Dockalfar (21 page)

She looked up at Okar as he watched the children. Pale gold hair snaked across his cheek. He looked very much like his heart mate and very little like his brother, the boisterous Alkar.

“Are the Dockalfar more powerful than the Liosalfar?”

He blinked down at her, the question catching him off guard. It took him a moment to orient on the topic. He chose his words carefully.

“They would go to further lengths. There are things they would do to achieve a goal that we would not.”

“So they are?”

“I did not say that.”

“Why won’t anyone tell me about this Azeral?”

His lips tightened, so close to his heart mate’s response to the same questions. Was Azeral a distasteful subject to everyone here?

“His is not a name to be carelessly bandied about, Victoria. He is very old.”

“As old as Neira’sha?” she asked, bright eyed.

“No. Older than Ashara, though.”

“He’s very strong then?”

“Very.”

“Why would he want human magic then, if he’s so powerful? Why would he need it?”

“You ask me to decipher the workings of his mind. It’s not a task I’m equipped for or inclined to undertake.”

“Why won’t Ashara talk about him?”

A pertinent question. A sensitive one, judging from Okar’s expression. Wary and just a little sad.

“Victoria, you ask too many questions.”

“Only because no one will tell me what I want to know.”

“It’s no one’s tale to tell save Ashara’s. Suffice to say that she and he are not on good terms.”

“I gathered,” she muttered. “But I think it’s more than that. I think Azeral is a restricted subject because she thinks if I know where he is and what he is, I’ll do something rash.”

“Would you?”

She hunched her shoulders.

Physically she felt small and weak, a delicate female flower. She would be insane to even contemplate confronting the author of her kidnapping. A power as old as mankind and as malevolent as man’s concept of Satan.

“Of course not,” she said, making herself small and helpless, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes which told clearly of all her fears and reservations.

And behind the eyes her shield was as placid as the surface of a frozen lake. He did not even attempt it. He was too polite.

He merely inclined his head, choosing to take her at her word.

Aloe held a berry up before Victoria’s face. “Safe?” she asked with an arched silver brow.

Victoria drew on a small tendril of power, wound it around the berry’s essence. An inanimate object, not quite alive as she knew it, but far from dead. It was bitter in her mind, acrid almost, and hard. There was something venomous to its essence. She shook her head negatively and Aloe smiled, dropping the small, red offering.

“Correct. Hygloh. Very poisonous. You’re doing very well.”

They were in the grove outside of the keep. Sunlight struggled to dapple the ground. Leaves drifted down from above lazily, decorating the forest floor in their greens and golds. It was amazing that by a mere trifling use of her power she could determine what was safe to forage from the forest, what pool of water was pure and what was stagnant. What plants to avoid contact with, what trees were solid enough to climb and provide shelter for the night.

They had tried to teach her the use of the bow, but she was hopelessly inept at stringing and drawing even Aloe’s lightweight weapon, so they settled for teaching her how to survive off the land.

Everyone should know, Okar had informed her seriously. One never know what might happen. So they took to the woods. Granted the woods were tame and housed no predators or serious pitfalls.

It was not just the plant life they told her about. Not just what a wary traveler could eat or where she might rest safely.

There were other things in the woods and forests of Elkhavah to be careful of.

Avoid toadstool rings, she was told. They belonged to the ‘Little Folk’ and their owners got testy when their toadstools were disturbed. Pools that were secluded and boasted no animal trails to their edges were dangerous. If the animals avoided drinking from them then it was a good chance that something unsavory lived in their depths. The oldest of the oaks were to be skirted around if one was uncertain of what lived within them. Blackthorn trees housed nymphs that were not always friendly to strangers. They told her how to avoid the notice of a banshee and what to do if she could not. It was such a bemusing edition of folklore and legend that the sidhe told her in all seriousness.

She took it all for fact without a moment’s doubt. Doubt in this magical world was the path to downfall.

