Month: February 2024

Tiyan felt as warmth embraced him with delicate fingers. Warmth. In the middle of the freezing winter. The silent murmur of leaves above his head, sometimes giving out a crystalline note. A sound of a wind where wind was not present; a touch of ethereal breeze in still air.

He reminded himself of all that happened during the previous day. He almost died, buried into the cold sheets of cruel snow. He still remembered the misleading peace the winter wanted to cradle him with. It would be a silent and irrelevant death, a tiny pollen blown away over the vast plains of Ain’asel, small and forgotten.

His bones were still tired, his muscles sore and pained. His body drained of strength, and he didn’t know how much walking still awaits him. But he lived and that counted most.

The leaves above him seemed to be made of crystal, but when he slowly stood up – his body protesting with a mute wail –  and reached with his hand, he realized they were real. Real green leaves, moving only slightly on the wind that had to blow outside, safely concealing him in an emerald bubble. How the leaves managed to stand the winter that reigned everywhere, was beyond him. Magic could be cruel… but also… in some unbelievable way beautiful.

He never would think he could allow himself for such a thought.

The leaves gleamed between his stretched hand, which already started to slowly regain feeling.

Cut finger.

Only now he remembered that his finger was cut by the fae who saved him. A huge bile rose in his throat, especially since his last words he directed at the unknown fey were “it’s better like that”. Tiyan never said anything so stupid. So bold. And so hopelessly untrue.

He didn’t feel the wound that had to be there. Magic again or… just his numbed senses? He saw in his mind the fae leaning over him, touching him and deciding his finger can’t be saved. Was he enjoying doing it? Or was it a daily routine to him, so obvious, cutting fingers of frostbitten humans?

He quickly hid the hand. He didn’t even want to think about how he will work later. How he will hunt – if he survives. If he saves Mina and will be allowed, by a miracle of the goddess – to take her home. Home seemed so distant now, unreal, like High Fae were to him, before all of this started. Distant, looming danger, which he would possibly have no chance to encounter. Home was now a dream, almost alien, almost unreachable. If he ever comes back… how could return to his normal life? Hunting, and returning home to meet Mina… but without Gravir and Alina.

He almost laughed. Bitter, sad scoff left his mouth.

He already thought about what his life would look like if he returned home. Like he had a chance of retrieving his past life.

Fear again bloomed in his entrails. The fae with an transparent throat kept him safe, but definitely that was only temporary. Whatever they all wanted from him, possibly didn’t include leaving him alive. Or it did… which was even more scary.

Tiyan didn’t see his host anywhere. The crystalline, alive leaves lay scattered on the rich and dark soil. For the first time in such a long days, he didn’t sleep surrounded by snow. It felt unreal too, like a slight touch of life he lost, when the fae invaded Avras.

Leaves.

He almost forgot what they looked like.

The fae possibly left to gather water or food. Or both. Tiyan didn’t eat for two or more days, but realized he wasn’t hungry. Whatever the fey gave him in the drink, fed him and restored his strength.

The taste of the drink though. He will remember it forever. It was the taste of his youth and years he never lived, combined into a frighteningly delicious liquid pleasure. He was scared to even ponder what ingredients were put there and if they wouldn’t harm him later.

He pulled the jacket on, trying somehow to maneuver with his bandaged hands, and gathering strength to face the winter again, he left the safe harbor made of leaves, bark and vines.

The wind bit him as soon as he appeared in the open space.

Less cruel than yesterday – if it was even yesterday – but still cold and merciless. The snow wasn’t falling, leaving the world in a mute cocoon of silent white. The world around him slumbered – to later wake up into a raging mood od icy petals and hungry snow storms.

The footprints in the snow led to the border of the small clearing where the fae put their camp – almost invisible, like the fey didn’t weigh more than a raven or a hare.

And then, he saw him.

