Lorian leaned over the cold and seemingly lifeless body of Rells’kol Ol’Dal.

The fourth son of the King of the Shee looked like made of marble – and blood. His veins were visible through almost transparent skin, crimson and terrifying in their finality. Lorian’s fingers ran over the glass-like skin, like wanting to pass a spark of life – but quickly were withdrawn, like the youngest Dal prince just realized how futile it was.

“You were right, brother” Ain’Dal whispered, observing the dance of light over Rells; a touch of sun where only darkness reigned. “The gods are waking from their slumber. And I have less options than I thought.”

Silence was his reply. But of course Lorian didn’t expect anything over that.

“The prophecy was always the last resort. You would not approve of my methods. You would probably not approve of me. But we always were like the sun and the moon – like water and fire.”

The silence spoke more than words. Rells was not dead, but was equal to it, and nothing could take that burden from Lorian’s soul.

“The day when you closed your eyes, was the hardest day in the life of my father. My brothers. And mine. Do not think that I didn’t mourn you, just because we despised each other. That I didn’t feel guilt and didn’t weep. Because I knew that deep down in your bright heart, you liked my night. It comforted you when you were falling; a deep well filled with familiar monstrosities, childhood friends who were scaring away your demons.”

“But our power grew. We hated each other because we always competed and wanted to prove that we are better, stronger. I was just a naive fool. Young, much younger than you and much more hot-headed. You would hate what I have become even more, probably. Maybe though, just maybe, you would be proud of me.”

Lorian’s dark eyes landed on the stale face of Rells’kol. The light, the same who embraced him during his life, now left his features. Even the beaming gleams that were always present in the chamber, seemed to not touch the inner frigidity that reigned under his skin.

“The spell was not meant for you. Lerrel never forgave me. Maybe it would be better if you died, brother. That way it would be a closed book, a finished chapter of a long tale.”

He stood from the small chair that was in the center of the room, a small supplication seat, where Dal family prayed to the gods, so they returned Rells back.

“But I am not done with you, yet” he said, like saying goodbye was too much for him, too final and too meaningful. “I am sorry I’ve killed you, brother.”

A dark smile crept on his lips, the darker because of bitterness and pain it was drenched with..

“But I will do everything to bring you back, even if I had to fight the god.”

“Perhaps it’s time to release kritars on the Shadowlands” the voice sounded in the throne room.

The royal brothers’ gazes landed on the youthful features of king Marn’sul Dal. They were almost sure that someone will suggest that, but not that this someone will be their father. Marn’sul, usually collected and almost ethereal, now emanated with foreboding aura. This, alongside with the vision of kritars stomping over the bluegrass of the Shadowlands and eliminating not only the enemy, but also the shadow fairies, was painting the future in much more ominous colors.

The meeting table, which was standing on the elevation that was swallowing sounds and was not allowing any curious ears to hear the important information the royal family shared, was embraced by the light, reaching far to the high, crystalline ceiling above it. Each prince had a throne-like chair which surrounded the high seat of their father. No one ever tried to listen or spy in this chamber. No one ever wanted to check, what traps this room had and what spells – aside the sound one – protected it.

One seat was empty. As always.

“They will kill the fey too” Risel, the second son, looked like the mere idea of kritars being sent once again, was making him sick. He always was the most delicate among the Marn’sul sons.

“But the darkness will be pushed back, and will think twice before attacking again” first son, Lerrel, was more bloodthirsty. “Shadow fairies will die either way. We are not here to bargain with the enemy.”

“You are a fool, Lerrel. If we allow our vassals to die, we won’t be better than the force we fight with” Arlis, the third son, was against father’s idea as well.

They all knew from the spies who worked under Nymre, that godsoul particles startes attacking the lands which bordered with Kilyan’s realms. They roamed the woods, taking strength from lesser beings, swallowing them all and making them part of themselves. The more souls their ate, the more powerful they were becoming – condamned by own god, suffering thousands of years of neverending pain. Yet the Kilyans didn’t have even a droplet of pity for them.

“I think not only Lerrel is a fool here” another voice reached the gathering and all eyes turned to Lorian, who so far was sitting silently, not adding anything to the discussion.”

Marn’sul Dal’s gaze landed on his fifth child and then a smile crept over his graceful face.

“So you call me a fool, son.”

“Not without reason, father” Lorian’s black eyes danced from the largest seat towering above the table, to his brothers’ ones. “I doubt a kritar could do more than me.”

Now, that amused Risel, who almost burst with laughter. His deep blue irises beamed with joy.

“So you think that hundreds of darkbound beasts can do much less than a one darkness weaver? Even if you shapeshift, Lorian, you can’t fight something that came straight from under god’s heart.”

“That’s why I say they can’t do more than me” was Lorian’s calm response. “They are parts of a god. Kritars will do as much as I, but will additionally destroy the Shadowlands.”

Marn’sul nodded at this with well-seen praise.

“We don’t want to cause more fear and death than it’s needed,” he agreed. “Good that at least one of my sons uses his crowned head.”

Lerrel threw a hateful stare at the throne on which Lorian was sitting. Lorian replied with a charming smile.

“So no kritars” Arlis counted chances. “But what other options do we have? Or do you really think about sending Lorian there and allowing him to sacrifice himself in an epic battle?”

