by C. L. Wilson
“Gaelen and I have agreed that Tajik, Gil, and Rijonn should join us to serve as your primary quintet,” Bel continued. “Our blades are here, in this hip belt. The other lu’tans threw lots to see whose blades you would wear in your Fey’cha belts, and the rest we transformed into the studs in your leathers. They are all here”—he gestured to the studded leathers and the weapons belts—“every one of your bloodsworn blades. Let a single drop of your blood fall on any stud or blade, and you will summon the warrior who bound himself to you.”
Ellysetta accepted the gift with reverent hands. “Beylah vos. I will wear these with pride.”
“Sha vel’mei, kem’falla.” Bel bowed. “Today, however, we thought this might be more appropriate.” He nodded at Rijonn and Tajik, who raised their hands and loosed bright weaves of Earth. The leathers disappeared and re-formed on Ellysetta’s body as an ornately embroidered gown woven from the silvery Fey steel of her lu’tans’ blades. Two sashes of purple and scarlet crisscrossed her chest like Fey’cha belts, holding dozens of sheathed bloodsworn blades, while the Fey’cha of her primary quintet dangled at her hips alongside the Tairen’s Eye crystals of the warriors who’d died to protect her back in Celieria. Her hair they left in a thick rope of red coils down her back, bound by a series of silver rings.
“Nicely done, my brothers,” Rain approved. Steli, Fahreeta, and Torasul purred their agreement. With the concentration of so many Fey nearby, Ellysetta’s own power was rising. Her entire form gleamed with a golden-white radiance that made her gown of silvery Fey steel shine like a star. “You will dazzle them, shei’tani.” He lifted his wrist for her hand. “Come meet your people, Feyreisa.”
The main gate of Dharsa, flanked by a pair of crouching stone tairen, was an exquisitely carved white stone arch of immense proportions. Beyond the arch, an avenue lined by giant sentinel trees, whose intertwining branches formed a soaring, sunlight-dappled corridor, led the way into the fabled Fey city.
Thousands of immortal Fey had gathered on rooftops and the main thoroughfare. They cheered the arrival of the warriors returning from Celieria, but when they caught sight of Marissya and Dax in their robes of verdant green, a celebratory roar rose from the crowds. Celebration turned to tearful joy as more than a thousand former rasa returned to their city and loved ones for the first time in many long years.
Joy turned to awe as Fahreeta and Torasul stepped into view. Fahreeta roared and growled and held her shining wings high in a show of beauty and fierce majesty. She stopped occasionally to spout small jets of flame, much to the Fey’s cheering delight. Torasul, stoic and deadly, padded with lethal grace at her side, lowering his head every now and again to glare at the Fey gathered along the avenue and bare a threatening fang, which made the warriors grin and bow.
Behind Fahreeta and Torasul marched Ellysetta’s three hundred lu’tan, and as they stepped into the streets of Dharsa, their voices rose in a song of their own, called “The Star of Chakai,” which several of them had composed to celebrate the shei’dalin who restored their souls.
Finally, it was Rain and Ellysetta’s turn to enter the city. “Are you ready, shei’tani?” Rain’s eyes were aglow with a mix of tenderness and pride.
Though the shy Celierian in her wanted to turn and flee, Ellysetta drew a deep breath and put her hand on his wrist. “Aiyah, I’m ready.” Together they stepped from the sheltering avenue of trees onto the broad, white stone streets of Dharsa.
The moment she appeared, a deafening roar arose from the Fey.
“Ellysetta Beilissa, Eiliss o Chakai. Ellysetta the Bright, the Star of Chakai!”
The reverberant cry stole every ouce of breath from Ellysetta’s lungs and startled thousands of birds into flight.
Ellysetta froze in dazed surprise. Fluttering wings filled the skies of Dharsa, and fragrant petals rained down from the blossoming orchards of the surrounding hills. From every road and rooftop garden, every path and walkway, the Shining Folk sang her name with breathtaking, boundless joy. Thousands of Fey hearts opened to her in an outpouring of love and welcome so abundant, so genuine, it stunned her to her soul.
The hand on Rain’s wrist began to shake. Tears filled her eyes, turning vision to a watery blur until she could no longer see the faces of the thousands gathered to greet her. Never had she dared to dream of such a welcome.
