by DawningStar
Part One: For Love's Sake
My beloved marches to battle
and here I must wait, alone...
would that I were there!
better to know the worst
than to fear it.
Yet for love's sake I remain.
--Unknown poet of the Dragon Campaign era, works preserved in Ulara
Seated at a bench, Guaraha watched his sole companion pace endlessly around the circular room. "You're making me dizzy," he complained for the hundredth time. "Do you mind stopping?"
"Yes," the older Wingly snapped back. "Do you mind shutting up?"
"Stop pacing and I will. I have just as much right to be annoying as you do."
Pahlan Bardel, one of the few inhabitants of the Wingly Forest who could trace his family line back far enough to bother with a second name, snorted and ignored the comment--and continued to pace.
Guaraha sighed. They'd been on probation for more than a week now, confined to the customary area for such things, with two more to go. Not for the first time, he wondered what Ancestor Blano had been thinking to put them together--surely one or the other's sentence could have been postponed. They were so completely different that neither could seem to find common ground, unless it was a sharp tongue. He'd learned a great many new insults, at any rate. Pity most of them had to do with liking people who liked humans.
While Bardel was on probation for attacking the humans Ancestor Blano had welcomed, Guaraha was there for letting his self-exiled fiancée Meru in. He'd known the penalty and accepted it, but he hadn't counted on the company.
He put up with the pacing for another ten minutes before asking again, "Would you please sit down or something?"
"No. I won't. Now leave me alone, tomato-brain."
One hand went defensively to the bright red band that always held back his hair, unusual among the muted colors most Winglies preferred. "That was low, Bardel. Can't you come up with a better insult? Anyway, you're one to talk--your head looks like an onion. Whatever possessed you to try that hairstyle?"
It was a cheap shot, but the remarks had cut deeper than Guaraha wanted to admit. Anyway, it was accurate: the other probationer's silvery hair was swept back to a point high atop the head, at an angle Guaraha thought had to be held with magic, because it just didn't happen naturally.
"I'm trying to think and you're distracting me," Bardel said pettishly.
Guaraha blinked. This was new. "Do you want to talk about it?" he offered.
"No."
Leaning back in his chair, Guaraha shrugged. "Whatever. Pacing doesn't seem to be doing you much good, is all."
There was a pause. Finally, Bardel retraced his steps and sank into the second chair. "You're right."
"Well!" Guaraha sat up, grinning. "First time you've said that. What are you thinking about? The humans?"
Dark eyes flashed with remembered anger and humiliation, but he shook his head slowly. "My brother."
Pahlan's younger brother Sacan made the older sibling's hatred of humans look mild by comparison, and he had none of Pahlan's restraint. Various people in the village had commented on the relationship--Sacan had placed himself firmly in charge since the day their baby sister had left the Forest and been killed by humans. Pahlan was a force of reason on the younger Bardel. It was hard to say what he might do without that.
Guaraha nodded. "You think he might get upset and--do something."
"Yeah. Sacan, he...he doesn't always think clearly. He lets his anger control him. Sometimes I do too, ever since...you know...but not as much as he does."
"The Ancestor knows your brother. I'm sure they're keeping an eye on him," Guaraha reassured.
Pahlan sighed. "Trying to, you mean. Sacan's good at escaping notice. He and I both."
As this was true, there was little Guaraha could say to it. Not many Winglies had the magic for self-teleportation anymore, but the Bardel brothers did. "Pahlan..."
"If this is about the humans again, I don't want to hear it."
Guaraha raised a hand in silent acknowledgement. The subject was hardly unfamiliar after two weeks, being their major point of contention. "If you think it would help, I'm sure the Ancestor would let you talk with Sacan."
"He wouldn't listen." Pahlan looked away. "I failed to get rid of the blemish in our forest, the humans, the Dragoons--I couldn't even touch them. He said because I faltered. And...he was right: I don't know anymore whether it was even the right thing to do."
"It's never right to kill."
The elder Bardel snorted. "You would say that. Your fiancée started this whole thing. But the point is, they should never have come in here."
"No, I think the point is this irrational hatred you and your brother have of humans."
"Irrational?!" Pahlan jerked upright, staring furiously at Guaraha. "You know what they did! They murdered my sister!"
Leaning forward in his chair, Guaraha returned the gaze intently. "You can't blame the entire race for the actions of a few. Winglies don't exactly have a spotless reputation either, you know, and your attitude isn't helping any."
"They murdered her, killed my Tiala, and it was your fiancée's fault," spat Pahlan. "You're just trying to protect her, aren't you?"
"Meru never encouraged Tiala to follow her," Guaraha protested. "She wanted your sister safe as much as anyone. It was a terrible tragedy, but it was no one's fault!"
Pahlan Bardel spun away, his breathing fast and angry. "Give it up, Guaraha! You're an idiot if you think she's coming back to you, anyway. You heard her say how much she likes those new friends of hers. She's abandoned you and you're too stubborn to admit it!"
