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I NEVER IMAGINED HOW my life might unfold, nor had I expected to ever leave the comfort of my homeland. It wasn’t unusual for members of the Tribe to leave from time to time; foraging in the woodland outskirts or hunting down intruders on occasion, should our protection charms fail. But my reasons weren’t quite as civil, my banishment was something else entirely. A permanent reminder of my failure.
The series of ill-fates began the day I was born, beginning with my mother’s passing during childbirth. An event my father blamed me for, despite it being part of the Wild Mother’s design. I knew little about my mother, Kelea, until the day I was selected as the Tribe’s next Seer. By cruel fate, I’d no choice but to take up the mantle of the woman whose death I’d inadvertently caused. The Elders referred to it as destiny, but in truth I was daughter of the last Seer and the reigning Chieftain.
It was custom for the mantle to be passed from mother to daughter, beginning with the direct descent of our Tribe deity, the Wild Mother, Melora. My ancestors passed the title down for centuries, since they first came to Wynduff Woodland from the Feywild. From my grandmother Taegae to my mother, Kelea, then to me.
But there was no passing of the torch, no guidance from the Seer before me, only disappointed sighs from the Elders and never ending loneliness on my part.
My brother, Nolas, spent his time with his hunting party, the White Stag Legion. Without meaning to, his success overshadowed mine and as next in line to rule, and the only son was undoubtedly my father’s favourite. My father, Dralaeq, busied himself with his responsibilities, and left me in the care of the Tribe Elders.
From a young age I’d displayed an affinity with our land, communing with voices that no one else could hear. The Elders informed me Kelea displayed similar traits when she was young and forced me to begin my Seer studies, earlier than expected. They trained me just as they’d my mother. I wasn’t allowed to live a life that strayed too far from the Wild Mother’s design. I couldn’t partake in the games the rest of the children played, instead I lived a sheltered life as the Tribe’s prized possession.
Everyday I spent in the company of the Mother Tree, the eternal resting place of the Wild Mother, monitored by the Elders. I would sit at her roots, my hands against the ground and listen to the voices of the land while thanking Melora for her protection. It’d been Melora who’d saved my ancestors from a lifetime of slavery back in our home realm of the Feywild. We Satyrs were servants in the Summer Court, under the tyrannical Queen Titania. Abused and murdered in our own homes, unless we obeyed her every questionable command. Only a handful of our kind managed to escape, led by Melora through a portal into the new realm, and settled into the Wynduff Woodland. Those who escaped formed a community, labelling themselves the Wind Callers. A proud race of Satyrs with the ability to harness the natural elements in order to protect themselves from further pain and suffering.
The first Seer was none other than Melora herself, who, just like myself, displayed an unwavering connection to the land. It was she who created the protective charms around our new homeland and who continues to watch over my Tribe despite her passing. The Mother Tree stands at the centre of homeland, in her honour, and it was my duty to continue her legacy.
But I’d let my guard down, consumed by my loneliness I reached out to the voices of the land. Time after time, day after day with not even a murmur in return. I’d begun to give up hope until one morning, after my usual routine at the Mother’s Trees roots I heard them call out to me.
The voice was faint at first, and could only be heard once my hands touched the earth. It started as one voice, then gradually they multiplied. A thousand wispy whispers called out to me. For the Seer of the Wind Caller Tribe.
One evening, after weeks of listening to the voices, I visited the Elder’s treehouse. Each of them sat upon handcrafted cushions, a steamy brew in their hands. I sat with them, and joined their discussion to inform them of my discovery.
Not one of the Elders were kind, some remained silent but others couldn’t help the cruel words that spilled from their lips.
‘Cure your illusions, Saria,’ one had said.
‘You will never be like Kelea,’ said another.
My name brought shame to my Tribe, like poison on the tongue. My father isolated me more, he told the Elders to be more rigorous with my training and hoped it would quell the voices. But they were persistent. Whenever I felt alone, I felt their warmth. They were all I had to rely on.
On the night of my twelfth birthday, I ventured out into the heart of the woodlands. I’d left in the dead of night, adorned in my nightdress and ran barefoot through the earth. The voices guided me past the Mother Tree, when we first met and along to the edge of the lake. It was there the fireflies danced in the moonlight, tiny ripples upon the water. But the voices were shy and never showed their faces.
‘If you can hear me,’ I remember calling aloud, ‘Please don’t leave me. I don’t wish to be alone anymore.’ I begged and pleaded. They were the only friends I had, even if they were just voices on the wind.
Under the light of the full moon that rose from the horizon, a figure stepped out towards me. A wispy inked figure that towered above me and held a single finger out to me. I stretched out my own hand, tiny in comparison, ready to take my friend’s hand when a voice bellowed to me.
‘Saria!’
