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CHAPTER TWO; A DREAMER'S WEB
Sunset was fast approaching as Nuada flew ahead, scouting out for dangers and obstructions. All about her the surroundings were lit in saffron-gold light, the last of the afternoon brightness lending an eerie feel to the woods, silent for but the occasional twitter of birdsong or snap of a trodden twig. Her sharp fairy eyes detected no nearby threat, but she remained on edge nonetheless - in such circumstances, you couldn't be too careful. Nor could you cover too much distance in a day.
"Come on Myla!" she called back to her companion. "We have to find shelter soon, before it gets dark!"
The girl continued to struggle up the steep slope, all out of puff, gasping for breath and clutching at the branches of the thin trees for support. "I'm just not an uphill person, okay? And you never told me it was this far!"
Nuada sighed. "Look, hurry up, we can't afford to stop too long. There are dangerous things that come out at night, things we really don't want to meet yet."
Myla panted as she staggered up the hill toward Nuada and the pair walked in nervous silence for some while. Then Myla quietly asked: "Nu?"
"Yes?"
"Who - was it Pawanzell, that kill - that burned down the house today?"
"I doubt it. Pawanzell would've sent one his minions for such a menial job as today's," and then she laughed as she saw Myla's disappointed face. "You've been reading too many old stories, Myla. It's not as romantic as all that in real life! Royalty rarely actually does anything for itself."
"Then I want to know who it was," Myla intoned fiercely, not sharing Nuada's amusement, a wild flame leaping up in her eyes. "Then I can have my revenge on the pricknots."
"Myla," Nuada whispered as the two set off up the hill again, "don't let revenge burn you up inside, okay. You'll get what you want when we defeat Pawanzell just you wait, but until then, don't make revenge your purpose for doing it. Think of saving Fengalonia, otherwise you'll go mad. I've seen it happen. And watch your language!"
Myla
smiled then and the friends continued their journey toward the faery
kingdom. The
"How do you know which clearings are safe?" Myla queried as 626y2415g Nuada looked questioningly at one particular glade, which seemed to Myla no different to any other.
Nuada grinned knowingly and raised one eyebrow. "Watch this!" Under her breath she muttered an incantation spoken in another tongue, inaudible and incomprehensible to Myla, and then raised her slender arms upward with a great cry. Golden-grey light flowed forth from her fingertips, and each sparkling shimmer settled in a ring about the encircling trees. The dust from Nuada's hand then deepened to amber-crimson, forming a protective circle all about their resting place. All of the clearing and surrounding forest was illuminated with the brightness of her fairy magic.
Nuada fluttered into the safety, and Myla followed slowly, in awe. She laid her heavy pack upon the grassy earth and rolled out the unruined blankets she had taken from the house. Myla was suddenly weary from sorrow and stress, and she laid her head down and fell to sleep quickly, safe, where no harm could come to her.
Alone Nuada hovered by the edge of the clearing. There was darkness out there, she could tell, of what description she knew not, only that it was there, watching ardently through the night and waiting for the morn sunrise to come and for the two to roll back their magic shield, and then to strike at them.
Nuada shook her tiny head and banished such thoughts from her mind. Tonight, she was safe, for the first time in a long while. She settled beside Myla's head and rested, dreaming fearfully of what should happen if Myla rolled over unexpectedly in the night.
A single pale rose. Perfectly delicate and entire in its beauty. Tragic it seemed that a thing of such perfection should lie forlorn in a meadow, alone. Bending at the knee, she slowly stooped to pick up the bloom, and pricked one slender dark finger on the thorn. A clean cut it was, a thin line of scarlet blood trickling from her fingertip.
"Were it plain as a thorn," she sighed wistfully, examining the scratch. Pain was a familiar thing to her these days, yet a thing she could block from her head easily as she would an unfriendly thought or an insult. Pain was only in your mind, she could come to realise. Pain was a thing for babies and fools to fret and mewl over. Yet somehow this simple little scratch from this simple little flower had hurt her more than the many sword blows and tragedies that had beset her over the years.
