Smiling at him she offered her elegant hand as if to pull him up from the water. “Come,” she said, “Dance with me on the waters and lie with me on the sand.”

The trip across the river had been thankfully quick and uneventful. There was little to do on the open water but watch the sailors on the schooner work the sails. The only other other option was to stare blankly at the endless horizon of blue and slowly fall into the hypnotic trance and fall into sea sickness.

It was regrettable what had happened, even after an hour off that damned ship he still couldn't settle his stomach. The captain at least least had the courtesy to escort him to the village healer after he and his compatriots stopped laughing their miserable asses off. The healer elf was much like the other creepy big-eyed pointy-eared people, but something about her made him think she was older than most of them.

“Hello, dark child. I see you’ve taken ill on your journey here. Do not worry, you will be cared for here. I will help him the rest of the way, captain, you may return to your vessel.” The captain tipped his triangular hat at the elf-woman, and turned to leave. Cale was struck by an intense desire to leave as well, but his stomach chose that moment to twist into a dreadful knot and his head decided to join it in protest.

“Oh dear, you do not look well at all. Come in, come in, lie down on the bed here. You’re even paler than I.” Cale followed the directions cautiously, his perfect balance simply would not return to him and the treacherous ground kept changing proportions as he watched it.

“My name is Cale, don’t call me ‘dark child.’ I have business here, can you treat me within a day?” He would not let another opportunity to do his job pass, even if it meant working while ill. But if his balance and agility betrayed him, the job would become that much harder.

“Cale it is, then. Why don’t you tell me what afflictions you feel, and I’ll see if I can have you hale and whole quickly then.” She smiled at him, a grandmotherly smile that he couldn’t help feeling a little warmed by, as she felt his head with a smooth, gentle hand. She looked into his ears, and eyes, and even into his mouth, as he listed his symptoms off.

“Oh dear, you seem to have contracted the fire head. You have a very hard day or two ahead of you, sadly. But it will do you no lasting harm, if you rest and drink this tea, when I give you it.” She offered him a cup of some foul-smelling brew, and he drank it quickly. The thick, viscous tea seemed to cling to his tongue and slither down his throat.

“Gods, woman, what kind of tea is this?” He tried not to gag, fearful it might somehow taste worse coming back up.

“Why, it is a healing tea, the best kind! It will help your body fight off the sickness. Now you must lie back and rest. Make sure to close your eyes, it will get worse before it gets better and soon you won’t want any light at all.” As he lay back, she placed a cool, damp silk cloth over his eyes, several layers thick and smelling of medicinal herbs. “Just sleep if you can, sleep will heal you faster than anything, dark child.” He almost sat back up to protest again, but his head swam and sleep overcame him.

---

Everything was wrong. Rall died right there in her arms, the ferry was drifting aimlessly in the river, and no one seemed to know what to do. Greta only barely noticed the elves frantically calling for the behemoth, dropping anchors to slow their drift downriver. Larenmireil still stood at the bow, singing even as her voice grew hoarse, the sound painful to Greta’s ears both in rawness and in suffering.

Rana lay there, her body cold and lifeless, no breath or heartbeat in her. It had been hours, she was sure, since her best friend died, but she just couldn’t move away, even when her father tried to pull her.

“Father, please! Just leave me here with her. I need...” She couldn’t put her feelings into words, but her father seemed to understand and left her to mourn. She kept going back and forth, shattered at the loss of the smaller girl one minute, then angry beyond rational thought at the stupid way they’d spent her last days arguing over such trivial things. She didn’t understand why Rana’s attraction to Larenmireil made her jealous, but if she would just come back then Greta would happily bless their wedding! If she would just come back.

A commotion outside the cart grew, and the ferry shook slightly as if caught on something. Greta looked up from Rana’s lifeless form to see Larenmireil running to the wagon, some filthy weed-covered thing in her arms...

“Greta! Greta, I have the sword! Drarilein retrieved it! Will it bring Rana back to us?” Larenmireil croaked and thrust the sword in through the window opening, handle first, several bits of water weeds slipping off to splat wetly on the cushion on which Rana lay. Greta felt a tiny spark of hope grow in her breast as she took the sword, and placed it in Rana’s arms.

Rana did not begin to breathe again, nor did she wake.

“No...” Greta moaned, her heart breaking completely as her last hope faded into nothing. Larenmireil keened agonizingly, and the behemoth picked up the sound, wailing with its own alien song of grief. Greta stopped crying for a moment as the song washed over her, eerie and haunting.

