by Ren Curylo
with nothing but hostile glares.
After a few long, awkward moments, she heard a lilting voice
that she recognized. “Adamen,” came the yodeling cry before she
could see Filigree hurrying toward her on green, leafy wings. “I
thought I’d never see you again,” she said, flying into Adamen’s face
and planting a welcoming kiss on her cheek.
At this ebullient greeting, the other Faeries faded away,
leaving Filigree alone with her guest. “How have you been,
Filigree?” Adamen asked.
Filigree brushed back her white daisy petal hair and grinned.
She was tiny and had only been visible from any distance because
she had made herself bigger. Flower Fae had this ability, as almost
all Fae, to both shrink and enlarge themselves at will, even if only for
a few seconds at a time. Some Fae could do it for longer than others
could, but the Daisy Fae never seemed to manage more than thirty
seconds at a time.
Filigree’s leaf-green eyes smiled brightly, wrinkling at the
corners. Her skin was the color of a daisy’s center. Her clothing
appeared to be made from the flowers themselves. Overall, Filigree
presented a jolly, joyful appearance and it was hard not to smile and
feel carefree in her presence.
“I’ve been well,” she said, “but I hear disturbing rumors
about you.”
“Ah,” Adamen said, brushing her curly red hair from her
face. “That’s why I’m here. Can we talk a bit? Have you the time?” “I always have time for you, Adamen,” Filigree said. “Come
over to my house. You’re always welcome inside if you can still
manage a good enough shrinking for long enough.”
“I can manage,” Adamen said with a grin. She followed
Filigree back to her home among a wide patch of flowers,
predominately daisies—in more varieties than she had ever seen
before.
Once shrunk, they went inside the tiny Fae home to chat.
Over dandelion tea, Adamen told Filigree why she had come to see
her.
Filigree listened silently and at the end of the tale, she said,
“Why, if a colony of Flower and Tree Fae can’t keep one little baby
Fae safe, I don’t know who can. And he’s Ársa’s, you say?” “Yes,” Adamen said with a nod.
“So, it’s true,” Filigree said. “We heard rumors that there’s a
prophecy about the future of our world. We heard that someone is
plotting to damage or destroy our Fae world, too, as part of the same
future war.”
“Oh, I hope not,” Adamen said. “I haven’t heard that, but I
will see what I can find out for you. It won’t hurt to be prepared.” “Any news will prepare us,” Filigree said. “But you bring the
little one over as soon as you’re ready. I must tell you, though, that
the sooner we take him in the easier the adjustment will be.” “He isn’t accustomed to living in the Fae world, so it won’t
matter as much.”
Filigree nodded. “Is the rumor true that we’re going to get
our own goddess?”
Adamen nodded. “That’s true, too, Filigree, but I don’t know
how soon that will take place. Ársa has yet to arrange it.” “Well, hopefully, it will happen soon. There was a goddess
out in Lasahala Run, southwest of here, a week or so ago. She was
tearing up a flower garden the Elves had planted long ago. Some
said she has a beef with the Elves there,” Filigree said.
“What a beast,” Adamen said. “Isn’t that where all the Elves
live?”
“More than half of them live there. They live in two different
camps. The Elf king, Caolán, recently married a princess from the
faction that split away a few hundred years ago. Their marriage
joined more of them back together again. I don’t know about the
other, smaller group of them. I’m not sure where they are.” “I see,” Adamen said. She wondered if Ársa knew about this.
He had told her a bit about the Elves a while ago but hadn’t spoken
of them since.
“There was so much damage to the Flower Fae homes in the
area that we had to take in refugees.”
“When did this happen?” Adamen asked.
“It was about a week ago, I guess,” Filigree said. “The
woman was all in a rage over something, though.”
“Any idea who she was?”
“None,” the Daisy Fae said, shaking her head. “The Flower
Fae here, though, said she looked quite Elfish herself. They thought
she must be a goddess of some sort, though how and why she came
to be there is anybody’s guess.”