The valley bowl was vast, and empty as the sky dimmed. Thistle stood there, a lone figure of light green fabric against the darkness of her skin, one alone amongst the fronds of amber meadow grass and emerald tufts, gilt-edged in the sunset and swaying in the wind that blew up then, lifting her pale hair and tugging at her dress.
Memories. Often she thought of them fondly. Thistle had a recollection of what a memory
was like, though she was aware that she had none, only the guilt she bore from
a wrongness she had long forgotten. This
shame she had born since the day she had found herself wandering in the
Thistle lifted her heavy overskirts and moved on. Surely, civilization was nearby! Then again, as she thought on it, the farmers and villagers of Sarhil were unlikely to accept an amnesiac Myrinian into their quiet communities. What would the neighbours say? Shaking her pale head she followed the rocky road until she came to the foot of the mountain.
It was an unpleasant way. The path was a heat-trap in the late afternoon, the sun's warmth sinking into it and burning her feet through the thinning soles of her sandals. Many times she twisted her ankles from treading on large stones and tripping. Her skirts dragged heavily behind her, bringing up large dust clouds, and becoming filthy quickly. Droplets of perspiration ran down her face and back as she wandered to no particular destination.
Thistle heard voices. Swiftly she turned about and saw, in the high distance above her, a small figure leading a very large cow. They seemed to not have yet realised her presence. Best not to let them do so! Thistle fled on fleeting steps and came to a large growth of bright gorse and hid behind it, casting a glamor over the area to seemingly thicken the branches and further disguise herself.
The two came closer, the boy ahead of the cow somewhat. He was younger than she had previously thought, ten at the very most. Dressed in a light farm worker's uniform and carrying no visible weapon, tall and gangly, blonde hair greasy and plastered to his skull, he seemed no threat to one skilled as Thistle, and she prepared to emerge from the tangles.
And then the cow came into full view. A cow the size of a barn almost, and covered in golden scales that glinted in the last of the brightness. A cow with massive yellow eyes, roving suspiciously, and a serpentine jaw filled with pearly fangs. A strange cow and, Thistle slowly came to the conclusion, not a cow at all. A dragon, even.
Thistle was silent for a moment, unable to find words to express her shock and fear. A dragon! They were extinct, were they not? Hunted down until none remained?
Worry also prevented her from speech. Myrinians and dragons, in the ancient times, had warred for many centuries. If this was indeed the last Fengalonian dragon, would the feuds of old apply? Thistle quietly kept her cover, heartbeat increasing some pounds.
Thistle, you mule! She thought as the two strayed closer. Should the dragon see her, this was the end. She stayed still and silent as she could, though she twitched in anxiety and her breathing was so heavy, surely they could hear it! The boy and the dragon passed by her, and she made out what they were saying clearly for the first time.
"Where do we start?" the boy was asking. "It's not like we can just go burning random towns."
"We can't?" the dragon voiced in mock disappointment, then laughed. "Start by finding the pricknots that did that to you," the dragon replied. Thistle saw the two stop a moment, and the dragon tapped his talon against a large purple bruise on the boy's skinny tanned arm.
"No, we can't waste our time on them!"
"Alright then, we'll travel to Galenborne. Myrinia, to be more precise."
"Why Galenborne? What have the elves ever done to us?" The boy asked, unaware, though Thistle had a terrible sense of what was to come, biting her lower lip hard to prevent an outcry.
"Oh, elves are alright, a bit vain and dramatic sometimes maybe, but aren't we all? No, the elves are fine, it's the Myrinians, the dark-elves" Brim added seeing Fran's dismay at the unfamiliar word, "that I want to get rid of. Scheming bloody pegropes, they were the ones who came up with the magic to kill us in the first place. That's why we're going to Myrinia."
Brim's snake-eyes narrowed in contempt and hatred as he spoke, then widened sharp and alert as a figure sprang from behind him. The boy and dragon both turned to face the newcomer.
