Under Alune

The Dyer

Darlaune watched Keysean for a while, until his ascending form melded with the shadow of Wolfhelm. Then, staring up at the moon she began to sing, slowly and softly:

"Alune, Alune,

Thine eye, thy voice

That soft touch your light

Robbing choice from me tonight

Though, perhaps, a fool's delight

Though risking father's punishing might

I will not shift from this auspicious choice."

She transformed into a thrush and took wing. She turned her face toward her own home then, looking over her shoulder again to where she'd last seen Keysean, she decided she wasn't yet ready to return to the wood-fortress. Tittering softly, she flew westward until she reached the stony walls of Wolfhelm. Directly inside of the six-feet thick enclosure was a thick ring of trees that obscured any distant view into the town.

She cast a glance down the side of the High-hill. Southward there was the broad plateau of Theyeark's Norths district, a collection of mansions and short towers. Beyond this were the lays of Theyeark proper. Immediate to be seen were the spires of the Lows. The spires themselves were thin, mile-high cones with faceless bases for a third of their height; above which were a half dozen platforms guarded by porous web-glass about their circumferences. A thicker dome marked the beginning of the interiors of the spires. Only one of the spires here was actually completed, the rest were framework and skeletons rising from mute stumps, swarming with robotic builders busy about their work.

The spires of the Highs District stood beyond stumpy Lows. The tallest was beyond even this, to the southwest, where a cluster of towers stretched in the sky higher than the eye could see. Darlaune was not aware, like most of Theyeark's citizens, but this spire (called Mage-Hall by those who were familiar with its purpose) was home to those who practiced the magical arts safe from prying eyes.

Darlaune frowned at Theyeark, disgusted by the utter artificial appeal of the human scene. In her mind, the spires and platforms supported uncounted vegetation and animals capered and swarmed in the place of the robots and the distant float-cars.

But then again, there was Wolfhelm and its aberrant populace. They were alike all the buildings and machinery, created by unnatural events. She presently set her eyes again upon the shifter hamlet. Keysean was there, and those he loved. She wondered, then if she could convince her father to stay his hand on the Hamlet. Would her arguments also support sparing the human city?

She trilled softly then took wing, making her way over the Split-way. If the shifters would heed the call to peace, perhaps her father could forgive them past transgressions, and even their aberrant forms. She hoped, beyond hope, that her father preferred the peace of the forest to the burning of the same.

But then again there were the shifters who had ravaged her father's kingdom in a time when she was just a sapling. They had chased away the elves and fayrie, forcing them into the mountains near Theyeark's waste depository. There, the druidyer and his kin were meant to die and rot within the bog. Nature, Gaia as she was called, had seen to it that the elves and woodsmen gained strength in the wastes, though their forms and appetites had changed accordingly. The men became orks, who became trolls, then ogres in their way. Her father had had no choice, though surrounded by wild gobori, but to encourage them to strength. He promised his daughter that one day they would return to being the fair and the fleet, and dance again beneath Alune.

She flew back toward the north-westerly edge of the Split-way forest. For a mile before she reached her home, she had seen orks stomping and wrestling on the jagged mesas. They had dragged metal and other odd pieces of garbage up from the nearby garbage-dump to rework to their own instinctive wills. Some of the orks, she understood, went there purely for the sport of hunting Rat-grots, their most available treat.

Upon the widest mesa around was the druid Brambelhein. A dark, thick, tangle of thorned vine enveloped thin limp trees grown tight together served as the outer walls of the druid fortress. Hidden amidst the briers was a extremely large and thick bush which formed the main structure of the Brambelhein.

From the outside, this bush was more than imposing; But for a small thrush, finding a fringe to slip through was simple. She dropped and angled around twisted branches and tufts of coarse foliage to reach the mossy earth below. Moonlight streaming through breaks in the upper verdure was the only light in the Brambelhein. Even so, Darlaune was well adjusted to the wan ambiance,

She paused a moment to take a drink of dew from a bowl, then peered through a curtain of hanging creepers. There sat the court of Barteriyud, wreathed in nightshade, as was the season. A long pool ran the length of the hall, leading up to the rocky throne of the druidyer. He himself was wrapped in heavy furs and lounging, one foot resting on a jut of stone.

