Surfacing Ch. 30

And something was there, moving fast and coming from the direction of the setting Sun, moving toward the darker horizon. Shyntre squinted his eyes, and his heart picked up, spreading a slightly sick feeling through his limbs. This had to be dangerous.

"A Noldor..." Tarra whispered. "Riding a beast..."

A horse, Shyntre noted. Though he had never seen one in his brief time on the Surface, Rausery had drawn sketches and someone with more talent had made approved pictures in the Tower's library. He recognized it now, gazing hypnotized at the movement.

The Pale Elf was female and blonde, wearing a pale, flowing tunic. She clung to the back of the horse, fists balled tight in the tangled, white-blond mane that decorated the ridge of the long neck; there was no bridle, no saddle, no way to direct the animal.

The horse's coat was a shining sorrel red and he charged hard across the red sand. It was difficult for the beast to fight the sand; the nostrils were spread so he could breathe enough air, and his single-toed hooves sank into the loose particles, kicking up clouds of red dust behind him as he held his pale blond tale high in the air.

Even then, the speed was incredible.

*She will never reach the other side without me...*

Shyntre looked over at Tarra, then glanced back at the Valsharess. That voice hadn't come from either of them. It had come from inside his mind.

"Then what happened?" the Queen asked.

"It turned to trample me," Tarra whispered, clearly afraid as the beast changed direction abruptly, running straight for them.

"And did it?"

The Priestess tried to back up but the Valsharess held her tightly.

"Did it?"

"Yes..." she squeaked. "It hurt, it was horrible...I-I woke up—"

Shyntre stared at the oncoming beast, oddly excited but not at the thought of those pounding hooves tramping and crushing the Priestess's bones. Petty cruelty and pain seemed unimportant right now. He tried to step forward; the Valsharess held him still.

"Let go, my Queen," he said.

"We will not see it trample you instead, Consort."

"He won't. They've been looking for me. Let go."

There was the tiniest of tremors in the Valsharess's hand when She released his shoulder. Neither She nor the Priestess disappeared as he might have guessed; they remained with him, but now Shyntre could step out in front and meet the rider and animal.

It was the strangest thing, watching the Noldor change color as if the beast had just leaped through an unseen waterfall of mud. The closer she got, the darker the pale skin became until it struck a deep brown, taking on reddish highlights like her mount, the blonde hair darkening even more to the color of Surface chestnuts.

Soon Shyntre could hear the great breaths blown by the stallion as he came up quick and slowed down fast, spraying red sand against the bottom of Shyntre's robe and stomping the dunes. Overfilled with energy the horse reared up and kicked out his front legs, barely missing the wizard's head. Shyntre had forgotten to flinch as he stared.

"There you are!" the Elf said, looking at all three of them. "You're late for the ceremony!"

Swinging off the mount, Shyntre had to look twice. Strong limbs exposed, beautiful but exotic face, the shape of breast and waist and hip was truly baffling...a mix of...

Was the brown Elf male or female?

When were there ever brown Elves...?

"Come, mount up," the rider beckoned to him and a shivering Tarra. "We'll meet you there."

Invited closer, Shyntre moved to reach out his hand and touch the fire-colored horse. Hot and sweating, a distinct smell of the beast, he'd never forget...

"There is no way to steer," he murmured.

The strange Elf didn't hesitate. "He will take you where you need to go. Let me help you up."

The rider cupped his...her...hands and as Shyntre grabbed the long, blond mane and withers. Putting his sandaled foot in the braced hold, he was swiftly boosted up onto the horses' back. He'd never imagined horses were so tall...

"Now you," the brown Elf indicated the Priestess. "Come on, get behind him."

"Go, Tarra," the Valsharess said. "We command this. If you return or not, this will give Us Our answer We seek."

They could all hear Tarra's heartbeat as she stepped forward; her hands gripped him and jabbed him in places on his thighs and arms as she tried to get into position behind him on a beast of which she was clearly terrified.

"Hold on around his waist and squeeze your thighs together," the brown Elf suggested.

Shyntre could barely breathe when Tarra did just that. "Thanks, rider..."

The ambiguous Elf grinned and slapped the horse's haunches, causing him to jerk forward and start off at a long-legged lope. Tarra shrieked and held on even tighter, trying to pull him vertical and backward.

