To the Brink and Back Again

Voices Part Seven

Chapter One

Happenstance

We go to the brink and back again,
Where life and death collide.
And none who return are the ever the same
But it's certainly one hell of a ride.
—Old Arendellian battle chant

Flame and ice, alone are nice,
Till perchance they meet:
Then you pay the price.
—King Vandrosh of the Western Mountains, as recorded in the Received Scrolls

It was not in Fae's nature to seek out danger.

Indeed, the íllithrena was, by and large, content with her place as keeper of her forest—the Abandoned Forest as the Men who on occasion passed through called it. Not that she was particularly fond of the title, for it was most certainly not abandoned; one simply needed to know how to see to realize how alive and beautiful it truly was. Still, she could hardly blame Men for their lack of vision: it seemed to be their nature, perhaps entirely unavoidable. And, in some small way, she pitied them, for she had watched in silence from the shelter of the trees as Men camped in the glade, entirely oblivious to the singing of the birds, the gentle flutter of butterflies, the soft humming of insects, sounds that to her were as much in the foreground of her awareness as what she could see, taste, touch.

The Abandoned Forest had been her home for what seemed like ages, she thought to herself as she made her evening rounds about the woods, the setting sun cutting through the canopy of the trees, bathing her world in orange and purple hues. Not that time matters to an íllithrena at all, she ruminated, brushing a strand of reddish brown hair from her eyes. Yet she knew it had only been a few cycles of summers and winters since she had first set hoof upon its grounds. A shudder made its way down her spine as she recalled the dark, ominous atmosphere she had felt upon arriving; the trees themselves, gnarled and twisted, had seemed to be doing their best to frighten away passersby—relics, perchance, of a long-departed malicious presence.

It had taken time, of course, to bring light back to the foreboding woods. And work, she reminded herself as her hand brushed against a wilting flower. The petals sprang back to life at her touch, their color more radiant than ever. She smiled in spite of herself, pleased to see her particular brand of what mortal beings could only describe as "magic" had served its purpose. Much, much work.

The skygge folk, for their part,had not been particularly amenable to her arrival. Rather, they had initially viewed her as an unwanted nuisance, rebuffing any attempt by her to convince them to allow her to restore their forest. The creatures, hardly known for their patience and understanding, eventually acquiesced, but only after she had shown she was capable of speaking in their native tongue and, more importantly, after she had promised to not interfere in their hunting rituals. "You'll let us be," their leader had warned her, "just as the few others we have trusted have." He had paused at that moment, a hint of melancholy clearly evident in his voice and body language. "As she did after we helped her . . ."

"Who?"

Fae's relative youth and curiosity had gotten the better of her. "Who is 'she'?"

The skygge folk leader shook his head at her question, his dark eyes narrowing, making it clear she had overstepped her bounds. "Never you mind, young íllithrena," he had hissed at her. "You leave us be, and we will let you be. You tend to the trees and the flowers and the animals. We will keep watch against those who might wish ill of this forest." His massive paw had come to rest upon her shoulder, its weight simultaneously comforting and threatening. "That is the debt we owe your ancestors for their aid years ago. Nothing more."

Fae shook her head as she continued her nightly ritual, the past of no use to her at the moment. Now . . . Now, I remember. It has been three years. Three years since I came here.

She had reached the pond at the very heart of the forest, its clear waters sparkling like diamonds as the rays of the setting sun danced across its surface. Fae had found this to be her favorite spot in the entire forest; the trees formed a protective dome over the pond, insulating it from the outside world. Even the ordinary sounds of life that could be heard all throughout the rest of the woods were strangely silent here, giving it an ethereal quality that could only be described as the embodiment of solitude.

An íllithrem has no place outside his forest, her father had told her over and over again as a child. We were made to care for them, and they for us to protect. Without forests, we are nothing.

Fae nodded in assent, her father's voice sounding in her pointed ears; ears, he had told her long ago, that had been shaped thus to allow them to hear every movement of every insect, every rustle of every leaf. As she reached the water's edge, she could not help but glance down at her reflection, clear as could be in the stillness of twilight.

