Chapter 9 Faron #2
Faron denied the rage that boiled the blood in his veins.
These faeries would not understand. They would think his fury directed toward them and not Eder.
For these faeries to fear nets and jars…
no wonder the people in Arbertown were so reluctant to approach the faerie valley.
For centuries past, it had been a rite of passage to cross the mushroom-guarded rivers to steal a flower for a loved one, with the strength of your love supposedly deciding how long the flower lasted before dissolving into colored smoke.
There had long been trade for feyberries across Kaus, too, but he suspected that, too, had come to an end.
Damn Mitra, for such cruelty.
“What is your name, grove-mother?” he asked when their cries subdued. The purple-chitin faerie hovered before him, deciding.
“Mae’lilia,” she said. “Eldest of this village. Eighty years I have lived, yet never have I felt such hatred toward us before.”
“The humans are turning worse,” shouted a faerie.
“Much worse than the coyotes and dogs,” a second added, this one sitting atop Iris’s head; the coyote was very calmly allowing it to happen despite not understanding what was going on.
“Mae’lilia, I am Faron of the ever-living,” he said. “I seek permission to pass through your maze, exit your valley, and continue my hunt to punish he who committed such terrible crimes against you.”
The grove-mother stared at him in thought. The towering walls of thorn and leaf shook in a sudden wind.
“You wish to stop him,” she said, her voice taking on a new tone.
It was distant, faded, as if she were lost within a dream.
Her eyes closed. Silver light sparked off her antennae.
The fey’s radiance granted them mastery over nature to make even Calluna jealous.
It also allowed them to see a world known only to them, one in which time was frighteningly malleable.
“I do,” he answered.
“And you will try. Oh, you will try, Faron, but there is no victory awaiting you. I see the sky breaking. The dragons speak true. Kaus will be consumed in a fire that does not burn. End, true end, comes for us all.”
She opened her eyes. White crystals crinkled at the corners of them, the faerie equivalent of tears.
“You die, Faron. I cannot explain why, but my heart aches so terribly to witness it.”
Faron rose from the circle of mushrooms. Mae’lilia fluttered her wings to keep equal height to his gaze.
“I have died before,” Faron said, unafraid of her prophecy. “I will die again. Do not weep for me, grove-mother.”
Iris barked. All the faeries had made themselves visible to her, and she stared at them wild-eyed. Dozens more appeared to join those in the heart of the maze, the little beings buzzing out from the bushes. The sky filled with red eyes glowing to match the stars in number.
“No,” Mae’lilia said, her wings fluttering, lifting her higher.
She spread her arms and looked to the east. “The dawn comes, and so I pass my judgment. You will stay, Faron of the cyclical. You will stay, sleeping away the day, and wandering the maze at night.” She shook her head.
“We suffered enough at Mitra’s hand. You need not suffer, too. ”
The ring of mushrooms at Faron’s feet erupted.
Black dust rose like smoke, and when he breathed it in, the effects were immediate.
The world grew hazy and his mind dulled.
The faeries retreated into the blue leaves.
He opened his mouth to protest, but his tongue felt clumsy and fat.
His balance worsened, and he collapsed onto his side. His eyelids drooped.
The last thing he remembered before sleep taking him was Iris, gently licking his fingers.
A voice called his name. Movement. Rustling. Shaking. Someone was shaking him. Faron groaned, his eyes still squeezed shut. Why… why would someone wake him? Couldn’t they tell he was tired? Sleep. He needed to sleep.
And then something sharp sliced across his arm. Its sting focused his mind. With great effort, he forced his eyes open, and he was not prepared for the face staring down at him.
“Bart?” he asked, bewildered.
“Oh, thank Leliel, you’re awake,” the young man said. He grinned, wide and playful, to hide the fear still clearly visible in his green eyes.
Faron groaned as he sat up, and he winced at the daylight. It felt extremely bright, though perhaps that was only due to the intense ache in his forehead. He glanced at his arm and saw a fresh line of blood dripping from where he’d been cut. Bart noticed it, too, and hurried to explain.
