From her corner, Chárlotte caught sight of a few of her friends among the guests. In the far opposite corner of the room, Roseleaf Leafton was talking with someone. She noticed with a thrill of pleasure that she was wearing the sunflower yellow dress that she had made for her, and whatever resentment that Chárlotte had felt toward Roseleaf’s neglecting to mention Gwenyth’s death to éltoth vanished like the gloom of a rainy day when the sun peeps out from behind the storm clouds. The yellow dress complimented Roseleaf's green wings and made her stand out even more in the crowd of chattering people. In another part of the room, élysia was absorbed in a deep discussion with another woman. From where Chárlotte sat, she could hear them discussing the history of the feyns who lived in the Obwán Mountains. It brought a smile to Chárlotte’s face, but it vanished quickly when she saw éltoth and a few others go through the doorway, leading to the fire room. Chárlotte pondered éltoth’s news as her feet kept time to the music.
Chárlotte had feared that Lársh was the one behind the rumors that had been spreading across Féyndom, but had hoped desperately that it was not so. She and her friends had held many a friendly discussion, arguing over the possibility, and Gwenyth had been adamant that Lársh was never slain in the Great War. But, despite everything that éltoth and her friends said, Chárlotte did not believe it: she did not want to. Yet there was turmoil inside her heart, as she doubted her stance. “Oh well,” she breathed, “I guess this was meant for the best.” Her train of thought was interrupted by the arrival of another friend of hers.
“Chárlotte, I am so glad to see you here! I was starting to think that you were not coming, but then I caught sight of you!” The older-looking woman with silvery blonde hair stood beside Chárlotte’s chair. Her hand held the train of her sapphire dress, for she had just finished dancing, and her silver-grey wings shifted.
“I came with élysia, Moon’sheen,” replied Chárlotte, looking up at her friend. “She and Roseleaf wanted me to come tonight.”
“Well, I am glad that you came! It has been a long time since I saw you at a party or at any social gathering. Have you met the visitors?” Moon’sheen asked as she settled down in a chair beside her, crossing her legs.
“Yes, I have. éltoth and I danced together and talked for a while.”
“That’s good... You seem a little out of sorts, Chárlotte. Is anything the matter?” her friend asked, peering into Chárlotte’s face, which was troubled even under her smile.
“Oh... something éltoth said while we were dancing is troubling me.” Chárlotte felt embarrassed that her thoughts showed on her face and that Moon’sheen had noticed them. Trying to divert the topic of conversation, she added with more cheeriness in her voice, “You needn’t worry about me; I am fine. How is Willowmere? I have not seen her yet.”
Moon’sheen sensed that Chárlotte did not want to talk about what troubled her and politely obliged her. “Willowmere is sick with a high fever that came on her earlier today. She has a fearful headache and a sore throat as well. She instructed me to ask if you could bring her some medicine after the party.”
“I could go now and bring it to her,” said Chárlotte, rising. Although she enjoyed being around people, she felt awkward and found Willowmere’s request to be a way to excuse herself from the party without hurting anyone’s feelings. Additionally, if Willowmere had too high of a fever and was in danger, it was her responsibility as a doctor to take care of her. She tended many of the feyns in the area when they were ill and received modest compensation for doing so.
Moon’sheen placed a hand on her shoulder and gently resisted Chárlotte. “She also instructed me to make sure that you did not rush off the moment you heard her request.” With a small smile, she explained, “She knew you would want to leave, but she said that she would be alright and that you should not come till after you’ve enjoyed yourself at the party. You need to spend some time with us and not alone in that lonely house.”
Hearing Willowmere’s instructions, Chárlotte gave in to the pressure of her friend’s hand on her shoulder. She returned to her seat and answered, “Very well. If you both insist, then I will stay here.” She felt some relief as she said that.
Moon’sheen looked toward the doorway to the fire room thoughtfully. “Hey, would you care to come with me to the fire room?” she asked.
“Sure,” Chárlotte replied as she got to her feet. “The discussion there might be more interesting than observing dancers gliding across the ballroom floor. Though,” she added with a wistful glance toward éltoth, “I would not mind dancing again, especially if I had a suitable partner.”