His robes pulled slightly down, his face up, his pose welcoming, like he invited a lover. Tiyan didn’t know if to look, or just return to safety. The fae’s throat was beaming, radiating gleam, like he had hundreds of fireflies under his transparent skin. His face was pleased and almost ecstatic. The glow danced over his skin, small sparks, sharp and bright. It looked intimate and personal, a moment cut from the fabric of reality to wash him with light.

Tiyan thought for a moment that he was invading some kind of ritual and the fae will punish him somehow for doing so. But then, his host turned his deep green eyes on him and smiled.

He really smiled. Not with a mocking dark grin, he could expect, but with a stoic and dim smile taken straight from a cozy autumn day, which Tiyan remembered only slightly – but with nostalgia that was tearing his heart into pieces.

Tiyan was aware he looks like a fool. The fey definitely thought so too.

“Light is so invigorating” he spoke and crooked his head – in a very bird-like manner. For a moment, Tiyan was almost sure he could see a misty and hazy form spread behind him – a shadow, but made of dust or smoke. But the moment passed and Tiyan was seeing only a man standing on the skin-biting wind.

“You look so impressed again” chuckled his host and started to slowly put his warm robes on again.

Tiyan had to agree.

He was.

The fae killed you father. Killed your mother. Destroyed your home, the one you held under your heart.

And he suspected it all was a trap too; to impress him, and numb his caution, show him that fae can be amiable, kind.

To later throw him under the feet of “his king” – so he could be devoured by darkness.

Being cautious was Tiyan’s second nature. He was aware that he put a guard down, when snow sipped all strength from his bones. When his mind circled around warm fire, far from here and possibility of rest, first time in a very long time. But… he would be too scared to do that again.

“Now it’s your turn” grinned the fae.

Tiyan looked at him with visible anxiety.

“To eat” explained fey. “You are empty and need to fill your insides. I have dry meat. Should keep your stomach occupied.”

Tiyan didn’t know if this was all said seriously, or the fae jokes from him. He only dreamed to again leave winter behind and stay in the safe warmth of the enchanted spring.

But even if he was not hungry after the filling drink he got at night, the promise of dry meat, real, not rotten meat, made his mouth salivate.

The snow.

White. Cold. Unforgiving.

The mountains weren’t closer by inch, his eyelids heavy and biting frost seemed to touch his skin, even through the layers of thick fabric. He felt as his bare fingers lost feeling and he dreamed of a place where he could just lay and sleep. Avras’ winter was kind, in comparison to Ain’asel ‘s.

The landscape was pale under the night sky, which was frightening in an alien, stark way; the enormous moon shone over it, making it glitter with translucent light. Beautiful. Tempting. And dangerously peaceful. Like it was luring him to lay in the snow and give up.

You don’t need the fae to die. You don’t need beasts or sharp teeth. One slumber in this cold and you won’t wake up again.

Do not.

Strangely, the beauty of the surrounding was biting his heart with melancholy. The stars above him reminded him of himself; lost, alone and pursuing night.

The temptation to just fall asleep was stronger with each step. Just surrender. It’s magic. The mountains will never get close, because they don’t want to. This whole land doesn’t care if you die or live. Will be watching you trudge through snow, until you lose all strength.

But he didn’t plan to lay down. He always remembered why he was here. And the mountains can run, he will get to them, even if they travel on the face of the moon. Even if they want to play with his mind and body – he will fight it.

His will was one thing though, and nature was another.

He felt as he is losing strength, slowly, the cold drinking from him like from a cup. His steps were becoming slower, harder to make. His breath catching with exhaust.

You can’t lose here, his mind screamed, you are so close. You managed to enter this realm. You can go through it too.

But… his muscles were already frozen in time, his mind drifting into the chasm of sleep. His mouth choked with the wind.

Tiyan just… fell.

Two nights. It took two nights to pull him on his knees. Two nights of travel which seemed like hundreds of nights of hard labor. Where his hope was lifted just to be pushed time after time into the abyss.

Two nights of worry mixed with pain of giving up muscles and fire which didn’t warm him… but was giving him courage to go on. It kept burning in him with high flame… but it wasn’t warm enough to pull more effort from him. It was a flame that could burn all around him; but not melt down his own ice that resided in his heart and veins.

