The Dream Walker

Chapter Two Xantara's Plight-2

Fey looked to the eagle questioningly. This species had been dubbed harpies due to their almost human shaped face bringing to mind the beautiful monsters of fables, but as Fey looked upon it he saw but a few features which could be thought of as such. The bird ruffled its slate-black feathers, moving its grey head to study him as intently as he studied it. A silent understanding seemed to pass between them. Then, in a flurry of movement, its strong grip uncurled from his arm, and it took to the sky allowing him a brief glimpse of its white underbelly before it vanished from sight.

“Must we delay further?” The woman huffed, resuming her confident posture as she patted her hair down, tucking stray strands into the large honeycomb. Fey stared after the bird for a moment, almost in disbelief of what had just occurred. Then, accepting it as simply what had been, without a word mounted his horse and resumed leading the way. “Is it far?” she demanded, but Fey retained his silence, biting back a venomous reply.

The journey across the sodden waste of the marshland had so far taken a few hours. They had been carefully skirting along the edges of the lakes and peat bogs, when Fey once more caught sight of the circling birds in the distance. Slowly, he adjusted his course to lead them closer. Even at a glance he knew the actions were not those of carrion birds. When the harpy eagle's massive frame had first grasped his arm he hadn't known the purpose of their intervention, but he knew their unexpected aid had not been for his own benefit. The woman behind him was still complaining—now about the mud and water being kicked up by the horses' movements onto their fine clothes—and he once more drowned out her irritating voice, focusing instead on the dark clouds. Here, on this open plain, the wind swept so violently across the land even the horses were forced to stagger against its ceaseless barrage, and yet it seemed where the birds patrolled sunlight broke the clouds, touching the land as to provide a beacon.

A familiar cry sounded from above. Turning his gaze skyward, Fey recognised the markings of the harpy eagle. It began to circle them, and whilst the wind continued to batter the land, the area surrounding them grew still. At their approach to the illuminated area, the circling birds broke formation to scatter across the sky. Darkness closed in from above as the clouds encroached across the area of blue and began to release the first fat, heavy drops of the promised rain.

Fey studied the surroundings, as his vision was drawn to a slumped figure upon the ground he brought the mounts to a stop. “Now what?” The woman demanded bitterly as Fey slid from his horse, quickly approaching the motionless form.

“Excuse me, miss?” he questioned softly, already knowing the woman would not respond. She had been oblivious to their approach, it was doubtful words alone could rouse her. As he reached out to touch her, his eyes recognised the symbolism of her attire. She wore a silken high-collared dress. Her shoulders were bare but for a finely spun scarf which was currently wrapped around her like a shawl that billowed wildly in the returning wind. Its delicate mesh seemed almost invisible, woven with a thread so fine it appeared to be made from mist and clouds. The area in which she lay was firm, surrounded by a strange blue flower. It was a symbol Fey rarely saw, one that suggested the land had been touched by a Great Spirit.

The harpy eagle called out from beyond the flower circle. At its prompt Fey nodded and watched as it took flight to join its brethren. Reaching down, he checked her carefully for injuries. Even through her elbow-length gloves he could feel her flesh was cold, the only warmth remaining seemed to be that from the sun which had shielded her. Glancing around, he lifted the woman into his arms, carefully making his way back towards his horse.

“Do put that back,” the woman ordered as Fey lifted the limp figure to straddle his steed. He whispered softly in its ear as he positioned the woman securely. “You don't know where it has been, it could have a disease.”

“Surely you would wish someone to aid you, if it were you here.” The younger woman finally spoke, the tenderness of her voice surprised Fey almost as much as the tone of shame barely concealed within.

“Don't be silly, child, I wouldn't be found dead out here.” Ignoring the woman Fey mounted, carefully positioning himself behind the woman. She was a dainty figure, her long ash-blonde hair, which once would have fallen in beautiful curls to rest just below her shoulders, was matted and tangled. Pulling his cloak from his saddlebag, Fey wrapped it around her before leaning her back to rest against him so her frigid body could absorb some of his own heat.

He did not know this woman, but her attire, and the reactions of the birds and clouds to her presence, meant she could only be Sylph's chosen. Within his arms lay the Air Maiden, and given how shallow her breathing was he feared she may never wake.

* * *

Alana giggled as she ducked under the outstretched arms of the pursuing Eorthád, weaving around another to skid across the sand. Her vision desperately panned from left to right as she sought a place to hide. She could hear the cries of the other captured children warning her to keep moving, lest she be caught and forced to remain in the wolves' den until one of the other lambs could free them. It was a favoured game of the children, as yet they had not come to realise it was a teaching exercise in strategy, quick thinking, and stealth. Tonight the wolves—comprised of six Eortháds, one from each area of expertise—were showing no quarter, or at least it seemed that way to the children.