Okar and his brother, Alkar roamed further afield, silent as shadows, every once and a while appearing to walk beside the women. Aloe was purely at home. She breathed the forest and exhaled it like a drug. The filtered woodland light made her whole. She even went so far as to flirt with Alkar and tussle with him when he went too far. She won the tussle, but they were both grinning and bright-eyed afterward. Both had leaves and debris in their hair.

Alkar bounded about them both, babbling nonsense, which he had a tendency to do when excited. Victoria thought he must be very young for his kind.

There was a certain lack of patience in his eyes, an urgency in his movements that spoke of youth. He told her how to spot game trails, and how to find water without the benefit of magic. They told her about the forest denizens. What to avoid with a passion, what might be of help to a woodland traveler.

“Stay away from the fairy circles,” Aloe told her sternly. “They’re nonsense and you in particular seem infected by them. You could while away seasons dancing with that lot if you let yourself.

Besides which the dance and the music seem to be triggers for your magic. And if you don’t have your head to control it, you’re asking for trouble.”

“I imagine after the last time, the fairies will stay far away from me.”

“They’re not particularly smart,”

Alkar said dryly. “In one ear, out the other.”

“Elves are another matter,” Aloe went on. “Being human, you’re not likely to meet them. They’re shy, clannish and don’t particularly like outside company. They’ve got magic of their own, but nothing like sidhe power. Or yours. They do have terrible long memories though, and hold grudges. If you ever meet any, be nice, be mannerly and do not annoy them. They can be irritating little fiends when their ire is up.”

The four of them walked in silence.

With a little magical effort, Victoria could cover the sound of her passage. It took concentration though, and she often found her thoughts wandering and her feet making all sorts of sounds. It just did not seem worth the effort.

There was a wash of movement from in front of them. A forest-colored figure walked from between the trees. Okar broke into a smile and moved forward to touch fingertips with his heart mate.

Ashara joined their progression. “You’ve been forest bound for days,” she said. “Very hard to talk to.”

“I’ve been learning how to survive in the wilderness,” Victoria smiled. “What did you need to talk about?”

The lady of the keep shrugged. “Nothing serious. I had ulterior motives. Your teachers have been absent too. I missed one of them.” She cast a sideways glance up at Okar.

“So how goes your forest craft?”

“Well, I’m totally confused about the directional thing here, but I think I know which berries to eat and where to find the watering holes, so chances are if I get lost it’ll be for forever, but I’ll survive because I know what’s safe to eat and drink.”

Ashara laughed, a sound like tinkling chimes. Her eyes sparkled. “You can always find your way back here, Victoria. Once the Grove and the Keep accept you, they’ll always be a beacon for you.”

She looked at the Lady for a moment in silence, feeling something catch in her throat. She whispered. “Have I been accepted?”

“I think you have.”

Victoria looked down, watched the forest floor. “Thank you. That means a lot….”

Ashara arched a brow at her, sensing the hesitation in her voice. “But?” she prompted. She was quick. So very quick on the uptake.

“But what if I wanted to leave? Would I be welcome back?”

Ashara frowned. “Unless your actions dictated otherwise.”

“And if I asked for someone to guide me, would you allow it?”

The lady of the keep drew a deep breath. “It would be foolish on both our parts, Victoria. What you want is impossible. To risk the Dockalfar is suicide or worse.”

“What do you suggest, then?” she snapped in frustration. “That I just forget all about him? That I stay here and pretend that he’s not there? If I can just find him, I can help him. I’ve got power. You’ve taught me how to use it. I know I can help him.” It was a heartfelt plea and desperate. Ashara was unmoved. Aloe was actively frowning.

“You have power, child, yes. In abundance. But skill? You’re an infant. They would eat you alive. You would give them the very thing they want. Human magic.”

“How do you know? You don’t know how much power I’ve got. You told me that. Destructively speaking, I’ve been told I’m on the scale of natural disasters. I can get him out. I know I can. I just need to get there.”

