Reflections

Bile rose in Bolero’s throat, as he watched the moon-pale figure glide towards him and his injured friend. If he hadn’t seen that the fae was walking, he would have assumed it was hovering. The grace was outstanding, unheard of. Dangerous.

The Fae, also known as the Sidhe, were well-known by the Eyrie. The wards surrounding the cliffs, as well as the old wooden structure at the entrance to the forest- were crafted specifically for these beings. A shifter couldn’t trust a fae- this was fact. This is what history told them. The Sidhe, especially, despised his kind.

Whatever the fae coming his way wanted, he would deny it. A favor from one of the Sidhe had the promise of eternal servitude attached. Many a bird had fallen victim to their tricks in the past, accepted assistance during a hunt, or merely drank or eaten fae faire when thirsty, never to be seen again. Kieran spoke to the fae again in the guttural language, then turned his attention back to Bolero.

The white-haired fae crouched before Indigo, and reached a hand out to feel her forehead. He turned to Kieran and said something quietly in Sidhe language, which to Bolero sounded like a steady stream of consonants.

“Aster is a renowned fae healer, and the head Mage of the Nithra Sidhe,” Kieran purred, voice eerily calm, “He will help see her to safety. Like we’ve said, we intended no harm to come to her, or to you.” The falconer’s voice had a strange, sharp accent, the ‘r’s’ rolled heavily. Nothing like the melodic lilt of his people. The fae-Aster,- rippled with power, as if every breath was a spell in itself. Where Bolero drew energy from his shifting magic, from within, this fae seemed to breathe magic from the natural world.

“You can’t expect me to believe a word you say, and leave my friend with a stranger. Even less a fae.” Bolero spat the word out, as if it were a curse. Smoke poured from his mouth. Suppressing his flame proved taxing, but no matter. The muscles in his biceps tensed. He would have someone to burn to cinders soon enough.

“Your friend is wounded, Bolero. We have made it clear we mean her no harm. Sheath your saif. It’s pitiful enough you still think it would do any good against me, anyway.” Kieran’s falcon shifted positions, onto one foot, the other tucked into her body. Bolero nearly laughed aloud at the irony, the relaxed stance the shadow gyrfalcon took.

“Bolero, don’t…” Indigo’s voice was still not much more than a rasp. Was she more injured than how she appeared on the surface? Panicked, he searched her for more blood, for any signs of further injury. He cursed softly. He should have sent her home right from the beginning.

“Aster will not heal her until the flame is gone.”

Bolero hesitated. “No harm will come to her?”

“No harm will come to her,” Kieran inclined his head. Next to him, the female falconer nodded in agreement. “I know that to your kind we’re walking nightmares, but we don’t harm other living creatures without cause. When your friend is settled and Asters tells us she’s feeling better, we’ll take you to her.”

“I am Tamryn, the eldest of the Void Falk. We need to talk to you- she was not supposed to be here,” The woman stepped forwards towards Bolero and Indigo, gesturing towards Aster, the fae healer. “Please. Let him heal your friend. She’ll be sheltered, she’ll be safe, until we talk and then you can take her home.” Tamryn’s silver eyes glistened as she spoke, the silver of either tears or magic about to spill over. “Besides, the wisps seemed to enjoy her company. She’s welcome in this village, now and always.”

Seeing no other choice, Bolero stood slowly and inclined his head to Aster. Aster’s mouth pressed into a line. He did not speak to him, but silently moved his hands down over Indigo’s body. Indigo uttered a soft cry, and tried to sit back up.

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“What are you doing to her?” Bolero snarled. He moved to charge at the fae, but with a loud screech, Kieran’s bird moved to block his path. His golden eyes glimmered with magic, a silent threat that Bolero had no intention of testing. The expression on his face was fierce, and made his meaning clear- do not interfere. She vainly struggled against Aster’s grip, as he held her down.

Bolero yelled, unable to keep quiet. “Let go of her! You’re making it worse!”

Aster turned to Kieran and muttered something in Sidhe language. With a swiftness, Kieran moved back to Indigo’s side.

“Indigo, your name is?” Kieran spoke to the young merlin, voice gentle and calming. All traces of the arrogant mage from before were gone, replaced with patience and caring. “Your fear is interfering with Aster’s magic. You must calm down.” He waited silently beside her, his expression unreadable. What did these falconers, this fae, have to win by helping his friend?

Bright, blue light radiated from Aster’s hands and traveled down Indigo’s body. Music resonated in the air, fading into being as the blue glow seeped into the merlin’s skin.

Haunting voices sang in Sidhe language, lilting and gentle. Fiddling broke above the singing, filling the walled-in clearing with graceful notes.

Indigo went limp- her chest lifted as she inhaled slowly, clearly asleep. Bolero’s fists clenched from the effort not to cut the fae and Kieran where they stood. With a start, he realized he had pricked his palm with his talons.

Careless. Bolero watched as beads of blood drifted down his palm, the wounds sealing off, leaving nothing but red marks.

His jaw ached from grinding his teeth.

With a motion almost too quick to register, Aster lifted Indigo’s unconscious form into his arms. Bolero could see from where he stood that the wound on her leg was healed fully. No sign of it remained.

The Sidhe were brutal, he had always been warned as an eyass. Their magic was wholly different from the Eyrie; feral, uncontrollable. Their power could cause the ground itself to split, could summon Harbingers and other creatures so horrific that he and Maeby had spent many a night huddled together in the Chamber as eyasses out of fear. The dark saurian hounds of the Fae, Harbingers, were common tales told to the young in the Eyrie. Bolero recalled many a nightmare being chased by them as an eyass. Waking up in tears.

Yet here he stood, the creatures of nightmare and legend standing before him. Addressing him. Having summoned him.

Not once had anyone mentioned fae healing abilities. Or using music to calm another person to sleep. Rather than a gift from the Celestial Eagle, it was spawned from the Earth. Fae magic was nature-borne, not from the stars. The threat of the fae and other Ancients was the only reason the Eyrie required combat and magic specialization training from an early age. Even then, it was assumed by most young birds that the stories about the conflict were just that-stories.

After all of this? Bolero found he didn’t know what to think. What he was certain of was that the Void Falk owed him an explanation, and that he would gladly receive it.

Without another word, Aster turned to leave the clearing with Indigo in his arms. She slept peacefully, any hint of past injury impossible to discern. Her long braid hung over the Sidhe male’s shoulder, her head gently cradled against him. The positioning brought a hitch to Bolero’s breath, the strange intimacy of it.

No, not intimacy. It was almost paternal, the gentleness with which Aster cradled the young shifter. His movements were smooth, graceful -the very picture of what the Sidhe were. He didn’t simply live in the Nithra, he was of the Nithra as much as the grass and rich soils of the forest floor were. The rain as it fell, the whistling gales that blew the treetops during a storm -they were as much of Aster as the blood running through his veins.

These wilds had never belonged to the Eyrie, not truly. The fae had been birthed by the very magic that created the first sapling, the force the Eyrie would never be able to tap into. It was only a subtle ache in his chest that alerted him that, for the first time in his life, he found himself envious of the merlin bore in Aster’s arms.

Something about the azure of his glossy eyes, and magic hardly restrained in the Sidhe’s every breath was familiar. A memory, long-forgotten, hovered on the edge of recollection, a shadowy canopy, a storm blazing above.

…Bolero had seen such eyes before, long ago.