Moon’sheen followed Chárlotte’s glance and smiled. “He is a wonderful dancer,” she admitted. “Too bad you both could not have danced longer together. I know you love dancing.”
“Indeed I do,” Chárlotte agreed. “It’s hard to find a partner who knows what he is doing, though.”
Moon’sheen laughed and slipped her arm through Chárlotte’s. “Come along. Let’s go find out if what is being discussed is what we both think it is.” She smiled in a warm but joking manner, and together, they made their way across the room and into the fireroom.
The room they entered was also large, though not as large as the ballroom. It was spacious enough to hold a good number of feyns, but small enough for it to feel close and homey. Three fireplaces at the farther end kept the room warm and illuminated and were the reason for its name. Couches, cushions, and benches had been placed before the fireplaces and against the walls; and there were about thirty other feyns in the room, some seated and some standing. Firewings was seated cross-legged on a cushion and seemed to be one of the principal speakers in the discussion. A tall, fair woman was leaning against one of the pillars, her long blonde hair drawn back on one side. Chárlotte recognized the woman as her friend élberteeth. She had not seen her friend for several months because élberteeth had been on a hunting trip. Seeing that her friend had returned safely gladdened Chárlotte’s heart.
Moon’sheen and Chárlotte sat down on some of the available cushions and began to listen to the discussion, trying to figure out what the topic was.
A young man with blonde hair and glasses was arguing a fact that many feyns in the North believed: “The Southern feyns have just made up these rumors! Slave drivers? A black army sweeping across the plains, pillaging towns and villages in the dead of night? Smoke rising from Nimph’s Vale? These are all attempts to gain our attention and sympathy so that they can take advantage of us. I bet the Schi’leons made them up; they are known for their subterfuge. These rumors are probably their design.”
“The Schi’leons would not create rumors of Lársh’s return for self-advantage. Too many of their people were killed and abused during the Great War,” interjected a man named Baldor. He appeared older than the first speaker, and his brown hair was beginning to grey at the sides. “Lársh was and still is accursed throughout Féyndom—excluding, of course, the few faithful and deluded who still honor him. There must be something to these rumors for them to be attributed to Lársh and to have continued for so many years.”
“He has a point,” agreed an elderly man seated in an armchair close to the fire. Most knew him to be Fávian, one of the few remaining survivors of the battle where Chlant had defeated Lársh. No one dared speak over him out of respect for his great age and deeds. “We killed Lársh years ago. Nevertheless –.”
“You think he escaped?” interrupted the young man who had spoken earlier. The feyns, observing the conversatio,n gasped and muttered at his rudeness. “We have eyewitnesses who saw him fatally pierced by an arrow—an arrow shot by one of the most skillful archers in that battle—one of the Renía no less! Only an immortal can slay another immortal, and that is what happened.”
“That the arrow pierced him—we have witnesses for that,” conceded the old man with a nod. “But who witnessed the body lying on the ground, void of life? Who saw Lársh die and breathe his last? For that, we have none. Prove to me he is actually dead! No one has seen it with his living eyes! We all know that he possessed one of the Crystals.”
“Are you implying that he used the Crystal to save himself after the pursuit stopped?” asked élysia, who had followed her friends into the fire room. She was seated on one of the couches between two feyns.
“Yes, young lady, I do believe that was our doom,” replied Fávian. His eyes lingered on élysia, whose eyes were glowing as they always did when she was interested in something. “I was the one who called off the pursuit that day... and it is something I regret at the very depths of my soul!”
“You were the one who called it off?” élysia straightened herself abruptly, surprise written across her face as well as those in the room who were not personal friends of the man. Most in the area knew he had fought in the famed battle and revered him because of it and his age. There were some, though, in the younger generations who did not share the same respect, the memories of that war being more distant.
“Indeed, I was the one who called off that pursuit, thinking that we had dealt Lársh his final blow. If I had imagined him using the Crystal to save himself... then I would have died before I would have called off the pursuit.”
“How did it happen?” asked a woman. The rest of the room murmured in agreement to the request and leaned imperceptibly forward to listen to the man’s account.
