Eodea

Dehrai crossed through the mountain, leaving light in his wake.

At the lowest point of his circuit, under sea level, Dehrai’s fingers lingered over runes keeping the tunnels unflooded. Those did not need weekly renewal, and no-one would teach him their workings.

On his climb back he fed more light-spells in the communal workshops and dwellings too deep under the city even for lightwells, letting thanks warm him.

As a mote grew to a glow too bright to look into, he smiled. Air and light had called him, not stone and metal. He would follow that call again

"under-" was another prompt by Aldersprig. :)

Everybody needed salt, and the further away from the salt pans by the sea you got, the more precious it was. So Karva put together a caravan. One year’s time, and carts, animals, people, cargo. But it would pay off.

It was a long way to the mountain-locked nation of Raaji, and the people had to help push the carts up the pass roads, but it would be worth it.

But no-one wanted to trade anything like Karva had expected. Finally she snapped and asked.

“You want far more than the Goblins.”

“Goblins?”

“They bring salt from underground.”

I'm attempting the April A to Z challenge, with fiction with at most 100 words. "E is for Effort" came from Rix Scaedu.
If you have prompts for later in the alphabet, please give them to me.

When she did not keep herself occupied, nightfall in Muirha nearly tore Sylvie apart. The settlement being snugged into a valley between high mountains meant the dull, purple shadows blanketed it early, while the sky was still a bright blue, and the light on the mountaintops started changing colour from the almost-white of day to golden yellow.

The principle was soothingly familiar; the same happened in the narrow streets of the city she had been born in, with the sun still lighting the tops of the higher buildings. But none of the towers of Yrn, even built on the island-mountain as they were, could match the splendour of those wild peaks.

In the east, the light gleaming from old snow slowly turned from yellow to orange, looking even more brilliant against the darkening sky. To the west, dark teeth had swallowed the sun already, and blocked the sunset proper.

Sylvie missed the wide horizon over the ocean, a view only a few sets of stairs or ladders away back home, the complete rainbow of colours each sunrise.

Twilight had never felt like a purple shroud at home.

---

The title was a prompt by Ellen Million

You'd like to hear a fairy tale from me? Really? Well, all right.

Many generations ago in a village in Kandral was a boy who thought he was smarter than he was. He went out into the woods without telling anyone, wanting to prove he could hunt on his own. Instead he got lost. His parents thought he was with his cousins, his cousins thought he was with his parents, so nobody missed him until night fell.

In the dark and with no idea where he was, he became very afraid. He called for help.

Someone arrived, a figure with skin and hair shining like a moon. It talked sweetly to the boy, until he was not afraid any more. The fae asked the boy to tell it about his family, in exchange for being led to a street, and got a lot of complaints how his parents liked his brothers and sisters, who he said picked on him, more, and no-one took him as seriously as he deserved.

"Ah, this is sad," said the fae, and nothing more.

They walked in silence until they reached a path. The boy recognised it after a moment.

"Here, take this," said the fae, and handed him a seed, big as a nut and shimmering golden. "Plant it somewhere near your pastures. It will grow into something wonderful. It will bring joy to your life."

The boy thanked the fae and ran home. He hid the seed, and it was a week later, after all the anger, relief and excitement about his disappearance and reappearance had worn off, that he snuck off and buried the seed in a hedge, a bit hidden. He did not want it out in the open, so he could be the one to "find" whatever would sprout.

He never saw the plant, because it grew much faster than he had thought, but much more hidden. Roots spread far, sending up shoots that the goats liked to eat. It did not harm the goats, but their milk turned to slow poison. Soon the boy's parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins, and many of their neighbours fell sick, and died. The fae's poison never harmed the boy who had received the gift of getting rid of those he maligned.

When the story came out, the remaining people of the village decided they had to cleanse the area with fire to get rid of the plant. The boy, mad with grief and guilt, jumped into the flames, and burned to ashes.