A girl, a dark-elf girl! Here in a human land! She wore a light dress of pale mint green, and heavy overskirts in velvet of a similar shade, embroidered heavily in gold and adorned with precious stones that glimmered as she moved. The skin of her face and exposed arms was dark as newly-ploughed fields in the wet season, yet her hair flowed white as a snowy river to her waist. Her eyes glowed with the clear whiteness of her race, yet something in her stance and posture lacked the fabled wisdom of elvenkind, and she seemed young, certainly no older than fifteen.
"Get back!" Brim snarled, lowering his head menacingly, anger in his voice than frightened Fran. "Or face the full wrath of the one you left behind!"
"Do as you will to me, but by Dream-Time and all the Seraphim you won't take Myrinia!" The girl quickly drew two short silver swords from somewhere under the voluminous folds of her overskirts. She appeared as though she knew how to use them, holding them correctly and confidently, Fran observed. He hastened to his friend's side.
"Brim!" Fran attempted to restrain the enflamed dragon. "What did you tell me? The living can't apologise for mistakes of the past? Remember? Remember?"
The pleading was in vain. Brim slowly crawled forward, all his will and anger intent upon she who dared to stand so arrogant before him. The girl had not expected that! She seemed to quiver slightly, then shed her outer skirts and drew herself up, readied for battle. Swinging her twin swords, she charged forward to face the dragon.
Brim was still a moment, contempt in his yellow eyes, calm and cruel. As she neared him, the dragon inhaled deeply through his nose, an echoing rumble rising in his belly. From Brim's nostrils flew tiny embers of flickering flame, hurtling toward Thistle. Between them she darted with the small quick movements of a fleeting sparrow, all the time nearing the unprotected underbelly of her nemesis.
Brim stopped still again. Then he rose up onto his hind legs, and with a roar that shook the very ground he crashed back down onto all fours. Opening his serpentine jaws wide as they would go, he shot a tongue of streaming fire in the elf's direction.
Thistle's breath was momentarily knocked from her breast as the searing heat rushed toward her. Recovering her senses, she threw herself to the ground. Her eyes watered from the thick smoke as she crawled toward Brim, pulling herself along the stony floor with all the strength she had.
Brim's own eyes were shut. He did not see or feel the girl crawl beneath him, only the breathlessness of a blade scratching against his throat. Roaring in pain, Brim lifted off the ground. The force of his outstretched wings knocked Thistle down as he let out another jet of flame. Her eyes narrowed and she rolled to the side, scrambling up she did so. Taking careful aim, she threw her left-hand sword like a javelin into the dragon's eye.
Brim yelped again. Attempting to dislodge the blade from his brow crease, he was momentarily off balance and nearly fell from the sky. He continued half-blind, laying his burning breath upon Thistle time after time, and time after time she side-stepped to safety.
Chagrined, he lunged at her. One vicious talon tore Thistle's bare shoulder, but not before her sword had penetrated the wing membrane. Again Brim came at her; again she took her blade to his wing, until the once majestic wingspan was tattered and torn. One final flight and Thistle ducked, meeting the outstretched claws in a blade lock. She held it some while, before summoning all the skill she had and forcing down, almost amputating the toes. She ran, and jabbed her sword upward through the dragon's neck. Back she sprang as Brim's body crashed to the dusty earth, a wreckage and ruin of a once awe-inspiring race.
Thistle approached the fallen beast's head, and pulled her sword from the eye cavity, before she was pulled down by the boy. His fists pounded on her skin, his eyes were red from crying. Tears from his face flowed onto hers as they wrestled in the dust.
"He was my only friend! The only one ever! Why? Why did you do that to him? To me? You murderer!"
Murderer...murderer...murderer...the last word echoed through the bowers of Thistle's memory as a cry throughout a long tunnel passage. Why she had fled here...what had passed to lay such culpability upon her soul, scattered images of death rushing back now as a flooded river breaking through a dam.
A swift blow to the cheek, a glowing red welt, a young girl sprawled on the dirty floor, a burst of fury immense as a tide of time, tears dripping from an eye as blood was dripping from a knife, a struggle quickly ceased, a struck match and a leaping inferno, screams of terror and bone-chilling pain, and the all-consuming guilt she knew too well.