The words cut deep, echoing his own fears, and Guaraha found his eyes drifting toward the single door. Right there, Meru had introduced him to the humans as her 'friend', when they'd been pledged to marry for more than four years...was that all she thought of him, now?
But he dragged his thoughts away from that, and back to the bitter Wingly across from him. "I believe Meru will keep her promises," he forced from a suddenly tightened throat. "If not--it's her decision. You're slipping, Bardel. Can't you come up with anything better than personal attacks?"
Pahlan didn't answer, face turned resolutely toward the wall. Conceding defeat for the moment, Guaraha stood to signal for their dinner through the small kitchen-linked teleporter on the table.
"We went after her, you know," Pahlan said in a muffled voice, and Guaraha froze.
The stone-edged face was buried in trembling hands, and something in Pahlan's tone told Guaraha he was fighting tears. The younger Wingly silently resumed his seat, and waited for Pahlan to continue.
"We didn't want to think that was where she had gone, but when she was nowhere in the Forest we asked the Ancestor for permission to search...it was only the three of us, ever since our parents died, and Tiala was everything to us. He granted it, and we went after her. She must have...must have tried to follow Meru and gotten lost...we weren't fast enough...Tiala always could go faster then we could in straight flight, and we didn't know where to teleport. We traced her to the south, and we found her--too late..." Pahlan shook his head once, violently. "They must have found out what she was--and she couldn't protect herself, she wouldn't have used magic even if she could, and they...she was...they'd butchered her! Her hair, her wings..."
Guaraha remembered Tiala, a sweet girl years younger than Meru with magic powers surprisingly small considering her heritage--the Bardels had always been proud of their powers, among the strongest in the Forest. Their mother had died at Tiala's birth, however, and their father not long after, succumbing to illness and grief. The child had become the center of the Bardel brothers' lives despite her lack of special ability--until the tragedy struck. Just thinking of such a thing happening to her was unbearable. To have seen the results...
Tentatively, Guaraha rested a hand on the rigid shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said softly. He'd known generally what had happened--who hadn't?--but the brothers had told no one more than that they'd found the child dead.
"Don't be," Pahlan snapped harshly. "It won't bring her back."
"Neither will killing others," he pointed out. "Or blaming Meru for it."
But the other had gone silent again. Guaraha moved away to allow him what privacy there was.
About two hours later, the entrance glowed with its signal that someone was entering. Guaraha looked up, startled. Not many people visited the probationers--it wasn't forbidden, exactly, but it wasn't customary.
The identity of the visitor made it all the more surprising. Ancestor Blano came in, his face somber. Something bad has happened, Guaraha thought, and hoped fervently that it had nothing to do with Meru.
"Pahlan, your brother is dead," the Ancestor said gravely. "I'm sorry. We tried to watch him, but you were right..."
Guaraha winced. As hate-filled and hotheaded as Sacan had been, he was also Pahlan Bardel's only remaining family, and he wouldn't wish that loss on anyone.
"The Dragoons--!" Pahlan had shot up from his seat, fists clenched tightly in fury.
"No," Blano interrupted firmly. "The Dragoons didn't kill Sacan. When he was reported missing, I searched for him from the tower. I was too late to do anything, but I felt him die. It wasn't Dragoon magic."
For an instant Guaraha thought his companion was actually going to challenge the Ancestor's word. "But who else could have...?" Pahlan started.
"It was Wingly magic, far stronger than yours or your brother's," the Ancestor said. "I don't know who."
Pahlan stared, bewildered, his hands falling back slightly. "A...Wingly?"
Ancestor Blano nodded.
Frowning, Guaraha went over the short list of possibilities. No one in the Wingly Forest save Ancestor Blano himself was that much stronger than the Bardel brothers, and while he might have acted to stop an attack he would never lie about it. Which meant it had to have been someone from outside the Forest. Other communities of Winglies? He supposed it was possible, though he'd never really considered it. He turned a little anxiously to see how this news had affected Pahlan.
The older Wingly was expressionless, his dark eyes vacant. "Thank you for telling me," he told the Ancestor stiffly.
Blano just looked at Pahlan sadly, before turning to Guaraha. "I've extended your probation period," he said. "I know you meant well, coming to help us send the humans off to Deningrad, but it was breaking sentence. An extra week will do."
Guaraha opened his mouth to protest, but caught the Ancestor's meaningful glance at the other probationer. Pahlan's sentence had started later than his own--he had another three weeks to go, while Guaraha had only two without the extension.
He wants me to watch Pahlan. To make sure he's all right. And Guaraha had to admit that a week alone might well send the last of the Bardel family into a fatal depression. "Yes, Ancestor," he agreed, taking care to put enough sullenness in his voice to hide the deception from Pahlan.
Ancestor Blano's eyes rested for a moment on Guaraha, and he offered the faintest of proud smiles. The next instant he had teleported out.
With a sigh, Guaraha sat back down. He had a feeling the next few weeks wouldn't be pleasant.
