Breaking Into The Light

Chapter Two

Chapter TwoShe stood an average height for a shefey, several inches over five feet tall, and her lissome frame was delicate and graceful with an uncommon double pair of diaphanous wings that spread wide in opposing directions like a butterfly's. Translucent lavender in hue, they took on an icy sheen near their tips, while the deep, forest green near their base seemed to be reflected in the snowy- jade of her eyes. She smiled at them amiably, her cheeks and nose blushing pink from the whispering chill of the winter breeze in spite of the fact that she wore a woolen cloak over her warm winter dress and similarly woolen leggings, as well as boots that came up over her knees. A muffler of soft wool was twisted stylishly round her neck to ward away the winter wind and mittens of the same delicately knitted threads protected her small hands. Her most striking feature, however, was not her twin wings or the lovely wrappings of skillfully worked wool she wore, but her uncommonly short, tousled, bright blonde hair.

Evondair turned away from his confrontation with Ilys slowly, forcing himself to quell the antagonistic emotions she stirred within him as he took in the aspects of the unexpected stranger. His viridian gaze became a surging sea of indistinguishable emotion. The youthful shefey returned his stare ingenuously, waiting for some manner of response from the group who had, just a moment before, been arguing amongst themselves vociferously; however, when none of them spoke and when Ilys hissed sharply and trudged off, muttering in Dlalth as she went, the young stranger tried again. “The village owns a domesticated Hasparii, trained to pull a cart. If your friend needs the care of the Temple Healers and none of you are able to take him, I will be happy to transport him there.”

Smiling at her unanticipated generosity, those standing around Gairynzvl nodded, gladly accepting her offer as a solution to their predicament. Thanking her hurriedly, they continued their preparations for battle; cleaning blades in the snow before sheathing them; tucking bandages into clothing; girding themselves with weaponry, and moving back towards the place beneath the mountain from which they had emerged. That dark yawning portal now echoed with the raucous calls of enraged Dlalth and the harsh noise spewed into the bright, clear Jyndari daytide.

As they departed, Ayla got to her feet and brushed the snow from her clothes while speaking quietly with the youthful stranger, who, in turn, asked if she was feeling better. Ayla gazed at her curiously. “I am. I suppose I touched his unconsciousness too closely, although it has never happened before that I, too, would slip into that state.”

The stranger smiled, but shook her head and offered an ambiguous explanation by saying that it was she who had helped ease them both into a more restful place. Before Ayla could inquire further, however, Evondair stepped forward to thank her more directly. “It is very kind to offer your assistance to us.” His rich, smooth-as-honey, tenor voice drew the shefey's attention away from Ayla, as did his genuine smile and guileless viridian gaze. Turning toward him, she smiled modestly and continued inquisitively while he stood gazing at her.

“Did…did you really rescue these younglings from the Child Wraiths?”

He nodded. “We did, following him.” His gaze dropped to take in Gairynzvl's condition briefly, unable to disguise his concern. “It is imperative that he is seen by the Temple Healers. I cannot help him any further here.”

Responding to the honest apprehension she could plainly distinguish in his tone, Ayla stooped and laid her palm against Gairynzvl's cheek as she closed her eyes once more in order to sense his condition. From the distance, another round of threatening horn calls assaulted the bright morning, the sound sending a noticeable shiver through the shefey who gazed after the retreating band of warriors who trudged through the deep snow towards the mountain from which they had come. Her evident fear compelled Evondair to step closer to her as he spoke in a softer, more reassuring tone. “Do not worry. The Reviled cannot cross over into the Light. We are safe for the moment and shall assemble our defense in order to protect the childfey, as well as the village, by the time the sun falls behind the forest fringe.”

She returned his encouraging smile and nodded before she gazed down at Gairynzvl who lay unmoving at their feet. His unique, nebulous wings were nearly invisible against the brilliant sheen of the snow, but the wrappings Evondair had secured round his hands were already stained with scarlet hues. Realizing they had little time to enjoy polite conversation, she stepped back and prepared to set off. “He is sorely injured. Will the Temple Healers really be able to help him?”

