In the early ages of the land, humans arrived from the sea. Prior to this arrival, all nature of Fae inhabited the hills and ravines, barrows and forests. The Fae elected to teach the humans, that they might know the land as well as they did. What follows is an account of the first teaching, a hand extended in friendship, doomed to shake, doomed to die.
The sighing of the highest branches hailed the rain. Cairlaen crouched by the sharp bend in the ravine, the place where the fish often held their conclaves. Her black hair tumbled across her neck, hiding, only slightly the adolescent crow on her shoulder.
Rain is coming, the crow cracked conversationally.
Cairlaen, always impatient, rarely unobservant, clicked her tongue. She had wasted most of the morning running down the coastal ridge trying to catch a glimpse of the bone white sails.
Vast vessels had appeared on the horizon, then vanished as they approached the land, disappearing to the south. Cairlaen’s mother hadn’t offered any definition for what they were. Indeed, rare was it that any of the histories noted arrivals from the sea.
There! The crow spotted two fish playing lazily in a dapple along the water’s surface. Quick as a flash, Cairlaen snatched them and with a quick word, put their minds to rest.
I wonder if they know the language. The crow mused.
“What makes you think these things merit a ‘they’?” Cairlaen asked, wending her way back through the undergrowth. Her black tunic blended into a shadow as she stopped to survey the sky. A raindrop was falling, slowly so it was thick.
We’re going to get wet. The crow observed, irritated. And I think they are a ‘they’ because of the news from the south.
Cairlaen held impossibly still before cocking her head to look at her friend. “You’ve had news?”
The crow, understanding that he’d been caught, cocked his head right back. You nymphs move so slowly, he cawed lazily. We have wings you know.
Rain began to pepper the wide leaves above, and Cairlaen took off sprinting, wet fish bouncing on her back. “You can be unpleasant sometimes.” She remarked to the crow, who, as Cairlaen approached the Grove, took off into the darkening sky. She harbored no anger towards the creature; that was the way of crows, after all.
Cairlaen stepped into the darkened interior of a wide tree. The bark smelled of damp fire, which, in turn, always reminded Cairlaen of stars. She could swear she could smell them as she stood on the peaks of the mountains, gazing ever upwards. Her mother had taken to saying that if she stared too long at the sky, someone would surprise her from the earth.
Cairlaen hadn’t paid any heed. She was a young nymph, after all, only a few hundred years old. What did her mother know?
“Conclave tonight.” Wistera informed her daughter.
“Oh?” Cairalen sniffed as her mother, hair as black as her offspring, began scaling the fish. “To discuss what?”
“The arrivals.” Wistera said shortly. “The crows brought news.”
Cairlaen snorted. So, they had, had they? Feeling the pulses of anxiety emanating from her mother, Cairlaen knelt and began helping with the filet.
“This is one of the great prophecies.” Wistera whispered. Her usually bright red eyes had grown wide with fear. Cairlaen could not understand it.
“The great prophecies?” Cairlean repeated, thinking briefly over her education at the feet of their many elders.
“From the Cast, the Sakjeden in the south.” Wistera had moved the fish to the basin over the fire. “The trees who can see through time.”
“Oh.” Was all Cairalen said. “What did they say?”
“A great death from a skeleton king.” Wistera shivered. “An arrival and a departing mark the greatest turmoil in the time of the land.”
Cairlaen did not underestimate the power of prophecy, but this was particularly unhelpful as it seemed absent several important details.
“What—?” Cairlaen made to ask, but before she could, Wistera held out her hand. “It’s beginning.”
Cairlaen stretched out her own hearing and listened. Sure enough, soft pattering of footsteps echoed between the rain, moving toward the largest trunk in the grove. Wistera muttered to the fire, asking it to bank until she returned. Cairlaen thought of the crow’s musings over the arrivals, and a small sliver of ice-cold fear tumbled down her spine. She shook herself, glancing up at the spiraled steps inside the tree. Quietly, Cairlaen followed her mother from their home.