“They would sing poetry about him. I think he would like that, even after death” Lerrel had to add a remark, though no one reacted to it.

“There is one option” again, Lorian attracted all the attention. Even Lerrel’s, as much as the firstborn son would hate to admit. Lorian waited to add weight to his words and when he had them all on the edge of the knife, he grinned darkly. “The prophecy.”

Silence reigned among the High Shee. Even Marn’sul narrowed his thin, elegant brows in disbelief.

The prophecies were more frequent in the past, but now, when Orha collapsed and buried the last pythia under the hard stone and thick earth, the Kilyans stopped relying on them and seeking signs in the future.

This particular prophecy was known only to royal lineage and most of the Kilyan kings refused to even acknowledge it. To even think that a lesser being could in some way save the fae from demise and torment was so offending, that most of them were pondering if the pythia who shared it with the world was in her right mind.

Not that all pythia were sane. This one either way died in a gruesome way, executed by king Innar.

Who – on the other hand – was killed by his own son.

“What prophecy you even talk about” hissed Lerrel, knowing the reply very well.

“Of course the Cat, the Fox and the Raven” Lorian waved his hand, accenting his words. “It’s the only prophecy which could make you salivate with rage, Ler.”

The firstborn huffed in anger. Calling him “Ler” was usually the last thing someone could say before he reacted with sheer violence. Of course, in this case he couldn’t.

“The Cat is already approaching” continued Lorian. “And I think I found the Fox.”

Risel’s eyes opened wide, resembling full moons. Arlis swallowed soundfully. Lerrel looked like he ate a human finger. They all felt like being given a slap in the face. Only Marn’sul started to nod, with understanding and – again – obvious praise.

“Difficult times need extreme solutions,” he said eventually. “We are not in position to refuse your idea.”

“But, father, he sought the Fox” the anger started to boil in the firstborn. “Possibly even considers himself already a Raven. This is madness! This prophecy is forbidden and we should seek another solution. We can’t put our future in the hands of such a low race!”

But the king, as usual when he wanted to end any complaints – and the meeting – stood from his seat, and stepping from the elevation the table was standing on, he said.

“We are fighting with more than a threat and we are fighting for more than our lives. And in such a situation no means are too low and no savior is too…”

He pierced Lorian with his gleaming pupils.

“… human.”

Tiyan woke up with severe and sharp pain in his chest and rats nibbling at his shoes. One separated from the others and started sniffing on his hand; the young hunter kicked it hard, frightening the rest of the animals.

He reminded himself of all what happened before, his hand reached to his chest, expecting a bleeding wound, maybe a deadly one. But he found only a scar in a place where inquisitor’s magic hit him. This was more than foreshadowing of what they plan to do to him, this was a promise.

He cursed, badly, under his breath. He was not shackled but he had no means to escape. The cell didn’t even have a window. Only a short candle was lightening it from the shadowed corner. Yes, and what if he kicked the candle by mistake, or during sleep? All would burn to a stake, starting from the hay on the floor and ending on him.

He tried to stand up, but feeling a weakness in his limbs, he decided to stay in the same position and wait how all of this unfolds. Something in him, deep down in his heart, wondered if the spikes from the emissary’s tattoos weren’t poisonous, he rarely felt so weak and helpless.

Without anything to do, he started to count his chances. He doubted they would free him. Most likely, they will kill him to warn others cursed by any kind of magic. But before, they will make him suffer and that frightened him most. He was not a fool. Pain can break anyone and even if he wanted to show them how little it means to him, to not give them satisfaction… he knew that he will agree on any accusations they will brew, at the end of the day.

The rats didn’t return, hiding in small holes in the walls, holes ready to free the small rodent, but not ready to allow a tall man to escape.

Yes, it was a hideous situation. The only way to not be already dead was not losing hope. If there is any chance, he will see it and use it.

He didn’t know how much time passed and what part of the day – or night – it was, but after he lost hope two times and regained it twice as well, he heard footsteps in the corridor that led to his cell.

He didn’t expect anyone giving him a helping hand, but he saw a chance for himself. If not using talk, he may use force. Anyone can be defeated and he was… desperate.

The key grinded in the lock. No additional light entered the small cell, but rats ran through the open door and a small figure slipped inside. The man held a miniature chair and a book. No hooks and knives, nothing to torment him. At least physically.

The newcomer put the chair before him, sat on it pedantically and settling down, he pierced Tiyan with a gaze of his blue eyes.

The silence became almost a sound, in which Tiyan was fighting with himself, weighing how fast he can attack the man and run, or if it’s even a good idea.

Then, the small man spoke.

Tiyan shivered.

The voice that was coming from him was deep and ominous, like coming from an empty well. But it was not the worst. The man spoke without opening his mouth.

“Repent” was the only thing he said, but Tiyan felt like hundreds of stones hit him in the head.

“Repent yourself” he managed to throw a weak reply.

“Your soul can still be saved. Just bow to me and your sin will be erased.”

“Erase yourself,” said Tiyan.

The man looked at him with a very clever gaze, which hid a lot of things that Tiyan would prefer not to see.

“If you don’t bow, your sin will eat you. Your magic is decay. Your power is unclean.”

“Clean yourself, too. But I sense you never do it.”

