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‘DON’T TOY WITH ME satyr,’ the Darkling bellowed. His tiefling form shifted slightly, his arms and legs transforming more dragon-like. Shadow scaled with wickedly sharp talons. Eerily similar to the form I once knew. ‘Let us remove these distractions.’ He was referring to my comrades, each one of them seemingly close to death.
‘Please don’t hurt them,’ I begged, holding up a hand towards the three of them. I noticed it, and I’d no doubt the fiend had too, my hand refused to stay still.
The Darkling seemed to consider my words before a smirk appeared on his lips, ‘So be it,’ he said, ‘But, we will wager for their lives. Should you defeat me, the four of you will walk away free, however if you run like a coward… again, I shall slaughter every last one of them.’
I glanced at each of my comrades in turn. I couldn’t leave them here in his clutches, ‘I accept,’ I replied weakly. But not even I felt confident in my abilities to stand against the fiend alone and something within my gut told me that he knew that as well. It explained the confidence in his grin and the swagger in his movements.
The Darkling flicked his wrist, a single tendril escaped from his claw and collected Barcius in the gilded cage. He hung it back up on the ceiling, securing the gate, giving the unconscious tiefling a perfect view of the throne room. The fiend then turned his focus to Tarasque, with the little fight she’d left, she gave a primal scream, unphased he threw her onto the branch throne. Twigs snapped under her weight, my comrade let out a scream before branches began to grow, trapping the fire genasi in the frame. The Darkling then turned to Mitztail, his grin widened.
‘As for you, fleabag,’ he shrieked, ‘For freeing my little playthings, you deserve a more fitting punishment.’ The fiend grabbed the tabaxi by the scruff of his neck with his sharp talons and threw him across the throne room where he landed amongst an ivy covered wall, tendrils coiled around his tiny limbs until he squealed.
The Darkling turned to me and smirked, ‘Come little lamb to your slaughter,’ he walked over to me with his arms opened wide, ‘May the Lady Titania shine on my good fortune today, that your death might finally bring me peace. Your blood shall be a sweet dessert once I am the victor.’
Behind the fiend, long tendrils emerged from his back like a pair of bone wings. The room started to shift, from an illuminated throne room with marble floors, to an eerily similar location.
Fear rooted me in my spot, my whole body still shaking involuntarily. I glanced around the room, knowing this place all too well. A place I once called home. The Wynduff Woodland. We were back to that ill-fated night, back at the lake where the Darkling had first emerged, and I sat at the edge of the bank begging for anyone to be my friend. It all looked so real, I truly believed we were back there, that time from years past. But then I noticed my friends on the side-lines, they hadn’t moved despite the throne room shifting.
The Darkling held up one arm, the talons morphing into a blade. ‘Let’s us begin, I’m dying to break you little satyr,’ he bellowed. A wicked cackle escaped his lips as he began running towards me.
I willed my hooves to move, but they refused to listen. My mind fumbled for another idea. I wasn’t experienced in combat, other than the battle I assisted with my comrades against the Raven Queen. But this wasn’t like that time, this time I was in this alone. If I couldn’t go on the offensive, the only alternative was to be on the defence. I slammed my fists into the earth, thankfully the fiend had chosen this location for our duel. This was my domain after all. Spikes broke through the earth, large and pointed at the creature, creating a barrier between me and the fiend.
‘This might buy me a little time,’ I muttered under my breath. My hooves still seemed unwilling to cooperate, so I crawled away, getting some distance between myself and the fiend.
The Darkling cackled, ‘You really think such a feeble shield will be enough to protect you?’ he mocked, readying his bladed arm. He struck against the stone spikes, cutting them down like they were made of paper, ‘Weak and pathetic. To think the High Lady of the Summer Court was threatened by your power.’
He spoke poorly of his so-called Queen, but I finally understood why the fiend had sought me out and why my tribe were fugitives to the crown. Titania needed something from my people, and I was willing to bet it had something to do with the power of a Seer. The power I now held.
