As Tiyan lost all sense of time, following Qhal like a benumbed, tired puppet, the forest slowly cleared, trees becoming scarcer, giving way to scattered black stones and blocks of veined rock, all swallowed up by roots twice as thick as Tiyan’s waist. Qhal paused, his eyes fixed on the fortress that rose from behind them like a finger pointing into the vastness above. A finger challenging the celestial beings, tearing at the darkness with spikes.
Dal’coler grew before them like the shadow of a giant predator, towering over an almost ritual stone circle. The spires seemed to swallow the stars, piercing the sky like needles. The black stone was ageless, like carved from obsidian. The lights that illuminated it were not of fire, but of living creatures. They flew around the palace and Tiyan was not sure if they noticed them or if they were too simple to understand.
He was standing at the feet of his worst enemy. Without weapons, without will, without courage. He would say without hope as well, but that would be a lie. He had hope, a huge bonfire, as flaming as the mysterious inferno that devoured him almost every night. Hope that they needed him more than they wanted him to scream.
“You do not seem happy, Tiyan Markon,” Qhal remarked. “Here your journey ends and your sister awaits you, covered in blood. Too little joy for a victor.”
“Happy?” Tiyan’s eyes were buried in the gate. No guards. Of course, the Fae didn’t need them. Spells were enough, and the Fae were the strongest predators in this realm. No one would try to force their way through these door – unless they wanted to be a living example. “Wait… blood? Why did you say that?”
Qhal didn’t answer. Dal’coler was calling him, like a devious lover, and Tiyan found a glimmer in his eyes, something that reminded him that he had never been his friend, and never would be. He was a part of this place, and that was what drove him to leave the frozen Shadowlands and serve the conqueror. The fiery fairies of the mountains called him a traitor… and Tiyan saw affection in Qhal’s gaze – directed at the cold battlements and sharp shapes that formed the fortress of winter.
They walked to the gates, which looked like a forgotten temple, eaten by roots and vines, trees growing from the walls like teeth in the gum. And as if on command, they began to open slowly, silently, a door into the night. Qhal looked so small next to them, almost as if the opening wings could swallow him and throw him into the void. Tiyan’s mind began to welcome an array of gruesome scenarios, terrible outcomes, deadly possibilities. The darkness swirled in the gap between the cold walls and Qhal moved a finger towards him.
“You want to see her, silly creature?” he wasn’t annoyed with him, but Tiyan noticed that he looked excited, moved, restless. “This is the only way. At least only in a reality where you both live.”
But Tiyan stood petrified. If he passes through these gates, there will be no turning back.
You fool. There is no turning back now. You never had a chance.
He saw the same fate in Qhal’s pale eyes. He will deliver him to his king, no matter if he stands here, unable to move.
But Tiyan had to go through those gates. He forced his feet to carry him in, making him disappear into the dim darkness of the fortress, with soul somewhere where his heart couldn’t reach. The gates looked even more impressive when he was closer. Carved with vines which mimicked real ones, tangling in an eternal dance of life and still death. Dark stone and hushed flora, melted into a bizarre sculpture. He could swear he felt beating pulse of Dal’coler, a drum that measured his hours, days and years.
Enchanted.
This place was pure magic. Living muscle pumping blood to Ain’asel’s veins.
He stepped forth… and he found himself being watched by many eyes. Eyes that were anything but human. The fortress was enveloped by dim light, and the feeling that someone looks just into you, deeply, The passage leading to the gates was empty – but Tiyan knew they are watched, somehow. He sensed it in his veins.
Qhal led him to the vast hall, which only by name resembled a chamber. It was a work of dark art, filled with not less artful beings…
Small fairies swarmed around Qhal as if they knew he was coming. The fairies touched his legs, his hands, in some strange ritual that Tiyan didn’t understand. Qhal stripped off his outer clothing and threw his tattered jacket into the hands of the tallest of them. The fairy hurried out and never returned.
“Rai’har Qhal, ahar’sat.”
“The shadow longs for his company.”
“For news from the land of ice and wind.”
“And his little mortal friend…”
All eyes, crooked and mischievous, turned to Tiyan and pinned him down. The palace was by no means abandoned or empty, as he had thought as he waited outside, staring fearfully at the gates. The ghastly windows, with the wind dancing in them, were empty.
