Dark Fey Collection E-Book

Cynthia A. Morgan

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

All three books in 'Dark Fey', a series of fantasy novels by Cynthia A. Morgan, now in one volume!

The Reviled: From a young age, Ayla has learned about the mortal enemy of all Fey of the Light: The cruel Reviled Fey. Gairynzvl is a Fey of the Light who was abducted by the Reviled when he was young; now, he is one of them. Lurking in the shadows, he lingers near Ayla and secretly whispers to her. The mystery he presents is irresistible, but Ayla knows the Reviled Fey are devious. Should she trust him, or will he tear her world apart?

Standing In Shadows: Gairynzvl escaped the captivity of The Reviled Fey, but the cost of his freedom was higher than he ever imagined. Now, he wants to return to their dark realm, and he wants Ayla and his new Fey of the Light friends to join him. Many perils await them, but to rescue childfey who were abducted by the Reviled like he was, Gairynzvl is ready to risk everything. Will the Fey of the Light risk war with The Reviled, and who will join Gairynzvl's quest into the realm of shadows and fear?

Breaking Into The Light: Gairynzvl and his band of Liberators are not only changing lives: they are fulfilling ancient prophecies and proving long-accepted beliefs inaccurate. Those who have lived in the Light all their lives are suddenly faced with unavoidable questions. How is peace achieved? Can Light unite with Darkness? Can all the atrocities the Dark Ones have inflicted really be forgiven? The Fey of the Light have a deadly choice to make: ignore the emerging truth, or risk the tranquility of their realm and go to war to offer the Reviled a chance to change.

Leseprobe

Dark Fey Collection

THE COMPLETE SERIES

CYNTHIA A. MORGAN

Copyright (C) 2022 Cynthia A. Morgan

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2022 by Next Chapter

Published 2022 by Next Chapter

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

Contents

The Reviled

Standing in Shadows

Breaking Into The Light

About the Author

The Reviled

DARK FEY BOOK 1

Dedicated to my Loving Family and Friends

Who have supported me

For many years.

And

Special Thanks to Jena Wolgemuth

For her tireless enthusiasm and motivational encouragement.

I am truly Blessed.

An Introduction

Welcome to mythical, enchanted forest of Jyndari and the Village of Hwyndarin where The Fey of the Light, who are Light loving Fey, reside.

Where there is Light there is also darkness and the Fey of the Light live in careful vigilance, protecting themselves from the Dark Fey who are known by many names, such as the Fallen, the Dark Ones, and most particularly The Reviled. They live in a realm of darkness and shadow known as the Uunglarda.

Although their two realms exist in close proximity, most Fey of the Light have never seen an actual Dark Fey and many Dark Fey only encounter very young Fey of the Light, yet crossings and abductions happen every day.

As their temples are desecrated, homes are pillaged and plundered, and the peaceful tranquility so important to the Fey of the Light is repeatedly shattered, the Fey Guard stand as protectors. They are mighty in battle and fierce in their vigilance to protect the fragile balance of life for the peaceful Fey of Light.

All Fey are born with special abilities, or gifts, such as telepathy, empathy, discernment, or the ability to dream walk. Many also have a gift of magic, though not all, such as spell-casting, enchantment, light bending or element wielding. While the Fey of the Light are beautiful and live harmoniously, the Reviled Fey are the opposite. They revere darkness and fill their lives with cruelty and violence, but all Reviled Fey begin their lives as Fey of the Light. The change comes only if they are abducted as childfey and forced to undergo the Integration, a process of intentional neglect and cruelty designed to twist them away from the Light.

This level of horror is not incorporated into the Dark Fey Trilogy simply for the sake of it. One does not need to open the pages of a book to discover the unthinkable, as the darkness typically embodied in fantasy genre stories by some terrifying being or creature is very much alive in our own reality and this is the underlying motivation for the darkness woven into Dark Fey. It is based in great part on the terrifying, yet true-life events of the Lord's Resistance Army or LRA, a rebel militant group in Uganda that has for over 20 years abducted children from their homes; forcing them to commit horrifying acts of violence against each other and their own people. These children and other child soldiers like them suffer a very real Integration and, like the childfey of Jyndari, they endure violence and cruelty at the hands of truly sadistic overlords. This is how the Reviled came to life and became the horrifyingly cruel beings depicted in Dark Fey.

This story shares the Power of Hope, Acceptance and Forgiveness through the ideal that you can change the world, if you take Positive Action to Create Change by doing what is Right.

Many times during your journey through the Dark Fey Trilogy, you will encounter words that seem to be capitalized for no apparent reason; yet, it should be noted, these capitalizations are anything but random. They mark either proper nouns, such as Fey of the Light, the Temple, Fey Guards, the Reviled, or the Light, which is not simply a glimmering of illumination, but a connotation that is highly important in the spirituality of Fey. If a word holds specific meaning, it may also be capitalized, such as See, Know, or Understand. You may encounter such words when they are in reference to a Fey gift, such as telepathy, empathy, or discernment, and they carry significant weight so, in order to emphasize their importance, capitalization is used.

Join me as we embark into this realm of Light and Dark. Allow your imagination take over as you experience the Jyndari forest and the Fey of the Light's struggle with the Reviled. Let the Light reach outward from these pages and draw you into on a journey that promises not only to enchant, but to change your way of thinking.

Preface

The only way to achieve Peace is to become Peace.

Not a day had gone by during Ayla's childhood years when she had not been told the tales of The Reviled, tales which were meant to frighten her into absolute vigilance to always be wary of the darkness where the Reviled could lie in wait. She learned how they came in the hours of the night to steal away the innocent or to ruin the pure. Takers of the Innocent, Child Wraiths, Corruptors of the Beloved, Dark Ones; the Reviled had many names and she knew them all because she was different, set apart from other Fey by her innate abilities, which were given, it was said, by the Wisest of the Wise. She would be a light for her people, a Guardian of Cherubs. Her course was set from her earliest years.