Fávian gazed into the fire for a moment’s thought before beginning. His white hair framed a worn, wrinkled face. For a moment, his shoulders sagged as if they were carrying the weight of the decision he had made so many years before. His face seemed more withered, as if the strain of what he bore had aged him faster than it ought to have. Then a light came into his eyes, a light that seemed to glow from their depths as memories filled his mind and he relived that fateful day.
He had been assigned to lead one of the many companies that lay in ambush, waiting for Ch’lant to lure them into one of the wide valleys that dotted the Obwán Mountains, located in the northernmost part of the mainland. Their signal to attack was the horn call from Ch’lant. They had waited for nearly an hour, watching as Lársh’s army pursued Ch’lant’s into the valley, before the call came, loud and clear.
What had followed afterwards was a bloody, chaotic battle, full of clanging, rustle of wings, unbearable smoke, and cries of the wounded and dying. The pursuing army became the prey as the pursued turned upon them, routing and encircling them.
Fávian remembered that day all too well, as if it had been only yesterday. He looked for a moment at his own hands, a flicker of something like regret on his face, but he continued his tale, his voice halting but strong.
That day, Ch’lant had seemed majestic and inspiring as he charged about the battlefield, riding on the unicorn that was his steed, then swooping through the air, and always brandishing his sword Akír. Blood had dripped from both his sword and the silver horn of the unicorn. Under his command, his army had surrounded the enemy and turned the tide of the battle. Ch’lant’s leadership had caught Lársh’s attention and angered him.
The terror that Fávian felt that day while he had watched Lársh approaching his commander passed over his face as he described it to the hushed feyns in the fire room. Flames of fire had filled Lársh’s eyes and laced his sword, wreathing it like a torch. His presence had fallen over the entire valley like a dark, eerie weight, bearing down on their souls as if to crush their very existence. They had all fled. Only Ch’lant had been able to withstand the pressure, turning toward Lársh boldly and readying his sword in response.
Larsh had laughed at Ch’lant’s boldness and had raised his sword to strike. Ch’lant’s face had paled as he watched the sword descend, but he parried the blow. Their swords had clashed together, steel and flame meeting and parting, as the two circled each other.
“When Ch’lant cut off Lársh’s left hand,” continued Fávian, “the shriek of pain and fury seemed to ring in the ears of everyone who had gathered around. Lársh must have been holding himself back until then, for he cast Ch’lant onto his back with an effort of will.” In the old man’s memory, the dark figure with bat-like wings had towered over the commander who tried and failed to get to his feet, as if some unseen weight had been laid across his body, preventing his escape. “Lársh cursed Ch’lant, swearing to take vengeance on him and his descendants. He prepared to thrust Ch’lant through where he lay. However, Lársh stopped himself, his eyes darting toward where Allten, the Renía disguised as a feyn stood. He must have realized the trap we had set for him, for he let out a cry of anger and rose into the air, making for the mountains’ safety.
“My platoon pursued him, and Allten accompanied us, her bow readied to fire. We chased him into a small valley, and Allten let loose her arrow there. The arrow flew and pierced through his back and heart, causing Lársh to cry out in pain and lurch toward the ground before catching himself.
“He withdrew and spread his wings, retreating into the sky as swiftly as clouds being blown over the mountains in a strong wind. He directed his course toward the mountain slopes that we had just abandoned, hoping to hide himself deep in the mountains. We hesitated to pursue further, knowing that he was mortally wounded and still dangerous. I ordered my soldiers to return to Ch’lant, and we left Lársh to die alone.”
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
The old man held up his hands, tears of regret forming in the corners of his eyes, as he said, “We did not expect this – for his return. How could I have known that this would happen? How could I have known that the dark figure I saw skulking around the edge of the camp could have been Lársh, like my heart whispers to me now? Yet, this peaceful generation will suffer the consequences that my actions have brought upon it. Many will die because we failed to ensure that Lársh was dead, and I wish – with every fibre of my being – that all this could have been averted!”
The room fell silent after Fávian finished speaking. The fire crackled cheerily, but the hearts of many were filled with dread by his words. Feyns shifted uneasily, casting glances at each other that spoke the words they dared not say aloud. Some stared in unmasked, and others seemed to close their eyes as if wishing this moment were a mere dream from which they would awaken. Chárlotte pondered over what the man had said, remembering what éltoth had told her as they danced.
