Moonsword - Chapter 29

Chapter 29

A measure of unreality pervaded Tolian’s perceptions .  It seemed like a dream to her.  She gazed upon her uncle and cousin for what she knew to be the last time.  The old country elegance of Dril Prolt stood as a backdrop pulling forth memories unbidden of childhood summers spent playing in the white sand of the surrounding pine barrens.  It was all gone now.

“Farewell, my uncle and my cousin,” said Tolian, “For I shall not see you again in this world.”

Keliof admonished her, “I’ll not hear such talk of the next king of Lorm.  Mark my words, boy, you’ll see us again, and you will take the throne.  No magick will stop that.  Good luck to you, my nephew.  Your quest is a mighty challenge, but I can think of no better warrior for the task.”

“Believe what you will and prepare for war.  Remember, my father must not know of my condition.  Oh, and make sure our Myrthis, here, wants for nothing.”

“I shall see to it,” replied Kelvris.

“And you,” Tolian said to Myrthis, “Take good care of Delorick and our child.  And yourself.”

Myrthis leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, “Please be careful,” the druidess added.

Tolian drifted back into her dreamy state as the others said their farewells.  She had to fight hard to bring her attention towards those around her.  She noticed that Findelbres led three of the faerie horses, including her own stead, Whisper.

“You found Whisper!” she exclaimed.

“Indeed,” Findelbres said.  “The other, surviving horse has returned to the Sidhe, so we are left with three.”

Kelvris witnessing Tolian’s delight, joked, “Girls and their horses.”

Tolian did not turn around, nor did she wait for her companions.  She leapt up into Whisper’s saddle and rode away from Dril Prolt.  She heard Brythia call out behind her.

“Hey!  Tolian!  Wait up a moment!”

Tolian then heard the druidess hastily apologize and thank Keliof for his hospitality.  She wasn’t riding fast; the others would have no difficulty in catching up.  She could stand it no longer.  Lorm had too many memories.  It was too painful.  She yearned to clear its boundaries as quickly as possible.  Then to find her sword.  Visualizing the Moonsword immediately brought a calmness too her mind.  She could hear her companions galloping behind her.  She stopped her horse and turned towards them.  Kilfrie was running in front of the others with her long and graceful strides.

“You need to work on your manners, my Lord,” chided Brythia.

“You allow mere words to hurt you,” Findelbres said in a casual tone , “This is a weakness you must address.  When you face the Demon you must be without weakness, Tolian, or you are lost, and with you falls the world.”

Brythia was as clearly surprised by the Faerie’s words as Tolian was.  They both realized what he said was true.  Wisdom echoed from his remarks so spoken with a carefree friendly voice, that might have easily have regarded the advantages of a strong dark ale or the best fertilizer to use when growing carrots.  Even so, the manner in which he spoke also made many of Findelbres’ past comments and actions clear to Tolian.  She understood immediately why the Faerie Queen had sent Findelbres to accompany Tolian.  He was sent, at least partly, to immunize Tolian against the ridicule and abuse of others.  It was vital that Tolian manage to achieve mastery over her emotions, lest she be lured to make mistakes.  Findelbres’ continuous jokes and comments about Tolian’s transformation had been calculated to demonstrate this danger to Tolian.  She understood now.

“You are wise beyond your appearance, sir,” Tolian acknowledged out loud, “I appreciate the lesson you have taught me.”

“You have only yet learned the first half of the lesson, it is my hope that you will be a quicker student now.”

Brythia nodded and smiled.  Tolian could not avoid the conclusion that the druidess had already deduced the second lesson.  Tolian couldn’t begin to imagine what it was.

“Shall we be on our way then?” asked Findelbres.

“Yes,” said Tolian.

“Definitely,” added Brythia.

Kilfrie purred as she paced about with nervous energy.

Findelbres began to whistle a merry little tune and urged his horse along the sandy road, lined by shrub pines.  Kilfrie trotted along behind him.

Brythia smiled, “Shall we ride on, my lord?”

“Aye, my lady, let us ride on.”

Their route directed them through endless stretches of the diminutive pines, broken by the occasional cedar lined stream slipping brown and cool through the expanse.  Every once in a while they would pass some isolated farm, either growing cranberries or blueberries.  They did not stop, the folk of the pines generally kept to themselves as they were not fond of strangers in those wild parts.  It was considered wise by travellers to pass such rural homesteads at fair berth, unless, of course, they were kin to the inhabitants.

They travelled for days there in that pine desert that occupied the border between Lorm and its western neighbor, Threasia.  There were no markers to indicate precisely where the boundary existed.  No doubt, one would hear a different placement of the border from both the King of Lorm and the King of Threasia.  In practice it mattered little, the land was wild and desolate, giving no cause of disagreement.

