Her dreams were filled with the strangest of visions. For a time, there was the sound of water, of a boat rocking and quaking. The blue of the sea carrying her away for a time, before it was replaced by a vision of teeth grinding together, the screams of thousands of voices crying out all around the terrible snowy mountain-peak, she found herself upon. From there her dreams were filled with fluttering wings, and claws and glittering, shining eyes.
“Daegan! Daegan! Wake up!” Someone cried out from some great distance far away. The voice quieted down before it spake up once more, “Wake up!”
Blinking awake, without truly seeing anything due to still being mostly asleep, Daegan mumbled without thinking, “Yes, yes papa, I know.”
“‘Papa’? What are you muttering on about?” Indulf demanded shaking her awake, a frown on his lips as he stared down at her.
Still bundled up in her wolf-furred cloak, Daegan glanced about herself only to leap a little when she discovered that the fire now little more than smoldering embers and worst of all the rest of their traveling companions were missing.
A cry escaped her lips then, as she leapt onto feet casting aside her cloak, her next thought to glance down to make certain that Cosantóir was still girded. Pleased to discover it still present, a part of her breathed a little more easily even as she panicked, for the safety of her friends, her previous anger against Cormac largely forgotten. “Where are Cormac, Wulfnoth and that fool of a brother of yours?!”
“Gone,” He said at once, a hint of iron beneath his words, “I woke up to find these glittering fireflies- or what appears to have been fireflies glowing and floating about all around us, where they once were- see there are more!”
Pointing past her, to a short distance from her, on the other side of the fire where she stood, Daegan followed his index finger with her eyes to discover that yes, indeed there appeared to be small golden fireflies and shimmering green ones dancing about near the roots of a large ash-wood tree. The sight was one that bewildered and confused her for several minutes, just as the shimmering lights over near a great green birch-tree to her right by the road, soon caught her attention.
“Where did they go?” She stammered once more.
“I do not know,” Indulf repeated sharply, “There are only these strange lights!”
“No need to take such a tone with me,” Daegan snapped at once, which drew another furtive glance from him, as she asked aloud frightened by the lights and the disappearance of their friends. “What are we to do?”
“I do not know,” He answered as he took a step back, only for his voice to quaver once more, when he noticed the fireflies drawing nearer. “There! You see there! They draw nearer, have we any torches to fight them off with?”
Searching about for some sort of torch, Daegan found none. It was with sudden illumination from within that she recalled the defender at her sword, unsheathing the white-blade forged by her father, in one smooth motion. The weapon almost flew out of her hand, so smoothly did it come free, fitting perfectly into the palm of her hand.
“We- we have something finer than any torch!” She called out in a trembling voice, daunted despite her brave front.
What followed after this action was the most peculiar squeak that ever her ears had heard resonated throughout their corner of the Dyrkwoods, as the fireflies bounced up and down in a panic. “Waaaaiiiitttttt! Not the white-torch!”
Shock struck both Daegan and Indulf, neither of whom could quite guess what it was that they had just heard, or where it had originated from. Searching about they could not discern who it was that had just addressed them.
Unsure of the meaning of those words, neither was quite prepared for the most melodious sound either of them had ever heard, as the lights grew, grew and grew. The larger they grew, the less they appeared to gleam so that in place of fireflies there fluttered all about the two of them little figures, with the most unusual of appearances that they had ever seen.
So strange was this sight that both of them pinched themselves, alarmed and fascinated all at once as the figures that stared up and down upon them, from all around them. They gleamed and glittered with blue, golden and green fluorescent kind of light that could have enchanted even vile King Donnchad. Miniscule, these figures were hardly larger than Indulf’s fists pressed together their wing-span could not have measured longer than three inches in length.
Some were truly worthy of the name ‘fair-folk’, others were hideous as only the most ungodly of creatures could have been. They had ears that cut upwards as knives, were armed with claws and canines that jutted out past their upper lips. Their flesh was white as the snow that surrounded the feet of the pair they had encircled, with their hair shaped in similar manner to tulips, peonies and other marvelous flowers and were all the colours that these flowers often assumed. Blue, green, yellow, red, purple and white were all visible and aglow all around them.
