Charms of the Feykin

by Charles E Yallowitz

“Are you in charge here or am I?”

  Dariana considers dragging the gypsy away from the warriors, but decides that they need to hear her concerns too. “Think about the barrier, Sari. It let you and Fizzle get close, but reacted when a third person with fae blood came within range. The idol was only told to prevent armies from getting into the orchard. Solitary or pairs of Feykin would have been able to enter without being attacked. Doesn’t that sound like a method of dividing your enemies to make them easy prey for the next line of defense?”

  “You could have said that before I acted like a jerk,” Sari says, her cheeks a little red from embarrassment. Rolling her shoulders and shaking her arms loose, the gypsy recovers her confident demeanor. “I’ll take the lead like before, but everyone stay close. No wandering off and we hold our ground in case of an attack. Forget moving quickly. I want as many of us as possible to make it home.”

  “That implies you expect casualties.”

  “And you don’t?

  *****

  The smell of apples and the singing of birds are grating on Sari’s nerves after hours of wandering the orchard. She knows they are lost and possibly going in circles, a nearby pile of apple cores resembling the one the group made during their previous stop. The original plan of turning the orchard into a billowing inferno and running has been dashed, which sours the gypsy’s mood. Every attempt to start a fire has been foiled by a stiff breeze, a sudden downpour, or any number of odd occurrences. The most bizarre defeat has been an elk that happened to race by and accidentally stomp out the flames before they could spread to the trees. None of the Feykin have bothered to speak to their leader since that time, her erupting temper making them stay several feet away. Perhaps the only good thing about their situation is that they will not starve to death and have yet to run into a trap or dangerous beast.

  Turning to face the others, Sari notices that two of the warriors and Dariana are missing. The others yawn and rub their eyes, signs that the brief rests are not enough to revive their energy. As she watches the Feykin, one of them falls asleep and she briefly forgets he is there. It is when the man snores that Sari remembers and his friends stare vacantly at him as if the man has appeared out of nowhere. The gypsy is about to order the hunters to help her search for their missing companions when Dariana steps out from behind a distant tree. She has the two Feykin slung over her shoulders, the snoring man and woman slowing her down. With a grunt, the telepath places them next to the most recent sleeper and puts her arms out to catch a fourth. She eases the newest victim to the ground and opens the warrior’s eyelid to see that there are pink sparkles around his dilated iris.

  “The sleep spell activated an hour ago. Probably because we were inside the orchard for too long,” Dariana explains, plucking a yellow apple from a low branch. She tosses the fruit into the air where Fizzle splits it in half with his tail, the pieces falling into the telepath’s open hands. “I recognize the protection spell, which is designed to prevent people from stripping the orchard clean. Once all intruders are asleep, a servant will carry them to the ferns. Half of what they pick is left with them while the rest of the fruit is returned to the trees. Though the Order has probably altered this defense like they did with the mist barrier. We should leave and come back with a new plan.”

  “I’d agree if we weren’t walking in circles,” Sari states before slapping herself to stay awake. The blow ends up making her feel drowsier, so she takes a breath and delivers a hard pinch to her rear out of desperation. “You can’t carry all of us out of here and I won’t last much longer. It would be a bad idea for you to leave us behind too. As soon as you step out of the orchard, the trap will activate and the rest of us might die. Why aren’t you affected by this place?”

  “Because I believe we’re on holy ground.”

  “You mean a god or goddess owns this orchard.”

  “That does explain why it feels familiar to me.”

  “And the Order stole it.”

  Dariana rubs her temples and tries to make sense of the situation. “Without knowing the specific deity, I couldn’t tell you what’s going on. The Law of Influence prevents the real owner from getting involved even though they’re still connected to this place. No amount of mortal magic could remove all of their influence. The apples don’t help either because I can think of a dozen gods and goddesses who claim it as their holy fruit. I’m talking actual fights over the thing. Sorry about not being much help.”

  “Do you think you can call out to whoever it is?” Sari asks while two more of the warriors collapse to the ground. One of the Feykin lands face first into a patch of mushrooms, the fungi releasing a spray of spores that paralyzes the remaining hunters. “This situation keeps getting worse. There has to be something we can do.”