The gathering too, was silent, perhaps dampened by the wetness of the weather. Postura sat at the far side of the great tree, and Cairlaen and Wistera barely managed to step into the interior. Many more nymphs waited outside, as, Cairlaen was surprised to see, some elves. Some pixies and fairies flitted about overhead of the crowd. She exchanged a glance with Wistera, who promptly stood on her toes to find Cairlaen’s father.
“The crows have brought news.” Postura began. His voice, though ancient, vibrated through the room a though it had slunk through the trunk of the tree itself. “Our land has visitors.”
A rumble flickered through the crowd, and Cairlaen could feel the energy shift colder. Some were curious, most were distrustful.
“I propose,” Postura continued, “We send a group southward. To greet these newcomers and learn of their intentions.”
Another rumble.
“Who among us would go?” Postura asked. He would not volunteer anyone. That was not the way of the Fae. The Fae knew their own wills, from the moment they were born. They bore ownership over themselves and their own choices.
A few hands raised from across the space within the tree. A few voices spoke from the outside. Cairlaen hesitated, before raising her hand as well. She did not look at her mother, even as she knew Wistera would not look at her. This was Cairlaen’s choice.
“Very well, I thank you.” Postura leaned back in his seat, his spine still straight. “You will leave tomorrow morning.”
And with that, most of the Fae began to disperse. Cairlaen stayed, along with several of the nymphs and fairies who had volunteered. They approached Postura, likely harboring the same question.
Eventually one of the fairies, blue clad and black haired, flew down to alight on Postura’s outstretched palm. This was a formal invitation; the flying Fae did not simply land on someone without express permission. It was not their way.
“What exactly are we supposed to be looking for, Postura?” The little fairy asked.
Postura considered each and every one of us, before returning his gaze to the black-haired Fae. “Can we trust them? Are they staying?” Postura’s voice emanated more softly now, as if he did not wish the rest of the stragglers to hear. “The crows do not like the look of their destruction. They have been tearing down trees, marching through the swamps, killing each other.”
Cairlaen shivered, as did many of the waiting Fae. Nobody kills. That was simply unheard of. The last Fae who had murdered another Fae had been wrapped in tree roots, unable to breathe until he too, passed on.
“I need to know what is true.” Postura paused. “I need to know if this is the beginning of one of the great prophecies.”
~.~
Dew gathered on the small grasses deep under the soaring branches the next morning as Cairlaen and the other volunteers gathered to begin their trek southward.
Aro, the blue-clad fairy who had inquired after Postura the night before seemed to have taken a position of leadership in the little assembly.
“You have lovely eyes.” Aro informed Cairlaen as they set course through the lightening forest.
“Thank you.” Cairlaen nodded. She loved her orange eyes, the only eyes like hers in the entire grove. Aro was kind to compliment her.
“You know much about the newcomers then?” She asked Aro.
He shook his head. “Only what the crows choose to divulge.”
Cairlaen nodded sagely. She too was familiar with the fickleness of crows.
“I’m a crow-rider, so I know a bit more.” Aro volunteered.
“Oh?”
“They say the newcomers hurt each other,” said Aro softly, “They say they don’t feel the land is sacred.”
Cairlaen did not have much to say to this unpleasant revelation. She glanced around her at the vibrant green of the forest, emerald in the rising sun. The shadows along the ground raced each other, as if independent of the beings who cast them. She thought of the ocean, the salt on the air, and she shuttered. What kind of beings killed their own?
As the travel wound the Fae deeply southward, Cairlaen felt the sun move along its axis, purpling the sky as the group drew to a halt and began drawing together a small camp. None of them were unfamiliar with travel; the Fae were all expected to visit the rest of the land to ensure they did not love only their own groves, their own peaks, their own ravines and rivers.
An accompanying nymph gathered branches from the forest floor and asked them to light. That was the majik of the first language, the language of the Fae. They knew they could ask the beings around them to change their existence, to partner with the other elements and the beings would oblige. That was what it meant to be Fae.