Then Rana shivered and drew a ragged breath.

Greta hardly dared believe her senses, but it happened again. Then Rana tensed up, arching off the cushion and out of Greta’s arms, her hoarse agonizing cry nearly driving Greta to hysterics, before she settled back down as if it never happened. Greta very carefully drew Rana’s head into her lap again, and let herself cry in relief as Rana’s breathing settled into the even rhythm of sleep, and Larenmireil climbed in through the window to join her, an arm comfortingly around her shoulders as Rana came back to the world.

As the pair cried together over Rana, Drarilein swam back to the fore of the great raft, collected his rope and once again began towing the ferry to its destination.

---

First there was darkness, and silence. And then a spark, tiny and weak, but compared to the silent darkness that spark was a sun, roaring with the sound of a thousand volcanoes erupting. The spark grew, and flew toward him on wings of flame. The spark took shape quickly, a dragon the color of flame, shimmering oranges and reds crossing its hide. It flew to him and breathed, white-hot liquid fire pouring over him harmlessly, filling his view with white for a moment. The dragon stopped before him, as if confused.

“Why do you yet live, human child? Why do I?” He had no answer for the dragon, whose voice he recognized dimly.

“You threw me away, discarded me in revulsion. Why did you do this? I am power to your kind.” She seemed even more confused than before, he thought.

“You’re cruel, and I have had enough of cruelty. I do not care one whit for your power! I would rather die than be treated like that again by someone I...” He stopped, had he been able to feel any kind of body for himself he would have bitten his lip.

“We shall see about that. Humans always want power, it is your nature. Your kind killed my kind, nearly completely, for power. You shall not have mine.”

“Keep it! Take it and leave me alone! Don’t you understand? I just want to go home...” He felt something pulling at him, and looked away from Granth, as she spoke one last time.

“You are an interesting one. I will think on what you have said.”

Then Rall took a shuddering breath and opened his eyes. A hoarse scream wrenched itself from his raw throat as every nerve in his body caught fire, arching his back up off of the cushion for three heartbeats. And then it was gone, leaving him limp and exhausted, for a moment he thought he saw Greta hovering over him. Then darkness came to claim him once again but he did not fear it, the darkness was warm and comforting.

Dreams filled Rall’s head, images of home helping his mother at the bakery and playing solder with Arron past the west gate in the forest beyond, hunting pretend monsters and dragons. Then the dreams settled on the day of testing, nearly a year ago.

He and Arron had gone together to Academy for testing together, Arron of course went first, he always went first. Rall laughed when he came back out a minute later, he was rejected on the first test. Arron was undaunted, and came swaggering straight to him laughing the whole way, swinging his arm around Rall’s shoulder. “Well according to the proctor, how did he put it, I’m completely and utterly devoid of talent.” Leaning in close, he chuckled, “Well here’s your chance to beat me at something, hard to lose to a zero!”

He marched into the Academy with only one thing on his mind, crushing Arron. Just to show him up. He passed through each test with dogged determination; he was sure with each test he was failing horribly but he kept moving forward. The first room, housed a strange glowing white orb, which glowed softly when he touched it. The second held a book on a pedestal with strangely drawn letters that read like a child’s alphabet primer. The third where lay a lizard creature of some sort which simply slept as he walked quietly past. The tests were all strangely simple, not at all what he expected of the Academy of Magic. It wasn’t until the sixth room that he noticed that there was a rather large crowd of robed men and women of the academy following him with hushed whispers.

At the final test, a room where he felt vaguely uneasy but could find nothing in the room to explain why he learned the reason the sorcerers were following him. No previous apprentice had ever passed the final room on his first try. He heard speculation on his potential, comparing him to the greatest mages in the city! But mostly he remembered wishing they would stop making such a fuss, all he really wanted was to show Arron he really could be good at something. And he was.

After the testing his parents were excited; the idea that their son had the potential to become a powerful sorcerer was a dream come true, a chance for their offspring to aspire for greater heights than themselves. He recalled his first weeks of lecture at the academy, something that still haunted him. Word had gotten around fast that a genius baker’s boy had joined the Academy. Most students avoided him, others hurled insults, and when things couldn’t seem worse a letter came. A foreboding filled the edges of his consciousness as images of Xabriar flashed through his mind, a cold shiver ran down his back.