Just west of the vastness of the silent pine barrens, the marsh began.  Ferns appeared among the ground cover.  Cedar, hemlock and oak trees grew in abundance.  Off of the road (which was surprisingly well maintained),  marshes and swampland dominated.  Wild cabbages popped up here and there, shivering, it seemed, in the cold November wind.  Kilfrie looked  about the region with ears pricked alertly.

“We shall have to be careful,” warned Tolian, “I have heard many a tale of the Western Marshes.”

“No doubt, mere mortal superstition,” commented Findelbres.

“What sort of tales, Tolian?” asked Brythia.

“Well, despite the fact that the road through the swamp is the shortest route from Threasia to Lorm, travellers almost universally take the more civilized northern road,” she explained.

“Who uses this road then?” asked Findelbres.

“The berry farmers of the Pines take their harvests to Threasia’s ports and markets.”

“And are not they afraid as well?”

“It is said,” Tolian answered, “that the folk of the Pines have made a pact with the mysterious forces of the marsh.”

“Ah, I see,” said Findelbres dubiously.

“All that I said was that we should be watchful in here, that’s .  You can’t be too careful,” Tolian said finally.

“He’s right, Findelbres,” Brythia agreed.  “Forewarned is forearmed, as the expression goes.”

Their eyes strained into the tangled depths of the murky recesses of the swamp.  A few birds darted across the road, but otherwise, their passing was uneventful.  As evening began to fall they searched about for some convenient and dry stretch along the roadside, but the road now passed through more and more watery country.  There was, in fact, no spot off road that afforded any sort of camp-able dryness any where in their immediate vicinity.  They lit their torches and rode on for several more hours into the night, searching for a satisfactory camp site.

“We’re not going to find anyplace, let’s just camp in the middle of the road,” suggested a weary Brythia.

“Sounds fine to me,” agreed the Champion.

Findelbres said nothing, he was preoccupied, starring off into the dark fastness of the swamp.

“Look over there,” said the faerie, pointing into the darkness.

Kilfrie let out an inhuman panther shriek.

Brythia translated, “She says she sees something too.”

“I don’t see anything,” Tolian remarked.

“Keep looking,” suggested Findelbres.  “There did you see it?”

There it was.  A glowing ball of light bobbed about in the nighttime blackness several hundred yards away.  It almost appeared as a lantern, but there was about it a supernatural radiation that defied explanation.

“I have heard legends of the Will-o-the-Wisp, but I had never seen one,” Brythia said with some wonder in her voice.

“How about two?” asked Findelbres, pointing towards another of the spectral lights hovering even nearer towards the left.

“Three,” pointed out Tolian, indicating yet another ball of light.

“Everybody keep as still as possible,” suggested the druidess.

“That is good advise for mortals, whom the Will-o-the-Wisp seek to lead to their doom.  However, the Folk of the Sidhe have no greater sport, than the hunt of these luminous ghosts of the deep marshes,” said etherial Findelbres, before he dashed off, impossibly, over the dark and watery landscape.

They watched in doubt and horror as Findelbres disappeared after the dancing balls of eerie bluish-green light.  He was almost instantly swallowed up by the night.

“Findelbres!” cried Tolian and Brythia in one voice.

No reply came to their ears.

“Why, in the name of the Goddess, did he do that?” asked Brythia rhetorically.

“Wait here,” commanded Tolian as she dismounted her horse.

“Tolian, no.  You can’t go after him.”

“I have to try.”

With some trepidation Tolian stepped carefully over to a dry patch next to a tree.  She held her torch before her as she made her way into the marsh.  At first she made fairly good time and managed to keep dry in the process.  She strained into the blackness, gaining no sight of the impetuous elf.  She looked back towards the road, but was unable to see that as well.

“Brythia!” she yelled.

There came no reply.

“Findelbres!”

Again no reply.

One of the Will-o-the-Wisps hovered about fifteen yards from her.  It appeared to be no more than it seemed from a distance, a glowing ball of light.  It was examining Tolian with interest.  She looked down at her feet. A patch of dry ground was a mere step away from the tree she clung to.  She placed her foot there and before she knew it she was sinking into deep water.  Confusion and disorientation immobilized her briefly, as she unexpectedly sank, water running over her head.  Luckily, the armor of the Faerie Queen was extremely light. She was not pulled down by its weight to her doom .  She easily brought herself to the surface.  She could see nothing.  The torch had been extinguished by the water.  She swam through the swampy water to some marginally dry land.  She sank up to her boots in murky mud. The situation brought back to her mind her encounter with the troll.  How differently things were now, she mused grimly.