It had not taken long for her parents and attendants to determine that she had remarkable talents unlike those of other Fey children. She could distinguish truth from lies as a falcon sees its prey in the long grasses. She could look into the eyes and see the soul, discerning beyond all the complications of guise. Empathy ran so deep within her that she could, under circumstances of extreme duress, take on the pain of another and ease their suffering. These gifts first drew attention to her, but they also set her apart and isolated her from the others.

Even from her nursery years, the tears or hurts of any of her playmates would draw her to them like a moth to flame. She would sit quietly by and their crying would subside or she would hold their hand and their pains would diminish. These first indications of her extraordinary capabilities brought her under the scrutiny of many, but ultimately led her toward the Temple.

AylaYna, the only daughter of AyannaDvnna and Bryndan, grew up in the village of Hwyndarin, an artisan's sanctuary set deep in the primordial forests of Jyndari, Land of the Fey. Here the breathtaking handcrafts of hundreds of Jyndari's finest artisans accompanied her throughout her childing years. As a childfey she was guided by scholars who filled her mind with images of good and evil, black and white, Darkness and Light; there were no gray areas, no middle grounds. She knew only truth. While her friends sat in cheery classrooms and learned the skills that would set their lives into balance and equanimity, she learned about the secret arts, about incantations and magic, which were hidden from all but a privileged few.

She learned how to battle evil with the words of the Ancients using intonations in her own language, the Common Tongue, as well as in Dlalth, the desecrated language of the Reviled. She practiced her growing skills in daily sessions that would leave her both mentally and physically exhausted, but her ability with incantations could not be left to chance. They were a matter of life or death. Day after long day, she honed her skill with artful words, as well as her talents of healing through empathy, by visiting the sick and the aged and she discovered that the use of these healing gifts would drain her own energy by an equal proportion to that which she used to ease or cure. As a result, she needed to also learn how to protect herself from her own empathic inclinations; how to use this particular gift with deliberate caution so she would not endanger herself. She also studied the mystical practices of Seeing.

Her closest friend, Nayina, learned to sew fine silks and embroider with gossamer threads that mimicked sunlight. She was taught to play the flute and the magical Fey instrument of mind and emotion called the Hudarin. She learned to weave the magic of grace and serenity into the embodiment of happiness, which would give her life purpose and stability, but AylaYna was sent off on daily treks to the Temple to learn about the banished and the lost. She was taught no other trade or skills and she lived each day with the shadow of fear.

As a youth, images of Dark Fey, those who were lost by the consequences of their own foul deeds, haunted her dreams. She slept little during these frightening years and read often. She read the ancient texts about the Fallen who could not love, could not create joy or light or bring peace and harmony, could not admire beauty or talent without avarice, could not feel compassion for another and could not bring life into the world in the form of innocence. She learned that the Dark Fey could not reproduce, so they would come in the shadows to steal away unattended childfey, taking them back to their dark realm. Those childfey, once taken, were condemned and lost as surely as their abductors.

The Dark Ones lived in the realm of eternal darkness, The Uunglarda, and could only enter into the realm of Light, into Jyndari, through portals that existed in the unlighted shadows of nightfall. They had many portals of entrance. Any deep shadow could conceal a Dark One and the Fey of the Light were vigilant in setting lamps, torches and candles so no corner stood in obscurity. Mirrors in darkness, unlighted wells, the dying embers of a fire that stood unguarded or the very rare faerie ring that no longer flowered gave the Fallen a place to cross. They came in darkness, they brought darkness with them, and they were the epitome of everything that was not light, bright, and beautiful.

During Ayla's middling years, those years between innocent childhood and responsible adulthood, she was given a tenuous measure of freedom. With the majority of her education completed, she was required to attend her lessons in the Temple less frequently and could embark upon those more immediate concerns of laughter, flirtation and youthful love. She was given the happy task of guarding the village's childfey during their play hours and was even called upon during special occasions to watch over the young ones of different families while the adults were away. It was her gifts which set her apart and which led her to become a Guardian, it was her education and knowledge of the Dark Fey that empowered her to take up such an important task at so young an age, and it was her own joy in being with the beautifully innocent and uncomplicated that made her not mind such a loss to her own social affairs.

ChapterOne

The afternoon was warm and full of birdsong. The childfey she guarded were playing contentedly in the gamesyard and Ayla, along with her friend Nayina, was resting in the shade of a broad archway of flowering wisteria. The bordering forest encircling the gamesyard on all but one side was quiet on that unusually warm day, as if all its myriad inhabitants lay resting during the heat of the day. Its dark canopy spread invitingly cool, green shadows upon the ground at its feet, enticing even the most wary to step into its shadowed depths. Ayla and her friend sipped refreshing mint tea, fanned themselves absently with their translucent wings, and spoke of unimportant matters. The day was calm and quiet, filled with giggles and warmth, yet, unexpectedly, a fleeting shadow caught Ayla's glimmering amber eyes.

Turning her head sharply in the direction of the forest, she could not disguise her distraction as she sought the elusive image at the border of the woodland. Nayina paused as well and turned to watch her friend with curiosity, fully aware of her gift of sight and the fact that she saw far more than the average Fey. When she looked, Nayina could see nothing except green shadow and shaggy undergrowth, but Ayla's eyes were fixed on something and her mouth fell open in a gape.

“What do you see Ay?” Nayina inquired softly. Her friend shook herself and turned back to face her with a shrug and a smirk.

“Nothing, I guess,” she replied offhandedly, taking her glass in hand once more and bringing the cool beverage to her lips. “A shadow, a flutter, probably nothing more than a deer,” she offered more obligingly as she turned back to look once again upon the playing younglings. Nayina accepted this explanation of her odd behavior, but she did not fail to notice her friend's repeatedly furtive glances toward the same direction of woodland where she had previously gazed so intently and she did not fail to see the puzzlement in her expressive amber eyes.

