Away with the Færie

He was dying.

There was no doubt about it. With every passing second, he could feel his life slipping away, slipping further and further into oblivion.

How had he gotten here? It was hard to remember everything with his sluggish brain.

Maybe he should start with something simple. Yes, something simple.

What was his name? Ah yes, that’s right. Tarentell. His name was Tarentell. And he was a Warlock.

Why was he dying?

Well now… that was a convoluted story. Maybe he should start at the beginning. Yes…

The beginning.

*

On a warm midsummer’s night, seventeen years ago, a screaming baby was pulled into the world. Its mother looked down upon it with faded eyes.

“Tarentell,” she whispered, placing a faint kiss upon the child’s brow. Then her weary heart gave way, the battle was both lost and won. The father stroked his wife’s face, eyes brimming with tears.

“Tarentell,” he repeated, mind wrenched between the grief of loss and joy of new life.

The child was delicate. Not beefy and strong like their neighbours’ child born just a week prior. But its wide blue eyes seemed to glow with some inner strength.

As the years passed, the baby grew into a curious little boy. While Tarentell’s father’s hair was fair, his was the dark and silky locks his late-mother had been so proud of. Due to this, his father couldn’t bear to cut it, letting the boy’s hair grow long.

By the time he was six it was as long as the girl’s that had been born to their neighbours just a year later. Not that it really mattered to him. Tarentell rarely stayed in the same place long enough for some well-meaning adult to catch him with scissors. Instead he was out exploring with the neighbours’ son Rowan. They made an odd pair. One slight and dark haired the other larger with messy copper curls.

Later Rowan’s little sister Myah would join them and the three would run wild in the woods that surrounded the village wall.

On his seventh year, everything changed. From the mountain outside the village wall came the Warlocks. They were looking for any child showing signs of magic. They gathered the children together and watched them. Before their eyes, they saw Tarentell snatch a flame from a candle and play with it. Twisting its shape at Rowan and Myah’s requests.

Satisfied that he was the only one, they took the boy away, ignoring the cries of both the child and his friends. Tarentell’s father looked on, eyes once again streaming as the last of his family was taken from him.

Summers and winters came and went, each in their turn, each bringing either snow or shining sun. Just as the tenth summer began to brown, there came news. Terrible news.

War.

Not just any war, war against the Færie. Anyone between ages of eighteen and seventy was called to take up arms. The welfare of the village was left in the hands of elderly and the young. On the Warlock’s mountain, life was disrupted. All of them were called to join the army as well. Their magic would be invaluable against the powers of the Færie.

Only one was left. Tarentell. As far as the masters were concerned, he was far too young to be of any great assistance. No, they said, it would be better if he put his skills into helping the humans in the village. They would need all the help they could get.

So, with his mind heavy with misgivings, Tarentell left the place he had inhabited for the last ten years to return to the home of his childhood. Personally, he hated the idea. It was ridiculous! He was a Warlock; his place was with the other Warlocks. Surely his skills would only benefit from hands on experience on the battlefield. Instead he was being cooped up with the children and the elderly. Just brilliant, he thought sarcastically as he trudged along the path. Ahead of him he could see the massive stone wall that encircled the village. Just above it he could see the treetops, golden leaves bristling in the wind. It brought back a distant memory of charging through the woods with a red headed girl and boy.

With a frown, he banished the thought. It would do little good to get emotionally attached to this place. Hopefully the war would end quickly and he could get back to becoming a fully-fledged Warlock. It was all he wanted now. All he needed.

Power flowed through his veins, power he knew how to wield. The gates opened at his command, barely any effort had to go into manipulating their stone. On the other side two people were waiting for him. A red headed girl about sixteen and a red headed boy his age.

Myah, he recalled and… what was the boy’s name… Rowan. That was it. Myah and Rowan. They had grown. All three of them had. Grown and changed. Even so, they retained certain aspects of their childhood selves: Rowan was still broader, arms now thick with muscle from working on fields most of his life; beside him Myah had the same bright cinnamon eyes and Tarentell was still delicate and slight, black silky hair falling as a fringe over those shining blue eyes. A Warlock’s eyes.

“Good afternoon.” Tarentell bowed slightly, his tone crisp and formal. “I’ve been ordered to assist the village in any way I can until this war is over. Might I ask who is in charge at this moment in time?” As he spoke, he watched Rowan’s expression darken considerably. Anger flickered across his face, barely able to be suppressed. How stupid. Contempt blossomed in Tarentell’s chest. Keeping control of your emotions was a vital part of magic. This young man, this boy, was the very opposite of a good Warlock.

