Luthiel's Song: The War of Mists

by Robert Marston Fannéy

  “You said you were an elf!”

  “I did not. You did and I just let you believe it. I said I was once a man. And that is the true part.”

  “But I saw you in dreams. An elf at the heart of you.”

  “Then you saw only what you wanted to.”

  Luthiel blinked at him, taking in what he was saying. “What I saw was true in dreams. Besides, a human would make his race the eldest.”

  “Truth, Luthiel. Believe it, deny it, or make your own. I don’t care.”

  “Stubborn wolf-human.”

  Othalas ignored her, continuing to needle where he left off. “But what about your father? Do you think he’s an elf? What’s his lineage?”

  Luthiel felt a lump gathering in her throat. “You’re being cruel, Othalas.”

  “Don’t you want to know about where you came from? Doesn’t it mean something to you? For an immortal creature, I think it would. What are you anyway? It’s something even I have wanted to puzzle out.”

  Luthiel was so overcome by emotion she didn’t know what to say.

  Othalas, seeming to not notice her distress, continued. “Let’s think about it. Elwin is the spirit of Oesha and that makes her Aedar too—maybe one of the greatest. And then there’s this mysterious Lord of the Dark Forest—her husband and your grandfather.

  “What about him? He whose name must not be spoken? The tyrant of the dark wood. He looks like a Vyrl. But is he? He never joined them. He never devoured dreams—only the blood of his enemies. Some even say he’s a demon. Did you know some people called your father half-demon?”

  “I didn’t know!” Luthiel almost shouted. All of Othalas’ talk made her feel very freakish and out of place.

  “Yes you did. You knew it. You just didn’t want to put it all together. Like you didn’t want to admit being a sorcerer—despite the obvious. Well this is also obvious. You’re three parts Aedar and one part Vyrl or some other Demon. Close enough. Might as well get used to it Luthiel, you’re not an elf. You’re mostly an angel.”

  And there it was. Something she’d tried to keep from thinking about ever since this wild and ridiculous adventure began. For, more than anything else, Luthiel wanted to be normal. Wanted people to accept her. Wanted to be a part of something. But all these things—sorceress, angel, daughter of Vlad Valkire—kept her apart.

  “And part a demon too,” she said. “Maybe Zalos was right.”

  Othalas acted like he hadn’t heard her. “You know what a demon is? It’s something that was once an angel but was horribly twisted in some way. After all the good he did, do you think your father was a demon?”

  Luthiel shook her head. It was all just too much. She couldn’t help it. The grief and fear that had been filling her up ever since leaving Flir Light burst out. Tears rolled down her face, which she buried in Othalas’ back.

  “I just wanted to have a fun First Summer’s Eve. To have as much of a normal birthday as is possible for me. Look what happened! I’m going to be queen. I don’t even know my real parents. And my father only talks to me when someone near me dies. Most everyone wants me dead too. Now you’re telling me I’m an angel, part demon? Why can’t I just go back to being me?”

  This silenced Othalas and he padded on as she quietly cried into his fur. “Luthiel?” he said finally.

  “Please, just don’t talk,” she said between her tears.

  “You could never be anyone but you,” the great wolf said softly.

  The Eighth Moon’s Head

  After a few minutes, Luthiel stopped crying. Her escort rode close, hiding her from the others. She realized she shouldn’t show weakness—especially not now. But, oddly, she felt better—as if her tears had washed something rotten away.

  Othalas was right. I am what I am. Best get used to it.

  She rode in silence for most of the day, Yewstaff grew larger and larger, standing like a green and brown mountain before her. Suns set and his lights joined the dimming stars. They kept marching. It was her order. She wanted to arrive as soon as possible. But even now, she wondered if it was too late.

  For today was Summerdark. The first day the Black Moon showed his face. Just for about thirty minutes after midnight. Then not again for another two weeks. And once more a month later with the first of fall. But it heralded the coming autumn. What made her tremble were the white tails rising like fangs in the sky each midnight for a week. Growing longer with each passing day. No one would talk openly about it. Even Mithorden and Othalas clammed up when she asked them. And Leowin just gave her a sour look and walked off.