“If I hear anything, I’ll let you know. I should be out in the
world much more since Girin was born.”
“Girin is the little one’s name, then, eh?”
“Yes,” Adamen said.
“Well, whenever you’re ready to bring him to me, just pop
over. You know where the portals are.”
“I don’t know if I remember how to get back to this one, on
Cardosa.”
“No worries, when you’re ready to go, I’ll have someone lead
you back to it. Bring me the baby anytime. Will you be coming to
see him at all as he grows?”
“I would like to if that’s all right with you. And as long as it
doesn’t lead anyone else here.”
Filigree nodded. “Aye, I’m sure we can work something out.
We’ll band together to cloak the place.”
“I’ll help you if I can.”
“Any idea who the Fae goddess is going to be?”
“I hear it may be Moriko, the Forest Goddess, but Ársa hasn’t
spoken to her yet.”
“Ah, glory, that’s a good choice.”
“I thought so, too,” Adamen said. “Now, I’ll be on my way.
I’ll come back tomorrow and bring Girin to you. Thank you,
Filigree; you have no idea how much this means to me.” “And you’ve no idea how much it means to me. I’ve always
wanted a child of my own and this is almost as good.”
“I am grateful,” Adamen said. They chatted a while, catching
up on one another’s lives before she took her leave.
Filigree called for one of the tree Fae to escort her guest
when she was ready to leave for home. The young Rowan Fae
looked at Adamen with wide, curious eyes but didn’t initiate any
conversation.
Adamen left her escort at the portal and quickly made her
way back to Ársa’s home on Amalith Island. Tomorrow would be a hard day for her and she needed to prepare for it. Keeping Girin safe was her priority. If seeing little of him as he grew accomplished that goal, it was a sacrifice she was willing to make.
1 month later
Agmen 17, 762 Na Réaltaí
Chéile A knock at the door roused Chéile from her doze. She looked around Ársa’s chamber to find herself alone. There was no Seirbhíseach to order to answer the door. She frowned. These are the worst servants I’ve ever encountered. I wish Ársa wasn’t such a doddle when it came to the Seirbhíseach. He has the audacity to expect me to do things for myself.
Chéile rose from the bed and slipped a gossamer thin robe over her naked body. She didn’t bother to pull it closed over her or tie it shut. She preferred to let it flap in the breeze as she walked across the chamber. She didn’t care who was on the other side. She enjoyed their disconc
erted behavior when she opened the door mostly naked.
As she strode b riskly across the room, one of the robe’s shoulders slipped off, leaving her entire left breast completely exposed. She opened the door and smiled as the Seirbhíseach who stood there ogled her, opening and closing his mouth four or five times.
“Yes?” she said with a honeyed tone. “Lady Chéile,” the man said. “I’ve come from the tailor with your order. I have it all here if you’re ready for delivery.”
“Certainly, please bring it in,” she said, stepping aside from the open doorway to allow him to enter.
“I have five children behind me, madam,” he said, looking over his shoulder. His cheeks flushed with color as he tried to keep his eyes off her erect nipple when he turned back to her.
She smiled again, but it didn’t reach her pale blue eyes. “That’s all right,” she said. “Have them bring it in. You can put it anywhere it will fit.”
The man cleared his throat and stepped into her chamber. He indicated for the youngsters behind him, all early to late teens, to enter and unburden themselves. Most of them openly stared at her as they passed. “Hurry up, now,” the deliveryman said, clapping his hands sharply. “No dawdling.”
They managed, after some jostling around and bumping into one another, to dump their packages on the bed, the floor, and the dressing table, all the while staring at her nudity with their mouths open before they filed out of her room.