She returned her mind to her present situation.  Now there was no sign of the Will-o-the-Wisp that had been close to her.  Several others floated in the air in the distance.  Once again she ventured forth from her semi-solid ground.  In the darkness it was even more difficult going.  Her general method was to leap from tree trunk to tree trunk.  A spectral orb flashed by her head, she felt herself being pushed with great strength.  She lost her balance and again splashed into the surprisingly deep water.  This time an even greater degree of confusion took hold of the prince.  As she slipped beneath the cold water, she had no idea whatsoever, where she was, what she was doing, or that she was even underwater to begin with.  Who was she?  Why was she so cold?  Why did water pour into her lungs when she opened her mouth?  She frantically searched her mind for the answers to her questions as she felt the life slip away from her.  Blackness.  Whiteness.  She remembered.  She was the Goddess of the Moon.

An eerie bluish-green light descended into the water.  She felt a unique sensation against her skin.  It tickled.  Hurriedly she was pulled out of the water.  The Will-o-the-Wisp set her gently down on a dry elevated area within the marsh.  She coughed a large quantity of water out of her lungs .  She shook her head and her normal sense of self returned.  She quickly drove the nonsense about being Goddess of the Moon from her head.  She was Tolian, the reluctant Champion, once again.

The Will-o-the-Wisp hung there in the air before her, spinning about around an axis that ever-changed.  Tolian got to her feet, keeping a wary eye upon the shimmering globe of ghostly light.  It did not move from its position of twirling stasis.  Once she stood up, the Will-o-the-Wisp descended to the ground before her.  Tolian realized that the thing was bowing before her.  She stared at it.  It was a spectacular creature.  At first it seemed to be no more than a globe of light, not more than two feet in diameter.  It projected a sheen of blue-green energy that gave the thing its eerie appearance.  However, upon a more careful examination it proved to be that the globe was only encircling a truly remarkable being.  Inside the sphere there was a little creature, also made of glowing light that looked like a frog with dragonfly wings.  He stood rather like a man, and indeed, wore clothing and a hat.  He was nearly imperceptible as he radiated that same blue green light that made the sphere so brilliant.  Just as she was able to see the little frog man inside the orb, he bowed quite formally and humbly.  Tolian could distinguish the embarrassment and discomfort even on the amphibian features of the Will-o-the-Wisp.

“Can you understand me?” asked Tolian.

Inside the sphere the creature nodded.

“Will you attempt to hurt me again?”

The Will-o-the-Wisp shook his small head with vigor .

“Well, that’s good.   Um, right, then.  Can you help me find my friends?”

The little fellow nodded, this time with pleasure.

“And you won’t try and lead me astray?”

No, he gestured, definitely not.

Tolian looked about in the darkness, “It seems I have little to lose.  Lead on.”

The ball of light rose into the air once again, just about level with Tolian’s head.  It took Tolian over the marshy terrain.  The creature did as good a job as could be expected at leading her in that treacherous swamp.  It did not take long however before other Will-o-the-Wisps arrived.  Each one bowed low to Tolian in turn.  She was beginning to be able to see the little beings with ease within their energy orbs.  There were females as well as males, and they, each one of them was ecstatic at meeting Tolian.  The marsh glowed with their numbers.  Literally hundreds of them swirled about delighting in Tolian’s presence.  She laughed aloud at their antics, despite herself.  The spectacle that the Will-o-the-Wisps displayed for her was dazzling.  Some danced in the air around her, while others dipped beneath the marsh’s waters presenting an eerie waltz.

“Thank you, so much,” said Tolian, “but I really must find my friends.”

With that they buzzed about Tolian so quickly that she could not see what they were doing.  Suddenly she was whisked off her feet and carried into the air.  Will-o-the-Wisps flew around her as escort as well as supporting her flight.  They moved at great speed.  In no time at all they were lowering Tolian on to the road next to an amazed Brythia and Kilfrie.

“How do you do it?” asked the stunned druidess.

“I don’t know,” she replied.  That wasn’t true, of course, but she was not going to admit it, even to her self.

“They’re cute,” cooed Brythia.

“Aren’t they?  Look inside the sphere.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just look.”

“Fantastic!” exclaimed  Brythia.

“I told you.”

The glowing creatures continued to dance about the camp site with enthusiasm.  Tolian took Brythia’s hand in hers as the Will-o-the-Wisp performed for them.  Then Tolian remembered.

“Where’s Findelbres?”

“He hasn’t come back yet.”

“He’s back now,” came his otherworldly voice nearing the camp.  “And just in time, I see you’re under attack.”

