The Guardian’s Echo

I was up early, before the sun in Aethelgard even rose. I had been here for a year, and every morning I was still surprised to discover I wasn’t waking up from a fantastical dream. My daughter was a queen in a fae realm, married to the king. My grandmother was from this world originally. Not only that, she’d left it during the aftermath of a war to protect its greatest artifact. Aethelgard, and its capital city of the same name, were vastly different from the world I’d grown up in: Chicago, Illinois. Not just because of the magic and the different fae that filled the streets. The way of life was different, the world itself was different. Even the calendar was different. King Torian and his closest advisor, Morwyn, tried to make sure mine and Anya’s customs and traditions from the mortal world weren’t forgotten, but in a land that celebrated solstices and equinoxes, the Hallmark holidays of my previous life felt inconsequential. I crawled out of the massive bed in my suite, still stunned that I lived in a palace. I put my terrified hope and trust in a strange woman — Morwyn — and followed her here, trading my suburban life for something that still didn’t seem real. The door between my bedroom and the sitting room was open, and through it, I could see a tray sitting on the table. There was a plate of breads, cheeses, and sliced meats, a bowl of fruit, and a carafe of lemonade on the tray. I did a “body check” in the mirror. It was something I’d done every day since I’d turned thirty-five, but in Aethelgard, it was different. I wasn’t looking for grey hairs and age lines anymore. In fact, those had seemed to froze in place after my arrival in this realm. What I checked now was the shape of my changing ears as they lengthened and sharpened into points that matched Anya’s. I studied my once-hazel eyes as the irises were slowly eaten away by growing lavender rings. The changes had started slowly at first, and it was startling to watch the progress. It was no disease though. It felt like something inside me was thawing. I’d spent fifty years feeling an unexplainable sense of being dimmed, but being in Aethelgard was awakening something that had been lying dormant in me my whole life. The changes felt like a light had finally been turned on inside me. I picked up my knitting that I’d been working on the night before, and moved into the adjacent room to eat. I settled in the chair at the table. The project was left alone while I ate, and instead, I opened one of the journals that my Grandma Rose had left behind when she crossed into the mortal realm. I traced her name with a finger on my clean hand while I bit into an apple I was holding in the other. Rosariel Ashendor. She’d changed her name to Rose Ashford to fit in with the humans in Chicago, but she never forgot Aethelgard. When I was a little girl, she’d tell me stories of a magical world with elven soldiers and the dwarves that made their armor. She would talk about forests of living vines and color-changing, bioluminescent fungi. I never expected the stories to be real. Her journals detailed so much. I thought she’d been in her nineties when she passed away. Her journals revealed that she’d been much, much older. When she lost her tether to Aethelgard though, she became mortal. The Rose I knew would make me pancakes while wearing a floral apron, and always smelled of lavender and honey, and the faint scent of the oil she used in her clock shop. Reading about her life here and her role as the “Guardian of the Gate” made me feel closer to her and like I knew nothing about her at the same time. I read a passage about the Whistling Highlands that I’d already read ten times, at least, and thought about a story Grandma Rose had told me. It was about a village in the hills where the wind whistled through the trees sounding like the music from a flute. She said there was a group of satyrs that lived in the forests there, and no one truly knew if the music came from them or the wind. There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” I called as I looked up. I closed the journal and wiped my fingers on a linen napkin. The heavy door pushed open and Morwyn appeared. “The King and Queen sent me,” she informed me, her voice soft. “They’ve approved your request to travel to the Highlands. They’re waiting in the central courtyard with your escort.” “Thank you, Morwyn. I’ll be down in a moment.” Morwyn nodded, a respectful gesture from one maternal figure to another. She had no kids of her own, but she had essentially raised Torian. I finished my breakfast, then quickly packed a knapsack. A couple of simple outfits suitable for travel, my knitting, and Grandma Rose’s journal. Then I changed into a simple tunic and brown leather pants, and pulled a thick traveling cloak over my shoulders. Even though it was early summer in Aethelgard, I didn’t know what kind of weather or terrain I would encounter. I took a final look at myself in the mirror, at the lavender light that was forming in my eyes, and a small smile pulled at my lips. My little girl was grown and married. A queen. She didn’t need me to pack her lunches or read her stories anymore. I had promised to be back in six months, before the birth of her first child, but I had to take this trip for me. I needed to connect with our roots. I needed to find who Penny Ashford was beyond just a queen’s mother or a woman from Chicago. I left the Aegis wing and headed towards the courtyard. A year later, and the palace was still breathtaking. The marble walls glimmered a deep gold like the summer sun, and vines of summer flowers crawled across the walls. The corridors were bathed in rainbow light as the sun spilled through the stained glass windows. I took a deep breath and stepped outside. My heart did a strange little double-beat in my chest as my eyes fell on the trio waiting for me. There was Anya, her pink satin dress shimmering in the sunlight, standing next to her king. With them, was my escort, just like Morwyn had promised. He was tall, about three inches taller than Torian, and as broad as the current Master-at-Arms, Faelar. His long dark hair was streaked grey, but his face was smooth. His lavender eyes gave away the fact that he was considerably older than he looked though. He looked formidable. For the first time in twenty years, I felt something that was more than just curiosity. I swallowed back my thoughts, and descended the steps. I tried to keep my focus on the two mounts that stood next to my escort. His own was a chestnut mare that looked just as stoic and battle-hardened as he did. My black beauty, Moonstride, stood next to Anya eating a carrot from her hand, her long silver mane catching the sun. “Mom!” Anya’s face lit up as her gaze landed on me. I reached the bottom of the stairs, and she stepped forward to embrace me. I was immediately enveloped in the scent of honey cakes and the jasmine woven into her hair. When she pulled back, her eyes were misty, despite the rosy light they carried from the magical Nexus that flowed within her. “Are you sure about this?” she whispered. We could send a whole company with you. You don’t have to go with just…” she gestured to the self that stood beside the horses like a statue of iron and silver. “I’m sure, Anya,” I said, giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze. “I need the quiet, and I would rather not have a company of soldiers while I go on this journey.” Torian stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Penny, this is General Soren Elenari. He led the Shield before I was even alive and had fought alongside my father. There’s no one in Aethelgard that I would trust more with the life of my Queen’s mother.” Soren stepped forward now. Up close, he was even more imposing. He wore a chest piece of dark, hammered steel, and the scent of leather and mountain rain clung to him. He didn’t quite bow, but he did incline his head in a way that made me stand a little straighter. “Madam Ashford,” he started, his voice a deep baritone that felt as smooth as melted chocolate. “It’s an honor.” “Penny,” I corrected automatically, the Chicagoan in me trying not to bristle. “Just Penny, please.” One of his thick, dark brows lifted, and his lavender eyes scanned me. They lingered for a second on my knapsack where the knitting needles stuck out. “Then, Just Penny, the horses are ready. If we leave now, we can reach the valley before the sun reaches its peak.” He turned to mount his mare with a fluid, practiced grace, and I felt my face suddenly warm as I watched him. I took Moonstride’s reins from Anya, gave her one last squeeze, and realized for the first time since my divorce twenty years ago, that I wasn’t just following someone else’s lead anymore. I was starting my own story.