Chapter
37
“Your tricks won’t work this time, witch,”
snarled Kelvris. “Drop your swords.”
For a moment, she considered giving
up and going with Kelvris back to Lorm.
She would be imprisoned, or perhaps killed there. What did it matter now? Tolian was beyond her reach anyway. Perhaps death was the only answer. But as she removed the Moonsword from its
scabbard to comply with Kelvris’ order, she felt something. The sword sent a pulse of energy to her and
within it a message. She heard its words
inside her head.
“Brythia, please don’t give up on
the Goddess. There is still hope.”
That was all. In that instant, her mind was made up. She realized that no matter how dark things
looked, she could never abandon her love.
Somehow, there would be a way to get to her. She could not go with Kelvris; that much was
certain.
She let a blood-curdling scream out
of her lips and swung the Moonsword at the nearest Lormian warrior. The poor fellow, who she recognized (but
couldn’t recall his name), did not suspect an attack until too late. He slid dead from his horse, cleaved in two
across his abdomen. Brythia felt the
Moonsword now coming fully alive in her hands.
It led the attack. Before she
realized it, she had slain four more Lormians.
Pandemonium raged now. Findelbres
and Kiliordes joined in the fight.
Kelvris shouted, “Kill them all.”
The odds were considerably against
them. The soldiers on horseback
outnumbered them. Despite the incredible
power of the Moonsword in Brythia’s hands, she knew that if she could not
determine some way to escape, the three of them did not have long to live. Findelbres was fighting valiantly, but
Kiliordes was ill prepared to be involved in such a battle with the most
skilled warriors in the world. He was
already bleeding from a dozen wounds and probably would not be able to hold on
much longer. Brythia fought her way to
his side and deflected most of the sword thrusts directed him. Findelbres fell in stride and together,
back-to-back, they fought for their lives.
Only a moment later Kiliordes fell.
Brythia could not tell if he was alive or dead. She fought all the harder.
Brythia was now fighting off
Kelvris’ attack. She had never regarded
him as much of a warrior before, but she had to admit that he was capable of
fighting with much skill and ferocity. He
was able to parry every strike of the Moonsword. He was of the House of Hemris, she
remembered, and the fighting blood was strong in him. With a move that was too fast for her to
block with the lunar blade, Kelvris struck her in the hand. She cried out as the Moonsword fell from her
grip.
Kelvris brought his sword to her
throat, “This time witch, there will be no escape.”
Then came the eerie screams from the
surrounding pines. The sandy woods
suddenly glowed with mysterious bright lights moving above the tree line, and
then went dark again. The rushing of
large leathery wings filled the air.
Kelvris looked straight up and a look of horror took hold of his
features. An instant later, he was
snatched up into the air and vanished into the darkness with a scream of raw
terror. All around Brythia, Lormians
cried out in fear and pain as some unspeakable terror descended from the black
sky and fell upon them.
Brythia knew what was happening, of
course, and even she felt some measure of fear.
It was the Pine Devils, though she could not be sure if they were coming
to her rescue or were merely destroying trespassers. She bent down to pick up the Moonsword, and
as she rose again, Kelvris’ bloody and mangled body fell dead before her.
Screams rang out in the
darkness. Torches fell and extinguished
themselves, rendering the chaos less and less visible. The occasional inhuman shrieks of the Winged
Satyrs added to the terror of the scene.
She crouched down and put her arms over her head. Findelbres crouched over her, covering and
protecting her. Around them, the wild,
frantic neighing of horses and shouts of the Lormian soldiers became more and
more infrequent, until all was quiet.
Findelbres climbed off of her.
“It’s all right,” he advised
her. “We’re safe.”
She uncurled herself and stood
slowly back up. Standing around her, she
could just make out their inhuman shapes among the carnage of slaughtered men
and horses. Their own steeds were
unharmed, she noticed, though how on earth the Pine Devils could tell whose
horses were whose was beyond her. She
could tell that there were a lot of them out there, but it was impossible to
get a firm count. Some were no more than
movements in the shadows. The nearest
stepped even closer and bowed.
“Greetings again, Moon Goddess’
wife,” she said.
“Greetings,” she said solemnly (for
she was sorry about the fate of the Lormians).
“Thank you for saving our lives.”
“As I said before, it is our desire
to help you if it is within our power.
We saw an opportunity to assist you here. Come, I shall lead you to a suitable campsite
for the evening.”
“Wait,” said Findelbres, “Kiliordes
is still alive. Actually, most of his
wounds appear to be superficial.”