  “Fizzle search from above,” the drite suggests while sniffing the breeze. His eyes flutter when the sleep spell attempts to infect him, the enchantment abruptly driven away by a distant song. “Hear voice calling. Not enemy. Remember from dream. Old dream. When Fizzle fresh hatched. Might be friend. Fizzle be back.”

  Before his friends can stop him, the dragon soars high above the orchard, his head clearing instantly. Eyes turning gold, he can see the emerald sleep spell winding through the trees. A few of the wispy limbs reach for him, but they are unable to stretch more than a few feet from the canopy. Fizzle is about to dart toward the heaviest concentration of the enchantment when the energizing song returns to call him toward the lake. Hovering upside down, he scans the area for the music’s source. A shadowy figure flits among the trees that surround the eastern shore, the movements more like a dance than an attempt to hide.

  Even though he is curious about the core of the sleep spell, Fizzle floats down to the water and hovers above its center. Beneath the clear surface, colorful fish and freshwater crabs swim among a network of roots. A few bulbous melons can be seen sprouting from the plants, the orbs not ripe enough to detach and get washed ashore by the mild waves. Turning in a circle, the drite looks for the shadow among the slick trunks and randomly placed stones. When a twig snaps in the canopy, Fizzle darts into the branches and pouts at the sight of a sloth. Unafraid of the dragon, the slow animal stares at him while blindly reaching its curved claws for the next handhold.

  “Fizzle sorry,” the drite whispers as he moves to another branch. Hanging from his tail, he gazes across the lake and strains his ears for the song. “Fizzle still hear it. Does slow animal hear it? Sound loud and from here. Fizzle confused.”

  “Shhh. You’re not supposed to know I’m here,” a hushed voice says from below. The tree shakes as someone leaps into the canopy and crouches nearby. “You see, we have this law and I’m not supposed to get involved in your affairs. I only came to sing and rest. People have been so mean to this place, but I think it’s still pretty. Maybe my song will cheer it up. Are you the champion drite?”

  Her sharp-toothed grin materializing first, a young woman with the tail and ears of a wolf peers down at Fizzle. As if realizing she is in a tree for the first time, she struggles to keep her balance before tumbling to the ground. Her thudding impact causes the sloth loses its grip and fall, but the goddess makes a diving catch for the innocent animal. Sniffing the creature, she wrinkles her nose and tosses it into the lake where it casually swims to the other shore. Returning to the drite, Silvestris scratches her wild, brown hair and yelps when a large insect bites her finger. The chattering beetle is cast into the sky where it disappears among the clouds.

  “Can’t have that intruder staying here. Don’t worry because now it’s home,” the Animal Goddess states with a smile. She gives off an aura of innocence that puts Fizzle at ease, but he can also sense an undertone of power that this woman may unleash without a second thought. “I guess you’re kind of my chosen since Kirin is still sealed. Magical beasties are so pretty and complex. Why are you in my orchard? I’ve no need for a guardian.”

  “Fizzle friends try to help,” the drite replies before he decides to spea
k in Draconic. His deep and powerful voice sends ripples through the lake, one of which is strong enough to carry the sloth to dry land. “My apologies for intruding, Lady of the Wild. We were told that this place was owned by a local cult that seeks to destroy the Feykin. It now appears that is not the whole truth. We see that this group has taken control of your orchard and turned its defenses against the innocent. My friends and I have repaired the barrier, but the sleep enchantment threatens us. Is it possible for you to give me a hint to stopping it?”

  “But this is for everybody,” Silvestris declares, her high-pitched voice attracting an ebony parrot. The bird lands on her head, its feet getting tangled in the brown tresses. “I was given permission to create this place, but not to decide who uses it. Thanks to my followers praying and casting within the orchard, the defenses are from my power. They’re just not really mine and I may have given my people too much leeway. So . . . oops. Uh oh, another one of your friends just fell down. I’m not sure if the spell will recognize Dariana since she doesn’t always count as a mortal. So whatever happens after the Feykin fall asleep will probably happen while the little godling is awake.”