Alana squealed in surprise as a figure sprung from a nearby rock pool, wrapping his wet arms around her as he hauled her dramatically towards the den. He placed her down gently beside the bamboo and woven grass structure, shaking his hair playfully to send droplets of water spraying over the children. They squealed and giggled, hiding behind the shelter until he walked away in search of his next victim.

Seiken sat with his hand interlaced with Zo's, his gaze fixed upon her as she watched the spectacle from their place near one of the small fires that littered the beach. Happiness traced the edge of her smile.

The Eortháds were always thrilled when they would visit, more so when they brought their newest addition to the family along. Alana still giggled when they addressed her as Mistress, and it had taken Zo some time to become accustomed to her new name as well. Here she was known as Thea. The name, bestowed upon her when she became an Oneiroi, had been the one by which Seiken had always addressed her.

“I can't believe how much she's grown.” Daniel stepped over one of the large wooden benches as he approached, smoothing his brown hair before joining them at the fireside. He had been in the middle of training when news of their arrival had reached him and, despite the importance of their visitors, he had been forbidden from leaving his duties prematurely.

He had already surpassed their expectations for this phase of his awakening into the role of Wita. His connection to the Underworld allowed him to call upon the wisdom of those departed, but this was difficult and exhausting to maintain. Nemean—the Grand Master and eldest of the wyrms—instead of solely allowing Daniel to focus on retaining the link in a calm environment, had now introduced physical burdens to the exercise, forcing him to practice maintaining the tether during times of distraction. If he could achieve this, he would be able to draw on not only the wisdom and power of the deceased, but their perception as well, allowing him to see beyond the scope of a normal warrior.

Daniel had never considered himself to be gifted in combat, nor had he expected the role of Wita to ask him to become versed in such things. The passing years had seen them all grow and change in ways none of them could have predicted. “I see so much of you both in her,” he added gesturing towards the youngsters while nodding his head in greeting towards Seiken.

“Is that a polite way of saying she's trouble?” Zo teased.

“I don't think trouble is a strong enough word,” Seiken interjected as he rose to his feet. Daniel's gesture had brought his attention to the fine billows of smoke from the place his daughter had last stood. He gave a humoured sigh, his pace increasing as the flickering embers of a fire became more noticeable. Seiken skilfully lifted a pail from the hands of an approaching Eorthád, who more than had the situation under control. With an exaggerated swing he covered the squealing children from head to toe in the sea water while Adel, Thegnalar of Drỳcræft, schooled one of the younger children showing promise in the arcane on how to create a barrier around the fire to extinguish it.

“Sorry, Daddy.” Alana scuffed her feet, her sight focusing upon them briefly before glancing timidly towards him with her big, blue, deer-like eyes. She knew it made his heart melt. It was a look she quickly learnt worked on almost everyone. “I tried to stop it.”

“How?” he questioned, trying to keep his voice firm. He narrowed his eyes, hoping to disguise the smile that threatened to appear.

“Well,” she sang, rocking backwards and forwards on her heels. “It said it was hungry, so I fed it some leaves. Everybody knows a full tummy makes you sleepy.” She flashed him a brilliant smile as she presented her logic.

“You, young lady, need to study more. And don't you believe everything you hear.”

“So, I don't need to study more?” she questioned innocently.

“Sorry about that.” Seiken looked apologetically to Alessia, who had joined them to see what all the commotion was about. Alana ran to her, lifting her arms up. As if by second nature the Master and Commander of the Eortháds scooped the child into her arms, positioning her to sit on her hip. Alana pushed back some of Alessia's black hair, being careful to avoid the silver wyrm winged circlet she always wore as a symbol of her rank, before snuggling closer to her.

“Concern yourself not, many of our young are coming into magic, Lord Seiken. Mistress Alana is no different.”

“But still…” Seiken trailed off, his vision turning to focus on his wife. He couldn't be sure, but there was something about the manner in which she sat, and Daniel's concerned expression, that suggested something important was being discussed. He felt a frown furrow his brow as he wondered what fresh mischief his wife was causing while he had dispelled the trouble caused by their daughter.

“Daddy, it's rude to stare.” Alana's scolding returned his focus. He gave a slight shrug. Surely there was nothing more to their discussion than Daniel, once again, trying to fill in the gaps in his knowledge. And yet, a strange sensation washed over him as he watched them. “Daddy!”

“Yes, sorry. Shall we join Mummy and Uncle Daniel? I think you've had quite enough excitement for one day.” Seiken and Alessia made their way over to the small fire, where they made themselves comfortable. Alana ran straight for her mother, fidgeting until Zo had no choice but to reposition herself so her daughter could lie with her head on her lap. “I guess she's run out of trouble and needs to recharge,” Seiken teased.