Empress of Clouds - Chapter 40

           

                                                                     Chapter 40

           

           

           

           

            Moonlight flooded the garden.  Tolian felt the lunar energy flowing into her.  She pulled Kreel along behind her by the hand.  The place had become quite overgrown.  The Demon’s power had twisted the park from one of singular beauty to a neglected collection of ugly and malefic weeds.  Everything looked foul.  The flowerbed of sunflowers by the door had turned black.  The flowers themselves seemed to possess fanged mouths and were moving, stretching over the nearby pavement searching for food.  Tolian led Kreel well around that.  What other horrors would be lurking there, Tolian wondered.  She gripped Kreel’s sword tightly in her other hand.  At least the place was deserted.

            “Which way?” Tolian asked her faerie friend.  “Uh, I think the quickest way is straight ahead and out the back gate.  That should get us pretty close to the nearest portal back to your world, if you can open it.  If we’re not disturbed, we can make it in about three hours, but about half of that time will be outside the garden.”  Kreel paused and gulped.  “I’m not looking forward to that.”

            “Oh, you won’t get that far,” said a voice from above them.  It was Mesdor flying overhead.  Before Tolian was completely aware of what was happening, the harpy-like faerie came crashing down upon them and sent Kreel sprawling across the pavement with the force of her talon-like feet.  The faerie cried out briefly then fell silent and still.  Mesdor landed a few feet from Tolian and regarded the escaped prisoner with deep contempt.

            “You are going to pay for that,” Tolian said bravely.

            “Oh, not as much as you will,” growled Mesdor, “once Dowbreth gets here.  Gredalon is fetching him right now.  Your betrothed will be angry with you.  Very angry.  Now come along, like a good little Moon Goddess, and take your punishment.”

            “I actually liked you, at first,” Tolian commented, looking now with horror at the deformed and birdlike creature before her.

            She looked up at the Moon and then at the sword in her hand.

            “This is for Kreel,” she said quietly.

            She let go of the sword.  It hung in the air for a moment then with lightning speed it closed the distance between them and plunged directly into the harpy’s chest.

            “Surprise,” she said as Mesdor fell dead.  She rushed over to Kreel.  She had a nasty gash in her shoulder, and she was unconscious.  Tolian tried to pick her up.  She just managed to lift her.  She could not travel far or fast with the faerie, however.  An idea came to her.  She released the girl, and with a slight effort of her mind, levitated her in the air before her.  She was able to travel much quicker with Kreel hovering just in front of her as she walked.  Unfortunately, she did not know the way.  Kreel had said that they needed to go straight back.  Tolian could do that much, being careful to stay safely in the middle of the pavement, away from any plants, all of which seemed to sense their presence and reach out for them.  Tolian hoped Kreel would regain consciousness before they left the garden.

            Suddenly, she froze as she heard a voice calling from the base of the tower.  It was Dowbreth.

            “My betrothed has broken her promise.  I shall see to it that your lover and your friend both die horrible deaths for this.  You know that, don’t you?”

            Tolian shuddered.  Her fear came pouring back into her.  She was almost paralyzed by her trepidation.  Yet, somehow, deep inside of herself, a certainty came into her.  Brythia was beyond Dowbreth’s power now.  She could feel it.  Unfortunately, Tolian and Kreel were not.  She hurried deeper into the garden.

            “I am coming for you my betrothed,” he bellowed violently.  “I shall find you.”

Copyright 2004, 2015 Diana Hignutt

Empress of Clouds - Chapter 39

                                                                     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

Empress of Clouds - Chapter 38

                                                                     Chapter 38

           

           

           

           

            Tolian was ready.  For six days, she had prepared and planned.  At first, she had no idea what to expect.  She had experimented, slipping out furtively for a few moments here and there when neither Mesdor nor Gredalon were about.  For those few moments, she felt powerful.  Not physically strong, but inwardly powerful and capable of amazing things.  She could not lift the table on the balcony, but she could make it levitate with her mind.  Only a few feet, but that was only the second time she went out into the moonlight.  Now, she could do much more than that.  Unfortunately, the power did not last long once she went back inside.  She had only a few moments to show Kreel the smallest demonstrations of her powers, before they left her.         She had managed to break herself of the habit of smoking the faerie pipeweed, though it had not been easy.  She wasn’t hiding from her feelings anymore.  The pain from her wound was much more noticeable, of course, especially when she stood for more than a few minutes.  It wasn’t unbearable; she was capable of enduring it.  She also watched the tapestries again, both to face her guilt head on and to prepare herself for what she would find once she had escaped the tower.  It was hard to watch the scenes of twisted horror that the tapestries revealed.  Faerie had been reformed in the chaotic and nightmarish image of the Demon’s horrific imagination.  Lush forest had become places of gray and gnarled vegetation filled with hideous monsters, creatures of unspeakable horror.  Buildings even, took on more forbidding appearances.  One castle, which had previously appeared a bustling, inviting household, was now a lonely place of malefic aspect.  Drabness had infiltrated every stone and the once welcoming gateway now resembled a gaping, fanged mouth.  Everything in Faerie had changed to some degree.  The people had undergone the most drastic transformation.  Most of the once proud faeries were now snarling, shuffling things, bent and corrupted.  She cried as she watched, for she knew all of it was her fault.  She should have tried to escape sooner; she should have risked sacrificing Brythia and herself.  As hard as she was on herself, she knew that the love magick that bound them would have prevented her from doing anything that could result in Brythia’s death.  What she saw in the tapestries made her entertain thoughts of remaining safe in the tower.  She quickly shrugged off such thoughts.  That was fear talking.  It was apparent that the Demon would soon no longer require her presence to hold full sway over Faerie.  It was nearly all his already.  No doubt he would have her killed, probably Dowbreth, too, for what use were they, once the Kingdom of the Fay was the Demon’s own country?  Every day she felt with greater certainty that that day was quickly approaching.