She said nothing more about it, but Ayla found it difficult to keep her thoughts on those whom she guarded. As the afternoon waned and parents came to collect their wee cherubs, Ayla and her friend bid each other good eventide and went toward their separate homes. Yet even as she traversed the sparkling alley of cedars, which led from the daylight nursery where she spent much of her time, and the diminutive cottage she called home on the borders of the village, she saw and heard little. Her thoughts were turned inward as she mulled over what she had seen or, at least, what she thought she had seen.

A Dark One.

Shaking her head, she scoffed aloud. It could not have been. The Dark Ones could not enter the realm of Jyndari during daylight, it was impossible, despite the fact that what she had seen had been immersed in the green shadows of the forest and protected from the rays of the sun by the duskiness of the woods. She had never heard of a Dark One being seen during the day tide, so it certainly could not have been one of the Reviled. She argued with her own thoughts, turning the possibilities over and over in her mind, shifting her opinion first in one direction and then another.

What she had seen, what she thought she saw, had been everything she ever imagined a Dark One to be: dreadful in appearance, menacing in action, demon-like, drawing shadows unto itself like smoke filling a room, but she had only seen a fleeting shadow. For one brief moment it lingered in the darkness of the undergrowth like a wolf, slinking secretly along its way. It could have been anything. Shuddering involuntarily, she shook her head again. Certainly it had been a wolf or a deer. Surely her fearful mind, filled with years of dark imagery and whispers of dread, had seen only the fleeting shadow of an animal in the dim light beneath the trees and had invented the remainder.

She spent her eventide alone, making certain to light candles in every room and out in her small garden, as well. She sat in silence and studied the writings contained within an aged, little book: the Dark Texts, wherein were contained the collected warnings about, signs of, and protections from the Reviled. Many times during her solitary read, her head snapped up at an unexpected sound or suspected movement, but each time it was only her fear that haunted her. At last, soothed by her research and her repeated self-assurances of her own silliness, she went to bed.

The balm of early summer advanced and Ayla kept her regular schedule of morning practices and learning at the Temple, luncheons with her closest and, in truth, her only friend, Nayina, and afternoons filled by the giggles and coos of her precious, entrusted ones. After those responsibilities were discharged, she would often attempt to join in the revelry of other youthful Fey who were closest to her in age, joining small gatherings or buoyant parties during the coolth of eventide, but very often she would return home afterward disappointed by her own inabilities to connect with or even understand the complexities of youthful jocularity and flirtation. Ever more often she felt doomed to a life alone with her fears and suspicions.

“I promise, you will like him,” Nayina coaxed her one steamy afternoon in the variable shade of their now green and flowerless Wisteria arch near the gamesyard. “He is just your age and he is quiet, like you.”

Ayla listened to her friend's optimistic enticements, but grimaced. “Perfect. We shall spend the evening staring at our feet in utter silence.”

Her friend sighed impatiently at her cynical remark, but Ayla conceded. “I shall go. I must make a greater effort, I am completely aware of it. Besides, I have never actually been to Summerfest before. Must I dress in anything special or bring anything?”

Nayina could scarce contain her excitement. It was not very often her sheltered friend agreed to join in during celebration time, especially if it also meant entertaining the attentions of someone of the opposite sex. “It is not a masque, just a party; an excuse to go out under the twilight, dance and make merry. If you want to bring something, bring some of your honey mead you are always drinking in private. It is made for sharing, after all.”

Ayla leaned closer and drew a secretive, diaphanous wing around them. “What is he like?” she queried with open interest. She had precious little experience with malefey. Few found her odd upbringing appealing and even fewer found her quiet, reserved nature tempting. Nayina smiled, because, although Ayla was a beautiful young Fey, she had never had a proper suitor and she felt this was unfair and unjustified. Ayla was extremely intelligent and interesting to talk to and she was as inclined to mirth and joviality as any youth. One simply had to gain her trust.

“Oh, he is so very nice, Ay, not conceited or arrogant in any way. He is a book-learner, like you. His parents sent him off to the Temple to study the Ceremonies of the Shifting Seasons and the Rites of Entrance and such as that. They dedicated him to be a Celebrant.”

Ayla listened intently, her thoughts fascinated by the possibilities this young Fey presented. Perhaps he would be the one to finally understand her. “And is he fair?” she whispered coyly, receiving in answer a fervent nod of approval from her eager friend.

“He is so fair! Blonde hair so bright it is nearly platinum, eyes so blue they are said to be the rarest shade of cerulean, and his wings! Oh Ay, you will simply melt when you see him!” They giggled in secretive delight and unfurled their wings to let in the trace of afternoon breeze. The remainder of the day was spent in frivolous chatter and Ayla was truly happy as she fluttered home to prepare for what promised to be her first pleasantly memorable gathering.

The vale selected for Summerfest was on the boundary of the village, set against the backdrop of Veryn Falls, a waterfall that plummeted from the peaks of the Ryvyn Mountains. Splashing from the heights hundreds of feet above, Veryn Falls' crystalline waters were cushioned by a multitude of moss-covered bastions and ivy-laden arches before it fell into an emeraldine pool at its base that stretched out its bountiful hand and flowed through the village, supplying water and life to all. The broad clearing around its precincts sparkled with hundreds of tiny lanterns strung through the surrounding forest canopy and was brightened by cheerful fires and glowing torches scattered throughout. Tables of food and vessels of drink were placed advantageously, musicians played the flute and the drum, lacewings flitted and darted, and the entire area was alive with palpable joy and anticipation.

Ayla and Nayina arrived somewhat later than expected, for even as excited as she was Ayla needed quite a few last minute reassurances before she agreed to set off with her friend. As they crossed the glowing alleys of cedars and beech, they talked about the young malefey they would meet that evening and the promise of flirtations they would have. Although their discourse was light, Ayla's thoughts were troubled. She was aware of a presence pursuing them. It kept to the shadows deep in the forest and she perceived it more with her mind than her eyes, yet it was undeniably present. She said nothing to her friend, half convinced that it was her own nervousness that set her on edge and made her fear the darkness around them, but when they arrived, distracted by her unsettling musings, Ayla hovered shyly behind her amiable friend and listened, without joining in, to her vivacious banter.

