A Song of Air
F eeling fresh in a new pair of pants and tunic, a light jacket to shield her from the cold wind, her hair pleated thanks to Weylyn, Bryson made her way towards the goblin forgery. With the lenses on her face, it made navigating Unseelie far easier. Her eyes still burned, and seeing the world in such bright colors was new in a way that made her temples throb. The iron was still thick as it coated the air, and she felt the tang of it on her tongue.
Her back ached from where it was slowly healing. Far too slowly for her liking. Back in the humanlands, she would have healed far easier, for the iron in Ielwyn was not as thick as it was in Unseelie. Here it eroded so much into the land, it was a part of everything. Even in the air.
So it made healing slow. It made her magic flicker in and out. She tried grasping for it, but it was far too tired to come forth. The lack of her magic made her nervous. She tried not to think of all the great accomplishments of the other Elementals. All that they’d done and all that she felt she was failing to do. Thinking that way would not help her. She could accomplish just as much as they had.
With or without her magic.
She would make sure of it.
She was Fae. And even if her magic was waning, she would be a predator they would all fear.
Their survival was dependent on that.
No one tried to stop her as she walked towards the goblin forgery. The tall spires of the smoking, iron forge nearly touched the sky. The smog that spit out of the tips made the sky a dreary gray that reminded her of the iron camps of the humanlands.
It made bad memories surface, and she shoved them down as she passed by goblins hard at work, hammering away across their tainted land. They regarded her curiously but didn’t stop her. Not even as she made her way to the relic room.
Immediately she was slammed with a wave of magic.
She’d forever be in awe of how they trapped magic within objects. It felt like its own type of magic to be able to create something that way. And what they’d created in here would help her and Weylyn aid them.
Bryson passed by mountains of glittering gold and jewels. Her fingers grazed against them but she pulled them away just as quickly. She didn’t need riches or jewels. She’d come in for one thing only.
The words of the queen on their guided tour came back to her as her head swiveled back and forth.
“We have an array of relics with incredible power holstered here. Rings of iron that can glamor you into anything you wish. Weapons disguised as jewelry. Swords that can shrink to the size of a quill. Mirrors that can portal you anywhere you desire.”
Bryson could sense the raw power of that magic around her. It was a pulsing force that closed in around her from all sides. She reached out with her own flickering, faulty magic, searching, pressing. Her gaze swiveled around. She could see everything far better this time around than she had at first.
So when she found what she was looking for, she rushed towards the object in sight. Her fingers closed around it, and she observed it before shoving it deep into the recesses of her pocket. She turned to leave as quickly as she’d come in, but nearly tripped over the small body of a goblin she’d never even heard approach.
She jolted backwards, nearly sliding on a pile of golden coins.
“You frightened me!” She pressed a hand to her chest and regretted the words as soon as they left her lips. It was no good to confess her fears within the land of Unseelie. Not even to the goblin before her.
She recognized him immediately as the one who had given her the lenses. The funny little goblin was staring up at her with glaring, hateful eyes.
Bryson immediately took a step back and her legs bumped into a mountain of gold.
“Is there something you needed?” she asked. Her gaze flicked briefly over his body and scanned the room to make sure no one else had come with him. There was no one. She cast wary glances back at him.
The goblin bared his fangs at her. “Thiiiieeeefffff,” he hissed.
Bryson blinked.
“You’re a filthy thiiiieffff. Trying to steal what I created for yourself. You thiiiiefffff.” He whipped out a dagger and lunged.
Bryson cried out and jumped backwards, landing hard against a mountain of hard gold. The breath left her lungs and she scrambled away from him as he advanced on her with a vicious, cruel gleam in his eye.
“I am the protector and creator of the relics, and you are a thieefffff.” He raised his arm, and it came slashing down in an arc. It caught against her jacket, ripping at the material. Narrowly missing her body. She rolled backwards, landing on the ground with a huff. She scrambled to her feet, jumping up just as he lunged. He pounced like an animal, a feral sound scraping from his throat.
He was little more than a beast right then. Bryson grasped for her magic, but the closeness to the iron made it far too difficult to grasp it. She managed to send a gust of wind in his direction, pushing him backwards. He let out a yelp as he fell but stood almost immediately after. He was fast on his little feet and cut her off as she ran towards the exit.
They were a parry of fast-moving bodies. And the next time he lunged for her, his blade cut across body. She cried out, cradling her bleeding arm to her chest.
“Thieefff,” he hissed once again. The silver of the blade gleamed amongst the gold, the red of her blood dripping from the tip.
Bryson’s breath hitched and the lenses slid down the ridge of her nose with the action.