With a surge of angry strength that surprised even herself, Thistle rose to her feet and threw the screaming child from her, and knocked him far back, winded. She breathed heavily for a moment, then straightened and sheathed her swords, self-consciously picking up the discarded overskirt and belting it over her tunic, preparing to move on.
"What was that for?" Fran panted, clutching his stomach.
Thistle turned back. "Look, I'm sorry, but what would you do if something the size of that was blowing fire at you and threatening to invade your homeland? Join in?" She tore a strip of fabric from somewhere amongst her skirts and began to tend to the wound on her shoulder.
"You could have just stayed where you were and let us go!"
"Look, I'm sorry, boy, really," there was honesty and true pain in her eyes, Fran could see it. "I know what it's like to be one on your own, and I don't wish it on anybody. But what else am I supposed to do when someone threatens my people?"
"Actually, I was wondering - why are you here exactly? Aren't you elves supposed to be mortal-scorning types? And why do you go round by yourself"
Thistle shrugged carelessly. "I don't remember, I just found myself here one day. And for the record there's a lot more to us than most people think."
"Don't you remember your name?"
"It's Thistle."
Fran spluttered. "Please tell me that's not your real name!"
She seemed lost then, a wistful look passing over her face, as if recalling a fond memory of long ago. "No it isn't," she whispered dreamily, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she turned to face Fran. "Arachel. My name is Arachel."
Soon the morn was come and the first yellow rays of warmth shone up and dispersed all darkness in the forest. Nuada rose first and fluttered to the edge of the clearing. Whatever evil had hunted them in the night was gone now, surely. She stretched in the sunrise and flew to wake Myla. She must have tired the poor girl out yesterday - Myla was simply refusing to wake.
Shouting in Myla's ear had no effect, so Nuada resorted to more mystic means. From one of the numerous pouches strung on her belt-string she took a handful of pale purple powder and blew into gently toward Myla's face. The sleeping child woke with a start, sprang up, smiled, and began to pack.
"Morning Nu! Is it time to go already? Well yes, evidently it is time to go, otherwise you wouldn't have woken me up. Now that's logic! I'm a very logical kind of person like that sometimes. Sometimes I'm not though, sometimes I do things that just don't make any sense at all, which is a shame isn't it..."
Myla carried on, rambling and jabbering to herself. Oops, Nuada thought. The last time she'd used the wake-up spell, her hands had been significantly smaller. Myla was going to be like this for the rest of the day.
As Myla packed, all the while leaping about and talking to herself without pausing for breath, Nuada uttered a counter-spell and wrapped up the magical shield. Myla slung her pack over her shoulders and skipped on up the hill singing and greeting every tree she saw with a friendly "Good morning!" and formally shaking a branch. Every time Nuada flew to catch up with her, Myla would run off giggling and Nuada would wear herself out catching up again.
Along the way Nuada rummaged through her powders and spells, attempting to find the sleeping powder. She ended up spilling most of her ingredients, causing all manner of effects on the ground beneath. Myla did not seem to mind and sat on a nearby rock singing:
"Tommy thumb,
Tommy thumb,
Where are you?
Here I am,
Here I am,
How do you do?
This one verse she sang several times though, loudly, wagging her fingers appropriately, until Nuada could stand no more and resolved to find the cure when they reached the Forest.
By mid-afternoon, they came to the gates of the Forest of Thiomond. Great stone gates, towering above the pair and reaching almost to the treetops. They were carved intricately and elaborately in swirling patterns and twisting knots entwined with carvings of leaves and trees and forest life. Nuada took from her pocket and small stone etched with similar markings and placed it in the centre of the doors, which duly swung open to admit the pair to the wonders inside.
Even Myla was silenced then. As girl and fairy stepped through the opened gates, it seemed silence passed over all life in the land. The doors slowly shut behind them, stirring the leaves upon the ground and closing the door on the plainness and normality of the woods behind them. A Faery kingdom this was indeed, a low-level mist and earthy scent lending a mystic air to the place, far-off birdsong and whistling leaves sounding all about them. All was quiet, all was still beneath the boughs of some great height, their roots spreading wide over the leafy ground.