Evondair agreed they would, but did not mention the fact that, he too, was a Temple Healer. Instead, he inclined his head subtly and offered their appreciation. “We are grateful for your aid, but how shall I thank you?”

Again, she smiled and the tips of her wings curled downward diffidently. “I am Kaylyya Synnowyn and am happy to help.” Answering his query genially, she smiled and glanced downward demurely when he introduced himself.

“I am Evondair and am very pleased to have met you, Kaylyya Synnowyn.” Unsure how to respond to his unspoken, yet evident overture, she continued by saying she would return with the cart quickly so they could get underway. She then turned to step lightly through the snow before springing into the air amid the graceful flutter of her wings as she headed towards a large complex of barns and fenced in pens set under the eaves of the forest several hundred yards away. He stood watching after her, his thoughts twisting into an unforeseen haze, but his trance was broken when Reydan nudged him. Nonchalantly handing the Healer his sword and shield with a wry grin, he indicated that he would await the shefey's return in order to help lift Gairynzvl into the cart.

Behind them, where the portal exposed by the Great Gate's falling melded two opposing realms into one, the shadows beneath the mountain heaved and hissed with the threatening vocalizations of the Reviled. Crimson stained arrows shot from the darkness, seeking any who might be unfortunate enough to find themselves in their trajectory, yet these tactics could be little more than intimidation; a warning of the conflict to come when the light diminished. The Liberators knew this and stood on either side of the yawning portal, making their presence known by creating a game out of knocking aside with their swords as many arrows as they could and by returning the insidious calls from the presently thwarted Demonfey. Tauntingly, they issued brash invitations for the Cursed Ones to come forth; fully cognizant of the fact that they could not bear the brilliant light filling the clearing, yet jeering at their cowardice.

“It is a treacherous game we play,” Evondair noted as he stood beside Reydan, both malefey wordlessly observing the derisive bantering going on while standing over their fallen comrade in the silently descending flurries that had begun falling. Turning to glance behind him with a combination of impatience and curiosity, Evondair's questing gaze came to rest upon a sight he had never seen before and he could not keep from turning his head to one side in wonder while simultaneously jostling his friend to look as well.

Coming towards them through the powdery snow was a deep chestnut-colored deer, which stood easily six feet high at the shoulder. He was harnessed with light leather tack to an elegantly designed cart constructed of wood, which was carved with intricate designs and fashioned with runners, instead of wheels, to negotiate the deep snow of Jyndari winters. The massive Hasparii tossed his head exuberantly in the newly falling snow, displaying his breathtaking rack of exquisitely twisting antlers that stretched to a breadth of nearly four feet from tip to tip. The two malefey who stood watching in awe-struck silence could not contain their smiles at his demonstration and, as he pranced towards them with a high-spirited gait, they stepped aside to make way for the monarch of the forest with observable reverence.

Kaylyya brought the cart to a halt beside Gairynzvl and the enormous beast stood towering over them, blowing into the brisk air with anticipation to be underway. Wasting little time, the malefey lifted their friend carefully and laid him on the bed of the cart upon a pile of recently sheared sheep's wool she had placed there to ward away the winter's chill. Covering him with the supplementary blankets she had collected to keep him warm on their journey, Evondair found himself distracted by the lovely stranger and more than a few times had to refocus his attention to the matter at hand. When they finished bundling Gairynzvl against the cold, the Healer stepped back to consider his condition and bent over him to listen to the sound of his breathing and assess the rhythmic beat of his heart.

It was weakening. Shaking his head with dissatisfaction, he turned to fix an intense gaze upon those gathered near the base of the mountain before he looked back at Kaylyya. “It is unlikely he will awaken before you arrive at the Temple; however, he has lost a great deal of blood and, if he wakens, he will be confused and could become combative. Is there anyone who could travel with you to guard you against such a danger? Perhaps someone with knowledge of the healing arts?”

