The Golden Tears of a Goddess

There weren't always dragons in the Valley, nor kelpies in the Wetlands. The Sepp’anøn Forest used to be a tranquil area flowing with fae magic; a place where one would go to ask the questions that needed the answers from within. The villagers would go there to gather herbs, berries or mushrooms, sometimes to pray and leave gifts to the Gods. Faes would travel long distances to spend just a few nights under the foliage of this wooden sanctuary that carried the whispers of the past, present and the future in its winds. Shapeshifters would experience their Rebirth, the first change, in the secluded part of the forest lightened only by the moonglight. It had been a safe haven for every inhabitant of Pandera; place, where not a single drop of innocent blood had been spilled for centuries. Even during the darkest of winter nights, Shadows had not lingered in the Woodland, its ancient powers keeping the most vicious creatures at distance.

Æthlar slowly blew smoke from between his lips and watched it circle towards the dark sky. The leaves rustled cautiously as if trying to remind him of what was hiding in the woods, but only a fool would need a reminder of the beasts roaming these lands. Soulless beings wandering the Nj’ordran soil, demon naiads ruling over the deepest depths of rivers and lakes, draugar haunting the nearby villages and basilisks hoarding their riches in the hills. The fae magic that used to protect Sepp’anøn was now fading away under a different kind of power - one that had its source in an unknown distant realm and was now taking over not only the sacred forest, but reaching its tentacles of dark matter further into the continent.

The fae male looked around, studying the quiet camp with caution. It was his time to guard the group, which was now much smaller compared to their original number. His normally blue eyes darkened to the point where the whites were nearly invisible; adjusting to the darkness surrounding him, preparing the vision to look through the deepest shadows. He took another puff of mugwort’s roll up, the herbal mixture heightening his already sensitive senses. After the loss they took few nights ago, only faes and shapeshifters were posted as nightshift guards, human warriors taking over the daytime task of keeping the group safe. He put up his hand, sensing the vibrations of an invisible shield on the tips of his fingers, the magic humming delicately in his blood cells. The spells cast over their camp made them nearly impossible to detect - the smells were not carried by the wind, the noises were muted and any form of light was diminished, so that only extremely skilled hunters would be able to find them.

It didn’t mean they were invisible though.

Æthlar finished checking the northern part of the shield, not sensing any disturbance to it. He took one more puff of the herbal mixture, dropped its ending onto the leaves covering the forest floor and crushed it with the tip of his boot. He turned around, starting to walk towards the camp where most were taking their restless sleep filled with the nightmares of current reality.

“Everything alright?” A hoarse voice asked, when the fae male was walking past one of the campfires. He nodded his head slightly, letting the light strands of his hair fall onto his face. The conversations around fire quietened down and Æthlar could feel all eyes turning towards him.

“All secure. It’s quiet out there, I think we can rest with ease tonight.” He answered, looking back at Keiran, the shapeshifter whose face was covered in fresh scars from the last encounter with the dullahan. Even though the wolves healed faster than humans and with the help of fae magic most of Keiran’s wounds were closed up, you could still see a long cut going from behind his ear through his neck, and disappearing under his shirt.

The black-haired wolf nodded in acknowledgment.

“Farah asked for you to come to the medical tent.” He added quietly, carefully moving his gaze at Æthlar. The fae hasn’t replied - he didn’t need to. They both knew what it meant.

Not a minute has passed and he brushed aside the curtain that was covering the entrance to the biggest tent which now was serving as a medical centre. The attack of dullahan was an ambush; one that cut their numbers by nearly a third. The demons that hadn’t been seen in those lands in centuries, attacked with merciless barbarity that only very skilled warriors were prepared for. Most didn’t know how to protect themselves before creatures they only heard of in the myths and legends.

“Æthlar,” he heard a soft voice coming from the right corner at the end of the tent. He walked there quickly, looking at Farah, her face showing concern and sadness.

“It’s spreading faster than before. I… We can’t do much more. Not without figuring out the antidote. The magic is slowing it down but it’s not going to stop the spread of the venom.” She added quietly, moving her eyes from him to the body laying on the furs a few feet from them. The fae male nodded, giving the witch healer a faint smile that didn’t carry any joy in it, only a hint of gratefulness for what she has done so far.

Æthlar took a deep breath and moved closer to the bed, his gaze turning to the face that used to look identical to his own. Ási, his twin brother, no longer looked like the fae that now stood over him. His skin was pale, almost see-through. His eyes were completely black, even the whites were now filled with poison, and they reflected nothing but emptiness. The blood underneath his skin was turning the colour of charcoal, marking the thin skin with a traceable web of veins that were no longer pumping vital energy through them.