“Ay, this is Mardan. Mardan, may I introduce my best friend, AylaYna.”

She had fallen into her own thoughts and had not been aware of his approach or of Nayina's polite conversation with him, but suddenly and without fore notice Ayla found herself confronted by the most handsome young Fey she had ever seen. His blond hair, cropped unusually short and full of curls, was nearly white in the sparkling light around them and his eyes were indeed the most breathtaking sky-blue imaginable, stealing her breath away as well as her voice. She bowed awkwardly to him as he smiled and inclined to her, but she could think of nothing to say.

“She is a bit shy, but if you are patient, you will not be disappointed.” Nayina leaned nearer to him and spoke softly in Mardan's delightfully pointed ear. He smiled graciously and reached for Ayla's hand.

“I hate parties. Shall we go sit by the falls and watch the lacewings?” he suggested with conspicuous courtesy and, without waiting for her to either agree or disagree, led her off in the direction of Veryn Falls. Ayla glanced back at her friend with a raised brow of surprise and a delighted smile and Nayina turned away with a giggle of glee, hoping for the best.

Mardan's hand was warm over her own and did not tremble as hers did with distinct nervousness. He said nothing as they swept over the party towards the softly 'plashing waters of the falls and she stole the moment to inspect him with an inquisitive gaze. He wore festive clothes; a silken shirt of silvery-violet and leather pants of deep emerald green, the vivid colors accentuating the whiteness of his magnificent, white, feathered wings. Of course she knew all malefey had such powerful wings, sometimes twice as long as they were tall, but even with such knowledge she could not take her eyes from him; he was tall and strong of stature and simply breathtaking in his male beauty.

They alighted on the cool, damp moss surrounding the falls and she smiled at the refreshing touch of the viridian waters trapped within the plush carpet of green beneath her feet. Mardan looked down upon her and smiled as well, patiently waiting for her to breach the silence. She stammered uncertainly, then shook her head.

“I am sorry; I am simply not very good at conversation,” she apologized with a self-deprecating sigh, expecting him to make a concurring, derogatory remark, but he only shook his head and continued to stare down at her with an amiable grin.

“Neither am I really.” He had been told by Nayina that she was as funny and light-spirited as any other Fey, but her upbringing by gloomy theologians had made her almost unbearably cautious. He understood this aspect of the scholar's impact on a young person, having experienced it firsthand himself, and was determined to draw her out in spite of her uncertainties.

Watching the reflected light of the falls dance over her coppery tresses and glimmer in her amber eyes, he tried not to notice her painfully inept flirting ability. She was lovely; there could be no denying the fact, and he did not mind her reserved nature, as it was far more agreeable than the overzealous bubblings and blatherings of some. Slender and delicately graced, her ivory complexion hinted at the color of the palest rose; her lacy, gossamer wings were alluringly elegant and her mannerisms were demure and poised.

“Great, we can sit in silence and stare at our feet,” she murmured in a rueful jest, anticipating that at any moment he would excuse himself from her disagreeable company, but her sarcasm made him laugh and the sound melted her heart. She glanced up at him in surprise and then smiled dimly.

“I would have no qualms about staring at your feet,” he hinted cautiously, seeking any measure of reassurance that she was pleased by his attention and he was not disappointed. She grasped his hand more securely and turned a coy shoulder to him, her wings fluttering in her delight and this simple indication of her contentment was all he needed.

They walked for a long while around the emeraldine pool at the base of the falls and then sat on a nearby bench of marble and rose-quartz stone, watching the lacewings dart and flutter in the sparkling light. He spoke softly to her of his training at the Temple and his parent's hopes that he would become a Celebrant, a high priest of ceremonies. She shared her own unusual upbringing. She made little mention of her uniquely special abilities, but explained her specific training in relation to the Dark Ones in preparation of her life as a Guardian.

They spoke softly; they sat closely, and they shared the eventide quietly as the revelry went on without them. His touch became lighter, more captivating, and her smiles grew more blushing and breathless. The eventide's breezes were cooler than was comfortable so near to the falls, but they were reluctant to leave such pleasing surroundings so he sheltered her from the chill with his broad, arched wings attentively. Several times, when silence fell between them, he gazed down upon her ardently and had to force himself back into conversation.

In what seemed like moments the midnight horns called to all, announcing the end of the day and the beginning of night and she knew, as the lights faded, safety indoors was essential. Could it be possible they had spent hours in each other's company rather than minutes? She gazed up at him and sighed.

“We must go,” she said with evident disappointment in her voice. It was the last thing in the world she wished to do. Mardan stood and took her by both hands, returning her gaze with a warm smile.

“I shall not dispute that which you know so well; I shall only point out that such a pronouncement makes me exceedingly sad,” he said in a heavy tone and she closed her eyes, awash in emotions utterly unfamiliar to her.

“You are so poetic,” she sighed under her breath, almost unaware of the fact that she had actually spoken the words aloud and he smiled even more affectionately at her.

“May I have the honor of escorting you to your door?” he asked quietly and she nodded without a sound. They left the party together and crossed the alleyways with deliberate slowness, loathe to part from each other. When they reached her small cottage he circled above with her, unwilling for their evening to end in spite of the fact that everywhere lanterns were burning low and fires were being extinguished. He glanced down upon her unassuming cote and private little garden lined with herbs and edible flowers, filled with birdhouses and lanterns that were a picture of simplicity and the smile that had turned the corners of his handsome mouth all evening grew broader.

They alighted by the front door at last and he turned to capture her in his encircling wings before she could step back. He drew her hands, which he had scarcely released all evening, closer to his broad chest, nearer to his heart so she might feel it pounding, and gazed down upon her with all the warmth he felt glimmering in his brilliant eyes. She gasped at his close embrace and telling stare. She was foreign to love, but she did not pull away from him.