And his eyes closed.

To let him drift into nothingness. And the frozen landscape was looking at him, indifferently, allowing the wind to carry snow on him, burying him under the thick white blanket.

*

Mina, no!

He saw her, pursued by the fairies, deep in darkness, as she runs through corridor filled with wings nad teeth.

And at the end of it… the shadowed form, which beamed with hunger and power, darkened force, which called Mina. Which tempted her; to trust it, to follow it’s step and get lost in the beauty of the night.

And Mina was scared, afraid and was following it, until it’s too late.

No! Please! Mina!

NO!

He felt as if something warm touched his lips.And the liquid, warm as well, drips into his throat. His eyes were even heavier than before and he couldn’t open them. He heard his own voice as he moaned, harsh and battered, silent, and tired. And scared of the dream vision he just saw. He didn’t even know what he said, his words disappearing in the cough. But he lived. He lived, for goddess’ sake. But… how? Where was he?

He realized that someone was giving him a hot drink and he allowed the liquid to fill his mouth. Something… Yes, alcohol and herbs. And something else, which made him want to drink more, just to feel the taste once again. He swallowed, knowing he won’t forget this taste for long. He was too tired to feel fear. And too cold inside to not drink anything warm that was offered to him.

His eyes slowly opened, to give a way to the surrounding – not white anymore. The moon disappeared to show a canopy of frozen leaves – green, like spring enchanted into winter. Spring in winter, his mind was trying to embrace that. He had to lose his mind. The snow eating him alive, while he hallucinated.

“Humans are so easily impressed” he heard a soft voice. “He told me you will be young. Easy to impress.”

Tiyan’s eyelids fluttered, shaking themselves from the rest of the forceful sleep.

The face that leaned over him would be beauty incarnate – if not dissonant elements, which were more uncanny. Cat-like, yellow pupils, placed in big round eyes, sharp teeth, like of a predatory animal… and an open throat.

Tiyan opened eyes for good.

The throat of the fae above him was completely open, so he could see his tendons, and veins, beating in the rhythm of his pulse. He saw no blood, red or blue, like this gaping hole was there from beginning. His voice was normal, like the gap was not causing him any issues.

His laughter was kind and pleasant for the ears, when he took the cup.

“Yes, easily impressed.”

Tiyan decided to not look like a fool at the trait that was seemingly obvious for the fae who fed him with liquor. His eyes drifted there, in a sick fascination. But then, he realized that his throat is not open. It was transparent. Hidden behind a  thick, glass-like membrane which glittered slightly, almost invisibly.

“You could touch if with your fingers, if you feel so. Do you want to?”

“No” said Tiyan dully.

“As you wish. It would feed your curiosity, though. If you ever wished to, it could be an interesting experience” the fae sipped from his cup. Tiyan could see as the drink fills the pipe closer to his spine, and goes through it with a slow gulp. His veins glistened in the warm lights which was radiating from the leaves above them.

Tiyan looked at his fingers. And he saw bandages, clean and thickly embracing his hands. He tried to move them, but he was unable to feel them. What happened in the snow? How long did he sleep in the cold, ready for death?

The fae seemed to be amused, when he spoke.

“One was not to save. I cut it. Otherwise you would die. The others… maybe they will make it.”

Tiyan again gazed at his fingers. Thick bandage. Cut finger. Frost. Snow.

Death.

“It’s better like that” he agreed, shocked, that such words leave his mouth. But frostbite was a danger all knew well in Vennklan Valley and it was not to joke from. It was a threat for all hunters, when the weather was becoming harsher. And in Ain’asel, it was… remorseless. A winter which knew it’s powerful and was reveling on it, hungrily pushing others to their knees, forcing them to bow before its strenght.

He looked again at the canopy of crystalline leaves over him, like made of glass, green with an emerald of spring and early summer.

The fae seemed to guess his thoughts again, because he nodded at the leaves, which were embracing them with a safe cocoon.