"Lean forward!" he yelled back at her as the horse picked up speed and the spine really started rolling very differently from a lizard.

The Priestess didn't reply but buried her face into his back and leaned forward barely enough to keep them both mounted.

*I have a question for you. Can a lizard outrun a horse?*

The same voice from earlier caused Shyntre to look at the Sky rather than the ground, and he thought he glimpsed something very high up, flying above them as the horse sped atop the sand.

They would see who would get there first.

Tarra didn't relax even as the Sun vanished and the Sky turned purple and night-blue, as Stars appeared and a milky glow heralded the Moons just beyond the opposite horizon. The eternal runner's body heat kept them warm as the rushing air cooled around them, and Shyntre could no longer see the flyer above them unless he wasn't imagining those Stars winking out now and then only to reappear a moment later.

Ahead...their destination. A desert Palace built upon a steep-sided crest; the outer, protective walls sheer and extending the incline even higher into the air. The architecture in Night colors resembled that of the Valsharess's in several subtle ways, with its high-reaching levels and elegant curves, with many places to hide from sight and attack in ambush. The multiple spires rising above all else reminded him of the Wizard's Tower, but the outer walls weaved back and forth around the fortress like a sand snake. Loose, sliding rock filled each dip inward while the outward curves of the walls seemed to push out against unwanted visitors.

The main gate was open, though; a wide archway with a ramp leading to it. It was here the red-blond stallion clearly aimed to go. As they got closer, the wizard waited for anything at all to jump out and block them, leap on them, attack them...

The horse slowed down from a full gallop to a lope, then cantered and finally trotted up the ramp. A young male Drow Shyntre did not recognize stepped out, wearing an extremely strange dress uniform—strange silk in deep blue and red, lined with gold cord, including a matching headpiece and dark boots. He bowed at the waist; he possessed a curved sword at his waist which he did not draw on them.

"My Queen," he said. "He awaits Your Grace with guests."

The young male was looking at Tarra; Shyntre wasn't even sure if he was visible—either assumed to be a servant and below even a guard's notice, or...possibly more disturbing, he couldn't be seen at all. As if he'd cast his invisibility spell without realizing it.

It was this thought which made the wizard better prepared as the horse trotted loudly into the enormous Palace courtyard. He had the thought to slip off the horse opposite of Tarra and hide from the other eyes as the Priestess seemed glad to regain her own feet again. She immediately stilled her tremors as she noticed the others, just a moment after he did.

What Shyntre saw in those first few moments was...extraordinary. It was a gathering of beings of whom he hadn't even ever dreamt. Some were Drow and some were Human; there was one who shrouded himself entirely in grey robes and remained quiet, observing the others.

The rest engaged each other, the Elf and Human, faces he didn't know but he wondered about the deep brown skin and overall dark shades of hair among the round-eared Humans. It compared to the strange Elf who had helped Shyntre onto the fire horse, though the males Humans were consistently larger and stronger than the female ones. The male Drow seemed slender and short by comparison, but this did not leave them feeling intimidated.

In fact, they seemed on some better level with the male Humans, making eye contact with anyone, the female Drow granting them a public respect necessary to maintain relations with the Humans, for whom it was the opposite. Shyntre recognized in himself more of the female Human body languages than he did the male—who only reminded him of the Matrons and their self-important Noble Daughters.

Beyond this, all behaved as if there were many more pieces of furniture, more supplies, food and drink, and even more bodies filling the relatively empty space. Some stepped as if they were beside a table, plucking up an appetizer to pop into their mouth. Others walked slowly and talked with invisible ghosts—though the wizard could not hear what they were saying, there was only a low drone—and gesture to each other with passionate thought or debate, fully engaged. The genders were mixed, as were the races.

All eyes were drawn up to a tall Man as he stepped...no, limped into view atop the elevated, open-air pathway lining the courtyard. He stood at the top of some steps that could take him down among the people, but he hesitated. He seemed confused, tired, maybe. Shyntre could see the aura; he was a mage for certain, a powerful one though he held a palm tight to his right side as if he braced some cracked ribs against his own lungs.

