"There!" Caley cried out joyfully from within a small cave. "Looks like I found it first."
Tuwa blew hot smoke out of his nose in annoyance, but Pwai rushed to congratulate her. The fyri had taken Larissa around Celtyrion's wood for the first hour of the morning, looking for the Staff of Lumi, an old relic wielded by the forebearers of Lynesse's kin. The nepheri were born out of the fruit of the trees born from the Myri tree itself. Among the hundred, there were seven that grew tall and strong. The staff was constructed out of the tree that bore Lynesse's family. Lumi was Lynesse's father, the first one to be born of their clan and wood.
A giant black oak grew over a grotto of cracked grey stone. Tuwa led the way, his glow illuminating the walls. The fire spirit was impatient and rushed ahead, forcing Larissa to run after him. "Wait," she called out meekly. I can't see, Tuwa. Please wait." She tried to keep her voice low, lest she wants to wake the babe in her arms.
"It's not that far," Tuwa said with only a dash of harshness.
The short tunnel opened into a cavern, the interior about the size of a cottage. The floor sloped down, the previous inhabitants digging three feet deep to make more room within, perhaps. In the center, the Caley and Pwai were uncovering the staff buried by decaying foliage. Pwai seemed to be doing most of the work; his rings spun faster as he summoned weak gusts of wind to blow the mess off. Above, the morning light sieved through the dry, parched roots of the oak and cracked stone.
The wood of the Staff of Lumi was bone white. At one end, the branches curled around a white crystal the size of a small melon. It was about five feet in length.
"Well?" urged Caley, excited, "go on and take it, mistress." Larissa took hold of the haft; the staff was lighter than she expected. She felt it pulse in her hands. For a moment, her veins flashed white under her skin. Father's staff … a thought that was not her own said. Within her stirred Lynesse, and the ancient one's restlessness seem to draw from Larissa's own strength. My heart's beating hard. Larissa's legs felt weak. "I … " Larissa began to announce. "I must sit." She sat against the wall of the cave, breathing to calm herself.
The fyri looked at each other confused. Caley pointed at her bleeding hand under the babe and gave an exaggerated gasp.
"Oh!" Caley uttered, "why did you not say anything? You're hurt!"
"I am sorry for keeping quiet," she said though she was exhausted. "It is all right."
"It does not look so, but I can err," said Pwai as he flew to Larissa's fingers, which were caked with dry blood. Larrisa moved the babe gently to her other arm, putting the staff aside. She opened her palm to let Pwai and Caley see her injury.
"We could have helped earlier," Caley lectured.
"I am sorry," Larissa apologized. Larissa had a habit of apologizing profusely.
"Perhaps we had scorned her into silence," mused Pwai with a hint of guilt in his voice.
Caley beckoned Tuwa over.
"We shall handle this, Pwai," said Tuwa, making his bone spikes ignite into orange flame. Pwai flew away and sat on a mushroom.
Larissa let fright show on her face. When Caley saw this, she gave her a smile.
"This won't hurt, mistress," Caley assured.
"Won't hurt much," corrected Tuwa.
Caley sighed in irritation at Tuwa's tactlessness. Larissa bit her lips, anticipating the pain, though little, Tuwa had promised.
The two began to work their energies. Caley's wings fluttered rapidly, her pollen dusting over Larissa's wound; the blood seemed to turn purple, taking on the color of the fyri. The pain's fading, thought Larissa, keeping her hand as still as she could. After three coats of her pollen, Caley flew back to let Tuwa do his part.
"Be gentle," said Caley with lazy contempt, "or at least try to."
"I can be gentle," grumbled Tuwa lowly.
Tuwa pierced Larissa's palm, starting at one end of the gash. It felt only like a sewing needle's prick, despite the spike's jagged edge. Tuwa's fire caused no harm either; there was only a comforting warmth as Tuwa dragged his blade down the length of the cut. The purple pollen sizzled and turned into sweet-smelling lilac smoke. When Tuwa finished sealing the cut, he leaped off Larissa's palm. God in the Stars, thought Larissa with astonishment, looking at the steaming scar on her hand. It's as if though it is fully— pain shot out when she tried to make a fist too fast.
"It still needs to heal," said Caley, watching her wince. "The pleasure is ours," she said in a way that goaded gratitude.
"Thank you," Larissa said hurriedly. "Thank you for healing me."
