Eire of Hostility

  Chapter 11

  The Puerile Expanse was one of the largest and most amenable areas of neutral lands in the Lore. Easily transmutable by a visitor's wishes, it was normally a vast land of gently rolling green hills, babbling brooks, and blue skies. It was generously dotted with talking trees of limited intellect and ample shade, as well as candy shrubs and enormous flowers with emotion-inducing fragrances. Golden-brick lanes led to a number of inhabited, low-caste communities that took on the architecture of various European hamlets.

  Throughout the Puerile brimmed activity and life; colorful birds sang; white unicorns danced; herds of six-legged deer ran; faerie dragons flew like kites. Those aerial creatures decorated the skies along with happy cloud faces. Large hares greeted visitors and then dash off; rocks mumbled to each other and told silly jokes and rhymes; low-caste wisps, gnomes, pixies, and nymphs frolicked up on hilltops and down in shady glens. It was a place where childhood dreams and whimsy came to life.

  It nearly made Saraid sick. Because of her mature preferences, the Puerile Expanse was all but insufferable. She realized the value it might have to the young at heart and those who wanted an escape into innocence, but she found the air of juvenile fancy overtly cloying. It was, however, the only safe route to her destination.

  Other neutral lands could have been taken to the holding she was traveling to, but the Red Falls and the Valley of Dying Echoes were uninviting, to say the least. To Saraid, the Puerile, while a vast dichotomy from the other routes of choice, had its own mawkish hazards. She didn't even consider it hypocritical that she had those opinions while she rode a giant, saddled peacock.

  Nearing the far border of the Puerile Expanse, Saraid rode into a dense tree line; the talking plants warned of her going any further. Further in, the vibrant flora gradually changed into twisted, dead trees and wilting vegetation; the sky ahead was a blanket of low, bruised clouds.

  Beyond the drab trees was a wide strip of dead earth and then an imposing wall, built high of stone blocks and jutting spikes. Over a dozen harpies sat perched on the seemingly endless and forbidding wall, as well as one other that stood at an open iron-gate entrance. All leered at Saraid with ugly, hateful grimaces.

  The visiting elder couldn't be sure if the faint rancid stench that permeated the thick air came from the harpies, or from the holdings beyond. Saraid dismounted her tense steed, and when her sun-kissed bare feet landed softly on the hard ground, she instantly felt the lifelessness of it through her toes. She had finally reached to the holdings of Crios Kaltaugen.

  Saraid remembered that Crios preferred that his title, Kaltaugen - which meant 'cold eyes' in the old Germanic tongue - be stated in that coarse language; he said it sounded more poetic. Crios was a morose sort, but then most Drommen were. He had taciturn tendencies in social settings, but sometimes either offered cryptic statements or was blunt and abrupt.

  Saraid also knew Crios had a cautious penchant for perversion, and possibly dabbled in variant forms of haruspication. Despite his social and personal proclivities, working in the seer's favor was his exceptionally powerful gift of far-sight. A scroll was not even sent for the meeting, presuming that Crios already knew of the impending visit. Only his indulgences and morbidity kept many would-be clients from seeking him out.

  A beautiful, melodious voice came from the foul harpy at the gate. "Ah, lady Saraid of the Moon Glade, we thank you for bringing us fresh meat. We will tell our master of your thoughtfulness. If you choose to wait until after we feast, you may have the bright plumage."

  Most all of the harpies were staring with drooling avarice at the oblivious, giant peacock.

  Saraid studied the servants of Crios before responding. All of them along the wall appeared to be female, and wore uniforms of sleeveless, dirty beige tunics. Their long, wild hair ranged from gray to pale red to steel blue. Dark, red-rimmed eyes sat deep in their long, scowling faces, and burdened with hefty or hooked noses. Large, bat-like ears only added to the harpies' revolting visage. Their feathered wings, some in the midst of molting, varied from charcoal to dull white.

  The speaker at the gate was about four feet tall, average for her race. She had tangled white hair, with feathers to match in color although tipped brown. To Saraid, a harpy's repugnant appearance and demeanor far outweighed its usefulness as an intelligent and capable servant.

  "I would prefer that my steed remain untouched," Saraid said to the gatekeeper in an even tone. "As I'm sure your master already knows, I have come for a brief audience and will soon be on my way."

  A mocking grin spread on the white-haired harpy's cruel face. "So you don't want to use up any precious glamour to simply port yourself home, Moon Maiden? Just a trifle of your reserves isn't much to ask for bringing a gift that may sway our master to greater insights, no? Ah, but wait - we hear that you must hoard your glamour for a bridge to come. A battle bridge, is it not?" The harpy shook her head with false sorrow. "The machinations of the high-borne come with a high price, it would seem."