Myla looked up, and saw in the canopy a thousand dancing figures; naiads, human-like, small and slender, green-haired and pale-skinned; fauns and satyrs; horns springing from their masses of curly hair, their legs and tails as those of a goat; and fairies, like Nuada, all looking down upon the newcomers, in wonder and in fear.
"Nu, do they know about, you know, what we're doing?"
"Oh yes, they're just surprised to see me back so early." Then she laughed. "Come on, just ignore them, they're trying to wind you up. Hurry, I need to speak to Queen Elorna urgently."
The orange sun came up over the horizon, and day was restored to the valley. Fran and Arachel had been up all night. The two had sat some space apart, speaking of their fortunes over the years. Arachel had listened with pity as Fran told her of his wandering years, how he had come to Fringel's farm, and of the further sorrows he discovered there. Hesitantly he proceeded to explain the quest he and Brim should have undertaken. Fran winced then, and Arachel spoke to him of all she knew of her own past life.
They were silent for a spell then. After some length of time Arachel turned to Fran and smiled. "Don't grieve for Brim too long, Fran. You'll find someone else to travel with soon. Maybe they won't be made out of fire, but they -"
Realisation dawned in his mind then, and Fran slapped himself. "How could I forget? Of course! Why do I act so stupid?"
Arachel stood puzzled as the boy took two twigs and ran to the dragon's corpse. Gingerly she followed and looked on as Fran struck a spark of fire and set the burning twigs to the dragon's slit neck. A funeral fire?
Arachel's bemusement turned to horror as the skin surrounding the cut sealed together, and a great breath swelled in the dead dragon's stomach. Those yellow orbs of his eyes flashed open, he rose to his feet and looked Arachel straight in the eye, and laughed.
Fran, seeing Arachel's face, started to laugh too. Arachel herself simply stood with her arms crossed, face impassive and rapidly turning to anger.
"Are you two going to let me in on the joke or is this a human-dragon thing? You have a strange sense of humour sometimes."
Brim took a deep breath and cleared his mind. "Don't you know you can't kill a dragon physically? We're not made that way - we have to be killed spiritually. I thought a Myrinian most of all might now that. That's what we were laughing at isn't it Fran?"
"Actually I was laughing at the look on her face. I'd forgotten about that."
Brim started to laugh again, and Fran gave Arachel a look that plainly said it's a dragon thing. She rolled her eyes and smiled, before leaving the hysterical pair and finding a quiet place to sleep the day away.
It was lunchtime, and Fran and Brim still slept. Arachel, being a dark-elf and naturally nocturnal, woke with the afternoon and rose quickly. All her belongings she kept under the folds of her dress, thus she never has any need to pack when she moved on from a place. Where she travelled now she knew not - wherever the path took her, she supposed.
As Arachel passed the rock upon which the dragon slept, sulphurous steam emanating from his flared nostrils, she laughed slightly at her own stupidity yesterday. She must learn to control her temper, she would hurt someone eventually if she didn't. Arachel looked over her shoulder at the slumbering pair and was saddened - she was missing out on two good friends. And for what?
Her moment of weakness subsided and she took a step forward, when Fran woke and said "Morning! You're up early today!"
Arachel frowned and turned. "It's lunchtime, you mule. Were pulled an all-nighter if you remember. Oh, and that bloody dragon snoring didn't exactly help."
Fran smirked. "Where are you going?"
"Well, I can't stay here forever can I? I have to be moving on."
Fran's face fell, he seemed close to tears for a second. "So, you're not coming with us?" he asked slowly in a broken voice.
"Of course not! I mean - I - did you want me to?"
Fran nodded ardently. "Really, I do!"
"What about the dragon? He'll be pretty pissed off when you invite his mortal enemy won't he?"