No one spoke overly, as the flames licked into the night air. A chill settled over the camp, and one by one, the Fae drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, the group quickened their pace and soon, Cairlaen could hear the groaning of trees falling at the southern edge of the forest.
“Do you hear that?” She asked Aro.
His expression displeased, the little fairy nodded. “They are in pain.”
Cairlaen was not old enough to know what the tree’s pain sounded like, as she had not experienced any other age. She took his word for it, and that same sliver of dread that had occupied her spine not two nights before found its way back to the nape of her neck.
Quietly, the group slipped through the woods, causing nary a stir of leaves, a whisp between bushes. They were practiced, all of them, at moving with the land instead of against it. The newcomers, Cairlaen could already tell, were not familiar with how to dance with the land, to listen to its singing.
A loud hollering broke the silence, followed by a slick squishing sound, the sound that usually accompanied the death of a fish, or the entrails of an animal before its preparation for a meal. Cairlaen’s heart jumped. They had brought no hunting gear, no weapons for that was not the way of the hospitable.
Aro flitted up ahead and returned, almost as quickly. His jaw tight, he reported. “One is dead.”
He turned and gestured for the group to continue. The light in the sky seemed too bright for such an engagement.
Cairlaen crept from the leaves to smell the burning of the forest floor. She gasped; many of the trees, the tallest trees, trees that would have, could have, homed her and her family, were now only stumps.
As the remainder of the Fae stepped out of the wood line. One by one, the newcomers turned, startled into stillness by the arrival of others.
They were short, shorter than the elves, almost the size of the nymphs. Their muscles sat more heavily under their skin, bulging in a way the muscles of the Fae did not. Their faces ranged in color, from the darkest black to the whitest pale, but their eyes, almost all their eyes, bore a cold suspicion. Cairlaen shrank from this malice.
Aro flew forward. Cairlaen could sense his mind reaching out, asking for their names.
“Aro.” He pointed at himself. Aro then gestured forward to the man standing closest to him, who had walked forward as if to protect the remaineder of the group.
Cairlaen glanced around and noticed the body, a few lengths behind the furthest creature. It lay in the dirt, head cocked at an angle that bespoke its lack of life. Bright red blood dripped from a gash across its middle. Candor looked away. This was not how the Fae killed.
“Artulam.” The newcomer gestured to himself. “These are my people.”
Aro nodded, before turning and gesturing to the rest of the Fae. “These are… my people.”
Artulam’s face split into a wide smile. “You speak our language?”
“You speak our language… no.” Aro shook his head. “Not yet.”
Cairlaen watched Artulam’s face crumple in confusion.
“Speak…” Aro moved his hands widely, as if in expansion. “Aro learn.”
Perplexed, Artulam moved around the large group and introduce Aro to the rest of the newcomers. As each word departed Artulam, Aro’s knowledge of the language grew. The rest of the Fae listened intently, asking the language to expand within their own minds. This was the way of their language, and they all knew language to be alive, so much so that if they asked for its name, it would oblige and help them learn. She wondered if she could teach the newcomers the first language, language of the land.
Aro, having established enough of the language to adequately communicate, asked Artulam, “We can stay and help and know?”
Artulam nodded eagerly. “What are you?”
“We?” Aro laughed, his voice tinkling through the tree stumps, renewing the feeling of life in a place of death, if only for a brief moment. “We are Faen. You?”
“We are man.” Artulam motioned to himself.
“Who?” Aro looked confused for a moment. “ Who man?”
Artulam nodded, though Cairlaen wasn’t certain he understood Aro’s question.
“Tonight, we feast.” Artulam informed Aro. “You’ll join us.”
Aro nodded and called for the rest of the Fae to join him around Artulam. As they began to move, Cairlaen noticed the shift in energy once more. The humans drew back into themselves, as if frightened of something. Cairlaen considered the Fae.