"My daughter returns, rejoice!" shouted the druid king across his court. An ork nearby him grunted a laugh. "Darlaune, what is it the trolls told to me? Did you spare an aberration?"

Darlaune stepped through the curtain and, with her eyes to the floor nodded. She slowly approached the throne.

"The lycanthrope is not of Gaia's design. It must be terminated."

Closer now to her father, Darlaune lifted her eyes to him. "I want to talk to you alone, father. The presence of these orcs disgraces our court."

"Disgrace?" laughed Barteriyud. "They are the foundation. They are of Gaia's merciful fury! They will lead the way to the truth."

Nodding and pouting, Darlaune answered, "Still father, please."

"Very well. Leave us, orcs; The princess commands it." Barteriyud took a drink from a silver goblet and smiled at his daughter with green-stained teeth.

"There was a story you once told me, when I was but a sapling in a glade," began Darlaune once every last orc had left the court.

"Memory of that specific day, of course, eludes me." Barteriyud scratched at his gray beard, stretching his age-scoured face almost comically. "Of which story do you speak?"

"It was of one Darlaune-the-Fair who was glorious amongst the elves and druids alike." Darlaune crossed the remainder of the mossed hall, passing twisted-branch pillars and coming to her seat beside her father.

Barteriyud frowned, "That story is ill upon me this eve."

"It is my favorite, father. Please tell me again of it." Darlaune focused the full power of her pout on her reticent parent.

"The shifter, why did you let it escape? Their holt will now be warned of us and the gobold-kin."

"Gobori are no kin to us, father."

"They are only what the aberrants have forced them to be; Harsh and war-like. How else can we regain our rightful place over all the wood?"

"So you are intent upon the destruction of the shifters?"

"Shif.." Barteriyud's eyes waxed irate. He spoke loud and angry, "Darlaune! Need I remind you of their nature? They have no place in gaia's eyes, nor in her designs. They are of the vampires; their spawn and kin."

"But father, their survival-"

"Their survival is contrary to the design, though it continues even 'till this day. They will, MUST decline in their time like the dragons and the dwarves and the fayrie."

"Yet they, none of them, are yet extinct."

"You doubt the word of your father!" Barteriyud came rigid upright in his throne. The wide sleeves of his dark-green tunic flared with an upraised hand. "These are my wisdoms, girl, my understandings, not a trifle thought up in a moment's fancy."

"Yes father. It is only-"

"The aberrants and perhaps your story."

"I would have peace instead with them. Is killing truly part of Gaia's will?"

"Of course, girl; That you should truly know." Barteriyud chuckled then became again stern. "That which dies becomes nourishment for the living."

"And for all to die?"

"If its being serves not gaia, its every moment in her sphere is a waste and a distraction of the grand design. Better then that it support the living in its demise."

"I would say as such of the orcs."

"The Orcs!" yelled Barteriyud, frustrated. "They will spread the seeds, they will plow the stony ground to bring upon the regrowth of the forest." He snorted and looked away from his daughter. "Quickly, finish your thoughts. I grow weary of your weak wisdom this eve."

"I spared the shifter and gave to him my truolua." Darlaune grinned defiantly

Barteriyud's eyes shot to his daughter and searched her hair fervently. "No, my daughter, not one of them should be spared."

"You would risk my honor?" Darlaune returned to pouting. "I promised him that we would meet again and that I would stay your hand."

"You promised more than you have to give!" Barteriyud was livid.

"It was mine to-" Barteriyud struck his daughter roughly aside the face and waited with hand raised for her to offer him another chance to strike her.

"Silence! Where is your mind? Aye, upon old legends and impossible moonlight stories. You know the tale of Darlaune-the-fair is of bloodshed and dissension. You know her kin suffered greatly, yet you do not heed the wisdom of the tale. Nay! nor of mine lips.