“No one’s in charge really,” Myah told him, her voice was as gentle as ever. “See, we’re still sorting out everything at the moment. So far we’re in charge of looking after the little children, Rowan’s keeping track of spending, trading and supplies. Ba-”

“Him?” Tarentell raised an eyebrow. “He’s in charge of book keeping? Are you sure there hasn’t been some mistake?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” Rowan growled.

“Well, you look better suited to manual labour,” Tarentell explained. “Not something that requires any actual thinking.”

Fury seeped across Rowan’s face and he stepped forward. “Shut your mouth, Warlock bastard!”

“Rowan!” Myah caught his arm. “That’s enough. Sorry.” She smiled apologetically. “Tempers are running a little high at the moment, everyone’s very worried. Rowan’s actually really good with numbers, I mean, I know he doesn’t look or act it. But he is, I promise.”

With a sigh, Tarentell shrugged. “I shall take your word for it. Where shall I be staying?”

“Everyone’s living together at village hall for the moment,” she replied, patting her brother’s arm soothingly. “To conserve heating and water and such like. Don’t worry, you’ll have a room to yourself. Just follow us.” Still smiling, she turned and led the way towards the large stone building in the centre of the village. As they neared it, more people could be seen running to and fro to complete tasks. Younger children were scattered about either playing or helping as best they could.

“You’ve changed.”

Bemused, Tarentell blinked and turned to look at Rowan. “I beg your pardon?”

“Like that!” Rowan scowled. “I remember when we were kids you used to get excited about anything. Now you just seem… I dunno… empty.”

“Firstly,” Tarentell replied, a look of superiority brushing the edges of his features. “That was ten years ago, of course I would change. Secondly, you’ve been speaking to me for all of five minutes so I would suggest you postpone judgement of me until you’ve had time to think it over. That is what I am doing. Thirdly…” He paused. Should he bother explaining how emotions and any form of passion were highly discouraged among Warlocks? One look at those narrowed brown eyes told him it would be better not to go into detail. “Never mind.” He turned away, picking up his pace to follow Myah.

As evening fell, everyone gathered into the huge dining room in the village hall. The elderly were seated on chairs near the great fire while the young children sat upon cushions, playing and giggling as small children do. The handful of teenagers were scattered throughout the company.

Removed to one side, Tarentell watched with narrowed eyes. He could sense some other magic here. Some delicate wisp of a young Warlock, their powers just beginning to shine. Intently, he watched. If he was observant enough, he should be able to spot some form of magic.

There.

Two girls about seven or eight, their light brown plaits swaying in the air as they poked hovering droplets of water.

“It seems we have some new Warlocks,” he announced, smoothly rising to his feet. Rowan’s head snapped up. Panicked, he followed Tarentell’s gaze.

“No.” He marched over to the girls and slapped the water out of the air. “You’re not allowed to do that,” he ordered.

“Don’t listen to him.” Tarentell pushed Rowan aside. The little girls stared up at him, eyes wide with wonder. They were twins, he could see that now. “What are your names?” he asked.

“Alora,” said one.

“Etielle,” said the other.

“It’s nice to meet you.” He smiled. “I’m going to be your teacher from now on. I’ll teach you to do things like that with the water. Would you like that?” They looked delighted.

A hand gripped the back of his robe, pulling him away. It was Rowan, of course it was. “What do you think you’re doing?!” Rowan spat.

“My job,” Tarentell replied. “Young Warlocks need to be trained. If left unattended their powers may go out of control. They could hurt themselves and others.”

“Is that the bullshit they spout?” Rowan growled, “To justify stealing little kids? I won’t let you turn them into heartless freaks like you!” Something fluttered in Tarentell’s chest. He didn’t know what it was but he felt oddly… hurt. Was that the word? He didn’t know. Whatever it was, he didn’t like it.

Eyes flashing, Tarentell clamped his hand around Rowan’s wrist. “It’s really none of your business,” he said, voice smoother and even colder than before. “Now let go of me.” He heated his hand till it was burning. With a gasp and a hiss, Rowan jumped away.

“I won’t let this go,” Rowan promised. “Magic is the thing that stared this war. It’s evil.”

It seemed Tarentell had already made an enemy. A pity but he didn’t really care all that much. Returning to the twins, he took their hands and led them away. The sooner the training began, the sooner Tarentell could distract himself from this odd sensation inside of him. Hopefully, if he ignored it, it would go away.

Hopefully.

*

There were people around his bed now. He could hear them, voices low and hushed. Well, most of them. There was one voice that was neither low nor hushed.

It was loud and furious.

