*
Ision found the family in the large-room, the table at the far end of the room still laid with breakfast. They had eaten, it seemed, but talk had kept them from rising to continue the day. Their faces were serious, grouped about each other, their voices rising and falling in heavy tones.
“Good morning.”
They looked up at him. Lady Ceamyst rose.
“Forgive us for our laxity. Family matters are distracting us.” She smiled, and directed his gaze to the untidy table. “Let me get you a plate”.
He found a seat, and she brought him a a platter of breakfast. There were creamed brown roots, ornamented with dried delphiniums, thin slivers of mango, and a pastry tinged with the blue color of a marshy Esallan flower. He ate, feeling his body relax under the gentle comfort of the simple, hearty repast.
They were not talking now. The girls had risen, and the table was soon swept clean of the meal. The dishes were carried to the long counter and sink at the farthest end of the extensive room, and a general business ensued as the sylph went briskly about their work. Ision watched with curious interest. They were ladies, princesse, according to their rank as daughters of an Esallan Lord, yet they busied themselves with common tasks, undaunted, as if there was nothing strange in it.
Aldwin came to sit beside him.
“How was the bed? Did you sleep alright?”
Ision nodded. “If anything kept me awake, ‘twas not the bed. My thoughts would not quiet themselves, and my body is not used to unconscious sleep. When one is constantly traveling, finding one’s bed in strange places, one sleeps half awake.” He set down his empty plate. “But it will wear off. I’ll soon sleep quiet at night.” Then he turned, seriously, to the young faerie who sat beside him. “How do I get started here, Aldwin? Where do I find a home? How do I learn the ways of the islanders?”
Aldwin grinned. “It isn’t difficult. Esallan folk are simple living, as I see you’ve noticed.” He gestured at his sisters. “We live, despite our rank, like everyone else. Only, we have a larger home.” He smiled again, proud, Ision could see, of his family, and his people. “I’ll take you to the village today.” He said. “I can show you around, let you speak with our home-builders. It won’t take long, and soon you’ll be settled here just like one of us.”
Ision rose. “Do you mind if we go now? I should like to be started.” He felt his heart rise. Yes, he would like to get started, as soon as ever he could. The missing threads awaited him.
Aldwin nodded and stood. “Let’s be off then.”
Fleure, the year of The Ducissa, late summer
How I abhor to write those words, to press onto this page the proof of my failure. I, with skills unheard of among my people, with a presence and a power that warrants great influence, yet is ignored. How I planned for it… so carefully, so methodically. Finfaree would be Ducissa, and soon after that, Queen, and I, behind her, would hold control over Fleure. I would have the position that belongs to me. Yes, I would stand behind my daughter, and little would be said of me, little notice made. But I would have that power. I would have control. The world around me would follow the path I laid out for them. Wandrian, with its subtle way of pulling at a faerie, making them lose their logic, their entire being abandoned to something they can never physically see, would lose its hold on the faeries of Fleure. Those who had not the mind skills needed to survive in this world, would be put away, out of sight, doing something useful while those who are better than them carried their own lives, unhindered by the old or the young or the feeble, and those captured by wandrian would be destroyed, for they are lost forever.
There are few who are strong enough, strong in their minds the way I am. They would live in a world of their own. And wandrian, wandrian would be abolished.
What a glorious day that would be!
But… I have failed. How long I thought about this plan! How long I labored over its completion, knowing I should succeed, knowing what was meant to be mine would be mine. But no… Wandrian, oh great enemy of mine, has obstructed my way. It has captured my daughters, one at a time, quickly with Jaaline, capturing her so fully I no longer know her as mine. She is caught, like the rest of faerie, lost forever.With Finfaree it was slow. I thought she was safe, thought she would be like Eiswin, following my lead, comfortable to do what I wanted, safe under my guidance, serving me all her days. She was doing just what I told her. She was following the path I’d suggested to her. But, it was on that path, oh clever wandrian! The strange, deceiving spirit behind wandrian, he thrust a stone in Finfaree’s path. She carried out her mission, and quenched Jaaline, who stood in her way. But it was in that very quenching, in seeing Jaaline -how innocent wandrian made her look!- nearly dead upon the grass, that the careful shield I was building around Finfaree’s heart was shattered, the pieces spread across the floor of her soul.
In that one moment! So many long days, under the passing of so many slow moons, have I worked to build that wall. And in the falling of one moment, it broke.
I cannot be so frail. My work cannot be so easily broken. I must plan, harder, harder. I will succeed! What is life if I am trampled by my enemies, day in and day out? Wandrian has made the world my enemy.Fleure, the year of the Ducissa, late summerI can hardly put pen to paper.
She has banished me.
The queen.