  A few hours after sunset, she saw their tips. All through the evening they grew longer, seeming to rise off of something. She dared not think of what.

  As they continued, silence fell over the army. There was a sense of expectation, and of dread. She couldn’t keep her eyes off the tails. They were the largest and brightest things in the sky and even cast dim shadows. When it became apparent what was going to happen, Luthiel made a decision.

  Yewstaff lay directly before her with the land rising gently to meet it. The hills meandered and swelled like a gentle sea before gathering into a massive rise made of earth and roots the size of small hills themselves. A trunk like a cliff-face capped with a cloud of brown and green lorded over it all—the great tree of life.

  “Mithorden,” she said to the sorcerer, “can you make them move faster?”

  With a nod, Mithorden gave a signal.

  “Forward!” the captains cried.

  They broke into a trot and then into a jog. Making for the great tree. When they came upon the first great root, she nudged Othalas ahead and the wolf leapt up to the top. Raising her hand, she called the army to a halt. The army ground to a stop. All their faces turned toward her.

  She’d feared the prophecy for two weeks now. The rising of Gorothoth. The darkness. The foretelling of the Blood Witch. She turned northwest, facing the great white horns. A few minutes before rising. She wanted to stare into its face. To stand and shout out her defiance of it. But first she had to make them understand.

  “Fae of Oesha!” she cried out to them. “Do you see what is coming!?”

  She threw her arm in the direction of black moonrise.

  “It is the demon moon. And we can already see its horns.”

  The fae watched her and she could see dread in all their eyes. They’d all heard the prophecy by now.

  “But I did not cause it as some have accused. What you see is a sign of coming war. Not a war against Vyrl. But a war against all this world.”

  The fae were listening now. Though it was clear they didn’t like what she said.

  “Have you noticed mists in the sky? Have you noticed how the suns dim and stars wink out? These are just the outriders of a greater darkness. For the War of Mists is coming. When this cloud in the sky will block out all lights and Gorthar will attempt to kill off every dreaming creature.

  “Some have said this is my doing! Do not be fooled! For I intend to fight against it. To keep safe life.”

  She could see the first edge of Gorothoth rising.

  “Mithorden!” she shouted down to the sorcerer. “Bring me one of the Widdershae!”

  The sorcerer shouted orders and one of the giant walking sticks clambered up toward her. Upon its back it bore a bundled Widdershae. When it drew close enough, she pulled away some of the cloth.

  “See this spider?”

  There was a grumbling among the host.

  “It is one I fought.” She drew Weiryendel. “One I thought I slew.”

  Vaelros and Galwin removed the carcass from the giant walking stick and placed it beside her. She looked at the Widdershae. The shell had nearly crumbled to dust. She pushed through the shell and found an arm. It was the Delvendrim she’d seen a few days before. She breathed lighter now. Seeming closer to wakefulness.

  She drew the lady elf up, sitting her upon Othalas in front of her.

  A gasp ran through the army.

  “No longer a s
pider! Welcome her back to Oesha!” she shouted. “My father’s magic once broke the ancient curse. Endless nightmares the Vyrl set on all fae. My magic has now also broken a curse. The one that turned elves into spiders. I defy the dark moon! I defy even the God of Death who sleeps there!

  “Zalos talks of survival. But he gives no importance to life itself. He would have us make choices hard enough to break us. He would make us killers. Yet I know a secret. Life supports life. If we become killers we turn upon the very thing that helps us survive—each other. But if we work together to preserve life then we all have a better chance. Not just a privileged few.

  “I believe in the good in you. I believe in even the good in Widdershae and Vyrl. We can make our enemies into our allies! And we can face the coming darkness together!”

  With that she set her Stone alight, placed it in the keyhole of Weiryendel and held the sword high in defiance to rising Gorothoth. With her other arm, she propped up the still sleeping Delvendrim.

