The Faeries' Harp

20: The Portal

The wall of darkness ripples like a pool of water the instant Bergljot’s horn touches it. Strong winds begin to whip through the clearing, seemingly coming from the portal. The Flower Guards’ argument abruptly turns to silence, and all four faeries stare at Bergljot with astonishment, fear, and awe.

Saoirse listens to the voices in the trees, eyes closed. Her lips start to move of their own accord, and she vocalizes a chant, words she has heard from the trees but does not understand. The winds get stronger, but Saoirse, hovering in place, is not affected by them. The rippling of the darkness in the portal becomes more rapid and intense. Seamus and Kyrie cling to one another in the shelter of a large tree, and Alastair and Aeowyn cling to other trees, terrified of the sight and sounds before them.

“I didn’t think anything like this was possible,” Kyrie whispers to Seamus. “I’ve only heard of such things in the stories that the Ancient Ones tell the wee fae.”

Seamus can only nod; he has no words to offer, no explanation, no comfort, only fear.

A thousand colors of sparkling light start to swirl through the air, emanating from Saoirse and Bergljot. The sparkling light swirls as though it’s caught in a whirlpool, moving towards the darkness slowly and then all at once. Then a great, blinding flash bursts from the darkness as the sparkling light touches it, and all the world is full of roaring like a waterfall, with a final burst of wind.

The roar fades to deafening silence.

***~O~***

Rhys hears a pop to his left, like a cork coming out of a wine bottle. With difficulty, he turns his head to see what made the noise. He’s feeling weak and feverish; his whole arm is throbbing, his left hand is almost completely black, and through the gap in the front of his shirt, he sees that the tendrils of darkness are creeping across his chest.

To Rhys’s surprise and relief, a glowing circle of swirling mist, seemingly illuminated from behind, has appeared between his tree and the other that had been framing the portal before.

“It might just be a dream. Or the afterlife,” he mutters to himself. That the portal might have spontaneously opened again for him seems too good to be true. Still, it’s not a chance he’s willing to pass up. With great difficulty, he struggles to his feet. That’s it. Just a few steps. He puts one foot in front of the other, wobbles, trembles, but stays upright. Then another step, then another, until the mist and the feeling of torn ribbons surrounds him once again.

***~O~***

The blinding light has faded enough that Saoirse can see Bergljot again. Without thinking, she flies to join the unicorn at the portal, which seems to have swirling mist in the depths of the darkness. Meanwhile, now that the winds have subsided, Kyrie, Seamus, Aeowyn, and Alastair tentatively release the trees and come back into the clearing.

To everyone’s surprise, a moment later, Rhys stumbles through the portal and collapses at Bergljot’s hooves. The unicorn promptly removes her horn from the darkness as soon as Rhys is completely in the fae realm. Suddenly, the entire world seems to be filled with the sound of shattering glass. The portal disintegrates in an instant, leaving only ordinary forest clearing in its place.

“Rhys,” Saoirse breathes, and in an instant she’s alighted at his side. Kyrie and Seamus join her a moment later.

Rhys groans as Saoirse rolls him over. His eyes open briefly, catching a glimpse of entrancing blue eyes and a halo of golden hair. An angel. This is it. I’m dying, he thinks as he sinks into unconsciousness.

Saoirse takes Rhys’s blackened hand in her blue-tinged ones, then pushes his sleeve up, trying to see the extent of the damage from the silver.

“Ooh, that looks bad,” Kyrie exclaims.

“Where did you get those coins?” Seamus questions Saoirse as he and Kyrie join her examination of Rhys.

“I took them from my fa— I mean, Lord Rioghnan’s treasury,” Saoirse explains, dreading that the source of the coins has something to do with the severity of Rhys’s ailment.

“What kind of man is he?” Kyrie inquires.

“Stingy. Exploitative. He cares only for his own gain, and has been gaining at the expense of the people he has power over.”

“That explains it, then,” Seamus sighs. “It’s not just silver, which would be bad enough. The silver that touched him is tainted with wickedness.”

“Does the goodwill with which it was given, its intended purpose, count for nothing?”