“I am going to murder them!” Whose voice was that? It was familiar. As familiar as his own. “Those stinking, filthy winged bastards will pay for this!” Beneath the volume of the voice, he could hear footsteps as the person paced up and down. “I don’t care if this makes the war last longer. I will… I’ll… kill all of them. I won’t rest until I have that god forsaken Færie’s head on a stick!”

“Rowan,” a girl’s voice murmured. “Calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Rowan shouted. “Look at him, Myah! He’s going to- And I- It’s my fault!” Emotion had rubbed his voice raw. “I have to do something!”

“It’s not your fault,” Myah assured him. “It’s the Færie’s fault. They did this but there’s nothing we can do. Please, just… calm down. I doubt the last thing he wants to hear is you planning on getting yourself killed.”

He didn’t hear Rowan’s reply. Sounds faded away as a steady green light began to glow before him. It rippled, wavering, changing. Now it seemed to have shape. A face. A woman’s face looked down on him, glowing with that eerie green light.

*

Weeks passed and the village managed to fall into a routine. Everyone knew what they were doing. In the mornings Tarentell would help either on the fields, making sure the ground was just right for whatever crops were growing or would be growing there, or with the village defences, constructing charm circles and shields to ward off Færie attacks.

In the afternoons, he would train with Alora and Etielle. First they began with meditation then with each of the six elements in turn. First water, then fire, then air, then plant, then energy and then earth. While he had found fire the easiest to master, they were fondest of water and earth, making little mud dolls to show Myah when they returned home.

The animosity between Rowan and Tarentell had increased exponentially and the pair argued often. They didn’t seem to even need anything to argue about. It seemed whenever they were in close proximity with one another, one of them would make some snide remark the other would take offense to launching them into arguments that could last up to an hour.

At first Myah would try and intervene. But after a while she gave up. Then, she admitted to Tarentell that in some ways the arguments were a good thing.

“What?” He stared at her. “How?”

She looked downwards. “It’s the only time you ever seem to get emotional,” she said at last. “You never raise your voice if you don’t have to unless you’re with Rowan. In fact, most of the changes in your expression are when you’re arguing with Rowan. I think it’s a good thing. It’s not healthy to keep your feelings all bottled up. I think you’re each other’s way of venting frustration.” She stopped, obviously expecting some reply. Instead, Tarentell had frozen.

While the majority of his brain wanted to instantly scoff at the very idea… there was no denying that the fluttering in his chest only happened when Rowan was around.

Damn.

“That’s ridiculous,” Tarentell said finally. At that exact moment, Rowan walked through the door.

“Oh there you are,” Rowan growled. “Slacking off as usual. There’s work still to be done you know!”

Automatically, Tarentell opened his mouth to snap back some furious reply. Then he caught Myah’s expression. “Whatever,” he muttered, pushing passed him.

After that he did his best to avoid Rowan. But this didn’t really seem to do any good. Whenever he caught Rowan’s, the other boy instantly seemed to look annoyed. It was like he was taking offense to being avoided. What the hell did he want then?!

By the middle of winter, tensions between the two had grown so thick it was hard to be in the same room as each other without feeling the need to glare.

It changed when the storm approached. They could see it, huge and vicious like a massive bruise across the sky. From the speed of its approach, they could pretty much guarantee it had magical origins.

“Can you send it away?” Myah asked, as she stood atop the wall, brow creased with worry.

“Not one that big,” Tarentell sighed. “My masters could but… I, however, have not had enough training. You see a storm like that is not only a combination of air and water but also fire.” As he spoke lightning flashed through the thick black clouds. Seconds passed and then the boom of thunder rumbled through the sky. “We need to get everyone inside,” he said. “Get everything metal inside or covered up. Lightning is drawn to it.” Around him, the others nodded and hurried away to sort things out. “Hopefully it will only last a day at most.”

It didn’t. By the second day it was still sending rain pounding down upon them. Lightning was becoming more and more common. If anything the storm was growing worse. Trees were being struck down, crushing roofs beneath their massive girth. The livestock as well as the young children were in a constant state of terror, panicking at every thunderous boom.

“We can’t go on like this,” Rowan muttered as the candles flickered. “We’ll be flooded soon and half the wood is too wet to be off use. If the food store’s flooded then we have nothing, it’s the middle of winter, there won’t be anything to harvest.”

“It’s okay, Ro,” Alora assured him, patting his face. “We can grow food, with magic!” He just patted her head.

There came a sudden, terrible crashing sound. The thunder was louder than it had ever been, ripping through the air.

“The stables,” Myah yelled, bursting through the door. “They’ve been hit. The animals have gotten out. We can’t lose them!”

Rowan leaped to his feet. “We need to get all of the animals inside!” he shouted to the others. “I’ll go after the ones that got out.”

“No, it’s too dangerous,” Tarentell told him. “You have nothing to protect you.”

