Chapter
39
Brythia jumped out of her sleeping
gear. She was quite surprised to see
Kiliordes sitting next to the fire while Findelbres cooked something on a
skillet over the flames. The scent of
sausages wafted to her nose. Her mouth
started to water immediately. She looked
around, but could see no sign of the Pine Devils.
“Good morning,” she said. “How are you two? Kiliordes, are you feeling all right?”
“Aye,” he said absently, “well
enough I suppose. I think I’m still in
shock. A lot happened last night.”
“Good morn,” said Findelbres. His eyes narrowed. “Wait, what’s this, there’s a gleam in your
face, I haven’t seen for some time. To
what do we owe the pleasure of your smile?
Is it the sausages? Have you come
to accept the philosophy that life is only as bad as the sausages, or lack
thereof?”
She actually laughed. It surprised her. But, there was no denying that her mood had
improved.
“Well, the sausages do smell terrific,
Findelbres, I’ll give you that, but that’s not the reason I appear to be in a
good mood. I know how to get to Faerie.”
She watched the looks of surprise
flash across both of their faces.
“How?” asked Findelbres
incredulously.
“Simple,” said the druidess, “the
flying smoke”
“The flying smoke?” repeated the
faerie doubtfully.
“That’s madness,” said
Kiliordes. “It’s suicide, or worse. You know this.”
Certainty flavored her words. “I can do it,” she declared.
“I shall accompany you,” said Findelbres,
without pause.
“I’m afraid I won’t allow it,”
Brythia returned. “It won’t be safe for
you. I’ll have the pull of the love
magick to guide me, and the Moonsword’s power, but you, you would be lost
forever.”
“But...” he began.
“No, it’s final.”
Kiliordes shook his head
vigorously. “What makes you think that
will be enough to get you there safely?
People have tried in the past, to use divining rods and magickal items to
guide them to other worlds using the flying smoke. No one has done it. What makes you so sure of yourself?”
“There is no other way, Kiliordes,”
she said steadfastly. “It is as simple
as that. I have to make it.”
Kiliordes sighed. He did not share her confidence. “I have to,” she whispered softly, entreating
him to trust her with her brilliant blue eyes.
“I shall leave at once.”
“Of course, you will,” he replied at
last with a gentle smile.
“What of you, Kiliordes?” asked Brythia.
“What would you do now? Will you
go back to Lorm? With Kelvris dead,
there will be no one there to levy charges against you. You should be fine.”
Kiliordes shook his head
wistfully. “No, I intend to honor my
promise to Pagyrus. I will go and join
the Solar Pilgrimage Festival in Southern Surtiz. I will even become their leader if that is
truly their desire. It is what Paygyrs
wanted badly. He gave his life for
me. I owe him my word.”
“Well,” suggested Findelbres, “let
us eat one final breakfast together, before we take our separate paths. The sausages are done.”
“ I can’t,” she said. “I should probably have fasted more than I
have, but there is no more time.”
A Pine Devil dropped down from the
sky and landed right before them.
“I have come to see if you require
anything more of us,” said the Winged Satyr.
“If not, then we would say our farewells.”
“Actually,” said Brythia, “I have a
favor to ask, first. I am going to
attempt to use the Druidic Flying Smoke to get to Faerie. Can you take me somewhere secluded? I cannot be disturbed in the attempt.”
“As you wish,” replied the Pine
Devil. “I can take you now, if you like.”
“What about the horses?” she
suddenly remembered. Findelbres
answered, “You don’t need to worry about the horses. Whisper will lead them back to the palace. They’ll be fine.”
“I’ll take Pagyrus’ horse and
personal effects back to the Solar Pilgrimage Festival, so that will leave your
horses and Delorick’s to make the trek back to the palace,” said Kiliordes.
“That will work,” said Brythia.
She grabbed Kiliordes and embraced
him (a little before the surprised fellow was expecting any such thing).
“You’ve proven yourself to be such a
good friend to us,” the druidess gushed.
“I’m sorry for not seeing you for yourself when I looked at you
before. I’m sorry for the way Tolian and
I avoided you at the palace. Travel
safely and reach your goal. The
blessings of the Sun and Moon upon you.
Thank you for everything.”
And she kissed him on the cheek.
He was clearly embarrassed but he
squeezed her in return and released her.
He looked her square in the eye.
“Thank you, princess,” he said. “You have taught me quite a bit both as
Kilfire and, now, as Kiliordes. Go and
find Tolian and bring her home. I’ll
bring the pilgrimage to Lorm and we’ll celebrate our reunion.”
“And you,” said Findelbres,
embracing Brythia. “You fly straight and
true to her. My mind weighs heavily on
your errand, my friend; it churns with doubts, but my heart knows that you can
succeed. I can usually tell, when I’m
seeing someone for the last time. We
will meet again.”