“My gift. Spring. My magic. That’s why my king chose me to guide you. This is our home.”

The king.

The king.

“You are a fae” Tiyan stated more than asked, like this question was about to set a deal between them.

“And you are a human,” grinned the fey. “But I am not a fae which would eat you, and that is a relief for you.”

Definitely, Tiyan thought bitterly.

“The Shadow. Is he your king?”

“Oh yes,” his host chuckled. “Now drink more. And sleep. In warmth. We don’t want to lose more fingers, do we?”

Tiyan agreed, at least temporarily. But he cursed the fae that he didn’t appear earlier. Perhaps he couldn’t. Perhaps his journey through snow amused him. But he knew where to go and he would lead him there. To the palace of the Shadow, the king, who wanted him.

Wanted him so badly.

Just as Tiyan wanted to sleep now. Peaceful, calm, and safe slumber, in which he won’t lose any more fingers or life.

Guarded by a fae with a transparent, pulsing throat.

He would think of it as a joke of fate… but he didn’t have strength to think. He was safe. At least until he arrives at the palace. Until he sees if his sister is safe or it was just only a cruel game.

At least until he won’t lose hope.

A chapter that prepares to all what will happen next :>

—

He opened his eyes, heavy eyelids making way to the sight before him. The gates released him from their embrace in a way that was not forceful or violent… but strangely wrong, if that was making sense. He thought it did. He felt as they strip him slowly, not from clothes or even skin, but his soul. It felt like they did allow him to pass, only to take a part of his spirit away.

It took a lot of time, he was free from this feeling.

The land before him didn’t differ from Avras… at least not at the first glance. Snow, everywhere cold, frozen woods, shadowed boughs and branches looking like hands. He was born in the forest, he knew perfectly well how it looked during night – unreal, darker than it really was, and way hungrier.

But here… the same trees looked like they could really pull the roots from the ground and look at him through the holes in the bark… and take interest in him. Something in the landscape was strangely alive. He couldn’t place what… until he looked at the sky.

His mind couldn’t find the purchase in reality, so he just closed his eyes. And when the first shock passed, he opened them, slowly, looking at the distorted wonder above his head.

The moon seemed to take half of the sky, big, pale and ominous in its size. The stars were scattered on the firmament, like small diamonds, just like in Avras… yet they were not known constellations among them… and something, some dark magic, was causing strange dissonance between his eyes and what he looked at.

Like the sky was about to crack. Or already cracked, leaving between the stars a painful emptiness, filled with pure chaos.

Do not look.

Tiyan knew that his own self from before the fairies entered his life, would look under his feet and never gaze above, for safety. However now, the sky and its vastness was tempting him, dragging his eyes up, to fill them with it. Because it was beautiful. Beautiful, in a dark, hostile way.

He knew he had little time. He was here, but there were only mountains on the horizon, sharp black teeth biting into the sky. Nothing indicates the existence of a palace or castle, where Mina could be held hostage. He was aware that fairies have a vast land, wider than Avras. But how vast and where was Mina? Will he have to go blindly forth, trying to guess? The remainder in the form of a dying man was too obvious – the fae wanted him fast.

In fact, he was almost sure someone would wait for him. He both feared this and wanted it. He wanted to be led to Mina and try to help her, whatever the Shadow wanted from him.

His fear and resignation, all which he considered an innate part of him, suddenly ignited into anger. Fearful anger, flamed up by worry about Mina and logs, the fairies seemed to toss under his feet, to enjoy his helplessness.

Anger is better than fear.

Even if just as useless.

The moon looked at him from above; enormous and alien.

If he has to travel again through vast woods and meadows, this must be another kind of torment – who knows what kind of creatures live here. Avras animals, pained, lost, were hard to fight, even with Ona by his side. Here, the animals were wild, strong and possibly touched by magic – but not in a way that would harm them.

He clenched his teeth. You learned so much through the last weeks. And one of these things wasn’t self pity. If you have to go through the woods, you will. If you have to bring the fae the moondust from this colossal orb above your head, you will.