The short man laughed. Not through mouth again, but the laughter filled the small cell and caused Tiyan to feel nauseous. What did that even was? Who were these people? What magic did they possess?”

“You will repent. But since you refuse to bow, the path will be painful.”

And he opened the book. His fingers started to run through the text, like he was fast-reading. But he didn’t read. He was weaving a spell. The ink from the book started to swirl and leave the pages, forming a black heart, hanging in the air, like a sign of death .

It started to beat. It started to beat slowly. And then faster.

Tiyan felt with horror, how his own heart started to beat frantically in his chest. The faster the inky heart was beating, the more pain he felt.

“Repent.”

“Repent that your mother gave birth to you!” whizzed Tiyan.

The inky heart became wider and bigger and the hunter felt his chest, just over the place in which the spike hit him in the woods, started to expand and hurt… hurt a lot. His frantic gaze landed on his body, but nothing was changing in it… though the pain grew and grew and soon Tiyan couldn’t stand it. It was like his whole body became one agonizing spot, which grew in intensity and spread… spread mercilessly.

He clenched teeth, his eyes drifted up in a mute plead to any god that could see him and stop it.

The pain overwhelmed him and when he dared to look at the heart again, he saw how it bleeds with ink tears, how ink nerves separate and twist and he felt that too, his nerves drawn on a spool, his tendons dissolving into a sea of suffering.

He felt like the torment lasts for hours, until his brain couldn’t stand anymore and shut off. He collapsed on the floor unconscious. The man closed the book. The ink heart dissipated in the flurry of ash. Taking the chair with him, he smiled at the laying hunter.

“Tomorrow. You will repent.”

And like with certain hesitation, with certain well-hidden fear, he added, his head lowering in respect.

“For the glory of the One.”

Nymre landed on the shadowed balcony of the fairy palace, entering softly the magical bubble that protected it from winter cold, batting with her black wings and stepping gracefully down the stairs to the chamber that spread before her. Her long ears, as always happened among raven shee, caught every talk and every word that sounded there. The messengers and spies, the raven fey, were held in high esteem and even if they were the lowest of the high fae, they were so important, that Nymre was promised to the youngest son of King Marn’sul Dal.

Now, her keen eyes spotted the young prince among a few high shee, with which he talked silently. She shook her head, trying to silence the sound of the talk which was not for her.

Trying to not look like she eavesdropped, she half walked, half flew towards the group. She immediately caught that her arrival invigorated Lorian and approaching closer, she bowed slightly. The young prince was clad in black vest with a dark belt around his slender waist, all embelished with silver thread; a long cape was draped on his arms and fell loosely behind him, adding him grace. On his wrists and hands raven feathers were attached, sewn into the material. Nymre involuntarily smiled.

“News for royal ears, your highness.”

The other three Kilyans seemed to not like the disruption. One of them was Karlian Norr, a son of the king’s advisor. The other two were twins, sons of the older brother of Lorian, Ainan, and Korl’eann. These four always seemed to drift towards each other.

Lorian Ain’Dal’s black eyes landed on her and slid over her frame, almost hungrily. She narrowed her brows under her bird mask. He was making a spectacle, showing that she belonged to him, but at the same time, when alone, they drifted between love and animosity. The quarrels between them, if they came to the ears of the court, would be legendary. Lorian never meant to marry her, he was a free spirit, unbound and carefree. She at the other hand considered him worst material for a husband. He was insufferable, proud, and egotistic and seemed to take a special pride in his demeanor.

Others found it charming. Others found him clever. But she wanted to slap him in the face, kill him, and disappear with him in a vast bed, loving him feverishly.

He had to guess what she thought about because his brow rose. She sent him an angry look.

“News for royal ears” she accented her words with urgency and Ain’Dal, with a sigh, separated from the group and entered the balcony with Nymre. Lorian leaned over the balustrade.

“I thought you were coming back in the next two days. Something happened?” he said, looking into the stars. The stars above the fairy palace were an exceptional sight. Never and nowhere were they so bright and so beautiful.

“Exactly,” she said quickly. “The divine particles are awakening, my spies saw a group of them in the mountains, still far from our lands, but brushing against them dangerously close.”

Lorian wanted to say that he will deal with them if they come closer, but he was aware that even if he is a powerful darkness weaver, he can’t kill a soul of the god, even if only a small part of it. And both of them knew that.

“The particles attacked the Shadowborns’ lands near the Nam Sea. No High Fae died, all diplomats were at that time in Dal’coler. Possibly we soon witness an angry ambassador of Shadowborns. I won’t be surprised if they accuse us of lack of protection.”

Lorian digested that in silence. The curious and intense look on Nymre’s face urged him to say something.

“The tides shift and the moon takes crimson colors. This is only the beginning. The gods are restless” darkness in his voice, ominous tone which moved the raven fey more than her own news.

“Very, Lorian. I should go with it to your father first. But I am your spy. And it’s you who found that human” she said with faked scorn. “If he is what he is, you should call him as soon as possible.”

“Preparing such an untrained person will either way take ages” Lorian clicked with his tongue.

“He really took the magic as well as you say?”

“Even better!” Lorian’s lips formed an ironic smile. “He is drenched with it. I feel it even through his dreams. My vision shows his enormous potential. But—“

“But?”