“I have to!” he shouted back. “If those animals die then we have nothing. It’s my responsibility to look after these people!”

For a second, Tarentell was silent. Then he pulled up the hood of his robe. “I’ll go,” he said, striding towards the door. “Don’t follow me, it will be dangerous.”

“No.” Rowan grabbed hold of his arm. “You can’t- I know how to handle the animals, I’ll be there and back in no time. Let me-” A blast of air from Tarentell’s palm forced him to let go.

“Don’t follow me,” he repeated before walking out into the tempest.

“Tarentell!” Rowan yelled after him. But he was ignored.

Outside, the extent of the damage from nature’s fury was immense. Trees were uprooted, buildings destroyed, the ground was sopping with water, brown earth mixed into a muddy sludge that clung to everything. Animals were scattered around, panicked and stampeding, racing with no real place to go. Taking a deep breath, Tarentell closed his eyes and held out his hands.

He could feel the storm. Feel every part of it, every swirl of cloud, every drop of rain, every ripple of energy as the lightning built.

Lightning. That was the biggest threat after that was the rain. Another deep breath calmed his pounding heart. He’d done this many times. Redirecting lightning was easy. Repurposing the energy was… less easy but still possible. If he could draw the lightning into him, he would be able to use that energy to change the path of the rain.. If he did it for long enough, hopefully the storm would dissipate.

He raised one hand into the air, two fingers extended. His other hand went to the side, palm facing outward. Draw the lightning in. It took a calm mind to draw the raw energy into your body and intense concentration to harness it.

“I can do this,” he whispered and unleashed his power.

The first bolt of lightning drove him to his knees. Gasping his eyes flew open, white light pouring from them. His mind was blinded, torn, in turmoil. It crackled through every nerve every fibre of his being, this power, this energy.

Get it out.

Get it out.

The thought flared through his brain. It was Rowan’s voice. Get it out, idiot!

Face gripped with concentration, he forced the lightning along his arm, changing it as he did so, forcing it to obey him. When it reached his palm, it was now energy under his control. Barely under his control but bound by him none the less. It arched into the air, crackling back upward, sending a layer of rain of course, falling outside of the village. One down.

Three days.

That’s how long it took. Three days for the storm to finally dissipate. Burns covered the skin of his arms and torso now, where the lightning had ripped through him. Furious at his commands. As the last cloud dispersed, his arms dropped. Chest heaving, he collapsed forward onto the wet, muddy ground.

“Tarentell!” His name echoed through the air. Rowan’s voice. It was always Rowan’s voice. Hands grabbed him, flipping him over. Warm fingers slammed against his throat searching for a pulse. When it was found, he heard sighs of relief.

Stirring weakly, Tarentell cracked open his eyes. Above him, Myah and Rowan, illuminated by the light of the rising sun stared down at him, face twisted with anxious worry. “I did it,” he croaked.

Instantly Myah let out a gasping laugh. “You idiot!” Rowen yelled, smacking him. “I would have taken ten minutes. You almost died! Don’t ever do that again!”

“Ow,” Tarentell mumbled but he smiled.

Everyone was safe.

*

The green light had now taken the form of the whole woman. She lay beside him, impossibly long fingered hands, caressing and stroking along his body. At every touch, he could feel his strength fading away.

His mouth opened. He needed to tell them. Tell the others. They couldn’t be touched by this woman. If they were… she would kill them. Warn them. He needed to warn them.

“Rowan,” he rasped, mouth and throat too weak to say much else.

“I’m here.” That precious voice was hushed now. Those warm fingers encased his freezing hands. “I’m always here.”

*

The clean-up took weeks. Most buildings here were made from wood, they were ruined by both the water and the wind as well as lightning strikes.

In some ways it was good, all water reservoirs could be easily filled now. Tarentell and his two students spent most of their time doing just that, moving the water draining it of impurities and storing it in large butts and barrels. However, there was only so much water they could store and the ground was still sodden.

It was Alora’s idea in the end. “Let’s make a lake!” she chirped, bouncing on her heels as her sister moulded the water into little horses. “Then we can swim somewhere when it’s warm!”

“That’s-” Tarentell began, searching for a reason it wasn’t a good idea. “Uh… Actually that’s quite a good idea. Let’s do that.” It was good practice for them. Their powers were growing quickly and with his guidance they effortlessly carved out a large hollow. The water flowed into it easily, filling up the depression.

It would take time and effort to perfect it. To bring rocks to the surface of the earth, encourage plants to grow and make the thing permanent.

As he slowly healed, he let the lake become the centre of his attention. The slow moulding of its shape and evolution of each stage was methodical and relaxing for his mind. His muscles still ached whenever he moved too much, the burns stinging him.