I drove my hand into the earth, two large vines sprouted. As the fiend broke through my first barrier, I snared him in my second trap. Finally, my hooves were willing to move and I picked myself up and ran to the ivy wall where Mitztail was trapped.
The Darkling said with a smirk, ‘You really think these can hold me?’ He thrashed against his bonds violently, but my vines refused to give into him.
I need to stop thinking on the defensive and move to the offensive, else I’m never going to win this fight.
But even I wasn’t bold enough to consider I was strong enough to stand against the fiend. His strength and agility outweighed mine. I was small, weak and clumsy in comparison. My abilities weren’t even a scratch on his centuries worth of experience acting as the archfey’s minion. If this was a competition, I definitely wouldn’t have bet on myself to make it out alive.
I dropped my crook onto the floor and grabbed my water skin. I poured a small puddle into my hand and began fashioning it into a blade of ice. My fingers fumbled, unable to keep my eyes off of the fiend.
The Darkling continued to thrash against his leafy bonds, until they finally gave in. The vines tore and once again he was free. A wicked grin on his lips, he shook his hand, ensuring the edge of his blade was sharp. The fiend launched himself towards me, taking off into a sprint with his golden eyes like daggers, honing in on me.
I was too focused on him to notice the blade's finished form. I winced, a sharp pain pulsed from my palm. A thin cut dribbled crimson tears. I didn’t bother curing the wound, I needed my mind to be ready. I held the knife in my hand, the weight feeling unnatural in my grip, but it was all I had.
The Darkling’s blade was poised to strike, a menacing grin plastered across his face. He drove the blade towards me, and I countered with my ice knife. Tiny in comparison. My blade shattered in my hands, shards of ice shredding my skin.
I screamed, staring at my hands stained in crimson. My whole body trembled, slowly shuffling back and away from my adversary. I watched as the fiend raised his blade once more. I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the end and prayed it would be swift but it never came. I opened my eyes to see Tarasque standing bridging the gap between myself and the beast.
‘Run,’ she said with a grunt. Her body appeared weak, covered in deep set marks where the branches had held her in place against the throne. ‘Collect yourself, I can’t hold him forever.’
I gave a nod to show I understood before shuffling away. My palms still stung from the shards of ice, yet I had to keep my mind focused. I had to think of something. While the fiend and Tarasque went toe to toe in a chorus of growling at one another, I thought back to my training with Elder Sheatu. She told me I should never use my power for offensive means, my role at the tribe Seer was to protect my people. The White Stag Legion, like my brother, were the ones who fought in my stead. But there was one spell she taught me, one to be used in emergency situations only.
I hope this qualifies, if not, may the Wildmother strike me down.
My hooves crunched into the earth, solidifying my position, but just as I turned to face the fiend, I was thrown backwards. I collided with the ground, my body bounced off the rocks and dirt, bruising me entirely.
I cursed under my breath, ‘This is impossible,’ I grunted, struggling to get back onto my hooves. I stood, my whole body shaking from the impact. Bile rose in my throat and the room began to spin. What I was about to do was incredibly reckless, but seeing Tarasque struggle against the overbearing fiend, I needed to at least try. I ran, faster than I ever thought I could, jolting past the Darkling and the fire genasi, until I reached the branch throne.
‘Now, now little lamb,’ the fiend bellowed, shoving my comrade to one side.
Tarasque could barely keep up her fight and collapsed to the ground by his push. But just as the Darkling went to turn away, she hooked herself around his legs, refusing to let him past. ‘Whatever you’re planning, Saria, do it now!” Tarasque shouted.
I took my crook in my hands, staining the wood crimson and lifted it above my head. I glared at my adversary and drove the crook into the earth. A faint light ignited in my hands and illuminated the staff. Tiny flowers bloomed through the cracks in the wood grain.
