A Thread in the Tangle (19 page)

“No wonder the populace is clueless.”
 
Marsais gestured towards the show with his turkey leg.
 
“Scenes such as these both amaze and appall me.
 
The past is never so simple, Isiilde, yet the majority will happily accept these tales as fact.”
 
The puppet Zahra, stirred, and then leapt to its feet, earning a hearty cheer from the crowd.
 
Shouts of encouragement and suggestions were hurled at the stage, detailing how Zahra could slay her shadowy opponent.

“Zahra and Dagenir never battled over the Orb?” Isiilde asked.

“Oh, they did, but good and evil are not always so clear cut.
 
You see the past is written by the victor, so history is often subjective, and the farther we distance ourselves from a point in time, the more it blurs, until an event is nearly indistinguishable from fact.
 
Things were much more complicated than this simple—mockery.”

“Perhaps you should stage a puppet show,” she suggested.

“A splendid idea!
 
The crowd would have a good laugh when the Blessed Order came to hang, draw and quarter me,” Marsais remarked before sinking his teeth into turkey flesh.
 
The nymph tilted her head in puzzlement, detecting both sorrow and amusement in his voice.

“Marsais?”

“Hmm.”

“Humans are very confusing.”

“A wise assessment, my dear,” he agreed, regarding her out of the corner of his eye.
 
“My keen perceptions whisper that you have a question stirring in your lovely mind.”

“I don’t understand—” Isiilde trailed off, trying to put her feelings into words, but it was difficult, because she didn’t know where to begin, so she ate a strawberry in hopes that it would help.
 
It did, and she decided that her confusion started when Yasimina had warned her about repeating Marsais’ views on nymphs—that they were favored by the Sylph.
 
Since it seemed like a good place to start, Isiilde told him what the Wise One had said.

“Ah, I believe you’re perplexed by the age old question of
Why
,” he said, smiling with gentle understanding.
 
“Your research regarding nymphs uncovered their mistreatment, but not the reason.”

“Yes, that’s what I don’t understand,” she said, excitedly, happy that he had sorted through her jumbled thoughts.
 
“Those who oppose the Void claim to worship the Sylph, or at least revere her, since the Guardians and Keeper serve her.
 
It’s common knowledge that the faerie are her children, yet they are largely mistreated and enslaved.
 
Yasimina had no trouble accepting your words, but she seemed—afraid of the truth.
 
Why do people cower from knowledge?
 
Aren’t the Wise Ones supposed to ‘protect the past to safeguard the future’?”

It was the Order’s motto.
 
The words spiraled around the table in the council chamber.
 
An oath, etched into the stone by every Wise One who had held a seat on the Circle of Nine for the past three thousand years.

“You have ample cause to be perplexed, my dear, because there is no simple answer for your question.”

“I asked Oen why nymphs were treated so, and he told me that they were a bunch of thick-headed idiots.”

“Blunt and to the point as always.
 
But if I were to put a single word to it, then I’d say it’s a matter of convenience.”

The crowd erupted into a frenzy as the golden ball of glitter burst apart, hurling rock candy into the audience.
 
Her master’s features creased as he watched the crowd scrambling for the sweets.

“Convenience?” the nymph nudged, recognizing the distant look in his eyes.

“Hmm.”
 
Marsais scratched his chest, but returned to the present without further coaxing, looking suddenly exhausted as he continued.
 
“To understand why the faerie are treated as they are, you must understand the past.
 
And the past is as hard to chart as the future.”

“It is?”
 
She sampled her custard tart, moaning with rich pleasure.
 
“You have to try this!”
 
The nymph thrust the tart in front of his face giving him little choice but to take a bite, and although he wasn’t quite as expressive as her, she gathered he liked it when he took another.

“Take knitting for example,” he continued between mouthfuls.
 
“Yes, I know you abhor it, for the sheer tediousness of the process, but it helps to illustrate my point.
 
It’s not always apparent when you’ve made a mistake.
 
You might not notice one until you step back and examine your work as a whole.
 
Then you must fix your mistake, but you can’t just pluck at that single, errant thread, you must unravel all the other threads first.
 
The past is like that, but unraveling it won’t fix it, and it’s difficult to put your finger on one event, or thread, because they are all connected.
 
History is a tapestry, my dear, and every thread affects the next.”

A chorus of shouts rose in the crowd, all crying out,
thief!
which drew everyone’s attention to a boy who was darting through the press of bodies, pursued by two angry men.
 
Isiilde quickly checked her own purse, squeaking in dismay when she discovered it missing.

“Blast!”

“I wouldn’t worry.”
 
Marsais withdrew her purse from his cloak, dangling it in front of her nose.
 
“I reasoned that if I could snatch it then someone else would.”
 
Marsais winked at her and the pouch disappeared beneath his cloak for safekeeping.

“Thank you, Marsais.”

“Hmm, I’ve never been thanked so nicely for pick-pocketing.”
 
She gave him another bite.

“So what happened?
 
I assume you know.”

“Of course, but you should make yourself comfortable, for it is a long tale.”

Isiilde did as he suggested, leaning against the tree trunk at her back, and settling in for a long story.
 
She always loved listening to her master’s stories, he had the gentlest of voices, weaving a perfect picture for her mind.

“Faerie are disliked for various reasons that began long before the Shattering.
 
During a time when faerie dominated most of the realm, a particular race stood above the rest, the Lindale.
 
These were tall, lithe folk who were more numerous than humans.
 
Imagine someone my height, but as beautiful as you with pointed ears, like the Kamberians.”
 
Isiilde blushed at his compliment.