«Meivelei, shei’tani.» Rain’s Spirit whisper sounded oddly choked. «Meivelei ti’Dharsa.»
Somehow she kept walking, though her knees were quaking so hard she thought she would crumple in a puddle to the paving stones. The outpouring of love drew out her own magic, lighting her from within until she glowed bright as the star the lu’tans had named her.
Behind them, Ellysetta’s bloodsworn quintet followed in a protective semicircle, while Steli paced at the rear as the self-appointed sixth member of the quintet. The tairen strode like the chakai she was, proud, stately, her eyes gleaming sapphires in the pure white of her face. Her claws, half extended, clicked on the paving stones as she walked, and she held her wings unfurled in a show of protective might.
The procession halted at the base of Dharsa’s central mount, where the five lords of the Massan and their shei’dalin truemates stood waiting. The warriors burst into their final song: a booming, joy-filled rendition of “Ten Thousand Swords.” As the Fey voices built to a soaring crescendo, Fahreeta, Torasul, and Steli reared up on their hind legs, pawing the sky, roaring, and shooting jets of searing flame upward as their great wings beat the air: tairen rampant, the symbol of the Feyreisen’s power. The three held their pose as the lu’tan sang in perfect, stirring pitch the song’s final verse: “Ten thousand swords protect you, beloved of us all.”
With a final roar that shook the ground like thunder, all three tairen leapt into the air. Mighty wings beat hard and fast, gaining speed and altitude until the tairen were circling the city overhead, the first true tairen to do so in a thousand years. They filled the skies with roars and flame, then soared north and disappeared from view.
Rain lifted his arms and called out both aloud and in a Spirit weave that carried to every corner of the city, “Mioralas, Fey! Mioralas, kem’ilanis! With pride, this Fey presents Ellysetta Feyreisa, truemate of the Tairen Soul, she who shines light on shadowed souls, restores hope where none remains, and brings fertility back to the Fey.” He lifted her hand and raised it high. “Miora felah ti’Feyreisa!”
The former rasa took up his cry: “Miora felah ti’Feyreisa! Miora felah ti’Feyreisen!”
The crowd burst into explosive cheers and applause, and thousands more Fey added their own voices to the exuberant cries.
Rain let his gaze sweep over the crowd, finding dozens of faces he knew, seeing the subtle nods that told him the message of this carefully orchestrated show had not gone unnoticed. And as his eyes met and held the gazes of the five Massan and their mates on the podium, he knew they had not misunderstood either.
If they had truly been considering Challenge, they’d just realized they were outmatched. Ellysetta had saved the rasa and been accepted by the tairen and, thanks to her powerful fertility weave, had brought the promise of life back to the Fading Lands in the form of Marissya v’En Solande’s unborn Tairen Soul son.
Despite the looming threat of war, the gods were clearly smiling on the Fey once more. Thanks to Ellysetta Feyreisa, the Star of Chakai.
With a faint, deliberate smile, Rain leapt into the air, his body dissolving in a swirling cloud of rainbow-shot mist. Moments later, pure black, magnificent and deadly, his tairen form wheeled overhead. He swooped low over the crowds, and Ellysetta’s lu’tans spun a whirling jet of Air that lifted her high and deposited her smoothly onto his back as he passed overhead.
«Hold on, shei’tani.»
«Rain, wait. What about the Massan? Are we not going to meet them?»
«They will join us in the palace in a few bells, before the banquet to celebrate your arrival begins. For now, let them celebrate Marissya’s joy and the return
of the rasa, and let us enjoy what I fear will be the last chimes we will have alone for many days. I have a feeling all of Dharsa will want to greet you personally and ask for your blessing.»
Rain circled one final time over the crowds before soaring towards the palace at the top of the city’s central hill to give Ellie an unimpeded view of her new home.
Wider than several Celierian city blocks, the five-sided white marble hall rose up from lush, manicured gardens. Gilded tairen rampant crouched on the rooftop at all five corners, and in their great jaws, each cat clutched a gleaming globe of Tairen’s Eye crystal. A large tower capped with a golden dome rose above the center of the complex, and at its apex stood a silverstone Fey shei’dalin draped in rippling golden robes. Her face was upturned, her arms raised over her head, holding aloft a sixth crystal globe, larger than all the rest, that shone pure white and radiant as the sun.