“He is filled with rage, fear and hatred. He is the opposite of the magic I offered him. And he is stupid” added Lorian, nonchalantly.

“Fire can burn in the night. You know that, my high prince” said Nymre, half teasing him.

Lorian’s gaze landed on her body once again. They never denied the magnetism they felt for each other, nor did they deny the temptation they always had when the other was around. Nothing ever could stop them from taking what was theirs.

Lorian took her by her hand and dragged her towards himself, tightly pressing her against his chest. Nymre sighed. His hand brushed the base of her wings on her back, which was especially fragile place. She stiffled another sigh.

“We are on the balcony, Your Highness” she reminded him.

“That’s why I will only do this…” and he pressed his lips to hers. They melted within each other. Through Nymre’s mind a glimpse of Lorian’s emotions passed and they were so strong that she gasped. They were fierce, and passionate, like a storm after a long drought. She pushed him back.

“Not here” she scolded him. “You are hot-headed and awful.”

“But that’s why you always fall for my charm” teased Lorian, trying to pry her again, but she sneaked out from his grasp.

“I need to return now. My people wait for me, we have much to do. But…”

“There is always some tiny… clever… delicious but” his black eyes drilled her through and she felt that she couldn’t say no to him.

“But I can return a few hours later.”

“A few hours! You are spoiling me.”

She wanted to toss a mean remark, but as a result, she only laughed. He was right. She was spoiling him. And he was spoiling her. They were spoiled, hopeless, and filled with fire.

They were after all High Fae. Hopeless creatures, wild as the wind and dangerous as the night.

The terrain was uncomfortable at best and cruel at worst.

Tiyan, however, hoped it would cause as much trouble to the pursuers as it did to him. As a hunter, he repeatedly faced adversities that were beyond the abilities of most people in his town. Even if his hands were bleeding from tearing through the sharp leaves that grew in the snow like blades as if mocking him, even if the day was gleaming with ice and the forest fauna would surely smell his scent soon – he would not give up. There’s always hope.

Stumbling over a stone, the boy grabbed the first thing that could cushion the fall. Leaf. Again. Razor sharp.

He couldn’t stop. Not now, not when Praetor’s emissary was leading the chase.

When he first saw the envoy, clad in black and silver, he knew when they find out who uses magic in the valley, it will be his last day without pain. The emissary looked kind and jovial for townsmen on the streets, but not for him, not for a person with magic, which was recognizing a familiar, dark soul. He knew that Praetor never used the service of people who didn’t like causing suffering.

A sharp roar rang in his ears, straight from the depths of the forest that surrounded him. Not even bothering to guess what it might be, Tiyan mustered all the strength at his disposal and, taking a slight right turn, resumed the arduous climb up the steep slope.

They almost found him in his house, where he was packing up. He put the most vital hunting equipment on, took food and water, in case the land lacked streams, and kissed frightened Lessa goodbye, even without explaining, he dashed from the building, aiming at the vast forest nearby.

He felt like a coward. But he knew that he endangered his whole family and the inquisitor came here for him and only for him. Better to be a coward than a reason for the death of Lessa and their father. And his grandmother. Maybe the townsmen will condemn him, but he will be alive, maybe even ready for revenge on the one that caused all this mess.

The fae who infested his dreams. It was he who alienated him in his own town, it was him who bit through his mind with visions, led him astray during the hunt, blinded him on reality. Why does he even care? Why did he latch to him like some parasite, drinking from his soul? Perhaps that was some kind of cruel game, a game Kilyans liked to play with humans. Like with toys on a string.

If yes, he will find a way to escape this influence, but for that, he needs to be alive.

Coward.

Traitor.

No. A young man, persecuted by flawed law. Law that was unlawfully going after him for something he never wanted to happen.

The animal that roared nearby was closer. Tiyan heard the rustling and stomping; it was something big, perhaps another boar or even a bear. He had no chance with a bear now. His limbs were numb and his heart raced into his chest, beating like a ritual drum.

He hoped that whatever this animal is, will leave him in peace and allow the laborious wade through the overgrowth.

He heard the chase, the horses snorted and hit the ground with their hooves, closer and closer. He was a fool, he chose the most difficult path, hoping that they wouldn’t dare go the same trail with horses. The horses though seemed unaffected by the sloping terrain.

Tiyan fell again, face in the snow. He spat the earth and white, furious, his hunting equipment suddenly becoming a nuisance. He took too many weapons, and they delayed him. How he suddenly became so stupid, so slow. His life depended on that and he slacked like a beginner. He was here many times, he knew this valley.

At the same moment he was spitting snow, the huge bear rose before him. Tiyan instinctively reached for a pistol, ready to defend. His hand shook already like in fever, but he aimed well. At the exact moment though, the bear kicked it with his enormous paw and the gun landed in the muddy snow.

Only now, Tiyan saw that the bear was not normal. The colony of fungi bit through the skin on his back and his left eye was red, like a hunter’s moon. The wild animal roared. It was not the roar of a bear, but a wild whizzing sound, produced not by an alive beast, but by the horns of the underworld.

“Curse it!” Tiyan wanted to reach for his pistol, then, realizing that it was too far, pulled the forbidden iron from the sheath behind his belt, but the bear jumped in the same moment. Tiyan was about to throw himself on the beast, in last resort, but the animal barked like a wounded dog and screamed deafeningly, and a dozen spikes pierced him through the back and pulled – hard and mercilessly.

