“You’re unconscious and a prisoner of the Order of the Kehryhor,” the goddess with golden wings explains, her ebony dress giving the illusion of merging with her matching hair. She sighs when her other siblings join them on the bed and flank Luke, the one with amber skin and red hair clinging to his arm. “We are the Four Sisters who control the seasons . . . amongst other things. I am Lady Yuki of Winter and the guardian of families. The well-behaved goddess to my left is Lady Raku of Spring and the beloved patron goddess of the fae. Finally, the two who are attempting to have their way with you are the Envious Lady Nekki of Summer and the Lustful Lady Aiko of Autumn. Would you two stop toying with the mortal? This may be a vision, but you’re coming very close to breaking the Law of Influence.”
“As the Goddess of Lust, I’m allowed to play with mortals in visions,” Aiko replies, leaning forward to run her tongue around Luke’s pointy ear. The shudder of pleasure from the warrior makes the deity coo, her glow becoming stronger. “You should be happy that I’m behaving as well as I am. Especially with the greedy copycat over here. Do you ever have an original thought, Nekki?”
“He’s cute and I want a turn,” the crimson-haired goddess declares before hastily imitating her sister’s actions. She pouts when she does not get the same response and slides off the bed to sulk in a corner. “Just tell him the message and we can go. Gabriel wants us to report to him before nightfall. Can somebody stop her?”
Her dewdrop dress sending rainbows around the room, Raku silently crawls across the bed and grabs her amorous sister by the arm. Growing gossamer, dragon-style wings, the stronger goddess carries Aiko to a chair and drops her on the soft cushion. When the Spring Deity turns around, her mischievous sibling wiggles her hands toward the bed. The canopied furniture transforms into a bubbling bathtub and the clothes of the remaining occupants dissolve into a fine mist. The Lust Goddess strips and slides into the soothing water, rolling her eyes when Nekki follows suit. Both of them smirk at Yuki, the Winter Goddess using the steam pouring off her body to retain her decency. When Raku steps into the water and her dress flows across the basin, her older sister sighs and lets herself be seen by the mortal.
“This is rather uncomfortable,” Luke admits, sinking down to his chin. He uses his hands to cover himself as he floats out of Aiko’s reach. “I probably shouldn’t argue with goddesses. If you put me under stress in here, does it do anything to my body? I was pretty mangled when the Order found me and I doubt it could take the strain.”
“Oh, he’s willing. Too bad we don’t have any time or privacy,” Aiko says with an impish smile. She floats toward the half-elf and hugs him from behind, putting out her hand to lock Nekki in place. “Maybe another day, young man, if I can find an excuse. I do wedding nights and anniversaries. Keep that in mind if you survive the finale. So, who plans on telling him our message?”
“You can tell how often we get to leave Ambervale even with visions,” Yuki says, leaning back and closing her eyes. Keenly aware of the mortal’s presence, she licks her lips to taste the energy that wafts off his skin. “My sisters and I came from the Feykin before they were called as such. Now there is something evil within their core and we need you to cleanse them. All we ask is that you be strong and patient. Do not give in to the Order, but do not ignore what they will say. You will understand when you wake up and open your ears.”
Refusing to be left out, Nekki swims over to the tense forest tracker and pulls him away from Aiko. “There will be a severe hardship that you all must face. I’m jealous because I miss such challenges. Maybe you can pray to me, so I can watch. Leave the other gods and goddesses out of this since they aren’t special enough. All you need is my guidance.”
“Thanks, but I’ve a feeling I should pray to as many of you as I can remember,” Luke replies while escaping the frowning goddess’s hands. He yelps when Aiko wraps her arms and legs around him, her teeth nibbling at his neck. “Does she do this in every vision? I can understand her followers going along with this, but I’m not one of them.”
“I’m a slave to my desires. The curse of my position and punishment for being such a naughty mortal,” the Lust Goddess whispers before releasing the warrior. She blows him a kiss and returns the bed to its original form along with Luke’s clothing. “I believe we’re done here, sisters. My hunger needs to be quenched and this one isn’t being playful.”