Pleasant they were not, but even Guaraha could see that the time had done a great deal of good for the prejudiced Wingly. Constant contact with someone and a lack of any other activity led to a lot of conversations--most of which ended in shouting matches, but Guaraha knew when it was better to shut up and just listen. By the end, the two were...not friends, precisely, but no longer total opposites.
Ancestor Blano brought Guaraha regular reports of events that might involve his wandering fiancée, and they grew steadily more worrying. The flare of magic from ancient Aglis had shaken them even here...there were legends, half-forgotten, concerning such sealing magics. Whatever was going on, it was certain the Dragoons would be involved. And Meru with them.
The night before their release, Guaraha stood at the single small window in a far corner of the room, staring outward. His hands gripped the sill, white with the pressure. Let her be all right, he prayed, uncertain who he addressed. Let her come back to me.
Pahlan watched, silent for once. Sacan's death had forced him to rethink everything, and now he wondered if blaming Meru in the first place...no, he knew they were wrong. Blame had been easier than acceptance. As for the humans, he could never forgive the murderers, but perhaps Guaraha had a point and not all were alike.
He didn't think he'd ever be able to look at either Meru or a human without remembering his sister's shattered form, but the overwhelming anger had faded. Now he watched his companion's vigil, and saw in it an unconditional love one couldn't help but respect.
Come back, Meru, he thought, at last releasing his grasp on the last traces of hatred. For Guaraha's sake. And I--I need to tell you I no longer hold you responsible for Tiala's death.
Just then, Pahlan caught the ambiance of the long-range teleporter activating, and sat up, frowning. No one had any reason to leave as far as he knew...but who would come in that way? Surely not from Kadessa, and what other teleporter could still be active?
"That's the teleporter," Guaraha said uneasily. Pahlan looked over in mild surprise. Guaraha had very little magic, and wasn't usually sensitive to changes in the atmosphere. Evidently he had been paying closer attention than normal. "But who--?"
"Maybe it's Meru," suggested Pahlan, joining the younger Wingly at the window. "They might have found one that still works."
Guaraha shook his head. "I hope so...but...I can't feel her. And I think I would."
Probably true, Pahlan admitted. Even the weakest Winglies had some ability to feel the minds of others, particularly those they had a strong emotional attachment to. He'd never bothered much with the skill himself.
He leaned partway out the window--uselessly, as it faced out the back of the village, being for fresh air and not a view. A faint, unintelligible babble of voices reached his ears, agitated but not panicked. "Well, it doesn't seem to be anything bad, at least. I'm sure they'll tell us later."
"I'll be so glad to get out of here," Guaraha muttered. "I hate not knowing things."
"Can't argue with you." Pahlan let out a sigh. "Tomorrow."
The door hummed, and both probationers turned toward it expectantly. The green glow deposited Ancestor Blano and an unfamiliar Wingly woman in a long white dress, garments that looked even more old-fashioned than the usual wear in the Forest. "--can't come out yet," the Ancestor was saying as the light faded.
"Then I will speak with him here," the woman informed him. She smiled at Guaraha. "You must be Guaraha--Meru described you very well. My name is Caron."
"You've seen Meru? Is she all right?" Guaraha demanded anxiously, too concerned to be polite.
Caron nodded. "Meru was fine when I saw her, a few weeks ago. She asked that I bring word to her village if I could, and a message for you especially."
"Perhaps the general details first," Blano suggested. "Personal messages should be told in private."
Guaraha shook his head quickly. "That doesn't matter. Please, Ancestor, I--I just want to know."
A pleased smile tugged at the stranger's mouth. "Your concern is commendable, but the messages will make more sense if they are delivered in order. First, then: I tend the teleporters of Ulara the Spring Breath City, an ancient stronghold in the western deserts held out of time by magic. We were the moderate Winglies of the Dragon Campaign, allies of the humans though never quite trusted--Charle Frahma leads us. When it ended, like you we thought it best to seal ourselves away. For eleven thousand years, though, we have protected the world against a worse danger than that which the humans defeated..."
A twisting sensation grew in Guaraha's heart as Caron explained what the destruction of the signet spheres could mean. Meru, fighting something powerful enough to end the world...I should have gone with her, I should be there to help her! he thought furiously, forgetting momentarily that if the Dragoons were unable to defeat something a lone low-magic Wingly wasn't likely to help them any.
He glanced up, to find Caron's deep magenta eyes resting compassionately on him. "To you, Guaraha, Meru requested I say only that she will return to you if she can." Caron paused a moment before adding, "She loves you, you know."
Something snapped, and a warmth that felt suspiciously like tears rose behind his eyes. He looked away, unable to meet that penetrating gaze.
"And to you, Ancestor Blano. Meru asks if the end of the world is time enough to open your forest." She smiled. "A very outspoken child--we have stagnated in Ulara, I fear. But she is right. If they should fail, we are the only hope for the world...all of us together must fight, not Winglies alone, nor humans, nor any other single species...or we are doomed."
