by Jaci Miller
She walked along the bank of the river lulled by the melody. The water also seemed to echo the strange song as the surface shimmered in unison. As she drew closer, the voice grew louder, the lyrics clearer. Although she did not recognize the words, it reminded her of the Gaelic records Dane’s grandfather used to play.
A guitar accompanied the shrill pitch of a flute as the beautiful female voice sang in harmony.
The melody was slow, the notes evocative.
Elyse was drawn to the haunting song.
When she reached the door and placed her hand on the iron handle, the music stopped. A gust of wind whistled down the ravine, ruffling her hair.
She shivered.
The heavy stone scraped along the ground as it yawned open.
Elyse peered inside.
Beyond the door, a dark green forest waited. Lanterns, hanging from the branches, lit a path through its density. The music sprang up again, the voice floating toward her, the haunting melody enticing her to follow the sound. A lantern-lit path guided her way, small dots of throbbing light winding through the forest. She followed it until she emerged into a secluded hollow.
Soft green moss covered the ground and trees. Long tendrils hung from the branches swaying in the warm air. More lanterns circled the outskirts casting a soft yellow glow across the hollow. At the center, dancing on a bed of white flowers was a bare-footed woman. Her body swayed to the music as she sang, and she wore a long green gown of gossamer fabric that flowed in waves around her as she moved. A crown of flowers and thorns adorned her head and her long red hair swept across her lower back. The woman did not seem to notice Elyse as she continued singing the haunting song.
She stepped closer to the center of the hollow. The woman’s eyes were closed and as she threw back her head to sing, Elyse noticed the tips of pointed ears peeking through her long, thick hair.
Mesmerized by this woman and her song, Elyse watched in awe, enchanted by the spectacle.
Music echoed off the trees. The woman’s voice was clear and beautiful and the longer she sang the more spellbound Elyse became.
Far away from the land you know
Upon thy shores, you found your home
Worlds apart and down below
The dawn of night doth call you
On this sacred ground, you rise
Blood doth make you kin to I
Bear the mark of thy old and wise
I will take you home
The spellbinding melody lulled Elyse as she gazed upon the woman, her slow methodical movement hypnotic. Lantern fire flared and the hollow began to sway and spin as a fuzziness draped itself over her mind.
The refrain echoed around her, a soothing sound enticing her to sleep.
Heaviness pulled at her eyelids and her body went limp as the hollow swam around her. The lantern light disappeared into blackness. Ancient magic flowed under her skin taking her back to the world from which she’d come.
Marlee observed them from inside the golden fog, hidden behind a thin layer of mist separating her world from that of the elves. She wasn’t alone on this plane there were others, and they giggled as they murmured in her ear, unseen voices of a long-forgotten past.
She watched as Elyse returned, as concern morphed her features when Sebastian and Drow told her Marlee had not, and then discussed what to do, finally deciding to split up. Drow and Sebastian would escort Elyse to Niramyst, the others would take Diego and search for Marlee.
A scowl furrowed her brow at the thought of the elvish city, its sprawling size dwarfing her own home. The ancient city was hidden deep inside the Dark Forest. Full of archaic beings and creatures, the forest was a solemn place where time stood still. If one did not know the right path to take, one could get lost for days—it was a place she hated.
The whispering behind her increased as those hidden in the dark clamored to be heard. A restless echo from the past. They’d existed in the fog for a very long time and ached to taste freedom again. To help them find a way out of the entombing darkness they needed her to unlock the Fen and link what was left of their world to this plane. They needed her to guide them.
After the war, the elves had begrudgingly agreed to the peace treaty including providing the surviving fae sanctuary on the elven plane of Athir. Over time old wounds healed and their differences became less conflicting. The races stabilized into a unity of sorts but the fae always harbored a secret. The Oberon Fen, once a gateway between the two planes, still provided them with an escape to a small portion of their original home, which had survived the war. They never revealed this to any of the other races, allowing them instead to think the gateway destroyed.
Because of the sheer brutality of the war, the bloodshed had stained the Oberon Fen and it became a dark scar; a mar on this realm. A reminder of a violent past. The cursed lands leeched fear and death making it easy for the fae to guard their secret.
The Oberon Fen, like the rest of the realm, had submitted to stasis. Purged of its dark magic it fell into silence, but now it called to her. It recognized the blood of her ancestors and the dark past it represented.
As the others departed the Temple of Air, the whisperers retreated into the dark leaving her alone in comforting silence. She detested the world below and didn’t want to go back to the plane of the elves, she wanted to follow the whisperers.
Darkness called to her and she smiled.
The elves would no longer dictate the rules of this plane after the gateway had been opened.
Her ancestors would come home and once again rule the Oberon Fen.
Chapter 8
The triple moon began to rise over the cursed land as they trekked toward it. They stopped as the pebbled path split in two, meandering off in different directions. As it wound left, the path followed the western side of the sparkling lake, while the right headed northwest through a tangle of thorny bushes, their withered leaves rustling in the breeze.