“I reckon it’s better for that than it might have been otherwise, but the scales have to balance to eliminate the wicked influence. Lord Rioghnan must be a truly terrible individual.”

“He is. How do I fix this?”

“Some elixirs exist that could help, but they’re not part of our standard equipment for patrols like this. We don’t have any with us,” Kyrie muses.

“There has to be something else. Anything.”

“In theory, your unicorn might be able to manage it, but she used an awful lot of power on the portal,” Aeowyn offers, grudgingly joining the group around Rhys. Alastair follows her, keeping himself aloof from the others. He’s less than pleased that Rhys has returned to the fae realm despite his efforts to keep his potential rival away.

“Alas, Saoirse, they’re right. I cannot do much for him now,” Bergljot’s voice echoes in Saoirse’s head.

“The harp,” Seamus suggests. “You played it before. Perhaps you can do it again.”

“I will try,” Saoirse agrees immediately. “Help me carry him there, please. I fear I cannot manage it alone.”

“Have you all forgotten that he will be sentenced to death anyway, for revealing himself to a human?” Alastair points out irritably. “Why waste all this time and effort and energy on a lost cause?”

“It’s my fault he’s in this mess in the first place,” Saoirse snaps, on the verge of tears. “My fault he came with me on an unplanned adventure. My fault our true selves were revealed. My stolen coin that’s hurt him so. None of it was on purpose, but if he dies now, his blood will be on my hands, and I will not have that. You can help me, or you can stay out of my way.” An unspoken OR ELSE hangs in the air, keeping Alastair from saying another word.

“We’ll help you,” Kyrie agrees immediately. She and Seamus help Saoirse lift Rhys off the ground, which is no easy feat, as Saoirse is still quite unsteady flying and they’re trying to keep Rhys as comfortable as possible.

“Aeowyn, Alastair, and…Bergljot, is it?” Seamus begins. The unicorn nods. “Please follow us to the harp. Bergljot left a nice trail.”

Bergljot whinnies and starts trotting down the trail she left through the forest earlier. Aeowyn and Alastair follow her, as per Seamus’s direction, while Saoirse, Kyrie, and Seamus carry Rhys. They start out above the treetops, but as the trees are not all the same height, this is fairly difficult for Saoirse to manage.

“Can we fly over the river instead?” she asks through gritted teeth.

“Of course. That’s a good idea,” Kyrie agrees immediately before coaching Saoirse through the maneuvers they need to make to take Saoirse’s suggestion.

To Saoirse, even with this adjustment, the journey seems to take forever. Each shallow breath Rhys takes, each glance at the black tendrils spreading from his hand across his body, reminds her that his time is likely running out, and the guilt threatens to crush her. I never should have said anything to him. I wish I hadn’t seen him, that I’d left him to his life.

Spray from a more turbulent part of the river splashes Rhys’s face, bringing him back to consciousness as Saoirse, Kyrie, and Seamus carry him through the air. The sensation of flying is unnerving to him, and queasiness springs up in his stomach. He opens his eyes to see blue and green and purple wings above him, all flapping quickly in something like unison. The breeze is cool and soothing on his fevered brow.

“We’ll be there soon, Rhys,” Saoirse assures Rhys, seeing his eyes open. “You’re going to be okay.”

Rhys tries to smile at the assurance, but just then the three faeries pull him abruptly upward, and the jolt sends him spiraling back into unconsciousness.

“We don’t know that this is going to work,” Seamus reproaches Saoirse gently.

“I know that, but he doesn’t need to,” Saoirse retorts. “If it doesn’t work, then I want to make his last moments as pleasant as possible. But he won’t die. Not if there’s anything I can do about it.”

“Your determination is admirable,” Kyrie compliments, sending Seamus a meaningful glance. In Saoirse’s current mental state, she thinks it most unwise to agitate her further.

“There’s the harp, just ahead,” Seamus points out.

“Thank you. I never could have done this without you,” Saoirse tells both of them.

“Well, it’s not done yet. Let’s save the thanks for after we see whether this plan works.”