Tolian assured the faerie, “We are not under attack.”

“But...,” stammered Findelbres.

“They are our friends,” Tolian declared.

“But, the Host of the Sidhe always hunt the Will-o-the-Wisp,” argued the elf, “I have captured one myself this evening.”

He held up an ornately decorated jar that contained one of the unfortunate creatures.

He continued, “These things are a menace.  Did you know that?  They lure mortals into the marsh to their doom.  They’re simply spirits of the swamps, their only purpose is to protect their wild, watery keep from harm.  They would sooner kill you than have you damage their dominion of marsh.”

“Let it go,” commanded Tolian.  She filled her voice with authority.

“But...”

“Now, Findelbres, right now.”

The faerie begrudgingly did as he was told.  The Will-o-the-Wisp flew out of the jar and made obscene gestures at him.

“In this war,” Tolian said, “we need all of the allies we can get.”

Copyright 2002, 2015 Diana Hignutt

---

For the First Two Parts Click on January

Obviously, reading a serialized blogified novel is not the ideal way of doing it.  But, here we are, so we do what we must.  To get to the first two parts of Moonsword, being Part I: The Prophecy and Part II: the Champion just click there where it says January to your right to access the first couple of dozen chapters or so...along with some special extras.  Enjoy!

In a related note:  Here's the Kindle ebook release schedule:

Moonsword - Spring Equinox 2015
Empress of Clouds - Summer Solstice 2015
The Silver Light - Samhain (Halloween) 2015 or so
The Moonsword Trilogy - Winter Solstice 2015

Moonsword - Chapter 28

Chapter 28

It is useless to attempt to imagine the state of anguish that churned in Rwiordes’s heart and soul.  The screams from the burning inhabitants of Coertol City still echoed loudly in his skull, despite the fact that many miles now stood between him and the site of the tragedy.  He had ordered his escort to depart from the inferno as soon as he had gathered about himself some semblance of composure.  They had ridden relentlessly to get as far as possible from the blazing heat that still burned away at Rwiordes’ soul.  Even the members of the escort showed clear signs of remorse for the fate that they had been party to meting out to the women and children of Coertol City.

Finally one of the rogues rode along side of Rwiordes.

“We should stop for some sleep soon, Sir,” he suggested.

Rwiordes nodded to him.  It did not really matter how far they travelled from the doomed city, its memory would haunt him forever.  He knew that then, as surely as he had ever known anything.

They camped in the vicinity of the smoldering ruins of a farmhouse.  The thatch roof was burned away and the stones of the walls were blackened by flames.  Dragon fire.  Rwiordes had come to recognize the reptiles’ distinctive traces.  There was no sign of anyone.  Do doubt, postulated Rwiordes (to himself) the Demon allowed the dragons to snack upon the inhabitants of the meager estate.  Such was his despicable nature.

Rwiordes realized that he had to escape, if escape was possible at all.  He had to attempt it.  No longer could he abide the Demon’s fearsome presence.  He knew that he had nothing to lose. He knew his fate if he rejoined the Demon’s troop. With little difficulty, he convinced himself that he must make his escape that night, for tomorrow they would catch up with the main contingent of the Demon’s army.

A plan came to him.  He ordered two of his “escorts” to stand guard over the camp.  He did his best to pick the two men who appeared to be having the greatest difficulty staying awake as they ate their meager dinner.  The chief of the escorts was not that bright an individual, as Rwiordes had suspected.  He paid no attention to Rwiordes’s choice for he was satisfied that guards would be posted, and made no protest of the matter.  He even appeared to drop his own level of watchfulness as Rwiordes took charge.  Rwiordes counted on that reaction.  The Demon’s men knew well that Rwiordes was one of the fiend’s closest associates.  This association had, of course, resulted in Rwiordes being looked upon with some trepidation himself.  After the nightmare of the Coertol City inferno, Rwiordes acquired an additional fearful respect from his escorts. He shuttered and sobbed as the anguish of the memory returned.

He lay some little distance from their camp fire, huddled in his blankets, pretending to sleep, while keeping a watchful eye on the two sentries.  At first they paced about the camp, hoping to stave off the exhaustion that pulled at them.  They wearied of that fairly quickly.  They sat themselves down close to the fire, and attempted to keep each other awake by means of  conversation.  Rwiordes watched and waited with a patience that surprised him.  He knew that he must wait for the perfect momen t because he would only get one chance.  They had to fall asleep prior to the next shift on the watch.

The two sentries fell asleep.  After a few more minutes one of them began to snore.  That had to mean that they were both asleep and that no one else was, or they would awaken the sleeping guard.