It was all an illusion. Dal’coler lived on his own, and life here was more vibrant than in the Venklann Valley.
Many Fae, High, Low and in between, watched the newcomers with interest, curiosity etched into their faces – most of the smaller Fae had those hollow, empty eyes he remembered from the Venklann Valley.
The Unseelie, however… the lords of this place exuded a strong charm that Tiyan felt physically. A morbid feeling that made him want to slit his veins if one of them expressed the need to drink his blood.
“Take me to the king,” Qhal’s voice trembled a little. Anticipation? Fear? Doubt?
“He said Rai’har Qhal has been on his mission too long…”
“So long…”
“Very long…”
“But Rai’har Qhal knows so well…”
“He lost a finger, nah ah ah.”
“Such a loss, and we could cut it out of his hand ourselves.”
Tiyan hoped they were just deliberately annoying Qhal.
The flurry of wings showed them the direction and Tiyan would have been standing still with his feet buried in the ground if Qhal hadn’t pushed him forward so hard that Tiyan almost fell.
“Go,” Qhal’s voice was different now. Not a single calm note. It was sharp and cold, like the plains they crossed together. Tiyan wanted to say something, but gave up when the little fairies laughed in front of them, looking at him all the time.
“Ah, mortal creature.”
“So scared…”
“So frightened.”
“We won’t hurt him.
“We won’t even think of such foul things…”
They passed the hall and entered the passage with candles on the walls, illuminating stained glass and portraits of unknown people. Tiyan preferred not to look at them too closely. The ones he observed seemed to be liquid, changing under his gaze, teasing him.
He was in the belly of the beast, in the claws of a lion.
And he was about to meet his tormentor. The Shadow.
The king of Ain’asel.
He didn’t even try to imagine what he might look like. It didn’t matter. He would see Tiyan as prey, something he tried to not believe in for so long.
Qhal pushed him once more, and Tiyan fell through the door into an even larger chamber, bathed in ancient darkness, where a faint, enchanted light shone. The fairies gathered there immediately looked in his direction, as if sensing him with some seventh or eighth sense that only they possessed.
All the fairies were beauty incarnate, even the smaller, more monstrous ones, like they had been created by the goddess to shine. Their faces were kind, calm and painted with temptations and desires Tiyan would never want to understand. Some wore strange masks that hid their features, revealing only what they wanted. Tiyan looked around in despair. They seemed to be in the middle of some kind of celebration, atonal music filling the air, playing on Tiyan’s nerves like water falling in the same place on exposed skin.
Qhal didn’t even give him a chance.
Something forced him to his knees and lower, spreading him out on the floor like stone splashing a beetle. Tiyan realised he couldn’t breathe. The same force that had pressed him to the stone was now pushing all the air out of him, leaving him immobile and suffocating.
“Hgm…”
The dark patches under his eyelids. A cruel force in his lungs, pressing them against his ribs, making it impossible for him to even scream.
You wanted me alive!
It can’t end like this. You wanted me for a reason!
“Qhal, do not spoil the goods.”
The voice was calm, but Tiyan wanted to scream even more when he heard it. It was the voice of someone who would not only order him to open his veins, to offer him his blood. That – would be too easy.
Suddenly the pressure cut, his lungs were released from the magical clutches.
Qhal dropped to one knee, touching it with his forehead in a pose of submission. Tiyan felt weak, his gaping mouth gasping for air, a ragged cough coming from his throat.
“Your Majesty. I brought the vessel as you commanded.”
Tiyan still couldn’t get up, black petals dancing under his eyes. Someone was coming. The soft sound of his boots became the only sound he could concentrate on. Until those same boots entered his sight and the man stopped right in front of him.
One foot was raised and the tip of the boot lifted his chin, forcing him to look at its owner.
The man standing before him looked youthful, as if made of spring. But Tiyan knew immediately that this was a lie. He was ageless, like this place. The spring in his features was eternal winter. And his playful smile, so honest and beautiful, was night incarnate, hiding monstrosities.
His eyes were black emptiness that slowly began to absorb Tiyan’s soul.
Tiyan didn’t want to surrender that easily, wanted to show minimal resistance. He slowly started to stand up, his muscles protesting, his mind focused on a goal – not welcoming all this on the ground.
“On your knees.”