Though she took notice of these peculiarities in their appearance, and of how the wings on their backs appeared akin to flower-petals of similar colouration as those atop their heads, what Daegan found captured her eye the most were the eyes of these ‘fair-folk’. They glowed and gleamed the same colour as their petals, never appearing to dim even when they blinked their large eyes, the pupils of which reminded her of those of a cat.
All at once, they began to sing and the song was of such beauty that for a moment, Daegan could hardly resist joining them a heart-beat after they began to sing. To the left of her Indulf, appeared to dance a little, singing also though she hardly took notice of this peculiar comportment on his part, due in no small part to the loveliness of the fairy-song.
“Ho! Alette Rose-Wing! Alette Petal-Queen!
She of wind, willow and petals,
She of song, poetry and faith, harkens you to hear her song,
Alette was a very merry Queen,
Deep crimson were her cheeks and her slippers green,
As was her dress for her hope was to wed,
Ciaran was her love and joy, he with his hair most red,
Long they loved dance after they first met,
Hey ho! Lo! Dance all ye sweet wee ones,
For Ciaran the Oak has been stabbed by they of the green vale,
Long did we dance and he call for the nuns,
They did deny him and dance as he turn’d less hale,
Away, away went Alette’s joy,
All she may now do is dance and sing,
Lest she should weep for her lost king!
Ho! Alette Wind-Dancer calls ye to dance! Dance!”
The song was short, which served only to further encourage the dozens of fairies for that was what they were, guessed Corin’s daughter, to start the song over. Their breathy, high voices filled with a wonder and a magic that no mortal voice could possibly have imitated. So entranced were they by the sound of this music that neither of them noticed, how Daegan had re-sheathed Cosantóir, or how she had seized the right-edge of her dress to allow her better movement so as to dance with the fairies. Next to her, Indulf had likewise danced along belting out the song with equal joy, much to the bemusement of the fairies.
What they noticed next as they awoke with a start was that the little campfire they had arranged the night before, had long since disappeared. The two of them searched about all around themselves, in search of their camp, only to realize with a start that they were now lost in the woods, the road no longer in sight.
“Where have they taken us?” Daegan howled full of fright, her voice the very definition in that instant of a feminine screech.
“Why the fright, when all is aright?” Mocked one of the taller fairies, his laughter loud and piercing, he fluttered about before them, to stand next to the trunk of a nearby ash-tree, his eyes aglow with a crimson light, a snicker escaping his small, thin lips. “Now do let us sing, since all white-torches do sting.”
“Aye, verily now is time to sing all merrily!” Chorused all the other fairies with the same sort of maddened glee that the red-eyed fairy laughed with, thereon he took up flight once again, fluttering about in a dreamy, hypnotic manner which very nearly enchanted Daegan once again.
“Ho! Alette Rose-Wing! Alette Petal-Queen!
She of wind, willow and petals,
She of song, poetry and faith, harkens you to hear her song,
Alette was a very merry Queen,
Deep crimson were her cheeks and her slippers green,
As was her dress for her hope was to wed,
Ciaran was her love and joy, he with his hair most red,
Long they loved dance after they first met,
Hey ho! Lo! Dance all ye sweet wee ones,
For Ciaran the Oak has been stabbed by they of the green vale,
Long did we dance and he call for the nuns,
They did deny him and dance as he turn’d less hale,
Away, away went Alette’s joy,
All she may now do is dance and sing,
Lest she should weep for her lost king!
Ho! Alette Wind-Dancer calls ye to dance! Dance!”
The song very near overcame the two of them once more, as they near danced about as foppishly as before.
The great fearful bellow from some distant place interrupted the song as it drew to an end. So deep, so mortified was the shrill shout that all were shaken from their music induced stupor. “Nay! Stay back, o demons! May the good lord of war punish you one and all!”
He shouted this once more, then a third time, then a fourth.
“What rage, how very strange,” Exclaimed one fairy, with another bobbing his head at her words, not a one certain of what to do.
“Daegan! We must flee now, for they are distracted at this moment!” Pressed Indulf in a hoarse voice, demonstrating that the magic of the fairies had had an apparent effect upon him.
“Aye, though that voice sounded rather like Wulfnoth to me,” Daegan whispered back to him, “We shan’t leave without him, therefore let us be away to his rescue!”
