by Justin Rose
“We’ll know when we get there.”
They were both silent for a while, and then Ariel pointed to the carvings that covered the cave walls. “This city is old,” she said, “older than the goblins and the Iris. Perhaps older than the City of Youth. No goblin carved these walls.”
Reheuel nodded. “Minotaurs most likely. Been centuries since man had any dealings with the brutes. No telling how long that one has been chained down here.”
Ariel stood on the edge of the canoe and ran her fingers over a carving of a river nymph as they passed. “They were a noble people,” she said. “Their lives were counted in centuries rather than decades, and the world was a marvelous place under their rule, full of splendors forgotten by song. Their temples stood on pillars of diamond wood with minarets of steel and altars carved from living stone.”
“You were there with the minotaurs?” Reheuel asked, forgetting, as he often did, just how old his companion truly was.
She nodded. “From their rise to their fall. They had a dream while they ruled. They called it Elkinaugh: an eternal kingdom passed down through their lineage, to last till the sun burnt out and Time unfurled the final second of its strand. But here they are, slobbering beasts chained in the caves of an inferior race. They, whose cities were the wonders of the world.”
“No wonder lasts forever,” Reheuel said softly, driving his pole deep into the murk beneath their craft.
“I thought my city would last for eternity,” Ariel said. “But why should it last when Elkinaugh fades? Why should I cling to youth’s innocence if it is only going to shatter?”
“Perhaps because passing beauties still bless passing lives,” Reheuel replied.
The light reflecting from the carvings dimmed then as the walls ahead of the canoe gave way to the great cavern through which they had entered the goblin city. Reheuel dropped the pole into the water and lifted his dagger.
Ariel grasped the tear, and it slowly brightened, the circle of its light racing across the cavern floor to meet the flow of sunlight filtering over the outer gates. The cavern was empty aside from the small flotilla of canoes still bumping against the bridge. Reheuel sheathed his dagger, leapt ashore, and ran for the nearest stair, letting himself out over the rough wooden wall.
It was a warm morning outside, muggy with the mist of the previous day’s downpour; but the fresh air still provided a welcome change from the stale cold of the caves. He felt each breath fill his body with new strength as he strode from the gates. It would take him two more days to reach Gath Odrenoch, but as he felt then, the prospect seemed a mere stroll.
Chapter 11
Hefthon sat late into the night, resting on a hilltop near the edge of the Blue Hills. Despite Tressa’s desire to keep moving, they had eventually stopped to sleep. But Hefthon stayed up, watching the horizon. Far off to the north, the sky glowed orange. A thick pillar of smoke, a darker shade of night’s black, grew from the center of the glow, drawing the firelight back into the surrounding darkness. Hefthon gripped his sword hilt tightly and trembled with the ache of inaction. Twice now he had been cut off from the battle and left to guard against phantom fears while others faced true danger. Gath Odrenoch burned, and he lay safe and secure in a bed of bluebarrels.
No doubt his brother was there—Toman, and Kezeik, and Deni. They were all there doing their duty. And here was Hefthon, left to the defense of those farthest removed from danger. He imagined those who were dying in the city, his friends and their families burning and bleeding. He wished in that moment that he could take all their pain on himself, that he could suffer so deeply and violently that all of those in Gath Odrenoch could be spared their share of fate’s chastisement. He wished that he could be there to aid them, to protect his city. A sob crept upward from his breast, and he choked as he stifled it.
He clenched his fists before him and bowed his forehead to the ground, praying to Curiosity to protect his family and his city, begging for forgiveness for his absence. His body shuddered silently with grief and bottled energy. He wanted to run, to smash, to scream, to tear something apart and trample it into the earth. He should have been there, should have went with Geuel to where he was needed.
The orange glow in the distance caught his eye once more as he lay there, drawing him upright. He knew that one more man would likely make little difference in the battle that raged beneath that glow, but knowledge hardly lessened his need to make what small difference he could.