The Ancestor didn't reply for a long moment, and his face was troubled. "You're right," he said at last. "You're right--but whether we can accept that, or not....we are not so isolated here as you are, and there have been contacts with humans. Many of them unpleasant."
"Ancestor," Pahlan interjected diffidently, "we all know the old legends, if a bit inaccurately. Even I wouldn't object to joining the humans in this."
Blano smiled slowly. "If you say so, Pahlan, perhaps it is time. But, Caron, you must understand that there have been many generations here, and I am the only one left who remembers Wingly power. I've kept myself alive, afraid, I suppose, of what the less patient of us might be tempted into--but our magic here is not as strong as yours. We were refugees from the war, commoners, many of us barely above the line for magic power even then."
"That I do know," Caron agreed. "Meru told me some history of your community. You have done well. We were remiss not to seek out other groups of survivors, but I fear our other duties took precedence. And after a while...timelessness has its effects. You have probably noticed them in yourself."
"Yes," the Ancestor sighed, and Guaraha was startled to hear a vast weariness in the single word. "But we can discuss this in more detail in my tower, if there is no other news Guaraha should hear."
"Very well." At a gesture, Caron preceded Ancestor Blano out.
Guaraha stared curiously at Pahlan, once the hum of the teleporter had faded. "You don't object?"
He shrugged. "If the world's ending, we have nothing to lose, do we?"
"I'd've thought you'd be more suspicious of a stranger."
Pahlan shook his head slowly. "The Signet Spheres...I felt the one break. Same as when the Dragon attacked the Crystal Palace, though I didn't know what it was then, of course. No, she's telling the truth."
"You've changed," Guaraha observed. "Used to be you'd turn back-flips to avoid admitting anything you didn't want to. I think I like it."
The older Wingly snorted softly and cast about for something to change the subject. "You never have told me why you wear that headband. Not exactly standard."
A hand went automatically to the cherry-red band. "It was a gift from Meru, before we were engaged," said Guaraha. "She always did think gray and white were boring. What about your hair?"
"Sacan's idea," Pahlan replied absently. "Something about it being the way the old Wingly warriors wore it. You were right, it does look a bit like an onion, but he'd never hear of changing it."
"You could change it--now," Guaraha pointed out, his tone gentle.
"I could," agreed Pahlan. "But...not yet. He hated everything and I don't doubt he was trying to do something against humans when he was killed, but he was still my brother. It feels...wrong."
Guaraha nodded and didn't press the matter. His thoughts drifted toward what might happen after they were let out tomorrow--Pahlan was far different now than he had been three weeks ago, but not so much so that he didn't stand a good chance of falling back into bad habits if abandoned. Sacan Bardel might have been the most rabid anti-human in the Forest, but he was not by any means the only one.
I have to stick with him. If he goes back to his hatred, chances are good he'll end up like his brother. Pahlan still wasn't a friend, quite, but Guaraha was faintly startled to find that he cared enough about the other Wingly to be deeply distressed at the thought of anything like that happening.
But there was time enough for that and more tomorrow. Guaraha heaved a sigh, wondering what Ancestor Blano and Caron would decide. Something had to be done, obviously, but how much the village would accept...well, the Ancestor would know that. None of my business, anyway...
"Guaraha!"
He rolled sleepily toward the source of the noise, blinking up at Meru's mother, Kairu. Still a lovely Wingly despite the faded sheen of her white hair, and with impeccable manners to match, she was beckoning him urgently over to the door. Guaraha glanced across the room, to find Pahlan still soundly asleep and snoring.
Well, their sentence was ended, so there was nothing to prevent his leaving...Guaraha moved lightly to the portal, trying to force his sleep-fogged brain to remember last night's events. "They've decided something, have they?" he asked quietly.
She nodded and pushed him outside. "I don't want to wake Pahlan yet," she murmured in explanation. "I don't think he's going to be happy."
"What's the plan, then?"
Kairu looked at him a little apprehensively. "Well...the nearest place with the strongest remaining ambient magic, that we would be most likely to hold if worse came to worst, it's the Crystal Palace. But it was damaged in the Divine Dragon's attack. So...the Ancestor thinks we should offer to help rebuild it. It'll take a lot of diplomacy from someone with no ill will against humans, with a personal reason for wanting things to work out...and it'll take someone with a lot of magical power."
She could not be saying what he thought she was saying. "Wait a second. Ancestor Blano wants me to go? And...?"
"That's right. You in charge. And Pahlan as support. A few others, too, of course."
He straightened his headband nervously. "I don't know if I can do this..."
Kairu smiled at him. "Of course you can. It's for Meru."
Guaraha froze. "That is unfair. You can't use my feelings against me that way," he protested weakly.
"I'm not trying to use your feelings against you. But you should use them to help you, Guaraha. They may give you an advantage--and we'll need all the advantage we can get. Besides, it's perfectly true."