Then, someone in the room laughed uproariously, as if he had somehow found the man’s tale to be ludicrous. Everyone’s eyes were fixed upon the young blonde-haired man who had disagreed with Fávian earlier. “That dark figure you thought you saw could have been a mere peasant! Bah! Lársh is dead and has been dead these past hundreds of years!”
Fávian raised his white, bushy eyebrows, one rose much higher than the other. “You should not be so quick to laugh at your elders, young man,” he said sternly. “Though we may seem old and useless, we have seen much and know much. I lived in that time, and I saw what I saw, and you...you did not.”
The young man stopped laughing upon being addressed so and hung his head in shame.
Fávian turned and gazed at the faces about him, hoping that his words had convinced them to reconsider what they had believed for the past hundreds of years and what they had tried to blind themselves to for the past five years. His eyes finally rested on éltoth, who had come into the room while he told his story and was standing in the back of the room, watching and listening. The old man’s eyes lit up, and he said to éltoth: “Aye, you are one of the visitors who came from the mainland, are you not? Come, can you confirm the words that I have uttered and the rumors that have been reaching our ears?”
Silence fell as all eyes turned to éltoth, expectantly. éltoth seemed to sense that everyone was waiting for him to speak, for he became thoughtful as he walked to the center of the room, his back to the fireplaces, where everyone could see and hear him.
“What this man has said,” éltoth began, “is correct as far as we can tell. As for the rumors, they are true in their roots, though somewhat exaggerated from traveling from mouth to mouth. That is not the case for all of the tales you have heard. Some things are too horrifying to be exaggerated and become embedded in our minds in vivid detail.”
“Indeed, it is so,” agreed the old man. “Many of the most gruesome rumors that circulated in the Great War had more truth to them than any of the rest. I fear it is even so today.” The old man added, “Have you any news from the South?”
éltoth opened his mouth to speak, but at that very moment, he was interrupted by the Mayor of Bérnsted, who entered the room. Everyone heard him enter and turned their heads toward the Mayor.
The Mayor of Bérnsted was a mildly corpulent man with short stature and twinkling blue eyes that seemed to welcome anyone he met. Round, silver spectacles rested upon his stubby nose, and the top of his head was covered sparsely with short blonde wisps of hair. His wings were a very pale blue and were folded across his back. As mayor, his management was considered by many to be excellent but thought of as terrible by others. His slow, meticulous ways were the main reason why he was disliked, because it took months for anything important to be done, even though it had been presented to him in the Commons for weeks. This habit of his often caused his better ones to be forgotten amid the frustration of the Commons and the press. Chárlotte’s friend élysia was among those who disliked him for this and also found his habit of absentmindedly revealing secrets when he was not supposed to, to be quite annoying. Because of this, she often blamed him for many things that went wrong. Yet overall, he was a kind, jolly old man, and it was perhaps because of this and his other finer, overlooked qualities that he had won his fifth term in the office—much to élysia’s annoyance.
“Good evening to you all,” greeted the Mayor as all the feyns in the fire room rose to their feet. “May Lightness bless you and yours.”
“Good evening to you, and the same blessing be yours as well,” they replied before returning to their seats.
The Mayor made his way to Firewings and éltoth, who were now standing together in front of the fireplace set in the farthest wall. He extended a hand to each of them, saying: “Welcome to Sunset Islands and the town of Bérnsted! May your stay be peaceful.” He then asked them, “So, what do you think of Bérnsted?”
“We enjoyed ourselves splendidly here. Sunset Island certainly is a haven of peace and beauty.” éltoth added, “ I bear an urgent message for you, sir; however, I must deliver it to you in private. The quicker it is done, the better for us all: for time is like grass, here today and gone the next.”
“Certainly, certainly! Perhaps, though, it could wait until after the party, I have only just arrived,” began the Mayor as he looked at the crackling fires and comfortable seats.
“I am afraid that the party can wait, sir,” pressed éltoth. “The importance requires my talking to you – at once and in private.”
The Mayor frowned a little and turned to Lewy, who was standing near the doorway from which the Mayor had entered, “Lewy, do you have an empty room available that I can use for a private talk?”