Now, it was time to act.  He got up casually but speedily.   Everyone was sound asleep.  He walked away from the fire and headed in the direction of the camp latrine (which was little more than a hole in the ground), just in case someone might see him.  He was afraid to go near the horses, lest they should wake the sleeping guards, so he was forced to leave on foot.  He stepped as lightly and as carefully as possible, endeavoring to make as little noise as he could.  From the latrine he made his way across the fire-scorched field, cringing at every snap of a twig.  He barely thought to breathe.

When he placed two hundred yards between himself and the camp site he ran.  Fear provided him with the energy he needed.  With every foot fall he felt a little bit more free.  Free.  He ran into the night; he wasn’t certain where he was going as he slipped through the shadows.  Away.  That was all that was on Rwiordes mind.  Free and Away.  Yet part of his mind would never lose that feeling of doom that tormented him.  That part knew the Demon too well to think escape from him could be that easy.

 Copyright 2002, 2015 Diana Hignutt

---

Moonsword - Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Delorick was immediately tended to.  He was placed in the hands of Justeel, the estate’s Steward and a practiced physician, who led him to a comfortable bed.  Tolian stood by him, her brow knit in worry.

“Do you think he’ll be all right, Justeel?” she asked, her voice filled with concern.

The Steward looked up at her, “Yes, I think he will. Thanks, I suppose, to you.”

Tolian looked away in modesty.

“It’s quite extraordinary the way you carried him in here.  Sometimes, crisis can produce great strength, in even a girl such as yourself.  By the way, how did you know my name?”

Just then, someone whistled from behind, “Well, hello there, my lady.”

Tolian turned to see her cousin, Kelvris, gazing upon her with lust-filled eyes.  His presence struck her like a blow to the face.

“I must say that you truly are a treasure of femininity, despite your wild attire.  But wait, surely I know you from somewhere...”

Tolian held her breath.  She began to sweat, her stomach got queasy.  She watched as Kelvris peered familiarly at her face.

“I definitely know you.  You’re from the palace, right?”

“Yes,” she said.

That did not seem to appease Kelvris’ exploring gaze.  He was still searching his memory for her identity by an intent examination of her features.  They had played together much as children, Kelvris had known her as long as anyone had.  Tolian began to tremble.  Finally, a dawning recognition glowed in his eye.  Tolian froze.  Her cousin’s countenance quickly demonstrated wonderment and then shock.

“Tolian?” Kelvris asked incredulously.  He looked her over from head to toe again, but this time with wide eyes.

“It is I,” she said grimly.

“But how?  What has happened?  You’re a woman.”

“I realize that, Kelvris,” she replied coldly.

“By the warrior gods!”  Her royal cousin exclaimed, continuing his shock induced blabber.

“Your Majesty?” asked an also horrified Justeel.

Tolian turned to him.  She swallowed hard as he in turn stared in surprised dismay at her current appearance.

“Please tend to Delorick, I will explain everything later.”

She turned back to Kelvris, “Is your father here?”

He nodded dumbly.

“Take me to him,” she commanded.

Kelvris obeyed, though in dazed manner.  Tolian was not looking forward to seeing her uncle on this occasion.  If Kelvris’ stunned reaction was any indication, he most likely would not take the news well.  But Tolian felt that since Keliof was now going to find out sooner or later, she would be a man about it and tell him herself.  As they walked through the spacious corridors of the house, Tolian’s curiosity ended their embaressed silence.

“Has my father been worried about me?”

That question brought Kelvris to a standstill, his ability to speak finally emerging.  “Of course you idiot!  We all were.  Armies were called to the forest near Ursuk to search for you.  There was a sizable reward offered to anyone who had information regarding your whereabouts.  You’re going to explain this, aren’t you?”

He stopped before a door, “Here we are.”

Tolian breathed deeply and entered the room.  Her uncle, who had gained a few pounds on his already large frame was seated at his desk.  He looked up from the parchments that covered it.

“What can I do for you, young lady?” he asked in a congenial tone.

Tolian walked forward, holding her head high as she neared his desk.  Kelvris followed at what he considered a safe distance.

“Father, do you realize who this is?” asked Kelvris.

“No boy, I’ve never seen her in my life. And I assure you, I’d remember it.”

Tolian stopped before him, “Uncle Keliof, it is I, Tolian.”

The old man laughed but a moment then he must have seen something in Tolian’s eyes that conveyed the truth to him.  Tolian felt shamed by his reaction.

“Tolian?  Lad, W-w-what magic is this?” he asked in a stammer.

She lowered her head mournfully, “Druidic magick, my uncle.”

She then told them the story of her capture and transformation, and then of her quest.  Her two kinsmen held their tongues as Tolian related the tale from start to finish.