Master Xabriar had requested him as his apprentice, and it seemed like a perfect way out from the loneliness of the Academy. At least he would have a master to talk to, and learn from. If only he had known. He watched his dream self go on from there to apprentice under Xabriar, and shuddered a bit as he drifted towards his master’s tower. The months of pain and humiliation at Xabriar’s hands passed through his mind in a flash, like lightning lancing through the clouds in a particularly violent storm, and then he woke.

He was no longer in the wagon but rather a room with curved walls made of stone, delicately carved as if by thousands of years of wind, but in artistic shapes and functional designs wind would never produce on its own. A real bed supported him, with feather mattress and a privacy curtain to one side. He could hear soft breathing on the other side of the curtain, and curiosity drew him to peek around it. There he saw a man, fast asleep, a wet silk cloth wrapped around his head.

---

Arron followed Corana and the fairy through the trees, growing more lost by the minute. He didn’t dare look away from them, for fear of being lost forever in the savage lands. “Follow, follow him closely!” Thicket giggled in glee as he danced with chaotic glee under trees and brush which let him pass easily. Arron and Corana had to struggle with every narrow space and pricker bush along the way as they carefully traced his path.

Arron wasn’t quite sure when, but slowly the forest became blurry, surreal. It was like when he had spent a night drinking old ale at Kaygin’s with some of the initiate guards, but without the vomiting. Squeezing through a narrow fork in an old twisting tree he hopped down to the ground, and kept falling. The ground was gone, more then that the forest was gone! Blackness and red colored stars and moons where all he could see. He tumbled in the air, clawing for purchase as a cry of terror clawed its way from his throat, falling until he began to lose track of time. Then just as he resigned himself to falling forever in a bottomless fairy trap, cold water slapped his body with the force of a battering ram. He quickly righted himself, checking to find no harm had come to him, and then he saw them. Countless fairies of every shape and size, twisted and impossible bodies, all standing on or above the surface of the water, laughing at him. Corana was nowhere in sight.

“Alive, alive, it is alive!” a voice singsonged happily from the edge of the lake. Treading water for the moment, Arron strained his eyes. The moon’s red light did not make for best lighting but by his guess there were over twenty fairies surrounding his little pond.

“Where is Corana? What have you done with her?” Arron called out at them, spitting out a mouthful of water he’d picked up in the landing.

“He searches for his lost lover, he should have kept her in his arms! Now she dances with another, a new love now shall keep her warm!” The laughter rang out again from all around as a mocking voice called out in resonant song.

“Shh now,” rang a sweet soprano voice, “It’s been so long since a mortal came to grace us here.” Squinting, Arron watched a woman in flowing dress that closely hugged her impossibly curvy form. She swayed and danced through the gathering, leaping on the he surface of the water she continued slowly towards him, spinning and leaping, circling around him in a dizzying dance until she was upon him.

Smiling at him she offered her elegant hand as if to pull him up from the water. “Come,” she said, “Dance with me on the waters and lie with me on the sand.”

Grabbing her out stretched hand he was effortlessly pulled onto the surface of the water. Her face was a work of surreal perfection, viewed up close like this. She pulled him in tight pressing her chest into his, “Dance with me!”

He looked into her eyes, and began to dance. She led him in an otherworldly dance tiptoe on the water, and he felt the need for her grow. She was his world, his sky, his everything...

Splash. His toes dipped into the water again and he saw her clearly, hungry eyes and cruel mouth as if she wished to devour him. And then the vision passed, and perfection once again greeted his eyes.

“Tell me my lover, do you wish to know me as a man knows a woman?” Perfect lips whispered into his ear, sweet breath tickling warmly. He felt himself slip into her grasp again, and it felt so good to let go...

Splash. Again his toes dipped into the water, as the dance carried them over the surface, and again her cruel lips parted to show sharp, jagged teeth.

“You have but to tell me, my love, with whom shall I share myself, body and soul? What name shall I call out in passionate need?” Her fingers, again silky smooth and gentle, traced across his back as she spun him over the pond, the other fairies dancing around them in chaotic glee.

He felt his lips part, his tongue offer her the pittance she asked, as for a third time his toes touched the water.

“Ar-NO! You will not trick me!” Grasping her wispy shoulders in his calloused fingers, he shoved her aside. His feet struck the water but it held, as the other fairies snarled and surrounded him, still dancing. The woman fell against the water, and it splashed all over her gown, plastering the thin fabric to her frame.

“How? How can a mortal resist my advances? Tell me what you are! Give me your name!” Her voice sounded nothing like the sultry sound of before; now it was sharp and cracked like a whip.

