Dark Flower, Chapter 20, A Blossom

[Mikayla]

Dark Flower, Chapter 20


In the guest room of Amith’s shop in Lonelywood village, Sheyreiza Auvryndar looked at her reflection in a small hand-held mirror. She was not looking at her face, as she often did, nor was she looking at her hair. Sheyreiza’s vanity had not decreased so much as it had been eclipsed. The reflection in the mirror was of Sheyreiza’s stomach, which was now expanded far beyond its norm. Sheyreiza was in the last stages of her pregnancy now. The baby was only a month away, maybe two at the latest.

Sheyreiza had still not found another home. To the south was Termaline with its suspicious humans. To the east was Kelvin’s Cairn, a place too wild for Sheyreiza to live with an infant and also too far from any hope of finding water during the long winter months. To the north were the human barbarians who Sheyreiza had battled. Finally, to the west was the lake, Maer Dualdun, and beyond that the Accursed tower and the Talonites. Sheyreiza finally decided she would search for a place to make a new home within those parts of Lonelywood she could still access. She would start down by the lake.

Sheyreiza set the mirror down on the bed by where her chainmail lay. Her stomach had grown so big her armor was no longer wearable. She would have to do without the enchanted shirt. Slowly, she picked up her quiver, bow and other weapons. Each one had to be adjusted to fit her expanded size. None fit right, no matter how well adjusted. Everything was awkward. Everything was heavy. Just getting dressed was often an ordeal these days, necessitating its own rest. Still, she had to find a new place to live. Amith’s guest room was comfortable and in a sense, it was home, but Amith did not want Sheyreiza here and Sheyreiza did not want to go on borrowing space from a commoner.

Once dressed and equipped, Sheyreiza left the shop and headed for the lake’s edge. She would follow the water’s edge as far as she could, looking for a cave or other welcoming place. With a silent prayer to Eilistraee, she started walking.

***

At the base of Ellewyn’s tower, Jain’n, Nylo, Arithel and Windsong had gathered. Jain’n spoke to the others as they stood assembled before a glowing faerie trod. Above them, Inthara watched silently. Her fear, especially for Nylo, was written across her face as clearly as any rune ever inscribed.

The four elves below her were going to confront Xurshin the Mountain King, the great white dragon who ruled the Spine of the World. Only through Xurshin would Jain’n be able to find a cure for the magical plague inflicted on the north by the Talonites. Xurshin, however, did nothing for free and any meeting with the ancient wyrm was a brush with death. Like the mountains he lorded over, Xurshin was fickle, cold and merciless. His bones were as hard as the rocks, his scales as thick as the trees, and his breath as deadly as a northern blizzard. When one went into the mountains, one lived and died at the whim of the mountains and the Mountain King.

Jain’n, Lord of Lonelywood, had no wish to lead his warband into the mountains but it was either face the dangers of the Spine, or slowly succumb to the Talonites’ plague. Already, Nylo and Inthara were infected and slowly dying. The magic of the elves had kept them alive thus far, but their time was running out. Many others had already perished, and many more would, if the plague was not stopped. Unfortunately, the key to making a cure was the blood and bile of a red dragon. Xurshin, the draconic ruler of the Spine of the World, had told Jain’n he would allow the elves to slay a red dragon named Lolqualol. Lolqualol had recently moved into the Spine and Xurshin coveted the other dragon’s hoard. Xurshin was, as dragons often were, cautious and lazy; why not let elves do the dirty work and then take the hoard for himself? Jain’n had already visited Xurshin once on the matter, and knew that a bargain of sorts might be arranged. They had only to await Xurshin’s summons, and that summons had now been given.

The war band was not in ideal shape for the mission. Inthara, the war band’s sorceress and novice priestess, was pregnant and so would keep vigil in the circle while they were gone. Nylo, the war band’s scout, was sick, and though he soldiered on, he was not as strong as he had been. Sheyreiza, their most powerful and experienced priestess, was estranged not only from Jain’n her lover, but from the warband and her goddess. Windsong, a wild elf who rarely came out of the trees, was healthy and fit, but he was only a single elf. As the band was weakened, Jain’n turned to the sword of Arithel, the half-drow from Waterdeep, who was now a provisional member of the war band.

Jain’n finished speaking, and one by one the four elves passed through the glowing portal of the faerie trod. Above the magical gate, tears rolled down Inthara’s ebony cheeks. With a deep breath she turned from the trod and made her way to the circle. She would pray for the foursome while they were gone. They would need it.

***

East of the village, along the shores of Maer Dualdun, Sheyreiza had found a small cul-de-sac. It was a cut out along the cliff that ran near the shore of the lake and it appeared to be the perfect size in which to erect a shelter. It would be well shielded from the wind, near water, and protected from sight. It was also well off the trail that led to the village, so she would not get many, if any, strangers wandering by. Sheyreiza began pacing off the cul-de-sac to determine how big her shelter could be and how many reindeer hides she would need.

A chill ran through her. Something deep inside awoke and a feeling of dread passed over her. Sheyreiza had been raised in the Underdark and had learned long ago to listen to every hunch, feeling and bit of intuition she had. She stopped pacing and crouched low. With one hand she drew and arrow and notched it to her bowstring. Her mismatched, blue and red eyes narrowed and scanned the woods, snows and lake around her.

