And so it has remained for two millennia: the Doors were shut, sealed tightly that none could pass through, not from the Trueplane, and not from the Fae, and their locations were lost to time and memory.

-Fennorin’s Guide to Elven History, First Ed. UE 2342

Mellark

Mell stumbled through the bright fissure into more darkness. The drakeman’s claws dug into her shoulders, then let go. She collapsed onto a soft ground, coughing. Her legs burned and trembled under her. The air was thick and warm here, and she thought she might choke on it as she gasped for air. 

Clink. She heard the familiar sound of Syrdin sheathing zheir dagger. 

Sudden, bright-white sunlight stung Mell’s eyes. Her breath caught as she blinked away tears. 

Wide trees squatted around them with their thick roots sunken into ruddy earth. Scattered among those, thin and towering trees formed a second canopy of flat tops that broke a purple sky. In the nearer canopy, broad, fern-like leaves tickled each other with blue leaflets. A luscious breeze set them laughing and whispering, spilling to each other the secrets of the Fae. A flock of scaley birds flitted between low branches, as if chasing their whispered counsel. If she stood and reached, Mell thought she might be able to touch one.

She wanted to touch everything: to look under the leaves for spores, to test the strength of branches, to feel the soil. 

Fenn let out a ragged cry and fell to his knees, shattering her moment of wonder. His arm was still bleeding from where the Everguard had stuck him. Exploration and study could wait. Mell crawled next to him and placed her hand on his wrist. “Leygheas.” Her circlet glowed and she felt warmth and light spread through her hand into Fenn’s arm as the wound closed before their eyes, leaving behind mere blood stains on his sleeve.  

The drakeman stood beside Mell, facing the spot where they had just crossed the realms. He glanced down at what was now a long, clean scab on Fenn’s arm. “I have to say, that’s an impressive skill, master clergywoman.” He seemed barely out of breath. Not fair. “Is he well enough to travel? We had best move on before they follow us here.”

Galendria gasped. “Is that possible?” She, who had been staring into the trees with eyes rounder than a globe, now set her haunted look on Fenn.

“Erm,” Fenn seemed to shake himself, like one might shake off a bad dream in the morning, “well considering they neither knew about the Door nor have any knowledge of how to see it, or cross it, I doubt it.”  

Syrdin crossed zheir arms. “I didn’t come here to take chances.”

“Then we should move on.” The drakeman plucked Fenn off the ground by his shirt, then pulled it down to straighten out the wrinkles. “There you are, newt,” he patted Fenn’s back with a heavy hand, “so lead us on. And I wouldn’t mind a few words on the dangers we’ll be facing.”

Newt? Mell could hardly believe it, but Fenn took the rough treatment in stride.”Right. Well, follow me then. I’ve got a camp prepared not far from here.” 

She hauled herself upright, out of the soft, red earth. Her old bones groaned at the effort. Middle-aged, she corrected herself in her mind. Not old, yet. 

The forest seemed to stare at her. Blades of grass as thick as fingers tickled at her calves in the snaking, sunlit patches where they grew. An ugly croak jolted her into action. She hurried after Fenn, eyeing the strange scaled bird that had produced the sound. It turned its head to meet her gaze with one beady eye. This one had a pale pink body and its whip-like tail curled around a branch, the white feathers on the end giving the illusion of a mace. Its upper beak overhung its lower, and Mell could see needle-like teeth poking out. She shivered. Even if the whole bird was shorter than one of her arms, she’d still hate to be on the receiving end of those teeth. 

“It’s not particularly dangerous immediately surrounding the Door.” Fenn took the tone of the professor he had once been for this lecture. “I suspect that has to do with the primordial energy escaping from the Trueplane, as we call it. Most creatures here are subconsciously driven away by it. For some reason, the clebshoths don’t seem to mind–that’s the birds. They don’t seem to mind much of anything. I haven’t dared to wander far by myself, but I have seen evidence of some panthrae, as well as some large, bipedal birds, a few rodent-like creatures, and swarms of bugs innumerable.”