“But, we have no knowledge of how to assist him,” The timid weaver complained.
Shrugging her shoulders, she paid him no mind her chin thrust out rather akin to the bulldog she had been compared to a number of times in the past. Though Indulf may have claimed that they knew not where to find the druid, his continued cries of mortal terror echoing throughout the woods served to attract attention even more than the light of the fair-folk did. Though darkness continued to dominate the whole of the Dyrkwoods, the echo of the druid’s cries served as another kind of light to that of the fairies.
Unable to see the stars, or any hint of the twin-suns of the world, neither Daegan nor Indulf could have told anyone whether they ran north, east, south or westwards. Hopeful now for the first time since they had awoken, Olith’s daughter barreled between one tree after another, pushing and shoving interfering tree-branches from before them. It was not long, before the grey-eyed weaver surmounted her upon the ‘path’ they cut due in no small part to his longer legs, and how hers were entrapped by her dress.
What they discovered somewhere in the endless darkness that stretched out forever, within the Dyrkwoods was the figure of Wulfnoth. He stood as alone as a great oak might, cast out from the forest as though it were unclean. Alone in a wilderness of bark, ramrod straight with the small ash-wood carved red pendant of Scota that he had worn beneath his robes, since shortly after his arrival in Glasvhail. The necklace though she had not seen it throughout his stay, so private was he with his wearing of it. It was a small statuette of a woman in a dress, with a thistle in her right hand and pendulum in her left one.
“Back! Back!” He shrieked.
The more he thrust out the statue about his neck, the more he prayed the louder the fairies that shone about him chortled.
Both of the haggard youths called out to him, drawing his attention from his own distress, whereupon he gave a glad cry. One that was every bit as afraid as his previous cries had been, and hysterical with relief to see friendly faces near at hand. “Oh, children! Children, praise be to the twelve gods, for this good fortune! Wherever did the two of you disappear to?”
“It was not we, who disappeared but you,” Daegan declared at her most irritable, “Why did you flee into the night, when there were fairies lying in wait all about us?”
“Flee? What are you blathering about lass? I did not flee, I woke up Trygve for his turn as watch as I felt that Indulf could use a bit more sleep, only to fall asleep and wake up here!” He exclaimed only to then add, “They sang some sort of demonic song, swept me away and away, until I recalled the good grace of the gods and attempted to call down their fury, upon these heretical demons!”
“Mayhap, we shall all do so together now,” Daegan supported at once.
A pleased if weary smile came up onto Wulfnoth’s thin lips, as he attempted once more to thrust into the face of one less than impressed fairy, the symbol of Scota. “See this? This is the good goddess, the golden one who laid down the earth upon the sea and called us men hither from the ether to live here. It was she who proclaimed this place, to be the property of all those who love the good Temple and her most faithful servants, Dagobert and Armand!”
The two paragons of whom he spoke were Dagobert the Saviour who had centuries prior during the Atenian period first begun to preach against the Empire of Atenia. It was said that through his good grace, the lame could walk, the blind could see and the deaf could hear. What was also said was that he was the first in North-Agenor to have spoken of the twelve gods of the Temple. He had done so for three years. This took place some forty years before the rise of Atenia, back when Roma still ruled and had not fallen to the madness of the sun god Aten. It was after the fall of Roma, just as the shattering of the city of Atenia (which had once been known as Roma) at the hands of the gods took place that Dagobert was seized, and hung from the top of a statue of the Emperor of Atenia. As to Armand, it was he who had preserved the holy sayings and teachings of Dagobert, he who had passed them down, copying them and handing the moral lessons of his stories and the teachings of the gods, which was all compiled into the twelve books of the Canticle. Seized by surviving Atenian supporters, Armand was slain upon the isle which now lay at the center of the kingdom of Gallia. The city, to which he had passed down his name, was now the largest in that kingdom though it was but a little under a hundred years old. Nicknamed one of the seven ‘Jewels of Gallia’, alongside the cities of Lynette, Roven, Guilladon, R?ekêr and Vaugrimé, with only the latter two and Roven not under the High-Kings of Gallia’s control, or so Corin had once told her.