The feeling of dread got worse. Something bad was going to happen. Sheyreiza felt panic rising up in her chest. She stood, drawing the arrow part way and scanned the woods along the top of the cliff above her. Nothing. Still, she felt no comfort. Perhaps the dread came from the nearby lake. Large bodies of water terrified Sheyreiza. The source of fear was an upbringing in the Underdark. While the tunnels and caverns of the realms below were dangerous, nothing compared to the horrors that lived beneath the subterranean oceans and lakes. Sheyreiza decided to flee the woods. As quickly and as gracefully as her pregnant body could move, she made her way out of the cul-de-sac and along the shore until she found the slope where she had descended the embankment. As fast as she could she scrambled to the top.

Breathing heavily with exertion, she collapsed to her knees on the upper trail. She looked both ways along the path, but saw nothing. Still, she felt it. Impending doom. Danger. Calamity. She spared a glance down the hill she had just surmounted, but nothing seemed to be following her from the lake. Gasping for breath, she pushed up from the snow and staggered down the trail towards the village. A few yards further and she came upon the shrine to Labelas Enoreth. She leaned upon the statue and rested. Her breath came in rasping gasps and her knees were weak. Her arms tingled and she was afraid she would not have the strength to draw her bow. Truth was, she had no idea if she could really shoot it with her belly as big as it was.

Her eyes darted from one end of the path to the other. Something was out there, but she could not see it. She scanned the trees. Nothing. She looked behind the statue down at the lake below. Nothing.

Though she could not see the threat, she knew she could not stay here. Taking as deep a breath of the ice-cold air as her lungs would allow, she pushed off of the shrine and began running as fast as she could back towards the village. Though it was not far, the run seemed to take an eternity. She could barely breath. Her head felt light and still she could not see what threatened her. Once in the village she looked for help. There was no one. The village was silent and no one walked the snowy lanes.

Sheyreiza staggered on through the houses until she came to Amith’s shop. There, she took a last look around. Nothing. Still, the specter of doom was haunting her, driving her onward. Sheyreiza gave her boots a perfunctory kick to shake the snow off and opened the door. Her legs were so weak and her head so light she nearly tumbled through the opening. Amith was not in the store. Sheyreiza dropped her bow and pushed with both hands on the heavy wooden door, imploring it to shut before whatever was out there got in. The door shut with a dull thud. Sheyreiza backed away, retrieved her bow, and stumbled through the shop into the guestroom where she shut the inside door. Exhausted, gasping, she collapsed onto her bed. The feeling of doom began to subside, but she was nothing if not cautious; as she lay on the bed, she pulled her rapier from its scabbard and rested it across her prone body. She covered herself with a blanket concealing the rapier, but left her right arm free so that she could put her sword into action in a heartbeat if needed. Only then did she close her eyes and begin to rest.

***

Jain’n and his warband stood in the village of Kulduhar at the edge of a small lake. Jain’n was stripping out of his armor. Around him, the other elves of the warband alternated between watching Jain’n and watching the barbaric humans of the Elk tribe who lived in Kulduhar. Heedless of either the humans or his own war band, Jain’n finished removing his armor and clothing. He stood naked in the cold, staring into the depths of the icy lake.

“I am buried here.” He said finally. “I was buried here. In another life.” He took several deep breaths and then sprinted for the lake. At the edge of the water, his bare feet crashed through thin ice into freezing water but he kept running. His powerful tanned legs continued pumping as the water got deeper until he finally leapt forward in a dive. With a small splash he disappeared beneath the surface and he was gone.

Once beneath the surface of the lake Jain’n kicked as hard as he could for the bottom. He knew he did not have long. Though he was young as sun elves went, and in fantastic physical condition, his breath would not last forever and he would not long survive the cold of the water. Indeed, he was certain he would not get another chance if this dive failed. The lake was so cold his body was going into shock. He knew he would get one and only one chance at this. If he did not retrieve what he came for this time, even if he lived, he would not have time to warm up and try again.

He kicked hard, and let air bleed out of his lungs to make the descent faster. Letting the air go would cut his available time down, but he had to reach the bottom. The water grew dark. Though small, this lake was much deeper than it looked, and though still, the bottom was still murky. Jain’n was not guided by sight, however, as much as he was guided by memory. He had been buried here, or, more accurately, the body of one of the spirits that inhabited him had been. That spirit still knew its way home, so to speak.

Jain’n saw the lake bottom below him. He reached out, and grabbed at it, getting a handful of silt. He let his ancestor’s spirit come foreword to consciousness to guide him, but he knew that his body was dying. His lungs burned and his skin froze. His muscles and mind were both slowing down as the cold took its toll. Desperately, he searched the bottom of the lake. His hand felt something cold, something colder than the water of the lake, something so cold it burned. He blinked. Air escaped his lungs but still his body wanted to float. His legs kicked harder to keep his body down. He could just barely see something in the silt below. Ice. A chunk of ice, partially covered in silt. Normally, ice would float, so Jain’n instantly knew that this was the object of his quest. He kicked with the last of his legs’ strength and let the air bleed out of his lungs so he could reach the bottom again. Heedless of the burning cold, he gripped the long chunk of ice with one hand and pushed off the bottom with the other. Desperately, he fought his way back to the surface.

The ancestors were distant now. All of them were shouting and yelling, but their voices were starting to fade. It was as if they were being dragged away. The surface above seemed to made of pure light, yet darkness began to creep in around Jain’n’s sight. Soon, it looked for all the world as if he was in a tunnel, but slipping away from the light at the end rather than moving towards it. Dimly, in a part of his brain that was somehow still working, he realized he was not getting further from the surface, but he was blacking out. In the distance, he heard the ancestors yelling, imploring him to kick and kick and kick. The darkness grew, the light shrank and the surface seemed so far away, farther away than it had been when he was at the bottom. The dark grew and grew, and the light at the far end of the watery tunnel was no more than a pinhead now.