Right on cue, Mell heard a buzzing by her ear. Two eyes gazed at her from a tree trunk, vibrating. She jumped back, and the two eyes took off on the back of a beetle the size of her hand. Just as she tried to calm herself, a clebshoth swooped down and snapped it up with a sickly crunch. By Lorthen! This place is brutal. She tried to push away images of much larger birds snatching her up like that. Fenn was speaking loudly, for the group to hear. Clearly, he was confident in their current safety. Still, with the invisible “Door” just behind them and eyes glittering at her from the shadows, she felt he should be more cautious. 

“I even saw some form of deer, once,” he was saying. “As for what dangers we might face further from the breach, well that would likely be creatures of mythos. Centaurs, dryads, dragons and other dinosaurs, leviathans, treants, fauns,” he took a breath, “nymphs, pixies, sprites, and–well this isn’t really an extensive list. These are just the creatures that I can think of now.”

Those were things Mell knew of. Those were the things she expected. The whispering of the leaves, the hum of insects, the glittering eyes, the overly-bright sun, the finger-like grass, those were the things she was not prepared for. It was so bizarre and otherworldly that she felt she was in a dream, one dancing on the line between a daydream and a nightmare. Only, if it were a dream, her muscles would have forgotten the long run across Etnfrandia.

Some brown tendrils of grass seemed to follow her as she walked. A clebshoth—a vibrant yellow one–landed nearby and these tendrils whisked away, disappearing into the grass’s roots. Mell blinked. What in the Five Realms?

“The camp is decently stocked. Well-stocked for three, but–erm–anyway. I only have two tents. I knew Krid would bring his own. But we are here. See? It really isn’t far.”

A tiny, brown creature with blue stripes scampered into a clearing ahead of them, long antennae-like ears towering into the top of the grass as it disappeared on the other side. That was the brown grass!

The clearing was small, perhaps eight meters across, and had two tents in a style she recognized only from the one pitched in front of Fenn’s cabin. The richly-dyed fabric that lined them, she knew well, and not merely from the clothes on Fenn’s back. Woven from the hair of an Everglow mountain goat, it was light and warm, a highly sought export. Right now, sweating under the rays of a foreign sun, she hoped it breathed.

At the center of the “camp,” a small, clay travel stove sat by a pile of wood–clearly pine from Etnfrandia. A few cushions were placed around it. Some small barrels and boxes were scattered near the tents, as well as a few trunks.

As soon as Mell laid eyes on one of those cushions, other thoughts fled her. Her aching limbs carried her to one, and she collapsed onto it.

“Are you sure we should rest so near the Door? Those guards could easily follow us here.” Syrdin stood at the edge of the clearing, cowl turning slowly as zhe surveyed it. 

Fenn scratched under the arm of his glasses. “We wouldn’t want to run off into the forest without any supplies. If it comes to it, you had better try and escape on your own. Krid, you too. The rest of us would be better off surrendering ourselves than trying to escape.”

Creed? Was that the drakeman’s name?

He lowered his snout from the air, huffed a sort-of sneeze, and rubbed it. “Sounds reasonable to me. In that case, some rest to regain our strength would be the best course of action.” He lumbered over to the cushions where Mell sat. “Say, Holy Cleric, the healing you did. Do others in your brotherhood do the same? It is very impressive.”

Mell smiled. “Thank you.” She propped herself up by her hands, which sank a little into the ground, “But yes, it’s a skill we’re trained to master pretty early on. Even the Dalthens–um, novices learn it.” She brushed a dirt-crusted hand on her robe and offered it to him. “I am Mellark, Scholar-Savant of the order of Lorthen.”

The drakeman smiled back. He had an exceptionally broad snout such that the expression seemed to split his face. He reached down and grasped her hand in his cold claws with a contrasting warmth of greeting. “Kridarnn, Captain of the Twelfth Scout Guard of Brikhvarnn, but you can call me Krid.”

