A chorus of shouts rose in the crowd, all crying out, thief! which drew everyone’s attention to a boy who was darting through the press of bodies, pursued by two angry men. Isiilde quickly checked her own purse, squeaking in dismay when she discovered it missing.
“Blast!”
“I wouldn’t worry.” Marsais withdrew her purse from his cloak, dangling it in front of her nose. “I reasoned that if I could snatch it then someone else would.” Marsais winked at her and the pouch disappeared beneath his cloak for safekeeping.
“Thank you, Marsais.”
“Hmm, I’ve never been thanked so nicely for pick-pocketing.” She gave him another bite.
“So what happened? I assume you know.”
“Of course, but you should make yourself comfortable, for it is a long tale.”
Isiilde did as he suggested, leaning against the tree trunk at her back, and settling in for a long story. She always loved listening to her master’s stories, he had the gentlest of voices, weaving a perfect picture for her mind.
“Faerie are disliked for various reasons that began long before the Shattering. During a time when faerie dominated most of the realm, a particular race stood above the rest, the Lindale. These were tall, lithe folk who were more numerous than humans. Imagine someone my height, but as beautiful as you with pointed ears, like the Kamberians.” Isiilde blushed at his compliment.
“For the most part, the Lindale lived side by side with man, tending to the Sylph’s beloved realm. It was not uncommon for men and faerie to take Oaths together, which is where the Kamberians stem from, but the bloodlines are very diluted these days. Some believed, long before the Shattering, that the Lindale were shaped with Fyrsta. That they were the oldest of the races. Whether that is true or not, I do not know, but they were the first to watch over the nymphs—the original Druids.
“Now, if there is one constant in all the realms and time, it is change. Over three thousand years ago, some of the faerie rebelled against their nature and became a twisted race who are now known as the Fey.” Before she could inquire further, he waved a hand.
“The story of the first Fey, Pyrderi Har’Feydd is a complicated tale and we mustn’t get too side-tracked if we are to address your question. The birth of the Fey was a start, one mistake among many. The beginnings of distrust and bitterness between humans and faerie were sown. Then to fan these flames of distrust, many of the Druids, for various reasons, joined Ramashan who as you know was once a Druid—a Druid who lusted after power. Either knowingly, or unknowingly many of his brethren helped him open the Gateway to the Nine Halls, inviting a horde of fiends into Fyrsta. The invaders nearly toppled the kingdoms of the realm.”
“Why would the Druids do such a thing?” Isiilde asked, tugging her cloak closer, warding against the chill creeping up her spine.
“The reasons are as numerous as the Druids who joined him, my dear,” Marsais answered, patiently. “Some of the Lindale believed that the humans were a threat, and wished to strengthen their position in the realm. Others foolhardily thought that Ramashan’s scheme would give them the means to protect their nymphs from those who coveted them. Still, some knew very well what Ramashan intended and the lure of power was a temptation that they could not ignore. Now, you are familiar with the tale of Ramashan, and the fiendish hordes that poured through the portal into Fyrsta?”
Isiilde quickly nodded, wishing she hadn’t asked about all these unpleasant things. Sometimes it was easier to ignore everything, but today was a rare day, and despite her fear she needed to know the truth of matters.
“It was a grim time, not only were the Fey wreaking havoc along with their twisted Fomorri creations, but now fiends were loose in Fyrsta, and the Void spread like a vile plague. The Sylph’s power—do not repeat this,” he warned quietly, as if there were ears in the rustling leaves overhead. “—was waning. The Sylph’s influence over this realm was diminishing by the day. She was losing ground to the Void. That is why she gave the Orb to the Keeper, and he appointed Guardians to watch over it. The Orb was an artifact of immense power. It held the very essence of life, the root of her power, and in this way her faithful could fight the Void in her stead.”
“But she’s an Eldar Goddess—the Goddess of All Realms.” There was more question than statement in the nymph’s words.