She thought briefly, but shook her head. “Many of the malefey are gathering what weaponry we have to aid you in your attempt to repel the Child Wraiths. Others will be protecting those who cannot fight and the younglings you brought with you out of the Uunglarda. There is only one shefey in the village with healing skills, but she may be needed here after the battle.”

Evondair nodded with understanding, but frowned and turned to address his concerns to Reydan. “Gairynzvl's condition requires the attention of a Healer far more than you, here, need my dubious skill with a blade. Besides, the battle will not commence until the light fails, by which time we should return with reinforcements.”

Comprehending the course of his argument, Reydan nodded; then glanced over his shoulder at the other Liberators waiting for them. “Agreed,” he said simply, holding out his hand. “I would not see you go unarmed, but your shield and sword may prove more useful here, in the hands of one of the villagers, than lying in the bed of the cart unused.”

Evondair concurred, taking his armaments from the back of the cart where he had laid them, but as the Healer willingly turned over his weaponry, Kaylyya reached down for something at her feet. The Healer shook his head and spoke with a resolved tone, “The others may not understand, but I cannot abandon one so gravely in need of my skills, no matter the cause.”

Nodding, Reydan took his weaponry in one hand and reached to lay his free hand upon his friend's broad shoulder. “Go quickly and safely. We will await your return with the Fey Guard.”

They bid each other safety and good-fortune and Ayla leaned into the cart to place a gentle kiss upon Gairynzvl's pale cheek and whisper softly to him. Unsure if he would perceive her thoughts in the depths of unconsciousness, she concentrated to make the communication as potent as her limited telepathic skill permitted, but his lack of any manner of response brought the sting of tears to her eyes. Forcing her predictable emotion aside, she embraced him as she was able, pressed her forehead to his and whispered her love for him before drawing back.

Kaylyya watched them quietly, but when Evondair turned to look up at her in a silent indication of his readiness to depart, she held up a sheathed dagger and extended it towards him. “We do not go unarmed. It is the only weapon I own, but, should we need it, you will certainly be able to wield it far more effectively than I.”

The malefey exchanged an approving glance before Evondair moved to the side of the cart, took the offered weapon and secured it between the several belts he wore. Spreading his wings wide then, he utilized a single wing beat to intensify the upward motion of his leap into the cart, landing beside his unconscious friend even as he folded his expansive wings once more behind him. Settling down on the bed of the cart and drawing his cloak around himself, he was unaware of the admiring smile Kaylyya could not quite conceal as she snapped the reigns lightly over the massive Hasparii's withers and whistled a sweet, clear note to encourage him to set off.

The shushing sound of runners through snow swept away into the depths of the forest as they moved off into the distance and Reydan turned to join his friends. Those malefey of the village who intended to add their strength in the defense of their woodland home followed behind him, while the remainder directed shefey and toddlefey towards the many warm and inviting homes beneath the eaves of the forest waiting to receive them. Flurrying snow fluttered down on the grove from a crystalline sky and, for the briefest moment, the only sounds to be heard were the scrunch of snow underfoot and the twitterings of winter birds from the trees.

Then the unmistakable clangor of combat rang out from the shadows of the mountain; the skirl of blade upon shield, as well as the distinctive 'thun' of arrows flying from bows, although none of these missiles came shooting out of the portal into the sunshine. The Liberators gazed at each other with confusion as Dlalth curses emanated from under the mountain and those closest to the open portal leaned precariously closer in an attempt to see beyond the swirling blackness of the void into the realm beyond where a battle was being waged.

“Ready yourselves!” Bryth called from his vantage point closest to the chasm while he watched through the haze as vague shadows and indistinct figures lurched against each other, backing towards the opening as if they were being driven out of their own domain.