Her reddish-brown hair framed skin of light olive as it cascaded down her back, her torso covered in a handmade, sleeveless tunic of animal hide. Around her waist, Fae had fastened a belt upon which rested several leather pouches, each containing vital medicines and other items necessary for properly maintaining her forest. Just below her waist, smooth skin transitioned to soft, chestnut hair, the four legs and haunches of a horse resting upon the grass along the shoreline.

Indeed, the world beyond the edges of the forest was no place for her, she reminded herself as she knelt carefully to the ground, her cupped hand dipping itself into the water, bringing it to her lips. There are already so few of us left, Fae contemplated as she drank. A frightening thought crossed her mind in that instant. What . . . What if I am the last—

An uninvited sound snapped the íllithrena from her thoughts. Rising to her full height, she frowned, her eyes narrowing at the sound of laughter from somewhere in the forest. It is not the skygge folk, she told herself. Could . . . Could it be . . .?

Fae was light on her hooves as she traversed through the thick blanket of trees, each step carefully chosen so as to avoid making her presence known to whoever—or whatever—was responsible for the sound echoing about the woods. She stayed off the main path, anxious to remain concealed as she moved deliberately, stealthily toward the source of the commotion. The laughter was louder now, of that she was certain, and she could smell the telltale scent of smoke growing stronger with each step. Finally, she could see the small campfire and the trio of men surrounding it, their horses tethered to trees nearby.

". . . And that's when I told 'im," said one of the men, "that's when I told 'im . . . 'Good God, man, I don't care wot yeh put in it, jest make sure it gets me more pissed than I ever been in me life!'"

One of his companions completely lost his composure, laughing uproariously, smacking his leg. "Right! That's a good one right there, mate!" he exclaimed, taking a long swig from a bottle firmly within his grasp. "Ain't that right, Jensen?"

The younger man stood away from the fire, his hand remaining tightly affixed to the sword upon his belt. "Shut up yeh two!" he hissed at his companions. "Are yeh tryin' teh get us killed by wolves . . . or worse?"

Fae nodded in silent assent. Please. Do as he says! It had been some time since she had last seen the wolf pack that had tried to wrest control of the forest from the skygge folke. Nevertheless, Fae had little confidence her last attempt to frighten them away had been entirely successful, and it was most certainly only a matter of time before they—

"Oh, calm down, Jensen!"

The one who had been telling the joke waved his hand dismissively. "Come on, man. 'Ave a little fun, now, won't yeh? We've 'ad a long day ridin' and we're entitled teh some—"

"You're entitled teh nothin'!" Jensen snapped, frustration evident in his voice. "If you lot would 'ave listened teh me, we would have ridden through these woods before makin' camp fer the night, not set up shop in the middle of this godforsaken—"

"Oh, do lighten up, now, will yeh, lad?" The man with the bottle rose, his mirth turning to annoyance. "I swear, mate, yeh've been nothin' but a right melancholy little bastard since we left the 'Delle." He raised a large hand, his thumb pointing behind him, toward the north. "If this is 'ow you're goin' teh behave, lad, yeh best make yer way back to the 'Delle before Ainsworth 'ere and I sour on yeh more than we already 'ave—"

Jensen snorted dismissively. "Fegh! It's not like there's anythin' in the 'Delle worth stayin' for. Not for the likes of me, that is."

"Too right," Ainsworth chimed in. "Tain't nothin' for the likes of scoundrels like us. What with that Empress from the, eh, from the west takin' over . . . oh, what's her name again, Dartwood?"

The man with the bottle smacked his forehead in annoyance. "Alúvelin, yeh halfwitted fool. Good God, man, yeh could at least try teh pay attention teh somethin' other than yerself fer once in yer miserable life."

"Yeah!" Ainsworth nodded vigorously, ignoring Dartwood's insult. "That's it! 'Ah-loo-vah' . . . oh, whatever. And Queen Elsa before 'er. Between the two of 'em, tain't hardly been possible for a man teh make a dishonest livin' in the 'Delle in years."

Dartwood sighed. "Ay. It just ain't right, I tell yeh. Why should we 'ave to be all respectable just because Queen Elsa decides she's too good for us and starts—"

"Shut up!" hissed Jensen, glaring at both of them. "Not only do I not want teh be eaten by wolves, I also 'ave no desire to 'ear that name again! Do yeh understand?!"