He thought back to his promise to Ariel. He had known what it meant when he made it. The sacrifice of all chance at glory or fame. His life would be a mere pretense of soldiery, the guarding of a city that had gone for centuries unmolested. But he loved the Fairy City, loved it more than all the wonders of his own people combined. It was a place of purity and innocence untainted by time. And the sight of the fairies bleeding, of innocence shattered, had struck him so deeply that the loss of his own dreams seemed a mere pittance in exchange for its protection. He had meant his promise. But as he watched Gath Odrenoch burn, he wondered whether he could live with it.
He turned away from the glow in the north and ended his prayer, looking back to Tressa and Veil. They slept about ten yards off, curled in their wool blankets beneath a solitary white pine. They looked so peaceful in sleep, worlds apart from the warfare and flames in the north.
He remembered then the reason he had wanted so desperately to protect the Fairy City. Even after a thousand years of safety, it had taken just one day for the city to burn. Just one day for all of that peace to be shattered. Any moment that the innocent went unprotected was an opportunity for their suffering. And even if he spent his entire life and only raised his sword once, that one moment would be worth a life spent waiting.
Perhaps, in guarding his family, he had missed his chance for glory and action. Perhaps he would never raise his sword in their defense. But even still, if there was any chance of his presence securing their safety, did that not justify his defense?
He returned to the shelter of the pine and lay down to sleep, his face turned to the north. His eyes finally closed with the glow of Gath Odrenoch haunting his sight.
Tressa was the first to wake in the morning. She rolled up her blanket and pulled some roasted partridge from her pack, dividing it into portions for the morning meal. As she gathered the canteens, she caught sight of smoke in the distance. Thinner than it had been when Hefthon watched it in the night but still a discernible streamer, tickling the belly of the dawn sky.
She sighed and cast up a prayer for her husband and son. She had been a mere girl the first time Gath Odrenoch burned, younger than Veil. But still the sight of the smoke brought back dark memories: the scent of charred wood overhead as she cowered beneath the floorboards of her family’s kitchen. Her mother had dragged her into their tiny pantry and slammed the trapdoor above them, clamping her hand tightly over her daughter’s mouth.
Tressa could almost taste her mother’s sweat again as she remembered a palm pressed between her lips. She could almost hear her mother’s frantic, whispered assurances, meant to drown out the screams from outside and the wild laughter of the goblins.
Hefthon sat up and trudged over to her, squatting down to take his meal. “Saw the smoke?” he asked.
Tressa nodded. “Brings back memories.”
“Started just after midnight.
Veil sat up then and raked her matted hair out of her eyes. “What started?” she asked.
Hefthon pointed to the north. “Fire,” he said.
“Is that—home?” Veil asked, her eyes moistening.
Tressa nodded. “Save your tears, Veil. We need to travel.”
They set out half an hour later, enjoying the clear, lawn-like fields of the Blue Hills after their long trudge through forests and field grass. They made decent time that day and stopped about a third of the way across. The next morning, they set out once more and made it about three quarters of the way across. The next day would bring them out of the Blue Hills, pas
t the spot where Hefthon and Veil had sought a glimpse of the Fairy City mere weeks before. The Hills were high here, and even Gath Odrenoch in the Gath foothills lay below them. It was still hidden though, shielded behind miles of hills and forest. They filled their canteens in a narrow stream between two of the hills and made camp beside its banks. Hefthon slept fitfully, all too aware that Gath Odrenoch lay a mere two days further north.
* * *
Like fire on an open wound. That’s how it felt at first. The realization came hazily, a detached recognition of pain. And then the pain morphed. It was narrower now, sharp like the sting of a needle . . . actually . . . exactly like the sting of a needle.
“Ouch!” Geuel awoke with a start, sitting up and striking his head on the bunk above him. He grunted and fell back onto the mattress, feeling a sharp tug in the flesh of his chest as he did so. He glanced down and saw, hazily, a needle and thread growing out of his ribs. He blinked a few times and let his eyes adjust. The needle was moving again by the time he could see properly, descending to enter his chest. It was held by Toman’s sister, and a bottle of alcohol lay on a table beside the bunk.