"Darlaune, you cannot go to meet this aberrant! I forbid it!"

Forgetting herself a moment, Darlaune lifted her head and glared at her father. "But I owe-"

Barteriyud struck her again. "We are in no debt! It is they who hold the bill! One hamlet for another. My kingdom was once beside their hill, and we in peace. Then they came under Anuxere and chased us into this tangled ruin."

"Perhaps-" whispered Darlaune through swollen lips. Barteriyud struck her again driving her out of her lower-throne.

"Perhaps your lack of wisdom is worthy of expunging. Your loss of honor dies with me; though your truolua will never again grow.

"You will stay here and be confined to our Brambelhein until I stand upon their mountain-top and they are no more. That is my word."

"But father!"

"My word is that of gaia, daughter. One day you will speak for her, but today you lack the voice. Begone from me, lest troll's hands drag thee out."

Darlaune cried out a frustrated sob and dashed from the court. So engrossed was she in finding egress with her blurry eyes that she did not see her father shift again to comfort in his throne and smile.

---

Latyurik waited until his grandfather fell asleep then snuck out of bed. Wolfhelm was always a relatively quiet place. At night, it was positively serene. Crickets played their songs, and frogs croaked along. Occasionally some small mammal rustled through the tall grass.

Latyurik liked to go to the north-west side of Wolfhelm when he was alone. There was a Commons field there where the High-hill's slope was the most gentle. The Commons were used for everything from picnics to sports and personal training. At night, it offered the best view of the stars and sky.

And the moon. Latyurik hadn't had many friends his age during his younger years. In those days, he had taken to making friends with trees and stones. His best friend had been Alune, the bright maiden of the moon.

Sitting himself on the grass, Latyurik looked up to her and wondered what she saw. Shifter lore stated that she witnessed everything that happened in the night. That she saw through as well, to the very heart and soul of every living creature.

It was she who had told him who to be. In place of his mother, she had guided him and nurtured his strengths. At her suggestion, Latyurik had decided to play the popular sport Rook. Though he had begun as the weakest of all Wolfhelm's players, she had urged him to stick to it. When he had begged for her help, she had united him with Keysean and his friends. Together, the four of them became a force to be reckoned with on the Rook field. And soon after Keysean had been exiled from Wolfhelm, Latyurik had risen to local fame as the new star of the field.

Surely her guidance had paid off. He now had friends of his own, and a certain amount of respect where he'd had none before. In the following years, he had often wondered if she had conspired to remove Keysean just to make space for his glory.

It became his favorite thing to fantasize about. She had seperated him from his peers because he was peerless. She had denied him freinds because he needed none. No, he was meant to rule them with his myriad strengths.

Which was why he was sitting here now, wrestling an inner conflict. Keysean had not only returned from exile- an event thought to be all but impossible- but he had immediately become the star of Wolfhelm all over again. Was this a test? Did Alune mean to take from Latyurik everything that he had come to hold dear?

"Or is it more than that?" He whispered to the sky. He had never, in all their time together been able to beat Keysean at anything. Even the woman that Latyurik had desired had been smitten by Keysean's effortless success.

It agitated him to think of how easily everything had come to keysean. It simply wasnt fair. Keysean had been given every good thing since birth, while Latyurik had nothing. Latyurik felt that he should have hated Keysean. But hadn't Keysean taught him everything he knew about rook? Hadn't keysean protected him from bullies and cared for him like a younger brother?

"Or like some sort of pet," Latyurik thought aloud.

'And you were so close,' said a voice that may have been his own thoughts.

"So close to holding Wolfhelm in one hand," Latyurik said aloud.

'Close to the truth.'

"The truth?"

'There is only room for one hero among the stars.'

"Only one," he said aloud.

'Much time has passed since those youthful days on the Rook field. And while you have grown in size and experience...'

"He has wallowed in exile. He has grown old and lazy."

'Only one...' the thought was so specific and strong, that Latyurik could not argue it. He could only stare up at Alune with love.