Legacies of Blood

Elaina found her things right where they were supposed to be. Royce hadn’t tampered with them in any way beyond taking them from the camp of her own accord. As Kitch’s men busied themselves with securing the area, Kitch herself managed to scrounge up some old clothes left behind in the lair. She delivered them to the women in the gargozu matron’s chamber while Elaina quickly dressed herself. The plan was to head out once they were sure everyone would be alright. A few of the men would be assigned to escort them back to Willowridge, where they would be able to recover from their ordeal. However, some preferred to go to South Gate instead.

As the redhead went about fastening her armor, unfamiliar as the brigandine was, two of the women emerged from the lower chambers to approach her. One was the sidhe---whose name she hadn’t even heard--- and the other was Lyraethiel Enthana, the lost wife of Paeral Enthana. Paeral had been exceedingly kind to Elaina during her time at his establishment in South Gate. He’d thought his wife forever lost to the feud between the couple and the fiendish gargoyles holed up in the swamp.

“Miss Woodlock,” Lyraethiel said cordially as she approached. “Would you mind if we had a few words with you?”

Elaina averted her gaze to hide her shame, but it did nothing to make her feel better about what had happened. “Sure,” she murmured. She couldn’t bring herself to refuse them. “What about?”

Both women were dressed in what were effectively rags, but this did nothing to diminish their beauty. Lyraethiel raised a hand, trying to set Elaina’s mind at ease. “First, we want you to know we don’t hold any ill will for what transpired.”

The swordmage’s eyes shifted slowly to meet the gazes of the pair. “You don’t?”

“Of course not,” the sidhe responded, shaking her head gently. “We’re both well aware of the magical compulsion you were under---that we were all under. You’re no more responsible than the rest of us, but the nature of your blood made you especially susceptible.”

Elaina glanced quickly between them, remembering that the sidhe had referred to her as a faeling earlier. She knew her for what she was, somehow.

“Perhaps we should introduce ourselves properly?” The wood elf suggested, glancing sideways at the sidhe. “Before we delve into such intimate details.”

The sidhe nodded in agreement before offering Elaina a respectful bow as an apology. “Of course. My name is Oonagh of the Auburn Oak, and I am sworn to the court of the Oaken Falcon in northern Zelmesca.”

“And I,” the wood elf continued, “Am Lyraethiel Enthana, druid of South Gate. But you’re already a little familiar with who I am if I’m not mistaken.”

“I know your husband and daughter,” Elaina confirmed with a short nod. “They’ve both been rather good to me, which only complicates this situation more than it already is.”

Lyraethiel’s eyes widened when Elaina mentioned her husband and daughter, though she mostly kept her composure otherwise. She cleared her throat before speaking. “I see. That does complicate things, I suppose. But more for me than for you.”

“How can I look him in the eye after what happened today?” Elaina muttered, struggling with one of the clasps of her bracer. Her nerves caused her fingers to fumble repeatedly while she worked.

Oonagh took a step closer to Elaina, clasping her hand in her own to calm her before finishing with the strap for her. Elaina felt her breath hitch when the sidhe’s hand made contact with her own. There was something there, just beneath the surface, that she couldn’t quite place---a spark of magic perhaps. Whatever it was, it was quite effective at setting Elaina at ease.

“I’ll speak to Paeral about everything when the time is right,” Lyraethiel assured her as she let out a long sigh. “Rest assured, there will be no grudge.”

Oonagh stepped back from Elaina and nodded in agreement. “As I said before, being a faeling makes you a little susceptible to such lustful dalliances, not that there’s anything wrong with that manner of thing. How much do you know about your ancestry?”

Skipping over the immediate family in her mind, Elaina attempted to recall any details about her ancestors but realized she only knew what her mother had told her. It wasn’t much to go on with how much her mother had loathed her.

“My mother claimed it was some kind of curse levied against one of our ancestors by another fae,” Elaina answered hesitantly. “But she wasn’t particularly fond of me, so I can’t say whether the claim is reliable or not. We’re Caledonian, if that means anything?”