  “Black Moon!” She sang as it crested the horizon. “I defy you and the death you bring. A witch I am! For I am a woman of Wyrd. A blood witch I am indeed. For I have used my blood to heal both elf and Vyrl. A queen I will become. And in that charge I will defend with all I am the life of this land. I warn you! For I am fierce and would bear no threat, even from the great lord of death himself!”

  Then there was a darkness upon her. It shot out of the black moon at her in a black ray. The air around her became very cold and she thought she heard a deep voice in a broken chant.

  Skalos Ingurtharab!

  Sound hissed about her like the flight of a thousand black arrows. There was a sucking sensation as the air rushed away from her. Then she felt a blow like a hammer over her whole body. The Wyrd Stone glimmered and went out. She went limp and fell from Othalas’ back.

  The Delvendrim awoke suddenly. Blinking her eyes, the first thing she saw was Luthiel.

  “A terrible nightmare!” Her voice echoed out soft, but somehow carrying to every ear. “It seemed to last an age. Then I dreamed an angel came. She took my hand. Pulled me up and out. There was peace. Am I awake now? How then is the angel of my dreams fallen beneath me?”

  The fae army let out a cry and, by the thousands, rushed up to help Luthiel.

  To the northwest, a black and blood-red moon rose. It bore twin horns and behind it came a cloud of darkness that seemed to gape like a great mouth. But none deserted the army this night and some, thinking all should hear about what had happened, sent runners far and wide. Beasts and birds saw it too. Soon, all of the wild was amutter with what had happened.

  Elf and goblin hands touched Luthiel and found her cold and barely breathing. Above, a flight of birds swooped up into the tree and came down bearing fruit. Scooping it into their beaks, they fed her the healing stuff. Her body warmed, her breathing strengthened. Then, elf and animal, goblin and pixie all gathered around her and carried her to the base of the great tree. There they made a bower of Yewstaff leaves for her and set a watch.

  The Blood Witch had come to Yewstaff and many had come to love her.

  The Best Fish

  She would swim. Swim away from her prison.

  Dive from the high wall—as she had a hundred times before.

  Waters knew her. Could not hurt her. As she fell she could see the waves rising up to her like welcoming arms. One hundred feet, two hundred, five hundred. A whispered song and she returned to dreams.

  Just above the water she changed.

  Silver covered all her body. Her arms drew in and became rainbow fins. Her legs merged and became a great sweeping tail.

  Splash! Her sleek body shot through the water faster than an arrow. So she left him. That mad lord to his darkening fortress and dimming thought.

  He thinks I am bound here. But he broke the terms long ago. So I can leave. Does he suspect?

  But she didn’t care! Her daughter was alive! Little more than a month ago, she heard her song. And she went to her! Swam to Mithorden to have a good look. How that single look had filled her! Her breath caught at her likeness to Valkire, herself and even Elwin. Yes, some of Chromnos too in those strong eyes!

  And now she was at work in the world. Already, Vyrl saved and the Faelands were coming together—much to Zalos’ dismay.

  Zalos. He was the reason she risked another journey. He’d heard Luthiel’s defiant shout to the dark moon in dreams. Listened as his spies told him what happened. Reprimanded his captains for their failure to turn enough fae against her. Then word was sent. From the high walls of Arganoth flew six Graven. And on each griffon-raven’s back—a deadly rider.

  They were changing. Becoming darker. More like death. The Ming devoured flesh and spirit. Now they were sexless, gaunt. Continuing. But in an unnatural way. The fae they once were bound in a body with Gorthar’s demon Ming. Luthiel had caught a glimpse at the rim. Mingolë.

  Now complete in nightmares, they rode out to murder her daughter.

  She would not allow it. For she deeply loved Luthiel. She would use all her power, all her cunning, to keep her from harm. She’d spent years playing a foul game with Zalos. Feigning interest to distract him, but keeping her heart secret and safe. Now Elwin was awakening. Now her daughter was at work in the world. It was time to break the bonds. Time to fight outright. Pay Zalos back for his betrayal.

  For Merrin, wife of Vlad Valkire, was no fool. And she knew now, all too well, what Zalos had done.