The faith of the twelve gods, was divided itself into two branches; that of ériu, to which Daegan and the rest of the Caledonian people belonged to, and that of Quirinas to which Corin belonged (alongside the rest of North-Agenor and the people of Brittia).
“Why wave thy statue?” Cried the blue-peony haired and winged fairy that fluttered from left to right; doing so with an aggravated gleam to his blue eyes, having grown annoyed by the druid’s comportment towards him. “Little have I done, less have I done!”
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“Thy goddess be no pixie-foe,” Squeaked another fairy, this one the same colour as a yellow lilac in terms of its hair, wings and eyes, chortling as she shook in mid-air full of mirth. “Thy goddess be a doe.”
“Wh-what? H-how dare you, you blasphemous beast!” Now Wulfnoth’s face turned purple, so great was his rage, however if he had hoped to frighten the fairies with his rage he was disappointed. They only giggled louder.
“Silence, pixie!” Daegan added her own voice and anger to his, a pious lass she could not believe how blasphemous the fairy had just comported itself.
“Why silence the children of Lugh so? Why quiet those of us born of Lugh so?” Said the fluttering fairies, each of them gleaming a great deal redder than before, such was the indignation of all the fairies each of whom, had apparently at last grown weary of their thrusting statues at them.
“We silence you, because you speak blasphemously,” Accused Wulfnoth at once, without a second thought.
“If you will not listen, why do you screech as though we are an apparition?”
“Because- because-” It now appeared that the druid was truly unsure of how to respond.
“Because, you have taken our friends from us,” Daegan responded in his place, doing so, so grandly that she sounded almost akin to a queen.
At this accusation the fairies calmed themselves, with a few chortling still and others muttering and whispering to one another before they spoke once more in the Caled tongue. The érian tongue was a lyrical language, one though that was quite crude and crass in comparison to that of the fair-folk, who offered impatiently, “If we restore thy kith to thee, will thou cease thy din against we?”
“Aye, though not a one of you, will or could ever do such a thing!” Accused Daegan her red-hair flashing over her shoulder where she tossed it, her emerald eyes gleaming almost as brightly as some of their own, with barely repressed anger.
The fairies did not answer all at once, preferring to intone and chirp out their lyrical song once more.
Far into the Dyrkwood did it drift, long did it last this time as to the surprise of all involved and much to the amusement of Indulf, and scorn of Daegan, Trygve entered into their field of vision. Singing from some distance past the fey, if brokenly he was guided by a new group of the winged floral folk who shone now with a distressed light, some even shrunk as though they wished to disappear into nothingness. So terrible was Trygve’s singing voice that Wulfnoth gaped, Indulf laughed loudly and Daegan pressed her hands upon her ears in horror.
“Trygve, do you have any notion of how foolish you sound?” She demanded aghast by his terrible flailing and horrid singing.
“Leave him be, I beg of you as this may do him a world of good,” Indulf pleaded with such glee that she gaped at him.
“If at our own expense,” Wulfnoth muttered, still fingering the small statue that hung from his neck up in the air, he commanded the fairies, “Release him.”
Several of the fey, who had until then been divided into two groups; one which cringed away from Trygve and the other group continued to snigger at the ridiculousness with which he moved and behaved.
The moment the song ended, Trygve blinked and for a moment he continued to flail and screech as though mad until he blinked once more. Visibly flabbergasted, he stared at them for a time puzzled by the laughter that ensued from all about him.
“What- how did I get here? Where is our fire?” He asked.
“Trygve you buffoon, you fell asleep on watch!” Daegan guessed scandalized, having had this suspicion in the back of her mind for some time.
To his credit the younger son of Freygil and Ida, adopted an expression of utter contriteness. To the left of her, his brother glowered at him.
“Trygve, if you shan’t stay awake for watch-duty, the least you should have done, was to wake someone else up!” He fumed at the sandy-blonde haired youth who hung his head in shame.
“My apologies, though I would so very much like to know how we came to be here, or where these winged things came from,” Trygve replied at once, eyeing the fairies with visibly disconcerted by their presence.
“Very well, we still must find Cormac,” Decided Indulf with a warning glance to the lass next to him, who nodded her head if with one last glower to his younger sibling.
