Chapter 46: Sáeril – The Wolf of Sátiron
In the Land of the Banished, the wind felt like polar bear breath, the trees reeked of magic, the air was diffused with darkness. However, more than magic or darkness, it was mystery that ruled that land. The very mist that filled the emptiness between the trees was a mystery, like the dry autumn leaves that never landed but kept on dancing sometimes attaching themselves to a branch, becoming momentarily green then back into the air, dry and swirling.
The trees whispered and leaned their branches to the black cloak that walked over roots so long and old that they turned the ground into a wooden web. Every now and again, the cloak replied in the same gentle whisper, like the sound of sap flowing in veins. The thin darkness pervaded the mist that dispersed under his magic which came back in pleats after he had passed.
Sáeril was looking for a road. In the Land of the Banished, the roads knew how to hide. Sáeril dislodged a mountain trail and a tiled path before he found the road he was looking for. It was hiding in the hollow of a thousand-year-old tree, unwilling to come out. Sáeril stretched a thread of his power to call the road’s attention. It stirred inside the tree and followed the magic like a cat following a little light and unfolding itself under Sáeril’s feet.
The danger was not the road itself but the other creatures of darkness that lived in the Land of the Banished. Not everything there found magic to be entertaining. Even the cat, when it follows something, it’s actually hunting. More than once Sáeril had to hide his little magic pocket when he felt the presence of something strong and ominous. In those moments, the road sniffed here and there, arched itself, made curves and turned away from the right direction, until Sáeril brought back the magic light. He knew the way but without the road, he’d never reach his destination. This is how the Land of the Banished worked.
The road crossed Fernuália, first city of Sátiron, built where Yukari Nakamura first stepped into this world. Sáeril remembered Fernuália as it was in the end: large avenues flooded with voices from every continent, gardens and parks, white sidewalks, windows, flowers, colorful roofs. Now the avenues were drowned in vines; the avenues that stayed, that is, some of them left to live in another place, like the road Sáeril was traveling. The colorful roofs had fallen down, all but one: The Blue Raven Inn was still standing in the fallen Fernuália.
In the past, Mysteries, mages and even normal people stayed in The Blue Raven. Now only Mysteries went there. The inn had three floors, an attic, many windows, and it was founded by Sáeril.
He wasn’t in the Land of the Banished to visit The Blue Raven. He must continue on the road that narrowed after Fernuália then became a trail that only Mysteries could see. That trail would take him to the Wolves of Sátiron, whose help Sáeril sought, for his magic alone could not stop the darkness of Franária. Magic and darkness don’t nullify each other, they simply don’t mix.
There were Mysteries like Sáeril, who had stopped being what they were (an elf, in his case) and had become something else that didn’t exist. And there were Mysteries like the Wolves of Sátiron, who had always been Mysteries and were, themselves, a source power. Sáeril needed that power now.
The Blue Raven’s door was open and Sáeril went in for a moment. Nostalgia, what a pretty thing: useless, yet so dear. There was nothing blue in The Blue Raven except for the sign over the entrance, a wooden bird in flight. Inside, the inn was just as it had always been: filled with plants, colorful glass lamps, and one huge tapestry covering the wall at the back. In the tapestry, there was a detailed forest with animals hidden behind trees, inside lakes. The tiniest detail was a fox sunbathing on a rock beside a creek. If you looked closely you’d see that, in the shade of the rock, there rested a frog. And it was looking at you.
Sáeril was proud of that tapestry. Art that contains Mysteries is difficult to find. You never know what may happen when you try to capture the image of a Mystery.
Home. Funny word, so small, so meaningful. Fernuália, The Blue Raven, that was once his home when he was still an elf. Today, he had Lune, and he needed help to protect Marcus and Vivianne. There was a long way to go yet. He touched the frog and fox on the tapestry at the same time Vivianne in the north raised the canvas to the royal tent and looked outside. The moment his fingers rose from the tapestry, Sáeril was crushed like an insect. His magic burnt under liquid fire and he fell to one knee.
Vivianne.
He rose on trembling legs, thought of going immediately back to Lune, but to what end? There was nothing he could do for Vivianne now. He needed the wolves.
Sáeril felt the wolf’s presence before he saw the furry shadow stretch long in the sunset light. The grey wolf sniffed the air. Sáeril hadn’t expected to find him in Fernuália. He thought he’d have to follow the road to the end before he met a Mystery wolf.
The wolf felt the question in Sáeril’s mind.
‘I see the moving darkness leaking over Franária.’ The wolf didn’t speak, the words simply formed inside Sáeril’s head. ‘They’re pulled in by that whirlwind in the center.’
‘The Mouth of War,’ said Sáeril.
‘And now the dragon. Time is short for Franária. Give me your hand.’
Sáeril obeyed and on the black leather of his glove appeared a nut.
‘It’s a seed from the Golden Tree,’ said the wolf. ‘It contains the power of its fruit. Take it to Pierre, who is the helm to the story the eagle has summoned.’
Sáeril felt the veins of power leaking from the nut like honey. Who was Pierre?
‘Two lives are in danger of ending,’ continued the wolf. ‘You must find them and bring them back.’
‘Captain Neville of Baynard and Prince Frederico of Patire. They wither in darkness. Without them, the story has no mast or sail.’
Sáeril would like to open magic wings and soar back to Franária, but the Land of the Banished had its own rules, and magic was both predator and prey. He had to be careful and walk all the way back. The road he had lured to Fernuália was tired of chasing lights and ignored him now, so he had to walk pathless back to Franária.