Tiyan observed with horror how the shadow chains and spikes eat the bear, leaving blood and guts on the ground.

The sight was terrible, but nothing prepared him for what he saw later. The inquisitor was approaching, and his face was a pulp made of shadows, darkness, and ink. The spikes were floating around him, ready to attack again, making him look like some kind of nightmare-made monster.

Tiyan’s magic that rotted in his bones and veins, moved restlessly, wanting to swallow the power that was approaching, bathe in it and absorb it. The young hunter, panicked because of these feelings, managed to take hold of a dagger, though it seemed futile, facing this kind of nightmarish terror.

Black magic! his mind screamed. He is after you because you are cursed, but he uses an even worse abomination.

Tiyan pressed his teeth ready to defend, the inquisitor halted and the spike hit the boy in the chest, delving deep, deeper, almost brushing against the heart.

The hunter wanted to do something, anything, but another dozen of spikes surrounded him and bound him with ropes made of ink.

He had no chance against these black spells. So he lost.

“Where is the boy?”

The question hung in the midair and spread, reeking of repercussions.

The small council of Vennklan Valley was not less surprised than if the Praetor’s emissary took the mayor’s cat and told them he was the ruler of the town now. But, of course, everyone knew about what boy he was talking about. It was not a mystery that Tiyan Markon was cursed. But none of them wanted to be the one who put the young man into shackles on the way to the capital. Maybe he was touched by evil, but he wasn’t evil himself. They disliked his curse but didn’t want his death. And even the most prejudiced council member didn’t want to see him burning and screaming. They were not cruel. Maybe scared and haunted by changes, but definitely, they weren’t murderers.

“Whoever brought you here, had the wrong information,” the mayor said through clenched teeth. “No one in Vennklan Valley uses magic, forbidden or not.”

A soldier who so far stood behind the emissary hissed and stepped forth, only to be halted by his lord.

“Nothing happened, the mayor only isn’t aware of what position and name I possess” he smiled kindly and leaned forth with a predatory gaze fixed on the town’s nobles. “You will speak to me ‘your grace’ next time. And nothing bad will happen to anyone in this room.”

One of the council members scoffed and shook his head. The soldier again wanted to deal with it, but the iniquisitor only put his gloved hand on his arm and shook his head. Then, he turned to the man who didn’t agree with calling him with the royal title. The tattoos on his face seemed to dance as he grinned.

“I think I heard an opinion, but I am not sure what it was supposed to mean” his voice like oil, his eyes like daggers.

“That meant that only the king can be called ‘your grace’” said the older noble, withstanding the darting gaze of the emissary. “You are too prideful, too full of yourself.”

The grin of the inquisitor became wider, but his lips twitched. Possibly not many people dared to oppose him, more even refused his will. One could see easily that anger boils in him like in the closed kettle. But the man who spoke before continued.

“You are not “grace” and you are not our lord. The king never approved of the methods of the Praetor and you… you won’t put your hand on any townsmen here until I live.”

“Ah,” that was the only thing that escaped the emissary’s mouth. The silence was prolonged, two sides looked at each other in tension so thick that could be sliced with a knife. The kind smile that was present on Praetor’s lord’s face while he was entering the town on horseback, returned, to pull the sun from behind the battered curtains.

“How unfortunate,” he said, gesturing with his hand. “The boy is dangerous. His magic was given to him by lower forces, by the enemies of humankind. Maybe the king never gave us official orders, but we all must work in the name of… greater good.”

“Greater good in other words can mean lesser evil” The mayor narrowed his thin brows. “And I won’t take any evil deed on my back.”

“You are not afraid of his curse? Of the abominations he attracts? Tell me kindly, how many times have you seen him wandering off the valley?”

“He is a hunter. He is the one who helps to feed the families that lost their fathers and husbands in the war. He needs to go outside.”

“Ah yes, and how many times he goes back without prey, with hazy eyes and absent expression?” drilled the inquisitor.

A whisper came through the group of men. The mayor stood firmly and didn’t join them.

“I don’t think the lack of prey in this valley speaks against the boy. These lands are infertile, the animals go into the terrains that lack the fog coming off the mountains. You want his demise in the name of the “greater good”. And that is not even lesser evil. It’s just wrong. Do you really believe in it? YOU-” he turned to the council behind. “- you believe HIM?”

“No,” said the man who spoke before. “Tiyan Markon is ours. The son of Gravir Markon. As I said, you will take him over my dead body.”

“That can be arranged, if you continue to stop my hand from doing justice. But we all know that you want him away. You want freedom from the fear and from the demons he attracts” The inquisitor was in his element. He had to do such speeches many times before receptive crowds and the mayor was aware of that. He was too old to buy it. “Think of your families, your women, your sons and daughters.”

Again a scoff. Laughter in the back. Some nods and some heads shake in disagreement.

“Listen, ‘your grace’” the mayor said with a heavy sigh. “You have soldiers and your sword and we have hundreds of people and our tools of trade. Sometimes very sharp, sometimes very heavy. And until you bring an order from the king himself, the boy stays with us. Think about it, when you return to the capital, to give a report to your lord. He may rethink his actions too.”