“Thank the stars,” exclaimed
Brythia. “Excuse me for a moment,” she
said to the Pine Devil.
Findelbres was exactly right, she
quickly observed. Kiliordes would be
fine. She addressed the Pine Devil who
was waiting patiently, “Very well, let us help our friend, and we’ll follow
you.”
“We shall tend your companion,” said
the Pine Devil, “mount your horses and follow me.”
Brythia looked at Findelbres who
shrugged with almost nihilistic indecisiveness.
Clearly, he was as sorrowful as she.
Their companions, the traitor Delorick and the noble Pagyrus slain, as
well as far too many brave Lormian warriors.
Tragic. Death had always seemed
to weigh heavy on Findelbres. She could
not but help but wonder if that were because as an immortal the loss seemed
imbued with extra meaning and mystery.
Did all faeries regard death so?
Brythia did indeed feel a sense of loss, of sorrow, but as a druid, she
understood the necessity of death. She
felt no pain over Delorick’s death, however.
In fact, she spit upon his corpse as she passed it.
How strange everything was as they
rode. The Moon was near full and as it
rose it shown down its silver light over the Pine Barrens of Lorm. It cast its eerie glow on the scene, washing
the pine needles in its uncanny light.
There was no need for torches or lanterns. She could see perfectly well. She and Findelbres rode, leading the other
two horses. One of the Pine Devils
easily flew, carrying Kiliordes just above the trail, and before them, their
guide bounded over the trail, springing lightly. It seemed so unreal.
The Pine Devils did not lead them
far. Soon the sandy trail emptied into a
circular area of sand and pine needles.
Kiliordes was laid gently down on the ground.
“Camp here this evening,” the Pine
Devil instructed them. “You are
tired. You all need your rest. We shall make you a fire and guard you as you
sleep. May the Goddess’ light bring
peace to your worried minds.”
It was amazing to Brythia how
quickly the Pine Devils had a fine campfire burning. The warmth called to the part of her that was
exhausted. She rolled her sleeping
blanket out in a daze. Neither she nor
Findelbres spoke to each other. Both
watched to make sure that the Pine Devils were taking proper care of their wounded
friend, and then laid themselves down.
She couldn’t take her eyes off the Winged Satyr that casually removed
Kiliordes’ sleep gear from his horse and spread it out over the ground. How strange it seemed, watching this
fantastic being do something she had done a thousand times before, but that
should be so alien to its own routine.
It did it expertly. Did it even
realize that it had indeed used Kiliordes’ own sleeping bag, or was it a
coincidence? She had not finished
pondering that question before she dozed off.
At some point, she started to
dream. It had been several days since
that last time she had dreamt. They were
already on the Moon. Or, at least, that
was her immediate impression. The White
Hart trotted down a road paved with silver.
Along the sides of the road were lifeless and barren trees, thin,
sickly, and twisted, huddled together tightly, but still seeming sparse. A light coating of snow skirted the bases of
the strange trees. They were certainly
not a species of tree she was familiar with.
Overhead the stars twinkled with perfect clarity. She was dazzled. As she leaned up to catch the celestial
spectacle, she saw it. A sinking feeling
came into her as she realized what it was.
Directly above her, high in the starry heavens was a sphere, blue and
cloudy, with patches of green and brown visible. A jewel in the fabric of space.
The White Hart must have sensed her
discomfort at the sight, for it said, “Yes, Princess, it is your world. Few mortals have ever beheld it so. Fear not, you are safe. Naught shall befall you here. We shall be at the Goddess’ Tower in
moments. See it there, yonder?”
Brythia lowered her head and looked
straight ahead in the direction that the road led. A white tower stood before them. Tall, but no more so than the towers of the
palace of Lorm. But this tower looked nothing
like Lormian architecture. It seemed to
be hewn out of a single piece of stone, for no seams were visible.
Though Brythia could not perceive
how it would be so, the White Hart arrived at the foot of the tower impossibly
quickly. The animal halted just before
the door.
“Go in, princess. She is waiting for you,” said the White Hart.
Brythia climbed off the beast’s back
and regarded the open doorway for a moment.
“Thank you,” she said softly in
gratitude.
The White Hart bowed and smiled.
It was hard for her dreaming mind to
focus on the details of the interior of the tower. A winding staircase called to her. Purple tapestries and silver candle sticks
sporting flickering flames. It was
difficult for her to concentrate on her surroundings. Nonetheless, a sense of familiarity permeated
the place as she ascended the stairs.