“This is the outer edge of the Oberon Fen. The hand of death has reached out much further than I had anticipated.” Rafe’s fingers grazed the dead leaves. “We must be aware of our surroundings from this point,” he said as Brannon swung a thick bladed knife, cutting the unruly bushes to broaden the path.
As they moved further into the tangled field of thorns and away from the sun-soaked flatlands, the air chilled. Long shadows crept like dark fingers of dread in on them.
Stevie shivered “Why is it so chilly?”
“I think it is wonderful,” Kai chuckled. “Athir was proving to be a bit warm for my liking.”
Raising an eyebrow, she tilted her head toward her friend. “You know it’s disturbing to hear you say things like that. I’m not the one normally whining about the cold.”
“It is quite a change,” she agreed.
Pushing through the last of the barbed bushes, they stood before a set of iron gates. Ropes of weighty vines wrapped themselves around the metal but any foliage that used to thrive from the stalks was now shriveled and lifeless. Tall rock pillars flanked the gate. The rock, covered with black moss, dripped with an oozing liquid the color of rust. Stone gargoyles sat atop the pillars, their blank stares adding to the menacing design. Long, tails slithered around their moss-covered bodies. Sharp fangs protruded from snarling lips, and curved horns jutted from their heads. Claws gripped the sides of the pillar as their vacant eyes gazed upon the strangers who stood before them. Although they were carved from stone, their appearance was very unsettling.
Killenn approached the gates, yanking on the thick chain and padlock securing them. He bent and picked up a sizable rock, attempting to break the latch with force. Neither the chain nor lock budged. The metal, unfettered by corrosion or weakness normally apparent on aged iron, held fast. Sheepishly he looked back and shrugged.
“Let me try,” Kai said, pulling a water bottle from her backpack. Unscrewing the ca
p, she filled the keyhole, splashing water over the lock mechanisms. Icy vapors rose from her hand as she wrapped it around the padlock and began muttering an incantation. Ice crystals appeared on the metal and as she exhaled misty puffs of air appeared.
Seconds later a crunching sound echoed around them as the padlock began to bend and crack under the extreme cold, shattering into a pile of shards and dust in Kai’s hand.
“Very imaginative of you,” Rafe acknowledged, nodding his thanks as he unwound the heavy chain and wrenched open the metal gates. The hinges creaked in protest, shuddering as they swung open, shaking off years of stationary existence.
A stagnant wind blew out of the cursed lands as it was released from its confines. Rafe coughed at the stench riding its wake—a musty, moldy odor ripe with decay. The others gagged and held their breath until the stench seeped into the thorny bushes behind them and dissipated.
“Welcome to the Oberon Fen,” Killenn joked.
“What was that awful smell?” Stevie’s nose wrinkled in disgust.
Diego growled, his hackles flaring as he shook his mane.
“Death,” Brannon said, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword as he peered into the shadowy land lying just beyond the iron gate.
A desolate orchard stretched before them. There was no color, no vibrancy, only a depressing palate of gray and black and the aching silence of emptiness.
Dense fog rolled across the ground toward where they stood, swirling in and out of the charred trees. Gnarled branches, mostly void of vegetation except for a few derelict leaves and rotten fruit clinging to the decayed wood, creaked and groaned. Twigs and debris littered the ground as the stale wind shook them loose.
They entered the Oberon Fen cautiously, unsure of what to expect or where to go. The place was a graveyard of the past, void of life except for the maggots and beetles crawling in and out of the rotting fruit and scuttling across the moist earth.
Weaving through the orchard they followed Brannon and Rafe. The warriors were the only ones who had traversed the lands of the Oberon Fen, although that was long before war tainted the lands with the blood of the dead.
“What happened to this place?” Kai asked, touching a piece of fruit that clung to a vine. It quivered and fell to the ground splitting open on impact with a loud squishing noise. The black flesh of the fruit released a horde of small green ants from its innards.
“Gross.” A breathy gasp escaped Kai’s mouth as she took a step back.
Killenn came to her side, looking down at the rotten fruit and the scurrying insects. “This is what happens when elemental magic dies. When land, which relies on it to exist is starved—it rots from the inside out.”
Kai shook her head. “Why the heck do we think Marlee is here? Why would anyone want to come here?”
“The Oberon Fen was once the gateway to the fae plane. Air magic was siphoned from these orchards to make a funnel connecting the two planes. They had an agreement with the elves that these fields, with its lush, fertile earth would act as the grow lands for their specialty crops.”
His hand swept through the air indicating the forlorn orchard. “These trees once grew an apple-like fruit known as a Maeb.”
With the toe of her boot, Kai nudged the one laying demolished on the ground.
“They had a crisp, salty exterior with a soft, sweet fleshy center,” he said. “The Maeb was prized for its unique flavors and was a popular ingredient in many dishes made throughout the five realms.”