“The gods are not perfect, my dear,” he uttered, softly, “nor all powerful, and I ask that you not repeat my words to anyone, or we will both be swinging from the gallows. The Guardians of Iilenshar and Morchaint are worshipped as gods, however, they were once men and women like those around us.
“The only thing that separates a common man from a god is knowledge. Let us use our floating colleague Tulipin as an example. If he floated into a remote village, then he could very well be mistaken for a god, or worse, an unnatural fiend to the more primitive but no less intelligent tribes.”
“Yasimina told me that you show a blatant disregard for the younger gods, is that true?”
“I don’t worship them and—” Marsais paused, holding up a long finger to emphasize his next point. “there lies the root of confusion.”
A nearby fiddler began playing an energetic tune and the crowd formed a spontaneous circle around the peg-legged musician for dancing. The nymph forgot everything for a minute as she watched their complicated jigs, listened to their laughter, and basked in their joy until a voice inserted itself into her reverie.
“Am I boring you?” The voice brought her back to the present. The tips of her ears heated as she returned her attention to familiar grey eyes that were patiently inquiring.
“You never bore me, Marsais,” she said, gesturing for him to continue before applying herself to a warm honey roll. “But so much happiness should not be wasted.”
“I do agree,” Marsais smiled. “Shall we continue another day?”
“No, please continue, it was a small diversion and nothing more.”
“Diversions make life palatable. Now then, where was I?” Marsais mused, as he stole another bite. “Ah yes, evil spread, distrust and suspicion were rampant, and lines were drawn between races. The situation was ripe for chaos, and it fell from the vine when the Orb shattered. I can assure you, candy did not shoot out of the Orb when it broke.
“Powerful forces that had no direction, no conduit for control were unleashed. Even with the Gift, when it is used in error, an ill occurrence will result, but the effects of the shattered Orb were not limited to a few feet, it swept through the entire realm and beyond. Fyrsta was devastated; civilization as we knew it was brought to its knees, and afterwards—ground into dust, nearly extinguishing life in the process.
“When Dagenir, who as you know was a Guardian at the time, tried to steal the Orb, it shattered during his fight with Zahra, and they absorbed much of its power while the realm crumbled. But their meager shells could not contain this tremendous force, and they had to pass it on to the few Guardians who still lived, or be destroyed along with everyone else.
“Some of the Twelve, such as Shade, did not want the essence of the Orb running through their veins. A few Guardians fought it, but it was forced upon them. And at the same time there were those who desired its essence. Power is a dangerous thing, even more so when it is not earned. Sides were drawn. Dagenir and Zahra continued their fight at a time when mankind should have been licking their wounds, instead, war blazed across the brittle realm.
“Life was reduced to its basest needs, and those who lived were little more than animals, fighting ruthlessly for survival. It was a time of shadow and horror and those who retained a shred of decency often begged for death to rescue them. But humans are resourceful and despite their misery, their instincts for survival triumphed. Just when life was on the verge of being extinguished, the first ray of hope appeared: the Keeper, who was presumed dead, returned and erected the Gates with the last of his power, trapping Dagenir and the Guardians of Morchaint in the area we now know as the Bastardlands. Civilization began to reb
uild, but instead of a civilization built by the hands of faerie, it was one of man, of gnomes, and dwarves.
“Time passed and kingdoms began to sprout in the aftermath of war. Kambe and Kiln, which were formidable kingdoms before the Shattering, began to pick themselves up and dust off the ashes. Kings perched on thrones once again and this is when nymphs reentered the canvas of history. Out of all men, the Druids had fared best after the Shattering, because they were at home in the wilds. Even before the Shattering, many of them were hunted for the sins of their kin. They were already in hiding, and had taken their nymphs to remote forests, keeping them safe during the darkest days. As civilization spread, the Druids began to reappear.
“The so called wise, this Order included, remembered the Druids involvement with Ramashan. They saw them as a threat against the first timid stirrings of civilization, comparing them to Voidspawn and the fiends left over from Ramashan’s terror. This unwarranted fear and superstition consumed the populace. And this is where convenience enters the picture.