He held still as she finished sewing and gradually took in his surroundings. He was in the barracks. He could tell that by the tattered flag hanging on the far wall. The room seemed brighter though than he remembered. It took him several seconds to realize why. A massive section of the roof in the southeast corner had collapsed, burned in the previous night’s battle.
After Toman’s sister had tied off her stitches, Geuel pulled his shoulders against the headrest and sat up a little. “What happened, Mara?” he asked, “last night? How’d it end?”
“The goblins broke shortly after the fairies arrived,” Mara replied. “They scattered.”
“And Toman?” Geuel asked. “I lost him during the battle. And Kezeik and Deni?”
“Toman’s fine,” she said, stifling a grin. “He was wounded twice, but he couldn’t be happier. Tells the story to anyone who’ll listen. Deni’s fine too. He sent father out to find your family.”
Geuel chuckled. “I’m sure Toman will be stepping high for a while now. But—what about Kezeik?”
Mara shook her head. “They found his body this morning. That old dog brought them with its howls.” She choked up slightly. “The Smoke Fairies dropped him from the air.”
Geuel closed his eyes and let his head slide back into the mattress. He felt the needle enter the flesh in his arm and stayed still once more. He thought back over a thousand drills repeated under Kezeik’s liquid gaze, of the rare moments when some spark of pride would show in those eyes and Geuel would feel more a man than he ever had in his life. It was as if part of Geuel’s reality had just disappeared, the whole world shifting to some unfamiliar form.
“The flag?” Geuel asked quietly as Mara worked, “did the flag stay planted?”
“Yes, it’s there,” she replied, “Deni says they found you at its base.”
“And Randiriel? Have you heard what happened to her?”
“The fairy leader?” Mara asked. “Yes, she and Deni were talking in the gatehouse last I knew.”
Geuel nodded. He slid his clean arm beneath his pillow and relaxed. Before long, he drifted to sleep again and Mara finished her work. He awoke hours later and found himself alone. Around the room the light groans of the wounded and the quiet voices of those nursing them were the only sounds. He felt little real pain, but his body ached all over. His chest especially felt deeply sore, and he could barely move his arm.
He lay still for several minutes and then saw a tiny green figure flit through the barracks door. He lifted an arm and beckoned to her. Randiriel saw him, and even at a distance, he could tell she was smiling. She flew to his bedside and rested on the edge of the table. “How do you feel?” she asked, leaning back on her palms and smiling.
“Fi—” Geuel shrugged and winced at the movement, “decent given the circumstances.”
“We did it,” Randiriel said. “We bled for the Iris.”
“And would you bleed again?” Geuel asked.
“I would. I’ve never felt a reason for living like I did last night.”
Geuel smiled. “I would too. There’s something beautiful in that symbol.” Geuel paused. “How were your losses?”
“Heavy,” Randiriel replied, sobering, “seven score dead. We can’t count the goblins because their bodies dissipate. But Deni believes they lost two hundred.”
“I’m sorry,” Geuel said. “But thank you, thank you for coming.”
Randiriel smiled sadly. “It was our fight too.”
“At least with all the goblins here Father may have found the Tear. You can still rebuild.”
“No, Ariel can rebuild,” Randiriel replied. “I’m done with the City of Youth. Those who came with me will find their own places now.”
“And you,” Geuel asked, “where’s your place?”
“I don’t know. I thought that I would travel, see the world with my new eyes, learn its beauties now that I appreciate their cost. There was another fairy, Rylen. We might have traveled together. But—he’s gone now. Perhaps I’ll fly to the Capital and see the first Iris. I’ve never seen the Crystal City.”
Geuel smiled. “I am bound there myself one day as a conscript. Perhaps we will meet in her streets and reminisce about tonight’s battle.”
Randiriel smiled. “I would welcome it, my friend.”
* * *
Reheuel traveled continually for a day and night after leaving the goblin city, fearing to stop in the darkness so near their home. Ariel lit his path, and he made decent time despite exhaustion. By midnight, his eyelids hung like weights and his breathing had grown ragged. But still he moved on, supporting himself on a young poplar staff he had carved in the night.