"Oh, Brim won't mind, I'll work around him, it'll all be-"
The ground shook slightly as Brim woke, rolled over and opened his eyes. "That... elf will not be coming with us if I have to go alone, alright Fran?"
"But Brim! Arachel isn't-"
"Fran, no!"
"Stop interrupting me, I'm trying to say-"
"Fran! How many times do I have to tell you?"
"Brim! Shut up and listen to me! Maybe you're the one with fire breath, but I'm the one the woman spoke to!"
Brim lowered his head dangerously toward Fran, and started to laugh.
All was forgiven then. Arachel looked on dotingly as the two packed and prepared for the coming journey. One day, not even that, a number of hours had made such a stain on her life. Never in her recollection had she been sorrowed to leave someone.
Brim looked at the sun, sniffed the air and seemed to be making some calculations. "This way," he motioned, "north, to Galenborne."
The two started along the road, talking and laughing, Brim's tail swinging lightly, Fran running slightly to keep up with his giant companion. And behind them, one alone watched her only chance of friendship slip away. She'd let them go to Myrinia - she didn't care about it any more. She was never going back, she couldn't, Arachel-Thistle, doomed to wander, doomed to be by herself forever.
Then Brim turned and looked back impatiently. "Well are you coming or what? Get revenge on the society that rejected you?"
Arachel thought, but only for a moment. Her dream was realised, and she sprinted along the path to catch up with the others. They spoke together for the rest of that day's journey, of old stories, and of heroes. Galenborne was closer with three.
The powder was wearing off, Myla was biting her nails, which would be filthy had they been long enough. Council was boring, and the novelty of seeing mythical creatures had worn off. Yes, they had green hair, wings, horns and funny legs - but that didn't make a person interesting. They were talking about politics for Guardian's sake!
The council room was a vast underground chamber, built under the roots of a tree like a rabbit warren. It was, surprisingly to Myla, clean and well-lit. The walls were oak-panelled instead of carven from raw earth, and all about the chamber magical embers glowed with purplish luminescence. The ceiling extended right up into the trunk of the hollow tree, and a winding staircase, lit similarly to the chamber, wound like ivy up the inside of the trunk - the circumference of the tree must be vast! For, built into the hollow tree were the houses of the fair-folk. Myla supposed that the tree was enchanted to accommodate such a size requirement. It made her dizzy looking upward, so she focused her attention on the woman in the throne.
At the head of the council chamber was a dais, upon which was a throne. The throne was made in the twisting knotted style of all the Faery architecture, and was overlarge for the tiny woman who accommodated it. Forest Queen Elorna Finra was smaller than Myla, being a naiad. The naiads were the lead race of the Forest of Thiomond - immortal, graceful, wise and beautiful. Queen Elorna possessed the smooth white skin of her race, and her long green hair was set in ringlets and intricately coiled with forest blooms, and a string of lily buds were set in a chain at her brow. Young she seemed, yet wisdom was in her stance and speech, and much knowledge of past things was retained in her mind, and shining in her leaf-green eyes.
She and her councillors, and Nuada, talked at length about subjects Myla had no comprehension of. Nuada was uneasy too - the two were almost of the same age, though Myla had to constantly remind herself of it, as Nuada's power and skill disguising her immaturity. The fairy too seemed unaccustomed to councils and speeches and politics.
After some time, Myla's heart lightened as Queen Elorna rose and cried "Worry not, my subjects! All is as it should be, go now, feast and rest this day's toils away!"
Accompanied by her maidens, Elorna rose and left the hall. Her subjects and councillors filed out after her, Myla and Nuada were the last to leave.
"We'll sleep here tonight," Nuada decided, "leave tomorrow, go to the town on the edge of the Forest and catch a train to Hollyrule. Then we'll go and see Tessa."
Myla nodded, that sounded good to her. The two had been allocated a special table in the Queen's great dining hall, and there they spent the meal in light, joyful conversation over a manner of delicacies Myla did not recognise, and thought they would probably taste better if she didn't know what they were.