«Legend says the white stone is the kiyr of Lissallukai, the tairen who breathed magic into the world,» Rain told her as they circled. «The tairen at the corners of the building represent the five makai who led their prides to follow her here.»
«And the shei’dalin and five warriors?» Below the shei’dalin holding Lissallukai’s soul crystal, five statues of fierce Fey warriors ringed the base of the dome. They leaned out over the edges of the tower roof into the winds, silver seyani swords unsheathed and clutched in their pale stone hands. Each warrior wore finely scaled armor gilded gold and silver and covered with tabards enameled in rich shades of scarlet, silvery white, rich purple, cobalt, or verdant green.
«The five branches of Fey magic, of course, and the love that gives us hope and holds Fey warriors to the Bright Path. They guard and bless the Hall of Tairen, throne room of the Feyreisen.»
On the northeast side of the dome lay a large, open courtyard sown with a green expanse of grass. They descended onto the thick grass, and Rain Changed back into the Feyreisen’s ceremonial garb.
“This is beautiful,” she said, looking around.
“When the prides were many, and the makais came to Dharsa to meet with the Feyreisen, this is where they would gather before entering the Hall of Tairen. Steli and the others will join us here tomorrow when they return to sing to the Eye.”
The walls of the courtyard were covered with a mural of mosaic tiles that depicted various scenes: tairen soaring the blue skies above Fey’Bahren and Dharsa, hunting on the plains of Corunn, stalking through verdant forests, and swimming in aqua waters beside silver-sand beaches. The tiles shimmered with magic, and Rain showed her how to make the scenes come alive by turning her head. Ellysetta laughed in delight and turned her head from side to side to watch the tairen stalk and the trees rustle in a breeze.
He led her to the south wall of the courtyard, where a shimmering pool lay waiting under the southern eave. A silverstone maiden and warrior poured continuous streams of water from crystal urns into the pool, while on the wall, mosaic tairen crouched on either side and appeared to drink. Rain plucked a golden cup from a small niche beside the pool, held it under the stream of water, then offered it to Ellysetta.
The moment the water touched her lips, her eyes went wide. One small sip erased every hint of weariness and filled her with vibrant energy. “Faerilas.” She sipped again, then drained the cup, shuddering a little at the rush of refreshing power. “But much stronger than any I’ve tasted yet.”
“The pool is fed directly from Dharsa’s Source,” he told her. He filled the cup for himself when she was done.
“There is no more potent faerilas to be found in all the Fading Lands.”
“What makes it so much stronger?” She watched his throat work as he swallowed and saw the glow of his skin grow brighter as the faerilas renewed his magic.
“No one knows,” he admitted.
Her brows rose. “Well, where do Sources get their magic?”
“No one knows that either.” He drained the cup and returned it to the niche. “We do know that Tairen’s Eye crystals lie at the heart of each Source—we discovered that when we tried to repair Lissilin—but just replacing the crystals does not rejuvenate a failed Source. There must be some other factor, some great old magic now lost to the Fey.”
“Sybharukai said she smelled old magic in me.”
His mouth curved up at the corner. “That did not escape me.” He held out a wrist. “Come. Let me show you your new home.”
Ellysetta started to put her hand on his wrist, then smiled and threaded her fingers through his instead. Fey did not hold hands. It was considered unsafe in a world where a warrior needed instant, unfettered access to his magic or steel.
“We are safe enough here,” she said when he raised his brows. “There aren’t many Celierian customs I prefer to Feyan, but this is one of them.”
He smiled, curled his fingers loosely around hers in the Celierian way, and led her into the palace.
The palace of the Fey king was a marvel, more beautiful than anything Ellysetta had seen yet in this most wondrous of all Fey cities. Golden doors, white marble stone floors, soaring cathedral-like ceilings, walls covered with bright tapestries that depicted Fey wars and legends long lost to the rest of the world. Long drapes of rich fabric framed glassless windows that opened to terraces overlooking breathtaking city vistas.