His eyes tracked toward the back half of the Fen where the lightning flashed, and the rumbling echoed. “Farther west, near the gateway, is the vineyard where the sacred Eddinberry grew. The fae used to make exceptional spirits with the berry as their key ingredient.” His mouth quirked up at the side, and he lowered his voice. “I have on many occasions partaken in a glass or two of their Eddinberry Firewater and the next morning wished I had not.”
Kai laughed at the warrior’s memory. She suspected most of the men in her company had done the same.
Thunder rumbled in the distance.
“Come, let us catch up to the others,” he said.
As they moved away from the dead Maeb tree, it began to quiver. Twisted branches shook as if chilled by the cold wind. Kai and Killenn disappeared into the trees lining the orchard unaware of the tree’s movement or the soft giggle that arose to drift on the surrounding air.
The whispers surrounded her, echoing in the gloom as Kai and Killenn discussed her homeland.
She sneered at their words. As if they know anything about the real Athir.
Marlee purse her lips as the chorus of whispers became chaotic.
She tilted her head, listening to their commands.
The air in the orchard was weak but it had enough magic left for her to make mischief.
As they walked away, she breathed in deeply, sucking air into her lungs and blowing it back out. It was enough to animate the dead Maeb tree.
The whispers turned to giggles.
Marlee smiled—they were pleased.
When they activated the Druidstone, the golden mist had brought her here to the darkness. An archaic plane, hidden from sight. A place where she could look down on the world below. The whisperers resided here, hiding, never revealing themselves. She sensed their presence and knew without question they were her blood, the imprints of her ancestors—ancient fae who faded into history long before the war commenced and destroyed these lands. A primordial race. The beginnings of her bloodline and the ones whose power she would inherit.
The ones who would, in time, rule these lands.
Marlee floated unseen behind the group of immortals as they crept through the Oberon Fen. Hidden behind the veil of the dark plane they were oblivious to how close she was to them and how futile their search for her would be. She would only be found if she wanted to be. Saving the mortal world was no longer of concern to her—she was fae and the Oberon Fen was now her home.
The whispering intensified as the group reached the end of the orchard and crossed the dry riverbed. Marlee sensed the whisperer’s excitement as the immortals drew nearer the field of battle.
During the war, the herb fields had seen the bulk of the carnage. The blood-soaked fields became a silent witness as the elves slaughtered the fae in droves. The lush acres of red clover and pilewort had been trampled underfoot. Their leaves dripped with blood as the bodies of the dead lay amongst them.
The whisperers had not forgotten and now their time had come. With Marlee here, they would rise once again and take back what had been taken from them so long ago. She was their portal, a way out of the plane they were trapped in and into the realm below—the Oberon Fen, full of violent memories and lost souls.
Giggles echoed through the darkness behind her.
It was time—time for the ancient fae to make their return.
Diego had kept his nose to the ground as they walked, stopping occasionally to sniff the air and shake out his fur but now, he stared impatiently down at them from the top of the river embankment.
Stevie glared at him as she scaled the steep sides, pulling herself up using the woody vines hanging over the rocky shelf. “Lose the attitude, Diego.”
He shook out his fur and trotted off.
Killenn chuckled behind her. “The Dragonwolf is not one for patience.”
“Remind me again why my ancestors revered them so much,” she asked as she reached the top.
“They are much like the Dragon Gypsies in temperament,” he said, pulling himself over the embankment to stand beside her.
Her dark red eyes squinted, and she frowned ignoring his quip.
Acres of open land stretched out in front of them—the herb fields. Once lush and full of color, they were now caked with dried blood and littered with piles of petrified ash where bodies of the dead once lay.
T
he triple moon had risen to its peak and cast a silvery radiance over the entire realm. Although the sky above them was dark and flashed with angry lightening the glow of the moon breached its density providing enough light for them to travel by.
Stevie scanned the horizon.
To her left, stone mountains rose majestically toward the sinister sky and to the right, the riverbed wound through the desolate lands in the direction of the vineyards near the horizon.
Long evaporated, the parched bed was cracked and dusty. Like the rest of the world, nothing of substance grew. The vegetation that did find its way up through the cracks perished the moment it encountered the stale air.
The Oberon Fen was truly the land of death.
As the others joined them at the top, a dense fog rolled hastily toward them from the mountains. Its movement seemed deliberate, spreading out and covering the field in a dense mist until everything disappeared behind a hazy wall.
“That was strange,” Stevie said.
Diego crouched.
A shiver ran down her spine as his lips curled back baring his teeth. Hackles raised he let out a threatening growl.
The fog swirled in response and Stevie and Killenn took a step back as it drifted closer.
A heavy, dampness saturated the haze as it thickened, soupy and dense like the kind found in a small seaport town on a wet, autumn night. There was also something different about this fog. Unlike the one rolling over the orchard, this one was unnatural and moved with purpose as if guided by an unseen hand.
Chilled, damp air surrounded them and Tauria shivered.
The fields no longer felt empty, there was something hidden in the fog, waiting.
“What is it?” Rafe asked noticing his sister’s unease.
