This cross-fiction tale, inspired by author J. Marillier and Irish Mythology, takes place between 11,000 - 12,000 years before the Dark Portal, in World of Warcraft. The story follows members of the Nightfury family and other characters on a daring adventure through pockets of the Emerald Dream to recover something precious that was lost.
It is the story of Feyawen finding her womanhood, strengthening family bonds, and discovering her love and affinity for nature, as well as her respect for magic. I hope you enjoy. Each chapter will consist of three small passages of the story, for easier grab and go reading.
I
Her fingers numb with cold, she fastened a length of silver-embroidered rope around the cedar torii and murmured a prayer to whatever spirits might be listening. "When the spring comes, please don't let my mother die." Another rope, lower on the smooth rocks of the scintillating moonwell. "And please, help her to heal." A third, slipped between the branches of a nearby foxglove tree. "And if you can, make this year's spring ritual abundant. Mother wishes to see the soaring seeds one last time…"
Feyawen shoved her hands back into her mooseskin mittens and closed her eyes a moment to gather her thoughts. The lone moonwell, which stood in a clearing within the great forest of Kalanaar, was hung about with many offerings: rope, feathers, scraps of hide, wind-chimes and beads on strings. Such solitary shrines were known to be gathering places for spirits. Until her mother had grown so sick from arcane magic, she had come every day with a token to place on the tree. Now Feyawen carried out the ritual in her place.
It was time to return home. Her sister, Enora, was getting married the following evening and she had a lot to do. Feyawen was slightly Enora's elder, but she was the one to deal with the household responsibilities her mother was too tired to deal with any longer. It made sense. Enora was going. Tomorrow after moonrise she and her new husband would be riding back to his home in the south and she would have her own household to manage. Feyawen was staying. For the foreseeable future her life would be taken up with supervising serving people, ordering and checking supplies, solving domestic disputes and keeping an eye on the little ones in the household, Wenna and Heenia. She had not expected this, but then, none had expected Mother to conceive another child so late in life. Now that little Anwen was born, the household was on edge. Her mother called the baby a gift from the goddess. The rest tiptoed around the subject, fearful of speaking the unpalatable truth. Women of her age, particularly arcane practitioners of her age, did not deliver healthy babies. Most likely, within two turnings of the moon she and the child would both be dead.
"Shaha lor'ma," Feyawen said over her shoulder as she walked away from the moonwell and foxglove tree and into the shadows of the night forest. It was best to keep on the good side of the Moon People, whatever one's opinion of them. The forest of Kalanaar was as much their home as it was the Nightfury's. Long ago, House Nightfury had been entrusted with the task of keeping the region safe for all of them. This was one of the last refuges of the ancient races anywhere in Kalimdor, for the great forests were being felled for highborne cities and the practice of arcane had spread widely, displacing druids, oracles, priestesses and spirits. The old faith was practiced only in the most protected and secret pockets of the land. Kalanaar, southwest of the night elf city Hajiri, was one such place.
The path home wound its way through dense oak woods before descending to the lake shore. On another day Feyawen would have enjoyed going slowly, drinking in the myriad shades of blue and green, the delicate music of birdsong, and the dappled light on the forest floor. Today she made haste, for by moonrise the house would be full of guests and a long list of tasks lay before her.
II
The oaks towered above, their mossy boles glowing in the filtering sunlight. Feyawen's feet were quiet on the soft earth of the forest path. Between the trees, on the very edge of sight, moved evanescent beings, blue orbs of light, orbiting between the trees. In the rich litter of debris that lay around the roots of the great oaks tiny creatures stirred, scuttling, creaking, whispering. The forest of Kalanaar was home to many. Fox, stag and hare, salamander, woodpecker and dragonfly lived harmoniously with the more otherworldly inhabitants of the wood. It would be strange for Enora to leave all this, Feyawen thought. Her new husband's holding shared a border with the southwestern part of Father's land, but Feyawen knew nowhere would be like Kalanaar.
As soon as she got back to the house she would make sure her younger sister was prepared, and the little ones had their hanboks ready for the feast. She'd find the opportunity to speak with her father alone so she could see how he was; she knew her mother's tiredness was troubling him. She hoped to reassure him. And she'd ease her mother's mind by letting her know that everything was under control. She should speak to her druid brother as soon he arrived, she thought. Faeron needed to be asked if the plans for the spring ritual and handfasting suited him, and he would want a place to retreat to. Faeron was acutely uncomfortable with crowds. Besides, he sometimes brought his stormcrow with him. Folk found the bird unsettling.