"Well, maybe so, but still."
She looked at him, amused. "Oh, all right. I won't bring up your feelings toward my daughter again, if you insist."
Glancing up apologetically, he explained, "It's just that I'm worried about her. And really, nothing I do can help her."
"And I'm sure you've had to put up with enough teasing," Kairu added. "Blano says Bardel's improved, though--has he?"
Guaraha surprised himself with the force of his nod. "He's much better about that kind of thing than he was before. I don't know about going to a human city with him, but...it may be all right. The Ancestor knows best, surely."
"Well, maybe I'd better let you break it to him, then--unless you want to wait for Ancestor Blano. He should be here soon." With a wave, Meru's mother lit her wings and lightly flew across the gap toward her own house.
Shaking his head, Guaraha returned to the probation room. He had no intention of waking Pahlan--the older Wingly was definitely not a morning person, as he'd found over the past few weeks--but there was little point in going home if he would only be setting off again shortly. He had everything he might need to take already packed, in preparation for leaving probation.
It was only a few minutes before Blano entered, with a questioning glance at Pahlan. Guaraha jumped to his feet. "Ah, Kairu was just here, but Pahlan's not awake yet," he informed the Ancestor.
"I'm up now," the other muttered, waving a limp hand. "Sorry, Ancestor--give me a minute..."
"Certainly, Pahlan. My apologies for disturbing you, but I do need to speak with you." Blano looked back at Guaraha. "Perhaps you would prefer leaving for a moment?"
It might have been phrased as a question, but Guaraha knew a command when he heard it. He stepped out the door again, leaned against a wall, and waited.
The inevitable explosion came about a minute later, Pahlan's ear-shattering yelp of shock and dismay. "I will not do that!" the last Bardel shouted, clearly audible even through the living wood of the walls. "You want us to, to grovel--for humans--we're Winglies! We don't--"
Whatever the Ancestor replied was too muffled to understand, but in the level, unshakably calm tone Guaraha had always hated. Pahlan would agree in the end, he knew; Ancestor Blano could convince anyone of just about anything. The question was how long it would take--and how angry Pahlan would be afterward. Guaraha didn't look forward to spending weeks in a human city with a resentful assistant.
Neither of them had a choice, though, really. It was cooperate or be destroyed, unless by some miracle the Dragoons managed--No! Guaraha interrupted himself. I can't think that way. They'll win. Meru will be fine. It was just better to be prepared. And maybe this would bring humans and Winglies together a bit; the prejudice did no one any good.
The noise level inside rose again, and Guaraha decided he would really rather be elsewhere. The few details Caron had given did not come close to satisfying his curiosity, for one thing, and he wondered if she would be willing to explain further. And it would probably be a good idea to find out who else exactly he was expected to take on this reconstruction trip.
Caron, several people informed Guaraha, had spent the night in one of the empty rooms in the upper part of the village. She was currently in the Ancestor's tower, probably inspecting the teleporter, one person surmised.
He opted for simply flying up to the teleporter platform rather than trespassing in the Tower. Sure enough, Caron was there, leaning over the glowing apparatus, appearing so absorbed that Guaraha hesitated to disturb her.
But the visitor looked up at once as he approached, with a welcoming smile. "I wondered if I might see you today," she said. "You'll be wanting to know more about how Meru was, won't you?"
"Am I that obvious?" Guaraha asked, feeling faintly sheepish. "Yes, I--I'd like to know more, if you don't mind too much."
"Not at all." Caron hesitated for a moment, waved a hand toward the teleporter. "I was just looking at this. It's a bit different from the ones we have--there are some improvements, actually. This one is more efficient. Necessary, I suppose, for your people to be able to use it."
Guaraha nodded. "I don't know much about it, but I think Ancestor Blano adapted it. Other things, too. We never had a lot of magic to spare to begin with, and the levels went down in each generation."
She let out a sigh. "We were among the elite, so there was magic enough to hold our community in time...time does not move in Ulara, not for us. Sometimes I wonder if that was the right choice--but yes, even for us the magic fades. Much of it was never ours to begin with, you know."
"Yes, the Ancestor's told us. Melbu Frahma tapped into a crystal of limitless power, which was broken in the human uprising, leading to a slow sapping of Wingly magic," Guaraha recited. "I'd always wondered where the crystal came from, if it wasn't ours. Never expected anything like--like that, though."
Caron smiled slightly. "The trapped soul of the God of Destruction does stretch belief a little, yes." She turned away from the teleporter. "But you wanted to speak of Meru."
Guaraha waited, allowing the other to gather her thoughts, and presently Caron continued, "I told you earlier that we had worked for eleven thousand years to prevent the birth of the God of Destruction. One of the Dragoons assisted us in that, one of the original human warriors whom we supported, and like us she has lived the long years untouched by time. Rose--you met her--brought her new companions to Ulara, knowing that we could, we must help them now."