“I have a confession to make, Ayla.”

She gazed up at him curiously.

“I had a far more pleasant evening tonight than I anticipated.” His honesty brought a smile and a blush to her face.

“As did I, Mardan; I was so afraid…” her voice trailed off as he raised her hands to his lips and kissed her fingers softly. Her head spun with dizzying sensations at the warm touch of his mouth, her lashes fluttered and her vigilance faltered. Drawing her closer with his hands as well as his embracing wings, he leaned nearer to kiss her gently upon her lips. She froze at the unfamiliar contact, then melted.

His kiss lingered, tantalizing her for long, breathless moments, but it id not deepen. He kissed her lips, then traced the delicate contours of her cheeks and nose, teasing the sensitive pulse rushing at her temples, tempting her to lean back into his arms so he could whisper soft kisses over the arch of her neck. She shuddered with pleasure and a sigh rushed from her lips. Pausing, he drew back and breathed deeply, smiling at her after a moment of profound concentration to regain control over his own hammering senses. They stared at each other.

“I should like to see you again, AylaYna, very much so,” he said in a heavy tone and she beamed at him, overjoyed.

ChapterTwo

As the beaming light of a new day glimmered over the distant horizon, Ayla lay in her bed awake and starting at the ceiling as her thoughts replayed, over and again, every moment she had spent with Mardan. Nothing could compare to the joy she felt at that moment or the anticipation she suffered as she counted each minute until she could see him again. Although they had only parted hours before and he would be leaving Hwyndarin to return to his studies at the Temple, she knew she would see him again. She absolutely knew it and that knowledge was sufficient to see her through. At last, she closed her eyes and sighed with heavenly contentment.

Birdsong filled the air outside her open window as the light of morning stole closer through the emerald shadows of the forest and there was no immediate indication that she was not on her own. As she lay, curled beneath her bedcovers trying to capture a few moments of precious sleep, she became aware of a sensation she could neither name nor recognize. It was not fear she felt, yet her eyes snapped open at the discovery and she gazed around the dim room, repeatedly reassuring herself that all was well and that her night lantern was still aglow.

She could neither see nor hear anything amiss, yet her acute senses warned her of an indistinct presence. Stretching out her sensitivity like a panther scenting the air for prey, she failed to discover the precise reason for her uneasiness, but could not assure herself that there was no reason for it either. She searched the corners for shadows, but there were none. She raised herself up in her bed and peered out the open window into the garden, hoping to see the rosy glow of sunlight illuminating all, cascading through the dark green canopy, but shadows haunted the woods just beyond her garden gate.

Ayla stole to the window and gazed out, sensing the presence. There was no shred of doubt in her mind, but she could see no one, either in her bedchamber, in the garden outside or the woods beyond. Nevertheless, she stretched her senses a bit farther, ignoring the ever present warnings that swirled in her mind when she relied solely upon her empathic ability. It was equally advantageous and dangerous to use her senses to read another. She could often know a person's intentions far sooner than when she relied upon her five senses alone; however, one could never be certain of the emotional or mental stability of the one being read. She could easily become overwhelmed by powerful emotion, lose her thoughts as well as her self-control, and become entangled in the intensity surrounding her mind.

With a sudden stab of recognition, she realized that he was there. Although she had no physical proof that the presence she sensed was either male or female, she inscrutably knew it to be male. It was the same presence she had been aware of in the gamesyard of the nursery, the same one she had sensed before Summerfest. A lingering, stealthy shadow in the corner of her gaze made her turn her head sharply towards the dimly lit woodland, but she could see no one and after a moment longer the feeling disappeared.

He had gone.

“Who is he?” Nayina asked when Ayla related her experience a few days later during one of their luncheons. Ayla shrugged uncomfortably. There was always the possibility that she could be utterly wrong about her assumptions.

“I do not know. Maybe it is someone who likes me, but is even more shy than I.” She laughed at the thought and shook her head. “Or it may not be a person at all.”

“Just your imagination? I do not think so.” Nayina interjected with obvious skepticism.

“I could simply be misinterpreting what I am sensing. That is the trouble with 'reading', you can misunderstand what you think you are sensing. It could be nothing more than a self-aware animal, of which there are many, and I could be seeing it as something else.”

Nayina stared at her long-time friend with uncertainty, torn between impatience with her ambiguity and the natural inclination to be concerned about such an odd occurrence. Ayla often let her clairvoyant abilities run away with her, resulting in hurt feelings and humiliations, but if she was, indeed, sensing a person she had every reason to be wary. She suggested that a conversation with the Elders might help set her mind at ease, but Ayla shook her head fervently.

“I will not bring them into it, not yet anyway. You know as well as I do they would have the entire village in chaos before nightfall with secret investigations, questionings and Seeings. No, I will be sure of things myself before I do anything.” She knew she was looked upon with disparagement already and she did not, under any circumstance, wish to fuel the fire with wild reports of unseen phantoms haunting her garden. In such an event, the Elders could easily call her back to the Temple permanently, supposing her unstable in everyday life. She simply could not bear such a thought.

Nayina altered their conversation to a lighter theme and spoke about Mardan and her friend's feelings for him, as Ayla could be convinced to talk about him for hours with very little enticement. They spent the afternoon at the gamesyard watching over the little ones of the village and singing the praises of young, handsome malefey and not a trace of uneasiness crept into Ayla's mind to disrupt the pleasantness of their day.

Returning to her quiet cottage before sundown, she carefully lit all the evening lamps, prepared a small meal and then sat reading in her garden until the darkness of nighttide urged her indoors. Secured against intrusion by the steady glimmer of light filling her home, she decided to retire early. She was inexplicably curious to discover if the presence would return, if she would recognize it as the same male entity and if she might determine his intentions. She waited in silence upon her bed, her eyes closed in a feigned attempt to sleep as she counted the moments until they began to run together like sand in a time glass.