           

            Now was the time.  She sneaked out to the balcony for what she knew would be the last time.  The Full Moon was already in the sky.  She felt its energy pouring into her.  She opened herself to its silver rays, visualizing herself absorbing all the lunar power she could.  She made certain to hold on to as much as possible.  She did nothing that would cause her to discharge the energy.  She could not test the power for she needed every ounce of it for her plan.

            She breathed in deeply.  The cool air was invigorating.  She had considered trying to fly down from there.  Several things dissuaded her from this plan.  She would be unable to take Kreel, and there was no way she was going to leave her best friend at the mercy of Dowbreth.  Never.  In addition, such a dramatic escape would attract much more attention than she would like.  On top of that, she had no way to know for sure she could, in fact, manage the vast distance safely.  No, her plan was the best way, and she was ready.  Now to put it to the test.

            She went back inside and secured the door and curtains behind her.  Kreel, dressed in a pink nightgown, was pacing nervously across the bedroom, holding her sword.  It was clear that she was afraid.  Tolian couldn’t blame her.  There was every chance that her plan would not work, that they would be caught and killed or, more likely, worse.  She was frightened too, but for the first time since she found herself simply a woman without supernatural powers, she did not let her fear control her.  She had found a place beyond fear.  So what if she was essentially a mortal woman, not a powerful male warrior, or a goddess?  Many women overcame nearly impossible obstacles.  How else could they live their lives with the physical weaknesses of their gender, save by another strength, the strength of character?  True strength in the face of real fear, pervasive fear men could not even imagine.  That was the power of woman.  It was extraordinary.  To try anyway, in spite of everything.

            “You look so frightened,” she said to her faerie friend.  “Repeat this quietly in your mind, it helps:  I will hold no fear.  Fear is defeat and the forerunner of defeat.  Fear is for my enemy.”

            “I’ll try that,” Kreel said with an anxious chuckle.

            “Good, let’s get going.  Mesdor will be back from the bathroom any minute,” Tolian said.  She smiled encouragingly.

            Kreel smiled darkly.

            “You’re certain this will work?” the faerie asked.

            “Oh no, I’m not guaranteeing anything,” Tolian said, leading her to the door.

            They had about two more minutes before Delotti returned with their mulled wine and Mesdor trotted back in about a minute after that.  Their ritual had not changed in more than a month.  The obligatory warm wine to send her off to a dreamless slumber and Mesdor’s eleven o’clock urination.  Small occurrences, seemingly of no consequence, but they were chinks in Dowbreth’s armor.  For only for those few moments, when everyone thought that Tolian was finishing off her evening with some diversion with Kreel and preparing for bed, they were alone.  Those were the only times, for Mesdor and Gredalon trusted Kreel less and less it seemed as they looked on her with resentment, no doubt for her beauty and her friendship with Tolian.  This was the time.  Gredalon was asleep, having spent most of the day keeping an eye on her, covering her with suspicious looks from her ruined visage.  Now.

            Tolian opened the door and walked as nonchalantly as she could down the corridor.  Kreel followed, appearing far too agitated.  No one would think twice to see them.  They were doing nothing wrong.  Uiyrlpi, one of the kitchen staff entered the hallway from the parlor.  She curtsied and Tolian smiled and wished her a good night.

            It took only a few moments to walk the distance from her room to the door to the garden.  The closer they got to the door, the more nervous she became.  Not panicked.  No, she would not allow herself to get overwrought.  She had resolve if not courage, and that would have to do.  She took Kreel’s hand in hers to lend her strength.  She could hear the faerie whispering under her breath, “Fear is defeat and the forerunner of defeat.  I will hold no fear.”

            Tolian did not need the mantra, for she had become it.  Kreel squeezed her head.

            “This is the best way, right?” the faerie asked.

            “Yes, no one will be out there at this time of night; it’s the perfect place to sneak out,” Tolian responded.

            “Tolian, you’ve seen it.  Faerie has gone mad.  It’s a nightmare out there,” Kreel fretted.  “I doubt the garden’s going to be any better.”

            “Yeah, give me your sword.”  She took the faerie blade.  She closed her fingers around the hilt.  It felt good to grip a sword again.  She had not touched a weapon in over two years.  She looked down at her wrist and the black bracelet that adorned it.  Kreel must have caught her look.

            “Now, remember, you promised that you would only do that in case of extreme emergency.  You promised,” the faerie reminded her.

            “I know,” mumbled Tolian.  She regarded the door for a moment.  As she did so, something amusing flashed across her mind.  She looked down at herself, her own white silky nightie shimmering in the lamplight of the hallway, Kreel looking positively cute in her own feminine sleepwear.

            “What do you think,” asked Tolian, “our old selves would think if they could see us now?”

            “Hmmm,” pondered the Elven maiden, “I don’t think they would believe it was us.”

            “Probably not,” Tolian agreed.

            The door.  A magick door.  Of course, it didn’t look like a magick door; it looked like a regular door.  Heavy wood, strong iron hinges.  She put her hand up to it.  She let the power come out of her.  She imagined herself (and Kreel) walking right through the door.  The door wasn’t real.  It was all constructed of the astral.  The astral was under her sway.  It was subject to her whim.  She pushed her hand tentatively and gently through the door.  Her hand seemed to end right at the wrist.  She pulled her hand back out and looked at it.  It was perfectly fine.

            “Okay,” she said with determination.  “Let’s go.”

She walked through the door, pulling Kreel behind her.

Copyright 2004, 2015 Diana Hignutt