An order, sharp and merciless, though silent. Tiyan immediately felt his knees buckle, his whole being wanting to please this man. His teeth clenched, his lips formed a tight line, but his legs bent and he knelt again.
The man smiled. Such a breathtaking smile. A promise of pleasure… and so much pain.
“Crawl.”
Tiyan dragged himself on his knees, knowing he had no chance, even if he wouldn’t feel the need to make this Fae happy and pleased. But he wanted to. Wanted to please so much.
His hands clasped the boot and he looked at the Fae with devotion and shame.
He hated him. And yet he wanted to be his slave.
“Your mind is exceptionally strong,” the Fae laughed. “I still feel the will to resist me. Normally, your kind is like clay in my hands.”
“Where is my sister…” murmured Tiyan, pressing his cheek against the Fae’s leg. He felt something creep from behind the man and embrace him. A mist, tentacles of darkness, searching, as if trying to find a way into his skin.
“So eager for a family reunion,” the Fae smiled. It must be their king, Qhal called him… His Majesty. Lorian, the king of the Unseelie, ran through Tiyan’s mind. Beloved master…
… no, someone he should hate…
… he would do anything for him…
… he killed his parents, for Goddess’ sake!…
Tiyan, do not let him. Don’t let him, Tiyan Markon.
“But your sister can be busy. So much joy she is witnessing here.”
Tiyan moaned into the fabric of Lorian’s trousers.
“Your needs will be met. Eventually.”
The shadows lifted him up, up, separating him from the ground. Tiyan grunted as he felt the tentacle of the night curl around his neck.
Lorian was looking into his eyes now. His black emptiness began to pull him in again. He could see stars in his eyes, and many moons, glowing with the reflected light of the forgotten gods. He could not move, but he could hear the other Fae whispering, some laughing, and he knew, knew so well, that they were enjoying it.
Lorian’s finger lifted his chin, just as the boot had done a moment ago.
The pressure returned. Tiyan felt something in his mind, a slowly opening void, endless, terrifying. A hole into which it was so easy to fall and fall, eon after eon. Black like Lorian’s eyes.
It slid into him. Meticulously penetrating his mind with clawed fingers. A power that was the ultimate end. Tiyan felt his thoughts become unfocused, scattered. Buried under stones, tangled with roots, heavy and cruel. Until all he felt was terror, overwhelming, empty and cold.
He screamed. Loud, so loud. He screamed for a long time. His throat began to hurt – but he didn’t care when his very being was being replaced by nothing.
Until the void receded, leaving him gasping in fear.
“You are strong. That’s good. Your strength will be so useful.”
“I am… I am… ah… no…”
“You underestimate yourself,” the Fae King smiled charmingly. “Your mind tells you things no one wants to hear. Cowardly, worthless, undeserving. Such minds are weak… but yours… is not. Your mind will bring me much joy in the end. And the final reward will be… three times as pleasant.”
“Please, my lord,” he heard his own voice, a moan, weak and submissive. The horror of the void in his mind still gnawing at his soul. The part of him that wanted to be a slave to this Fae fought the need to see Mina. “I beg you, my sister…”
“You will see her,” Lorian patted his cheek gently. “She is safe and enjoying my hospitality. Just… as you will enjoy it soon. You will be reunited, brother and sister. A beautiful, heartwarming sight”
His lips got closer to Tiyan’s ear, the boy could feel the intense scent of violets, the same he sensed when he was ravished by the shadow presence in the mountains.
“And your nightmares will scream in fear, feeling me near you” he whispered, the misty night slowly caressed Tiyan’s neck, a soft touch of a careful lover and a cruel stroking of a beast that he felt in Lorian; not asleep, waiting for the most delicious time to swallow his prey.
Lorian nodded to Qhal, who grasped Tiyan by the arms and took him away. Tiyan fought the one who tried to separate him from his lord. He could see the pulsing membrane of Qhal’s throat, right next to his face. It beat, like a heart.
“Mina…” he murmured, unwanted tears trickling down his cheeks. “Forgive me, please. Forgive me.”
He knew – somehow – that he had failed. Mina, the only reason. The only reason he could leave the safety of the Venklann Valley and make the dangerous journey through the Fae realm. His heart pounded with the intensity of a sledgehammer.
He had failed.
But he would do everything to make it right.
But…
… Qhal took him away from Lorian Ain’Dal, and that was the most painful thing he had ever felt.