Dockalfar

by Nunn, PL

  “So how goes your forest craft?”

  “Well, I’m totally confused about the directional thing here, but I think I know which berries to eat and where to find the watering holes, so chances are if I get lost it’ll be for forever, but I’ll survive because I know what’s safe to eat and drink.”

  Ashara laughed, a sound like tinkling chimes. Her eyes sparkled. “You can always find your way back here, Victoria. Once the Grove and the Keep accept you, they’ll always be a beacon for you.”

  She looked at the Lady for a moment in silence, feeling something catch in her throat. She whispered. “Have I been accepted?”

  “I think you have.”

  Victoria looked down, watched the forest floor. “Thank you. That means a lot….”

  Ashara arched a brow at her, sensing the hesitation in her voice. “But?” she prompted. She was quick. So very quick on the uptake.

  “But what if I wanted to leave? Would I be welcome back?”

  Ashara frowned. “Unless your actions dictated otherwise.”

  “And if I asked for someone to guide me, would you allow it?”

  The lady of the keep drew a deep breath. “It would be foolish on both our parts, Victoria. What you want is impossible. To risk the Dockalfar is suicide or worse.”

  “What do you suggest, then?” she snapped in frustration. “That I just forget all about him? That I stay here and pretend that he’s not there? If I can just find him, I can help him. I’ve got power. You’ve taught me how to use it. I know I can help him.” It was a heartfelt plea and desperate. Ashara was unmoved. Aloe was actively frowning.

  “You have power, child, yes. In abundance. But skill? You’re an infant. They would eat you alive. You would give them the very thing they want. Human magic.”

  “How do you know? You don’t know how much power I’ve got. You told me that. Destructively speaking, I’ve been told I’m on the scale of natural disasters. I can get him out. I know I can. I just need to get there.”

  “Your optimism is unfounded,” Ashara told her soberly. “Raw power can be turned and funneled into harmlessness. He knows how to do that. He would take great pleasure in teaching you the error of your ways, and I cannot allow that. And he wants you. Your human magic. For some reason he craves your alien power and I see no reason to allow him access to it. Dockalfar ideals are tainted. Twisted. He can only want that power for evil. It’s in his nature.”

  “I see. Am I a prisoner here then?”

  There was tenseness in the air. The others were visibly uncomfortable with the debate. Ashara shook her head. Sadly. Stubbornly. “Of course not.”

  “But I’ll get no help in finding my way to Azeral’s court?”

  “Don’t say his name,” Ashara whispered, tight lipped. “It might draw his attention to this place and I want nothing of him here.”

  “You did not answer the question. Will someone guide me?”

  “No. Not yet. Be patient girl. Let your skill grow. Learn to control the power you have and perhaps you might be a match for the dark ones. Perhaps we’ll even help you. But I won’t support a doomed cause and for you to think of taking him on without a great deal more knowledge than you have, is doomed.”

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Part Twelve

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  The lord of the Unseelie court turned in his sleep. His lady of the moment shifted to allow him space, turned her perfect cheek and laid it against his smooth shoulder and wondered what disturbed the dreams of the most powerful of Dockalfar. There was no probing possible on her part. No tiny chink in his shields that she could slip through and observe his subconscious musings. Not that she would try if there were. Not and risk his wrath. There were plots upon plots in this court, subterfuge and deception among the high sidhe who lived under the heavy stone of the keep. But none of it was directed at Azeral. None dared. At least not in the last millennia.

  Which was saying a good deal for the respect his court held him in. Or the fear.

