Barb Hendee: Rebel Fay

Wynn rolled over on the bed ledge to sit up. With dark circles under her eyes, she glared at Chap.

"Not until I am ready!" she grumbled. "Get that through your thick head!"

Lately, her temper had grown shorter, but this was perhaps for the best.

"What now?" Magiere asked.

"He wants to talk to you," Wynn said tiredly. "As if that is all I am good for anymore. Chap, just go to sleep, and let me do the same!"

Chap stalked closer to the sage, his eyes locked into hers. Wynn let out a sigh and slid off the ledge to the chamber floor.

"He says he is afraid… of showing me something, but you have to know the truth, and this is the only way."

She wavered, looking small and young to Magiere.

Too many times Chap had revealed something that made Magiere wish she had a way to speak alone with the dog. Wynn might have grown hardened in the last two seasons, but there were still things the sage was not prepared to face. Things that Magiere herself didn't care to think on, and it made her dread what Chap might pass to her through Wynn.

Magiere sank down, the three of them in a huddle, and ran a hand over Chap's silver-gray ear.

"What is it?" she whispered.

The dog glanced with concern at Wynn, but then fixed his eyes on Magiere. She stared back, growing more unsettled by the moment.Until Wynn whimpered.

The sage pulled up her knees, hiding her face in her hands, and began to sob.

"Wynn?" Magiere's fear sharpened. "Chap, whatever you're doing, stop it now!"

As she reached for Wynn, the sage cringed away, then clutched Magiere's wrist tightly.

"Once we leave elven land," she said, her voice low, "never come back… you must never set foot here again!"

As much concern as Magiere had for Wynn, she glared at Chap. He dipped his muzzle, flinching under her watchful eyes. Whatever he said to the sage, he didn't stop. Wynn's fingers tightened on Magiere's wrist, and the sage began to whisper Chap's words.

The longer Chap spoke through Wynn, themore numb Magiere became, until all she felt was the same shudder in her flesh that grew each time she stepped within a domicile tree.

"You were made to breach these lands… to breach any last refuge of the living," was the last thing Wynn said.

Magiere's mind rolled in a tangled mess as Wynn crawled back into bed, hiding her face.

Magiere sat upon the chamber floor with Chap.

She kept hearing words in her head spoken in pieces. Some from the last memory Chap had stolen from Most Aged Father. And more from what she'd heard others say. The worst was the missing piece from Chap's delusion spawned by sorcery.

No undead existed… before the lost war of the Forgotten History.

No undead rose… but humans.

No undead walked elven lands… but her.

In theforestofPudurlatsat, far south in Droevinka, Chap had fallen prey to a phantasm cast by the undead sorcerer Vordana. Magiere and Leesil had suffered the same, each experiencing a delusion fed by their worst fears-and perhaps something more hidden within each of them.

Chap had never told Magiere or anyone of his delusion until now.

He had seen her with an army, its ranks filled with creatures and beasts driven by madness for slaughter. She stood at the head of those forces in black-scaled armor, fully feral with her dhampir nature cut loose. Among the horde were the shadowed and gleaming-eyed figures, as in Magiere's own delusion and nightmares. The undead waited for her to lead them into a thriving forest. Everything died in her wake… under their hunger.

In Most Aged Father's memory, the undead horde hadn't breached the elven forest. Those who fled to that final refuge huddled together, listening to the sounds of starving undead legions tearing each other apart.

Magiere cowered on the elm's chamber floor. She had been imbued… infected with the nature of a Noble Dead, and yet was still a living thing. This had been accomplished with the blood of the five races, the Uirishg. By their blood used in her conception, and the life within her, Magiere could go wherever she wished.

The undead could not breach First Glade or the forest it touched. Not until the war came again to cover the world-and Magiere was born.

This was the reason she had been made.

Chap's understanding of all these pieces, much of it hidden or stolen by his kin, was the worst thing he could have done to her.

That wasn't the end of what was grinding Magiere down. Chap knew what Leesil's strange name meant. He heard the name of the female elder in Most Aged Father's memory, the one called Leshiara-Sorrow-Tear.

Leesil… Leshil… Leshiarelaohk…Sorrow-Tear's Champion.

Magiere leaned on both hands, trying to draw in breath. Chap crept in, brushing his muzzle against her face, but she barely felt it.

Nein'a and her confederates envisioned their own way to deal with this unknown enemy that Most Aged Father feared would come again. Leesil had been conceived as their instrument, made for the need of the living with the skill for killing that the Anmaglahk knew so well.

And Magiere?She had been born tainted by the undead to breach all last refuges of life.

Each of them made for opposing sides of a war yet to come.

She couldn't stop the tears slipping from her eyes.

Small hands gripped her shoulders. Wynn knelt down, and Magiere collapsed into the sage's lap.

"I am sorry," Wynn whispered, trying to pull Magiere closer. "For what I said… the way I said it. You are not what they tried to make you. You do not have to be this."

But Magiere only thought of one thing.

Outside in the dark was the half-blood she loved, made for a purpose to counter her own… created to be her enemy.

In two days, Magiere stood on the riverside docks beside Leesil. Of all inappropriate times, Wynn struggled with a brush to clear tangles from Chap's fur. Brot'an, Sgaile, and Leanalham watched her efforts with amusement.

"Hold still!" the sage snapped in exasperation.

Osha kept his eyes on Wynn as well, but his expression held no humor.

In the middle of them all, Nein'a stood quietly distracted near Leesil, and he fell into his old habit of babbling whenever nervous or upset.

"Remember what I said-there are elven ships that sail the Belaskian coast. Just send a letter to Counselor Lanjov at the bank in Bela, and he will get it to us straight away. We have some things to finish before going home to Miiska. But you can come there just the same, whenever you wish."

Nein'a nodded, her eyes drinking in her son's face. She, Gleann, and Leanalham had delayed their own departure to see the "visitors" off.

"You may have more than one task," she whispered.

Magiere hoped when they finally returned home that her aunt Bieja would be there waiting. She wondered what the blunt, gruff Bieja and the sly, watchful Nein'a might think of each other.

Gleann had handled any dissatisfaction among the elders at the delayed departure. Now they had to leave-for more reasons than just the council's decree.

The market up from the docks bustled with activity. Tall elves in bright clothing bargained over goods from smoke-cured fish to beeswax candles to bolts of the elves' strange shimmering white cloth that look much like silk or satin.

The barge arrived to take them down the river, and pulled up to the docks. Leanalham stepped out from behind Nein'a. Her face filled with alarm at the sight of it.

"Oh, Leshil…"

"I'll try to send word of how we fare," he said.

Most likely, that wouldn't happen, but Magiere kept quiet. The girl would miss him, and Leesil had never been one to write letters. Then again, he'd never had anyone to write to, if such a letter could make it into the elven lands.

Sgaile and Brot'an boarded the barge.

"What are you doing?" Magiere asked in confusion.