Everywhere there was magic, from the shimmering mosaics of the tairen courtyard, to the fountains of faerilas splashing in every courtyard within the palace walls, to the cleaning weaves that whisked away the slightest smudge of grime or dust, leaving every inch of the palace gleaming with Fey perfection.
Ellysetta was actually surprised to find that the palace had kitchens. Quite large ones, too, and filled with dozens of real, live Fey women and even Fey lords, industriously baking, chopping, and kneading a staggering array of food in preparation for tonight’s feast. They all paused to greet her warmly before returning to work.
“Why don’t they just…” She wiggled her fingers. “You know.”
Rain laughed. “Certainly, there is some of that,” he told her, “but a fine meal is like a song, art that is meant to be consumed by the senses. Besides, what pleasure is there to life if you never create anything with your own hands?”
Ellie raised a skeptical brow. She’d spent one too many hours laboring at the monotony of cooking, cleaning, and house work to consider it a pleasure.
“Perhaps you will change your mind after you’ve lived your first hundred years,” Rain suggested. “Magic is just a tool, not a replacement for the experiences and accomplishments of life. Forget that, and the pursuit of magical perfection will become all that matters, and the Fey will follow the same dark path as the Eld.”
After leaving the kitchens, they continued on past banquet halls, conservatories, rooms of state, the palace library, and the king’s private courtyard and offices. Room after beautiful room, each a treasure in its own right.
From his well-appointed offices, Rain led her down a small corridor to the king’s personal armory. There, displayed on three tall stands in a sconce-lit alcove, was the war armor of the Fey king.
Made entirely of gleaming golden-hued steel, the armor consisted of a woven chain mail, a complete set of Fey blades whose hilts were embossed with the purple tairen rampant, seal of the Fey king, and protective plate mail made of golden steel and layers of hardened and embossed black leather.
“The king’s armor was made in the Time Before Memory,” Rain told her. “Passed down from Feyreisen to Feyreisen since Tevan Fire Eyes, the first Tairen Soul of the Fading Lands.”
“I’m surprised it has never been damaged or lost,” Ellysetta said. “Fey kings have certainly fought in many terrible wars over the centuries.”
“There is a repair spell forged into the steel, and a return weave that brings the king’s armor back to this room if the Tairen Soul wearing it dies.”
He approached the center stand, where the shining black and gold of the king’s armor gleamed like shadows and sunlight. Across the black
leather, tooled in gold and silver, were symbols surrounded by a varying number of circles. His fingers brushed over them without touching. “These are the name symbols of every Defender of the Fey who ever donned this armor and led the Fey into battle. The rings indicate how long each reigned. One silver ring for every hundred years, one gold ring for every millennium.”
She stepped closer, peering at the symbols. No name had more than one gold ring, and very few had both gold and silver. “Where is your name?”
“It is not there.” At her surprised look, he explained, “Only those who have worn the armor have their name set upon it. I never have. Johr Feyreisen died at the Garreval, only a few days before I scorched the world. The armor returned to Dharsa, and I couldn’t leave the battle to retrieve it.”
“You’ve never even tried it on since then? Just to see how it fits?”
In a voice both soft and grave, he said, “This is the war armor of the Fey king, Ellysetta. The moment a Feyreisen puts it on his body, he commits the Fading Lands to war, and he commits himself to one of only two fates: victory or death. Only then can the armor be returned to this room, and only then can the Fey cease fighting.” Her horror must have shown in her eyes, because he gave her a bleak smile. “War is no game to the Fey, shei’tani, and surrender is no option.”
Barely conscious of doing so, she gripped his arm and pulled him away from the gleaming gold-and-black armor, tugging him towards the armory door. “Then I pray your name will never be inscribed there.” But they both knew it soon would be.
From the armory, Rain led Ellysetta back to the wide gallery that opened into the tairen courtyard where her palace tour had begun. Bel, Gaelen, Tajik, Gil, and Rijonn were waiting in the courtyard. They had changed from warriors’ leathers to rich robes for the evening’s celebrations, and were all grinning proudly and discussing the highlights of the Feyreisa’s procession and her overwhelming welcome by the Fey.
Before Rain and Ellysetta could join them, Marissya and Dax entered the far end of the gallery, followed by the five Lords of the Massan and their truemates.