Most of his other responsibilities could still be looked after by humans. So, his lack of presence wasn’t particularly detrimental to the village’s recovery. About a week and a half later, the lake was pretty much finished. He sat on a mound over-looking the water. Cross legged, eyes closed and arms outstretched. Breathes issued slowly from his nose as his mind shifted the elements beneath him. After a while he became aware of someone striding towards him. They came to a halt a few feet away.

“Rowan,” he guessed. “How may I help you?” While the whole business with the storm had helped the two connect their relationship was still extremely rocky. Tarentell had been making doubly sure to avoid the red head. Whenever they were together he became distracted. Why had he heard Rowan’s voice, why not one of his masters or even himself? It wasn’t logical. It didn’t make sense.

As before, the avoidance had caught Rowan’s attention and he didn’t like it.

“I’m here to talk about money,” Rowan said, voice terse. “All of that stuff you’ve ordered for the repairs is costing too much. We won’t be able to afford new livestock when summer comes if we continue at this rate.”

Tarentell opened his eyes and folded his arms. “I assure you, I double checked my calculations and they plainly said we could afford it.”

“Oh really?” Rowen was clearly growing more and more annoyed. “What’s this then?!” He shoved the expenditure book in Tarentell’s face. Blinking, Tarentell scanned over the calculations.

Shit.

While the ones on the page were immaculate and faultless, the ones in his head were… less so. Not that he was going to admit that. With an expression of superiority, he waved the book away. “Don’t bother me with these silly things. I have no concern over things like that. All I see are scribblings and all I hear are pointless words.” He turned away, chin tilted up arrogantly. There was a pause. Then a booted foot planted itself between his shoulder blades sending him head first into the newly finished lake.

“What do you hear now, huh?!” Rowen demanded, grinning despite himself.

Tarentell looked up at him, clearly unamused. “Well now, I hear water as well as pointless words.” With that he sighed and stood.

“Can’t think of a- What you doing?!” The last words came out as a squeak.

“What?” Tarentell raised an eyebrow as he placed the robe he’d just removed on the shore. “I’m going to have a bath. I’m wet as it is.” The thin cotton thermals that he wore beneath the shapeless robe clung to every contour of his body.

Clearing his throat, Rowan looked pointedly away. “It’s winter! It must be freezing.”

“It’s not that cold,” Tarentell replied, bending down to pull off his boots and leggings. Placing them beside his robe, he stared up at Rowan who was acting rather flustered. “Rowan,” he called. The boy looked at him just as he was removed his shirt.

“Oh for crying out loud!” Rowan swung around, folding his arms grumpily. “Can’t you just use your powers to dry your clothes out?!”

“I am doing that,” he replied, shaping the water from his clothes into a long thin tendril. He didn’t know why but… he felt the need to do something out of character. Avoiding Rowan wasn’t doing anything to help clear his confused mind. Maybe the answer would be to spend more time with him. Maybe build up a kind of tolerance.

A rare smile curved his mouth as he wrapped the water tendril around Rowan’s leg. With a sharp flick of his wrist, he pulled, dragging Rowan through the air into the lake. There was a tremendous amount of splashing as a disorientated Rowan tried to work out what just happened. He wasn’t happy when he found out. “You bastard!” he yelled slamming Tarentell against the bank.

“What?” Tarentell demanded. “You pushed me in. Surely I was allowed revenge. Isn’t that how your tiny brain normally works?”

“Why you-” Scowling furiously, Rowan balled his hands into fists, shoving him harder. “This is what I hate about you! You’re so high and mighty about everything, acting like you’re oh so superior just ‘cos you’ve got some fancy magic tricks!”

“I’m high and mighty?!” Tarentell exclaimed. “You’ve got to be joking. You strut around like you own this place, casually giving me orders. And when things don’t go your way you resort to physical violence! And you get so worked up about tiny, petty things!”

“Me?! You’re the petty one,” Rowan yelled. “You get all upset because of one remark and sulk like a baby for weeks!”

“Oh so when I’m talking to you, you get annoyed,” Tarentell growled. “But when I don’t talk to you, you also get annoyed! Make up you’re stupid tiny mind!”

“If we’re getting onto stupid minds,” Rowen shouted. “Why don’t we talk about you?!” He grabbed Tarentell’s still burnt arm and shook it. “Do you have any idea how goddamn stupid that was?! You’re reckless and don’t even value your own life! What would I have done if you’d died?!” Silence met his words. Shocked, Tarentell stared at him, eyes wide. After a moment, Rowen realised his mistake. “W… We. What we have done? We, not…” But it was too late. The words were out in the open. Instantly releasing him, Rowan backed away slowly. “Get that look off your face. Shut up!” He was scared. The idea was astounding. He was actually scared that Tarentell was going to make fun of him for that.