Oonagh looked skeptical but didn’t press the matter of her relationship with her mother. “It’s not uncommon for a tryst with one of the fae to result in some bad blood with the rest of the family along the way. So it’s possible that certain stories get passed down over generations, eventually becoming fact. Was this fae ever described to you?”

“No,” Elaina responded, brushing a ginger lock from her face. “Never.”

“Do you know much about fae, in general?” Lyraethiel inquired curiously. “Other than you share some of their blood?”

“Very little,” Elaina admitted with a hint of shame in her voice. “I’ve been meaning to, though. I know mostly the basics that any adventurer or sellsword would.”

“Then you know that we’re close to nature,” Oonagh surmised. “With a few other bits of trivia, I’m sure. The fact that we carry the magic of the Faen with us wherever we go is often overlooked because of the complex nature of the Faen itself. Our magic is much different than that of wizards or clerics. It’s a part of who we are. In many ways, it defines our natures. We are as the Faen has made us and those who came before us, bound to its various aspects through contracts, oaths, and will. The stronger we adhere to these oaths, the more of the Faen’s power we are rewarded with.”

Elaina’s face scrunched up slightly. “I think I follow you. The more you play the part the Faen has set for you, the more you’re given to continue doing so.”

Oonagh smiled gently, a thing that was somehow like the sun reflecting off a babbling brook in spring. “Essentially, yes. Close enough, anyway. By swearing myself to the Spring Court, I am beholden to its ideals and the nature of spring itself. Moreover, the more I prove myself by the lords of the court, the more of Spring’s mantle I carry for myself.”

“This power can be passed down by blood,” Lyraethiel added. “Contracts, oaths, pledges, all of it have real weight in the Faen. They are binding in ways there that are only dreamed of here. The letter of the law aspires to be what is a tangible---and binding---force in the Faen.”

Elaina held a hand up, glancing between them. “Are you saying I may have inherited something like this? Is it what makes my body different, too?”

“That is my theory, yes,” Oonagh confirmed with a short nod. “I would need to do additional research, but so far, your affinity for sex, the fact you bear both sexes, and some aspects of your magical aura heavily imply that you are descended from the Spring Court. The aforementioned are sort of our areas of expertise, you see.”

Elaina rubbed her chin thoughtfully, momentarily forgetting the preparations she had been making a moment before. “So I’m a Spring Courtier?”

“Maybe,” Oonagh replied, holding a cautious hand up. “I will do more research when I’ve returned home. You may be far enough removed that you’re not beholden to the court but retain a portion of its power---a portion passed down from your fae ancestor but diluted by your human lineage.”

“That dilution and your lack of training in the ways of the fae can sometimes cause you to succumb to the nature of Spring,” Lyraethiel continued. “This makes you more vulnerable to such influence in a way similar to the principles of sympathetic magic.”

Elaina frowned. Not only did she already possess an inherited weakness for iron, but her suspicions about the mysterious fog of lust had just been confirmed. She knew that the duo meant to put her mind at ease---that there was nothing she could have really done to resist the magic she’d been subjected to. The fact that it was something beyond her control only made her feel worse, though.

“I guess that’s something I will have to sort out another time,” Elaina lamented.

Oonagh glanced at Lyraethiel with a little smile before turning her attention back to the swordmage. “You’ve only scratched the surface of your abilities, Elaina. I see in you a great potential for magic. Without realizing it, you’ve been wielding the magic of Weorðan almost instinctively. It’s quite remarkable.”

“You mean my glamer?” Elaina asked, motioning briefly to her face. She supposed that might be how certain entities had been recognizing her as fae-blooded all along. Anyone with the means to scrutinize spells and magical auras would have had everything they needed to conclude as much written right on her face. She felt stupid for advertising it to everyone but dumber still for realizing it only just now. “It’s a stupid trick to replace makeup, nothing more.”

Lyraethiel let out a brief snort of disapproval. “You do yourself a disservice.”

“In Wizardry, Glamer is seen as a minor aspect of the school of illusion,” Oonagh explained, the amusement in her voice pushing back many of the shadows in Elaina’s heart. “But this is not so in Weorðan. For us, Glamer is its own discipline encompassing both illusion and enchantment. Though often viewed as an art of the common fae, it is no less respected. It is a staple of our people---a foundational discipline for others.”