  For it was in the nature of the Dockalfar to scheme and manipulate, just as it were in the nature of the Liosalfar to plant and inspire life. Neferia still wondered what her lord dreamed.

  ~~~

  He dreamed. He dreamed of golden hair and wise, young eyes. He dreamed of a wit and a power that had always taken him by surprise considering the youth of the wielder. She was walking away from him, all summer colors and swaying hips.

  Beautiful. Her laughter trailed behind her like falling petals. He was young too, in the dream, but older than she. But she was his equal. She had always been his equal. He did not despise her for it. He was aware on some level of what he dreamed.

  It was not an uncommon fantasy that his sleeping mind resurrected. It was a thing long past. Lost forever. He savored it. Savored the untainted memories of her.

  She came towards him, her beautiful, sleek body bathed in light of her making. Her hair swung about her hips in a cloud of gold. Like sunlight. It almost hurt his eyes. He reached out for her, craving for the touch of her skin. She eluded him, laughing. Teasing. Always teasing.

  Testing his reserve. He could not grasp her. He ran after her, losing all dignity, and finally she stopped, just out of reach and held something forward in the palm of her hand. Something indefinable in shape and size, but overwhelming in its purity and innocence. Something newborn. The look in her eyes was quizzical. She offered it to him and he stood unmoving.

  Will you nurture this with kindness? she asked, inside his head. Will you love this and care for this? Can you protect this from evil? He stood blinking at her intense light, suddenly torn between want of her and the desire to repulse her request.

  Protect from evil? Nurture with kindness? It was not in his nature. But for her, he wanted to try. Wanted desperately to try. He held out his hand and she passed the ember of purity on to him. Its glow of radiance faltered once in his palm. He concentrated, trying to buffer its resistance. Striving to keep it as it was.

  But slowly it darkened, and its purity faded, its innocence shriveled. She frowned, shaking her head in disapproval.

  He tried to tell her it was not his doing.

  That he wanted the thing whole as she had given it to him, but that the darkness of his very nature turned it against the light. It was no conscious doing of his.

  She would hear nothing of it. She turned away and he knew unfailingly that no efforts on his part could stop her from fading. He hated her for that. Or knew that he should. But he had never quite been able to work up that emotion towards her.

  She was gone, and he was left holding the small, dark soul. A crystal drop of moisture leaked from the corner of his eye. Shameful.

  He gathered his will and focused on the malignant soul, poured every once of his strength into it, banishing the darkness, urging the light forth. Weakly it pulsated in his hand. If she would only come back. If she could only see what he had done for her….

  Then something did come. Something angry and potent and achingly familiar. As familiar as his breath, as the skin on his body. It ripped the small soul from numb fingers and dashed it to the winds, then it turned on him. There was no fighting it. Its power was overwhelming. It punished him for his transgression, his altering of nature. His nature. It scoured the soul from him and ripped it into shreds. There was no mind to it that he could find, no connection with sidhe or fairy or any magic he knew. And yet every connection.

  He cried out in fear and torment …

  …and found consciousness. Neferia’s hands upon him, her eyes wide and frightened, her mouth a perfect ‘O’. She had shaken him awake from the nightmare that he had been powerless within. He saw her terror, her question. He ignored her, flinging himself out of the bed and snatching a robe as he went. He almost ran, with the echoes of the nightmare still fresh in his mind. The echoes of the Power. He stormed past startled slaves and used a hammer of will to break the locks on the doors of the room he wanted.

  Two surprised figures stirred on the bed
cushions, sitting up as he stalked into the room. Both their eyes were diluted with sleep and spent passion. He ignored his daughter and went for the human, drove him back with a hard palm in his chest. Shocked eyes looked up at him.

  “Draw the power,” Azeral hissed.

  The eyes blinked.

  “Draw the power!” he almost shouted and backed the verbal command with a sharp stab of will. The human complied, shattered will passive under Azeral’s desires. Human magic shimmered in the air, filled the man and fed the dark lord.

  Azeral drew it in. Every bit the human could draw, shielding himself with a power that was foreign to the one that had plagued him in the dream. It was not enough. He took everything and it was still not enough. There was still too much of the earth power, the human power out there, and what the boy gave him was not even close to his own power. And his human was at his limits. There was no more magic that he could draw.

  The shock hit. Azeral sat back, infused with power and stared blankly at the wall, utterly stunned by the fact that he had been wrong. Wrong! There was power here, yes, but it was not the power he needed. It was not the full power of human magic.

  “The girl,” he whispered. “It was the girl.”