She had ordered, upon her arrival in Na Réaltaí, a new wardrobe of hand-woven, hand-sewn garments from the Seirbhíseach tailors. The cloth was delicate and sturdy, woven in colors she chose herself. She decided not to use Ársa’s family cloth. She wanted nothing to do with anything Anoba had a hand in designing. Besides, they were all bold, brash colors in deep, dark jewel tones. She wanted muted tones and colors, pastels and neutrals, something more tasteful than Ársa’s colors. She intended to use it for everything she wore—no more of that Elfish cloth for her. This cloth was so far superior to even that fine stuff that she could only call it ‘god’ cloth. She vowed she would never again wear anything else.
She opened each box, one after the other and reveled in the garments within. Finally, she chose the one she wanted to wear and left the others in heaps, scattered and hanging everywhere in the room. She dressed and stepped into the hallway to flag down a Seirbhíseach under Ársa’s direction. Giving the woman an order to clean up the mess she had made, Chéile sauntered off down the long hallway toward The Droichead, the central meeting place for all departments of Ársa’s crew. Their private quarters and family areas extended out from this central hub in a spoke-like fashion. Each family or department wing held a private gathering area for the residents, but none was as large or grand as The Droichead.
Occupying the heart of Na Réaltaí, with a domed ceiling spanning high above every residential floor, the room towered upward, its walls lined with spiraling staircases reaching each level. The elevators were down a short hallway outside the open area where they wouldn’t spoil the majesty of the room.
As Chéile walked in, she noted that no one was present. They must all be out being gods and goddesses. No matter, Vedran will be here soon enough. She stuck her hand in her pocket and fondled the little doll she had created in Vedran’s likeness.
She went to the bar and sat on a stool at the cozier end away from the more trafficked areas. She passed her hand over the shiny black surface of the bar. The surface lit up with a whole list, complete with pictures, of items she could order. She pressed a finger on her selection and listened to the hum within the bar indicating her drink was being processed. After a few moments, the bar top in front of her slid open and a drink pushed up through the opening. The glass sat on a black platform that disappeared when she lifted the drink. The opening closed, returning to the shiny black surface it had been.
She sipped her drink and set it in front of her. All this technology was strange to her—she was a long way from being comfortable with it. She leisurely sipped her drink and waited. She didn’t expect it to take long before her quarry showed up.
After a few moments, she heard footsteps approaching and she glanced in the mirror behind the bar. It was lonely in here, but later it would be bustling with activity. After everyone finished their duties, they would gather in groups and there would even be a living bartender taking people’s orders. She, like most of the inhabitants of Na Réaltaí, preferred their food and drinks served and prepared by real people rather than an automated process deep in the belly of the bar or in some dark box mounted on the galley wall.
A shadow falling on the floor at the intersection of one hallway let her know someone was about to enter. She was certain it would be Vedran.
She was not disappointed. He paused before entering the Droichead and looked around. Spotting her at the bar, he smiled. His smile, she noted, didn’t make him look any less weasley or ratfaced. His face, like his body, was all angles and points. He was thin and bony and seemed to be a sack of elbows, knees, hips, and shoulders. His long, thin nose was no less pointy than his thin jutting chin. He had thin dark brown hair which he kept slicked back and pulled tight into a long, straight ponytail at the nape of his neck. His eyes were as dark brown as his hair and his skin gave an overall impression of being beige—just plain unexciting beige.
“Ah, Chéile,” he said ebulliently, holding his arms wide as he approached her.
“Vedran,” she said with a nod. “Care to join me?” She smiled and patted the stool beside her invitingly.
“It’s not often I get a warm invitation from such a beautiful lady,” he said, sliding onto the stool beside her. “Are you sure Ársa won’t mind?”
“I’m free to do as I please,” she said in a slightly sultry tone.
He mimicked her earlier actions to place an order and took his drink when it rose from the opening in the bar. “I’m sure it gets lonely with Ársa out and about his duties all day, anyway.”
“I manage to keep myself entertained,” she said.