What, you don't like it? So leave me alone about fairy tales. That's the kind of story about fairies that I know.

Sylvie leafed through her diary, which was more than two three quarters full, wondering how small she could cramp her handwriting while still keeping it readable to strangers.

My grandfather told me this happened when he was little.

Alarm spread through the village, in short warnings the grown-ups didn't bother to explain to their children. The children were gathered in the homes together with the old, while the able-bodied armed themselves and went out in groups to warn anyone scattered.

Cooped up indoor in broad daylight, the children heard the stories about this particular threat for the first time. A pale spirit of sorts, as calm and shining as a cloud-free and wind-still midwinter night. And as deadly.

They were interrupted by calls of a returning search party. They brought one of the older girls home, dead and cold. Not a mark on her.

Everyone waited out the day and night, fearful or mournful.

By mid-morning the next day, some parents decided the children should see, and took them to the place where the hoofprints had been spotted.

Most fae were capricious, but my grandfather never forgot, the unicorn was most dangerous of all.

The moon tugged on Daaren's attention. Around this time of the month, time seemed to slow, and the world to come closer, right under his skin.

It is... peaceful, he told himself.

Sylvie had to decide what to do with an entire afternoon without any classes or duties.

She could continue melding splinters back into the door frame, for practise.

The stairs went far down, leaving the sounds of the city behind high above. Ardí carried an oil lamp and led his appointed novice to a small room on a landing, where he set the oil lamp on a small table. He pulled back a curtain and led her onwards. The next chamber was a short corridor, with another heavy curtain at the end of its left side. Its mirror followed, so dark now Sylvie could make out her tutor only as an irregular blotch. He gently pushed her into the final chamber, and lifted her hand to place something in it. A nut. She could feel its edges and uneven surface.

"See if you get anything from this. Don't worry if you don't, right the first time. Take as much time as you want. You can come out whenever you want, and try again another day."

She nodded, too distracted to consider if he could make out the gesture. Once she'd sat down crosslegged on a smooth blanket, Ardí left, closing the curtains on the way to the outer chamber.

Sylvie stared at the nut as she turned it in her hands, willing to see something that wasn't the random green and purple lights her eyes made up in the darkness. She imagined Ardí sitting in the lamplight and reading notes. He had to be very quiet; Sylvie couldn't hear a thing, even though she thought she should hear the sound of a sheet of paper being turned even through the curtains, in the silence this far underground. After a while she held up the nut to her ear, and closed her eyes, in case sight wasn't the way to go for her. It didn't make any difference.

This wouldn't be half as bad if she'd know what sense it would be. How could she tell she was doing something wrong if she didn't know if what she was doing was the right thing to begin with? She twitched as she heard something, but caught herself. She had scratched over the shell of the nut without meaning to.

The thought of failing and being washed out of the school made her sick, so she tried to ignore it, and took some more time.

Even breaths. Sense, don't think. It sounded easier than it was.

After a while there was a faint crackling sound, just at the endge of hearing, and her heart raced as her imagination suggested that the heavy curtains petrified, trapping her all alone in the dark. She got up quickly and touched the fabric, which moved easily under her fingers. Embarrassed - had she been dozing off here, into a nightmare? - she sat down again for another try, but it was just a token effort. Very soon she had a last idea - licking the object of this little experiment - but since that didn't lead to any interesting impressions, she rubbed the nut dry on her tunic, and gave up for the day.

She told herself that she had been trying for a long time, but she didn't look Ardí in the face when she came out of the silent chamber.

***
The practise was repeated, with different objects. A lump of clay. A piece of wood. A bowl full of water. A quarz crystal. A small silver ingot. One day, they went to the top of the highest tower, and she held nothing, there to feel the wind and sniff the air.

In between, her tutor talked with Sylvie. It was a bit odd, being asked what she liked, and why she did, or didn't. At first she gave short answers, too busy wondering what Ardí wanted to hear to just say what came to her mind, but eventually she was drawn out.