She felt sleepy and euphoric after the meal, as they made their way to Nuada's lodgings. Strung from all the trees were long chains of what appeared from the ground to be lanterns, but were, when witnessed closer, tiny homes high in the foliage, where the fairies slept, the light of their magical aura shining clear through the glass and spreading living colour through the canopy.
Myla climbed one of the numerous rope ladders that hung from the treetops and climber until she found a place to sleep - a hollow in the tree near to where Nuada's house hung. She waved at her friend and settled down to sleep.
A scuffling down below, a tug at the ladder, the creak of rope brazing against the wood, and a naiad's head popped up into Myla's resting place.
"Hi!" she greeted brightly. "Queen Elorna sent me to look after you. I'm Sheelagn."
The newcomer seemed younger than most of the other naiads, and Myla was fully awake now.
"You want to hear a story?" Sheelagn asked, sitting down, clearing her throat and proceeding before Myla had time to say yes.
"In the long ages when the world was young and day had not yet been made, and all was shrouded in night, there lived a lady in the clouds. Her name was Nolúvaire, and her face shone as a single moon through the billowing shadows of her raven hair and the navy-night of her shimmering robes. An endless cloak she wore, which wrapped about the entire world and forbade the coming of day. In the cloud she slumbered, but when she rose she would leap onto the back of Tyaru the sky-wolf and ride the heavens, and the clouds followed them.
"Nolúvaire had a garden, in her home amongst the clouds. A vast lawn surrounded by soft trees of feather-cloud, in which she would wander often, and when the high wind blew a parting in the clouds she would lay out all her silver treasures before her and count them, while below on Fengalonia's surface the people would see them glimmering as pinpoints of light amidst the shadow, and their spirits would lift.
"And in those ancient days, there lived in Fengalonia Aekellinor the elvish lord. In his palace of gleaming white marble, therein was light, the only one of its kind in all Fengalonia, at that time. And there, he and his advisors and mages plotted the coming of day to the world, the end of the infinite night. From a tall tower they watched the movements of the heavens, and studied long the history of Light and Dark, and the unrest between them, and sought a way to find balance between the two.
"And one time, Aekellinor himself observed from tower a speeding flash of starry light moving across the sky. Closer he looked, and saw she who no mortal eye had yet beheld - Nolúvaire of the Night, streaking past the clouds on the back of the wolf Tyaru, the fairest flash of silver starlit beauty ever seen in the Land of Life.
"Such a fright she took, she near fell from the sky! One of the planet-dwellers, watching her! And such audaciousness to take away her darkness and filter in the light! Anger prickled at her heart at such a notion.
"Tyaru she reigned down a level, until they hovered outside the window of Aekellinor's palace. And there, the two realised the one truth of the world - Light and Dark were neither all-powerful, and had but one weakness.
"There, they understood how balance could be found amidst the unrest of the world. Aekellinor summoned the eagle Gorazon, and flew after Nolúvaire. But Tyaru panicked and bolted, and would not obey the commands of his mistress. Aekellinor flew Gorazon to the fastest he could, but however hard they tried they remained and equal distance apart, flying around the world, doomed to do so forever, never thinking that should one of them stop still a second, they could be together.
"And as they flew, one half of the planet was in light, and the other in darkness, the day and night moving and following the speeding two. And that is how day and night came to the world, and how the story ends."
"What a sad story," Myla yawned.
"Most stories are," Sheelagn agreed. "That's a very short version of it, you look all tuckered out. I'll leave you sleep now, but if you need anything I'll be on the branch underneath."
Sheelagn began to descend the rope ladder, when Myla shouted after her. "Wait! What did you mean, Light and Dark only have one weakness?"
Sheelagn laughed then. "I though you of all people would know. If you don't I'm not the one to tell you. But let me say this; all it takes to change the world is one in white, one in black, and a lady rainbow-bright."
As Sheelagn said that, Myla drifted off and barely caught her words, and did not remember them for a long time afterwards. And about her sleepy head, the Faery magic began to work, and filled her head with sweet thoughts of home-made bread and magic golden pools on beach, and of Nolúvaire of the Night charging down a mountainside on the back of a purple pig.
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