To the Keep
DAPHNE
We race in shadow with Sylvan at the breast of our small entourage. He claimed to know a shortcut somewhere off the beaten path and although I am still wary of him, I know I'd rather have him where I can see him than behind me where I cannot.
And just with that questionable thought, my right-hand heats, reminding me of the swirl of markings that lit like a flame when I took his hand and marked the oath he gave upon my skin.
He swore to protect me.
And now I wear his promise upon my skin.
His mount, Starfire, is leading Trielle and Delago through a gauntlet of twisted roots and weeping branches, all of which seem to be reaching for me with gnarled arms. Whether it's as simple as to touch or as sinister as to capture is the question that has me leaning in low to Trielle's back as we race on.
"We cut back onto the path here," Sylvan calls toward us, before curbing Starfire to the right and urging her over a giant bramble of thorns and spiked roots. His mount slows as we reemerge on what appears to be a dirty stone pathway leading deep into a hill.
But that's when I notice... it is not a hill at all.
It's just that the trees seem to gather more thickly and grow in height the further in that we ride. Like a staircase built from the boughs of different trees. They reach and soar into the heavens, creating an almost dizzying image of a mountainside. Dappled with oak trees to the left of us and evergreens to the right. It is as if the planter that plowed here in this place did so with two separate satchels of seedlings. Now the forest behind us that lay variant and mingled, with elms and oaks, pine and birch, seems the picture of a battle when I glance behind. Like living breathing soldiers of different flesh that fight for life among the soiled ground. Yet here is where it appears to end. Here is where the species of wild woods seems to segregate. Becoming one or the other. A battalion of mighty oak against the loom of towering evergreens. Something sparks in my chest, catching my breath as warmth and recognition marinate in my veins.
"What is this?" I ask, unable to keep the question to myself as our mounts slow and the foliage grows thick with a shimmering green glow.
"The magic of the woodlands, Daphne, "Klyesque whispers, true awe in her voice. "They recognize you. They know you."
The quick wisp of a breeze falls toward me, I can see it in the tremble of the leaves, then a whispering so faint it might just be my imagination. I try and put together the words, try to piece together their song, but whatever it is, whatever message they speak, I fall short of receiving it.
"There is something you must remember, Daphne, something I'm sure you've not had time to learn," Sylvan calls to me as the three of us trot slowly forward, toward the tallest of the trees, the deepest of the woods. "Our father is the commander of shadows and dark. He is the reaper of phantoms and reflection. Thus is his power. Thus is our own. He intends for you to learn to wield it, which is why he sent me."
My heart drops. "Does that mean he won't be coming himself? Doesn't he want to meet me at all?" It shouldn't hurt the way it does, after all, I spent every night until just a few weeks ago believing someone else was my father and that he hated me. So the knowledge that my true sire, my real father doesn't see me as important enough to meet shouldn't bother me so much. But... it does. After learning that my mother and father were a true love match, I thought for certain he would come... Perhaps I am a fool to want for such simple things.
"Of course he does,"Sylvan exclaims as we near what can only be described as a rooted archway. A tunnel built from roots and branches that stretch across the now stone pathway and link together, winding in such a way that lends a natural birth of magic to this place. We stop just at the entrance and Sylvan states in his strong proud voice, "In truth, he has thought of nothing but these last few nights. Especially after learning that you were still alive. He's known of you far longer than I have and has kept his mourning to himself, all this time. No one thought you were alive, Daphne. When your mother was.... burned-" I can't help but grimace though I keep my back straight and my eyes dry "-he mourned her loss in secret from all but me. I was much younger then, but still a man full grown. Time moves differently here than it does in the mortal realm. You will see. Fae age differently than mortals do. You and I might appear close in age, but in truth, you are my very, very young baby sister and I can't help but look at you as such."
Something moves in me with his confession. Something warm and cozy and familiar. And as I meet the black of his eyes with the green of my own, I can't help the sudden wash of love I feel for him. For my brother of only moments ago. But something you need to realize is that the most important thing at the moment is not your meeting with him, but you being kept safe from her. You must come into your full power first, sister. So that you might protect yourself against my mother and the witch of the north, both."
"He speaks truth, Daphne," Klyesque says, eyeing the tunnel and what appears to be a gate of leaves near the end. "The Woodland Keep is on the other side of that magicked curtain. It is said that when the ruler of the keep is away, that the trees become soldiers and the gardens guard themselves... though I've never seen proof of this, I don't doubt it. Such is the way of many things. In the Lunar Ocean, the Palace of Tides is protected from its enemies by the currents of the deep. No one that isn't welcome even gets close to the coral gates."
"Well then," I say with sudden confidence, "let us pray that we are welcome." I lean forward and whisper to Trielle, "Take us to the Keep."