While he was speaking, the tattoos on the face of the emissary started to move. At first slightly, as lazily. As awaiting orders. They swirled and danced, a slow caress over his skin, a touch of questioning pressure.

And then, they spread, the ink leaving the skin on the emissary, reaching with sharp talons to the mayor. It looked like a mass of black spikes left the skin and biting through the town’s leader’s flesh, pierced him, pinning him to the wall.

The small council watched in horror, how slurping blackness slowly drilled through the limbs of the screaming and tossing mayor, swallowing him and soon leaving the bare, bloodied bones.

The spikes returned on inquisitor’s skin, again looking like tattoos. The emissary grinned, a bubble of blood slipping from his mouth and falling on his vest with big droplets. He licked his lips like he didn’t want to lose even a small portion of his victim.

“Any more questions?”

They came the other day. On pale white horses, with loaded pistols and with facial features showing pure unadulterated scorn.

The legends of the Praetor were reaching even Venklann Valley and even if they never expected to meet the high prosecutor of magic, they held him deep in their hearts, at the very bottom. He was no fairy-like elusive danger, which was as real and mythical. He was darkness set in stone, an iron hand of law, which was choking both the throats of the offenders and innocent ones. The king condemned his actions in silence. Praetor’s power was already too big and the fear before magic was already too strong in noblemen in the capital. They would follow him to the pit of death and back if that meant killing all signs of forbidden, fairy magic in the land of Avras.

Why the fae allowed that, was beyond all’s guessings.

But they did. No mage trapped the Praetor is a vial filled with his own tears. No fairy cursed him with eternal life as a tree. That’s why some suspected that Praetor’s actions are favored by the fae, as they push Avras even deeper into the dark, violent ages…

His name was Lucius. And it was not him, who rode on a white horse to the town.

Tiyan was on the hunt, like he planned last night, but when he returned, he saw the gathering all through the main road. Whispering people, some with fear in their eyes, some with hope. When he tried to look above their heads, to see who’s coming, the gazes they were sending him were maybe not hostile, but… knowing. A little suspicious, a little sad.

And when Tiyan pushed himself to the front, his insides turned like on a crank.

The men who were riding the main street couldn’t be called nobles, but surely they were from very important families or houses. Their robes were made from raw material, all navy blue, like a stormy cloud, thick and warm to protect them from the freezing cold. They held pistols on their belts, one on each side. Their cold look was tainted by something more… something Tiyan couldn’t place. But it all became clear when his gaze landed on their leader.

If something was about to melt the snow with a warm smile, with good intentions and with a lot of empathy, this man would be the catalyst. Tiyan’s unwanted magic felt radiation from him though, strange emotions, misplaced, dark and chaotic, hidden behind the facade of kindness, which opposed the night incarnate of his entourage.

This man was more dangerous than all the cold men behind him. Even if he was about to offer him freedom off the fae that inhabited his dreams, he would decline. If he had a choice to decline, of course.

All men had dark, swirl tattoos on their skin; on hands and face at least, as their robes were thick and unrevealing. A sign of Praetor’s warriors.

Tiyan realized this in a second, after his eyes transformed what he saw into a whole scene. He knew what Praetor does to magic users, willing and unwilling, it never mattered. The one thing that mattered was purifying fire on which they all were burning, screaming.

He backed off, bumped into a man, then a woman kicked him in the ribs, until he was far from the first row. His blood boiled in his veins, both from fear and because magic in him also sensed the danger. Tiyan was not a coward, but this was another form of threat, made in fire and blood to punish people in semi-majesty of the kingdom’s law. If they target him, how could he even escape?

And the vision of spending weeks in the prison cell, tortured and interrogated wasn’t his chosen plan for the next few days.

There was of course a chance that they are here for different reasons. But this was a very small percentage and Tiyan was almost sure that someone denounced him. Someone like…

“I see that Praetor’s inquisitor came after you, eventually” a sharp voice, destroyed by many nights spent regretting and drinking. “Very timely, really very timely, if you ask me.”

Tiyan didn’t have to even turn back to see who it was. This voice was as well known to him, as his own.

Prolat Sek, his old childhood friend, and now his most bitter enemy. When they were still small kids, they were inseparable. Like brothers, they spent all their time together, even when it was forbidden. Even if that included going alone to the thick woods and being attacked by famished wolves. When the war with the Kilyans started, they both were held at homes, until the war changed into desperate fighting for lives for the humans. Prolat was older by four years than Tiyan, and was sent earlier to fight. He returned without one leg, the other was cut by the night spear held by the shee. The wound was clean but it bled with strange darkness for a few days, until the remaining flesh started to look like a fallen autumnal leaf.

Prolat was a son of the engineer so he was able to build himself a prosthetic, which allowed him to walk. But his father was dead, he died on the same battlefield where Tiyan was saved by the dark raven-like creature. All in Venklann Valley knew that Tiyan was brought in a magical bubble under his own door, where his mother found him. And Prolat, who could not hate fae frenetically, because they were far, and unreachable, chose to hate on his old friend.

Because he was alive and complete. And Prolat was a cripple. Tiyan had a sudden thought, that he should be thankful that he is still alive, while so many people from the Valley died.

“Well, Markon? How do you feel when the torturer surely already prepares hot iron?”