“I must ask you both, to say nothing to my father about this,” she said, at last.  “I would prefer him to think me dead, than as being reduced to such a shamefully wrenched condition.”

Keliof agreed, “I do think that is perhaps the best idea for now.  How long shall you stay here?”

“Not long,” she answered.  “The Demon has already made an assault on our mission.  I must obtain the Moonsword as quickly as possible.  Oh yes, that reminds me, I am expecting guests, the other members of our expedition, one of whom bears my unborn son in her womb.”

This announcement drew a burst of happiness from her uncle, at least.  “A son!  Well done, lad!  I mean...”

“I know what you mean, uncle.  I know too well.  This female flesh mocks my very being.”

“I must say, Tolian, old boy, you really look great,” commented Kelvris.

Tolian replied coldly, “If you ever say anything like that again, cousin, I shall kill you.  Do you understand?”

He laughed nervously.

“One other thing, uncle.”

“Yes, Tolian?”

“You must warn my father to prepare our defenses.  The Demon will strike Lorm sooner or later.  You must be ready to try and stop him.”

“Of course, he’ll have his hands full if he tries to get into Lorm.”

Tolian managed to smile. “Excellent, but please do not underestimate him.  Now, I fear that I need to rest.  I have not slept since sometime yesterday.”

Kilfrie’s sleek black body rubbed across Tolian’s leg.  She looked down at the cat.  “Oh, sorry.  Could you arrange for some food for us first?”

“Us?” asked Kelvris.

“My friend and I.”

Keliof ordered his son to escort Tolian to the room were she had always stayed when she had visited as a boy.  Several delicious meats were brought up, along with a good wine.  When she had eaten and seen to Kilfrie’s comfort, she settled herself into bed to take a nap.  It felt particular sliding her new soft curves beneath those familiar sheets.  Various childhood images impinged themselves on her mind as she drifted off to sleep.

Dreaming:  She found herself walking (in her current female form) through a sea of white mists.  She had no idea where she might be or how she had gotten there.   Around her the thick clouds of mist rolled and drifted.  Nothing else could be seen.  She kept walking, in what she hoped was a straight line, but with the lack of visibility she could not be certain.  A thought came to her:  perhaps she was searching for the Moonsword.  The familiar vision of the sword flashed across her dreaming mind.  Its phantom appearance calmed her, but she remained in relative uncertainty.  That might not be it, she thought.  What am I doing in this place, she asked herself.  Her mental processes seemed as foggy and insubstantial as the deep mist.

She w alked for what seemed like hours.  At last the mist seemed to be thinning.  Above her she could make out the starry night sky, and in the distance on the horizon a massive tower loomed.  It shone with white brilliance and was constructed in an architectural style totally unfamiliar to her.  As she neared the tall structure she could just discern the crescent shaped windows that lined its glistening sides.  Now the mist around her feet seemed to ebb and she could see her boots plodding over freshly fallen snow.  It seemed to her that the best plan was to head for the tower and to make inquiries of her whereabouts of any inhabitants inside.

The tower loomed impossibly high above her.  It radiated a white brilliance, making it quite difficult to behold.  She knocked upon the door and it opened inward at once.  No one could be discerned inside.  She entered.  The entrance way was furnished lavishly with light blue and purple tapestries and drapes.  A great many candles lit the interior.  She looked casually about for any sign of the tower’s occupants but could find no one.  It seemed a good idea to head up the stairs to investigate further.

Something about the place struck her as familiar, yet she could not place it.  She climbed the stairs until she came upon a door, shaped in a crescent.  She knocked upon that door, but she heard no reply from within.  She turned the knob cautiously and entered the room.  Inside white light gleamed and reflected on countless fountains and pools.  The room was vast and spectacular.  It was the grandest throne room she had ever seen.  For, she knew immediately that that was the function of this room.  No mortal sovereign could boast such magnificence, she realized.  Crystals gleamed from a thousand chandeliers, a rich purple silken carpet led up to the throne, which was fashioned ornately from pure silver.  She approached the splendid throne.  No one sat upon it.

Something caught her eye as she neared the mighty seat: a large window.  She thought to avail herself of its vast panoramic view, perhaps thereby giving herself some inkling of her whereabouts.  She regretted that decision instantly.  For there hanging in the sky was a mammoth blue sphere that was without precedent in her experience.  A sinking feeling came over her.  She knew not how, but she was immediately aware of what it was.   It was the world, hanging across the cold reaches of space.  The disorientation faded surprising quickly as she marvelled at the Earth’s unequalled beauty.  A giant, delicate gem stone set in the starry infinities of time.