Still sheepish about his having been enchanted, Trygve hurried over to stand by them. Whereupon he asked with a glance all about the small clearing that they stood within, “Where is Cormac?”
“Likely he is in the woods, flailing about and screeching as you did previously,” Wulfnoth grumbled with a shake of his head.
“Flail? Screech? All I recall doing is singing, now that I think of it, and I do not think it was half so poor as you claim it to have been.” Trygve objected indignantly with self-righteous fury.
“Now see here, Cormac can sing far better than Trygve.” Daegan defended, though still furious with him, she felt it to be her duty to protect his reputation.
“Screech madly did he of storm-eyes, howling shrilly therefore silence we advise,” The fairies screeched at the same time as her, each one of them glaring down upon Trygve.
“Aye, Dae though Cormac cannot dance.” Indulf remarked.
“Enough return the lad or feel the full fury of Ziu and Scota, fairies,” Wulfnoth menaced once more.
Evidently the fey-folk had grown weary of their company. Their song recommenced though it was along a similar tune to that they had sung to summon Trygve, from deep within the Dyrkwoods. The tune carried throughout the forest, to the deepest recesses of it, and appeared to carry itself into all of the trees, the mushrooms, and almost every blade of grass. This time the song reached a higher crescendo, though in this case when the fey fell silent there was no blonde-youth who danced along towards them, singing shrilly.
There was silence.
Impatient, Daegan demanded of them, “Well?”
“Patience,” One of the fairies from just behind her whispered in its sing-song voice, “He is tenacious.”
“How so?” Trygve asked.
“He has always been of that sort of disposition,” Indulf murmured with some of the old hero-worship in his voice.
Still there was no Cormac who danced along over to them. The fairies attempted their song once more, wherefore naught was achieved once more.
“What sort of game do you play at, fey-folk?” Daegan queried a hint of menace in her voice.
“We know not, we shan’t reach his spot!” One of the fairies confessed a hint of hysteria in her squeaky voice, from where she fluttered up and down to the left of them.
Bewildered by this admission, as it took her a moment to grasp quite what it was that they were attempting to say. No matter how she attempted to untangle it in her mind, her understanding of the sing-song, rhyming speech of the fey appeared to her mind to be inadequate to piece together what was said.
Trygve groaned, as confused as she, “Why must they rhyme? They speak so elusively, can someone help to translate their babble into proper speech?”
“They have admitted that they do not know where to find Cormac,” Wulfnoth clarified which won him several nods and cheers from the diminutive winged-people all around them.
“Aye, aye!” Chanted they, before they also chanted, “Hidden is he from song and dance, gladden he is not by song and dance!”
They all spoke as one, once more which served only to exacerbate Daegan’s nervous irritation towards them.
A hint of panic began to slip into her thoughts at the thought that she might never see Cormac again. This led to her stumbling out, “Does that mean Cormac is in some danger?”
The fairies cocked their heads at them, in mystification until one of their numbers argued in response if uneasily so, “None are in danger in Feywood, save those in anger within this wood.”
“Why is that?” Indulf asked now.
“Because only jest, fey-friends and fey live here,” Was the simple if shrugged response from another fairy.
“Surely one of you must know where Cormac, has gone to!” Trygve complained now.
At this the fairies took to muttering amongst themselves, until one spake at last; a small green-peony fairy who glowed with an emerald light, “She of purple without a crown, she of greatest fey-renown!”
“Take us to her!” Daegan pleaded, forgetting for the first time in her entire life, her long-beloved pride.
The fairies bobbed up and down before they all took flight past the troupe, in direction of the right of them.
“After them!” Wulfnoth called out, a hint of surprise in his voice due to the speed with which the fey flew.
Their wings beat against the air with all the speed that humming-birds were prone to showing. The principal difference between those birds and fairies lay in that the latter were of fleeter wings.
The four of them raced after them as best they could as they ran they strove to keep the fey within sight, though this soon proved an almost impossible task. The only aid they received in this endeavor was via the bright glow of the shimmering wings of their guides.
It was not long though, before each of their lungs was burning as the travelers became increasingly red-faced. Notably Wulfnoth appeared to struggle, unused as he was to this sort of strenuous activity.