I remember turning back to see my brother, Nolas. He stood on the hillside above the lake, his brows furrowed and his scimitar in hand. I glanced at my friend, the inky figure cloaked me inside its wisps, then back to my brother.
Why was he there?
I’d never had the opportunity to ask him about why he was there that night. Why the White Stag Legion wasn’t far behind. One by one, his hunting brothers joined his side, each with their own weapons raised. Their bows pointed at my friend and I. Yet, I never understood why.
‘Step away from her, fiend.’
Fiend? My friend couldn’t be, they’d saved me from my loneliness.
A fireball hurtled towards us and severed our connection. I recalled the wisp fell back into the lake, and I’d collapsed onto the earth writhing in agony. My eyes blurred, my chest ached as I clawed at the mud. The voices weren’t the kind creature I once knew, listening to their twisted words that now pierced through me. I was paralysed by fear and watched as the inky figure rose from the water.
Once my vision returned, I saw the creature’s true form take shape, like a nightmare from a children’s storybook. The Darkling cracked its neck, long inky tendrils flew above my head and struck the male satyr’s on the hillside.
‘Nolas!’ I screamed, tears streamed down my cheeks.
But he was already caught and pinned to the earth by the tendrils. The Darkling glared at me now, deep crimson orbs like a dagger into my heart.
‘Stay back, Saria,’ my brother grunted.
I didn’t move, I couldn’t move. ‘What is that thing?’ I asked, my voice trembled. Then I noticed the crimson tears staining his uniform, bile rose in my throat as my heart sank to the pit of my stomach.
Nolas stretched his free hand out towards me, ‘The Darkling,’ he said and coughed up a concoction of blood and ink. ‘It’s an Arch Fey demon from the Feywild.’
I inched myself closer to him and asked, ‘The Feywild?’
Surely not. I didn’t think it was possible, only the Wild Mother had the ability to transverse across realms. A power Titania could only dream of possessing.
My brother gave me a weak smile and said, ‘Yes, that Feywild. The Darkling is of the Summer Court.’ He froze and I followed his emerald gaze.
The Darkling edged closer to the bank, its golden glare on me. A grim smile spread across its face. ‘Seer of the Wind Caller Tribe,’ its voice called. A piercing scream of a thousand souls entered my mind, my eyes glazed over and I threw myself against the ground. ‘Titania wishes to meet your acquaintance.’
I couldn’t move, paralysed by an invisible entity, I closed my eyes and allowed the tears to fall as I dug my nails into the earth.
‘Over my dead body,’ Nolas shouted and carved his escape from the tendrils with a dagger. He stood between the Darkling and myself holding the small blade like a sword.
The inky creature writhed in agony and dropped to one knee in the lake, but its smile never faltered. ‘It would be my pleasure,’ it said and drove its fist into the earth. The same acidic tendrils materialised from the ground and collided with Nolas. Sharp points skewered him through the stomach.
‘Nolas!’ I screamed. I felt like my heart shattered. Tears streamed down my face.
The Darkling smirked at my brother’s lifeless body, then turned its focus to me. I picked up anything I could find, stones mostly and flung them at the creature. Not a single one hit my target. I was weak, unable to stop the Darkling. I’d caused this, those hurt by this creature would forever remain on my conscience. Nolas’s death would be on my hands.
The midnight wind picked up, and with it, the voices of my Tribe. I glanced at Nolas, and noted a broken smokey green quartz drop from his palm.
Despite his injuries, he’d called for help.
Sly satyr.
Chieftain Dralaeq and the Elders appeared on the hillside with not a moment to lose. I used the last of my strength and crawled over to the Elders to hide myself behind them. I closed my eyes and covered my ears. I wanted my brother back. I wanted to disappear. But I was dragged to my feet by the scruff by my father and forced to bear witness to my actions.
I sobbed until my eyes grew sore. My heart was torn in two. I love my homeland, I felt comfortable within the woodland but I’d never felt welcome or loved by my Tribe, despite my importance to them. The voice of the Darkling had been there to nurture me, support me when I grew lonely. But I knew I needed to let them go. The creature had manipulated me, somehow I’d allowed them access to our realm. My power was unstable, unpredictable and inadvertently caused my brother’s death, when he tried to protect me.
The Elders gathered around the lake and surrounded the Darkling, their staves propped up. In their free hands, a natural element swarmed into an orb of light. Together they created a chain braided from the natural elements of air, earth, fire and water. The chain imprisoned the Darkling with little resistance. A single Elder stepped forward, their hand held up to the heavens and tore a portal open from the sky. My mouth hung open, I’d been taught only a Seer could achieve such a phenomenon. A desire within me swelled. I wanted to train under this Elder, I wanted to learn to control my power, for the sake of my homeland, for the sake of my Tribe.
‘Be gone, foul fiend,’ she bellowed and launched the Darkling through the rift.
Its final shriek sundered my heart, the only friend I’d known gone, yet I felt relieved.