“Please remember our words and hold back your more reckless ideas,” Yuki says, her ebony dress back on her body. She takes the hands of Raku and Nekki, the latter clasping Aiko by the wrist. “We no longer have any blood within the mortal world, but we see all fae and Feykin as our children. All of our hopes are on you, Luke Callindor, because there is something blocking us from observing Rhundar. As the only champion currently outside of the city, you are the only agent that we have.”
“No pressure,” Nekki states while she sprouts wings of silk.
With a shudder, Aiko releases her gorgeous wings of autumnal colors and winks at the open-mouthed mortal. A strange breeze drifts through the windows, its temperature changing every second. The sisters raise their hands and fly above the bed, their ethereal shine becoming brighter. A burst of light washes away the chamber and plunges Luke into a darkness where he cannot see his own body. There is a dull ache throughout his muscles, the sensation turning into pain when he tries to move. It takes him a minute to realize that he is awake, but his eyes are clamped shut.
“Where am I now?” Luke asks as he tries to sit up. His vision swims while he takes in the sight of a black stone dungeon. “This is more believable. Though I’m suddenly missing that touchy feely goddess right now.”
“I assume you were visited by the Four Sisters,” a voice says from the corner. Wearing the tattered remains of an ivory robe, a woman with glass-like wings and sun-licked skin steps out of the shadows. “You’re not a Feykin, but I sense you have been touched by our part of Windemere’s pantheon. Being one of their loyal followers, I know that means more than a simple conversation. You were kissed by one of them, which explains the shine on your lips. I used to be a priestess in Rhundar, which is why the Order keeps me alive. They think I can be used against the Four Sisters who they consider abominations. Who are you?”
“My name is Luke Callindor and I’m a forest tracker who was run out of the city,” the half-elf answers, cautiously watching his cellmate. Voices ring out from the other cells, the hundreds of prisoners responding to the appearance of a guard. “Guessing it’s more than one person to a room in here. Though I’m surprised they put me in such a basic cell. The woman who took me made it sound like I was a special prisoner.”
“That’s why you’re with me,” the Feykin states, inching closer to the young man. She reaches out with filthy hands to touch his face, a few shimmering tears trickling down her accented cheeks. “It’s been months since I interacted with someone other than members of the Order. You’re very beautiful and I can sense a great strength within your spirit. Though I feel I should be saying spirits. That must be why they reinforced the barriers around this cell. They have recently begun kidnapping shamans, which your energy reminds me of. What message did the Four Sisters deliver to you?”
“I was told to be patient and stay strong.”
“That is good advice when one is captured.”
“I’m sorry, but do you have a name?”
The embarrassed woman releases Luke’s face and bows so low that her short, blonde hair touches the floor. “My name is Zohara and I am the High Priestess of the Four Sisters. At least I was until I went to bed and woke up here nearly six months ago. Can you tell me what is happening within Rhundar? Does anybody miss me?”
9
The small force of Feykin ready their weapons as they stand above a circular valley that is fringed with winding mist. The midday sun does little to break through the hazy curtain that hangs in the warm air. Apple trees cover most of the area, the sea of branches and leaves only breaking for a solitary lake on the orchar
d’s eastern side. A shadowy beast can be seen taking a drink, but it lumbers out of view before the nervous invaders can get a clear look. Black parrots and frilled hornbills hop around the canopy in search of berries and nuts that are entwined with the treetops. The birdsongs are mournful and lilting, which matches the eerie atmosphere that becomes more blood-chilling by the second. A herd of short-antlered deer roam through the interior of the valley, their gray bodies blending with the thicker parts of the fog to give them a spectral appearance. Their darting movements put the Feykin on edge since the warriors are unsure if a shadow is a deer, a predator, or a ghost.
“Do you see any guards?” Sari asks as she stands next to Dariana. The women glance back at the ten jittery hunters who are waiting for orders. “It’s strange that the Order didn’t leave anyone to guard this place. It must mean there are traps and monsters in there. I’ll go first while you take up the rear. Fizzle can watch us from above.”