“Your optimism is unfounded,” Ashara told her soberly. “Raw power can be turned and funneled into harmlessness. He knows how to do that. He would take great pleasure in teaching you the error of your ways, and I cannot allow that. And he wants you. Your human magic. For some reason he craves your alien power and I see no reason to allow him access to it. Dockalfar ideals are tainted. Twisted. He can only want that power for evil. It’s in his nature.”

“I see. Am I a prisoner here then?”

There was tenseness in the air. The others were visibly uncomfortable with the debate. Ashara shook her head. Sadly. Stubbornly. “Of course not.”

“But I’ll get no help in finding my way to Azeral’s court?”

“Don’t say his name,” Ashara whispered, tight lipped. “It might draw his attention to this place and I want nothing of him here.”

“You did not answer the question. Will someone guide me?”

“No. Not yet. Be patient girl. Let your skill grow. Learn to control the power you have and perhaps you might be a match for the dark ones. Perhaps we’ll even help you. But I won’t support a doomed cause and for you to think of taking him on without a great deal more knowledge than you have, is doomed.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The lord of the Unseelie court turned in his sleep. His lady of the moment shifted to allow him space, turned her perfect cheek and laid it against his smooth shoulder and wondered what disturbed the dreams of the most powerful of Dockalfar. There was no probing possible on her part. No tiny chink in his shields that she could slip through and observe his subconscious musings. Not that she would try if there were. Not and risk his wrath. There were plots upon plots in this court, subterfuge and deception among the high sidhe who lived under the heavy stone of the keep. But none of it was directed at Azeral. None dared. At least not in the last millennia.

Which was saying a good deal for the respect his court held him in. Or the fear.

For it was in the nature of the Dockalfar to scheme and manipulate, just as it were in the nature of the Liosalfar to plant and inspire life. Neferia still wondered what her lord dreamed.

~~~

He dreamed. He dreamed of golden hair and wise, young eyes. He dreamed of a wit and a power that had always taken him by surprise considering the youth of the wielder. She was walking away from him, all summer colors and swaying hips.

Beautiful. Her laughter trailed behind her like falling petals. He was young too, in the dream, but older than she. But she was his equal. She had always been his equal. He did not despise her for it. He was aware on some level of what he dreamed.

It was not an uncommon fantasy that his sleeping mind resurrected. It was a thing long past. Lost forever. He savored it. Savored the untainted memories of her.

She came towards him, her beautiful, sleek body bathed in light of her making. Her hair swung about her hips in a cloud of gold. Like sunlight. It almost hurt his eyes. He reached out for her, craving for the touch of her skin. She eluded him, laughing. Teasing. Always teasing.

Testing his reserve. He could not grasp her. He ran after her, losing all dignity, and finally she stopped, just out of reach and held something forward in the palm of her hand. Something indefinable in shape and size, but overwhelming in its purity and innocence. Something newborn. The look in her eyes was quizzical. She offered it to him and he stood unmoving.

Will you nurture this with kindness?
she asked, inside his head.
Will you love
this and care for this? Can you protect
this from evil?
He stood blinking at her intense light, suddenly torn between want of her and the desire to repulse her request.

Protect from evil? Nurture with kindness? It was not in his nature. But for her, he wanted to try. Wanted desperately to try. He held out his hand and she passed the ember of purity on to him. Its glow of radiance faltered once in his palm. He concentrated, trying to buffer its resistance. Striving to keep it as it was.

But slowly it darkened, and its purity faded, its innocence shriveled. She frowned, shaking her head in disapproval.

He tried to tell her it was not his doing.

That he wanted the thing whole as she had given it to him, but that the darkness of his very nature turned it against the light. It was no conscious doing of his.

She would hear nothing of it. She turned away and he knew unfailingly that no efforts on his part could stop her from fading. He hated her for that. Or knew that he should. But he had never quite been able to work up that emotion towards her.

She was gone, and he was left holding the small, dark soul. A crystal drop of moisture leaked from the corner of his eye. Shameful.

He gathered his will and focused on the malignant soul, poured every once of his strength into it, banishing the darkness, urging the light forth. Weakly it pulsated in his hand. If she would only come back. If she could only see what he had done for her….