The Darkling furrowed his brow, his smile dropped as the room around us shifted once more. Back to how it originally was, the throne room decor returned with the floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows and all. I could tell by the look on his face he hadn’t been anticipating my next move. He yanked himself from Tarasque’s grip, kicking her a short distance away. The fire genasi didn’t fight back, her fiery tresses muted by his darkness. He moved, his pace slower than before but his bladed arm still poised to make the final strike.
‘Please let this work,’ I muttered under my breath. I forced my eyes close, focusing on drawing the energy up from the earth and channelling it into my crook. ‘Awake the moon and shine your light. Banish the darkness from once it came.’ I chanted first in common then again in sylvan, unsure of which language I needed to speak, to enact the spell. ‘Múscail an ghealach agus lonraigh do sholas. Scrios an dorchadas ón uair a tháinig sé.’
The entire throne room illuminated with a bright silver light, and as it did the stained glass windows behind me shattered. Sage-green glass littered the marble floor. But still I drove my crook in further, beckoning for the moon to appear.
I opened my eyes, noticing how close the fiend was and willed the earth to protect me. Vines burst through the tiles, rooting the Darkling in place once more. I knew they wouldn’t hold him for long, but they would buy me time until my spell was complete. My hands shook against the crook, the spell sapping me of all my strength. The earth’s energy still coursed through my veins and channelled into the spell. I glanced above, a full moon finally in sight. Whatever this spell was, it was working.
The Darkling followed my gaze, he too must have seen the moon materialise above. His expression shifted, and the look of genuine fear appeared on his face. ‘No, it c-can’t be,’ he muttered. ‘This spell is forbidden in the feywild. Lady Titania instructed all records of it to be destroyed.’
A smile appeared on my lips and said, ‘Guess you missed one.’
The moon above cracked open, releasing a cylinder of lunar energy onto the fiend. He writhed in agony. Inhuman noises spilled from his lips and pierced my ears. The Darkling’s limbs froze under the light, just as one arm snapped free from the vines.
I slipped down my crook, my hooves unable to hold up the weight of my body. I couldn’t hold the spell any longer. The throne room darkened and the moon disappeared. My connection to the earth snapped, a sharp pain shocked my body. I screamed.
Perhaps the Wildmother hadn’t seen this as an emergency.
I choked, spitting up blood on the ground. I used the back of my hand to wipe away the salvia, as my eyes fell on my adversary. The Darkling stood frozen in place, held by the thick vines, yet his golden eyes still pierced into me like a knife.
Tarasque rolled onto front, and called out to me, ‘That’s not going to hold him for long, you have to-’ she splattered, her energy completely spent, ‘Finish him before he breaks free.’
I stared at her and shook my head, ‘I can’t.’ My body began trembling again. ‘What am I supposed to do?’ I glanced at my comrades in turn, all of them out of commission. The fate of this trial rested on my shoulders. My hands slipped off the crook, and fumbled on my belt until they rested on the knife. My brother’s hunting knife.
My mind slipped back to that fateful night, to seeing my brother lying in the healer’s tent, then to us standing at the outskirts of the Wynduff Woodland where he handed me the blade.
‘You can do this, little snowdrop.’
Those words he’d said to me whenever I tripped over a hurdle. Every time he was there for me. Even now when I was alone, I could still hear his voice in my head. Despite my better judgement I forced myself to stand, unsheathing the blade. Holding it in my left hand, I ran towards the fiend, screaming as I went. Too many conflicting thoughts were in my mind; including the image of my brother, Nolas, turning back and smiling at me when he fell against the Darkling.
I felt a surge of anger course through my body, pushing me towards the creature. ‘This one is for Nolas,’ I screamed, driving the tip of my blade through the fiend’s chest.
The Darkling writhed in agony, blood-curdling shrieks piercing my ears. His wicked talons breaking free from the ice, swiping aimlessly at me. A few of them caught me, deep set marks on my forearms, but I continued to drive the knife in further and further until it pierced his heart. The fiend took his last breath, hanging there with his jaw slacked, held in place by the frozen vines.