Wobbling unsteadily on the fluid surface of the pond, Arron rubbed his eyes trying to clear his vision and mind. “Who are you... Where is Corana!”

Her body flickered on the surface of the water with in the blink of eye she was once again pressed against his chest holding his head with her elegant soft hands arms that would not yield. “Your name, lover.. tell me you name, please, I must know it!” His mind felt like syrup, thoughts drifted between panic and bliss for his new lover. He knew he was in trouble, but could not comprehend why.

“Your name, sing to me your name” she whispered. Between the confusion a warning , a voice of someone he should know repeated it self over and over again “Never tell a fairy your name...”

The other fairies slipped behind the woman in a phalanx, as if to somehow channel their strength into her words. His mind slipped further into confusion, but the warning still rang like the fading echoes of a temple bell through his head.

The mix of confusion and bliss manifested itself as a mind numbing terror that gripped the very depth of his soul. A fear for his very existence. He had to get away, so he struggled against the beautiful embrace of the goddess before him.

With each futile jerk of his muscles against the unyielding strength of his goddess his terror grew, swelling like a wave to wash over his mind. The world around his exploded as a wave swelled and grew, right before his eyes. The fairies milled about in confusion as their pond rose up against them, throwing them aside like rag dolls. The swell crested directly underneath the woman, and swallowed her whole pulling her deep into the pound.

Arron watched from above the surface as she struggled against the powerful undertow, she was slowly making her way towards the surface. Her aura of serenity and elegance had been replaced with cold hatred and rage. A cold Arron could also feel against his soul, a cold so bitter he could almost imagine the water crystallizing around her struggling body with each powerful stroke. She screeched letting out a torrent of bubbles as the water rapidly solidified around her, the ice stretched out from her body grasping and converting the water in the pound into a solid block of ice so cold the Arron could feel its bitter chill through the soles of his boots. As it ended, the water was frozen in a great crystal clear wave, the fanged, clawed woman frozen in the center of it. Other fairies were caught in the fringes, feet or legs or other bits frozen in the ice, though a rare few escaped the ice. None looked ready to approach him.

------

Corana kept up with Thistle, though only just. When he finally stopped, pushing aside a hanging mass of moss from a tree branch, he gestured for her to enter a clearing, where fairies gathered in a shrieking mass around a great stone. She could sense the power of the stone as she entered the clearing, a power as solid and unyielding as the mountains themselves.

“-and confuse, you choose you lose, you’ll never know the way to go, you move too slow, and in the end you’ll only tend the rocks in the fairy garden!” Laughter filled the clearing as the mass of fairies scattered from the rock and a new bunch gathered to sing more nonsense.

“Hello, honored guest.” A deep baritone voice spoke, sending a shiver down Corana’s spine. Some errant thought caused her to check if Arron noticed her reaction, but she found he was not there. A completely different shiver crawled through her, chilling her to the core. He was gone.

A fairy with obsidian black skin and an impressive masculine physique stepped forward, holding a rod of some dark wood and a golden cup. He wore robes of silver-and-gold silk, loosely belted so that they would roll open with his slightest motion, exposing his masculine pride for all to see.

“Please, join us. Do not mind our other guest, I assure you he will not disturb you. Would you like some wine? Servants, a thimbleful for our guest!” Before she could respond a cup was placed in her hands, a golden goblet larger than a king’s. She decided to ignore it.

“Please, I came with a companion, may I see him? I would not have him miss a party such as this!” She gestured with the cup, not coincidentally sloshing much of it out to the ground. To her dismay the goblet simply refilled itself in her hands.

“My cousin, Pond, Queen of the black court tends to him, I assure you he will be taken care of quite adequately.” Corana fought the urge to grind her teeth at that, but kept her calm.

“She will release him immediately.” Or perhaps she didn’t have her temper under quite the control she meant to.

“Oh, dear, is this jealousy? Do not fret dear, for you see, he won’t distract your thoughts for long. Why don’t you drink.” She felt the enchantment, insidious and creeping, and averted her eyes.

“Do not try your tricks on me, creature, I am a sorceress of the third order!” She clamped down on her tongue, not wanting to give him anything to use against her.