“It’s burning, Æthlar,” he whispered with strain. “I can see the Sun,” he added as black tears dropped from the corners of his eyes. They swirled lazily down his once handsome face, leaving dark stains on the ashen skin.

“I know it’s burning Ási, I know,” the fae whispered, covering his brother’s hand with his own.

“Please hold up a little longer. Everything is going to be okay,” he promised, even though deep in his heart he was unsure of his own words. “I will find it, Ási, and you are going to be just fine. You and everyone here,” he added, glancing over the nearby beds. Faes, humans, shapeshifters… All stroked with the same venom that was attacking their lands; all slowly perishing from the inside, waiting for a miracle that would bring them back to the world of living.

Æthlar walked back to the witch who was now studying a piece of an oak bark, levitating and moving in front of her. The outside of it looked almost normal - except tiny veins of onyx liquid that to a human eye might have looked still, but for skilled sight of a fae it was clear they were in constant movement. The venom was filling the microscopic fissures and deep cracks, slowly spreading throughout the whole piece. The other side of it was nearly fully covered in the the dark matter which could only have meant that it was already disintegrating the tree from inside.

Sepp’anøn was not dying - it was rotting. And with it every living thing that came in contact with the obsidian-shaded substance that was infecting trees, plants and even some of the waters.

*

“We need to do something about it,” the fae warrior growled, fire reflecting and dancing viciously in his eyes. “I’m sick of watching them get worse and worse day by day. What’s the point of finding the Sacred Portal now if by the time we do it, there won’t be anyone to bloody close it or fight whatever is going through it?” He laughed hollowly, then spat on the ground. The rings in his pointy ears chimed softly as he moved his head and looked at his companions.

“That’s what we’ve been sent here for, we can’t just stop looking for it,” Eleathas interrupted, cautiously looking at the light haired fae. They all knew that there would be consequences if anyone heard of them abandoning their mission.

“The Portal might as well be one big myth that they are feeding everyone to seem like they know what’s happening and what they’re doing. There hadn’t been an open portal since the Elder Days, how the fuck do we know it actually exists now? We might as well look for a needle in a haystack,” muttered Haesthan, not even looking up and continuing to polish the gems on the handle of his knife. The opening of the Sacred Portal was indeed the only explanation of mysterious events happening in the Nj’ordran area, the mystical creatures and demons swarming the nearby valleys and woods, the darkness contaminating the waters and plants. Yet there was no proof of it existing except legends from the Elder Days that described similar events.

Æthlar and few others agreed with the shapeshifter, some even sputtering a bunch of curses under their noses. The fae male combed his silvery hair with his fingers and was about comment on what exactly he thought about Governor’s intentions towards this whole quest when they heard a movement outside. Seconds later, Farah dashed inside and looked at everyone gathered with bewilderment in her green eyes.

“I think we found the antidote,” she said, trying to catch the breath.

“Well, not exactly but we might have an idea. This might be a shot in the dark but I was trying to connect the infection, the burning, the fact that they all keep having the vision of the Sun and then I remembered, the story about Sœnna, the Sun Goddess from the Elder Days?” She paused her ramble for a moment, looking for confirmation on their faces that they too remembered the legend that most would have been told during their childhood. A story of unexplainable evil infecting the continent, of millions dying from an unknown disease where their eyes and tongues turned black and a body slowly decomposed while they were still alive; a story of a Sun Goddess crying for her followers and giving away her Sun power to heal them.

“The Golden Tears of a Goddess…” Æthlar whispered, looking up at the witch with mixture of emotions in his azure eyes.

“It may be just a story, but there is so many things adding up, and I just thought… I thought that maybe if we go to the Elder Cathedral, we will find the answers and maybe even the antidote or at least any clues on how to look for it.” She finished quietly, biting her lip and gazing at everyone uncertainly, as if expecting her idea to be welcomed with a rousing laughter.

“Am I mad or is this is the only thing that actually connects everything right now? Eleathas asked quietly. By the heavy silence that fell upon them, it was clear that every single one of them was slowly processing all the information and adding up the stories that finally started making sense. Everything that was documented in the Elder Day scripts, everything that was projected as just myths from centuries back, seemed to be happening all over again.

“The Cathedral owns the biggest collection of the manuscripts that reach back to the Elder Days. If there is any truth to these legends, if any of this has happened before, that’s the place that will have information about it.” The witch has noticed and her words were welcomed with a bunch of nods from everyone gathered in the tent.

“If we can find confirmation in the Cathedral or any kind of indication on what on Iøn’s head is happening, it is worth a try.” Æthlar declared, a tone of his voice indicating that he’d already made his decision and there was no stopping him. If the old stories were their only hope, so be it.

“And if those mythical tears are the antidote, I will fucking collect them from the Goddess’ face myself if I have to; I am not letting Ási or anyone else die from this shit.”