“I suppose,” Tarentell said slowly, “the good thing about you is that… you’re honest. I find that impossible. I find it impossible to be completely honest with anyone… even myself.”

Eyes widening as well, Rowan stared. “What do you…?”

“I wasn’t avoiding you because I was sulking,” Tarentell admitted. “I was avoiding because you make… feel. And I don’t know how to handle that very well.” Both boys stood stock still. “You’re braver than I’ll ever be,” he sighed. “And more stubborn. And also narrow minded in certain respects. Oh, honesty is very strange inde-”

“Shut up,” Rowan ordered as he took his hands.

The two kissed for the first time.

*

“You’re going to be fine,” Rowan was mumbling, his hands gripping tightly on Tarentell’s fingers. “Please, you have to be come through this. You’re stronger than this. You know are.”

Was he though? He wasn’t sure. Strength felt like a distant memory. Especially with the green woman beside him, her tendril like fingers leeching power away from him.

“You held back lightning for three days,” Rowan reminded him, thumb stroking the burn scars. “You can’t let this beat you. I won’t let you!” There it was. That anger, that defiance, burning boldly against both reason and logic.

The green woman pressed a kiss against Tarentell’s cheek. A gasp rattled his throat and his eyelids flickered.

The end was near.

*

Months passed with very little event. News came from the war. It didn’t seem like either side was gaining dominance. It would stretch on for quite a long time, Tarentell guessed.

“Stupid Færie, the sooner they give up the better,” Rowen muttered, stretching out across Tarentell’s legs to bask in the sun. Summer was coming quickly, eager to devour the cold of winter. The heat and light was helping many things. Everyone seemed calmer and the good weather was encouraging new plants to grow.

After a lot of work, they’d been able to sort out the problem of money and buy seeds and livestock to replace that which they’d lost. It was remarkable how much the two were able to solve now that they were no longer at each other’s throats. They still argued but it was less aggressive than before.

“The sooner they give up, the sooner I have to go back to the Warlock training,” Tarentell reminded him, poking Rowen’s forehead.

“The sooner they give up, the sooner we can tell the Warlocks how stupid their training program is,” Rowen retorted. “Either that or I beat it into them.” Tarentell laughed. He’d been doing that a lot recently. It was odd. The first time he’d done it, everyone had stared at him, bemused.

“Well, sadly,” Tarentell teased, some of the old superiority sliding into his voice. “We Warlocks are a lot stronger than you give us credit for.”

“Oh really?” Rowan raised an eyebrow. “You sure? Because I’m pretty certain I could take you on right now.”

Smiling, Tarentell opened his mouth to give a retort. Then, he saw Myah hurrying towards them, face twisted with concern. “What’s wrong?” he demanded. “What’s happened?”

“Someone’s sick,” she said. “Really sick. We have no idea what it is.”

Sickness. That would be there undoing. Færie couldn’t get sick, their bodies were too in tune with nature. Humans on the other hand…

It was clearly a virus made by magic. It was vicious, a green rash that burned the skin and attacked the internal organs. Each person to fall victim to it struggled against it for about three to five days before they fell into an agony filled coma. They screamed until their throats were raw, until their voice boxes were shredded. Then they just writhed. It would continue for another two days before they breathed their last.

The first ones to succumb were either very old or very young. Despite everyone’s best efforts, they could do little to hold it back. Within a week four people had died. All of those already ill were quarantined far away from the healthy in an attempt to stop the spread of the disease. But it did little good.

“The only way to cure it is by Færie magic,” Tarentell said, walking toward the village hall. Beside him, Rowan said nothing.  “So… someone is going to have to find a Færie and persuade them to help. How though… I mean, they’re easy enough to find but talking to them is difficult. I met one when I was younger a green wo- are you listening?” he asked. He stopped and turned only to find that Rowan wasn’t following him. Instead, the boy was on his knees, bent over, arms around his torso. “No,” Tarentell whispered.

“Taren,” Rowan gasped. “I… I think… I think I’m…”

“No no no!” Tarentell raced over to him, grabbing his shoulders. “No, please no.” Fingers shaking, he pulled up Rowan’s shirt.

There it was.

The sickly green rash. Just a little at that moment. A splodge of mottled green just below his diaphragm.

“Rowan…” Tears stung his eyes for the first time in so very long. Mind floundering, he could do nothing but stare. This couldn’t be happening.

This wouldn’t happen. Not if he could help it. Knuckling his eyes, he pulled Rowan to his feet. There was no way in hell he was going to let the Færie win.