“Oh, I see! How honored we are to have one of your vaunted rank in our presence! Well, if you will not drink, perhaps we should move on to the night’s entertainment!” He waved with the wooden rod and the fairies singing at the rock scattered, much like the ones before them. The rock then unfolded into a vaguely humanoid form. Two large slabs of granite acted as feet connected to a collection of floating stones of all shapes and sizes that made up its torso. Its arms were of similar construction to its legs. To top it all off a rough floating stone made up its head, much like a typical golem, although she had to admit to herself she had never actually seen one. The magics to construct them were too unpredictable and so were banned.

“Dance for us, god of the earth!” The fairies flitted about the earth god, moving in fast, wild patterns around him, as he reached for them, always too slow to grasp one in his great rock fist. Then as one they flew away from him, just out of reach. He took a step, and the ones he was facing would fly away, until he was running after them with thundering booms at each step. The fairies laughed and sang more insults, but he could not capture them.

“Are you enjoying the show, honored guest? We have enjoyed his visit... how would you mortals call it, years I think! The little ones find him great sport! The bravest actually touch him.” The purely black fairy grinned handsomely at her, but she watched the tormented god with sad eyes.

Corana paused as she studied the creature and its fruitless efforts, hardly believing what she was witnessing. “Why do you treat him so? Is he the earth god of this land? What has he done to you to deserve this?”

The fairy king looked from her to the earth god, then back. “He came to our lands as a guest, much like yourself. If he wished not to dance and play then he should not have come. Now drink! So we might play and dance.” His voice filled her ears and his will pressed into her head. The cup sloshed in her hand, overflowing with the sweetest smelling wine bouquet imaginable, and before she realized it the cup was at her lips. Taking control of her hand by sheer will, she dropped the goblet.

The king waved of his hand a great throne appeared before him. Taking a seat he frowned as he stared into Corana’s eyes. “You mortals can be so difficult, drink and enjoy! Centuries of bliss and laughter will be yours. Just a sip to quench your parched throat. With your sorcery you could be my queen...” His voice was as smooth as silk to her ears, seductive.

A raging roar that thundered like an avalanche pulled her mind back from the thickening fog of the fairy king’s charms. She kicked the goblet aside and drew her birch wand, for all the good it would do her. Even the magnifying and focusing affect would not be enough to help her overcome this many of the fae. But the rockslide roar once again sounded, as the earth god caught the arm of a fairy who had danced close to touch him. A sickening wet crunch followed the roar.

A chorus of screeches of panic and fear echoed across the meadow. Corana watched as the gory remains of the fairy dripped like sludge through the earth god’s stone fingers. “Now look at what you have done!” Bellowed the King, a look of pure rage flashing over his face. He turned and raised his dark wooden rod threateningly at the earth god, and Corana recognized her only chance to act. She cast one of her most basic spells, augmented through the wand: a barrier, to protect the earth god from magic. Her shield couldn’t have come at a better time as a red flash of lightning snaked through the air towards the earth god, only to explode against Corana’s ward.

Gasping for breath Corana turned towards the fairy king as he screamed at her. “What have you done? He will kill us all!” Another nauseating crunch rang out, followed by more screams.

“Then set him free. I will lead him away from here. You give us our freedom, and I will prevent him killing more of your kind.” She noted out of the corner of her eye, the earth god chasing the fairies, he moved much faster as the moss and plants that had grown in his rocky flesh crumbled away. Clearly the fairies had used growing things to weaken the stone, but their magic was now prevented from doing so.

“No mortal may see this place and leave!” the king shouted, further enraged at the possibility, waving his rod threateningly.

“Then flee with your life or die with your people, for earth is slow to anger and even slower to calm. In minutes nothing will remain of this place but broken sticks and bodies. At least my death at his hands will be quick, rather than the eternity of service you demand.” She stood calmly amid the chaos, as more fairies died.

“Fine! You may go!” The king waved his rod, and the trees parted beside him. The earth god roared again, with the sound of a thousand tons of grinding rock.

“What of my companion?” Corana demanded, worried now for Arron in the clutches of the fairy woman, Pond.

The king sneered, “He is with the black court, seek him yourself if you wish. But then my cousin is not as kind as I, he is surely her thrall by now. To find her court, follow the black lilies to the east. They will guide you to her, may she kill both you and this cursed god! Now take him and leave!”

“Then command your people to get away from him and stop moving. I will draw his attention and lead him away.” As the king told his people to stop, Corana spoke and danced, her one arm guiding the birch wand in a complex pattern. In moments, the fairies appeared to take up their dance, and follow it out the opening. The earth god, lost in his rage, paid no heed to the unmoving fairies remaining behind, and followed the fluttering illusions out between the parted trees with Corana silently chasing behind.