My hands were trembling, yet unwilling to release themselves from the hilt. I looked at the barely breathing body. ‘Is it over?’ I asked, directing my question to no one in particular. But even my comrades didn’t utter a word in response. I pulled the blade from the fiend in a quick flick of my wrist. Black ink smothered the edge and dripped onto the floor, I quickly sheathed the knife back on my hip and waited for a sign.
The throne room illuminated with a bright light. In the place of the three stained glass windows, stood arched window frames with golden rays flooding the room. A similar sight caught my eye, in the form of a grand willow tree. The Mother tree from my homeland.
‘Melora,’ I said, almost breathless. I rubbed my eyes, making sure I wasn’t hallucinating.
When I looked again, a figure stood before me, warm and motherly. I felt strangely drawn to her, but couldn’t understand why. I walked over to her, my eyes fixed on her image. As I passed my crook, I yanked it from the earth and held it close to my chest.
Never in my life had I had the honour of gazing upon the Wildmother, I’d only seen her image simplified in texts and symbols and dotted around the Wynduff Woodland. Every Elder wore her symbol on the beaded necklaces around their neck. Even I’d worn her symbol during my morning rituals as the tribe Seer. Yet here she stood in front of me.
Melora, a beautiful deity with wild tree-bark tresses towered over me. Her hair was littered with thousands of blooms and a crown of ivy wove itself around her head. She looked down at me with kind mossy eyes and with a warm smile on her lips. In her hand she held a crook, much like my own, fresh flowers sprouted from the branch with little butterflies circling the tip.
‘Darling daughter,’ she said softly with a smile, holding out a hand towards me. A halo of light sat behind her head.
I stepped closer until I was inches away from her hand. ‘Are you truly the Wildmother?’ I asked, but not because I doubted her but because I doubted my trial was complete.
She gave a single nod of her head and hummed, ‘I am she, child.’ Melora glanced over to the fiend, his body still and unresponsive. ‘I must commend you on your ability to vanquish the Darkling. He’s an agent of darkness sent by the archfey of the Summer court, instructed to do such wicked things to my darlings. But you, you defeated him and for that I thank you.’
I shook my head and replied, ‘I didn’t do anything, not really.’
The Wildmother knelt before me and reached out to touch my cheek, ‘You were terrified yet, you set aside your emotions to aid your friends and defeated a wicked fiend. If you truly think that is nothing my dear, I beg you to reconsider,’ she said.
‘But, I never had the strength back then to aid my brother or his hunting party. It was my fault the Darkling found my tribe to begin with. An act like that shouldn’t be rewarded, however brave.’
‘Everything happens for a reason, little one.’ Melora said softly, ‘But it is up to you to learn from the mistakes you make along the way.’
I went to open my mouth to argue, but closed it again to not anger the deity.
The Wildmother took back her hand and balled her fist before, ‘Give me your hand,’ she said and I followed her command. She placed her hand over mine, pressing a cold stone in my palm.
‘What’s this?’ I asked, smoothing the surface of the fluorite crystal.
Melora stood, once again towering over before, ‘That is the Calling Stone. Listen to it well, you may find you’ll hear voices from home,’ she said, her warmth radiating through me, ‘Heed my words carefully, child. There is still time to aid your tribe, be patient. May my light shine upon you always, my dear.’
The sacred relic now sat in my palm, which meant by trial had concluded at long last. The Wildmother disappeared into the bright light she’d entered on, returning the throne room to its original weathered state.
I turned the crystal over in my hand and whispered, ‘I wish to see my brother. Please show me, Nolas.’ The surface of the stone rippled showing an image of a forest, but unlike Niverson’s Grove, this felt similar, almost homely. I recognised every communal hut and each decoration that clung to the trees. The image shifted until I saw the Mother tree once more, this time with a satyr kneeling before it and praying. I couldn’t make out his words but I knew that man instantly.
‘Nolas.’
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