“You should have brought more people,” Dariana replies while stretching her legs. She pauses with her foot above her head, a malevolent laugh tickling her mind. “Something evil and tortured is down there. The two of us and Fizzle are strong, but I worry that the Feykin will be easy prey. Strength in numbers would have been a helpful phrase to live by, Sari. Was getting here before Delvin reached the prison so important that you put us in great risk?”
“I only said that to annoy him,” the gypsy admits with a smirk. A sharp whistle causes the spear-wielding men and women to jump, their booted heels clapping together in unison. “The truth is that I didn’t think we needed an army for this. We only have to reach the middle, set some fires, and retreat. At least I took a group that has been fighting together for years. They’ll be more than enough.”
“Fizzle not like this,” the drite states, the scent of apples making him drool. A howl drifts from the orchard, so he responds with a booming roar. “We not wanted. Trees give warning. Animals on edge. No sure why. Fizzle worried.”
Sari pats the drite on the head and smiles, her cold eyes not joining in the comforting expression. “It’s because they know why we’re here. These things have been trained or summoned by the Order to protect the orchard. They probably sense our intent, which means we’ll be depending on you to protect us from above. Let’s go before it starts getting dark and we find ourselves at a disadvantage.”
With their Queen leading the way down the fern-covered incline, the Feykin march in pairs and keep their attention on the orchard. Hidden rocks cause the warriors to stumble, which ruins their neat formation by the time they get halfway to their target. One of them is unfortunate enough to step into a rabbit hole, which causes her to fall beneath the ferns. For several agonizing seconds, the woman’s allies search for her and worry that they are already under attack. When she reappears a few yards ahead of Sari, the warrior sheepishly limps back to her place in line. From that point on, the Feykin use their spears to test the ground in front of their feet. It makes their progress a lot slower, but they feel better about not having to worry about twisted ankles and broken legs.
Taking up the rear, Dariana tucks her hands into her pockets and puts on the façade of someone who is completely calm. There is a familiar psychic pattern in the valley that the telepath struggles to place, but the answer repeatedly eludes her. Glancing at Fizzle, she can sense that he shares her anxiety and uncertainty about the situation. The way he flies is jerky and the drite sporadically changes altitude as if he is unsure of what he should do. Only Sari exudes real confidence and excitement, the gypsy dreaming about laying waste to the orchard. It is a blind, disturbing happiness that makes Dariana even more worried about what they are walking into.
His tail straightening behind him, a sudden thickening of the air causes Fizzle to dive at the procession and tackle Sari to the ground. A blast of razor-edged mist lances out of the foggy barrier, which transforms into a domed shell that encompasses the orchard. More of the projections erupt from the aggressive shield, which drives the Feykin back. Taking up the rear, the injured woman is unable to keep up with her friends and is impaled through the head. A clawed hand bursts from the end of the lance and yanks the body into the mist where it is dissolved. Sari and Fizzle struggle to dodge the attacks, the pair moving backwards to keep an eye on the incoming spikes. Landing on the gypsy’s head, the drite casts his own shield spell that deflects the misty protrusions. Cracks form in the rainbow-tinted barrier, but it gives them enough time to turn around and sprint out of range. No longer sensing the intruders, the fog returns to its idle state and seems to mockingly make itself thinner than before.
“Now we know why there aren’t any guards,” Sari says while catching her breath. Pointing at the mist, she tries to create a doorway in the vapor, but the barrier to returns and angrily stabs at the surrounding ferns. “I didn’t think that would work anyway. We shouldn’t waste time with a temperamental cloud. Blast it open, Fizzle.”
“Too strong,” the drite replies as he examines the intricate spell. Even when it is docile, the enchanted mist reminds him of a castle wall that is reinforced with metal bars. “Dragon magic strong. This stronger. Fizzle fear rico . . . rico . . . spell bounce. Not sure if Order make wall. It mostly natural.”