*

“Rowan you need to eat.” Myah was always so caring. She stroked a warm hand across Tarentell’s freezing brow.

“I want to stay with him,” Rowan mumbled.

“Eat something here then,” she sighed. “Some soup at least.” There was silence. After a moment, she left.

“I’m sorry, Taren,” Rowan whispered.

*

“I’m leaving in the morning,” Tarentell announced to Myah as she laid damp cloths across the fevered brows. “I’m the only one that can.”

With a sigh, she sat on the floor beside him. “I thought you would. I’m not going to do that thing where I beg you to stay. Because I know you won’t.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “I love my brother too and if you can help him I’m not going to stop you. But… I want you to promise that you’ll try your hardest to come back safe.”

“I’ll try,” he replied. They looked down at Rowan. He was resting, eyes closed, but it was clear by his straining muscles that he was struggling. He was fighting for his life.

“He’s happier, you know.” She was smiling. “Ever since you came back. He’s been a lot happier. We missed you. I mean, I know we were just children but, we both saw you as family. And to lose you and not know why until years later… It hurt. But ever since you came back, I’ve seen him smile more. He was upset at first because you were… so… strange. We both remembered you as the little boy who loved spiders. But you’d become someone who didn’t seem to know how to love anything. When you stormed off from a fight, he’d always smile just a little bit. Because he’d managed to get an emotional reaction. So. Help him. Please and come back safe and sound.”

When the sun rose, Tarentell placed a kiss upon Rowen’s forehead. “I’ll be back soon,” he promised. Then he got to his feet and left.

It had been so many months since he’d left the village. In the past, travelling merchants had come to them leading their livestock and carrying their seeds. The land outside had grown wild without anyone there to maintain it. Dead trees fell across the path, weeds and ivy grew thick in abundance.

With each step, he sent a ripple through the natural world around him. “I wish to speak to the Færie,” he said. “I wish speak to the sickness giver.” He stamped harder. “I wish to speak to the Green Woman.” His voice echoed through the plants and the trees. Again and again, he repeated those words, walking deeper and deeper into the wilderness.

Who calls?

The voice was barely a whisper. It didn’t seem to come from anywhere. It spoke from the wind, the rustling of leaves and the stamp of his feet beneath him. “My name is Tarentell,” he replied. “I am a Warlock. We’ve met before.”

Warlock… I knew many Warlocks. I liked them better than most humans. They worked with nature rather than against it.

“You’ve brought a sickness to my home,” he told her. “I want you to banish it.”

Home… Oh… you’re the Storm fighter. I remember now. I watched you. I like you. So selfless. So naïve. Why should help you? We are at war.

“The war must end. It’s going on too long. Surely whatever you did to start it can be ex-”

What we did? What we did? Is that what those silly humans are saying? That we started the war. Yes, we declared it. But did we start it? No. The voice was becoming agitated. The plants and trees were beginning to tremble. No. Humans started it. When they took my girl. When they cut of her wings and made her serve them. They started the war!

“Tell me what we can do to end?” Tarentell shouted. “Please! I want nothing but peace! We all want peace! Maybe if we catch the ones that wronged you? If we punished them?”

You think a human who dared to harm a Færie still breathes? No. They did not live to see this winter’s frost.

“Then why is the war still happening?”

Because when we demanded recompense. The humans defended their own. When we killed the ones responsible they saw it as a declaration of war. This will not end until the humans pay for what they did.

“What do you want then? How can we pay?”

There was silence as the Færie thought it over. A sacrifice. Someone with skills that match a Færie must give themselves up to us. They must die, slowly, feeling their strength sap away knowing that the hearts of all those that love them are dying with them. That is what we want.

Promise me, Myah had said. Promise me you’ll try your hardest to come back safe.

“I’ll do it.” Tarentell dropped his pack to the floor. “I’ll do whatever you want.” Again there was silence.

What makes you think you have the skills to match a Færie?

“Test me and we’ll find out,” he replied.

Very well, little Warlock. Show me… fire.

Frowning, he lit his hand ablaze. Was it really that easy?

That’s a fire, that’s a blaze. A simple flickering bundle of heat and light. I want fire. I want an inferno.

What? Did she want him to burn the whole forest down? Gritting his teeth, he allowed the fire to spread across his whole body. It longed to spread further and further, eating all in its path. Hand balling into fists. No. He had to suppress it. He had to keep his mind empty and his emotions under-

Oh.

That was it.

Of course it was. It was obvious.

A Warlock with the skills of a Færie. What made a Warlock different to a Færie? Their emotions. Færie powers changed the world around them on the whim of the Færie, they let their hearts run wild while their rational thought took a back seat. Humans, Warlocks especially, were the opposite. To think with your heart was deemed foolish. Childish. Stupid.