  ~~~

  Alex was screaming. He was in torment, running blindly through a maze of twisting vines and limbs. Something was after him, rising out of the darkness behind him like a ghostly wraith. Dark shadow and shining eyes. Glints of metal within the fog. Claws or blades? It seeped over the ground, faster than human feet could run, wafting through the solidity of the maze, like smoke through a lattice.

  Alex fell and scraped a knee raw.

  Got up and limped on. The maze was impenetrable. From the inside it was thorny vine and twisted briars, from without it was solid stone in the shape of nature.

  Victoria beat on the walls with bleeding palms, adding her screams to Alex’s. She could not conjure the power to break the barrier of the maze. It would not come at her call. She could not even sense its familiar current.

  She ran about the outside wall, searching for entrance with tears obscuring her vision. A great colorful bird flapped across her path and she faltered, eyes following the creature. More splendid than any bird of paradise it was, decorated with feathers like jewels of blue, red and yellow. It found purchase on the maze overhead and stared at her, blinking black, emotionless eyes.

  Suddenly it took off, flying in slow motion. She followed, drawn to it magnetically.

  The dark crevice of an opening appeared. There were sharp thorns guarding the way. They ripped at her flesh, tore her clothes. making a tattered mess of her nightgown. Blood trickled down a dozen wounds before she was through, into the inner sanctums of the maze.

  She ran, calling Alex’s name. She could no longer hear his screams or observe his panicked flight. All was clear from without, nothing from within. She sensed the shadow hunter take notice of her. Drawing breath, she strove to gather power, to shield herself. Nothing would come. Then rather suddenly she came to an open space. A patch of grass that was dying and brown. Alex stood in the middle, looking past her, his face calm.

  There were shields around him. Shields upon shields. She thought with relief, that he was safe. Very safe with so many shields. She whispered his name. He turned to her and blinked – and there was no recognition in his eyes….

  Victoria sat up with a gasp. Tangled silken sheets clung to her sweat soaked torso. Her hair was a sticky web of tentacles on her face. Breath came hard and uneven. It was a nasty nightmare and not the first of its kind. She was dreaming more and more of Alex. It was a side effect of magic, she thought. The power that dwelled within her sought out what she most wanted and sent her subconscious twisted images. Her own innate pessimism also contributed.

  Creating situations that plagued her waking hours and made sleep a living hell. She calmed her breathing and lay back down, staring at the ceiling. There had to be an out. Some way to relieve the pressure. She had to find Alex and solve the problem once and for all. Otherwise she would burst from the tension of not knowing that he was well, that he was alive and safe. And the nightmares…

  God, those were enough to drive her to distraction. Different all, but each and every one created a new horrible situation in which he was tormented, yet protected.

  Pursued, yet safe and most frightening of all, totally ignorant of who Victoria was.

  She shifted to her side, pulling her knees close, hugging the stability of her own flesh. She wanted it to be him. She wanted Alex to wrap his arms around her in this wonderful silken bed, in this fantastical place. She could be content then. With these people, in this keep, with the budding of a fabulous magic inside her. And Alex. Her heart cried out for Alex.

  “He’s your heartmate then,” Aloe surmised, walking through the evening shaded forest outside the keep. It was just the two of them and a frolicking Phoebe.

  The cub had gained no small amount of weight in the time they had been at Ashara’s keep. She had broadened and grown taller and the white fur was beginning to show the signs of spotting.

  Her tufted ears were growing taller and blackening about the edges. In another few months she would have most of her adult coloring.

  They were studying very little woodcraft. Just walking and enjoying the evening breeze and the peace of the forest.

  And the company. They were good company to each other. The sidhe and the human.

  “He’s my fiancée,” Victoria corrected.