He had brown skin like the other Humans, but white hair like a Drow. His hair made him seem younger to Shyntre than he was, as he noticed more lines and courser textures in the skin. Kind of like the Valsharess, but even rougher. If he'd been blond, Shyntre would have thought him as old as his own sire and Headmaster.

Who was this? Why did Shyntre feel so abruptly and deeply...

Afraid.

The wizard hid helplessly behind the glaringly bright horse at the opposite end of the courtyard as the Man's eyes scanned the crowd—

And landed on Tarra.

Again he hesitated—possibly the Man was afraid of something himself—but then he took those careful steps to come down to their same level.

That was when everything changed.

It was early morning now, not night, the Sky a light blue and the Sun not yet scalding, yet it did not feel as if any time had passed. The walls had lightened to show the mix of reds and oranges within the stone, brightening all shadows. More figures filled the courtyard, however, as did those supplies and furniture which had been missing to the night-guests pantomime. All those reappearing guests of the day were yet more variation: additional brown Elves, just a few Pale ones and some matching dwarves—no dark-skinned ones like he was used to—plus many Humans of different colors and dress as well.

While these others were in vibrant color, the grey-robed Man remained still as if he was not really there, an occasional trick of the eye. One notable change was, however, that his hands had turned dark as Shyntre's in the day, while they had been pale as the Moons at night.

"Aia Innathi..."

The sorcerer had spoken; now he was moving through the crowd toward the Priestess. As he did so, his appearance changed: the skin of his face grew smoother and tighter, his hair turned true black instead of white, and his body language shifted to be less tired and confused—now younger and spellbound, enamored with what he saw.

Tarra gasped as he came closer, and her appearance changed just enough to seem like she was someone else, but Shyntre could still tell it was her. She turned her head to look at him in her panic, as if expecting him to do something, explain something...

He could only watch in wary bewilderment.

The sorcerer bowed formally before her, taking her hand to kiss it; even then, it was obvious he felt he was familiar with her. This was no first meeting, it was a welcoming back. Tarra shivered slightly, confused and wary but not pulling away.

"Your Grace, we've been waiting, and to my heart's joy, now you are here. Our allies have gathered to give their blessing and bear witness to our official union this day. Your people and mine wedded together as surely as you and I shall be."

The sorcerer then leaned to whisper something else in her ear, private and playful, and he leaned back with a young glint in his eye. Tarra may as well have had a ball of moss stuck in her throat for all her response, but the Man seemed to see and hear something different, something pleasing enough, for he gently drew her toward the grand throne at the far end of the yard—set to be temporary but lavishly decorated to oversee any party held out here.

Given the horse still standing here, and the one guard now looking out and ignoring them, Shyntre wondered where the stables were? What about the barracks and the areas needed to exchange supplies? How could he go from a ramp through an archway and be in this beautiful place?

As Tarra and the sorcerer made their way to the front to stand above everyone else, Shyntre saw three other figures of note.

Waiting at the throne was a tall, beautiful male Elf, one of the brown ones, wearing only a strangely heavy brown wrap as well. The wrap was a long one, going about his trim waist and extending down to the floor to where Shyntre could see nothing of his legs or feet. His hair was long and perfect, a deep reddish-brown. He reminded the wizard of the Consorts as a whole for how captivating his beauty was coupled with his manner of dress, but his presence was regal and clearly not that of a pleasure servant. He waited for the sorcerer and the Priestess to join him.

To the side—upon the elevated balcony opposite from which the sorcerer had first entered—stood a strange, yet strangely familiar Elf, bald with very long ears, the skin showing mainly in face and arms swirling different colors, from blue to green to yellow and red... The features of the face were that of the same male/female Shyntre had just met, who had told him he was late for this ceremony, but the height was greater and the aura showed only an unlimited patience and peace.

Lastly, Shyntre saw the Valsharess here as well, except he wasn't sure this was her actual presence. Nonetheless, she was fascinating; she was much younger, beautiful, tugging at his curiosity and resistant interest in just the way Sirana did. She wore a Sky blue gown and a spider pendant, its abdomen formed from a dark amethyst, the rest of it the brightest silver. She watched the proceedings with a subtle distrust and disbelief.

The red horse blew air out of his lungs and stamped once, but otherwise remained patient as Shyntre tried to decide if he should step outside or not...