But that was why Færie were so much stronger, because they had no mental shackles keeping their powers bound.

Let it out.

He had to let it out.

Beginning to shake, he took several deep breaths, feeling the flames on his skin, tasting the smoke. What was he feeling? What made him feel?

Rowan.

Rowan made him feel. Rowan who seemed like fire incarnate sometimes. Boundless energy with a passion that burned as bright as a star. Rowan whose heart was always worn on his sleeve despite everything that could hurt him. Rowan that lay dying as he struggled. He wasn’t going to let him die. Not after everything.

First came anger. It was the most like fire. Bright and passionate. How dare they hurt Rowan?! How dare they hurt anyone? How dare those idiotic humans start all of this? How dare anyone do anything to threaten the people he loved?!

The fire exploded outwards. His mind was swirling. The automatic reaction to keep everything contained was hard to suppress. But it would be. Because this was what he had to do.

A shout ripped from his mouth as he forced everything that couldn’t be said or thought into sound. Into something to expel from himself.

How long was he like that? He didn’t know. When the fire eventually died down he was on his knees, his throat felt raw.

Now that’s fire… It would be such a pity to quench a flame like that. Are you sure you want to do this?

“I have to.”

What might have been a sigh rustled the leaves around him.

Very well. The light seemed to bend, changing and morphing. An impossibly long fingered hand reached out from the air. It touched to fingers to his temples. His body shone and he gasped. One touch from you will banish the sickness. It is up to them to struggle back to health. But, one day after the last person has healed, this power will turn against you. Your strength will fade and your mind will die. Then, the war will be over. Now go.

A wind ripped through the trees. Whatever magic that had been there moments before was now gone.

It was just as she had promised. A simple tap sent a green glow shooting across their skin. It dissolved the green rash instantly. Many of the older generation died anyway. Their health had already been failing and this was the last straw.

Ignoring his personal desires, Tarentell worked methodically, treating the hundred or so in order of how sick they were. He refused to move on till he was certain the green rash was gone.

Finally, he reached Rowan. Bending over him, he took the red headed boys face in his hands. The green glow flared from his fingertips. After several moments, Rowan’s eyes opened slowly. As they focussed on Tarentell, his face lit up.

“Thank god!” Tarentell kissed him firmly before hugging him tightly. Rowan’s finger dug into his back as they clung to each other.

“I guess this means we’re even,” Rowan laughed. “After that whole thing with the storm.” Tarentell laughed as well.

One day.

After the last person had fully recovered, he had one day. If he was lucky it would take a while for everyone too- No. What was he thinking? He couldn’t hope that another’s suffering would be prolonged just so that he might grab a few extra days of life.

No, the sooner this war was over the better.

In the end they had a week. They spent it together, of course they did.

“I think the war will be over soon,” Tarentell said on their last sunny afternoon.

“Did the green woman say so?” Rowan asked. They were lying side by side, staring up at the balmy periwinkle sky.

“Yeah.” Tarentell sighed contentedly. “I love you, you know that, right?”

“No, I thought you hated me,” Rowan joked. “I love you too, stupid Warlock.”

*

“Stupid,” Rowan told him. “You’re so stupid, Taren. How could you think this was worth… I told you never to do anything like this again. I told you.” Were those tears warming his deathly skin? Possibly. Probably.

It’s time to go, the green woman said. She took his hand and gently pulled him away.

“Good bye.” The final words rolled from his lips. A deathly whisper that brought Rowen’s mind to a stop.

“No.” Rowan sat up right. “No. No. Taren. Taren!” Furious tears still stinging his eyes, he shook Tarentell’s shoulders. The limbs were loose, head lolling to one side. “No…” He fell to the ground, shoulders shaking.

*

Peace was declared exactly two hours after Tarentell’s soul had slipped away. The green lady saw that the debt had been paid and the Færie saw no more reason to fight. It took a little explaining to make the human captains understand.

In the end a treaty was made. It declared that if any human or Færie killed a member of the other race with malicious intent, they must pay for that death with their own life.

Officially, it was named the ‘Sunrise’ treaty as it was signed at sunrise two days after peace was declared. Unofficially, it was known as the Tarentell treaty. Though, not many people could really remember why.

As for the Warlock who so few knew or would remember, he was buried. Not in the Warlock crypt as many would have expected but overlooking the lake that held so many precious memories.

Impressum

Texte: Naomi M-B
Bildmaterialien: http://www.blingcheese.com/image/code/91/fantasy++background.htm
Lektorat: Various
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 14.04.2014

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