by Gavin Green
Eire of Mystery
(Version 1.1)
Book two of the Eire series
By Gavin Green
Copyright 2013 (2016) Gavin Green
Also by the author:
Eire of Intrigue (book one of the Eire series)
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events are purely fictional. Any resemblance to real people or situations is purely coincidental, and in some cases, wishful thinking.
Dedication
First, to Connie, Stacey, and Sue; although listed alphabetically, you're all equally sound dames in my book.
Secondly, to my dog, Koda; I never would have finished this without your continuing desire to sleep.
Chapter 1
Past
Suntanned feet luxuriated in the cool, clear brook, originating from spring run-off of the surrounding peaks. Saraid - sometimes known as the Moon Maiden, or Saraid of the Moon Glade - sat on a low, flat stone in relaxed pose, her diaphanous gown softly fluttering in the shaded midday breeze. Long hair down to her hips, in shades from white to hunter green, lifted with the lazy air currents that the small mountain valley provided.
Saraid sat in the heart of a grove of white birches, just one of many such places she'd laid claim to as a haven. She was a dryad, and an elder of the fae. Unlike with mortals, those with greater age from the lands of Lore only grew in power and ability, and some physical aspects were a matter of choice. Saraid's appearance in the Verden - the lands of mortals - was hardly altered; a maiden of shapely young maturity and unearthly beauty, and she had used those captivating tools on many occasions.
Usually given to enjoying simple pleasures and beauty in natural forms, Saraid was also vindictive to those mortals who would threaten her havens or damage nature for petty means. She was also known to be haughty to humans and some fae alike, wielding her potent gifts to make a point or get her way when reasoned that opposition would yield.
With her wisdom, abilities, and certain attitudes, Saraid had been offered and accepted one of the Nine Seats indefinitely. The Seats formed the Circle of Prudence, the governing body that upheld and enforced the few laws that most fae found necessary. That prestigious responsibility did not overly intrude upon Saraid's time, so she had ample opportunities to concern herself with other matters.
The particular haven of white birches that Saraid relaxed in was in the new Americas, in the eastern Rocky Mountain range. A burgeoning township was not far off, sitting on the edge of the foothills, and it was mostly from there that many human defilers of nature still ventured from. It was the Verden year of 1881, and Saraid could finally relax after years of deflecting infiltrators clawing at the earth in search of gold and silver. A few still came and went, but the madness of the Pike's Peak onslaught had been over for over a decade.
She was able to turn many away during that harsh time, fogging minds against discoveries or hiding entire mineral veins. Saraid also used physical wiles to lure miners away from their destructive fervor; some of them led to madness, and a few others brought back to the Lore as pets and servants. Overall, she decided, it could have been much worse without her intervention.
Saraid was watching two dragonflies swirl in an aerial dance when she heard a lone human approach. Unmoving from her position, yet hidden from his mundane sight, Saraid inspected the man as he came into her haven. He knelt to fill a water skin from the small stream as dappled sunlight played over him. Long and lean, weathered face and hair like fine straw, the man cut a fairly handsome figure, if a bit rugged and roughly hewn. He carried none of the trappings of a digger, nor of a trapper, yet still wore iron in the forms of a rifle, a pistol, and a knife.
Saraid felt the dangerous presence of that blade immediately; hand-wrought iron weapons were potentially lethal to any foolish or unlucky in-realm fae. Still, she knew that he could be pleasantly coerced to set his weapons aside. Furthermore, Saraid felt like having a pleasurable diversion, and the man looked capable enough.
It was all too easy to intoxicate the man with amorous desires and pangs of unrealized hopes. He must have been a lonely sort to have been so easily clouded. After planting a suggestion that he discard his gear and weapons, Saraid joined him in-realm, pressing her curvaceous figure against the tall, soul-starved man. They danced and spun as she led him through the white birches, where a fae bridge connected the haven to her home in the Lore.
Saraid smiled seductively at the man as they swayed and twirled, whispering dreams into his fevered mind, luring him deeper until he became lost in the dryad's beauty and hedonistic promises. They danced and kissed and laughed, slowly fading, until they disappeared from the face of the earth.
Under the hypnotic Lore skies, on a bed of dream-soft grass, Saraid seduced the human and indulged herself with his desires. She was impressed with his vigor and endurance, and allowed his human body temporary intermissions before continuing with his amorous attentions. It was during those brief respites that she learned more of him and his tale. Not that she was truly interested, but Saraid thought to learn more in order to decide his fate.
His name was Simon. He had no kin or progeny, and few friends. His skills were of a creative sort, but he worked with metals. Even in his delirium, Simon had an undertone of being morose and independent. There was no good place in Saraid's court for one such as him, and so she eventually returned Simon back to the Verden.
Saraid knew by the telling of the trees that over a century had passed in the time of mortals, as would occasionally happen; time in the Lore didn't always follow the same universal laws as it did in the Verden. Sometimes only a few moments would pass between the planes, and other times decades flew by. Saraid saw no reason to mention it after she released Simon from his induced delirium. He was only human, and less than significant in her eyes - a toy to be played with.
The man's first concerns were for his gear, which had all disappeared with the exception of his pistol. It was half-buried in the rocky mud of the brook, completely rusted through and slowly disintegrating. In his rage, Simon cussed Saraid, referred to her as an ugly demon, and said rather disparaging comments about her erotic performance and sexual capabilities. She knew the words to be audacious lies, of course, but slanderous nonetheless.
Suffering no insult from a mere mortal, Saraid called to nature, which snared Simon with vines and branches to hold him in place. She approached the struggling human, letting him calm as he stared into the face of otherworldly indignation.
"Since you are without kin," she said with a soft but cold voice, "especially in this new age, I afflict you thus: All of mankind will only see the worst of you. Only the basic of necessities will your society allow, and even then not without trial or tribulation. Your only escape from the bane of mankind is with the interaction with one of your own bloodline. With dilution of your blood will come apathy, and those of thin blood will see you as others do. Only those with strong enough bonds, should there be any, will see beyond the curse and thus free you of it. As balance, should you break the curse before your mortal demise, you will be granted favor with what you desire most at the time of your release. Without siblings or heirs, may luck be on your side, although I grant you none. Let it be done and so."
Saraid looked up into Simon's stricken face and captured his light eyes with her own violet gaze. She then fogged his mind of their encounter in its entirety. He would only remember hiking into the mountains, resting, and waking into a new world, perhaps remembering vague dreams of a beautiful woman and passion, if only to torment him.
Still in a stupor, Simon was released from his bindings and led like a sleepy child out of the white birch grove by the dryad. Gently commanded to rest against a boulder not far off, Saraid smiled vindictively as the human settle
d against the rock and closed his eyes. When Simon Rike woke from his nap, his world would be a memory, with only confusion and fiery spite to replace it.
