Durgen leaned over the washbasin. His long brown hair hung loosely, framing his maturing features like a lions mane. Flicking the water from his fingers into the basin the clear reflection was scattered. His reflection had always troubled him. The elders at the temple were all slender and graceful. Even the few Fey children he had seen carried a grace unknown to him. In the summer his face would redden under the sun then slowly pale the remainder of the year. The Fey were unchanged by the sun or any other conditions. They aged slowly, seemingly oblivious to time. He was not one of them, no matter how much he tried.

He knew he was different. His father’s perfect black skin was as different from his as could be. When he was younger he would ask his father why he was different. Father would say that the outward expressions of the self seldom reveals what is inside. The evasive answer made him angry, but he never showed his anger for fear of disapproval. The others at the temple respected his father; he thought that the others were intimidated by his confidence and understanding of the goddess. None challenged father in matters of the goddess. His word was law.

Durgen turned away from the basin and returned to his training. The morning star his father had given him several days ago, was unlike anything he had trained with before. The cultural weapons of the Fey were light and swift. Favoring speed over heft.

He had been good with the fey weapons in training, but they never quite felt right in his hands. This new weapon seemed to speak to him.

He pulled his leather practice armor into place, securing the buckle under his arm. The creak of the leather and the sweat stains that grew from the stitching were all reminders of the hours he had spent training. Stepping in front of the suspended wooden practice dummy he took a deep breath and returned to his regimen.

‘Shee Fou Shee, Nan Shee Nan, Lau Mei Shee.’ his words echoed in the open chamber. His father had taught him to call out the location of each strike as he swung. Each sharp exhale announced the intent of his blow and focused his energy to the point of contact. Untrained muscles were required to wield the heavy weapon. With each strike he could see the result of his attack. Splinters and chunks of the wood from the dummy fell to the floor. His eyes became heavy with tears as he vented the pain bottled inside him. He became a weapon, his arms and feet moving with fluid efficiency. His focus was singular as the chips of wood showered the floor. His breathing quickened, his muscles cried out against the repeated strain. A sheen of moisture flowed from his pours.

Nearing the end of his endurance a feeling of euphoria embraced him. The pain abated. He could see his arms in motion. The chips and splinters still flew. Durgen had never experienced this before. The images before him began to lose focus. He felt weightless. He thought he might fall.

Through this hazy vision a shape began to form. It was a woman. A human woman. Her piercing grey eyes held him fast. She was haunting and beautiful, but there was sadness in her eyes. He felt his ache in his chest and he became aware of the tears rolling down his face.

‘Are you the goddess? Am I having a vision?’ The woman did not answer. A smile crept across her face. Durgen felt her warmth, her love. In his native tongue the specter called out to him. He could sense she was not among the living her words were dreamlike and chilling. ‘Fare well my son, farewell.’

The gravity of his body returned. He was standing in the practice hall. Ringing with sweat. A breeze from the archways cooled his head. ‘Mother?’

***

The rain continued to fall. Naleth was not accustomed to riding and she was feeling fatigue set in. Commander Sommurfaghl was unwavering in his resolve. They had ridden through the night and would soon the sun would rise. The horizon moon had accompanied her through the night. Its yellow glow a comfort for her. She was trapped in an invisible cage. Ashlan had not opened a dialogue with her since they departed the crossing. At first she thought he was angry over the loss of his company. Upon further study she could sense he was deep in thought.

She couldn’t take the tension any longer she had to break the silence. ‘We should water the horses?’ He stiffened in the saddle and turned to face her. She immediately regretted getting his attention. The elder Drow glared at her. He looked at her as if she were an insect that hid lit on him. ‘You would have done well to stay silent.’ His voice was uncharacteristically passionate. ‘What do your people mean to you?’ His horses continued to follow an unseen path. ‘You were sent to the borderlands to quench your restlessness. I see now that you have taken leave of your senses.’ Naleth felt his words working their way under her skin. He meant to peal her like an onion. She had to mitigate the attack. He had clearly read the tracks back at the crossing. Seen her arrows in the bodies of his fallen soldiers. She was a prisoner. ‘Who are you to lecture me on the disposition of fallen kindred. You are responsible for all this madness!’ Ashlan started to laugh, is was not a laugh to lighten the moment it was laced with arrogance and finality. He had already decided her fate. Her words were meaningless. The time and the place were of his choosing and he knew it.

‘Why haven’t you killed me yet? If you accuse me of a crime it is not like you to wait for witnesses.’ Naleth’s words were bitter and she spat them out knowing the poison they carried. Ashlan stopped his laughter and spoke calmly. The shift in tone was so unnatural Naleth felt her skin tingle with revulsion. ‘You are to be an example, so that others might see what is wrought by mixing with Lowlanders.’ She felt her mind instinctively seeking a means of attack or escape. She pictured her dagger in her minds eye. Imagined the action that it would take to throw it the 10 paces that separated them. It would have to be a perfect shot. He was looking right at her and would easily turn it non-lethal with the dipping of a shoulder or slight shift in balance either direction. She weighed the option for a few moments before abandoning the idea. ‘You will see yourself unmade before the next turn of the moon. You are on a path to self destruction.’

He made no offensive action, nor did he respond to her accusation. He simply averted his attention and prodded his horse to move faster.

***

Morning was a busy time at the temple. Durgen Had completed his studies before entering the garden. The rain had stopped for the time, but the sky was still dark and threatening. Several of the temple attendants were pruning the trellis. The honeysuckle flowers were placed in a basket to be displayed later near the shrine of Feyillana. This was a daily ritual.

Walking through the garden toward the pool he felt the plants brushing against his silk pants. The vision he had yesterday was troubling him. He barely slept last night. The images would not leave him. He wanted to ask so many questions, but as usual when he was experiencing doubt or unrest father was away on business. The chatter of conversation broke his spell. The voices of the attendants were raised and excited. Unexpected visitors, most likely. Durgen lifted his head and peered toward the tree line at the south end of the garden. Three horses and two riders, he thought. I guess we have guests for the day.