The babe awoke, crying. After a while, Larissa found that the babe needed only to be fed. She let the child have her breasts. The babe warmed Larissa's heart, looking upon him. She loved how his eyes were mismatched; one was brown, the other as grey as storm clouds. In Virtera of old, such an oddity meant the mother was adulterous; the God in the Stars cursing the child with eyes of both husband and lover. In the days of now, it was only superstition, a thing for ribald songs rather than sermons.
The fyri were silent, finding fungus to lie down on and wait for their mistress to finish taking care of the babe. They did not even argue loudly as they often did, keeping their voices to a low murmur, their discussions civil and mundane.
Larissa yawned, hiding her mouth out of politeness. She began to worry about the child getting cold.
"Tuwa," she said softly. The fiery spirit floated over to her. He crossed his arms and bristled like a soldier awaiting his next order. "If it troubles you not," Larissa began, "can you start a fire?"
"Easily," said Tuwa with a proud grin that showed his fangs. He turned to the other two fyri. "Fetch me some wood," he ordered them, "our mistress demands a fire." Caley kicked Pwai's feet lightly, who looked about to fall asleep on his lofty mushroom.
The two fyri flew outside through the cracks in the roof of the grotto.
"May I ask," said Larissa to Tuwa, "why do you not return to your sphere like Badzabi?" The question had lingered on her mind as soon as they pledged their loyalty to her.
Tuwa shrugged. "Our ancestors escaped out of the Plytantrix's Prison long ago."
"A prison?" Larissa uttered. In one of her dreams flying with Badzabi, she had heard the name Plytantrix before. The meaning was lost to her, however.
Tuwa nodded, shaking yellow embers out of his fire-like hair. "We were created by who you humans call the God in the Stars," Tuwa scratched his chin. "The other two don't believe that. Caley and her family would have told you different. They believe the God in the Stars found and enslaved us."
"What does Pwai believe?" Larissa asked.
"Either what Caley or I believe," Tuwa said, smirking. "Or so he says. I think he knows the truth, but he's too much of a damnable craven to speak his mind." He snorted derisively.
As his mistress, I wonder if he'll tell me. Larissa would not force the words out of Pwai, however. She knew what it was like to be timid.
Tuwa went on. "When the fyri of old, Badzabi, and all the other beasts turned against the God in the Stars. All but one."
"Plytantrix?" The memory of the dream came back in fragments. Larissa was beginning to remember what Badzabi had told her; he must have told her the whole story before. Yet she let Tuwa finish; she could never interrupt such a story.
"Yes," said Tuwa bitterly, "we would have won if it wasn't for him. After the God in the stars had his victory, Plytantrix designed and built a prison for the rebels." Tuwa gently landed on the floor. He kneeled and cupped a hand full of dirt. "As proud as he was," said Tuwa, letting the grains fall between his fingers, "his work wasn't perfect." Pwai and Caley returned, twigs and grass under their arms. "In truth, Badzabi and the rest still stuck in the crystal prison can escape only partially and temporarily."
As mysterious and exciting as the legend was, Larissa felt sleep weighing heavy on her. Her eyelids flicked open when she noticed they were closed. In her arms, the babe had fallen asleep already. Tuwa went on—unaware that she was only half-listening—until Caley interrupted him.
Exhaustion shut Larissa's eyes and kept them closed, hearing Caley refute something Tuwa said. "… no," she was saying, "it was my grandfather who found the way out … yours, Tuwa, merely helped."
The argument between the fyri did nothing hinder her slumber. Someone shook her shoulder lightly, whispering gentle words to wake her.
"Issa," they said. A boy's voice it was; there was only one person who called her Issa. "Reyen?" she said lazily. The light of the tiny fire built by the fyri reflected off the boy's sweat-shined pate. He looked exhausted as if he had been marching. She rubbed her eyes with her wrist and checked on the child. He was still fast asleep. She smiled at Reyen. "I'm so pleased knowing you're safe." She'd squeeze him if not for the babe in her arms.
Reyen flushed and he tried to hide his smile. "You didn't have to wait too long in here, did you?" Around his neck, he wore the white diamond Ferangis had shown them, its golden light pulsing within. "It's odder than it looks," said Reyen quietly, when he saw her gazing at the diamond. "Sometimes I hear it whisper. Sometimes I feel a gust that's not truly there, pushing me towards … well, you." Remembering his repulsion with the trinket, he took it off quickly and placed it in his pocket. "It's like having a bloody ghost tickle you when you were it," he mumbled, shuddering.