  Not showing her temper from being nettled, Saraid stepped forward and said, "Will your master see me or not? I'm sure he can be enticed into a pact."

  With a lower leg that was an eagle's claw, the gatekeeper harpy gripped the metal gate and slammed it shut; the echo rang up and down the walls. "He may at that, lady, but we must first be enticed to pass your request along with good favor. Were you expecting us miserable creatures to simply cow to your power and coo at your shallow beauty? While on master Kaltaugen's land, and until he gives his nod of approval, you will see to our needs or be on your way. But please, take no offense; we have respect for your standing and gifts."

  "Then why do you treat me so?"

  The harpy grinned, showing her pointed teeth. "Simply because we can, lady Saraid; isn't that obvious? Great individuals will always be outnumbered by the lesser masses; if those masses congregate with a common cause, they cannot be stopped. If it helps, consider the analogy of a proud rock being swallowed by a swelling river. We, good dryad elder, are that river."

  Biting her tongue and trembling with the restraint not to attack, Saraid growled, "Very well, have your meal. Now grant me entrance!"

  Swinging the gate back open, the white-haired harpy said, "Of course, vaunted elder; our master awaits your sublime presence." The other harpies on the wall began laughing and scoffing at Saraid as she stepped through the gate with fists clenched.

  Saraid stepped into a land that was perpetually on the cusp of dusk. The air was cool with a breeze that reeked of decay. The dark, looming clouds overhead hung low and pregnant with an impending downpour. Occasional lightning flickered deep in the distant stratus, momentarily highlighting their bruised colors; remote rumbles of thunder soon followed.

  The geography was a littered wasteland; the dry, cracked earth held rock formations and sudden chasms, along with random pockets of twisted, lifeless trees. Scattered about, half-buried in the hard ground, were the husks and bones of strange beasts. The wind that whistled through those skulls and ribcages came across as a discordant choir of moaning despair.

  Many more harpies, near and far, perched on jutting rocks, monstrous bones, and Verden debris, watching her every move.

  The gatekeeper led Saraid twenty or so paces onto the dead, hard-packed land, where another harpy had taken roost on a broken, rusted swing set. It was a rare male of their low race, larger than the gatekeeper and with a mass of pale blonde hair, dull yellow wings, and a solemn expression on his unfortunate face. The gatekeeper asked of him, "Where would our visitor find master Crios, Linos?"

  The harpy named Linos stretched a long wing out toward the desolate landscape and pointed a radius claw in a specific direction. With a raspy hiss, he said, "Out beyond that mesa is where he currently lounges." He set his sunken, baleful eyes on Saraid. "I shall watch your progress, and will come to warn you of any dangers you might place yourself in the path of."

  Eyebrows arched, Saraid said, "I am a dryad, Linos; we do not lose o
ur way on any terrain."

  He leaned forward and asked rhetorically, "No offense meant, lady Saraid, but has any other terrain tried to open up and swallow you whole, grind you into a pulp, and then spit out what it can't use?" He gave a look of half-hidden contempt and then stood. "Just make your way, elder, and I will attempt not to wound your pride if I see you need guidance. Our master awaits you." Linos bowed and swung a wing in invitation. "Proceed at your leisure, Moon Maiden."

  Saraid began her long trek. There was no path to follow, and she had to reorient herself after venturing around a large rock outcropping and an extensive pile made of rusty bicycles, broken garden tools, ladders in disrepair, and a plethora of children's discarded toys. The view was otherwise unobstructed, but Saraid took care to avoid any unnatural land formations.

  She eventually made her way over the rough terrain to the far side of the craggy mesa, and took in the new tableau. The parched land stretched out flat before her; the moody skies ahead flickered and roiled. In the distance were three tall buttes that formed a spacious semicircle around a low hill. On that rocky knoll, strewn with thirsty scrub, sat a simple A-frame building with a small belfry; Saraid was too far off to determine details. Down in front of it, on the flatland, sat a vague figure at a small table.

  Stopping to think, Saraid set her determination to get results she would be satisfied with, especially after having to put up with Crios' taunting servants. She looked over her shoulder to see Limos descending toward her. She decided to have a minor curiosity resolved before she completed her journey.

  Landing on a small boulder a respectful distance away, Limos asked in a raspy tone, "Is there a problem, elder?"

  "No; as you can see, I can traverse your master's holdings without a guide. Still, while I have your company, I have a question for you."