Lyraethiel motioned over her shoulder toward where Kitch had last been. “Your ally tells me that you also possess a keen sense for danger that aids you in your battles. Is this true?”

“Uh,” Elaina murmured before shrugging slightly. “Yeah, I suppose so. I tend to know where certain attacks will come from in a fight.”

“That’s Kenning,” Oonagh clarified pointedly. “It covers roughly the same areas in Wizardry as Abjuration and Divination. We regard it as the art of knowing. It is a much less common ability than how you paint your face, I assure you.”

The revelation came as something of a shock to Elaina. She had never thought much of her little trick to pretty herself up and had considered her ability to anticipate danger more than a little helpful, but she would never have imagined that both stemmed from more potent abilities handed down through her blood. Weorðan represented an entirely different ideology when it came to magic, something she had been stumbling through with a patchwork of other disciplines for some time. It was perhaps only through her human blood that she had been able to cobble the two together into something workable for so long.

A moment later, Kitch finally emerged from the depths of the gargozu lair. “I do not mean to interrupt, but we must be going if we are to have any hope of catching up to Royce. Even without the benefit of realmshifting, she has quite a head start on us.”

The wood elf turned to face Kitch, standing a bit taller as she assumed an air of authority. “There is still the matter of Namaznu. If she’s not here, I expect that she will return soon. She could be waiting to ambush you on the road as you depart.”

“Namaznu’s gone,” Elaina interjected. “What’s left of her is on display in the Marble Gallery now.”

Lyraethiel turned to face Elaina again, her expression one of naked shock. “Truly? You saw her there?”

“I can’t take all the credit, but I’m sort of the one that put her there,” Elaina murmured, doing her best to ignore Oonagh, clicking her tongue as though she’d just received corroboration of her earlier assessment of Elaina. “She won’t be bothering anyone anymore.”

Lyraethiel regarded Elaina for a long moment in silence, her expression turning thoughtful as she reached another conclusion. “After that, you returned with the means to free us from our prison?”

“Once I knew it was possible,” Elaina admitted. “Had I known earlier, I would have been a little quicker about it.”

“Well,” Lyraethiel murmured, spreading her hands. “For us, it’s as though no time has passed since we were turned to stone. It was like an extended slumber for us, so it’s not as though we were keeping track.”

“Royce sort of fucked the whole thing up,” the redhead confessed. “But I would have tried to work the scroll with or without her.”

“I believe you,” Oonagh replied kindly, her eyes sparkling slightly. “Which is why I am prepared to offer you a boon---not just for your admirable performance in bed and freeing us of Namaznu and her stone prison--- but to get you started on the journey before you.”

Kitch’s whiskers twitched impatiently as she glanced at a couple of her men who had begun to gather in the chamber. She held a hand up, signaling that they should wait a moment longer before speaking.

“First, I will take you, Lyrae, and Kitch to South Gate through the use of a fae technique known as Faestepping,” the sidhe explained with a pleased, serene smile. “There are three grades of this technique: Near, Far, and Deep. By taking you via a Farstep, I shall impart upon you the knowledge of the Nearstep, do you understand?”

“I have heard of this technique in Orpeva,” Kitch said as she drew closer to the trio. “It is like a Teleport or Realmshift, no?”

“Similar,” Oonagh confirmed. “It allows those with fae blood to briefly apply the rules of space in the Faen to this world. You can cover great distances with certain limitations. I will be able to take you to South Gate due to the fact that I have been there before, but Elaina will only be able to cover distances within her line of sight until her mastery of it improves.”

“Are you sure I’ll pick it up that quickly?” Elaina wondered skeptically, hoisting her pack up over her shoulder.

“It’s not a matter of training,” Oonagh laughed delightedly. “Though I’m sure you could learn it yourself given enough time, that will not be the case here. In Weorðan, it is within my ability to impart upon you the knowledge through a boon. I can make it yours as repayment for all that you have done for me. Think of it as you becoming my guest at some official function that you would otherwise not have access to. It is because I say it is, and you will because I say you can. Do you understand?”