Outside her window, the eerie call of an owl echoed through the garden and she started violently in surprise at the sound, searching the corners of the dim room instinctively, but finding nothing. The owl called again, settling her nervousness, but intensifying her desire to discover the source of the presence haunting. She lay back upon her pillow once again. In her noiseless reverie she found her hearing was more attuned to her surroundings, her senses more vigilant. Every whisper of breeze across the emeraldine canopy, every fluttering insect that visited her window and every cry from the forest shook her to her very core. Yet as the night progressed and she struggled against sleep, no ethereal presence crept into her consciousness.

As the first light of dawn speckled the forest with the glimmering light of the sun peeking over the distant horizon Ayla sighed sharply in agitation. Successful only in causing herself undue stress and losing a full night's sleep, she rose wearily from her bed and stared with a bleary gaze out her window as she attempted to focus her thoughts and gather some residual strength to face the coming day. She would not tell anyone of her sleepless night or of her quest to discover the truth about her tormentor, as she had begun thinking of him. Such conversations would only bring her under further scrutiny and would serve no useful purpose. She would simply continue on and hope the next time she sensed his presence she would be better prepared to determine the truth about him.

Summer waned and autumn began to tinge the woodland with shades of gold, crimson and russet, and in response the Fey began preparations for the coming silence of winter. Additional vigilance had to be taken during the long months of wind and brutal weather. Walls that were weak had to be reinforced; roofs that were thin required supplementary thatching; warm, woolen cloaks had to be cleaned and prepared for extended months of use. The flocks of sheep and goats that provided milk, butter, cheese and wool had to be gathered into sheltering barns and stables. Many of the artifacts that graced walkways, byways and gathering groves were removed and stored in secure buildings or covered tightly with waxed, woolen tarps, which would keep out even the most drenching rain or seeking ice.

The nursery gamesyard was also closed down for the season. Toys and entertainments that delighted young Fey the remainder of the year were relocated indoors or covered for the season and the inner gardens where the childfey would play for the next several months were cleaned, refreshed and brightened with torches. Everyone helped to ensure all the necessary changes were ready before the cold hand of frost from the lands of the North descended upon Hwyndarin and this meant that Ayla got to see much of Mardan.

They were often found working together, side by side and vastly contented to be so. They would luncheon together along with Nayina and her companion Reydan. They would tarry in secret avenues of beech coppice in delightful solitude and they would fly hand in hand to Ayla's door nearly every evening, reluctant to part even for the few short hours of the night. Ayla's heart filled with affection for her attentive companion and almost before she could put a name to her own feelings her few close friends were whispering surreptitiously of her being in love.

One late October morning, Mardan found himself detained and unable to meet her before she set off for the nursery gardens where she was helping to decorate the interior walls with intricately folded and cut paper birds, butterflies, and all manner of fauna. They had already painted the walls a rainbow of bright colors and had only these last details to complete to make the gardens appropriately cheerful. Ayla waited on him as long as possible, but in the end had to proceed on her own through the sparse alleyways of pear and pine, and as she fluttered hurriedly through the crisp morning air she felt a tinge of apprehension slither over her.

Immediately she recognized the sensation. She was not alone, although no other Fey were within sight. She was concealed by the pear trees, which had not yet shed their crimson leaves. There were no homes along the way to which she could flee and the nursery was still some distance away. Even her friend Nayina lived too far away; she had no alternative but to stop, turn and face her tormentor.

She knew it was him instantly. The spine-tingling sensation of trepidation and inexplicable curiosity that accompanied his presence had become unnervingly familiar. Although she could not ascertain his purpose in pursuing her and she was aware of his presence with startling regularity, he never once fully revealed himself to her. Moreover, she did not mention his 'visits', as she had begun calling them, to either Nayina or Mardan in the fear that they might think her off-balance or notify the Elders. She merely continued to do everything within her power to contain her fright at being thusly pursued and, each time she became aware of him, she made a diligent attempt to pierce the darkness surrounding him.

Turning in the air nonchalantly, she swept her gaze over the surrounding woodland hoping to discover his whereabouts, but his presence was as vague as ever. The misty forest hampered her inspection of her surroundings, yet as she turned back in the direction of the nursery a brief vision arrested her gaze. From the corner of her sparkling amber eyes she could, at last, make him out. Excited and terrified in the same instant, she dared not spin round to face him, but gazed sidelong in overwhelming, trembling curiosity.

She had not been mistaken. He was undeniably malefey. Although he remained cloaked in the shadows, she could see he was tall and was dressed in very dark colors, which was quite odd for a Fey of the Light. Most Fey she knew were fair of aspect, fair of countenance and fairly adorned, yet he pressed into the shadows of the forest and was only barely discernible. Most startling of all was the deep red of his aura.

She could not prevent herself from turning at this shocking discovery to gaze at him directly, yet, in that moment, he vanished into the darkness like a wolf disappearing into fog. Utterly exasperated and unable to contain herself, she cried out after him in the loudest voice she could muster.

“Who are you?” Only silence answered her, but she could not bring herself to shrug him off and continue along her way. She knew he remained, watching her; he had simply concealed himself better.

“What do you want of me?” she called after him again.

From the opposite direction, in a rush of feathers and swirling leaves, she felt a sudden presence come up behind her. Right behind her! Twisting abruptly with a shriek, she backed away, unprepared for such a sudden assault, but even as she turned a familiar voice rang in her ears.

“I am sorry I frightened you, Ay.” It was Mardan. He had caught up with her and now hovered over her with an unreadable expression of concern. She jolted backward in surprise, then sighed prodigiously and flung her arms about him.

“Oh it is you, Mardan,” she exclaimed and then checked herself. She dared not risk the chance that the one person in the world who she cared about above everything and everyone else should think she was odd. Enough Fey already had that impression. He returned her embrace warmly, pulling away from her slightly to give her a tender kiss in greeting. For a brief moment, her senses spun with dizzy delight and her awareness of his presence faded, but when Mardan pulled away and looked upon her with a markedly questioning gaze she knew she had to give some explanation for her peculiar behaviour.