The pinhead exploded in light.

Jain’n broke the surface of the water and his tortured lungs took in a breath of air so cold it felt like he had been stabbed through the chest. He exhaled and it felt like he was breathing fire. His body threatened to sink beneath the surface again, but he leaned his head back and took another breath. Again, he felt dagger-like pain tearing into his chest, but he was alive and he knew it. In the distance, the ancestors were still speaking, but they were no longer yelling. They were mostly congratulating themselves on picking such a fine specimen of a sun elf for their host. He swam to shore, gasping. The pain in his lungs subsided and he became aware of a new pain, this one in his hand. He was still holding the chunk of ice. He knew he had gripped it wrong, but he could not let go now.

A moment later, and Jain’n’s warriors were helping him out of the frigid lake and throwing an enchanted cloak of winter-wolf fur over him. Jain’n was shivering almost uncontrollably, but he did not let go of his icy treasure. As the others watched, Jain’n adjusted his grip on the long chunk of ice and began to beat it on the ground. Chunks of ice flew off and bit-by-bit a sword was revealed beneath the ice; a sword whose enchanted blade was colder than the water of the Kulduhar lake. Rusty, corroded, worn, chipped, battered and abused, the ice around the blade showed that the enchantment still held. A blade capable of generating such frost would be the bane of any fire-using creature such as, for instance, the red dragon Lolqualol.

***

Sheyreiza felt the rays of the sun on her face. She had left Amith’s shop in search of a new home just after dawn, and returned only two hours later. The sun had now climbed as far as it was going to this time of year and was shining in the window of the guest room. With a grunt, she sat up and stood. She picked up her cloak and trundled over to the wall. She pulled the curtains closed, and then draped her cloak over the opening to further black out the light. There was no point in letting in any more light than she had to. After almost three years on the surface, the sun did not bother her like it used to, but it was still an annoyance. She trundled back to her bed and lay down.

Though her panic had subsided, a feeling of dread still lingered. One hand still gripping her rapier, she laid back down on the bed and pulled the blanket over her. What was it? What was preying on her mind? She had not felt dread like this since her days in Skullport. Her gaze flitted about. She looked at the ceiling, the door, and the cloak covered window. Something was coming, and it was coming soon. But what? From where? And to what end?

The questions ran through her mind over and over and she pondered all her enemies and foes. Though stressed and on the edge of panic, exhaustion won out and she began to drift into a rest somewhere between reverie and sleep. Visions of dwarves like the ones she had seen at Battlehammer hall, played through her mind as she entered a dream-like state. Visions of gnolls and druids of Talona followed. These were in turn replaced by visions of Jain’n, Rilralia and the rest of the Lonelywood warband.

Pain coursed through Sheyreiza’s abdomen, and she awoke from her dreams with a yell. Instinctively she grabbed for her belly with one hand and raised the rapier with the other. Another bolt of pain followed closely on the heels of the first. This time Sheyreiza not only yelped, she dropped her weapon. She slipped off the edge of the bed and took the covers with her. Only then did she realize the blankets were soaked. Though there was some blood, it was not bleeding which soaked the sheets. Sheyreiza’s water had broken; she was in labor. What was coming was the baby.

***

Jain’n stood before Xurshin just hours after retrieving the ancient, rusted ice-tongue blade from the frigid waters of Kulduhar’s lake. Though it was the body of Jain’n standing before the ancient wyrm, it was the voice of another that addressed the great white beast; it was the voice of Ivosaar Vyshaan, the first emperor of the Vyshaan Dynasty of the Aryvandaar Empire. Jain’n was but lord of a small, almost tribal enclave; Ivosaar was a spirit to be respected. The dragon and the emperor talked. A bargain was struck. The dragon would permit the Jain’n and his warband to travel to the lair of the red dragon Lolqualol so they could slay that beast. The Mountain King told the elves that Lolqualol had just finished feeding and would be drifting off to sleep. Catching the beast off guard would obviously make killing him easier. Xurshin would provide a guide: his own immature son, a white drake called Xasputh. In return, Xurshin demanded the entirety of Lolqualol’s horde. Jain’n and the elves only needed Lolqualol’s blood and bile, so they agreed to the price. With their agreement, the bargain was struck and the fate of either of Lolqualol, or the war band, was sealed.

***

Hours had passed since Sheyreiza first realized she was in labor. What little light entered the room from around the edges of the curtains and cloak draped over the window was fading. Sheyreiza realized nightfall was approaching. Her contractions were still far apart, but they were slowly getting closer together. Delivery was hours away, but it seemed inevitable. She struggled to sit up and take stock of the room. She would need to prepare. Delivering a child alone was possible but not easy.

Carefully, mindful of her periodic contractions, Sheyreiza made a makeshift bed on the floor from her blankets. Around the bed she laid out various items, included two folded blankets for the baby, a clean knife, a candle and all the healing potions she had. Without Eilistraee’s divine grace, Sheyreiza had no divine healing powers. If something went wrong, she would have to rely on her mundane skills and the potions she carried for battle.

Once her room was prepared, Sheyreiza removed the cloak from the window and opened the curtains. The sun had set and the stars were appearing far above. The moon would rise soon as well. Sheyreiza sighed. So far her labor had lasted perhaps 10 hours. By the time the sun rose again, it would have been 24 hours, one complete cycle of day and night. Sheyreiza thought back to her time in Ched Nasad when she had assisted her mother and sisters. If a baby was not born after a cycle and a half of labor, then the baby would be cut out. The priestesses would then use their prayer-spells to save the mother. Sheyreiza had seen that happen only once and it had been a bloody mess. Only the power of her mother, Matron Shyntlara, a High Priestess, had saved her sister after she was cut open.