Mina.

He gathered himself from the thick snow.

Ona would lead now. But Ona had own tasks to do and his only leads were the unknown stars above him… and the darkness between the trees.

In Ain’asel the air was even colder than in Avras, the winter had a home here and spread on others lands like parasitic tendrils. Tiyan didn’t know how he manages to rest in such biting, breath-catching cold, but he did that on the way here and he will have to now as well.

His steps slowly carried him into the thick forest, in the direction of sharp and looming mountains that hung above the landscape – the tops looking like talons of a colossus frozen long ago with outstretched hands.

The wind whispered to him a dark note, when he trudged through the snow – alone again. And he felt his scar under his heart burning with sharp pain, radiating on his skin. But he didn’t welcome it with fear anymore.

He started to slowly free himself from the shackles of fear. Slowly, restlessly, leaving part of the binds behind. Knowing it won’t help him if he will have to save Mina and himself.

And the fire… was his friend. He felt as the pain on his chest was washed by the flames, soothing it. Allowing him to focus on the goal.

Giving him courage to go up – into the maw of the cruel ridges and steep chasms.

The faery portal opened between the stone walls, carved in long forgotten scenes and symbols of old times.

Koshis’het turned his pale face in its direction. He sensed him before he even appeared, the strong, intoxicating scent of night. His blind eyes couldn’t see the gates opening, but the vibration of them doing so made him shiver.  So good. Letting out more darkness that they took. Allowing him to breathe with the world outside.

He knew Lorian was to come. He always awaited him both with anxiety and delight. All blind changelings were feeling his shadows like a caress, like a touch of the void. And only that mattered in an eternal night, where one felt the blooming power of the ancient gods pushing through every crevice of their body, every gap in their souls.

He was taking it from them, replacing it with familiar darkness.

Koshis’het approached him slowly. He didn’t need to bow or show obedience – he was high priest, touched by the sacred woods with holy blindness. But he bowed, sensing him, seeing him in his soul like a black silhouette made of shadows.

“Long time” Koshis’het smiled, his wide mouth showing sharp, very white teeth. His wings spread behind him, in changeling’s form of respect – white as snow, beaming with light in the dark chamber.

He saw in his soul how Lorian’s shadow smiled as well.

“I wouldn’t say long” Koshis’het heard a low voice. Voice of someone who will free him from the pressure of godly presence… very soon. “We are all bound by earthly needs. For me, it was a blink of an eye.”

“For me… an eternity” Koshis’het whispered, a silent sussuring sound.

He only heard Lorian chuckle lightly.

Shivering with anticipation of the lack of awful stones in his head, pressing his brain, he approached Lorian closer, and suddenly, his fingers touched his skin.

Koshis’het blind eyes opened with delight.

“I feel you. You are ready, so eager. They will fill you and go asleep again” he muttered. “Give me more of your night, and I will open the walls.”

He got addicted to it, to life-giving touch of night. Being drained all the time by ancient power was taking its toll. This… this was allowing him to think clearly again.

Lorian didn’t reply, didn’t seem to react, but after some tense moment, a veil of shadows entered Koshis’het’s body. Entered, spread… and pulled. Each of his nerves was touched by tempting, beautiful night and Koshis’het’s soul filled with pure joy, primal and as old as time.

“You always give less and less…” he had to complain though. But darkness slowly start to make home in his flesh and that will give him more time… and more strength. More patience. And more resilience.

“Perhaps because I take more. I need all my strength. But I am allowing you, because I know how… you need it.”

Koshis’het sighed with pleasure. He was filled already. Yes… it will be enough. As long as Lorian will be coming more often. As long as he will be gifting him with it. He will have power to keep walls closed and realms not touched.

He forgot how he was doing it without it.

“Come” he said, again smiling, white smile of a snow and blinding light and hellebore petals. “You can enter the chamber. The ancestors slowly move in my mind. In all our minds. Digging further.”