Tiyan looked back at the smiling man on a horse. He already was further down the road, so he could only see the long cape and long hair of the inquisitor.

“How could you find time to denounce me and to lose your last brain cell altogether?” barked the hunter.

“Clever, Markon, clever. But no. I in no way could go to the capital city and denounce you. But that gives out another beautiful possibility. More people hate your magical ass and we all want to see you transported to prison.”

Tiyan heard the voices of people rise in volume and a strange tingling feeling in his chest, how it bubbles inside him. He many times felt the same sensation when the magic started to protest and evidently, inquisitor’s presence was a huge kick into said magic’s metaphorical guts.

The young hunter just passed his old friend. The farest, the better. Besides, he had a plan, he had an idea, crystallizing in his mind, an iron nail hit with a hammer in the dark wood.

The sharp laughter of Prolat chased him until he lost him in the now-deserted streets.

The snow was falling indifferently, filling Tiyan’s footprints on the road with blinding white.

The night swallowed Tiyan, cold night filled with unknown fears.

The hungry, eternal night, filled with terrors. As a hunter, he met her very often, but never, ever he felt like this. It felt like darkness presses on his body, physically, and forgotten spells and curses sink into his heart and swallows all his courage.

He was sure all his family feels the incoming danger now, maybe they were terrified, as much as they never shared their real councerns with anyone, pushing fear and worry deep into well of their subconsciousness. But what spoke to him with coldest and most frightening voice, was the grandmother’s face. Like frozen in time, enchanted. Like something – or someone – sucked her life and replaced it with… another.

His father was a person who stands firmly on the ground, but even he had to admit that magic came too close to their home, None of them had idea how to chase it off. Especially while Gravir blamed him, Tiyan, of all that as connected to forbidden knowledge.

“We are having hard time already, fighting the winter” he told him late eveving. “Keep your curse leashed.”

Like he was able to! He blamed himself too, but he was almost sure his sister would not survive, if he didn’t help her. If he didn’t stop the possessed jaws from biting through her throat.

The young hunter inhaled the chill night air. Now, what happpened just few hours ago, seemed unreal. The courtyard slept, under a soft and safe blanket made of snow. How close they all were from being condamned? How many steps separated his family from death?

One thing he knew. It was not his fault.

Not. His. Fault.

When he returned home, he was so tired, that he entered his bed and almost immediately fell asleep. He was hoping he won’t be dreaming about the dog’s head falling near her bleeding body. Not about the scared eyes of his sister, growing bigger and bigger from pure fear…

*

Bigger.

Colder.

Tighter.

His clothes seemed to suffocate him. His body was crystallizing, touched by the merciful sun, blessed by the cruel moon.

The forest palace almost blinded him. Created from the dark crystal, it seemed almost unreal. The forest surrounded him, speaking to him in an unfamiliar language. The trees seemed to sing a song from which he felt small and insignificant. It was full of longing, pain and nostalgia as if the boughs were crying for long-gone times. Tiyan stretched his hands before his eyes and didn’t recognize them. They were transparent, shimmering like crystals the palace was made of, reflecting sunbeams like diamonds. His body was light as if he was made of smoke or the glow of the setting sun, the dawn full of insufferable beauty.

He forgot about fear, he relished over his new form. He didn’t remember who he was, but he knew he was not part of this world, and this form had been offered to him to see the palace and hear its song.

In front of the palace’s crystal gate, creatures with pointy ears moved, airy, as if woven from cobwebs, from summer gossamer. They didn’t look at him as if he wasn’t there. Most of them wore green and blue. He couldn’t see the weapon or feel enmity, but he could feel the darkness everywhere. He floated in the dark light and primal splendor of the palace and its inhabitants.

Then, as the song of the trees rocked him like in a child’s cradle, he heard a voice. It was young and brought to mind the sound of the stream on a cold winter’s day.

‘Tiyo…how long will I wait for my faithful servant?’

Normally, Tiyan would have to slap anyone who would call him his servant. But the voice hated opposition, even if it seemed to belong to someone much younger than him. It was the voice of the ruler.

‘I have a right to you, and the seed has sprouted up. Magic is tormenting you, isn’t it? How much easier would it be to take off the shackles and go to a place where it’s natural to cast an enchantment, to enforce your will. Where you’ll be safe. The pain must be unbearable, my innocent winter child. It’s sweet to see your suffering, but my grace is boundless.’

Tiyan wanted to answer, but couldn’t speak, like his mouth were sewn up.

‘Soon, I will send for you, and you will not be able to refuse.’

Tiyo suddenly felt that his real body is coming back, and the creatures in front of him started to look at him, their gazes dark, expressions cold and undeciphered. He didn’t belong to this place, not in this body. But did he belong anywhere?

He woke up sweated in his dug-up bed. He sat down, the wet linen sticking to his skin. He was defiled, cursed. The fae will never give him peace, whoever he was. He hid his face in his clasped hands.

As long as he had his own will, though, he won’t allow him to own his life. He was not weak. He was not a slave and never will be.

His head fell on the pillow again. Not a slave.

Now sleep.