The clearing left firmly behind them, as they circled about trees, until at last they reached a cluster of them that appeared as though they had by consent embraced one another. Seated at the base of a large ash-tree that far outstripped the great oak of Ciaran in size and girth, Cormac sat with his head bowed eyes upon one of his knees which he had raised almost to eye-level. Seated upon the summit of his knee, sat the most remarkable fairy that had ever captured Daegan’s eye. Crimson in colour, with scarlet rose-petals for hair, wings, with a very visibly feminine shape to her, her eyes aglow pinkly and with every shade of red imaginable so that she was the prettiest of all the fey.
In the midst of giggling, she was explaining something in a soft voice to Cormac, who looked as though he were almost shaking with barely restrained questions.
“Cormac!” Cried his friends the loudest of all of them though, was Daegan despite her lungs burning almost as horribly as Wulfnoth’s did, with the druid next to her hacking, coughing and panting as he leant against a nearby birch-tree.
“Oh, there you all are! Wherever did all of you go?” He asked as though the thought had just occurred to him.
This angered the entirety of his friends, who were one and all disenchanted by his inattention and seeming lack of concern for them.
“Do you mean to say that you have been here, the whole time listening, to this fairy trollop sing to you?” Daegan growled.
“Why have you not asked after us, your friends?” Indulf complained also.
“Because Alette of the house of Arendtheth assured me that none of you were in danger,” He said in a surprised voice, aware of the depths of their anger he added hurriedly. “She was in the midst of recounting to me, about the dark-riders who have plagued Glasvhail.”
“How so?” Trygve panted, face still crimson from racing on over as he bent over.
It was now that Alette took flight, a soft light appeared to trail after her, as she flew almost a meter above all of their heads. A small giggle escaped her as she answered, whilst all of her people landed upon the branches of the great multitude of trees, bowing in respect to her.
“Long have the dark ones ridden, their faces always hidden,” Intoned Alette in the most beautiful voice that any of them had ever heard. “Wisdom has Arendtheth’s heiress passed on, at an end be her jest and tale-passing so his heart be gladden.”
“What means this speech of wisdom, and of gladness?” Daegan asked bewildered.
Cormac remained silent, his chin lowered and pressed upon his chest, as she glanced between him and the fairy who lowered herself so that she no longer loomed over them. It was Wulfnoth though who having ceased panting as though, he might perish any minute now, hand pressed against the great trunk of the tree next to him.
As she neared them, the trees shone it appeared with a light all their own now, some were red, others green and still more grey. Squirrels, mice and foxes and many other small animals, poked their heads from their holes, the snow that had gathered throughout the forest fading, thawing and disappearing away. Such was the marvel of her voice, of the sight of her that even Wulfnoth appeared utterly entranced by her.
“Dark is the road that stretches far wither ye wander, to the lord of dark-wings and they of foul-steeds without honour,” Warned Alette darkly, “Danger lies above, behind, ahead and to either side, never ceasing in their desire to divide, therefore you shan’t in Feywood reside.”
No one spoke out against her now. Not a single squirrel, no matter how petulant they could be would have dared. Nor did a single fox ponder aught else but her dark-warnings. Her voice though filled with a lovely lilting sound to it, was so grave and sad as to reduce the mightiest of wolves to tears. There! Just a short distance past Cormac, were a small pack of them that had come out, and who proceeded to do just that.
Those of the race of men took her warning words to heart though they showed their worry differently. Daegan followed Wulfnoth’s example by doing the symbol of the flower, Trygve stared at the queen as one entranced and Indulf covered his tear-stricken eyes with one large hand. Cormac for his own part, pulled down his hood to hide his own features, shoulders slumped.
“What pray-tell may be done to stop these demons? And what do you know of our quest, oh fairy-queen?” Wulfnoth asked of her, his tone strangely respectful where before he had spoken with impatience and mistrust, to the ‘heretical beasts’.
Alette cocked her head to one side, before she alighted upon his outstretched palm, which he had agitated as he spoke. Her words were now kindlier than ever and full of utter sorrow, such that had not been seen in the whole of all the forests and mountains of the land of the isle of Bretwealda. “Such be but Oein’s realm of knowing, great light be needed in their undoing. Tasked with the gem-quest are those in the midst of wandering.”
“What of aid? Can you provide any?” This time it was Indulf who asked this question of her.