A cycle and a half of labor. Anything longer, and it was likely the baby would die, and maybe the mother with it. If Sheyreiza saw another sunset without delivering, she would have to cut the child out herself. She turned from the window and looked at the healing potions laid out on the floor. The small, innocuous vials appeared pathetic and utterly incapable of holding the same kind of power that Matron Shyntlara wielded and Sheyreiza did not have any faith that they did. Her only hope was that they would keep her alive long enough to get the baby out and see it breath. After that, the little one would likely be on its own.

Sheyreiza turned to look out the window and gaze at the rising moon. One more sunrise. And one more sunset. The baby had to come by then.

***

Four cloaked elves walked along the forbidding slopes of the Spine for hour after hour. Across snow, scree and rock they traveled, always keeping one eye out for their dragon guide and one eye out for danger. Nylo the wood elf scouted as far ahead as weather, terrain and courage would allow.

Far above the elves, a small white dragon flew. From the vantage of the dragon, the elves appeared as little more than dark specks on the brilliant snow. The elves were positively dwarfed by the enormity of the mountains. The dragon, Xasputh, was dwarfed as well, but Xasputh knew no mountain could truly dwarf his father, Xurshin. At least Xasputh could hope to be that large someday. The elves, poor pitiful creatures that they were, would never be any more imposing or impressive than they were at this very moment. As the hours wore on, the dragon occasionally descended to the surface to converse with the elves. At other times, the beast stayed aloft, waiting for the earth bound fey to surmount the obstacles before them.

Near dawn, the elven warband found itself at the bottom of a rocky cliff, with nowhere to go but up. Reluctantly, the foursome began the arduous and dangerous task of ascending the rocky face. The dragon could not help but smile as he watched them struggle.

***

The night was long; seemingly longer than any other night Sheyreiza had ever experienced in her nearly three years on the surface. She tried to rest, but true rest eluded her as the contractions continued. She was also uncomfortable. No matter what position she put herself in her back was in pain and often, her shoulders and hips were as well. Nothing seemed to help except occasionally getting up to walk. Pacing about the room was a temporary fix, however, as soon the pain in her stomach would grow, her legs would ache, and she would grow physically tired and weak. She would lay back down, but though she was fatigued, rest would still not come.

From time to time she ate strips of dried reindeer meat taken from the animals she had hunted. Its gamy flavor was pleasing, but the strips were tough to chew. She found it tired her just to eat one. She drank water as well, but she was sweating so profusely that she was sure more water was going out than coming in. When she tried to drink more, she vomited.

Just after dawn Sheyreiza heard the door to Amith’s shop open. She heard footsteps, followed by a knock at her own door. Sheyreiza tried to speak, but she was hoarse and nothing more than a gasp escaped her lips. The door opened and Amith walked in, looking a bit surprised to see Sheyreiza’s window uncovered in the morning light. Sheyreiza had been too weak to cover it. Amith looked from the window to the bed and then to the floor where Sheyreiza lay sprawled amidst bloody, sweat soaked blankets.

Amith’s eyes went wide as she realized what was happening. “I’ll get help!” The panicked shopkeeper fled the room even as Sheyreiza raised a hand to stop her. Sheyreiza did not want Rilralia and Jain’n knowing she was in labor. She wanted to deliver the child privately. She would have liked some help, but the only person she felt comfortable with at this point was Inthara. Inthara could not be trusted not to inform the others, however. Keeping secrets had never been one of Inthara’s strengths.

***

Jain’n’s warband traveled single file along a precarious mountain trail. On one side, there was a rocky wall rising sharply towards the sky above. To the other side there was a long drop down the side of the mountain. Gusts of freezing wind blew snow about, obscuring sight and hiding treacherous patches of ice made slick by the intermittent rays of the sun. The elves, as light and sure of foot as any land bound race, still walked cautiously here; trapped on the side of the mountain between the flames of one dragon and the frost of another, they were the hands of the gods.

The lead elf, Nylo, signaled danger ahead to Jain’n, the next in line. Jain’n relayed the signal and the warband came to a halt. Nylo and Jain’n exchanged hand signs. Nylo nodded, and move forward to scout. Jain’n watched him go and readied for battle.

***

Amith returned shortly with Rilralia and Inthara. The two woman rushed to Sheyreiza as she lay on the floor. Inthara was already panicking. How could she be Ilythiiri? Sheyreiza wondered. What kind of soul did she have? Did she not grow up in the same city as I? Did she not grow up in Lolth’s embrace? How then is it that she is so weak? Sheyreiza knew that Inthara loved her, to the extent that either of them understood love, but that was no excuse for panic. Sheyreiza tried to ignore Inthara for the moment; it was Rilralia who drew Sheyreiza’s attention. The flame-haired druid was kneeling in front of Sheyreiza’s bent legs, trying to see the pregnant woman’s sex. Rilralia might be a surface elf, but at least she did knew something about birthing and could keep her head.

Rilralia looked up at Sheyreiza’s face. “May I examine you?”

Sheyreiza nodded. “Xas.” She set her head back down and realized she had spoken in drow. “Yes.” She said, in case Rilralia had not understood. Soft, cool hands parted Sheyreiza’s thighs and made their way to her sex. Sheyreiza took a long deep breath as Rilralia gently, but expertly probed her.

“It will not be long now, Sheyreiza.” Rilralia’s voice was hopeful and calming, but Sheyreiza could also here an edge of anxiety. “Do you want to us to move you to the circle?”