“I’m happy to be the entertainment of the day,” he quipped, waving his hand in a flourish simulating a bow. He looked her over thoroughly when he turned his stool to face her. “I hear you went out for a little…um…recreation the other day.”
Chéile looked at him questioningly. “What do you mean?”
“I heard you paid your former home a little visit.”
Chéile laughed charmingly, but it was tinged with a bit of bitterness. “Oh, that,” she said, smiling happily. “I was a feeling a little nostalgic, thinking of my engagement to Prince Caolán.”
Vedran was practically salivating as he looked at her. “Is it true, then? You were engaged to Prince Caolán and he jilted you at the altar?”
Chéile gritted her teeth. She doubted Ársa would have gossiped about this and she placed the blame strictly at Anoba’s door. “A nice girl doesn’t like to talk about things like that, Vedran,” she said.
“Well, at least you can tell me about your adventure when you went down there the other day.”
“I wrecked their landscaping,” she said with a shrug. “It’s what they deserve for being smug and sanctimonious. It’s the least I could do for what they did to me.”
Vedran grinned, his eyes opening wide with joy, letting Chéile know she had confirmed the rumors about her. She thought it could be beneficial to her, perhaps stop people from underestimating her. She knew this would be the subject of his next conversation and anyone who spoke to him would hear all the details. “I must admit that you showed extreme calm, Chéile,” he said. “I must tell you, if that happened to me, I doubt I’d be as easy on them. Why, I may even want to extract a little personal revenge if I were you.”
“Speaking of which, I would like to learn a little bit more about the skills training and such that are available to me,” she said.
“Oh, that’s easy, Chéile,” he said. “There’s a library and a gym for training and studies up on the fifth floor. I’m sure you have
clearance to use them anytime you’d like. I’m surprised Ársa didn’t tell you all that.”
“I’m sure he was busy,” she said, “and didn’t think I’d be interested. Are any instructors available?”
“There are instructors, but they’re only for the children growing up. It’s a regular part of their training. There has never been a reason to train adults, so there’s nothing in place to accomplish that. I mean, we have drills, but all that is for skills we already possess. It seems like you’ll be on your own.”
“I guess it’s the gym and the library, then,” she said, a little disappointed.
“All the things you’d need for comprehensive training are available up there. It comes down to how dedicated you are to it.”
She grinned and sipped her drink. “Oh, you’d be amazed at how dedicated I can be.”
“A lot of people were quite upset when you came along, my dear—fit to be tied, you might say,” he said. “But I’ll be pleased to inform them that you’re not at all the bitch they think you are.”
This was precisely the type of information she wanted from him. She chose Vedran because he seemed more than eager to spread gossip and rumors. Chéile meant to take full advantage of his natural tendencies. “I am not yet acquainted with many people around here, Vedran,” she said. “But I keep hearing one particular name repeated frequently. I can’t seem to put a face to the name. Perhaps you can fill me in about her.”
Vedran grinned and leaned forward. “I’d be more than happy to tell you anything you want to know, darling Chéile.”
“Who is this Moriko I keep hearing so much about?”
Vedran’s slender brown eyebrow jutted upward and a small smirk tugged at the corner of his thin lips. “Moriko, eh,” he said. He sipped his drink and watched Chéile covertly over the rim.
“Yes,” Chéile said, happy that he seemed to be taking her bait. “What can you tell me about her?”
“Moriko is in charge of forestry, as she was before we left the old world. She loves the outdoors and the animals. She doesn’t come to Na Réaltaí often anymore.”
“So I gathered,” Chéile said. “I hear she’s a great good friend of Ársa’s. Is that right?”
In mid-sip, Vedran almost choked on his drink. “A friend of Ársa’s,” he said with a smug nod. “Ah, well, yes, I guess one could say that she’s a great, good friend of Ársa’s.” He stressed the word ‘good’. “In fact, I would say that Ársa has had the hots for Moriko for decades, if not centuries.”