It’s the way we move, she thought to herself. The humans were neither as graceful nor as deliberate with their movements as were the Fae. Curious, she thought. We are perceived a threat.
~.~
Following Artulam, the Fae and humans made their way south to the marshy ravines that dominated the foothills beyond the mountains. A few dozen long, flat buildings sat, sticking up from the land like so many ill-fitting stones. Aro, Cairlaen and the rest of the Fae looked on, dismayed. This was not how they knew to grow with the land; this was creation against the land.
Dark black smoke billowed from one end of the long buildings, denoting the wetness of the burning wood. Cairlaen wrinkled her nose. These humans looked enough like the Fae, but she could tell they harbored not nearly the knowledge that the Fae did.
Artulam ducked into a darkened doorway, Aro close behind him. Cairlaen followed, as did the remaining humans who had accompanied the Fae from the mountains. Long tables stretched the length of the hall. Women sat near the fire, bustling about and fashioning a meal. The scents of food that wafted towards the Fae were foreign, strong and spicy.
The long room fell silent as the humans noted their newcomers. Artulam cleared his throat.
“We welcome these guests into the hall tonight.” He turned back to the Fae. “Please, join us.” Artulam gestured to the benches, and one by one, the Fae began to disperse among the humans.
Cairlaen made her way to a far wall, on the outskirts of the flickering light. Something about the orange shine from the fire made her uncomfortable, trapped even. She watched as humans began to sit next to her counterparts. They seemed interested, curious in their guests. The black and white hair of the Fae reflected the dark light ominously, their eyes bright flecks of color throughout the room. The humans bore dark eyes of blue and browns, hairs the hues of bark and sand, but none quite resembled the Fae.
“Your people have quite the eyes.” A man’s warm voice sounded behind Cairlaen. She jumped. Utterly lost in her observations, she’d missed his approach. He sank down next to her and offered her a mug of something. “I’m Kail.” He pressed his hand to his lips and offered her his palm.
Cairlaen did not respond right away. She willed her mind into the space between them, taking in the words and turning them into something she could understand. In the first language, the Fae language, the language of all things, Cairlaen asked to know this new way of communicating the world. She was rewarded with a few new words. Her strength ebbed as she practiced such heavy majik.
“I’m Cairlaen.” She pressed her hand to her own chest but did not return the gesture of greeting.
“How do you know our language?” Kail asked. He sipped his drink.
Cairlaen did not know how to explain her language or majik to this man. “I invited your words into my mind.”
Kail looked confused, but he did not press the explanation. “Where are you from?”
“I am from the north, in the mountains.” Cairlaen gestured towards the door of the lodge. “Where are you from?”
Kail’s dark eyes grew distant. “You ask an interesting question.” He began. “None of us know the land we came from.”
Cairlaen frowned, unsure if she had grasped his words correctly. “You lived on the sea?”
“Yes,” Kail explained. “But we came from a land once, a land, according to the stories, much like this one.”
“You don’t know it?”
“We were all born on the ship,” said Kail sadly. “For generations. None of us know the beds of our homeland.”
Homeland. This word sparked something deep in Cairlaen, some longing and nostalgia borrowed from someone else’s experience. Kindred.
“All I know are waves.” Kail smiled suddenly. “But this is a marvelous place to be.” He looked at her, eyes bright. “You’re lucky, fire eyes.”
“Lucky.” Cairlean repeated, trying to place the meaning of the word.
“How long have your people been here?” Kail asked.
Cairlaen shrugged. “We are always here.”
It was Kail’s turn to frown. “You didn’t come?”
Cairlaen shook her head. She still had yet to taste the liquid in the mug, but it smelled dark, musty even. “We don’t travel on waves.”
“Oh.” Kail sat back, confused.
“How long are you here?” Cairlaen asked. She too was confused at these inquiries. Time did not work like this man suggested in their land. Time simply was. Her people were always- how could he not understand that?