Mell nodded. “Nice to meet you. You can call me Mell.”

Galendria sat down with Mell. She still seemed pale, but she held her back straight, as though held by a rod, and she had a small smile painted on her face. Dark circles were forming under her eyes. Keeping up appearances, poor child. 

The drakeman looked to Fenn, who approached with a cloth sack in his hands produced from one of his boxes. “So, brighthead, now that you’re feeling better, who’s your other friend?” He nodded toward Syrdin, who still stood near where they had entered the clearing, hood swiveling as zhe kept a lookout.

Fenn took it as a cue to introduce everyone. “Oh, right.” He straightened and cleared his throat, no doubt trying to be a leader and a host.  “So, everyone, erm, this is Krid, we met on one of my less successful quests for information on the Faeworld, though the historical yield was plentiful.” He gestured to the drakeman. “We’ve become great friends over the years. He’s a Scout Captain for the Brikhvarnni military.” 

He shifted his gesture to Mell. “I think you’ve all met Mell, my friend from the University. She curated the library there for some fifteen years of my career.” 

Mell waved her hand to everyone, though she had met them all at this point. Fenn moved his gaze over to Galendria. She was staring at Syrdin like one would stare at the drunk uncle at a family reunion, the one who had tried to steal the entire inheritance two years ago, but still had the gall to show up. That is, with a deep sense of annoyance and mistrust.. 

Fenn gestured to Gale, and he took a steadying breath. Poor fellow, he tried to keep her from coming. “This is Galendria Silverstem, Fyr-Ceann of Etnfrandia and a masterful musician. She’s graciously been my betrothed since the first snow this past winter.” He hesitated. “Mell, would you care to introduce Syrdin?”

“Sure, that is Syrdin,” Mell waved a hand in the direction of her companion, “zhe has been a most loyal and skillful travel guide and companion to me on my journey here. And I believe we all owe zhem our gratitude for a successful escape.” She was referring to the darkness that had escorted them the final distance to the rift, though Mell had not known Syrdin to possess the ability. After months of travel, Syrdin still manages to surprise me.

Fenn raised his brows and cocked his head. Had he not realized that was not my magic?

“An impressive skill, yes!” Krid pumped a tight fist into the air.

From zheir place a few paces away, Syrdin acknowledged the cheer with a small flick of one gloved hand, not even shifting zheir gaze off the forest.

“Yes,” Fenn was quick to affirm. “I’m deathly curious what kind of magic that was, if you don’t mind revealing it. And I’ll surely add any extra pay you require before you go on your way.”

Mell gritted her teeth. Syrdin did not like to be asked about zheir abilities, or history, or motives. Not anything personal, really. 

Syrdin turned. “My magic is my own,” zhe replied, arms crossed, “and I’m not planning to leave. Not that I could with the Everguard crawling around the Door. Not for a while, at least.” There was a growl to zheir voice, an impatience.

Fenn blinked, taken aback. “Not leaving? You were hired to help us retrieve the artifacts, not to accompany us to the Wildlands. Surely someone like you could sneak away, once things settle down.”

Mell couldn't help but notice he referred to the place by its Elven name when he spoke to zhem. It finally clicked in her mind. For them, this wasn’t the Fae, a land of mythos, but the Wildlands, their origins.

“And now you couldn’t pay me to leave,” zhe said. “I’ll take my artifact when you are ready. Mell already settled the rest. But from here on I have business in the Faeworld, same as you. I’ll be happy to accompany you, free of charge.”

Mell’s mouth dropped open. Zhe never told me that. She was accustomed to Syrdin’s abrasive behavior, but this was different. A self-insertion. Syrdin had at times shown interest in the Faerie gods, often engaging Mell in conversation about them. What is zheir goal?

[To be continued...]

[Guys this character limit is absolutely killing me!]