  “Then what can I do!?”

  “No yelling! I don’t like people yelling.”

  “My apologies, but I worry for my friends.”

  Silvestris plunges her hand into the earth and pulls out a sword that is twice the size of her body. “Well, they should be carried out by the invisible servants. Now that I mention it, those lazy boys haven’t been seen since the last time I was here. I don’t know. Maybe those who took over the mist have connected a trap to the sleep spell. That would explain the big thing that’s snoring all the way over there.”

  Fizzle stares in the direction that the goddess points, but the creature in question is over a mile away. Scratching his head in frustration, the drite revives his magic sight spell and goes back to examining the trails of sleep magic. Knowing her energy could blind him, the dragon makes sure to avoid looking at Silvestris, who is kneeling at the edge of the lake to lap up a drink. There is nothing new within the winding magic, but Fizzle sees that the reaching arms are staying far away from the lake. Giving up on his search, the drite turns back to the goddess and pauses when he realizes that her tail is standing straight. The longer he watches the wolf woman, the more he notices that she is showing signs of being stressed.

  “Are you connected to the land?” Fizzle asks, landing next to the goddess.

  “Yes and we’re not doing well. I’ll probably have to cut my connection and let the orchard die before it makes me sick,” Silvestris admits, rising to her feet and juggling her massive weapon. With a quick blink, her eyes turn putrid green and she coughs at the foul taste settling in the back of her throat. “I wish I could tell you more, but I’m getting tired. My week long slumber will start when summer changes to autumn in the next few days. This is the only time I’m allowed to sleep. It helps purge me of impurities and anything else I’ve picked up while tending to the animals. A good cleansing always gets rid of the bad.”

  Excited and determined to save his friends, Fizzle zips into the air and gives the goddess a kiss on the cheek. He soars through the trees in search of the source of the slumber trap, a purification spell already blossoming on his snout. The animals of the orchard run in the opposite direction of the drite, sensing that he is about to disrupt their peaceful land. Birds take to the sky and settle on the outer circle of trees, the flocks patiently waiting for a chance to return to their homes. Even the ripe apples appear to shrink with fear while a subtle grayness seeps into every leaf and trunk.

  With the pink, flower-like bud leaving a trail of magic in his wake, Fizzle races to the slumbering mass that is releasing the sleep enchantment. He performs a small flip to finish his casting and sends his counterspell into a messy pile of feathers, bones, and flesh. A roar immediately erupts from the disturbed mass and the drite finds himself staring into a pair of bulbous, ebony eyes. The ground shakes as the strange collection of parts reveals itself to be a single, living creature. A long-snouted crocodilian head bares rows of shark-like teeth while the animal’s muscular body sprouts armor plating and a ridge of colorful plumage. Black-feathered wings flap at the monster’s side, the extensions lacking the strength to lift the massive body. They still have enough power to create circles of powerful winds that tear apples from the branches. As the beast yawns, a slender tail with a tuft of glistening, red hair swings and stretches to take out a row of trees.

  “Uh-oh,” Fizzle mutters before darting away from the slamming jaws.

  *****

  Sweat pouring down her face and neck, Dariana continues sprinting through the quivering orchard. She can hear the glassy-eyed Feykin following a few steps behind, their thoughts nothing more than faint snores. Still under the sleep spell, the warriors are only able to move because the silver-haired champion is controlling their bodies. Even Fizzle’s constant screaming about a monster is unable to pierce the lingering enchantment. Dariana has trouble directing all of her charges away from trees, so there is the occasional collision that increases her pounding headache. As if her sensitive connection to the Feykin is not bad enough, she finds herself too busy to track their enemy. She is tempted to apologize to her conscious friends, but they have already told her that now is not the time.

  Taking up the rear, Sari watches for signs of the creature that they have yet to see. Gusts of wind repeatedly erupt from a random side to buffet the group, each attack failing to knock the immovable gypsy off her feet. The rest of the Feykin tumble to the ground every time, but they continue scrambling at the mental urging of Dariana. Confident that her friend has the warriors under control, Sari pretends to be injured in the hopes of drawing the creature to her. Spinning her daggers and turning in a circle, the gypsy stretches her aura to tap into the distant lake for a boost of strength. Tiny rivulets worm through the soil to gather beneath her feet, the hidden liquid waiting to be used in battle.