  “What does that mean?” Aloe questioned and when Victoria explained, lifted a brow and commented. “You need vows of honor and binding to proclaim your love? How very uncertain you humans must be of each other. Here there are Soulmates and Heartmates. The one that was born to be your soul’s companion and the one that you make your heart’s companion. The one you can’t help. Fate makes that decision. The other is all up to you.”

  “Heartmate. Soulmate. Can you have both at once?”

  “In the same person? I suppose. Most likely not.”

  “Do you have a heartmate?”

  Aloe shrugged. “Not at the moment. Soulmate either. Not that I’ve found, although I suppose he’s out there somewhere. With my luck he’ll be a troll.”

  Victoria smiled. “I love Alex and I need him. Maybe he’s both for me.”

  “Maybe.” The sidhe sounded suddenly wary of the subject, her silver eyes followed the gulun guardedly.

  Victoria tightened her lips, wondering if Ashara had warned her off the subject.

  “I need to find him, Aloe,” she whispered. “You know that. If he is my heartmate – if it were your heartmate what would you do?”

  “I’d not be stupid,” the girl snapped.

  “I’d not storm off into a hostile situation without knowing what I was getting into.”

  “But I do know. Everyone has very kindly informed me just how dangerous and powerful the Dockalfar are.”

  “No, you do not know. You do not know one thing about them or the lands they control. You think the Alkeri’na was hard? The forests of the Desney range are terrible in comparison. His creatures roam that land and only His minions pass with immunity. I’ve been through those lands and let me tell you, it’s hard.”

  “You know where his keep is?”

  Aloe glared at her. “I know. And I’ll visit Annwn before I go there. So just forget it, Victoria!”

  ~~~

  The cub was in the courtyard outside the kitchen. The kitchen women made certain each day that she got choice meaty scraps, which were responsible in part for the thickness of Phoebe’s girth. Victoria worried that she was getting pudgy. But with one pat on that solid tummy, thoughts of fat were replaced by the suspicion that the gulun was going to be one muscular feline in short order. She was also a spoiled feline at present. It had taken a very short time for the idea of Phoebe being a ferocious forest predator to wear off and for her to become the favorite pet of the keep’s denizens.

  The kitchen women in particular.
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  Vera, the kitchen mistress was a lesser sidhe. Although the term ‘lesser’ meant very little here. It implied she was of a slightly different cast than the high sidhe.

  She was a bit shorter, her features were a little softer, more human almost, and the magic that sang in her blood stream was of a slightly different nature than that which coursed through the veins of her brethren.

  Victoria liked her immensely. The woman was down to earth, plain speaking and hard working. She took great pride in her kitchen and the preparations of the keep’s food. She reminded Victoria of her favorite aunt back home. Straight forward and full of practical advice.

  She sat across from Vera on a delicately carved kitchen bench, slicing a plum-like fruit into chunks that Vera would work into a light flaky bread. The manual, totally mundane work served quite well to occupy her hands while her thoughts traveled more serious paths. Vera and her crew were less judgmental companions than the upper ranks of the keep’s inhabitants. They offered little in the way of opinions on what she should or should not do, merely traded gossip and welcomed her into their midst unquestionably.

  She popped a chunk of fruit into her mouth, savoring the tangy/sweet flavor. Dramatically she sighed. It was becoming commonplace to wallow in her frustration.

  It drained the happiness out of being in this place.

  “What’s the matter, girl?” Vera ventured, pausing in the kneading of her dough. Her light eyes brimmed with curious sympathy. Victoria wondered how much of Ashara’s business or disagreements with her guests reached the common folk’s ears. What did they gossip about when she was not around?

  “Nothing,” she murmured, not wanting to hear one more person tell her how foolish she was being.

  “You’ve been moping,” Vera accused her. “You were happy enough when you first came here, but the last few days, a body can all but see the black cloud over your head.”

  Victoria drew a shaky breath. It was so hopeless, showing her heartbreak to the whole world, when no one would help her. When she did not know enough to help herself.