“I did not know who was following me,” she explained, attempting to keep her tone as blithe as possible, but her voice quavered in spite of her efforts.

“Should the thought of someone following you distress you so?” Mardan asked, his concerns deepening. He knew there was not a single Fey in all Hwyndarin that she needed to fear and she shook her head and laughed awkwardly.

“Of course not. You just surprised me.” Her nonchalant reiteration did not satisfy his intensifying concern and he reached to take her hand, staying her attempt to continue on as if nothing had happened.

“Ayla, you were more than surprised; you screamed.”

She paused, unwilling to return his stare. In her sudden discomfort she became aware of his skepticism, as well as the increasing interest of the one still observing her from the shadows.

“Clearly something has distressed you. Why will you not tell me what it is?” Mardan's tone was gentle and justifiably anxious, yet she could not contain her sudden resentment of what she thought were unspoken accusations. Flustered by his interrogation, she sighed sharply and spun round to face him.

“Nothing has distressed me. Can I help it if you startled me?” Mardan's eyes widened at her caustic tone, but even her rebuke betrayed her. She had never spoken unkindly to him before or behaved so uncharacteristically cold.

“I suppose not.” His vague reply only fueled her fire of suspicion against him. She knew well enough how disparagement felt, but when it came from someone she cared so much about it hurt doubly. “You would tell me if something bothered you, would you not?” he verified, but she only shrugged and offered that she might, which amazed him even more greatly. “Why only might you?” His further inquiry broke her thread of patience and she smacked her delicate wings sharply together in an irrefutable display of anger.

“Because I cannot tolerate the condescension of everyone when they think how odd I am!” she retorted with tears standing in the clear amber of her eyes; then she turned abruptly away and shot off towards the nursery, leaving Mardan behind in a confusion of thoughts and emotion.

A few yards away, secluded in the shadows of the forest and equally perplexed by her sudden display of intense emotion, he watched her retreat as well.

ChapterThree

Of course, Ayla could not maintain her anger toward Mardan for long, it was as impossible as refusing to breathe, but, almost imperceptibly, her uncertainty about him began to grow. Slowly, like twilight fading into a moonlit night, she began to doubt the sincerity of his feelings for her. More and more frequently she struggled with the thoughts that he was like all the others, that he held her unusual abilities suspect and that he would eventually grow tired or bored of her, break her heart, and move on. Long nights passed as she tossed and turned in tormented dismay; endless afternoons dragged on like years as she waited for him to visit her or write to her when he was away at the Temple; dark, torturous thoughts haunted her mind, compelling her to make the first move and end things before she could be hurt.

And all the while, the presence of her tormentor haunted her.

“I saw him, Nayina,” she confessed one rainy afternoon as they sat quietly watching the little ones in the nursery garden. Certain immediately of whom she spoke without needing to clarify, Nayina jumped in surprise.

“When? Where? What does he look like? Is he handsome? Did you talk to him? Who is he?” Her questions tumbled out in a rush, as if she had been holding them back for months and only now could finally ask them. Ayla shook her head.

“I saw him a few weeks ago. It was the morning Mardan and I fought. He was following me through the pear grove and I turned suddenly and saw him, but only for a moment.”

“Did you recognize him?”

Ayla shook her head. “I have never seen anyone like him before.” She described the brief vision she had of his appearance and Nayina smiled teasingly.

“No wonder you fought with Mardan!” she implied mischievously, but Ayla was not amused. His visits had become too frequent and he remained silently and invisibly watching her for longer and longer periods of time.

“Mardan and I fought because he thinks I am odd, just as everyone else does and I finally realized it!” she snapped, jumping up from their lounging place to stalk away from her friend towards a nearby, indoor brook that babbled and tumbled through the garden. Nayina gazed after her in surprise, fluttering after her to alight nearby.

“You of all people ought to know exactly and without any shred of doubt how Mardan truly feels about you,” she quipped with a hint of irritation. Ayla knew she spoke the truth, but for some reason beyond her own comprehension, her impression of Mardan's affection had become confused by her own fears and doubts. She simply was no longer sure and she could not ascertain the truth from him, either by sense or by word. As a Celebrant, he was separate, aloof, and far more difficult to read than many. Shaking her head, she redirected their conversation back to him.

“He did not talk to me, although I tried to make him. He just watched me. It is all the time now, Nayina, and I do not know what to do about it.”

Her friend did everything she could to temper her anxiety at hearing this admission before speaking. She knew Ayla could easily misinterpret any measure of concern in her present state of mind. “All the time?”

“Nearly, he never talks to me; he never comes out of the shadows; he is just there, watching and listening.”

Nayina contemplated the few facts she knew and then gasped. “Ay, is he a Dark One?” she breathed warily, her voice a whisper in case, even now, he observed them. Ayla winced, even though the thought had already occurred to her a hundred times. She turned secretively toward her friend and shook her head.

“Everything I have ever been taught about the Dark Fey does not apply to him, Nay, except that he remains hidden in shadow. He has not tried to hurt me. He has not tried to take any of the children I guard. He has not opened any portals. He is just there. I cannot explain why, but I certainly cannot call him Reviled for that.”

Nayina straightened and spoke more authoritatively. “This has gone on long enough. I remember the first time you saw him in the gamesyard and that was months ago. You need to tell someone other than me. You need to at least tell Mardan.”

At the mention of Mardan's name Ayla cringed and shook her head.“He already thinks I am peculiar, just like everyone else, but if I told him that some strange malefey has been following me around and watching me for months and I have done nothing about it, he will surely end things. Even worse, he could bring the Elders into the matter and I would be a prisoner again like I was all those years. I just cannot tell him Nayina, and you must promise me that you will not tell him either!”