"My favourite place is the spirit wood." Sitting in one of the small gardens had reminded her of it.

"I've never been in there. What do you like about it?" Sylvie hesitated, looking for words, and Ardí tried to help her get started. "Can you describe what it looks like?"

She frowned. "It's big, and green, and tangled."

"And that's what you like?" It hadn't sounded enthusiastic.

Sylvie nodded and shrugged at the same time.

Another voice interrupted them. "Excuse me? I think you may be asking the wrong questions."

Ardí got up and greeted, "Eda Eralai," then respectfully waited for her to speak. Sylvie was on her feet, too, having followed his example, and stood a step behind him and to the side. She was a bit awestruck at having one of the senior teachers take an interest in a novice like her, but the older woman smiled, and spoke with a soft, warm voice. It helped, even over the surprise that Eralai addressed her, rather than her tutor.

"I have been at the edge of the Spirit Wood occasionally. The trees must be very old."

Sylvie nodded. She had wondered about that. "Do you know how old?"

Eralai shook her head. Sylvie was surprised a grown-up, a teacher even, would admit to not kknowing something that easily. "It must be hundreds of years, maybe even thousands." After a short pause she asked, "Have you actually gone into the wood?"

"Yes."

"You weren't afraid?"

"Yes, I mean no. I mean, not of the wood. I was running away. I thought they might not follow me inside. The wood felt safe."

"What do you mean?"

Ardí asked, "Do you mean you thought you'd be safe because the others would be more afraid of it than you?"

"I did, but it's not what I meant. It just felt safe. Good."

"How did that feel?" Eralai ignored Ardí and watched the girl closely.

Sylvie spread her arms, and said the first thing that came to her mind. "It's like warm water flowing up my skin. Or through me." She frowned. That didn't make sense, did it?

"Flowing up from the ground?" The teacher's voice was soft, neither incredulous nor mocking.

"Yes."

"And where does it go?"

"All through me." Remembering the feeling, she smiled and stretched tall as she could, spreading her fingers high above her head. A moment later, she crossed her arms self-consciously and looked at the senior teacher, who still smiled.

"Very good; that should be helpful." Eralai turned to Sylvie's tutor. She spoke a little faster to him, more businesslike, but sounded cheerful. "Have you tried with something living yet?"

"We had a nut right on the first day."

"Well, try again. The first try, pretty much everyone who hasn't come into sensing already it too nervous to get it right. And if a live seed won't work, get a small plant in a pot." She addressed both of them before taking leave, "I'm sure you'll manage."

***
So, there they were again in the dark. At least it wasn't the same nut. Well, Sylvie thought this one was shorter and rounder. She sighed, wondering if her elders were quite as smart as she'd thought, before concentrating on her task.

She stared at where she knew it was in the darkness, and saw nothing, strained her ears, and heard nothing. She concentrated on taking even breaths and being patient. The nut remained a lump in her hand, with a spark of warmth near one end.

What? Sylvie waited, but the feeling didn't go away. With a bright laugh, she got up and bounced off the corridor wall in her rush to tell Ardí.

He raised his head from his notes, and his eyebrows high. It was a look of interested surprise, but it also reminded Sylvie she should act a bit less childish. She bounced on her toes, anyway. "I think I have it. Something, at any rate." She lifted the nut to her eyelevel, pointed and said, "Here, it's warm here. Inside the nut. It's so odd..."

Ardí peered at the little thing for a moment and then smiled, and sighed. "I'm afraid we'll have a different tutor for you, then."

"What? Did I do something wrong?"

"Oh, no. Sorry I scared you. It's just that someone who feels could help you more than I, because I see."

Sylvie thought that over. Of course she had known about the principle, but never considered how it affected learing and teaching. "So, what does it look like, to you?"

"Like a light, yellow-green spark."

"And what is it?"

"That's the part that will sprout. Most of the nut is food for the new plant."

"I should have known that."

"Oh, don't worry. You'll learn."