Before Ainsworth or Dartwood could respond, Jensen moved away from the fire, toward his tethered horse. "Enough talk," he muttered under his breath as he lay down upon the grass, his hand still gripping his sword. "I've 'ad enough of the 'Delle teh last me a lifetime. The farther away I get from it . . . the sooner I get away from it, the better!"

Dartwood and Ainsworth were silent for several minutes, neither man knowing just what to say in response to Jensen's sudden outburst. The crackle of the slowly-dying fire filled the air, the sound so soft that, from her hiding place in the nearby trees, Fae feared the two men would most certainly hear her breathing, soft though it was. Her heart all but skipped a beat when, without warning, Ainsworth spoke.

"What are we bringin' the sullen lad along for again anyway, Dartwood?" he inquired, glancing over to make certain Jensen was sleeping before he continued. "He's been nothin' but miserable since we left." He took the bottle from Dartwood, taking a long, slow swig. "The way he's been prattlin' on, yeh'd think he'd be 'appy teh get away from there."

Dartwood was uncharacteristically quiet. "Don't . . . Don't be too 'ard on the lad, Ainsworth," he said. "After all, his uncle did get 'imself killed after gettin' involved with the Queen an' all."

"Blimey!"

Ainsworth smacked his forehead. "'Ow'd I not figure it out sooner? He's Jansarnen's nephew, ain't he?"

Dartwood nodded in assent. "Ay. That he is. Don't think he's ever forgiven the Queen for it." He inhaled slowly, his voice suddenly laden with weariness. "Not even when she just up an' disappeared a few years ago." It was his turn to snort. "Ah, but that's Jansarnen's own fault, God rest 'is soul an' all. I told 'im never to get involved in magic an' royalty. Far too risky, no matter wot they promise for a reward." He yawned, his eyes growing heavier with each passing second. "But he didn't listen teh me, an' . . . well . . ."

Despite her need to remain hidden, Fae was absolutely entranced by their conversation. Never before had Men freely offered so much information about the outside world—let alone Arendelle of all places—as they passed through the forest. Deciding the risk was worth taking, she ever-so-carefully stepped forward, peering her head out from the safety of the trees, desperate to hear more. So the Queen of Arendelle . . . She's . . . She's gone? How? Why?

Unfortunately for her, both men had fallen silent by the time she had moved closer. Before long, the muted crackles and pops emanating from the coals was superseded by the soft, rhythmic inhalations and exhalations of sleep.

Disappointed, Fae retreated back several paces until the brown hues of her coat, hair, and tunic blended seamlessly with the bark of the surrounding trees. Although she knew the affairs of Men were of no importance to her, that her responsibility was to remain in the forest she had chosen to care for—such a solemn responsibility, as her father had instructed her, was binding once undertaken, never to be broken—her youthful exuberance would not allow her to dismiss the conversation from her mind. Now, I want to know! she thought to herself as she knelt down for the night. Why did the Queen disappear? Who is this "Alúvelin"? Why—

Settle yourself, Fae, the voice of reason told her. Care only for your trees and your animals. Let Men worry about Men.

Still, as sleep began to overtake her, Fae promised herself she would rise early, if only for the fleeting hope that the intruders would reveal even more information before their departure . . .

The men were gone by the time she awoke. Disappointment mingled with relief within her spirit as Fae rose for the day. You fool! she berated herself. You should have returned to your bed before you slept! What if they had gone exploring while you still slept? What if they had seen you?!

Peering out from among the trees, Fae made certain she was alone before exiting the sanctuary of her hiding place. As she trotted back toward the pond for her morning bath, she fought to convince herself it was better this way. Besides, she thought. Men will say anything when they are trying to impress one another. Or when they have been drinking. For all I know, they may have been telling tales the whole time.

Picking an apple from a nearby tree, she bit into it, savoring the sweetness and tartness of its juices as she chewed on its flesh. "Perfect," she said aloud, knowing there was no one to hear her voice but her own ears. "But there is still so much to do . . ."

As the days, weeks, and seasons passed, Fae saw no one else enter the forest, the entire episode all but vanishing from her memory. And yet, as she labored and cared for her beloved trees and flowers, some part of her, however faint, still wondered if it had been mere happenstance that had caused her to overhear the men's tales, or if perhaps something more significant was meant by the encounter . . .

AN: More to come.