Elaina squinted doubtfully. “I... guess so?”

“You’ll see,” the sidhe assured her before motioning to Kitch to come closer. “Alright, we’ll have to join hands in a circle so that I can bring you with me. I do not have the means of bringing all your men, I’m afraid.”

Kitch looked over her shoulder at the men waiting at the edge of the stone chamber and offered them a reassuring nod. “It’s alright. They know what they must do. They have their orders.”

“Yes, ma’am,” one of the soldiers replied, standing at attention. “We’ll be sure to get them back to Willowridge safe and sound.”

“Good,” Kitch responded before turning her attention back to the sidhe. “Then I can focus on Royce.”

The four joined hands as Oonagh instructed, forming a small ring in the process. Once she was certain they had a firm hold of one another, she instructed them all to take a step forward with her signal. Once given, each of the women took one step forward in unison. In the space of time between their feet leaving the ground and making contact again, they were conveyed across the vast distance between the gargozu lair in the swamp to the outskirts of South Gate. It was instantaneous, hardly more than the blink of an eye, with each of them standing a little closer within the circle they had formed. Brief as it was, Elaina could have sworn she saw something---a brief glimpse--- in that fractional period of time.

“Remarkable,” Lyraethiel exclaimed, glancing between the others before finally releasing them. “Truly Remarkable, and without the lingering side effects of similar forms of travel.”

Elaina nodded in silent agreement, remembering how disorienting it had felt to Realmshift with Royce for the first time. As her mind tried to stray in the witch’s direction, something else bubbled to the surface. The swordmage inexplicably understood the means of Faestepping over short distances. Looking toward a nearby hill, she knew intuitively how to get to it with a single step as Oonagh had done for them a second before. It made sense to a part of her that another part of her couldn’t even begin to understand. Oonagh had been right. It made sense even when it didn’t.

“Whoa,” Elaina muttered, looking down at her hands to view them a little differently than she ever had before. Something stirred within her, deep down.

“As I said,” Oonagh chuckled happily, placing a hand on Elaina’s shoulder. “I would get you started on the journey before you. When you’ve finished what you have to do, come to the Court of the Oaken Falcon to visit me. I should have more to share with you by then.”

“You don’t want to come with us?” Elaina asked dryly, knowing that dealing with Royce wasn’t the fae’s fight.

“I cannot,” the sidhe answered regretfully. “I have been away too long and must return home as quickly as possible. There’s no telling what manner of disarray my house has been in since I disappeared.”

“I will have to part ways with you here as well,” Lyraethiel added apologetically, her expression softening considerably. She no longer had any desire to put on a brave face or maintain an impassive composure. “As much as I would like to help you, I have a daughter waiting for me who doesn’t even know I’m alive. I have to go to her.”

In a show of respect, Kitch offered a hand to Lyraethiel. “You’ve no need to apologize, mon amie. Go to your daughter with our blessing, for there is none greater than that of family, no?”

Lyraethiel glanced down at Kitch’s hand before taking it firmly with her own. The two offered one another a reassuring squeeze as the wood elf’s eyes became a little glassy with restrained tears. “Thank you---both of you.”

Elaina would have been content to leave it at that, but the wood elf quickly pulled the swordmage into a hug. Surprised, Elaina didn’t return the gesture immediately, but after a moment to realize what was happening, she allowed herself to embrace the woman.

“Thank you,” Lyraethiel said again, this time into Elaina’s shoulder. “Thank you so much. Some day, I’ll repay you for this, I swear.”

Elaina gave her a firm squeeze as a wave of sentiment overcame her. “You don’t need to do that, really. Just say hi to Ayla for me, just in case I can’t get back any time soon.”

The wood elf responded with a short chuckle as she pulled away, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. “I can do that.”

“Now then,” Kitch announced, clearing her throat and adopting her usual demeanor of the soldier. She gave Elaina a firm look and adjusted the weapon on her back. “Let us locate Royce and be done with this foolishness.”