A clear white horizon stretched out as far as the eye could see below the orb of the world.  A pristine, snow-covered land, with only a few traces left of the mist which had shrouded the landscape when she had arrived.  She knew now where she was.  She was on the Moon.

She was surprised by a knock on the outside of the throne room door.  At first she was alarmed.  Her pulse quickened.  She was unsure of what to do.  Another knock.  Then a new confidence entered her.

“Come in,” she said.

The door opened and in walked Ymrisiva, Queen of Faerie.  Her smile beamed as she beheld Tolian.  She bowed.

“My Empress,” said Ymrisiva.

This time it didn’t bother Tolian to be addressed in such a manner.  She didn’t know why.  Barely realizing she was doing so Tolian walked over and sat on the silver throne.  It felt right.  She was comfortable.

“What can I do for you, Oh Queen of the Good Folk?” she heard herself ask.

The faerie approached the throne and bowed again.

“I knew you would be here, so I thought I might pay you homage in your own realm.”

Yes.  Tolian knew she was correct.  It felt like home to her.  On that throne she had lost any of the unpleasant feelings that had been assailing her regarding her transformation.  Being a woman felt right to Tolian while sitting there.  On her throne, in her realm.

“You are welcome here always, Ymrisiva,” she said.

The Queen seemed well pleased at Tolian’s attitude.

“As I predicted, Oh Holy One, my armor does your figure a great justice.”

Tolian looked down at herself, now with pride on her female appearance.  “I must agree,” she replied.  “It also provides excellent support.  I am pleased with it.  I thank you again.”

“You are welcome, My Lady of the Silver Light.  You realize, of course, that you probably won’t feel that way when you return to the World.”

“Yes, my male pride refuses to accept my destiny still, as well as the advantages of my femininity, but in time who can say how things will be.  In any case, I will not allow myself to go without this armor when I return, at least until after I confront the Demon.”

“The werewolf skin, adds a nice touch, I must say,” observed the queen.

“It is a symbol of my ability to defeat our enemy, I shall wear it at our encounter.  But this is not why I summoned you here,” continued Tolian.

“You summoned me here, my lady?” asked Ymrisiva, with some small measure of surprise and slightly more indignation.

“Indeed,” answered Tolian.  She vibrated with life, with power.  “The Demon has struck his first blow.  He has utterly destroyed Coertol City, and has launched an attack on our expedition.  The druid Kalabred is dead.  We have received no word from the Druidic High Council, and have therefore been afraid to announce our whereabouts to the Demon.  I need you to alert them for me.”

Ymrisiva bowed, “I shall relay whatever messages that you wish, of course.  But clearly, if the Demon launched an attack on you he already knows where you are?”

Tolian answered with an inner certainty, “He utilized the Samhain-tide to locate us.  He is not so powerful as of yet to find us now that the night is passed, though he will be soon.”

Once again the Queen of Faerie stood in wonderment.  She was clearly impressed by Tolian’s demeanor and knowledge.

“I see,” she said.

“You must tell Magara that the Demon shall strike again soon, probably against Keythion.   The kingdoms in the vicinity should be warned so that some sort of preparations of defence can be made.  Perhaps the Demon can be delayed sufficiently, thereby, for me to obtain the sword and end this.”

“I shall tell her.”

“Also,” Tolian continued, “I need you to raise an army of the Fey, to be equipped to send at my word.”

The queen grew solemn, “But, my Lady, I have not the power to bring the whole host of the Sidhe into the World.”

“No,” Tolian said.  “But I do.”

Suddenly soft lips pressed against hers, bringing her from her dream.  Someone was kissing her.  It was nice, she thought as she slipped back into her normal consciousness.  She opened her eyes.  Brythia was leaning over her, smiling.

“Hello, My Prince,” she said.

“Hello, yourself,” Tolian mumbled sleepily.  She leaned up.

“What a weird dream,” she mused.

“Oh?”

“It’s not important now,” Tolian said, brushing the hair away from her face in a casual manner.  Brythia giggled.

“You are starting to pick up female mannerisms.”

That observation did not please Tolian.

“I’m sorry,” Brythia apologizes, seeing the effect of her comment.

Tolian sighed, “Don’t worry about it.  You didn’t have any trouble finding the estate did you?”

“No, not at all.  And, before you ask, Myrthis is doing well.  And, I looked in on Delorick before coming to get  you. He’s improving as well.  They’re taking good care of him.”

Tolian slid out of bed and stood up.

“You wore the armor to bed?” asked Brythia, surprised.

Tolian mumbled in embarrassment, “It’s, uh, comfortable you know.  I was really tired.”