  Limos glanced in the direction of the buttes and comparatively tiny structure, and then back to her. He impatiently hissed, "If you must, lady Saraid."

  Crossing her arms, Saraid commented, "You seem more... respectful than the other harpies at the border gate. In my centuries of existence, I have had few encounters with your kind but never was treated with such insolence. Is the difference between your conduct and theirs a matter of bravado or hierarchy within your ranks?"

  "Neither of those, elder; harpy behavior is a matter of intellect and gender." When Limos saw the dryad's frown, he went on to explain. "Where we are found lacking - adapting gifts and manipulation of glamour - we excel in mental capacity compared to other low-caste fae. With that intellect, we garner a greater self-realization. In that, we harpies recognize that we are truly hideous creatures. While most males of my race either accept it or think little of it, most female harpies are acrimonious, sometimes violently so, about their ugliness and denial to vanity. Seeing a fae of your beauty is a reminder of what they consider a cruel twist of fate; a cosmic injustice, if you will. Given that situation, would you not be bitter as well?"

  Deciding to ignore the question - and unsure if it was rhetorical or not - Saraid remarked with a pleasant grin, "With that insight, I pity the plight of you and other males to endure such scorn."

  "Male harpies don't face the same hostility that others might; we bear the same burden. It does, however, make breeding a challenge." Limos abruptly took to the air. "If your query has been satisfactorily answered, elder, then my master still awaits us. If you walk directly toward him from your position, there will be no further dangers to be wary of. I will fly ahead to announce your presence, and will see to whatever is needed."

  Saraid watched Limos fly off toward his master. As she walked, she entertained the thought of acquiring her own harpy; they were much more tenacious and clever than the nymphs she controlled. By the time she could see the setting before her clearly, the idea of a harpy retainer had been discarded; Saraid did have her reputation to think of, after all.

  The building up on the knoll was a dilapidated school house with no bell in the belfry. More harpies perched on the low-angled spire and roof ridge, as well as high above on the edges of the formidable buttes. From the crooked door of the shabby building, a curving path led down around rocks and arid shrubbery. Where that path ended sat Crios Kaltaugen.

  Dressed in layered robes of gray and black, he reclined in one of the two chairs of an abused wicker patio set. His overhanging hood was up, but his wide, lipless mouth could be seen. The other chair sat on the near side of the small wicker table, and was being held by Limos to seat her. The straight line of Crios' unsettling mouth bent into a grin as Saraid took the offered seat.

  "Well met again, Saraid," Crios began with his soothing voice, "welcome to my holdings. I'm told you gave my guardians a donation to their well-being; very generous of you."

  "Yes, well, I hoped that it might show my respect, so that our discussion might go smoothly."

  Crios' strange grin grew wider. "I admire how half-truths roll so smoothly off of that wicked tongue of yours, Saraid. But please, let it go no further than that; I caution that if you were to practice your wily gift of persuasion on me..." Crios glanced meaningfully at all of the harpies in the vicinity, "let's just say it would be unwise."

  Saraid smiled demurely. "You think that I cannot parley without influence?"

  "There is no need to use your skills of negotiation, either, good dryad. I already have a notion of what you seek, and I know my price for the information. Bargaining is not necessary."

  "Very well," Saraid said with more disappointment than surprise, "how shall we -"

  "I ask for ten female nymphs to be placed under my charge," Crios stated abruptly, "and, to be clear, not wild nymphs. I want servants that are currently under your tutelage, those who have learned to adapt your methodologies of... entertainment."

  That the venerable deviant would make such a request didn't surprise Saraid, but the amount did. "Ten nymphs, you say? That is a lavish number, Crios. Perhaps we can -"

  "Ten; that number, all female, all in good health, or we have no pact, Saraid."

  Making it appear as if the decision was difficult, Saraid finally sighed and said, "Agreed, seer."

  As the wide grin returned, Crios leaned forward, rested his elbows on the tatty wicker table, and pressed his long, blue-gray hands together as if in prayer. "Good, very good, and now to your request; I know that you seek someone with an uncommon ability. From there, you must offer more specifics."

  "I seek those who have the gift of locating." Saraid had learned from the bauchan, Haas, what transpired at the McCarthy place before he made his escape. Kazimir of the Callous Ruin wasn't present, but more than one other fae was there in his stead. And quite a unit of protection Jane had gathered; Aldritch of the Old Wood at the vanguard, Ragnar of the Red Rock overseeing, and the young Fair fae with the fog bear who had formerly downed two of her nymphs.