Sheyreiza shook her head. “Nau.” Again, she had spoken instinctively in drow. “No.” She said in the dialect of the surface elves. “No, I want to have the baby here.”

“The circle would be better.” Rilralia said, standing. “It is better protected. We will need help moving you though. I’ll get one of the wardens.” The druid turned and started out of the room.

“No.” Sheyreiza’s voice was louder now. “No, I do not want to go to the circle.” Sweat poured off her forehead. Not only did she not want to move to the circle, doing so seemed foolish at this late hour of the pregnancy. Any great movement and she was likely to deliver the baby spontaneously in the snows somewhere between the warmth of the shop and the safety of the circle.

Inthara looked up at the departing Rilralia. “I don’t think she wants to go. She is going to have the baby here.” Rilralia paid no attention and left.

***

Nylo returned to the warband at a run, seeming heedless of the treacherous conditions along the mountainside. A moment later, the cause of his lack of caution appeared: two huge figures rushed out of the white blowing snows. Both were green skinned and two-headed. Ettins. They stood twice as tall as the elf scout fleeing before them and their great clubs could kill in a single stroke. Though large and clumsy looking, these ettins were natives to the mountains and moved along the terrain with sure-footed ease. Ill-tempered and hungry, they were only too happy to give chase to the small elf that had caught their attention.

***

A moment later, Rilralia returned with the village warden Amandel, a large, unusually muscular, black haired elf. He took in the situation and knelt beside Sheyreiza. His voice was deep, gruff, and almost human in tenor and tone. “Alright, don’t worry. I am going to get you to the circle in no time.”

Sheyreiza shook her head. “I don’t want to go to the circle.” What was wrong with these people? Did they not understand their own language? Sheyreiza wanted nothing to do with the circle or the grove or the woods at all. “I want to have my baby here, where I live, not in someplace where I am banished from, where I am not wanted.” Amandel ignored her and slid his arms under her legs and back. Sheyreiza tried to push him away but he was stronger. “I said, NO!” Sheyreiza yelled. Amandel just smirked and lifted her off the ground. Sheyreiza squirmed but he tightened his grip.

Anger and fear swept over Sheyreiza. She did not want her baby subjected to Jain’n’s ancestor spirits, their curse, or any of their pathetic, miserable existence. She did not want to go to the circle from which she was banished. Sheyreiza was not angry with Eilistraee, but she was angry with Jain’n and wanted nothing to do with anything or anyplace inside his magically protected domain.

“Put me down.” Sheyreiza snarled. “Rilralia, tell this man to put me down! I don’t want to go to the circle.”

Rilralia looked to Amandel. “Not to the circle. We need to take her to the grove first.”

Sheyreiza’s eyes went wide with panic and rage. The grove was the Vyshaan burial ground, the place where the ancestors were buried and the place where they were strongest. “Nau!” The entire village could hear Sheyreiza’s scream. The thought of bringing her child near those cursed spirits tore through her like the north wind. Amandel ignored Sheyreiza’s pleas and continued carrying her out of the shop. “Leave me be! This is not what I want you bastard.”

Amandel nodded patronizingly. “Yeah, yeah, I know, I am a real monster.”

Desperately, Sheyreiza drew the long, curved, enchanted dagger she kept in her boot. She brought the knife up to Amandel’s throat. “Put me down, or I will cut you.” The words were a growl, and there was no doubt in anyone’s mind she meant it.

Amandel stopped walking. He looked from the razor sharp blade to the cold red and blue eyes of the drow, to Rilralia. Then, without a warning, he dropped Sheyreiza to the ground. The pregnant drowess fell with crash and screamed in agony. Amandel quickly stepped on the wrist of her knife hand, pinning it to the ground, then kicked her immobilized hand with his other foot until she lost her grip on the weapon. Sheyreiza screamed and cried in pain. Inthara, too, was screaming and crying, trying to convince Amandel and Rilralia to stop and let Sheyreiza have her baby in the shop.

The two surface elves did not relent. After kicking the knife free, Amandel bent and picked up the writhing drowess at his feet. Sheyreiza clutched at her stomach in pain and screamed again. At Rilralia’s direction, Amandel carried the pregnant woman towards the faerie trod. As they approached the glowing portal, Sheyreiza regained some control over her pain and remembered where she was being taken.

She turned to face Amandel as he carried her. “Stop this, or I will curse you in the name of Lolth!”

Amandel stopped and went as white as the snow. He looked at Rilralia, who, though equally shocked, nodded towards the waiting faerie trod. Amandel took a deep breath and resumed carrying Sheyreiza into the portal. Sheyreiza bit her lower lip intentionally, drawing blood, and then spit that blood into Amandel’s face. The man grimaced, his jaw clenching tight, but he kept walking. The faerie trod flashed as they entered.

***

The fight with the ettins was short but brutal. The two-headed giants were as dumb as they were fierce and did not realize they had been baited into an ambush until Jain’n, Arithel and Windsong were already upon them. By then, of course, it was too late. The law of the wild applied. Kill or be killed. In the frozen reaches of the Spine of the World, ettin battled elf for survival. The ettins were strong; the elves were quick. The ettins were fierce; the elves were skilled. The ettins were mountain natives; the elves were smart. In the end, speed, skill and wit prevailed over strength, ferocity and familiarity. The warband sent the bloody bodies of the ettins tumbling down the mountainside.