Tiyan was slowly chewing the meat he stripped from the boar and cooked into a stew, while observing the door to his parents’ room. His sister was tucked into the warm furs, sitting by the firelight, with eyes half closed, drifting into sleep. The doctor came, bandaged her wounds and left, allowing the family to settle after what happened with the dog. An hour ago Tiyan saw by the window, how Gravir cleans the courtyard from the body, and shovels the fresh snow, to clear the blood.

During his hunts, Tiyan killed many animals. But this… this was a touch of magic. Evil magic, which boiled the sanity out the dog’s head. It was as terrifying as sad.

His parents were quarreling behind the closed door. He felt that the subject was him. They quarreled only when he was the subject. Something tempted him to just go there and eavesdrop, but Lessa would see and grandmother Saya too. Besides, he had enough honor to not to.

And he was afraid of what he could hear.

“We should open the window” he heard a silent voice.

Tiyan looked at his grandmother. She was old, older than war. She was an oldest person living in Vennklan Valley and he could bet that even in neighboring villages. Sometimes she was seeing things no one did aside from her. Gravir thought it’s caused by her age. Tiyan thought that Saya was touched by magic too.

“Gra, it’s too cold” he just said, but was curious why she suggested that. He didn’t have to wait long.

“The little fairies want to warm their wings” was the enigmatic answer.

“I doubt they would care about the cold,” said Tiyan, eating another bite of meat. “They are servants of Kilyans. They are used to it.”

“Not these” Saya smiled lightly. “These are sent by the cat.”

The cat.

Always the cat. He was present in many stories and visions that Saya’s enchanted mind was creating. The cat that is sending the fairies. The cat that stole the moon. The cat that one day eats the sun and drinks its light. Tiyan always wanted to ask who is the cat and how he connects with magic that swallows the land, but somehow, he knew that Saya doesn’t have an answer for that.

Gravir raised his voice behind the door and Tiyan quickly swallowed the morsel, soundfully, to not hear why he was so angry. Possibly – because of him, as always. But he really didn’t want to hear.

“Gra, tell us a story” murmured Lessa from her furs. “And I don’t want the fairies to enter. They are mean.”

Tiyan almost shushed her, but realized that it was something they both needed. Something to calm nerves after the ordeal and silence the quarreling parents.

“What kind of story would you like?” Saya closed her eyes.

“Something only you remember” peeped Lessa and hid even deeper into the furs.

“Something that is both true and not true” fired Tiyan. Legends. They held wisdom of the older days and the possibility of any part of them being real, was making them twice as thrilling.

“Then… I will tell you about the damned ones” Saya opened her eyes and started to tell the tale, bathing the room in the unlight of the old times.

“The fae stood out of the moon and stars, created by the the One. They were beautiful like the sun and mysterious like the night. Seelie, whom we call saru, loved the world and everything that lived on it, but Unseelie, known to us as kilyans, were cruel and they liked to look at the suffering of smaller and bigger creatures. The One was unhappy that they lived together, so he tore one of his seven hands and blood fell on kilyans, the black blood of the god. From that moment they were forced to live outside of the land of shee, in forests and mountains, far from civilization. What One did, was not to the liking of Manus, the father of the gods. But he couldn’t force the One to sew his leg again up to his body, so he created a different kingdom for Unseelie, behind the mountains and the forest which they inhabited. Then the Courts were born, the Seelie Court, where everything smelled of flowers and the sun was shining, and the Unseelie Court, which hid in the eternal darkness. Then people came to Avras, and saru took them under their protection, knowing that kilyans will want to destroy them. For many years, the protection of the saru allowed people to prosper and be happy and wealthy. Saru walked with people, like the bright messengers of the gods who were sent to give and never to take. But the One didn’t like it. He didn’t create people and scrutinized them, so he took the saru from human land. Suddenly they disappeared, and then kilyans, fae of black hearts and immeasurable cruelty, attacked the land of people for the first time.”

Tiyan heard the story many times. But he listened to it now, like a prelude to something he didn’t fully understand.

“Kilyans killed almost everyone, but a small group of people survived, and kilyans didn’t hear about them, nor knew about them; their village grew and the kingdom of people began to revive again. Kilyans, busy with their affairs and court intrigues, didn’t care about them, didn’t even know they exist. As long as the king didn’t start sending settlers deep into the mountains, oblivious to the danger. Kilyans had been busy developing their own lands and once they reached the peaks of their success, they remembered their neighbors and the ones who survived. Then the Great War came. The Kilyans, filled with pride, decided to conquer the humans and enslave their lands.”

The grandmother’s eyes blinked with an unusual glint.

“But those who know the fae know too, that they don’t do anything without reason. Good reason. Reason, who we can’t embrace.”

That was new. Saya behaved differently too, her hand reached to blankets she had on her lap and taking them off, she slowly approached the window. Lessa and Tiyan observed her like they were enchanted, until she opened it with fast movement and inhaled deeply the freezing air. The snow entered the room, swirling like in dance.

Tiyan jumped to her, taking her back from the window, Lessa squealed, feeling cold.

It all happened in less than three seconds, but it allowed Tiyan to look into Saya’s eyes. They were cold and blind, like her pupils and irises changed into ice.

“I don’t want the fairies to enter” murmured Lessa, but the windows were closed and no one came inside.

And grandmother’s eyes again were blue and tired. But Tiyan knew what he saw. The magic started to spread more violently and he was the one that brought it to this home.