A great throne room was located at
the top of the stairs. Beyond anything
in her experience. Silver and crystal
everywhere. No mortal monarch could
boast of such riches. Then her eyes
fixed upon the figure on the throne. She
ran towards her. The throne itself was
cast in pure silver and was decorated with crescents. Upon it was seated a woman dressed in a white
shimmering gown. Her hair was
chestnut. It was Tolian. Brythia’s heart leapt for joy, though even
then, a little voice reminded her that it was just a dream. As she neared the figure that seemed to be
Tolian, she noticed something strange.
She was completely bound and secured to the throne by the coils of a black
chain wrapped around her from her neck to her feet. A powerful radiance within her seemed held in
check by the chain. How Brythia
“Greetings Brythia,” said the woman
who looked like Tolian. “Welcome to the
Moon. I regret that I cannot greet you
properly, my love.”
So like Tolian, and yet so
different. So lofty, so distant, so
familiar.
“Tolian?” asked Brythia cautiously.
The woman smiled. “Yes, my love, it is I. It grieves me that you should see me in such
a state. But I am Tolian and I am the
Moon Goddess.”
Brythia jumped up to the dais. “Here, my darling, let me get you out of
those.”
“You will not be able to release
me,” replied the Moon Goddess, “at least not here, for I am truly a reflection,
of sorts. I am bound by the Dark Moon
Metal that my earthly incarnation wears.”
Dark Moon Metal? But that question did not linger long in her
mind, before a more urgent one pushed it aside.
“So, you are not Tolian. Not really my Tolian, then?”
“I am and I am not. There is no difference between us, save that
I exist outside of time and ‘your Tolian’ is within its sway.”
“I’m sorry,” said Brythia, “I don’t
understand. How can that be?”
“I was born into your world as the
infant Tolian, but I had always existed.
I entered your world, yet part of me, the divine essence, if you will,
is always present here. Tolian is the
reality; I am the ideal. We are the
same. I have experienced everything your
wife has and will experience. There is
no difference. I know you well, and I
love you, my druidess.”
The Moon Goddess was crying. Brythia could take it no longer. She wrapped her arms around the captive Moon
Goddess and embraced her. She covered
her mouth in soft, passionate kisses.
Brythia lost herself in the kissing.
A dream and not a dream. Tolian
and not Tolian. The Moon Goddess seemed
to relish it as much as she did, but disengaged herself from Brythia’s lips
with a turn of her head (which was the only thing she could move).
“We do not have time for this now,”
she said.
“I thought you said we were outside
of time?” Brythia asked.
“You and Tolian have brought time
here.”
“But, I don’t understand.”
“You will eventually. But Tolian needs your help now.”
Brythia’s head was spinning. She was finally reunited with Tolian, except
it wasn’t really Tolian, but it was. Her
mind struggled with concepts she could not grasp.
“You worry about that which you cannot
possibly understand yet,” the goddess admonished her. “Your time here is short. You will awake soon. You must listen to me.”
“Yes, my love, my goddess,” she
replied obediently. “But, there is no
way into Faerie. We have tried
everything.”
“There is another way. It has never been done before,” said the
lunar deity, “but your love shall guide you, as shall the Moonsword. It is the only chance we have.”
“What way is this?” asked Brythia,
bewildered and becoming a little panicked. “I do not know what you are talking
about.”
“Calm yourself, my love,” said the
Moon Goddess. “The answer will come to
you presently. There are two more issues
we must quickly address. Everything
relies on you, sweet druidess.
Everything. The Demon moves in
both Faerie and in the mortal world. In
one, his evil has polluted and perverted much of the realm. Beware, Faerie is now a place of evil
nightmares come to life. In your world,
I can feel his evil, but it is shrouded.
He is biding his time, waiting for the right moment. Be wary.”
“I shall,” Brythia said, her hand
resting on the Goddess’ knee.
“If the Dark Moon Metal is the lock,
then the Moonsword is the key,” stated the Moon Goddess, cryptically.
Suddenly, everything was becoming
even more vague. Brythia was almost
unable to hold her vision still. The
Goddess was speaking.
“If you free her, come back
here. And, Brythia, you must then stay
here until everything is settled. The
love magick has made you my greatest weakness.
Be strong, my love. Your presence
here has brought new joy and hope to my heart.”
Brythia planted a kiss on her lips,
and then she was awake.
High above, sea gulls called
out. At first, it sounded as though they
were shouting, “Get up, get up, get up.”
There was not a moment to lose. She knew exactly what she had to do.
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