Tiyan felt as if the mountains were draining his soul, slowly, relentlessly; a dark passage through monotonous snow, accompanied by the dull howl of the increasing wind. The clouds above their heads had been gathering for two days, promising a storm. Tiyan knew about blizzards and how dangerous they could be in the mountains. He looked up almost masochistically, trying to guess when it would arrive.
But the clouds were heavy and there was no storm; a looming danger, a promise with no outcome. Tiyan had to admit that maybe it wasn’t as bad as a deadly avalanche… but he was stealing something from himself, another particle of his courage, already shattered by the gate to AIn’asel.
Qhal seemed worried, and that alone made it look like there wasn’t any danger above them, not in the approaching storm. His steps grew heavier, more calculated, and his eyes shifted. A moderately talkative fairy was replaced by a cautious and aware person who knew the scent of danger and felt it right now.
Tiyan was good at walking in silence, but this time, between the sharp chasms that could open beneath his legs at any moment, he needed to hear a human voice. Even if it did not come from a human.
“Have you passed this path before?” his voice, already muffled by the scarves, was carried by the wind, making it almost inaudible. But Qhal heard.
He turned his hooded head in his direction, his yellow eyes almost unrecognisable in the falling evening.
“No Soath lyth knows the Shadowlands as well as they would like to,” was an enigmatic answer.
“That means no,” Tiyan sighed, the wind immediately pushing into his mouth and causing him to lose his breath for a moment.
Qhal smiled at him. His smile was a little sad, as if he felt guilty, but neither Tiyan suspected that any Fae could feel guilty, nor could he admit to knowing the Fae’s language of expression.
“I know these mountains, Tiyan Markon. I was born here.”
Tiyan looked at him with a very cautious expression. Not that he doubted. The mere thought of growing up in this dark land of crevices and cruel peaks was not even surprising. Just… unpleasant to imagine.
“Sometimes the most obvious things are hidden from view,” Qhal didn’t smile anymore, and Tiyan almost thought he had made a mistake in the fairy protocol. He was almost waiting to see the real face of his guide. For his worries and fears to be translated into reality. But Qhal had no intention of being violent, which almost disappointed Tiyan.
Almost.
And suddenly he felt acid in his throat.
Fire, a burst of flaming power, burning around him while the shadowy presence slipped under his clothes and entered him like a lover, forbidden, dark and so uninvited.
And he never wanted to feel it again.
Qhal still watched him with a curious gaze. His lips curved into a mysterious smile. Tiyan almost had the feeling that his face, or his movements, or literally anything was selling him and his thoughts.
He was almost relieved when Qhal turned and continued his journey.
The passage grew narrower, the walls around them steeper and more dangerous to walk on, the dark shapes piercing the skin of the stone and protruding from it to make their way more difficult and risky when they tried not to get too close to the edges. The mountains seemed even darker now as dusk fell, painting the sky with deep violet and ink. As they passed the rock pocket in the wall, Qhal decided – quite obviously to Tiyan – that they should stop here. Tiyan sat in the corner, shivering with cold, looking down at his hands, which, touched by the green of his guide, were now the warmest part of his body. And Qhal… began to prepare the place to bite it with roots and embrace it with vines.
It was not the first time Tiyan had seen Qhal’s magic. But now, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the spring Qhal offered to winter was especially beautiful. The vines, glowing from within, spread across the frozen ground, drinking the water from the snow and growing, swelling to form a green miracle above their heads. The wind stopped like a cut with a command. Tiyan’s ears twitched with relief as the howling subsided. There was a dead and pleasant silence in the closed, improvised arbor.
Tiyan knew that none of them needed to keep watch, for the niche separated them from all danger. But… this time Qhal had no intention of resting. Instead, he began to brew. A scent filled the arbor, neither tempting nor repulsive. Tiyan couldn’t find a way to describe it… like pine trees with mud. But it was still far from the actual scent when he inhaled it.
Qhal did not boil the liquid and did not offer it to Tiyan. He simply mixed the ingredients – whatever they were – and poured it down his throat. Tiyan could see the liquid filling his pipe and going down quickly. His transparent membrane trembled.
“You can drink?” Tiyan murmured. The faint tingling of the leaves was soothing and relaxing. But Tiyan was far from calm.
No more danger. No more pain.
“Yes,” was Qhal’s answer, quite distant and cold. Tiyan felt that he was worried and that alone made him anxious. “Sleep. Better to spend this night asleep.”
“And you?”
“I won’t.”
Tiyan watched as Qhal took two more gulps of the drink he had brewed. He didn’t even offer him the dried meat. Tiyan felt a creeping feeling under his skin, a feeling that Qhal was distraught, even frightened, despite being safely hidden under a magical green canopy.
That wasn’t encouraging. Tiyan was sure he wouldn’t sleep. Something hung in the air, an indecipherable threat.
But… he did.
He did, falling into a calm sleep, this time without nightmares… while Qhal’s yellow eyes reflected the arbor in an almost ominous way. Wells without end, yellow and green green with the emerald of moss and forest and sunlit from within.
Night fell upon them and ate their shadows, leaving them in the faint glow of leaves and vines…
*
He knows he has awakened. He knows it, the dreams press on his mind but do not penetrate it, like a storm cloud that threatens. But he feels like he is dreaming, even though he is so awake.
Something crawls across his skin, his eyelids are heavy as stones. He hears voices. Silent, caressing his senses like velvet, but bringing images that Tiyan doesn’t want to understand. Quickly, in a low tone. And crackle over him like a burning bonfire. The voices remind him of flames.
The crawling on his skin stops, but he feels that something is gathering under his clothes, waiting and longing.
A silent darkness swallows the arbor, buries its claws in the green, tears the soul from the vines, the flesh from the leaves. Silence. A terrible silence, an impatient prelude to darkness.
He opens his eyes, slowly, heavily, and sees Qhal trying desperately to keep his heavy eyelids from closing. His hand crawls, as if detached from his body. Gathering earth. Trying to reach.
*
Limbs everywhere, broken faces, black as coals. Dazed mind, Qhal, where is Qhal? Dazed, he drowns in something soft, like feathers and… decomposing flesh, it stinks of old carcass. It’s so soft he wants to bury himself in it and sleep. His mind barely connects. A small face, just above him. Black, with deep blue eyes, like transparent globes. Tight lips spread in a half smile, a small hand reaches out to him and lands on his chest.
Where is Qhal?
The hand reaches and reaches until it burrows beneath his skin. This can’t be real, he feels no pain, he just needs to fall asleep and never wake up again.
The wings above him, in the pattern that is Qhal’s magic – green leaves linked in intricate swirls, and blue wings, waving as if touched by a light breeze. But there is no wind here. It’s a windless arbor. Windless. But he can feel the air, which carries the scent of burnt coal and decay.
Where is Qhal?
He feels a hand running through his hair. Pulling. And releasing.
He hears something, a whisper. “Shadow’s pet.” He is Shadow’s pet.
Is he?
He’s not a pet.
He’s nobody’s pet.
The carving across his chest suddenly begins to sting, while many small hands trace the path across it, spreading his jacket and shirt. Someone takes the pendant from under his clothes, someone smiling and terribly out of place, like a burnt doll.
Where is Qhal? Qhal?
Where is he?
Is he Shadow’s pet too?
They think he is. Tiyan is.
The feathers are so soft.
He looks at the burnt wonders, so wrong in their flawed beauty.
And he is awake enough to taste the coal.