“For the most part, the Lindale lived side by side with man, tending to the Sylph’s beloved realm.
 
It was not uncommon for men and faerie to take Oaths together, which is where the Kamberians stem from, but the bloodlines are very diluted these days.
 
Some believed, long before the Shattering, that the Lindale were shaped with Fyrsta.
 
That they were the oldest of the races.
 
Whether that is true or not, I do not know, but they were the first to watch over the nymphs—the original Druids.

“Now, if there is one constant in all the realms and time, it is change.
 
Over three thousand years ago, some of the faerie rebelled against their nature and became a twisted race who are now known as the Fey.”
 
Before she could inquire further, he waved a hand.

“The story of the first Fey, Pyrderi Har’Feydd is a complicated tale and we mustn’t get too side-tracked if we are to address your question.
 
The birth of the Fey was a start, one mistake among many.
 
The beginnings of distrust and bitterness between humans and faerie were sown.
 
Then to fan these flames of distrust, many of the Druids, for various reasons, joined Ramashan who as you know was once a Druid—a Druid who lusted after power.
 
Either knowingly, or unknowingly many of his brethren helped him open the Gateway to the Nine Halls, inviting a horde of fiends into Fyrsta.
 
The invaders nearly toppled the kingdoms of the realm.”

“Why would the Druids do such a thing?” Isiilde asked, tugging her cloak closer, warding against the chill creeping up her spine.

“The reasons are as numerous as the Druids who joined him, my dear,” Marsais answered, patiently.
 
“Some of the Lindale believed that the humans were a threat, and wished to strengthen their position in the realm.
 
Others foolhardily thought that Ramashan’s scheme would give them the means to protect their nymphs from those who coveted them.
 
Still, some knew very well what Ramashan intended and the lure of power was a temptation that they could not ignore.
 
Now, you are familiar with the tale of Ramashan, and the fiendish hordes that poured through the portal into Fyrsta?”

Isiilde quickly nodded, wishing she hadn’t asked about all these unpleasant things.
 
Sometimes it was easier to ignore everything, but today was a rare day, and despite her fear she needed to know the truth of matters.

“It was a grim time, not only were the Fey wreaking havoc along with their twisted Fomorri creations, but now fiends were loose in Fyrsta, and the Void spread like a vile plague.
 
The Sylph’s power—do not repeat this,” he warned quietly, as if there were ears in the rustling leaves overhead.
 
“—was waning.
 
The Sylph’s influence over this realm was diminishing by the day.
 
She was losing ground to the Void.
 
That is why she gave the Orb to the Keeper, and he appointed Guardians to watch over it.
 
The Orb was an artifact of immense power.
 
It held the very essence of life, the root of her power, and in this way her faithful could fight the Void in her stead.”

“But she’s an Eldar Goddess—the Goddess of All Realms.”
 
There was more question than statement in the nymph’s words.

“The gods are not perfect, my dear,” he uttered, softly, “nor all powerful, and I ask that you not repeat my words to anyone, or we will both be swinging from the gallows.
 
The Guardians of Iilenshar
and
Morchaint are worshipped as gods, however, they were once men and women like those around us.

“The only thing that separates a common man from a god is knowledge.
 
Let us use our floating colleague Tulipin as an example.
 
If he floated into a remote village, then he could very well be mistaken for a god, or worse, an unnatural fiend to the more primitive but no less intelligent tribes.”

“Yasimina told me that you show a blatant disregard for the younger gods, is that true?”

“I don’t worship them and—” Marsais paused, holding up a long finger to emphasize his next point. “
there
lies the root of confusion.”

A nearby fiddler began playing an energetic tune and the crowd formed a spontaneous circle around the peg-legged musician for dancing.
 
The nymph forgot everything for a minute as she watched their complicated jigs, listened to their laughter, and basked in their joy until a voice inserted itself into her reverie.

“Am I boring you?”
 
The voice brought her back to the present.
 
The tips of her ears heated as she returned her attention to familiar grey eyes that were patiently inquiring.

“You never bore me, Marsais,” she said, gesturing for him to continue before applying herself to a warm honey roll.
 
“But so much happiness should not be wasted.”

“I do agree,” Marsais smiled.
 
“Shall we continue another day?”

“No, please continue, it was a small diversion and nothing more.”

“Diversions make life palatable.
 
Now then, where was I?” Marsais mused, as he stole another bite.
 
“Ah yes, evil spread, distrust and suspicion were rampant, and lines were drawn between races.
 
The situation was ripe for chaos, and it fell from the vine when the Orb shattered.
 
I can assure you, candy did not shoot out of the Orb when it broke.

“Powerful forces that had no direction, no conduit for control were unleashed.
 
Even with the Gift, when it is used in error, an ill occurrence will result, but the effects of the shattered Orb were not limited to a few feet, it swept through the entire realm and beyond.
 
Fyrsta was devastated; civilization as we knew it was brought to its knees, and afterwards—ground into dust, nearly extinguishing life in the process.

“When Dagenir, who as you know was a Guardian at the time, tried to steal the Orb, it shattered during his fight with Zahra, and they absorbed much of its power while the realm crumbled.
 
But their meager shells could not contain this tremendous force, and they had to pass it on to the few Guardians who still lived, or be destroyed along with everyone else.

“Some of the Twelve, such as Shade, did not want the essence of the Orb running through their veins.
 
A few Guardians fought it, but it was forced upon them.
 
And at the same time there were those who desired its essence.
 
Power is a dangerous thing, even more so when it is not earned.
 
Sides were drawn.
 
Dagenir and Zahra continued their fight at a time when mankind should have been licking their wounds, instead, war blazed across the brittle realm.