When morning came, he slept for a few hours in a clearing of ferns and then set out once more for Gath Odrenoch, anxious to see the fate of his city. He had been in the caves when the battle ended and had not seen the dispersion of lights as the goblins fled the city, flashing out in tiny clouds to every point of the compass, leaderless and aimless. If he had, perhaps he would not have worried as deeply for his people. But the cloak of his station hung heavily on his shoulders. All he could think of was how he would survive the guilt if he had outlived his city.
Night was falling when he reached the city gates. He approached quietly through the woods, his heart sinking as he saw the charred ruins of the walls, the holes where the log beams had collapsed away altogether. But as he neared the gate, he saw a human sentry in the tower, recognizing him as the town cobbler. “Garreth!” he called, walking out onto the road. “Open the gate, man.”
The old man’s head jerked upright, and his spear clattered against his helmet as he came to attention. He had clearly been dozing. He looked down into the road and laughed. “Captain Reheuel! Good welcome to you, Sir! There’s someone here who’ll certainly be glad to see you.” He ran down the gatehouse stairs then and began turning the wheel to open the gate. Reheuel could have simply stepped a few feet from the road and entered through a large section of missing wall. But somehow it seemed less dignified than to use the gate. The gate was a sign of security, a sign that man still controlled the doings in Gath Odrenoch.
After Reheuel had entered and helped Garreth close the gate, Garreth led him and Ariel to the barracks. “He’s right in here, Captain,” Garreth said, pointing to a nearby bunk. He tipped his helmet as he backed out. “Now I’d best be getting back to the wall.”
Geuel looked up from the bed where he was sitting with a bowl of beef stew. “Father!” he cried.
Randiriel, who was sitting on the bed’s headboard, looked up quickly and nodded at Ariel, unsure of what to expect.
Reheuel pulled the Tear from his pack and approached his son. “Still a brash old man?” he asked, laughing.
“Beautiful, brash old man,” Geuel replied, standing and putting his arms around him. The stitches in his chest and arm strained as he
did so, but he hardly cared. It was worth it to feel his father’s warmth in his arms. “I’m proud, Father,” he said.
Reheuel clapped his back. “And I of you. Looks like you’ve had quite the ordeal here. Where’s your mother? And your brother and sister?”
“They’re not here yet,” Geuel said. “I ran ahead. It’s fine though. Deni sent a rider to find them. And they have Hefthon.”
Reheuel nodded. “You’ve done well. Tell me, how are our losses?”
“They don’t have an exact number yet. Many are missing. Not all made it into the city. But it looks like a hundred and fifty people all told.”
Reheuel dropped his face into his hands and sank down onto his son’s bunk. “A hundred and fifty?” he asked, staring at the floor, “to goblins?”
“Not goblins exactly,” Geuel replied. “The people are calling them smoke fairies. They’re something new.”
“Deni and Kezeik?” Reheuel asked.
“Deni’s alive. He’s organizing things now. Kezeik, they found him yesterday morning. He didn’t make it . . . None of us would have made it if it hadn’t been for the fairies.”
Ariel, who had been silent until then, glanced up. “Why?” she asked.
“Your weapons worked better against them than ours,” Geuel said. “Your people helped win the battle.”
Ariel turned to Randiriel. “You led our people to this?” she asked.
“Only those that wished to come, those lost to youth already—like me.”
Ariel placed her hand on Randiriel’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Rand,” she said, “I’m sorry for what you’ve lost.”
“I’m not,” Randiriel replied.
Reheuel turned to Randiriel. “Thank you,” he said, wishing that he could shake her hand or clap her on the back. “We owe you a great deal.”
Geuel leant back against the headboard then and started eating again. “So, Father,” he asked, “what will we do about the conscripts?”
Reheuel sighed. “The Emperor will still want them. But that can wait. Gath Odrenoch is hardly a pin prick on his map. No one will care if our conscripts come a few months late. For now we’ll rebuild.”