“Not everyone believed that the remaining Druids were evil. Most of those who aided Ramashan were either killed or cursed to roam the realms as one of the Blighted. But the witch hunt served a purpose, it was an excuse for the greater majority. You see, after the Shattering, women were in short supply, and without females, a tribe, a clan, an entire race will die. So when raiders attacked, or clans warred, they weren’t after gold or land, but the women. Fertile women were the difference between survival and annihilation, which made nymphs more than desirous commodities.
“So began the extermination. Hunting parties relentlessly pursued the Druids like animals and when they were slain, their nymphs were taken. Here comes an unforeseen problem. A man is possessive enough over a human woman, but nymphs were quite another matter. No man is immune to a nymph’s allure save her kin, and no man would willingly share his nymph. The hunters began fighting amongst themselves. Entire tribes, clans, armies, and kin slaughtered each other over possession of a single nymph.
“The newly formed Blessed Order recognized the danger that nymphs presented to budding civilizations. So with Iilenshar’s support, they seized every nymph they could find, intending to protect them from harm.
“Herein lies another unforeseen snare, because remember, no man is immune to a nymph. The paladins began with noble intentions, but they started taking the nymphs for themselves. Without their Druids, the poor creatures were lost—traumatized. They wanted the paladins no more than they wanted the men who had slaughtered their Druid, so the paladins forced themselves on the nymphs, just as other men had.
“As you know, the Blessed Order strictly forbids rape, so this became a grave issue among their ranks. When a paladin took a nymph against her will, the Law demanded his execution, for ignoring their own laws would weaken the very foundation of the Order.
“Damien Caal, one of the first paladins to dedicate his sword to Zahra, was not excluded from this group. By declaring them property, he killed two birds with one stone. They became creatures, not of human nature, and therefore had no rights in this new civilization of man. It’s also a common belief that a nymph’s only purpose and need in life is to bond with man and this philosophy eased the paladins’ conscience.
“People accepted this, especially when the wars stopped. A single man, under the Blessed Order’s watchful eye, could challenge a nymph’s current owner for possession. Two men dueled, and the victor won the nymph. Rulers no longer threw their armies at each other, because it became a matter of Law, and if they did, then they’d face the Guardian’s divine wrath.
“After the Law was established, only exceptionally formidable men could hope to possess a nymph, otherwise it was a death sentence. The Law also had an unforeseen benefit: in declaring nymphs property, it quenched some of the hunger for them. Children born of a nymph are not legitimate heirs, for there are no half-blooded nymphs, or males for that matter.
“Now we come to my answer for your question as to why people hide the past. In this case, it has to do with what the Guardians have become. Even the Guardians of Morchaint, though considered evil in these lands, are thought of as gods.”
“But the Guardians are faerie, some of them—Yvesa, the Guardian of Peace is a sprite,” she stated, as confused as before, if not more so.
“My dear,” Marsais interrupted, calmly, “a ruler has little control over his subjects. Take the temples dedicated to the Guardian of Love. Asmara is known as the Ever-child, because she hasn’t aged a day in mind or form since the Shattering. She’s a five-year-old little girl. Hmm, but her temples are nothing more than exceptionally exquisite pleasure houses. The virgin priestesses who offer themselves for temple service don’t remain virgins very long.”
“Really?” This surprised Isiilde. It was said that boundless blessings were bestowed on a family if their daughter was chosen for temple service. She wondered if their daughters knew what their service entailed.
“Yes, and I can assure you that Asmara has nothing to do with her temples, nor does she have any influence over her devotees, because where there is a desire in the masses—you can’t stop it, especially when it involves their gods. To openly admit that nymphs are the Sylph’s favored daughters calls into question the foundations of the Blessed Order and the very nature of the Guardians. The Order serves its purpose as peacekeepers, corruption not-withstanding, and above all they have brought order to chaos, stamping out Voidspawn and fiends where ever they appear. From the majorities point of view, the Order fights for justice. You just happen to see it from a different, more personal perspective.”
