain. Flitting about and dancing all around the wiped-out Rangers. Cavorting in that confused butterfly dance of a way, bobbing up and down as they flapped their oversized wings just to maintain altitude. Landing on the Rangers and their gear and weapons. Perching on the tops of rifle barrels. Whispering and tittering to one another.
Gandalf—I mean, Vandahar—was ahead of me, and when they came to him he raised his staff and began to laugh out loud. Like a crazy person. Or a wizard. Which is probably the same thing. But it was a great, good, warm bellow of a laugh, and it was comforting to hear after everything we’d been through in this strange world.
I listened to the butterfly people speaking, or singing—whatever it was—in their enigmatic whisper-language, but it was too low and chaotic for me to make out any distinct sounds or syllables.
“What are they saying?” I shouted to the wizard. If anyone would know it would be him.
He ignored me and continued to laugh at the multicolored tornado we were all now encased in. It swirled around the wizard and the tired Rangers who allowed themselves to become perches for dancing whispering butterflies. And then the Rangers were laughing too. Or chuckling at least. Utterly amazed that such delicate things existed.
“They are of… the Fae,” said Autumn close to me, the beautiful butterflies dancing around her, landing in her hair and on her cloaked shoulders, whispering and then suddenly and urgently flapping off. “Fae Scouts… for the Queen of… Gossamer Throne.”
I continued to marvel at the sudden thunderstorm of delicate little things. Tiny people with caps and swords, and tiny horns, and delicate little clothing, and vibrantly colored butterfly wings. And also, I continued to marvel at how beautiful she was. Last of Autumn. In this moment. I watched her smile… and then I realized it was a sad smile despite the soft afternoon sunshine. Melancholy. Happy now, if only because it was a break from some greater burden she carried and said nothing of. I wanted to take that burden from her, or go kill it. I wanted to do that so the sadness she carried would go away and never come back again.
Uh-oh… I told myself. You’re in…
“They’re saying… the orcs have turned back… as have the rest of the dark host. They are telling us… we are safe now. But… just for today,” she almost sang.
“Is there something else coming? Something dangerous they’re worried about?” I asked her.
“Why do you ask?”
“You seem sad.”
She smiled and shook her head, turning once more to the little butterfly people. The Fae. Their scouts.
“No,” she said after a moment of considering them. “That is their… way. All their concerns… reports… all are only ever about today. Always. They are creatures who live only… in the present moment. They don’t think tomorrow and its troubles… that they will ever come. Today is everything. To them. The past is nothing. I envy them for that.”
I paused, watching her. Studying her for intel. Intel I would never share with anyone. Intel I would never use to hurt or manipulate her. Intel for intel’s sake. Intel because I wanted to be the scholar of her. Of Last of Autumn. No—of Autumn. I wanted to be the cartographer of all the places on the map… that were her.
Yeah. I was falling.
If I was Tanner I would’ve been marrying Stripper Number Three and paying twenty-five percent interest on a used Mustang.
Hadn’t even thought about the cute co-pilot since…
“Is there something about the past?” I said. “Something that makes you sad?”
But before she could answer, Vandahar called out, “The queen’s scouts tell us we are safe now, Rangers. A little while more and we shall reach the Hidden Cave. ’Tis a brief walk now. And then there will be much feasting and pleasant talk.”
Once more the teams of Rangers, overburdened, carrying wounded, assisting the walking wounded, tired and hungry, continued on. But there was a new lightness in the day. Because sunshine and butterflies and long walks through epic emerald-green forests were a rare treat. Like a cup of coffee in the afternoon of a long day that had started way too early. This experience… it gave that same feeling.
And now I was obsessing about coffee again.
Good going, me.
But I could tell that was how the Rangers who’d trained for the suck viewed the sudden swarm of unexpected butterflies. Like some rare and surprising break that made it all worth it on some level. A magical experience that only happened for those who were faithful enough to endure, and survive, the suck. Maybe that was the unspoken reward they’d been seeking all along without ever knowing it? Maybe that was what they thought as they walked once more through the hot afternoon in the cool under the forest giants.
I traveled next to Last of Autumn for a long time. Saying nothing. Mist, the dappled gray, followed along and occasionally stopped to crop at spots of lush green grass.
“Why?” I said, breaking the silence. Just that. Why.
It startled her for a moment. I realized that once again she’d been in deep, almost prayerful thought. Meditation of some kind.
“I do not… understand,” she said.
“Why…” I hesitated on whether to use the familiar of her name. To cross that barrier. Break that taboo. I sensed there was something that needed to be said, and maybe that was the only way to force the issue into the open warm and forest-scented air between us. Yeah, I wanted to be… more. With her.
“Autumn. Why did you come to help us get off that island?”
This was personal—I’d just made it so—but it was also something that involved the Rangers. Intel that was actually important. And if we were going to get out of this, then intel, in lieu of bullets, beans, and blankets, was the currency of survival.
Her mouth made a little ‘o’, and she looked off toward the forest. The sun was starting its fade down through the treetops. Cool shadows began to lie across the forest floor.
“You…” She hesitated. “All of you. You were… in danger. I came to… just help.”
Then she bit her lip and I could tell there was more she would never allow herself to say.
“There’s more, isn’t there?”
She nodded reluctantly.
“Just tell me then. And I’ll tell my leader. And maybe we can all find some way to help each other. Us. The Rangers, and your people.”
She took a deep breath.
“My people. My people are… small in number. Nineteen are left. Most are children. And one very old… blind woman. And soon… I must go to my death.”
Wait, what?
I stopped along the march. Stopped there in the forest surrounded by fantastic twisting trees that climbed up into the hot hazy afternoon. I’m sure there was a look on my face that conveyed the stunned silence I felt deep within my mind. Struck that she was facing death when she l
ooked so young, beautiful, and alive.
She nodded.
“I must go,” she added.
Why?
And then I asked.
“Because… a promise… broken. And now… a chance to break… a curse. A chance for life… for the young. All that’s left of us.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Twilight was coming on now and we were close. We were almost there. Almost to the end of the march. No one said so. No one wanted to believe. But you could feel it. Taste it. The forest was silent and ahead lay the massive trees and an ancient hill they surrounded. Our destination, according to Last of Autumn. The Hidden Cave.
“And that’s her story, Sergeant Major. The whole truth.”
The sergeant major and I were between teams and walking. Walking fast. Him normal. Me, just to keep up. The sergeant major never got tired. Or at least he never showed it. And now he had a big walking stick that seemed like it could one day be made the same as PFC Kennedy’s magic dragon-headed staff.
“Say again so I can get this straight, Talker,” he said. Not breaking stride. No heavy breathing. We were approaching a two-forty team. Then passing them. The sergeant major exchanged brief acknowledgments with the team leader, and then we were ahead of them in the silence of the gloaming. Ahead we could barely see what looked like lamps of green fire flickering in the dusky light beneath the forest. “She says her people came from somewhere in what used to be Asia. Have been migrating for close to five hundred years, near as you can tell, PFC. And all because they broke some promise to the old king o’ this place. One that held sway over all these ruins?”
I ran through her story again. It was fantastic. It was the kind of thing that could easily not be believed. So a second breakdown of the intel was to be expected.
Forgotten Ruin: An Epic Military Fantasy Thriller Page 38
