Spring came in the song of birds, of new leaves and warm wind. Retreated so many times, to eventually stop its shifting. And stay.
The people from Venklann Valley slowly – reluctantly – began to thaw as well.
It came in small acts of courage. Returning home an hour later. Enjoying life more. Allowing children for more. The rowan and iron still protected houses – but humankind started to learn how to not hide.
A year passed since winter came back from where it seeped. Inamora would never feel fully safe – but it learned to not fear all the time.
Slowly.
Like a soul reborn, still remembering its past life – but trying to start anew.
Human lands became a newly born, very old soul – touched with night magic. But not surrounded by pain anymore.
That day, which before the fae invasion celebrated the first day of May, Inamora feasted and danced – old customs steadily reappearing. The meat was not anymore half-rotten, the trees gave first flowers. First spring after so many years of cold and uncertainty. Humans knew how to be grateful – to the weather, to the goddess, to the soil.
Yet – the one which allowed it all, who silently ended fae reign over Avras – didn’t feast and didn’t dance.
Noyd twirled with her brother in a dance around the fire. The night found Inamora wild, bathing in freedom. Everyday still was reluctant, marked by too much fear birthed in the past. But today…
… it was flaming.
Women surrounded the maypole, each ribbon attached to it, celebrating different sides of the goddess – green for the maiden, red for the mother and brown for the crone. Life and death, old and new. This night would start a new generation of Vennklan people – even if the retreating winter chill still bit. The first day of May was colder – still warmer than before.
Villagers already were leaving the square to join in body and soul. To start a new life. To begin new cycle.
Tiyan sat on the wooden log, far from the flames. He observed how Noyd laughed and every time her gaze fell on him, her laughter died. She belonged to human land – and he still to the fae realm. Though possibly he was a pariah in both.
His eyes fixed on flame.
So many things have changed.
Before he almost hoped spring wouldn’t return. He wasn’t ready; he craved winter as much as he craved Lorian’s harming touch. He didn’t speak of it, he tried to even not think of it.
But winter crept into his mind, with each Lorian sculpture, with each shadow creature that polluted the house.
Their house.
His house.
This house belonged to the past. Just like himself.
A relic of old, that latched only to pain, not allowing the remaining half of his soul to bloom with leaves and fresh moss. His moss was rotten and the leaves frozen.
Flames were dancing in his eyes, in darkness almost black. He stared into them, like hypnotized, allowing them to eat his fragmented soul and mind. Fire felt familiar, his element, his curse. He still felt safer when it blazed nearby – even if it produced shadow.
Maybe exactly because of that.
“How do you know that Reynardine steals women?”
“Because it’s known. All know fae steal girls!”
“Why not boys then? They go into the woods much more often. To cut trees and hunt.”
“Because… boys are less pretty?”
“Silly Tiyo!”
“And because boys have weapons. You know, steel and iron. Fae fear men, because they can harm them.”
“I like the theory of being less pretty better.”
“Women also aren’t knights.”
“I will be a knight.”
“Noyd, the king needs to name you a knight. And no king ever named a woman.”
“Why?”
“Hmm, maybe because they do not fit into armor? They are too small and have breasts.”
“That’s stupid.”
“And I heard from a wandering bard that women have weaker arms, so they wouldn’t be able to carry the sword.”
“Even more stupid. I am stronger than you.”
“That will change. I will grow muscles and go fight Reynardine and save all the girls he kidnapped.”
“He will kick your ass!”
“I will kick his.”
“You will need more than muscles to do that. Fae have magic.”
“I will have the magic of big muscles.”
“Ha! I would love to see how you tussle with a fae!”
Tiyan’s eyes filled with tears. The people around him celebrated, passionately abandoned to the light in darkness. Which in their hearts was tonight stronger than shadows. A burst of laughter near him. A naked breast in the bushes.
Eyes of Noyd gleaming in darkness, looking at him. Then, turning to her father, who handed her a cup of freshly brewed beer.
He stood up from the log and slowly, allowing his feet to carry him rather than going by his own will, he turned home.
The snow melted completely a week ago. The warm breeze carried the smell of primroses.
And somehow… also jasmine and violets.
He stood in place for a moment, inhaling the scent that terrified him and fascinated. The scent that became his terror and his deepest wish.
He entered the house, his steps firm. His room welcomed him with hundreds of Lorians. Shadows took this home in possession – he could feel them on his skin, hungry, devouring – a welcomed torment, an awaited punishment.
“Because it’s known. All know fae steal girls!”
He began to gather the sculptures. Some landed in a sack, some he took straight into his own hands. They carried the weight of his guilt. Each sculpture had eyes gazing into his heart, seeing horrors. Each of them – a part of himself, which he couldn’t leave behind.
He took them all.
When he was in the courtyard again, the wind attacked him with aroma of spring, hard. Even harder. Almost pushing the air from his lungs. He belonged to no spring and it was chasing him back into the winter.
He tossed sculptures on the ground. They made a sound – not even of wood falling into mud. It was a soft, sensual laughter of Lorian Ain’Dal.
“That will change. I will grow muscles and go fight Reynardine and save all the girls he kidnapped.”
You couldn’t save anyone, Tiyo. Even yourself.
He took tinder and flint and created – among the wood and memories – a small flickering flame. It danced lightly on Lorian sculpts until it fiercely started to spread. It spread fast in the wind. Hungry. Possessive. Finding a kindred spirit in the one who it ate…
“If I ever marry someone, it will be you, Noyd.”
“Silly Tiyo.”
“I say what I feel. And you are my best friend.”
“Would you save me from the fae, then?”
“From anything.”
“And everything?”
“And everything.”
“As long as you can fit into armor and lift the sword, I trust you.”
The black wood made fierce love with the flames. The fire bursted into the sky – savoring shadows and horrors intertwined. Lorian bathed in them – like he did in Tiyan’s flames. They suited each other – Lorian and fire. They ate and spread, one with lust and darkness, the second with heat and light.
And Tiyan felt they called him.
To the only embrace he ever belonged.
To the only love that he could accept.
To the only warmth that could heal his cold.
He was the last god of fire – devoid of powers, stripped of identity. Taken and used and put into the world who wanted to continue into rebirth – he wanted to decay.
The flames were the only home he could find solace in.
He stepped forth, feeling the heat warming his limbs, blood boiled in his veins. It was almost a caress – being understood by the power which was chosen for him. Which wrote a dark lullaby to him, before he was ever born.
His hair caught the fire first. Sparkles floated around him like small dancers.
Like fae.
Like wonders with teeth and promise of pain.
He entered the flames. Slowly, without screaming, like the pain belonged to another person. A person who still had life and still had hope. He welcomed it, when it started to crash against him, fire to fire, his heritage and last breath. A burning caress, painful, beautiful, charring the rest of his soul.
He was full again.
And he allowed the flames…
… to eat.
*
The fire burned all night. Fed with a god, it burned high and wildly. Its roar piercing the air, offering its son a funeral dirge.
The villagers reveled on the promise of the abundance. Their joyful voices resounded through the woods, filling them with more life that they possessed during all last years.
And the lonely dog lay next to the bonfire, his eyes reflecting the blaze. His muzzle on his paws, his wet eyes fixed on the flames.
Trying to understand.
Waiting for his owner to return.