  “Come on out whatever you are,” Sari whispers, risking a glance at the sky. She sees Fizzle zipping around in search of the beast, the drite appearing to have lost it among the trees. “How do you lose something that’s supposed to be huge, Fizzle? I really hope you aren’t overreacting to a jungle cat.”

  The trees to Sari’s right explode as the invisible creature charges and reveals its massive frame. Two of the Feykin warriors are crushed in the beast’s jaws, their deaths causing Dariana to scream in agony. The telepath continues stumbling forward and forces the remaining men and women to sprint ahead. One of them is not fast enough and is smacked by the beast’s tufted tail, the ball of hair at the end shredding the Feykin’s arm and side. The man is about to fall when his pain receptors are turned off and he is given enough strength to continue running. Before the injured warrior can be eaten, a dagger sinks into the creature’s eye to draw its attention to Sari and Fizzle.

  “Stay with the others and keep them safe, Dariana,” the gypsy whispers while backing away from the monster. The beast’s armored hide glistens and shifts in an attempt to disappear, but Sari’s focus constantly undoes the natural spell. “I won’t lose track of it. Just give me a sign that all of you are out of the orchard then I’ll get away.”

  “Why it not chase you?” Fizzle asks when he sees the creature turn back to their retreating friends. An intelligent glint is in its remaining eye, giving the drite an impression that it knows which prey is easier to hunt. “It smart. Knows Dariana weak. Knows others sleep. Not sure it go after more dangerous Sari.”

  “My being dangerous is exactly why it’ll stay here.”

  As Fizzle soars above the canopy, Sari crouches and digs her fingers into the soil. Touching the water below, she focuses on making the liquid toxic and sending some of it into a nearby apple tree. The creature stops when it catches the scent of rotting fruit and turns in time to see the pus-spewing plant crash to the ground. Ordered to protect the orchard, the beast has no choice but to concentrate on the more imm
ediate threat. Unleashing a grunting roar, it closes the short distance between them and attempts to catch the woman in its crocodilian jaws. The champion fades away with a smile and reveals Sari to really be standing several feet to the right. Her dagger skitters against the exposed teeth before leaving a narrow gash in the white gums, the injury angering the beast.

  “You want to keep this place safe for your masters then you’re going to have to kill me,” she whispers, surprised at the chuckle she earns from the creature. Moving away from the strange monster, she watches its giant wings lift to deliver a gust of wind. “If I stand my ground then you can catch me in your mouth. Looks like you can learn from watching me. What kind of beastie are you?”

  As the wings come down, Sari jumps and lets her enchanted boots make her as light as a falling leaf. The powerful gale launches her into the trees, but she flips and uses her feet to bounces off the sturdy trunks. Grabbing a branch, she pulls herself into the canopy where a pair of hornbills scream from a nest of mud and grab their babies to escape the fight. Not wanting to lose her enemy’s attention, the gypsy whistles for the creature to follow her while she jumps to another tree. She has barely landed when the beast barrels into the trunk with enough strength to uproot the entire plant. Crashing to the ground, Sari rolls backwards and feels the powerful mouth yank a few hairs out of her head. With an arrogant smirk, she smacks the beast in the nose and dives away from its next bite.

  Unable to fight the creature head on, the champion sprints through the trees in search of a place to lay a trap. A constant grunt is behind her and she repeatedly glances over her shoulder to make sure she has not lost track of the predator. When another blast of wind hits Sari in the back, she stumbles and trips over a root. The young woman barely scrambles away from the closing jaws and spins around to stab the beast in the nostril. An oddly human shriek of pain erupts as the monster rears back and scratches at the blade, its claws leaving gashes on the softer parts of its flesh. The distraction is enough for Sari to continue rushing through the orchard, her path circling back toward where she thinks they entered. Seeing a star of rainbow light appear above the trees, she puts all of her effort and focus into running as fast as she can.