“Yes. There is a room on the second floor that will do, I am sure,” answered Lewy. “I will lead you there. This way, please.” So saying, he gestured for the two to follow him out of the room.
élberteeth, who had been leaning against the wall, to the left and behind the couches, straightened and unfolded her arms. She caught sight of Chárlotte, made her way over to where she sat, and placed her strong hands on Chárlotte’s shoulders.
Chárlotte started at the touch and looked behind her. Her eyes widened and sparkled as she recognized élberteeth. “You’re back! When did you return from your hunt?”
“I’ve only been back for a couple of days now,” said élberteeth, her sapphire blue eyes smiling in return. Her gleaming golden hair rippled around her shoulders as she sat down on a cushion beside Chárlotte, and her large white wings, as white as a swan’s, attempted to tuck themselves a little closer to her body. élberteeth was unusually strong for a woman, her body well-built and muscular, and as tall as most male feyns. “I ran into Firewings and éltoth while I was hunting the black deer in the Obwán Mountains on the mainland and decided to abandon my hunt to guide them to the coast. The black deer will have to be caught another time.”
Her keen searching eyes studied Chárlotte, and she said, “Well, Chárlotte, Fávian’s story was astonishing, wasn’t it? The historians’ suppositions are being threatened. I do wish éltoth had been able to answer the man’s question more thoroughly. To hear what he could have said would have been delightful, for he is a knowledgeable man.”
“I would have liked to hear more. The historians seem to be challenged, and the news from the South does seem to be more than just the rumors we hoped they were. I wish they were just that – rumors!” replied Chárlotte softly.
“Nay! Chárlotte, didn’t you hear what the man said? It is true. I—oh!” élberteeth caught herself abruptly. “What I found must wait… Did éltoth say anything to you about why he was here?”
“Yes, he did. He says that the rumors are indeed true, and he was going to talk about it here, tonight. What he is saying makes sense, but in my heart, I cannot help – no! I want to doubt it all. I wish someone would make it clear – someone who could remove all uncertainty. But whether we believe the news or not, the problem remains: how can we defeat Lársh if Ch’lant is dead – how can we defeat an immortal?”
“I will verify it!” said Firewings, standing.
Looking up in surprise, Chárlotte wondered how he could have heard her from across the room.
“If the good Fávian would be so kind as to let me continue where my friend left off,” said Firewings, “I can share the news from the southern reaches of our world.” He looked over to where Chárlotte and her friends sat. “I apologize for overhearing your conversation, ladies, and I am glad that there are more feyns in this room whose interests have been piqued by what we have to share.”
Firewings made a slight bow towards Chárlotte before turning to the old soldier. “Would you wish for me to answer your question in the stead of my friend?”
“I would indeed!” the man exclaimed.
“Very well, then I shall explain to you what I witnessed in the South,” began Firewings. The room became as silent as a night at midnight, and only the sound of Firewing's voice and the crackle of the fireplaces broke it. “What rumors, as you call them, that you have heard are true! There are some exaggerations that the past couple of years and the journey by word-of-mouth have brought, but the fundamental base of the stories is true. éltoth was entrusted with an urgent message that has been faithfully delivered to the Mayor of Bérnsted, as you all have witnessed. What the letter’s contents are, I do not know, nor will I guess at them. The tale this soldier has told you is true as well, and recent findings have come to light that will be shared with you all in due time.
“Forest of the Shadows, where I am from, is peaceful, but my people were troubled by what we heard from the South and sent me to investigate their veracity two years ago. I journeyed as far south as I dared. I saw much trouble and ill while I traveled.
“With my own eyes, I stood on Mount Féyndom and looked down upon Nimph’s Vale. There, I beheld smoke rising from the mines in the mountains and ships with red and black sails docked in the Port of Lantonzur. I traveled through the Plains of Gluncell and rode at the foot of the Dawning Mountains. Unseen, I passed by entire villages whose inhabitants were enslaved to a merciless lord. There, I heard Lársh’s name whispered and knew beyond a doubt that he had indeed returned. After this, I hastened homeward, passing through the Three Hills, where I met my friend éltoth, who was preparing to journey to Sunset Island. Accepting my offer of companionship, he and I journeyed to the Forest of the Shadows, where I reported my discoveries and was further instructed to accompany my newfound friend on his mission.