Alette gave to him a look of pity now, before she said, “Receive all and more will those of Rig’s line, as surely as the tree-wrought vine.”
Her words appeared to be a signal of some sort, to the rest of her kindred, those of the house of Arendtheth who had inhabited the great Feywoods that had dominated this part of the lands for untold fairy-generations. Which for those of you familiar with the nature of fairies, you understand that this was such a long time as to dwarf all human understanding. The light of the fairies dimmed, as five returned with a garland of flowers which they deposited into Wulfnoth’s other hand.
“To thee of old Roma’s faith, the flowers of the dryath, a buckler it is against fey-blades. To weave peace where there was hate, and love to unite our fate.” Chanted the fairies who were tasked with carrying the purple garland, before they flew off, to rejoin the crowd of fair-folk, who continued to remain seated upon the high birch, ash and oak-trees of their ancestors.
This was not the last gift that the Rose-Queen had in mind for them, she now moved to one of the higher branches, where sat a number of the greener fairies. She returned just as the wanderers craned their necks and strained their eyes to catch sight of what it was that she intended to offer to them.
Upon her return, just as Wulfnoth had finished stuffing the garlands (which strangely lost not one petal), into his pack which had suddenly appeared at his side she carried with her arms all around it, a single thistle. This she offered to Cormac with the assistance of several her kindred piercing the cloth of his cloak so that the thistle served as a kind of brooch.
“To the Caled’s son, we offer his emblem to act as a sun,” Chanted her people as one, as always.
“Whatever is it for?” He asked dumbly.
“To guide,” Answered one fey simply, a particularly ugly yellow one who smiled with nail-long teeth.
“To guide where?”
“On dark roads,” Alette answered before she turned away to inquire of them, “We hope our gifts have been sufficient, pray-tell if more would be beneficent?”
“To escape this dreadful place, would certainly be ‘beneficent’,” Daegan muttered to herself, only to suffer an elbow to her side from Trygve.
Enchanted by the small, fists-sized fairy the son of Freygil stepped forth from where he had hitherto stood between his brother and the smith’s daughter. An expression of longing upon his face, as he requested with a raised hand, “Oh do bless me with one small gift!”
At this a number of fairies tittered, though the fairy-queen bade them be silent, “Mock not what thou knowest not, flock not to demean what thou shan’t grasp!” Now she turned back to him, once quiet had been restored her face aglow once more, with her strange light, no longer as dim as it has been. “What pray-tell would the North’s son bid of Overon’s petal? What prithee might the sand-tress’d one bid that she may be instrumental? For aid thee and cease with jest to show her mettle, if only to at last cast away the suffering man’s medal.”
Once again Trygve turned scarlet. The same enchanted expression returned to grace his face as he blurted out, “A petal! I would ask for but a petal from you, oh Queen Alette! To show to Helga, and to all the world that I have seen the fairest of roses alive!”
His words were so stout, so noble that Wulfnoth gaped at him and Daegan could hardly blame him. For she could hardly believe her ears, and at once might have mocked him for his peculiar request were it not for Indulf and Cormac interfering first.
“What a strange query, have you lost the last of your wits Trygve?” Asked Indulf of his younger brother, who refused to meet his gaze, such was the weight of his embarrassment.
“I think it an incredible thing, oh do honour Trygve so Alette!” Cormac pleaded, adding his own sincere voice, drawing an incredulous glance from the red-haired lass.
If anyone was to ask her, Trygve deserved no such gift. But as it is likely evidently to anyone reading this text, Alette was hardly at all interested in asking her, for her view of the son of Freygil.
Such was the warmth, the pity and the fondness in her all-red eyes which tore up with silent tears, as she flew over to him to kiss his forehead. When she pulled away, she gazed deep into his eyes, saying as she did so, “Many have been the requests for Alette’s petals; some such as Ciaran gave up the last of life’s fetters, all to attain her love that she gave but once. Asked but once with all of thy pulse, such is Alette’s joy that gift ye not once, but twain will she reward ye with petals.”
And so it was that she carefully gave unto him four of her tresses, or what we may dub petals. They at first glance were not dissimilar from ordinary rose-petals. However, whenever one touched them or gazed upon them, they almost appeared to radiate with warmth.