For many long weeks Nayina tried to convince her friend of her error of judgment; that Mardan no more thought she was odd than she did, but her success was limited. Too many years of scrutiny had come before. Ayla knew only too well that she was isolated and set apart from her fellow Fey and this knowledge had become a thorn, forever piercing her perceptions. There was little anyone could do now to change that. Ayla struggled with her insecurity daily, whether it related to Mardan specifically or everyone in the village in general. Some days she had very little doubt in her mind of his fondness for her and enjoyed their growing affection immensely; other days it was all she could do to trust even a single word from his mouth.

Ayla never spoke about her misgivings with Mardan. She was fearful of his reaction to that truth and she was unwilling to worsen the situation by verbalizing her doubts. She believed, as most Fey did, that words had nearly limitless power once spoken and believed. She refused to give her foolish inclinations such an advantage over her. Yet, although she made a conscious effort every day to keep her thoughts aligned with the Light, her uncertainties ultimately won out.

As the seasons shifted from autumn to early winter and a shroud of cold darkness began to fall upon the beautiful village of Hwyndarin, the Fey gathered together for one final celebration of color and brightness. They dressed in glittering, bejeweled costumes; decorated their homes with sparkling lanterns carved out of hallowed gourds; carved wooden and pumpkin decorations; filled their porches and gardens with sweet baked treats and sugary indulgences for any passerby to enjoy, and played a multitude of musical instruments in a discordant symphony of joyful sound. Parading along the avenues from home to home in dancing, fluttering, gleeful revelry, Fey of all ages enjoyed the company of their friends and family while eating and drinking the sweet temptations of the season and at the end of the evening's festivities all Fey, young and old, joined together to venerate the passing of the Season of Light.

They gathered in the Clearing of the Stars, where the forest canopy contracted and one could gaze up, out of the forest, into the glittering night sky enchanted by the glowing moon and the sparkling stars overhead. Together, they began the incantation of the changing seasons led by their village Celebrant, their voices subdued and solemn after a full day of laughing and singing. They paced through the intricate dance which marked the ending of the growing and gathering seasons and the beginning of the season of cold darkness with austerity. Bowing, pausing, stepping, clapping, pausing, clasping hands, passing, turning, pausing, releasing, taking to wing, alighting and repeating until the midnight horns rang through the clear, cold night air. The sharp tones signaled more than just the ending of the day; they heralded a somberness that descended upon the village as silently as the first winter snow.

No longer would the days be warm and bright; they would be cold and bleak. No longer would the shushing of emeraldine leaves and the luscious scent of flowers fill the air; there would be only the creaking and groaning of barren branches in the icy gales of winter. No longer would the songs of thrush and cicada ring through the canopy overhead; there would only be silence and the scrunching of snow underfoot. Many months would pass in the uninviting coldness of winter and many Fey would not venture out into the bleakness any longer than their responsibilities required.

Ayla and Mardan, along with Nayina and her companion Reydan, had shared the pleasantries of the evening together. Dressed in complimentary fashion wearing vivid silks, broad hats with bright plumes, jingling bells upon their ankles and trailing streamers from their wings, they had enjoyed their portrayal of jesters completely. Yet now, after the horns sounded, they removed their bells and the instruments that had played all evening fell silent as the Fey returned to their homes in quiet introspection. Bidding their friends a hushed good eventide, Ayla and Mardan turned towards her small cote upon the fringes of the village and Ayla once again felt her isolation. How long would she suffer her loneliness? How long would she remain an outsider among her own people?

Mardan could easily sense the shift in her spirits and when they reached her door, he paused to draw her close in a warming embrace. Long they stood in each other's arms and Mardan did not confuse the pure sentiment of the moment by bending to kiss her, in spite of the hammering of his heart. Rather, he stood quietly and simply held her, completely aware of the trembles coursing through her and uncertain as to their cause or cure. She did not speak, but clung to him like a child in a raging tempest who is frightened by the storm around her and, after many long moments, he pulled away from her.

“Are you alright, Ay?” he asked softly, afraid that his genuine concern might light the increasingly short fuse of her temper, but, instead of becoming irritated, she sighed bitterly and brushed a trail of tears from her cheeks.

“No,” she replied miserably. Mardan's concern intensified and he took her small hands in his own.

“Ay, I do not want to upset you and I do not want to argue with you again, but I know something has been troubling you these past weeks. Can we not talk about whatever it is? If I am doing something to offend or displease you, I cannot alter it unless I know what it might be?” He spoke softly and to his surprise, she burst into tears and flung her arms about his shoulders, burying her sadness in his comforting embrace. Tenderly, and without regard to the hour, he led her inside her cottage and closed the door behind them.

Vigilant to refresh the porch lantern with oil and then the many small lamps around her home, he returned to her side in the small parlor only after seeing to these vital tasks, sat down beside her upon the roll-back settee, and encouraged her to tell him what was upsetting her so prodigiously. She tried to contain her emotion so she could speak plainly, but to her dismay she realized she could sense his presence.

“Oh, not now,” she breathed in exasperation, utterly confounding Mardan, who turned his head to one side and stared at her with a furrowed expression, bewildered.

“What have I done,” he asked uncertainly, but Ayla shook her head.

“It is not you, Mardan. You have done nothing wrong. I simply…” she struggled to find the words, but they eluded her. Distracted by the sensation that he was unusually close and desperate to be alone in order to discover his intent at long last, she attempted to bounce to her feet, but Mardan caught her wrist and refused to permit her to escape.

“Then why do you treat me this way?” His tone betrayed the weeks of frustration he had suffered while attempting to be patient and understanding. She turned to look at him sadly.

“Mardan, I am sorry, truly I am, but perhaps what everyone says about me is true: perhaps I am strange,” she explained with resignation, but he shook his head.

“I do not think you are strange. I think you are keeping something from me. I do not know how to prove that you can trust me, but you can, Ayla.”

She gazed at him thoughtfully. Should she tell him of her tormentor? Would he understand her reasons for tolerating the long months of his visits? Could their relationship survive such a disturbing revelation? She hoped it might, but she was not given time to deliberate further.

“Ayla.”