Chapter 1: At The Jolly Faerie Tavern and Inn, Whelif, Remy
"YOU CLUMSY FOOL!"
Panthea whimpered apologetically as she picked up the fragments of the ceramic cup. "S-s-sorry, Mr. Damian, sir…I'll try t' replace it..."
"You'd better," snapped the yellow tuskaninny Damian, the owner and head manager of The Jolly Faerie Tavern and Inn. "Otherwise, I'll be dockin' your pay for the next little while, lassie."
The blue acara sighed. The little money she made from both waitressing and singing when their star singer Mimi was away was barely enough to pay for a cup. And it didn't help that Damian had so few, so one cup would make a large difference.
"And Panthea," continued Damian, "Mimi's got the neoflu so it looks like you'll be singin'."
Panthea allowed herself a small smile. Singing was one of her most favourite things to do.
When it was time that night, the entertainment manager, a red bruce named Argoyel, clapped his fins loudly.
"Lay-deeeeeees an' gennelpayts!" he hollered, using his formidable lung power to back up his strong accent. "Ah am pleezed ta prizent ta you th' most hawn-tahn storehtellah this cun-tray has evah seen! Singin' 'Th' Bahllad Of Th' Lost Moor', our very own, Pan-thaaaaay dahl'Telethiaaaaan!"
Panthea walked up to the stage amidst reserved applause. She desperately tried not to think of the fact that most of the patrons had come that night to hear Mimi sing a peppy wartime tune, "My Heart Lies In Remy", not a war ballad. Still, she took a deep breath to steady herself, then gave a slightly wobbly scale twice, and took another breath to begin.
As she sang, something from her voice began to stir the very air above her head and set it to life. A soft moon amidst sparkling stars lay in a sky, with a lupess sitting on a rock sobbing.
"The Lost Moor lies beneath the stars,
Beneath the stars, it lies,
And my Alma sits there waiting for me
And cries, cries, cries."
Now the image changed, showing a gelert in full armor looking longingly over the sea, presumably to Alma the lupess.
"For what am I but a lonely soldier,
A lonely soldier am I,
Who will leave my maiden far away
Beneath the stars to cry?
O, my heart is sore and achy,
And it continues to burn,
For my poor sweet Alma who has cried over me,
Me who will never return."
The audience erupted in applause. Panthea felt joy swell through her heart as she ran off the stage and Argoyel introduced the next segment. Somehow, though, when she reached Damian at the back of The Jolly Faerie she burst into tears.
Damian thumped her on the back, more approvingly than comfortingly. "There, there, lassie, it's all right. Here, take a tissue. I'll forgive you for the cup-everyone's been asking who that wonderful singin' acara is!"
"I'm-not-cryin' over th'-cup," sobbed Panthea into the tissue. She gave a little hiccup. "It's because-oh, how can I explain? It's because I'm happy. Everyone was there waitin' for Mimi to run onto the stage and begin whoopin' and makin' the whole place cheery even with th' war, and up shuffles me! I served some o' them, they don't expect a waitress to replace their li'l songbird! And yet they...applauded me." She said the word as if it were alien to her. "Me, Panthea dal'Telethian, who was introduced as th' most 'hawn-than storehtellah' by that twangy bellow, and they still liked me!"
"This is the firs' time you've ever been this upset over a performance, and I don't like it. Usually your confidence is pretty good. So I'll tell you now, that they like you because not only are you ev'ry bit as good a singer as Mimi, but you got a gift. You're magic," said Damian gently.
Panthea looked up from the tissue clutched in her pink paws. "Magic? Me?"
"Sure. Doncha know? You make pictures when you sing words. That's one reason why ev'ryone liked your song so much, lassie. Because they could see Alma cryin', and that gelert fellow goin' off t' war, rather than just hear, and it moved them."
"I make pictures when I sing," repeated Panthea softly. She thought over this. "So, if I sang something like:
The merry month of Hunting, When the buzzes go 'round and sing!
You can actually see the buzzes goin' 'round and singin' in the merry month of Hunting?"
Damian chuckled. "Sure as you can see my fat flippers in front o' you, lassie."
A bell rang at one table, asking for service. Panthea smiled a thank you and crumpled up the tissue, stuffing it in the pocket of her yellow frock as she ran off to answer the bell.
Sitting at the table was a red elfin cybunny in a forest cloak sipping a small cup of brandy. The bell was in her hand. Across from her was a tall yellow kougra with a fedora hat perched precariously over one eye. He was smoking a cigar, and Panthea coughed as she came to the table.
"Yes, miss?" she asked the cybunny.
"Sit down," said the cybunny with a smile, motioning to an empty chair. Panthea did as she was told. "My name is Quolorien, and this across from me is Victory Rivers." The kougra, Victory Rivers, waved with his cigar. "I called you over because I saw you serving something to a gentlepet over there, and then I saw you sing." She smiled and nodded. "You're a Spirit Singer, miss."
"A Spirit Singer? What's that?"
Victory Rivers tapped ash off of his cigar. "You conjure up images, words or even spirits from the past when you sing, depending on how powerful the song. We've been looking for a Spirit Singer to complete a spell."
"A spell?"
"To bring back the innocent pets who died in the war," explained Quolorien. "On both Remy's side and Kellian's side. The spell calls for a Spirit Singer, an archer worthy of the hunting goddess, a Divine Mirrorglass and three different Element Eyes. I'm an archer, and a pretty sharp shooter if I do say so myself, so I can at least find this good archer, whoever it may be. Vic over here owns a six blessed mirrorglass fragments that have all come, literally, from the words of Spirit Singers. Two more makes eight, a divine number. And the three Element Eyes we still need to find."
"We came to find the uni Mimi, whom we believe is a Spirit Singer herself," said Victory Rivers. "Instead we found you, but that is certainly what we hoped for. What's your name, miss?"
"Panthea dal'Telethian, sir," said Panthea with a awkwardly dipping curtsy.
"Will you come with us to find the three Element Eyes?"
"I want to a lot, because me ole granma died in th' war, y' see, from a badly-aimed arrow. But you'll have to speak with Damian, sir. He owns this place, and he'll have to give me clearance to leave."
The yellow kougra smiled, poking up his fedora with one paw. "I will, don't worry."
Quolorien held up her glass. "Now, will you get me some more brandy, please, Miss dal'Telethian? And some for Vic, too."
Panthea nodded, took the glass and went off.
There was a crash and a tinkle of crystal. Victory Rivers chuckled and Quolorien shook her head as Damian roared:
"PANTHEEEEEEEAA!"
"Sorry!" yelled Panthea as she ran off with Quolorien's shattered glass in her hand.
"Are you sure she's the one you want to bring with us?" said the red cybunny with a sigh.
Victory Rivers laughed. "Of course. Clumsy or no, she's a Spirit Singer. We need her."
Quolorien smiled. "I just worry about her, that's all."
"If a horned beast really does have one of the mirrorglass fragments, I'd be more worried about us."
Panthea returned. "Damian says it's okay. Here's your brandy. Um, do you happen to have any gold on you? I'm afraid I don't at the moment and I need to pay for a glass..."
"It's all right," said Victory Rivers. "We've got it covered." He took a sip of the drink. "So, we'll meet you here tomorrow morning, all right?"
Panthea nodded. "All right. Good night, Mr. Rivers and Miss Quolorien."
"Good night," chorused the kougra and cybunny.
"And good luck," added Quolorien under her breath.