Remembering the lovely, dark-haired human, Guaraha couldn't stifle a noise of shock. Eleven thousand years old? Though he had no skill in measuring human age, certainly she hadn't looked much older than her companions.
Caron glanced ruefully at him in understanding. "No, one doesn't think it, to look at her. However, the bulk of our task has been on her--like you, we prefer not to leave our sanctuary. There are so few of us left." She sighed, a faintly regretful sound. "Not enough, I fear...even Ulara cannot hold back time forever, and then the world will have seen the last of the Winglies."
She shook her head. "I am sorry. Sidetracked again. The young Dragoons stayed the night in Ulara, before we sent them off to find Aglis. I had gone to the human kingdom of Tiberoa some time before to seek help from them, and they cooperated in hastening the journey--though they were startled to find that Winglies still existed, they accepted that we wished only to help."
"I may need some advice from you on that, too," Guaraha muttered, and immediately glanced apology for the interruption.
"As far as diplomacy goes, I have every confidence you will manage as well as I," Caron said dryly. "You are, at least, rather less set in your ways. But in any case--during the brief time the Dragoons were in Ulara, Meru spent several hours talking with me. Among other things, we discussed variations in teleporters, the wisdom of remaining isolated, and relationships--that seemed very strange to me. There have been no children, no young people in Ulara for a very long time."
Guaraha blinked in mild surprise. "None?"
Caron shrugged. "Oh, there were at first, but later...as I said, the magic used to extend time has certain effects. A lack of--not emotion, precisely, but the ability to care deeply about anything. Our task is all that matters to us now." She looked at Guaraha, and added in a low, fervent tone, "I hope you need never experience it. Despite what some may think, simply living isn't worth--that. Your Meru was a breath of fresh air for me."
He shivered at the thought of the long years, empty of everything save the grim resolution to keep the world from falling to destruction and death... "I hope so, too."
There was a long, uneasy pause before Caron shifted slightly. "Well!" she said in a brighter tone. "I don't know how I keep getting off the subject like this--I am sorry, Guaraha. There was really very little distressing about my discussion with Meru."
The dignified Wingly then delivered an account of the Dragoons' adventures in a style and intonation very like Meru's, enough so to be almost word-for-word what the spirited girl had said. It succeeded in cheering Guaraha immensely, though he could never forget the danger his fiancée was be in.
Caron was just winding up the tale when an excited voice interrupted them. "Guaraha! There you are!"
He looked up, startled, to see Rienna approaching swiftly, with the pulsing sound the glowing wings made when active. Only a bit younger than Meru, Rienna was somewhat more timid but of much the same opinion as far as opening the Forest went--particularly now she had met humans, and found them rather less terrible than some had suggested. She had long considered following Meru into the human world, but decided instead to marry her fiancé, Lanar, as they had just reached the traditional period of two years of betrothal.
Guaraha admitted, in his more candid moments, that he was a bit jealous of Lanar for that. Not that he would have traded Meru's spirit and sense of humor for anything, but--it was hard, waiting, particularly when he could never be quite sure Meru intended to come back at all. Their own engagement had lasted four years so far.
Rienna was about average in magical power, but she had a fine sense of control that more than made up for it, and a special talent for helping to focus others' powers into a single spell. Her husband was stronger, though not on the same level as Pahlan. It was, therefore, not hard to guess her probable reason for coming.
"Kairu told me I should come find you," Rienna said, confirming his suspicions. "Ancestor Blano just asked Lanar and me if we'd go on this expedition to help the humans rebuild their Crystal Palace."
"Right," Guaraha nodded. "Are you coming?"
She grinned. "Of course! The day the Ancestor asks me to do something I've been wanting to do for years--wouldn't miss it!"
"Have you heard who else has agreed?"
"Let's see," Rienna mused. "He asked Prado, I think, just because he's powerful enough and I don't think the Ancestor wanted to insult him by not offering, but Prado refused, of course. That one's almost as bad as the Bardels were, and for no reason I can see. Then there's Niama, Kedim, and Halin. Kedim's going because Niama's going and you know she can't refuse a challenge, but I'm not sure why Halin's going. And Pahlan Bardel actually said he'd come!"
"The Ancestor could talk a stone into floating without using a bit of magic," Guaraha said ruefully. "That's a good group. No one else?" The three she had mentioned were all among the most powerful in the village, young enough to accept the undertaking, and none had a reputation for being overly prejudiced or argumentative, though Halin's agreement was rather curious; he had often hung around the edges of Sacan's group of friends, which had included the highly rebellious Prado. He'd have to keep an eye on the younger Wingly.
Rienna tilted her head thoughtfully. "I believe the Ancestor was talking to Veria about it. I didn't really hear that bit, though, Lanar and I had to go get packed, and then I came here."
Guaraha frowned. "Veria? Why?" The quiet, diminutive girl had barely any magic to speak of.
She laughed. "Why do you think? Veria's practically an encyclopedia on how the ancients built their cities, especially the crystal. She's spent enough time studying the Ancestor's records."