Lorian didn’t reply again, but Koshis’het felt his trembling dark aura, his perseverance, in face of what he was about to do. He felt his hunger and his pain. Delicious. Tasty like sweet and intoxicating liquor. The woods were right. Woods are always right. As their highest priest, he knew that all the time.

The doors to the holy chambers were never closed, they didn’t have to be. No one in their right minds would enter it, if they wanted to live. Even Koshis’het was there once, only once, but barely lived through this.

Lorian will go there, though and start to swallow. Will drink all and fill himself with energy of the eons and empty centuries. And it will hurt him. And Koshis’het will feel less pressure in his head. Gods’ words were cruel. And drilled so so deep.

But Lorian was aware of that, and only for that, Koshis’het was ready to celebrate him.

*

He felt the raw and coarse structure of the walls. The pores and swirls under his fingers seemed to dance and twist, like alive bark, like resin-filled flesh. But that it was, wasn’t it? The woods’ trap for the sleeping gods. The poisonous thorn dug deep into their minds, making them slumber… but not forever.

Lorian could feel too, the raw magic beating in the sacred chamber. Pure as winter night, it already was entering his skin, pushing under his nails, pressing on his eyes. When he was weaker, when he still didn’t drink enough, it was even worse for him, than the pain he felt every day and night. A nightmare he allowed in his life. There were moments he was sure he wouldn’t survive, when the gods’ blood and thoughts and soul particles were entering him like cruel splinters of fire.

The gods were made of flames and light. Opposite to the fae, who were made of night and winter frost. Their powers collided, their auras were enemies to each other. Like hunter and the prey.

The chamber was drowning in silence and Lorian could hear the cracking of the old wood, how the bark moves, how the branches crawl and squeeze the gods inside. How the old times talk to him through this ageless room. His shadows loved the green and black darkness of the holy chamber, a touch of pure power of the forest, which chose him and gave him crown. Which loved him. Which desired him.

Lorian slowly, very slowly started to release tendrils of darkness. The same ones he sent into Ain’asel to feel it. But now, it won’t be a delightful, sensual sensation that the first was giving him. It will be an agony.

He felt as Koshis’het starts to release the barriers that were keeping the walls sealed. Walls, in which the woods kept the gods, asleep, tangled in vines and branches. Their flesh long ago becoming one with the wood, so they could not be seen among the tangles, they became more leaf and bough that creatures from blood and bone.

The gods once were blood and bone. Golden blood. Black bone. Sunburnt.

Powerful beyond comprehension.

Lorian felt as his nightly tendrils reached through the bark and pierced through the wood, to go deeper, so deep, penetrating the prison of the gods in search for his painful fulfillment.

And he found them. Deeper than usually, eyes half lidded, bodies dripping with liquified sun and resin.

He pushed. Hard.

His shadows entered the mass which was godly flesh. He pushed them into their still beating hearts, into their minds.

And it hit him like a sunburst.

The power entered his body with a massive amount, and spread over it with a speed of a lighting. He felt as the gods try to scream, as they oppose him, but are too weak, too numbed… slowly aiming for nothingness.

The burning pain flooded him with choking heat, taking his nerves as a hostage and biting them with needles made of pure light.

He felt as if he started to melt inside, but this time, it was a thousand times more painful than outside the sacred chamber. Here, he was witnessing the full power of the ascended ones. Taking it all in like a toxin, allowing it to fill him with strength, taking away his mind and soul.

He couldn’t even scream. His lungs were on fire. His mouth was melting.

And he loved it. And he hated it. He loved it so much, when the pure power was attacking his senses, giving him itself on a plate. And he was absorbing it, hungrily. And he hated the pain, which blinded him on his own thoughts.

But… the gods were weaker each time he was doing it.

One day they will give him all.

And he will have them all inside. Not feeling pain anymore.

When the vessel arrives. When he gives his life and power on an altar of darkened feature, that will belong to the feykind.

His darkness was drinking the flames, his body absorbed the heat and he screamed inside. Allowing the gods to scream too.

Their mute unconscious scream inside his head, silencing his own.