The fyri had hidden from Reyen; Larissa could see Caley peek her head from behind a gnarled root. Tuwa hid behind the boy as if he was ready to spring on him. "It is all right, Tuwa, Caley, Pwai," she called to the roots and rocks. "He's a friend of mine."
Reyen twisted his face, looking in the direction of which Larissa spoke. "Whom are you talking to?" the boy asked, confused.
The fyri revealed themselves, fluttering out to meet Reyen.
"A fine sword, that is," mused Tuwa, glancing at the short sword at Reyen's hip. Reyen was taken aback. "I-It was made for a royal guard at Winter's Throne," said Reyen, "or at least that's what the steel trader told Roy." Reyen tried to speak as if he was talking to another man, but he could not hide the shock on his face. The boy looked as if though a cow was talking to him.
"Does our little warrior have a name?" Caley asked as she took a seat on his shoulder and swung a leg over the other. Reyen chuckled, half-irritated. "You are calling me little?" The fyri giggled at his retort. Reyen sighed, "I'm Reyen."
The fyri all said their names at once; Reyen seemed not to catch any of them or even who said what. They quietly reveled in his confusion.
Larissa stood up. Reyen offered to take the sleeping babe from her arms. "Is Pyran with you?" Larissa asked Reyen as he took the child.
"They followed behind," said Reyen, "They're probably out there now."
"I won't keep them waiting," Larissa said, picking up the Staff of Lumi. "Shall we go then?"
Outside, Larissa had to shield her eyes from the sun after being in the darkness of the grotto. Pyran fed his horse, the great black destrier she had seen last night when the raiders attacked Ralmes. Reyen's father was there as well. When he looked at her, she froze for a moment, remembering the night he had tried to steal away with her at the Well of Blood. But he had also helped them escape the village, to be sure. The man sensed her discomfort and quickly averted his eyes.
The weapon on his back appalled her, making her look around and almost forcing her back into the cave. The Alaunt, Larissa thought with a shiver, why does he have it? Does that mean she's here, too? No, that would be impossible. She had witnessed Ladnavia buried. They had laid the starry scarlet cloth over her cold body, bereft of an even colder soul. The crossbow was never recovered, Larissa remembered, had it been stolen and thrown onto the waves of the market to be bought and sold? No doubt it was her cousin's crossbow; the red paint on the wooden parts had faded, but the stars engraved in the metal were easy to see. Even if those had faded, the most obvious feature still stood out: the barking dog's head wrought at the front of it.
Reyen brought the babe to Roy, who took him and tenderly placed the back of his hand on the babe's forehead. When Pyran saw her, he left the destrier's side. Standing before Larissa, he knelt and bowed his head. "The disaster at Ralmes," the nepher began, "the fault is mine. I could not read the Waif's movements with my bowls. She has learned how to distort my vision. She has nearly mastered all of our kind's mysteries. I should not have underestimated her." He looked up to meet her eyes. "It will not happen again."
Larissa was nonplussed. "All is forgiven," she said, hoping they were the right words.
The fyri, who were sitting in her cloak's hood, suddenly flew out to greet the nepher.
"Pyran!" They shouted all at once. They must know him by his voice.
They began to circle him excitedly, murmuring in the nepheri tongue.
The slightest of smiles passed through Pyran's lips. He responded in nepheri, the words making the little spirits titter. Seeing the joy in Pyran's mien warmed Larissa's heart; the nepher was not without mirth.
"An old friend rouses more old friends," Pyran mused, rising. He turned to Larissa. "We must head for Dil'vanzi," he informed. "Ferangis and Vyncent will meet us there."
"We are to travel separately?" Larissa asked.
Pyran gave a stiff nod. "It is what Ferangis willed. We will travel north, through Cazay, and head south towards the city. Ferangis and Vyncent will head east and sail across the Strait of Meid, from Roum into Iriaj."
Roy spoke up. "We should find a home for this child, should we not? I know of a city northeast of here."
"Do you speak of Winecastle?" Pyran inquired.
"Aye," confirmed Roy, "that's the one."
Pyran did not argue. "To Winecastle," he said.
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