“I tried shaking and slapping you, but even that wasn’t enough.” He offered Faron his borrowed sword. “So I… I got desperate.”
Faron took his sword, glad to feel its steel in his grip.
The weapon was comforting, and he focused on it as he closed his eyes and summoned the innate radiance within him.
Its cooling presence flowed through his limbs.
The cut ceased its bleeding, and the ache in his mind eased.
When he reopened his eyes, it was not so bright, either.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, now that he felt more himself.
“I barely know where ‘here’ is,” Bart said, and he gestured to the maze of bushes.
In the light of day, they seemed much less intimidating, the black of their bark and thorns now a dull brown, and their leaves a pallid green.
“But I saw you enter, and when I circled around to the other side, you didn’t come out.
After a while, I decided to go in after you, and I’m glad I did. ”
Faron retrieved his sword belt and sheath, glad the faeries had left them when he passed out. While he buckled it, another thought came to him.
“Iris?” he said. “Where is Iris?”
Bart shrugged. “She wasn’t here when I found you.”
Faron frowned. Hopefully that meant the faeries chose to let her go, and not that they’d kept her as their plaything. Rubbing his eyes to push away the last of the sleep, he brought his attention to his unexpected savior.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” he said. “Why did you follow me in the first place? I thought you were returning home.”
Bart blushed slightly and looked away.
“I was, I mean, I did plan to go, but just a few minutes on the road and… I couldn’t, Faron.
I couldn’t. I want to fight. I want to help people, like you help people, so when the shepherd told me you walked east into the faerie hills, I went after you.
” He gestured to the now barren circle on the ground.
“And I think you should be thanking me, not interrogating me.”
Faron drew his sword. Bart flinched.
“Breathe easy,” Faron said, lifting the sword and turning his attention east. The sun was high, and the faeries sleeping until the night resumed. If he and Bart were to escape the maze, now would be the time. But before he did…
“Bart, I want you to make me a promise,” he said.
He closed his eyes as he spoke. “You will witness wonders you cannot explain. You will see me accomplish feats by no rights any man or woman should perform. All I ask is that you speak of it to no one, not even myself. If you accept that, I will allow you to travel at my side.”
Faron opened his eyes, and they shone with radiance so that he would know if the young man spoke truth or lie.
Bart took a frightened step backward, but he did not cower, and he did not lie.
“You have my word.”
Faron nodded. Acceptable. That done, he turned his attention to the hedge wall.
He had wandered this maze as a sign of respect to the faeries, but they had acted against him, and he would show them such courtesy no longer.
He visualized the thick brush, the thorns, the fruit, and the leaves, saw them all in his mind’s eye, and then demanded they part.
Silver light gleamed across his blade as he swung it in an overhead arc. Its edge cut through every branch, every leaf, and every vine. The wall parted, revealing the gently curving hills beyond. They were beautiful in the sunlight, the flowers swaying in a spring wind.
“Come,” Faron said, sheathing his sword. “We must be free of these hills before nightfall.”
The flowers did not burst with light at his passage, only shifted and swayed with a faint puff of pollen.
Faron led the way, Bart keeping close. Just before crossing the first hill, he glanced behind and saw the opening he’d cut in the maze sealing over, the branches growing at a rapid, unnatural pace.
A loud bark stole his attention. He turned about and then beamed with relief.
“Iris!” he shouted as the coyote sprinted across the grass.
He knelt and opened his arms to her. She did not slow in the slightest, instead barreling straight into him with enough force to knock him onto his rear.
She rubbed her nose and face against his chin, soft little barks escaping her mouth in her excitement.
“All right, all right,” Faron said, finally pushing her away. “It’s good to see you, too, little coyote.” She barked at him. “Sorry. Iris.”
Another bark, quick and happy. Faron laughed.
“Let’s go, Bart,” he said as the coyote dashed back to the east. “Today, we race the sun.”