He kissed her forehead. She hugged him and then stepped back. They were both smiling at her.
“Now, your Pine Devil awaits,”
observed the former royal adviser.
A moment later, she was flying over
the Pine Barrens, just above the trees.
The Pine Devil grasped her securely by her shoulders and carried her
forth with the easy beating of his mighty wings. The cool air rushing in her face. The chill, the invigoration, the sense of
hope. She remembered the last time she had
flown on a cold winter’s morning, on the back of a dragon over Keythion. As the Demon’s prisoner. The image that had come to her in the library
cavern flashed across her brain once again.
Circling the city. The Demon
split in two people—one with her, and one flying across the city with someone
else. With the dark, bearded man. Yes, there was something familiar about the
man. Where had she seen him? He was even more familiar now than he had
been when this memory came to her at Hyge Bryth. Then, she knew. There was no doubt. The fellow looked remarkably like
Pagyrus. It was as though a cloud had
been removed from her mind. Pagyrus was
the Demon’s helper. Pagyrus. But he was dead now, too. Some questions still nagged her. What was his motivation in trying to get
Kiliordes to join the Solar Pilgrimage Festival? What benefit could that provide to the
Demon? She could think of nothing to be
gained. Well, whatever his plan, it no
longer mattered, did it? He was dead.
She pondered on this as she stared
down at the fantastic beauty of the desolate tract of sandy pine and oak woods,
cut here and there by trails or a slender winding river of brown cedar
water. Presently, the Pine Devil brought
her lightly to the ground. She was
relieved to feel the hard earth under her feet once again. The Winged Satyr released his grip on her
shoulders and rose once again into the air.
“Farewell, Moon Goddess’ wife,” he
called down to her and then he was gone.
She was alone. The spot where the Pine Devil set her was a
small grassy clearing set amidst fire-blackened pines. The grass was brown and dormant for the
winter, but still soft enough to provide a comfortable cushion against the
winter-hard earth. The burnt pines were
coming back to life; the fire that wrought its havoc upon them had raged
through there three or four years ago.
She smiled at the forest’s resiliency.
It was hard to keep the forces of life down for long. She took that as a good omen. She wasted no time. She dropped into a cross-legged sitting
position on the dry grass and fished out the pouch with the flying smoke and
the ritual pipe from her bag. She
attempted to quiet her mind as she dipped the pipe into the pouch and filled
its bowl with the flying smoke mixture.
Her nervousness and excitement made this difficult, of course. Quiet refused to enter her
consciousness. She chuckled
morbidly. She had not fasted the
required time, she could not still her mind, she had no image of the place she
wished to go, and she was attempting to travel to a place no one had ever
succeeded in getting to. None of that
mattered.
Brythia pulled the Moonsword from
her scabbard and laid it across her legs.
Then she sparked a fire with her flint and set the flying smoke to
blaze. She brought the pipe to her lips
and drew the magickal fumes into her lungs.
The smoke tasted even worse than it
tasted the last time. She put one hand
on the hilt of the Moonsword as she smoked.
She had no location to visualize so she drew a vision of Tolian in her
mind’s eye and held it there. It was
easy enough to picture her. The depth of
her deep brown eyes, flecked with purple.
The sun brought out the copper, red, and gold highlights in her chestnut
hair. Brythia knew every curve of her
body. As she built this image, her
thoughts became calmer, clearer. The
ever-present longing for Tolian surged within Brythia as she focused on her.
She felt the effects of the mixture
with her second puff. The ground around
her seemed to quiver slightly as a sudden, extreme tiredness took hold of her
being. Another puff and everything
started to spin and the thunderous rushing sound raged in her ears. She took one more puff and, as carefully as
she could, stuffed the pipe and pouch back in her bag and made certain her hold
on the Moonsword.
All at once, the universe bent,
swayed violently, and then twisted.
Trees, grass, and sky swirled together and flowed by her as a
river. The sensation of flying passed
through her in waves. She kept her
thoughts focused on Tolian. “Tolian,”
she screamed psychically. “Tolian. Tolian.
Tolian. Tolian. Tolian.
Tolian. Tolian.”
She repeated her name as a mantra.
Once again, she became aware of the
presence of the spirit of the flying smoke.
She could not even tell how she sensed it, or what faculty she employed
to do so. A vague presence. Angry and curious. Brythia heard its question clearly.
“Why have you come again to my
realm? You seek to travel where none may
travel. Your soul is forfeit.”
The impressions the druidess was receiving became more
intensely realized. The spirit radiated
an impossible vastness. Its outrage was
palpable. It had placed itself directly
in her path. She had stopped
moving. Stalled in the realm of the
flying smoke. Not good. She tightened her grip on the Moonsword and
projected a message of her own. “Get the
hell out of my way. I’m going to Faerie
and you are not going to stop me.”Copyright 2004, 2015 Diana Hignutt
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