  Faster than a porpoise, she shot through the river. Swimming with the current, she made good time—even better than the flying Graven. She’d get there much sooner. For beneath the water lay a blue Lilani—one leading to a lake near Yewstaff. Over the past few years, she’d visited Yewstaff regularly. She knew him well, having years ago found a way to move about the great tree without being discovered.

  As she shot through the water, a great Graven with white-tipped feathers flew out from Arganoth. It was the largest of all Arganoth’s war birds and upon its back rode a fair figure in heavy armor. Zalos was going to war.

  Yewstaff

  Luthiel awoke the next morning with the taste of fresh Yewstaff fruit in her mouth. She still felt achy and tired. Her wounds had reopened again and oozed blood through the night. It took her a moment to recall what happened. When she finally did, she sat up blinking at Soelee light streaming onto her bed.

  She lay in a fold of limbs and leaves shooting off of one of Yewstaff’s main branches. Bright cloth and wind charms hung all around, giving her a feeling like home. Her bed was exquisite. It was a weave of tiny branches that came up out of the floor. On top were blankets and cushions of flir-silk. The branches swayed, giving her the sense that she floated.

  Not wanting to get up, she stared through the branches and found small patches of sky. Above, she saw a tiny speck circling. For a moment, she thought it was Melkion, but her heart dropped when she realized it was a Khoraz.

  I miss him, she thought sadly.

  The Khoraz grew in size and she smiled when she saw Mindersnatch alight on a branch beside her.

  “Maaarn—ning!” he squawked.

  “Morning to you, Mindersnatch,” she said blearily.

  The Khoraz bowed. “Someone—coming!”

  “Who?”

  “Wisdom!” the great Khoraz squawked.

  Luthiel sighed, irritated. “Can’t they wait. I still feel tired. Last night was—tough.”

  Mindersnatch cawed and clicked sympathetically. “Risks! Reap strange reward!”

  Luthiel laughed. The crow was right. Maybe she shouldn’t have made such a show of her defiance.

  But how else would I have won them?

  She levered herself out of bed and began putting on the clothes that were left for her. They were nothing short of royal. A beautiful white dress with tiny moonstones woven into the fabric. There was also an elegant belt with a chain to hang Weiryendel from. It looped over the scabbard, catching it in two places.

  When she was finished dressing, she lo
oked around.

  “Where’s Othalas?”

  “Below!” the Khoraz sniggered and clacked his beak.

  “Doesn’t like trees, then?”

  The raven bobbed his head and laughed some more.

  Luthiel had only sat down to some breakfast when there was a rustling at the curtains.

  Vanye stuck his head in and, seeing her, gave a serious nod. “May I come in?”

  Luthiel motioned him inside. The bed had unwoven and the little branches were now making a set of seats and what looked like a small table. A pair of pixies came in and swept up the blankets. They curtseyed to Luthiel as they passed.

  Vanye gracefully slid into one of the new-made chairs. He also wore finery and looked far more princely than she’d ever seen. Even his Cat-o-Fae was adorned with flowers—tucked in among the blades. The polished metal and petals combined to make a stunning bouquet.

  “We’re to both see the Wisdom here. Since Elag left, things have changed. I think you’ll be pleased.”

  “Why, who is he?”

  “She was the only lady Wisdom to survive Elag’s rule. She kept making herself too useful to send away. With Elag and his followers gone, the other Wisdom confided in her more and more. But after what happened last night, they made up their minds. The vote was just cast.” Vanye gave Luthiel a meaningful look which she returned with a tired smile.

  “I’m beginning to think Leowin is right. I take too many risks. I feel like Othalas sat on me.”

  Luthiel heard a laugh from beyond the curtain and Leowin walked in, curtsied with smile, and sat down beside her.

  As Leowin entered, Vanye stood stiffly and inclined his head in greeting. Leowin smiled in return. Their eyes met briefly, then they both looked away. Leowin smoothed her robe and absently ran a hand through her hair.

  “Glad to see you’re starting to come to your senses,” Leowin said pointedly. “I’d like you to stay here with us.”