"Ah. Good point." Veria was also, Guaraha remembered, the only real telepath in the village, though her use of the talent was so seldom that most people forgot it. That, too, would be very helpful on a diplomatic mission.
Caron raised a hand slightly at this in polite interruption. "Do you know where I might find this Veria? I had intended to give Guaraha what information I have on the old processes, but if she already has some background in it, perhaps you would be better served if I spoke with her."
"Probably so," Guaraha agreed. "I'm not great on history or magical theory either one. Actually, Rienna, you're probably the one who's going to need to know most of this--would you mind going along and listening?"
She flashed a cheerful grin. "Was just about to ask if I could." Turning to Caron with a faint, deferential curtsy, she added, "I can show you where she was, my lady."
"Just Caron, please," the ancient Wingly laughed as she lit her wings. "No one in Ulara bothers with titles anymore, so why should I insist on them from you?"
Rienna brightened visibly at this, and followed suit. "Pahlan's down at his home if you want to talk to him," she called back. "The Ancestor said to meet at the forest entrance in a little while."
Talking with Pahlan after the drawn-out argument Ancestor Blano had doubtless put him through was not high on Guaraha's list of preferred things to do. Still, Rienna was right; it had to be done. Guaraha channeled a trickle of magic through his wings and lifted from the platform, down to the lower levels, the older section where the Bardels' ancestral home was. It took him a long moment to stiffen his resolve before he could make himself step into the entrance teleporter.
As the green light cleared, Guaraha saw at a glance that the home was basically the same as his own--the curved walls mandated by the trees, a few lights, the commonly used table. The taste in decoration was unusual but not really surprising, archaic weapons and fragmentary artwork depicting occasionally gruesome scenes of Wingly power displayed on most surfaces. What he had not expected was the incongruously cheerful dashes of color about the room. A childish drawing hung in pride of place, and bright cushions and fabrics draped the few seats. This, Guaraha surmised, was all that remained of Tiala's influence.
Pahlan came out of a bedroom door at the sound of the teleporter, his face set into defensive lines that faded only slightly at seeing who had entered. "You need something?" he snapped.
Guaraha shrugged. "I just wondered if you needed any help getting ready to leave. And I wanted to say thanks for coming along. I'm going to need you."
"Yes, Ancestor Blano made that quite clear," Pahlan muttered. "I still think someone else would be a better choice. Humans--I don't know if I can handle this, Guaraha..." For an instant, the shield dropped, and Guaraha saw the turmoil of fear and doubt in the older Wingly's eyes.
"I know what you mean," he sighed. "I'm not ready for this, either. But it's our only chance."
A skeptical snort, and Pahlan turned away before Guaraha could see whether his expression echoed the tone. "Not much of a chance. Forgotten skills and a half-destroyed building. If the humans will even let us in. Wouldn't be surprised if they decide we're a danger and kill us off."
"We gave them our help," Guaraha reminded. "We let them take the Dragon Block Staff. They have to listen to us."
Pahlan didn't respond, swinging a brown pack across his shoulder and checking the strap. "Are we leaving now?" he inquired.
Guaraha silently marked that exchange a draw. "It should only be a few minutes. I just need to make sure everyone else is ready and pick up my stuff. We're meeting by the forest seal."
"Well, let's go, then." Pahlan gestured impatiently toward the entrance. Guaraha obliged, taking a step backward into the green light.
A few minutes later, Guaraha closed his eyes momentarily in exasperation at the scene before him. Rianna, Lanar, and Halin hadn't arrived yet, but already the bags prepared held considerably more than their owners could possibly carry on the long flight to Deningrad, and very little of it really looked necessary.
"Veria, why are all these papers in your pack?" he demanded of the youngest of the group, whose bundle was obviously heaviest.
She shrugged helplessly at him. "Much as I've tried, I don't know everything by heart. I think we might need to know how to re-tune the crystals, don't you?"
Guaraha conceded the point. "You can't fly with all that, surely."
Veria hefted her sack, face set. "Sure I can."
"No, Veria. It's too far." He swung his own bag to the ground. "Move some of the notes to mine."
As she complied, Guaraha turned his attention to Niama and Kedim, both of whom bore hopelessly overstuffed bags, bright fabrics peeking out of the seams. "And what, exactly, are you two bringing fifteen outfits apiece for?"
Niama smirked at him. "Have to make a good impression on the humans, don't we?" she asked innocently.
Raising an already weary hand to his eyes, Guaraha shook his head. "The real reason, if you please, Niama," he requested.
She gave a gusty breath. "Oh, all right, so we kinda wanted to see if we could trade some of our stuff for human stuff. C'mon, Guaraha, this might be our only chance to pick up human clothes!"
He stared disbelievingly, turning to Kedim in hope of some more comprehensible explanation. The tall boy grinned. "You know Niama," he offered. "No such thing as too many outfits."