“Lársh knows we feyns, who live in the northern lands, are uncertain about whether he has returned or not, and has used these past five years to gain a foothold in the southern lands. From there, he will begin his assault on us. He hopes that this uncertainty continues, for he is aware, from the last war, of your strength and courage once you have determined what path you will take. You call your vacillation and uncertainty wisdom, but I tell you it is foolish madness! Your fear and doubt will end up as your undoing! Lársh will destroy us all if we do not act now.”
“How do you know when he will attack?” interrupted one of the women sitting on the couch that élysia sat on. Her face was pale, like everyone else’s in the room, and her hands trembled in her lap.
Firewings looked at her and then the rest of the room. “He will send his scouts, the Zarkvalghs, to reconnoiter when he is ready. As yet, no Zarkvalgh has been seen in the northern lands, and we are safe for the time being. Therefore, we must act quickly and cautiously, for it will only be a matter of time after we have begun preparing before he realizes we are allying ourselves together to destroy him. It will take time to accomplish such a thing, but we are blessed with just enough—if we use it wisely. I pray that each of you will listen to my plea. We must fight Lársh before it is too late!”
Firewings paused for a moment to let his words sink into his audience. Some of their faces were clouded with despair and loss, as they thought about what this meant for their future. Others were leaning forward eagerly, mainly the younger men for whom dreams of honor and glory always stirred inside. Distrust and skepticism still lingered among a few. Several feyns stared up at him, faces blank, as if they wished they were somewhere else. More showed rage and anger, which changed to sadness. The sadness then shifted to a cold resolve that reassured Firewing’s heart.
To bring some hope to their hearts, he said, with greater force and emotion than he had before: “The North is the only place that still lies underneath the sunshine. Though we have slumbered with our fingers in our ears for so long, we will rise up like a giant when roused and make our enemies rue the day that they woke us! We must win, and by the strength of Lightness, we shall!”
élberteeth clapped her hands, and many in the room joined in, some out of politeness, some more thoughtfully, and others out of genuine gratitude. Many of the men and women, old and young, became thoughtful by Firewing’s words and said that they would ponder them. Others frowned and looked at each other in bewilderment, their minds turning to the predicament that accompanied the reality of Lársh’s return. Firewings remained silent as he looked at their faces, but he seemed pleased with what he saw: they were pondering what he said. He had much practice in speaking like this during the past few months, and he knew he had convinced most of his hearers. There were many, though, who were perplexed by what it meant for them. A few were still skeptical and remained unconvinced. Without a doubt, though, none of the feyns in the room would leave the house tonight and cease to consider what he had said. Of that, Firewings was certain.
“Pardon me for changing the subject, but what are the Mayor and éltoth doing that is taking them so long?” noticed élysia, who had just returned with a cup of coffee from the refreshment tables in the other room. “They have been upstairs together for a while now!”
“Surely they have already read the contents of the letter!” exclaimed a woman in the room.
A servant who had entered with élysia spoke, saying, “Excuse me, ma’am, but I saw éltoth and the Mayor leave together at least five minutes ago. I think they mentioned on their way out that they were going to the Hall.”
“What!?” exclaimed Firewings. “He left without giving me any notice!” Then he laughed. “I am sure he was too busy with important matters to remember to stop and tell his friend that he was leaving. Come, Lintel, let’s play a game of chess.”
The discussion seemed to have broken up after Firewings left. Everyone was either leaving the room to take part in the merry music and dancing in the adjoining one or talking together in groups about what they had just heard. Chárlotte could hear snippets of their conversations as she passed to a far corner of the room, where she and her friends spent the rest of the evening talking about what was going on in Féyndom and their personal lives.
From other parts of the room, voices drifted toward them:
“What about Ch’lant? How are we to defeat Lársh if the Ch’lants are dead?”
“The Prophecy will never be fulfilled; we are doomed.”
“The King of the Three Hills has not returned. Lársh is alive, and we cannot kill him!”
“Do not fear; Lightness knows what will happen and will make everything work out.”