“Raach!” A fierce Dlalth curse echoed from the wavering maw of the portal; then a dozen or so Legionnaires tumbled out in what seemed a reverse crossing, though they flailed their weapons wildly at whatever drove them. With the first touch of Light, they scrambled to find shadows in which to protect themselves and Bryth stepped back in astonishment, realizing the Reviled were not issuing forth in full attack, but rather, in defense of themselves.

Once on the Jyndari side of the portal, they could not escape the bright, winter sunlight and instantly began to howl under its searing effect, but, regardless of their mishap, Mardan growled vengefully and rushed forward with his blade raised aggressively. Rehstaed followed closely, his own blade swinging in a precisely controlled arc to dispatch as many of the yowling Underlings as he could. Discordant peals of Dlalth horns pierced the shadows of the portal and rang out into the bright clearing another time. It was a bizarre overture to even more Legionnaires stumbling backward through the crossing, their weapons raised against whoever or whatever forced them to cross rather than in any sort of offensive posture against the Fey of the Light. As they stepped into the Light, several subordinates clamored off into the closest dusk created by the overhanging forest, but these were pursued by villagers armed with shovels, hayforks and scythes and their fates were soon after betrayed by the echo of screams.

The Fey of the Light defended their side of the portal against this peculiar act of crossing until the sounds of combat no longer issued from the opposite side. Every one of the Legionnaires who crossed over was eliminated; save one, who was disarmed and restrained for questioning. With Reydan holding one arm and Rehstaed the other, they dragged the scrabbling Reviled One into the full shimmer of the noonday sun. Mardan stepped in front of the panting demon-spawn, grasped his collar tightly and raised his free hand over his head in a threatening posture. “Tell us why you crossed into the Light or I will cast the Spell of Inflicted Pain upon you and leave you to die in agony!”

Cerulean fire pierced the deep crimson of the Dark One's eyes, but he spluttered in Dlalth as if he had no comprehension of the common tongue. Tightening his grip, Mardan arched his wings in a daunting display of bristling feathers. “Tell us, you filthy blaylscith!” he growled menacingly, but, again, the Dark One only babbled incomprehensibly. Drawing a deep breath, Mardan shook his head and prepared to cast his spell, but Bryth stepped behind him to grab his hand firmly, distracting him long enough to keep him from delivering the lethal incantation.

“Wait.”

Mardan glared over his shoulder at the Fey Guard captain and hissed in reply. “Why?”

“Look at him, Mardan. He is barely older than the childfey we just rescued.”

Mardan turned back to stare at the thrashing Demonfey with loathing, his brilliant blue gaze filled with revulsion as he looked upon the pallid-skinned, blood-eyed, filth-covered Fey before them who writhed under the radiance of clear, bright light and spewed out Dlalth curses in a frenzy of speech that left him frothing.

“Perhaps he does not remember our language,” Bryth suggested. Then with an astonishingly compassionate tone that caused the others to stare at him in surprise, he continued more thoughtfully. “If what Gairynzvl told us is true, only the Ancients know what must have happened to him.”

Mardan considered as he watched the gray-mud splattered Demonfey hiss and flail unceasingly. “What, then, do you suggest we do with him?” he ground out, clearly unwilling to offer mercy, but uncertain enough to debate the issue.

Bryth stared at the young Legionnaire as well, his gaze taking in the length of the spines protruding from his wings, which he could easily use as weapons despite the fact that they had taken his sword from him. “I am not certain,” he paused, speculatively; then he and Mardan locked gazes. “But do not cast your spell.”

Glaring at the Dark One another time with evident disgust, Mardan released his grasp upon his grime-smeared collar and dropped his free hand to his side. Then, seeing the layer of filth left on his skin from the Reviled One's encrusted clothing, he bent down. “We cannot let him go. He would only attack one of us at the first opportunity,” he advised while he brushed his hands through the snow to cleanse them. Agreeing, Bryth turned in one direction and then the other, searching the clearing with a sudden purpose of action. “Where is Ilys?”