She stopped herself from babbling excuses,  pulled the werewolf skin around herself (which elicited a raised eyebrow from Brythia), and turned to face the druidess.

“Oh yes,” remembered Brythia, “Your uncle says that dinner is ready at the main dining area.”

“Well let’s go,” said Tolian, “there is no better food than Lormian country cooking.  My uncle has a true love of food and employs only the finest chefs, but I can not go to the main dinning room.  My uncle and cousin have vowed to keep silent about me, but I can’t let any other Lormian nobles find out.  My father would find out for sure.”

“Relax,” Brythia reassured him, “It will only be your uncle, cousin Kelvris, the steward, Findelbres, Myrthis, you and I.”

“And Kilfrie,” Tolian added.

“No, Kilfrie’s dead, remember?”

Tolian looked around the room, and saw no sign of the big cat.  Brythia eyed her as though she were crazy.

“Now where’s she got to?”

Just then there came a woman’s scream.

Tolian smiled, “Come on.”

They stepped out of the room into a hallway.  Two figures stood nearby in the hallway.  The black panther was sitting on the floor, watching a chambermaid who was walking calmly towards them.

“Hello, you two,” said the chambermaid with a great deal of familiarity.

“Kilfrie?” asked Brythia.

“Who else?” responded the chambermaid, “I just borrowed the maid’s body for a moment.”

“How is this possible?” asked Brythia.

The chambermaid shrugged her shoulders, “I assume when the werewolves killed my real body while my consciousness was in the panther’s form, I was stuck there.  The panther doesn’t seem to mind.  She considers it an honor.”

Tolian and Brythia took this in with the complete acceptance that comes from the hard evidence of reality.

“I was so sorry to hear about Kalabred. The  Order will miss him sorely”, Kilfrie said.

“Yes,” agreed Brythia, “May his return into the world be speedy. We  have great need of his ilk.”

“His return into the world?” asked Tolian.

Kilfrie explained, “We druids believe in the transmigration of souls. Reincarnation, if you will.  When a mighty druid of Kalabred’s nature dies he is sure to return to a new life as soon as possible, provided that they have no tasks for him in the Otherworld.”

“Well, just to teach him a lesson,” Tolian said, “I hope he comes back as a woman.”

“Ah, that’s our poor Champion, for you,” mused Kilfrie.  “Well I better let the chambermaid go, before she gets too upset.  Besides, I’m hungry again.  Let’s go eat.”

As soon as those words left the chambermaid’s lips, a puzzled expression stole over her features.  A great deal of confusion and disorientation played about her brow.

“Excuse me,” she said, backing away.  Her eyes widened in fear as the big cat brushed past her.

When they arrived at the main dinning room, everyone else was seated and waiting for them.  The table was set of Keliof’s finest china and crystal.  A vast array of food was set about in delicious abundance.

“I see that becoming female has done little to improve your natural tardiness, cousin,” noted Kelvris as they entered.

Prince Keliof glared at his son’s disrespect, “I remind you that you are addressing the heir to the throne of Lorm, boy.”

The chastened young man apologized, “So sorry Your Highness.”

Tolian and Brythia took their seats at the great table.

“I appreciate your deference, my uncle,” commented Tolian, “But it is misplaced.  How can I, now a woman, be heir to the Lormian throne?  It is not possible.”

“But, surely,” offered jovial Keliof, “You won’t be stuck in that form forever.”

“Yes,” replied a grim Tolian, “I shall.”

There was an awkward and uncomfortable silence, before Tolian spoke again, “All is not lost, however.  The true line of succession is unbroken, for I present to you Myrthis, the Daughter of Rethig, who bears within her the next king of Lorm.”

Myrthis, who was rather nervous , stood up and curtsied.

“The daughter of Rethig,” repeated Prince Keliof in disbelief.  “Your parents will be overjoyed at this news, child.”

“I ask you, uncle, to present her to my father as the mother of my child.  Please make certain she receives every comfort.”

Keliof nodded, “I shall do as you say, Tolian.  Though as far as I am concerned, man or woman, you are still the rightful heir to the throne.”

“I appreciate your high regard for me, but I can never return to my country in this form.  I could not bear the shame and ridicule that would come to the House of Hemris.  After tomorrow when I leave Dril Prolt, I shall not return to Lorm.”

Tolian began to eat and said nothing more.  She was aware that she had failed to properly introduce Brythia and Findelbres, but words were too hard for her.  A dull despondency had taken hold of her and being there in that dinning hall, where she had eaten many a fine meal as a young boy, allowed too many memories to overwhelm her.  Now, for the first time, she truly understood that this was it. She would never again enter her beloved country.  She had lost everything.

Copyright 2002, 2015 Diana Hignutt

---