"Fine. I give up," Guaraha muttered. "If you collapse halfway there, it's not my fault."
"It isn't really all that heavy," Niama assured him more seriously. "Bulky, is all. We'll manage."
Guaraha looked about for any sign of the three remaining members of the party, and his mood ebbed a little more at what he saw: they were approaching at a good rate, but Rienna was glaring daggers at Halin, and Lanar didn't look much happier. At least their packs seem a good size, he thought hopefully.
Rienna landed and spun at once to face him. "Tell him he can't take all those!" she ordered angrily.
"All what?" Guaraha asked, feeling his patience severely strained. "He hasn't packed nearly as much useless stuff as Niama and Kedim there."
The girl waved an angry hand. "Not packing--those!"
Examining the shorter Wingly, Guaraha blinked in shock. The knives which Rienna's fierce look had brought to mind were evidently quite real, and hung strapped to various locations in Halin's clothing. He counted at least four in holsters on the belt, while others were less evident but still clearly visible. "Halin, you really shouldn't have those," he said in disapproval. "It's a diplomatic mission--we need their help. You'll make them think we're attacking or something."
"That's what I said," Rienna put in.
Halin shifted uncomfortably, his crimson eyes locked somewhere on the dirt. "They were all the weapons I could find," he mumbled. "You can't expect me to go unarmed."
"You don't see anyone else with a weapon, do you?" Guaraha challenged. "Not even Veria--and she'd have best claim to one. Halin, you have a good amount of magic, and the humans are already going to be pretty wary around you just because you can fly. Don't make it worse. Leave your knives here, please."
He muttered something inaudible but probably uncomplimentary, and began to remove the stashed weapons, dropping them to the ground.
After the first fifteen, Guaraha began to rethink the wisdom of taking him along at all--but they would need his help. Finally, the heap on the path reaching mountainous proportions, Halin stopped, a hand hovering protectively over the one knife that remained at his belt. "I need some kind of non-magic defense," he half-pleaded.
Guaraha hesitated. "Oh, all right," he agreed. "But you're not to use it unless your life is in very clear danger, you understand?"
Halin nodded, and promised, "I won't cause any trouble."
The piled daggers were all of approximately the same design, slightly curved, razor-sharp blades within sturdy leather sheaths; they were the kind used by the hunters, Guaraha realized, and had probably been taken from the kitchens--with or without permission. "We need to return those before we leave," he pointed out.
"I'll do it," Rienna offered quickly, her usual cheer returning. "Come on, Lanar, help me carry them."
"You needn't," came Blano's voice from behind them, and Guaraha turned in faint surprise to see Caron and the Ancestor approaching. "I can take care of that for you. Your mission is more important."
Caron smiled at them all. "I would go with you, but Charle requested that I return to Ulara as soon as I could," she apologized. "I hope to come back later."
"We'll appreciate any time you can spare," Guaraha responded politely.
"Now, Guaraha, Deningrad is west of here," the Ancestor directed. "I don't know for certain how much damage the Divine Dragon's attack did, but if there's any hope of repair you'll see the city from some distance off because of the crystals. Queen Theresa is, or was, the ruler, with the four Sacred Sisters next in rank."
"Do not flaunt your powers," Caron put in. "Humans may become hostile when confronted with things they cannot understand."
Ancestor Blano glanced around the assembly. "You are representing the Forest and all peaceful Winglies," he said gravely. "Remember that, and act accordingly. I expect you to listen to Guaraha just as though it were I leading you."
Guaraha shifted somewhat nervously at this, but no one seemed to notice. Blano raised a hand, light gathering about it, and with a flicker the seal on the forest faded. The eight lit their wings.
Few Winglies were in view as they left, the majority of the village not entirely certain whether they supported the undertaking or not. However, Meru's parents and a few close friends of various members of the group had gathered not far from the seal, waving and calling assorted good wishes. Girls of Niama's age held the majority, and Guaraha found their comments particularly amusing, these being mostly reminders to 'bring back some clothes for us!'
Another face in the group, however, drew his attention for a different reason. Prado stared silently after Halin and Pahlan, something in his expression indicating deep displeasure.
Forcing the misgivings out of his mind, Guaraha channeled a bit more magic through his wings and led his delegation out of the Wingly Forest, into the unknown human world. Well, Meru, he thought, I'm doing what you wanted and coming out...
...Please, make all of this unnecessary. Be safe.
Notes: Yeah, yeah, this is a little odd. So I felt sorry for Bardel. (The first names are my own invention, by the way.)
If you're still reading this thing, I'm going to assume I did a passable job despite the fact that this is my first LoD fic. Please review? There are about three more parts coming eventually, and I need some feedback. This is still kinda a rough draft and can certainly be changed.
And--if anyone knows a message board or similar community for LoD ficwriters, I'd be happy to learn its location. I've been looking and can't find much.
No idea when the next part will be out. It may depend on how much inspiration I get from reviews...I tend to write very slowly, unfortunately.
~*~DawningStar