It was Jaaline who told her, because only Jaaline knew, and only Jaaline bears enough wandrian to see. She, filled with the power of my enemy, told the Queen, told her that it was my plan, told her it was I who pushed Finfaree to do what she did.
Jaaline. I shall hate her forever. How easily she laid the shame of my failure before all my enemies. The people of Fleure, assembled, hearing my plans, seeing my wrath, watching me banished from their land.
I shall not stand for this.I shall not.
It was the dawn of a new day, the embarking on of a new journey, the turning of a new page, the beginning of a new story. It was a turning point, a shifting of focus, and every creature across Erthe felt it.
Cena, in her hurried and bewildered steps, confused by the sudden breaking of her power, crossing the shifting, tawny desert, Eiswin following without a word... FayaLyn, beginning her new life with ardor and hope, pushing ahead to succeed in the duty laid before her... Faree, none knew where, trapped in a world of her own making, knowing the sorrow she’d left behind her, knowing Jaaline could hardly see for the tears that brushed across her vision, sitting alone in an empty home.
And, walking among them, two souls moved nearer each other, a girl trembling with restless expectation, and a young man, moving ahead to pursue his purpose, straining to follow the voice in his heart through the dim of a journey so newly begun.
She stood before them, pale, bent with sorrow, nearly speechless before the anguish that spread its heavy layers through them all. She, the Queen of Faeries, and the Lady of Fleure, unable to shield her broken heart from the eyes of her assembled people. They all sat waiting, the young and old, pained, saddened, frightened, and their Queen’s aging hands hung, trembling, within the drapery of her grey gown. She closed her eyes, blinking at their dryness, the ache of drought in her soul. Then she raised her face, and met her people’s gaze.
“There is no greater pain to me, as your Lady and your Queen, than to see such pain in the faces of my people. Truly, our purpose here is worthy of great sorrow, and greater mourning, but does it steal all the light from your eyes? Tell me not that my people have lost their hope, have forgotten their joy beneath the sorrow laid on them. Tell me not that we cannot rise again. A broken heart may awaken the dawn, if they awaken their soul to Heaven’s hope. We must not lose our hope. It is our greatest gift.”
She stopped, lowering her hands that she had, unknowingly, lifted, like grey willow branches, flailing against the onslaught of winter.
“But we have not come here to rejoice, nor to mourn, but to pass judgement. The sorrow fallen on us had a beginning, a seed planted here among us, raised up among us, and never noticed, till it has borne fruit, and shaken us all with its suddenness.”
She felt her throat go taut, her voice stolen from her. Silence hung in smothering folds over the faeries. The sylph who had done them so much ill must be tried and must be punished.
So the queen nodded her head and Sablan, standing at the far doorway of the Circele, nodded back. He retreated, and for a moment was lost from sight, till he reappeared again, two young guards following him. Between them stood a thin creature, a pale sylph robed in black.
“Elena! Elena! Wake up!” An elderly fairy with soft, silvery white hair and clear gray eyes, bent over the dreaming younger fairy, shaking her gently.
“Mother.” Elena smiled up at her mother.
She stepped lightly from her bed of soft crimson rose petals. Her bed seemed to float on a wide daisy. She gazed round her at the world. It was all she’d ever known; this meadow of sweet scented blooms.
“Mother,” she repeated, “Thank you for waking me so early.”
She kissed her mother sweetly on her fair, pink cheek, and flew quickly to the ground.
Morning had lifted the golden sun high in the sky, where its golden rays dispersed the last feeble light of the moon and scattered yellow brightness over the blue vault. Beneath its glorious awakening, the meadows of Fleure glittered with lingering dew, sending sparks of moisture, laughing, into the air. A slight breeze sent the heads of the flowers dancing like bright headed children, and the faerie folk of Fleure began to wake.
The sun bent her golden head over a young faerie girl whose own bright head reflected the sun’s beauty. There was a voice murmuring in the morning air. The sleeper’s name seemed to drift towards her with the breeze. “Elina. Elina.”
Someone was bending over her, someone whose own face showed the mirror of the girl’s, someone, a woman, the queen of faeries and the lady of Fleure, Lilac Elinora Innis.
She stood over her daughter, her stately shoulders bent in weariness. Queen’s shoulders they were, bent with weight, yet firm beneath it, and a thin gold band lay nestled in the soft drifts of misty brown hair piled upon her head. Her eyes were a clear gray, like an unbroken dawn, with soft little glints of blue that flew in them. But their sparkle burned dimly, masked by the white paleness of her countenance.
Elina lifted her head, brushing her yellow hair away from her eyes.
“Good morning, Mother.”
“Did you sleep well darling?” Her voice was soft, but strong; strong with a gentle strength.