The warband regrouped quickly. They came to a natural bridge crossing a chasm through which molten lava flowed. The lava was streaming down the mountainside near the bridge and looked for all the world like a red, glowing waterfall. The elves, heedless of danger, paused on the bridge to take in the splendor of the sight. Lava poured from far above them and fell in long, rippling cascades down the side of the mountain, past the bridge, and into the depths of the chasm below.

Beyond the bridge was a landing that led to a cave. The landing appeared to be a scattered scree field, but as the elves approached, they realized there was no scree at all; there were only bones. Uncounted numbers of bones lay in front of the cave. Here then, was the entrance to the dragon’s lair. Of this, there was no doubt. The warband began to prepare.

***

Amandel carried Sheyreiza past Ellewyn’s tower towards the grove. Sheyreiza continued her protests, and spit more blood at him but never actually called upon Lolth to curse him. Whether Amandel knew it or not, Sheyreiza’s threat to curse him in the name of the Spider Queen was a bluff. Had Sheyreiza wanted to do it, she would have done it already rather than make threats. She squirmed and struggled to be free of his grip but the contractions were coming more frequently now and they hurt much more. Each one elicited an anguished yelp. Amandel paid no attention; the burly warden simply kept walking.

In the grove, the ancient burial ground of the Vyshaan, Sheyreiza saw the spirit form of an old woman. Sheyreiza stopped struggling against Amandel and he in turn stopped walking. The old woman-spirit was the ancestor Sheyreiza had come to think of as the ‘velvet Matron.’ The Matron’s name was lost to Sheyreiza, but she knew the woman just the same. Holding the old woman’s spirit was the spirit figure of a girl child and Sheyreiza knew at once the girl child spirit was the soul of her own unborn daughter.

The old woman-spirit smiled softly at Sheyreiza. “I’m sorry we touched you the way we did, but we had to make contact with the baby, to see if she was the one.”

Sheyreiza knew the old woman was referring to when Jain’n had punched her. It seemed that fleeting blow had been enough to allow the ancestors to speak with the unborn.

“What do you want?” Sheyreiza asked.

The old woman started talking.

Rilralia and Inthara watched in bewilderment as Sheyreiza began to have a conversation with no one. Amandel’s sudden stop was also puzzling, but the two women quickly surmised the ancestors were at work. They stood there, helpless to intervene, listening as Sheyreiza talked on and on with unseen spirits. It was clear something very important was happening; it was clear that this baby’s birth was significant to the ancestors in a way that other births had not been; and it was just as clear that Sheyreiza was not happy about it.

***

Jain’n held the ice-tongue blade in his hand and swung the weapon a few times. He had checked and rechecked his armor and gear. He was prepared and ready. The other members of the warband were also prepared and ready. The time had come. Here, now, on the side of this mountain, they would enter the lair of the beast and fight for their people. If they won, they would have the cure to the plague that threatened to wipe out the free peoples of the North. If they lost, not only would they die, but also the one force that had kept the Talonites from victory, the warband of Lonelywood, would be devastated beyond repair. The North would be utterly defenseless against the depredations of the plague druids.

The elves of the warband exchanged a few words. Little needed to be said. All were experienced warriors, all had fought together before, and all of them knew what was at stake. They shared a last look, each gazing into the eyes of the others, and then they entered the mouth of the cave. Darkness swallowed them.

***

When the ancestors were done explaining themselves to Sheyreiza, they told Amandel to carry the pregnant drowess onto the circle. The warden, seemingly entranced by the spirits, readily obeyed. At the circle, a strange sight greeted Sheyreiza and the others: Enormous trees had sprung from nowhere inside the circle itself.

The four elves made their way into the circle where Amandel finally set Sheyreiza down. One by one the elves realized they were surrounded not only by trees which had never before been in the circle, beyond the trees there was a ring of elven knights clad in brilliant, shimmering armor. Beyond the knights were lush, green fields unlike anything the North had to offer. Arvandor it seemed was close at hand. As the elves marveled at the sight, Sheyreiza saw something else; the soul of her unborn daughter had followed Sheyreiza to the circle. Her daughter’s soul appeared beside a great, almost blinding light and Sheyreiza realized that her daughter no longer held the hand of the velvet matron. She was holding the hand of none other than Corellon Larethian himself, and the Coronal of the Seldarine appeared as nothing less than light incarnate.

***

Lolqualol was young as dragons go, but a dragon is still a dragon and any dragon was a force to be reckoned with. Claws, fangs, tail, wings and breath; a dragon could deal death in many ways to many foes. The crimson beast struck Arithel first. A great claw ripped through metal and skin with equal ease sending the half-drow sprawling. Jain’n took advantage of the dragon’s initial preoccupation with Arithel and struck with the ancient, battered ice-tongue. Though the frost blade appeared for the all the world to be rusted beyond hope and battered beyond serviceability, the sword did not break on Lolqualol’s scales; it cleaved through them. The dragon howled in agony as the sun elf lord shattered scale and bone with the deceptively strong weapon. Lolqualol reared back its head and opened its great mouth, exposing hideous fangs as long as daggers. There was a brief pause, and then the air in front of the beast seemed to ignite as it spewed forth its fiery breath. Jain’n moved, his trained elven reflexes saving him from the fireball. The other elves knew enough to stay scattered as they fought so that the dragon’s breath would not find more than one of them at a time. Lolqualol’s head turned and flames followed Jain’n around the cave as he desperately evaded. The fire stopped. Jain’n was unburned. The dragon’s eyes narrowed as it realized this would be no easy fight. Snarling, the great red beast leapt to the attack with tooth and fang, wing and tail.