Moved by her gift, Trygve held it against his chest tears in his eyes. Tears that Alette brushed away with a gentle touch, a tender expression in her eyes which soon turned to a sorrowful one as she added, “Sorrow dogs they who hold the sorrowful man’s gem.”
These were her last words, before she erupted into a crooning melody. One that filled the air with a purple gleam, a strange aroma that made many of the foxes and wolves sneeze, and that made every single head spin.
The hymn of the house of Arendtheth grew in volume and magnitude.
“Ho! Alette Rose-Wing! Alette Petal-Queen!
She of wind, willow and petals,
She of song, poetry and faith, harkens you to hear her song,
Alette was a very merry Queen,
Deep crimson were her cheeks and her slippers green,
As was her dress for her hope was to wed,
Ciaran was her love and joy, he with his hair most red,
Long they loved dance after they first met,
Hey ho! Lo! Dance all ye sweet wee ones,
For Ciaran the Oak has been stabbed by they of the green vale,
Long did we dance and he call for the nuns,
They did deny him and dance as he turn’d less hale,
Away, away went Alette’s joy,
All she may now do is dance and sing,
Lest she should weep for her lost king!
Ho! Alette Wind-Dancer calls ye to dance! Dance!”
This song did not sweep away their concerns all at once, as all stared at the shimmering flowers that encircled, flew and were cast all about the air, around the branches and past every person. Sweeping as they did, the skirts of Wulfnoth and Daegan’s robe and dress, along with the long hair of Daegan and Indulf, yet none paid any of this any mind. Tenderness filled every one of them, from timid Indulf, to sardonic Trygve, proud Daegan, pious Wulfnoth, and absent-minded Cormac.
*****
It was to be sung to them for many of the days that followed. Though, they knew their quest to be an urgent one, it was difficult to press themselves onwards, or to keep from dancing, singing, eating and otherwise being merry as the fey were. Especially when they picked up a tune or other times began to croon. They neither slept it seemed, nor did they require nourishment in the same way as mortal men might. They were jolly and mischievous but their Flower-Queen knew more of the world than any others that they had ever met.
Alette herself was warm, and loving and all things motherly. She did indeed love them all, but most especially Cormac and Trygve. The former loved to simply sit with his back against a tree, typically an old oak and listen to her sing ancient tales, tragedies and of course of her love. The latter favoured yes the love-songs, but he simply at times loved to sit in her presence to bask in her warmth. The fourth son, he was oft-forgotten by his kin yet to Alette it was Indulf who may as well have never existed. Or so it at times appeared to him.
Only Indulf remained impatient to go, him and Wulfnoth for they keenly felt the need to continue their journey. Yet when-so-ever they felt this need, a greater desire to stay overcame them so that they simply forgot it after a hearty lunch of cooked deer-venison, strawberries and onions. All prepared for them by Alette’s command.
It happened though, by the seventh day since their arrival that Cormac asked of her, to explain to him, “How did the Dark Laird come to be?”
This question had been bothering him for some time, and had nagged in the back of his mind whenever he recalled their quest or his father. He wished to know more of the man, who had arranged for his father to be murdered.
“Lo! You ask that which, nags and nags as might a wish,” Alette remarked and though her tone was light, her eyes gleamed with sorrow. “Since you have spoken of the ‘Long-Shadow’, thus you must depart in sorrow.”
“But why?” Trygve asked of her dumbfounded by this response.
“See how the trees do so wither, and how the wind so shivers?” She queried fluttering all about the nearby trees, “His wroth-ruby does so glitter, so that my trees begin to wither.”
Though the lads wished to object, and though Daegan and Indulf both made impatient noises all were sorry to go. Even Wulfnoth was filled with sadness, though he hid it better. Her words though, were but a prelude to her repeating her old song alongside the rest of her subjects. Though they could not but help to notice that this time, the tune was far more mournful than before that moment. All stood to attention reluctantly, packs exploding with supplies and faces long with grief at being forced out from the forest. None were more grief-stricken though, than Alette they noticed.
When they blinked their eyes, they were to find themselves no longer surrounded by trees, but with trees to the left, right and behind them certainly but what lay before them was the road that led out from the Dyrkwoods.
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