“We’re not leaving either.” Kail seemed uncomfortable for a brief moment, before glancing at her as if for permission. “We need a new home. This will be it.”
“You’re here always too?” Cairlaen asked in his language. The concept did not match the words. “You can’t be here always,” she laughed at the young man.
He bristled slightly.
“You are here now.” Cairlaen struggled to explain why she couldn’t understand.
“And we’re here into the future.” Cairlaen could feel Kail’s energy shift to suspicion. “What year is it anyway?”
“Year?” Cairlaen asked.
“When is it, you know, in like, time?” Kail gestured around himself as though he were trying to explain the air.
“I don’t understand.” Cairlaen finally said. “Time is here.”
Kail eyed her. “Perhaps we’ll start over, here.” He said quietly, almost as if to himself. “Perhaps we are in year zero now.”
A strange quietude descended upon the lodge, as if the whole world had slowed. Cairlaen watched smoke swirl up to the ceiling, and glanced around the room, only to find the rest of her kin watching her with the same perplexed expressions she knew she wore.
We are in time now, Cairlaen thought lazily. Without warning she saw her skin anew- no longer was she infinite; she would die now. She had known this was a possibility, of course. No one lived forever, but the land should.
Now the land was bounded.
“Do you know a skeleton king?” Cairlaen asked. She wanted to have something to take back to Postura, some answer to calm her mother. She herself had never heard of the great prophecies, but they seemed of great threat to those older than she.
Kail considered her oddly. “We have a myth, you know.” Kail half-whispered, almost to himself. “Of the king who came across the water.”
Candor held still, willing the man to continue.
“He was the first to leave his land, banished for something horrible.” Kail’s eyes had glazed over. “How do we know the place we call home, by Aeton the king of the waves…” Kail hummed a line of a song with an eerie melody. “How do we know the shores of our kin, when there’s no longer wind in the sails.”
“So you do know him?” Cairlaen, unsure if she was following the man’s mythology, asked nervously.
“Our king wasn’t a skeleton.” Kail laughed. “He’d be dead. The dead can’t sail.”
He spoke as if this definitively concluded the conversation. Cairlaen wondered what his people knew of life and death, if they knew the place beyond the pale.
They lapsed into silence.
“What do you call this place?” Kail took a long swig of his drink.
Cairlaen considered and decided she would try to offer him the way she knew to explain her land. She did not have an equivalent in the human tongue yet.
Kail listened intently before trying to repeat it. “Ic-Ar-iA.” He pronounced the word slowly.
It sounded bleak, dark, like the word for dark of moon in her tongue, but Cairlaen didn’t know how to correct the young man. They were all young, she realized, all so young. A sudden melancholy swept over Cairlaen as she glanced around. She knew, even as she considered Aro who met her gaze across the room, this relationship would not end well.
The remainder of their Fae brethren, shaken by the entrance into time, seemed happy enough to continue building a relationship.
“Icaria.” Kail repeated, grinning widely.
“To Icaria!” Kail stood and spoke loudly to the hall. “Our new home, and our new friends.” He raised his mug.
The humans, smiling all, raised their own mugs and repeated, “Icaria.”
Cairlaen tried not to wince. It still sounded like the thud of rock against a rotted tree, like the end of things.
Kail turned back to Cairlaen as he sat down. “What is your language, fire eyes?” He asked. “You clearly don’t speak ours.”
“It has no name except majik.” Cairlaen said queitly.
“You must teach it to us.” Kail lifted his mug for another refill. Cairlaen eyed the ever-emptying vessel. “So we can see Icaria as you do.”
Cairlaen endeavored to smile. She wanted to tell him she had already tried; he could not grasp their language like she did, for he considered time differently. She did not.
Instead, she nodded. “We will build together, right?”
“Right.” Kail smiled back. “Together.”
Outside the lodge, in the darkening night, smoke rose to the heavens, darkening the stars who looked on sadly, waiting, always waiting.
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