***

A holy light washed over Sheyreiza and the circle as Corellon made his presence known to her. The others could not see the Coronal of the Elves, but they felt the tranquility he brought. Sheyreiza’s body felt the tranquility as well. The pain of her contractions subsided to a dull tightening. For a moment, Sheyreiza simply looked into the light. Sheyreiza had stood in the presence of divinity before and now she was not as cowed as she once was. In her mind, Corellon had much to answer for. Though she loved him, she locked that love away as deep in her soul and heart as she could. As a father who abandoned his children, he did not deserve to know he was loved.

Sheyreiza began to see visions. She saw the future, or one possible future. She saw the god’s plan for the Vyshaan. Between the vision Corellon was granting her and what the ancestors had told her, Sheyreiza knew now what it would take to break the curse of the Vyshaan.

She did not care.

Anger welled up in her, anger at Corellon. Though his spiritual presence had settled an unnatural tranquility upon the holy circle, Sheyreiza’s fury began to rise. She knew the hold circle was on the edge of two worlds, she knew that Arvandor was, indeed, just beyond the trees, but Sheyreiza also knew she wanted Corellon to answer for the millennia of abandonment.

She accused him. In her mind, she accused him of everything she had ever felt and though she did not know it, she also spoke aloud. The other elves in the circle looked up from where they were kneeling to stare at her in horror. Though they could not see the Coronal of the Seldarine, they could feel His presence and now they knew that Sheyreiza rejected the tranquility of His peace. Fear gripped them, but they did nothing.

Anger so deep, so ancient swept over Sheyreiza as she snarled into the light of Corellon. It was as if Lolth possessed her, and then for a moment, Sheyreiza knew that she was Lolth. She knew what it meant to be Araushnee, to be the Spider Queen, to be filled with such unremitting hate, intense desperation, impotent rage, perennial disappointment, stunning pain, and above all, self-loathing. She hovered on the brink of insanity. At the core of her, at the core of Lolth, was pride and self-hate warring for millennia leaving madness and destruction in their wake. The true abyss was the madness in Lolth’s soul, her damnation her own product, her plane a mere manifestation of the layers and layers of self-deception and hatred and rage and pain that had formed around her wounded pride and ego like so many layers of webbing fomring around an evil spider's corrupted egg-sack.

Just as Sheyreiza stepped off the brink of insanity into its abyssal depths, Coronal sent other visions to Sheyreiza. She saw what Corellon had seen and she felt what he had felt. Now, she was Corellon not Lolth or Sheyreiza. She was in love; in love with Arvandor, with the Seldarine, with the Elves and with her consort, Araushnee. Then came the betrayal. She could hardly believe it. How could Araushnee, the woman she loved, do such a thing? But she knew. She had not trusted Araushnee soon enough, not helped her well enough. She had not truly shared Arvandor with Araushnee. She had not pushed Araushnee to evil, but she had not stopped her consort’s slide into wickedness either. She had been blind.

Sadness came over her, sadness unlike anything Sheyreiza had ever experienced, not even when Eilistraee had pulled away her divine grace. She was there, she felt what Corellon felt as he realized he had been betrayed by his love, that he had failed her, and that now she had gone to evil. Corellon knew he had to save the elves and the Seldarine from this wicked creature Araushnee had become. He knew he should kill her. He knew she wanted him to. Pain unlike anything Sheyreiza could have imagined ran through her. Corellon loved the elves. Corellon was the elves, but he also loved his consort. He could not kill her. He would not kill her. He would banish her.

And then Sheyreiza saw something else. She felt something else. She realized that Corellon knew what banishing Araushnee meant, he knew what the price of not killing her would be: a near eternity of pain. Corellon was the elves, their pain was his pain. Every evil done unto any elf was done unto him as well and he felt it all. The evil that Araushnee might do would come back to him a thousand fold, but he would not kill her. He would take the pain. Her banishment was not just her punishment it was his. It would cause him heartache and grief for as long as it punished her.

As the pain, the guilt, the sadness and the heartache mounted, Sheyreiza’s consciousness snapped. It was more than a mortal could take or truly understand. She fell back into the snow, eyes fixed and unmoving.

***

The elves responded to the dragon’s teeth and fangs with their blades and arrows. Scales cracked, shields bent, swords bit and claws ripped. Elven blood mixed with dragon blood as the two ancient enemies fought through another chapter in the sanguine history of their races. Neither asked nor gave quarter. Lolqualol remained focused on Jain’n. Though the dragon scored his armor more than once and drew the sun elf’s blood, the Lord of Lonelywood proved harder to kill than the dragon would have thought possible. The others took advantage of the situation and struck along the flanks of the beast. With a roar that shook the mountainside, the beast let loose another breath of lethal flame.

***

The visions were gone but the soul of her daughter and the light of Corellon remained standing before Sheyreiza’s prone form. The pregnant drowess no longer felt any pain from her body and no longer did she feel the pain of Corellon’s soul. Bit by bit she became aware of her surroundings again and saw that the Coronal was waiting.

You must name your child. It was not a voice, but a thought and Sheyreiza knew it was Corellon’s. The child must be named a Vyshaan to be the heir of Jain’n, and there must be an heir to lift the curse. The choice, however, is yours. You may name the child a Vyshaan, or an Auvryndar, but you must choose.

Sheyreiza sat, motionless, staring at the spirit that was the soul of her daughter. The spirit was speaking, but Sheyreiza did not really hear her. Sheyreiza knew the choice she faced. Odd that now, on the edge of the birth, Sheyreiza was given her first and only real choice. Jain’n, his ancestors, and the gods had ignored all of the choices she had made up until now. Only at this late hour, as this most important soul sought to enter the world, did Sheyreiza truly get a choice. And what was that choice?