“That’s why it’s convenient,” she whispered, turning to watch the twirling dancers. Despite the festivities, she felt very much alone.
“Unfortunately,” Marsais sighed. “Most nymphs aren’t as outspoken as you—to be more precise, I have never met another nymph like you. For the vast majority, it’s convenient to overlook the rights of an innocent creature who knows no better.”
“I still don’t understand, Marsais. How can they claim to serve the Sylph?”
“Because they’re a bunch of thick-headed idiots.” Marsais’ perfect imitation of her growling guardian made her laugh with delight. “Come, my dear, I’ll wade into tedious detail later, but for now, this splendid festival is no place to try and understand such things.”
The nymph’s ears perked up and she thought his suggestion sounded very reasonable. She bit into a chocolate covered strawberry, which elicited a moan from her ripe lips, and after the first mouth-watering bite, Marsais’ words faded into memory.
Isiilde was eager to find the Xaionian troupe, so she dragged Marsais through the dancers, continuing their exploration until she was distracted by a fiddler who played a jig for a dapper monkey in a red vest. Delighted by its antics, she watched the monkey as it danced and tumbled obediently for its audience.
“If I could be any animal, then I’d choose to be a monkey.” She imagined that every moment seemed better than the next to the long tailed creatures. “What about you?”
“Hmm, what do you think I’d like to be?”
“A goose.”
“Oh, is my singing that bad?” Marsais arched a brow down at her.
“I read that they fly the farthest every year. If you were a goose then you wouldn’t get restless,” she pointed out.
“I sincerely doubt I could ever settle on just one animal. I’d have to try them all before choosing.”
“Even a vulture?” She wrinkled her nose in distaste.
“Vultures don’t have predators—not so bad, that. It’d be a fairly safe form to assume,” he said, stroking his goatee. “On second thought, if I were a vulture, I’d have to compete with Thira.” Isiilde’s laughter danced with the fiddler’s jig. The air was charged with her unbridled joy, bringing a smile to each and every face as their cares dissipated, forgotten and obscured by the dreamy haze of her voice.
The nymph was oblivious to her persuasion. As she moved throu
gh the fair, out of earshot, a ripple followed her. People shook themselves, waking from a dream with a pang of sorrow, discovering that the world was a darker place.
Isiilde’s desire to find the Xaionian performers overshadowed her curiosity, and while at any other time she would have stopped to visit every booth, today, she wove her way through the chaos, searching for exotic wonders. Unfortunately, the clash of steel and roaring crowds reached her ears first.
“Do you want to go to the tourney?” she asked, hesitantly.
Oenghus usually dragged her to every tournament that took place on the Isle, and while duels to the death were only fought for personal reasons or matters pertaining to Law, the tournament rules called for first blood. Watching such displays sickened her.
“Hmm, I’ve seen more than enough men knocking their heads together in my lifetime, but if you want to go, then I certainly won’t stop you.”
“I think I’ll pass too.” Her ears straightened when she saw a familiar face beneath a canopied pavilion. It was a shop that sold weapons and armor forged by master crafters of the Order. But Sir Helwick, a famed swordsmith, wasn’t the one who caught the nymph’s eye, rather a young, bronzed man with broad shoulders held her attention.
She hurried over to the shop with a flutter of excitement. The moment they stepped under the awning, Sir Helwick recognized Marsais and excused himself from his customer to greet them.
“It’s an honor, Archlord,” Sir Helwick said, clasping Marsais’ hand with a brief bow of his head. He was a short bald man with the physique of a keg and a strut of a bulldog whose handshake made Marsais grimace in pain. “I didn’t know you were back.”
“I returned yesterday,” Marsais replied.
Whatever else they might have said was lost to the nymph’s ears. She wandered off towards a certain young man with brown hair, soft eyes, and a sincere smile. He sensed the nymph’s approach, and his conversation with a customer stuttered to a halt.
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