  A locator was desired to find Jane when the girl might be alone or vulnerable; eventually, she would be. Since Saraid doubted she could coerce the churlish leprechaun Vaughn into another pact, another fae with that rare gift was sought.

  "Ah, a locator," Crios said, "and so it is said, 'It is necessary to keep one's compass in one's eyes and not in the hand, for the hands execute, but the eye judges'. Rather apt, I would say."

  Not sure how the obscure quote applied, Saraid said, "How exactly does that -" She stopped in mid-sentence when Crios pulled back his heavy hood. He was thin, almost emaciated; his bone structure protruded under a thin mask of pale, blue-gray flesh. His overly wide mouth made the skin wrinkle in his sunken cheeks. A thin neck supported a long, tapered skull. He had no hair whatsoever; not stubble, or eyebrows, or even lashes. Large eye sockets were recessed, adding to an already ghoulish appearance.

  Crios' eyes, however, were captivating. Where the whites - the sclera - of his large eyes should have been was a deep indigo. His irises were crystalline white, with a tiny blue pupil dotting the center. There was no defining line from the indigo sclera to the white irises; the colors minutely v
eined into each other, like rime creeping onto a dark window. Saraid then had a better grasp of how his quote applied.

  With those eyes that would even unnerve a sprite, Crios looked up at the clouds. Saraid looked up as well, but then back to him. The seer's mouth moved with small gestures, as if he were having a silent chat with himself, or perhaps divining information from the sullen sky above.

  With his strange eyes still searching, Crios said, "Out of hundreds of high-borne fae, there are five with the gift of locating."

  "Very well; I would -"

  "Out of thousands of low-borne fae," Crios continued, cutting off Saraid's thought; she assumed that was all he would offer, "there is one with the gift of locating."

  Saraid suffered the pause, wondering if the seer was finished. He wasn't.

  "Out of the billions of humans on the mundane realm, there are three with the gift of locating."

  Surprised, Saraid contemplated that last fact; a human with the gift of locating could be some innate ability, an alteration of the senses, or most likely related to fae in some way. Then again, she had found a human who could make portals, so a locator was well within the realm of possibility. Saraid ultimately thought that the origin of their gift was inconsequential as long as they employed it for her.

  Saraid turned her eyes back to Crios to find his own strange eyes on her once more. "I suppose the easiest target would be best," she mused, "tell me more about the low-borne."

  Crios nodded and said, "She is a pixie named Treva, in service to Egon Soulsinger, currently living in the lake village on his holdings. Would you care to know more?"

  Frowning, Saraid replied, "There is no need. Tell me of the humans next."

  "I thought as much." Crios took a few moments to stare off beyond Saraid's shoulder, as if he were reading the information from the air. He looked back at her and said in a quick monotone, "I have only been able to glean general information and vague location. Natalia Kolchak; she is seventy-one years old, living in Yokutsk, a city in the Siberian province of Russia. Corlan Molloy; he is fourteen years old, living in Levi, a town in the state of Minnesota, in the United States of America. Jack McCarthy; he is twenty-nine years old, living in Ballaghadaere, a village in the county of Roscommon, in Ireland."

  Saraid attempted to hide her emotions. In her ruse to gain Jane's confidence, the girl mentioned her brother Jack at some point of her meaningless blather. The dryad clucked her tongue rather than letting a grin dimple her smooth cheeks; what a talented clan she had found. Not only would this Jack prove useful in his own right, but if there was resistance then he could simply be dangled as bait. Saraid thought that with all of the obstacles laid in her path, fate was finally granting her easy passage; she felt that she'd undeniably earned it.

  After a second of silent patience, Crios asked, "Do you have the knowledge you seek, Saraid?"

  Meeting his gaze, Saraid answered, "Yes, I am satisfied. I consider this a bound pact, Crios, and ten of my servants shall be ordered to report to you indefinitely when I return to my holdings."

  Crios pulled his hood back over his bald head. "I am pleased that both parties benefit. At your leisure, you have my grant to create a portal if you choose."

  Saraid nodded first to the seer and then to his servant, Linos. The harpy understood her signal and pulled her seat back. She stood, smoothed her gauzy dress, and then summoned a portal.

  After she had exited and her portal closed, Crios wondered why Saraid simply didn't ask if there was another port-maker to be found, like the one she was ultimately after. One of the paths of his far-sight had shown a copper-haired girl resentfully employing her gift for the covetous dryad's benefit, but that was only one possible outcome of many. Crios had sensed another one with that special gift, but happily kept that to himself.