“I created for you, and you steal!” He lunged again, his body nothing more than a blur as he jumped at her. She screamed as she tried to reach for her magic. But it didn’t respond and by the time she realized it wouldn’t, it was already too late.
The goblin tackled her. Her back screamed as she fell, hitting hard rubies and coins and iron. She tried to move, but the blade was already tight against her throat, and when she swallowed, the sharp edge cut into her skin. His vicious little body pinned her to the gold. The lenses he’d created slid from her face and his heavy, thick breaths fogged against the glass.
The blade pushed deeper into her neck. The scar on her back burned like it was crying out. Like it knew her death was imminent. Like it was waiting for it, ready to create a fierce and deadly force of nature, if only to tell the world that the air Elemental was no more.
And she laid there and waited for it. She waited for the blade to dig into her throat. To rip her apart. She waited for life to escape her grasp.
She waited for an imminent death, realizing she’d been playing at being predator this whole time.
But, that wasn’t quite right, she thought. She wasn’t prey. She wasn’t even the other Elementals. She’d not melt iron like Shula because she didn’t possess fire. She’d not freeze it or become ice, because she was not Iona. She’d not drown whole cities like Corvina had, because she was not them.
She was not light and goodness.
She was an angry shade in between, where the dark met the light. She realized in that moment, with her life hanging on the precipice, that she would never be like them. And she did not want to be. She did not want to be the other Elementals, and she did not want to be prey.
She wanted to take the anger that she kept so tightly bottled and finally let it sing.
Something inside her stirred, responding to her revelation. Like it had known that’s what she’d needed all along. Her well of power deepened. Her rage shot forth. All she knew was the magic of the wind nestled inside her. Bryson grasped for it, cried out as she yanked it forward. The wind howled, it sang like a cry of lament and rage both until it became a physical thing she could make out as it whirled and whirled between her body and the goblin’s. It shoved between them, pushing him backwards so hard, he hit a spear hanging on the far wall of the relic room.
It pierced through his chest, holding him up. His legs dangled beneath him, and he hissed, his eyes wide and bloody. And Bryson stood, shoving those lenses back up the ridge of her nose as she took him in. Her magic was a force around her, and she could no longer contain it as it fought against the hold the iron tried to have on her.
“Thiiiiefff,” the goblin whispered right before she rent the relic room apart. Her air magic ripped from the seams. It burst outwards, a tornado with absolutely no control. It ripped the iron apart. It tore the relic room, gold by gold, brick by brick, iron wall by iron wall, and reached outwards even further. The buildings and forgeries around her came crumbling down. The entire ground shook from the force of her magic. She tore everything apart from its foundations, her own magic protecting her from the crumbling debris.
Bryson ran out and air followed, lifting her as she rose from the crumbling, decimated structures of the forgery. Where science and magic met, but where iron had tainted the ground. Her elemental magic recognized it for the blight that it was.
It ripped it apart. Fire blazed, buildings crumbled to the ground. Dirt created a cloud of chaos through the air. Goblins shrieked and cried as they ran away from the chaos. Bryson ran away from it too, right before she sent the strongest gust of wind she could muster and watched the building completely fall.
She stood off to the side as the dark night lowered and the buildings were destroyed. Her breathing grew harsh, and she felt blood trickle along her neckline.
“My, what a mess you’ve created,” a voice whispered near her ear.
Bryson yelped in fear and whirled, her magic shooting out and pushing against Prince Cassimir.
The prince kept his legs firmly planted on the ground, though he shielded his eyes from the debris that flew his way. Her magic died and he smirked.
“My mother will be furious at you,” he said with amusement.
The brand on her arm burned almost as if it was reminding her who she belonged to now.
“Have you come to torture me like the rest of your court did?”
“Of course not. I am not without compassion. I’ve come to take you to my brother.”
She regarded him with suspicion. “Which one?”
Cassimir’s lips twitched. “Smart Fae. I will take you to Weylyn, for he is waiting for you.”
Bryson wanted to take that step forward, but she didn’t trust him. She didn’t trust anyone in Unseelie. She’d already made the mistake of eating a fruit and getting herself shackled here. She did not want any more surprises. And Weylyn had never mentioned Cassimir when he left their tent that morning.
“I vow I will take you straight to Weylyn. No detours, no trickery.”
Bryson couldn’t relax, even after the vow left his lips and a gold band appeared from magic, snaking around his neck like a collar.
“Is that good enough for you, sister?” he asked, eyes shining sarcastically.
“For now.”
He smirked again and let out a low whistle. Immediately one of his beasts flew from the sky and landed behind him.
“Hop on, little sister.” He patted his beast on its flank. “It is time to fly.”