The path narrowed, snaking between groves of closely growing elders whose narrow trunks formed graceful, bending shapes like those of leaning dryads. The foliage stirred in the breeze and Feyawen felt suddenly cold. Someone was watching her; she sensed it. She glanced around but could see nobody. "Who's there?" she called. There was no reply, only the whisper of leaves and the cry of a bird passing overhead. Her flesh crawled. Kalanaar was extremely well guarded; her father's wardens were expert. Besides, the forest protected its own. Nobody came in by stealth. If a member of the household was out there, why hadn't anyone answered her call?
Something moved under a stand of massive oaks about a hundred paces from the track. Feyawen froze, eyes narrowed. Nothing was stirring. She took three more steps along the path and halted again, her skin prickling with unease. Something was there. Not a fox or a stag – something else.
III
Feyawen stood like a statue, staring into the shadowy depths beneath the trees, but she could discern nothing between the shifting patterns of light and shadow. Under the broad branches of the oaks vast distances seemed to open up, as if there existed doorways to a realm far wider than the expanses of the forest might allow. It was said that these woods were a doorway to another world. Traveling through such a doorway would be both wondrous and perilous, for time passed differently there. A person might spend one night there to find a hundred years had flown by in the natural world. Or one might linger for half a lifetime among the moon folk and return to one's own world to discover less than one season had passed. It was wisest not to stray into such corners of the forest.
Something in the darkness drew Feyawen's eye, not a movement, more of a presence. Was that a man standing against the trunk of a great tree, a man wrapped in a hooded cape of shadow gray?
"Who is there?" Feyawen called. "Come out and account for yourself!"
Even as she spoke it occurred to her that if anyone obeyed she was ill equipped to handle the situation. She had no skills in combat and not so much as an herbalist knife. She picked up her skirt and ran.
For some time the only sound was the rapid beat of her footfalls on the hard forest path. Or were there two sets of footsteps? She ran faster, and felt whoever was following speed up to match. Her breath came in sharp, cold gasps. Her heart hammered in her chest; her skin was clammy with fear. The trees seemed to jerk and spin, and the spaces between them widened invitingly. "No!" Feyawen protested. "I won't!"
A voice spoke directly into her mind, like a dark whisper. Feyawen! She tripped over a rock and sprawled full-length on the path, her head swimming with panic. A moment later she realized this had not been the taunt of a pursuer, but something else. She sat up, brushing hair out of her eyes, and knew immediately that if someone had been following before, that person was gone now. The forest around her was peaceful. Birds sang, and leaves rustled in the cool breeze. The path led straight onward. Above the canopy the moon and stars shone on a perfect spring night.
Feyawen took several deep breaths and shook her head, convincing herself that she imagined the voice. Her dangui was ripped and her left knee had a bloody abrasion. She screwed her eyes shut for a moment, willing what had just happened into a closed corner of her mind. It was a complication she would have to deal with later.
She picked up her pace again. Soon the high roof of the tree lodge where her family lived could be seen in the distance above a soft shawl of trees. Her home was a stronghold built into the forest to keep out enemies of the empire. The uncanny woodlands that surrounded it and the broad lake that lapped at its feet were in themselves deterrents to armed assault. Her father had established fortified settlements in strategic areas of the forest, each headed by a warden with his own complement of guards. This was necessary, because Kalanaar was situated between two warring ancient night elf families.
Feyawen's mind went back to the figure she spied beneath the trees. Could a spy have succeeded in coming to the heart of the forest unimpeded? What could such a person hope to accomplish by that? She shivered, imagining herself abducted and held hostage, the price of her safe release being her father's agreement to relinquish control of Kalanaar, or something worse. Perhaps long walks alone are not a good idea, she thought. People did get kidnapped. She recalled a terrible story about a girl who had been taken by frost trolls. By the time her family had decided to comply with the trolls' demands, she had been killed and eaten. The tale went that her bones had been thrown back over the wall of her father's home.
With her mind on this, Feyawen walked out from under the trees and straight into a big man in a gray cloak. A pair of strong hands gripped her shoulders hard, and she screamed.