*That would be a 'yes.'*

A heavy hand clapped on his shoulder and gripped his robe to pull him out from behind the horse.

*Wait, they'll see me—!*

*If they haven't yet, they won't now. Just watch.*

It was Izabal Sargt, or the Dragon in her form, wearing her red dress. She shouldn't be nearly so strong for her size yet she tugged him to some steps where they could sit and looped her arms around his waist, holding him like a companion...or a nursemaid protecting a toddler while keeping it from crawling around unchecked.

Meanwhile, the horse neighed softly and moved at last over to climb the stairs as well, passing by them and clopping leisurely over to the bald, patient male/female, who greeted the mount with a smile and a stroke on the nose.

It was a ceremony, just as had been said, and without words beyond that vague music on the wind, Shyntre could only read the body language. In it he saw some kind of promise. The sorcerer faced Tarra and held her hands, gazed into her eyes with a naked devotion that made Shyntre squirm a bit.

*What am I seeing?* the wizard asked Sargt, as the Consort-Elf began a speech of lilting, hypnotizing grace, not a single word of which the wizard could make out. He sensed the Dragon shrug.

*Fuck if I know. Whatever Ishuna searches for, I suppose.*

A sharp stab went through his brain as the young and future queen looked in his direction, as if hearing the name and punishing him for it though she was not able to focus directly on him. Nonetheless the wizard moaned softly. That wasn't how it was supposed to work, he hadn't tried to say the name himself. It shouldn't be so obvious to others...

*Ah. Sorry about that, Dreamwalker. The claw marks go very deep, don't they?*

*I'm not...the Dreamwalker, that's—*

*You embraced that part, didn't you? He gave you the gift willingly. Now you are both Dreamwalker. A good thing, as his particular dreams were becoming too much to bear on his own and you are his most incredibly stubborn brother. You lifted the darkness off his shoulders, took it upon yourself to face it on his behalf. Am I close?*

Shyntre pursed his lips. That seemed so, yes; it was clear here, wherever he was... Yet this had never occurred to him while he was awake. He hadn't even wanted to think about it, afraid She would find out.

Dreamwalkers.

For some reason his eyes drifted toward the Man in the grey robes.

There was another walker here, wasn't there? He'd seen one before...

Tugging him away from a dream within a dream, Shyntre realized the Human Man also possessed a black dagger with red runes at his side, which he loosened from his belt—sheath and all—to hold up in both hands, flat across his palms.

Tarra trembled, staring at the dagger then back to the sorcerer and to the overseeing Elf ruler, who watched with only a small, expectantly smile. She seemed to understand the words being spoken to her, as she somehow found the courage to reach and take the dagger as she had not been able to when it lay crying on the sands. Tarra repeated some words and motions, bracing herself as she drew the relic from its sheath.

*Not the real thing,* Sargt commented. *Or this would get quite interesting right about now.*

Tarra placed the point of the dagger against the sorcerer's chest, who did not flinch but kept his back straight and chin up, staring only at her in open trust. The Dragon was right; Shyntre did not sense or see anything strange during this final motion of the long promise.

His eyes sweeping the guests once again, Shyntre thought, *If there are Pale Elves here at all, and some other figures of high rank bearing witness...what about the Pale Elf Queen?*

Sargt chuckled. *I hazard a guess that she did not approve and would not attend, sending a few ambassadors in her stead. The seeds of the conflict had already been placed long before this moment, but it germinated on this day.*

Shyntre watched the scene with something approaching awe. *And the brown Elves...they are children of both, aren't they? Mixed bloods.*

*Mixed bloods?* Sargt chuckled. *I suppose you could say that.*

*What about the spirit Elf talking with the horse?*

*Interesting description.*

*That's what he...she...is doing!* he insisted.

*You're right, of course. The 'spirit' Elf is just that. The spirit of the Elves awakened for a time when needed.*

Shyntre shook his head. *I don't understand.*

*That's no surprise.*

******

Tarra felt she was under a spell. She did not feel she was simply dreaming. She could feel the Man touching her, pressing his fingers in too deep somehow...like she was naked and he searched the scars she had obtained in bearing her Draegloth, running fingers possessively over the ridges and ripples. She could see the obsession in his eyes; despite his apparent youth, he was old...very old.