In Sheyreiza’s world, under the Way of Lolth, all inheritance, all lineage, passed through the mother. The father was completely unimportant. Under the Way of Lolth, under the way of the drow for the last 10,000 years, this child should be an Auvryndar. The child was an Auvryndar. If Sheyreiza made that choice, the curse would go on. Jain’n would have to father another child in the hopes of having an heir. The child, Sheyreiza’s daughter, would be free of the ancestors, the Seldarine’s plans and the curse of the Vyshaan. If Sheyreiza named the child as a Vyshaan, however, the child would be a part of the curse and only if Jain’n succeeded in lifting the curse, would it not damn the child.

The conflict tore through Sheyreiza. She hated the ancestors. She hated what Jain’n had done to her. She hated the way the gods had sought to use her as nothing but breeding stock for their plan. Why should Sheyreiza make such a sacrifice to save the souls of Jain’n’s ancestors? Why should her child? It was Jain’n’s ancestors who helped Corellon condemn the Ilythiiri to the depths. It was Jain’n’s ancestors who started and perpetrated the crown wars. It was Jain’n’s ancestors who purged their own people’s high priests and wizards when they were threatened and it was Jain’n’s ancestors whom the elven court and the Seldarine judged as the cause of the wars which tore the elven tribes apart. Their curse was the product of that judgment. Why should Sheyreiza care for them at all? Why should she lift a finger to help them?

Because she loved Jain’n. Jain’n had saved her from Lolth’s grasp. Jain’n had saved her from the curse of her people, the curse they earned for destroying so many other elven cultures and for turning to the wickedness of the Spider Queen. While Sheyreiza might hate the other ancestors, she loved Jain’n even if she felt he had used her and betrayed her.

The choice then was simple and Sheyreiza saw the elegance. She could name the child Vyshaan, and save those that had condemned her but also save the one that had saved her. Or, she could name the child Auvryndar, and ensure the damned stayed damned, including Jain’n. Salvation or damnation. Corellon or Lolth.

Sheyreiza lay back in the snow and stared into the sky, tears streaming from her eyes. “I am sorry mother.” Her voice was quiet, calm, resigned. She did not know if Lolth could or would hear her, but in her heart, she felt that the Spider Queen was watching this moment with as much interest as the Coronal of the Seldarine. “I am sorry.” Without looking at her daughter or the light, Sheyreiza answered the question. “She shall be named Shein’n. Shein’n Vyshaan. And she shall be Jain’n’s heir.”

A moment later, a contraction came and Sheyreiza knew the soul of her daughter was in the unborn baby now and that baby was coming out. The die had been cast.

***

As the fireball came across the cave, Jain’n evaded again. He ran and dodged expertly through the close confines of the lair, deadly flames licking at his back as Lolqualol tried furiously to engulf him. Lolqualol’s fury was unavailing; Jain’n escaped the dragon fire unharmed for a second time. As the flames died off Jain’n changed course suddenly and ran straight for the beast’s head. The dragon saw the elf coming and opened its mouth wide to receive the seemingly foolish fey. The dragon was sorely wounded, however, and it reacted too slowly. Jain’n was on Lolqualol before the beast was ready. With his left hand, Jain’n grabbed the great beast by its jaw. Before the wounded creature could snap shut its bite, Jain’n thrust the rusted, battered ice-tongue up into the red wyrm's neck. Steaming blood poured from the wound over Jain’n’s arm and out of the dragon’s mouth. The creature tried to pull away and break free of Jain’n’s merciless assault, but it was too late. The Lord of Lonelywood pushed his enchanted blade up to its hilt in the dragon’s flesh. A desperate roar, drowned in blood, escaped the throat of the beast, and then it collapsed. Lolqualol was dead.

***

Shein’n lived. Her delivery had gone quickly and easily once Sheyreiza had named her. Sheyreiza held the newborn now. A sense of fate, of quiet had descended upon Sheyreiza. She was not happy but she was not sad either. Resigned was perhaps the only word she could think of to describe her mood.

The child in her arms was a perfect female elf child. Her hair was light, her skin dark but not nearly as dark as Sheyreiza’s. The child was not drow, but she was not truly a sun elf either. There was something so familiar about the way the child looked, her color, her face, and her eyes. Sheyreiza could think of no elf that looked exactly like this but she knew that she had seen such a creature before. A memory came to Sheyreiza. Not the memory of a real elf or a real place, but the memory of a vision. A memory of the vision Eilistraee had sent Sheyreiza: A vision of a beautiful jungle, with a lush, verdant canopy teeming with life; a vision of spires rising up from that jungle; a vision of the city from which those spires came and a vision of the people who had built that city. And then Sheyreiza knew.

Her daughter, Shein’n Vyshaan, was not entirely drow or entirely sun-elf. She was in fact, Ilythiiri, true Ilythiiri from before the Descent. Sheyreiza realized that in all likelihood Shein’n was the first and only Ilythiiri born in the last 10,000 years. She was a race unto herself.

[Nyarlathotep]

Great story. I especially liked how the sense and depth of Sheyreiza's desperation was conveyed when Amandel was carrying her to the grove. Very well done.

[Mord]

*Jaw hanging*

[Killthorne]

The Corellon/Lolth perspectives are AWESOME. Great story all around Mikayla... can't praise you enough.


~Killthorne~

[Zakharra]

Wow....That was awsome Mik. Totally awsome to read.


*clicks, copies and saves on comp*

[Vendrin]

So when can we expect to see this published?