“Then we need to find the secret entrance,” one of the Feykin states. He backs away from his leader’s steely gaze and bows his head in respect. “I’m sorry, but seeing what happened has us scared. We’re not ashamed to admit that. If there is a way to get into the orchard without fighting that shield then we should find it.”
“It could also be a command word, set to a specific item, or any number of special requirements,” the gypsy contends, hiding her anger at the warriors’ cowardice. Drawing her daggers, she scans the area for signs of an entrance. “Wish we had a hunter or a fores . . . Timoran here. You said mostly natural, Fizzle. What do you mean?”
The drite scratches his head with his tail and puffs out a few rings of rainbow smoke that pass into the orchard. “Not sure. Mist here for long time. Anger newer. Unsure what mist made for first. Now it weapon. Other spell bound to surface. Once inside, we be safe.”
Considering Fizzle’s words, Dariana walks ahead of the group and holds out her hand for them to stay back. Moving cautiously, she makes it to the mist without incident and calmly steps through the barrier. The telepath returns a few seconds later with a large apple in her hand, which she holds out for Fizzle. Keeping her attention on the drifting wisps, she is ready to retreat at the slightest stirring. Her friend arrives next to her and takes the fruit, but refuses to take a bite in case he has to escape the mist. A minute passes before he is comfortable enough to take a slow, crunching taste of the apple. Dariana points at Sari and waves for her to come forward, the gypsy bravely jogging through the ferns. Before she can reach the orchard, one of her men is chosen to make his way to the barrier.
When the nervous warrior gets halfway to the champions, the mist attacks with a lance that Sari barely dodges. The hard shell reappears while constant attacks drive three of the four intruders back up the slope. Dariana remains behind and experimentally knocks on the impenetrable barrier, none of the lances coming close to hitting her. Once the mist returns to its natural state, the telepath enters the orchard and disappears from view. Whenever one of the Feykin attempts to step forward, a mental shove sends them stumbling back. Unwilling to test their luck, the warriors take a seat amongst the ferns and wait for the champion to return. Sari refuses to join her followers and repeatedly attempts to move closer to the orchard, each time resulting in her being forced back. The gypsy finally stops when her immovability turns on and prevents her from advancing. It is nearly an hour later when Dariana reappears, dirt covering her white shirt and a tear along her pants. A wooden idol is in her hands, the carving resembling a demon with a mane of tendrils and a spiked tail. Freeing Sari, the telepath hands her the sinister-looking relic, but the gypsy drops it as soon as it touches her hands.
“That burns!” the blue-haired
woman snaps while checking her reddened fingers. Nudging the idol with her foot, she jumps away when its mouth opens to growl. “What is this thing and why didn’t you destroy it?”
“The Order must have buried this at the edge of the orchard, which turned the barrier into a weapon,” Dariana replies as she tries to find a place to hide the artifact. She notices a hole in a pile of rocks, so she stuffs the idol inside. “If we destroy the statue then the demon inside will escape. That’s a fight we don’t need since the barrier is now crossable. I remember some of the Zarians handling a few of these back when they were more common. An enemy would trap a demon inside then connect the idol to an existing spell in order to surprise a specific target. This thing made it so that the mist attacked anyone with fae blood, which is why it ignored me. I still sense something . . . dark in the orchard, but this was the source of the malevolence. It won’t cause any trouble here since it needs to be submerged in the dirt. Still I want to come back for it before we leave the area.”
“Then we should get moving,” Sari says, the yellow eyes of the idol staring at her from the rocks. She shivers at its wide grin, which causes her to imagine the demon laughing. “We’ll split into pairs to cover more ground. I want this place burning within the hour. If you can’t get a fire to work then think the setback to Dariana and we’ll regroup to make a new plan. Maybe I can use the lake to freeze everything. If my ice control decides to be useless then a flood will have to do.”
“We shouldn’t separate,” the telepath insists, catching her friend by the wrist. “We need to stay as a whole group. Trust me.”
“Then this will take forever.”
“Please listen to me and don’t have us split up.”
Charms of the Feykin Page 19
