Sylvi Narin

The Royal Inner Chambers of the World Tree

The Province of Vinterlund

 

“OK, I’ve got to make this quick.” Sylvi said to herself as she rushed around her personal chambers, trying to get ready to leave. “Just do down the ground level, go to the stables, steal a horse and a wagon—maybe two horses—and then drive off…yeah. Don’t talk to anyone, don’t make eye contact with anyone, and don’t…get…caught. OK…what am I forgetting? Come on, Sylvi, think!”

After she had woken up that morning, Sylvi had resolved to venture out into the tundra to look for the prison that she saw in her dream—assuming any of it was, real to begin with. She was confident that it wasn’t, though. It just felt too real.

When she reached the front door of her chambers, she paused then ran back to her bedroom to grab the one critical item she nearly forgot: stashed away inside one drawer of her wardrobe was a beautifully crafted sceptre made up entirely of diamond. At the head of the sceptre was a purple crystal, and the engraved into the magecraft instrument’s body were her grandmother’s initials. This was the family magic sceptre—simply called the Sceptre of Clan Narin—passed down from Sylvi’s grandmother, to her mother, and then to her some time ago.

“And what in the world would I be doing out there without you?” Sylvi said to the sceptre.

After stashing the sceptre inside the pocket of her cloak, Sylvi eventually sneaked out of the Royal Chambers and made her way down to one of the mountain settlements that laid at the feet of the World Tree: it was a sort of military holding ground that the wardens would use to house their mounts, there was an armoury there, as well as several rations and other survival supplies. Sylvi visited these places, gathered what she needed from them, and ended up in the stables where she planned to “borrow” a horse.

Sylvi was lucky. The wardens were apparently all out dealing with some important matter—probably something to do with the chaos of the past day or two with the vampires—leaving the entire area abandoned. The only issue she really faced at that point was getting one horse to cooperate with her.

“Come on, you stupid beast!” Sylvi said, as she yanked away at one horse’s reins. “Move! I have to get going before someone notices you’re missing!”

“And where exactly would you be taking the horse?” said an all-too familiar voice. “Because last I checked, you’re supposed to be a handmaiden these days up in the Royal Inner Chambers, not a warden on a horse.”

Sylvi turned to find glaring at her, the last person she wanted to see that day. Lord Runolf wasn’t alone either—he was joined by two other wardens. She was old friends with one of them—a young woman named Maja—and the other she knew, but wasn’t too familiar with; a young man by the name of Krundy.

“Lord Runolf!” Sylvi scrambled to unwrap herself from the horse’s reins and distance herself from it. “I, uh, didn’t notice you there—”

“Sylvi, I don’t want to hear whatever excuse you’re about to cook up right now,” Said Runolf. “You know full well that your Nan will have my head on a platter if I let you leave the province. Especially with that Blood Knight out there…which I’m sure is why you’re trying to leave now, eh?”

“Actually, I’m not—I’m not trying to fight the Blood Knight.”

“Oh? And what exactly are you up to then?”

Sylvi was about to tell him about her dream, but realized that doing so would be incredibly foolish. There was no way that the warden commander would allow her to leave if she started babbling on about dreams filled with late-night conversations with highly questionable souls on in what she by then had highly expected to be a part of the Dreamwilds itself.

Even if he might be interested in a new lead surrounding her parents, the moment she told him the source of it all was a dream, it would be all over.

Instead Sylvi said, “So, when I was talking to Esko, the Chief Horticulturist—”

“Yes, I know who Esko is.”

“Well, we were talking before I left his office and he mentioned how he had heard about this one grub that actually might…um, bring good health to trees. He said it like boosts them somehow, and that if we grab it and bring it to the world tree—well, it probably won’t cure Queen Aslauga or anything, but it might help!”

The entire time that she was lying through her teeth, Lord Runolf had been squinting at her questioningly. “And why exactly did Esko feel the need to send you after this alleged grub exactly?”

“I offered!” Sylvi said quickly. “Please, Lord Runolf, let me do this! I know that my Nan and the Queen want me to stay safely in Queen’s embrace, but I’m not a handmaiden! I’m a warden—or at least I was…I want to actually help everyone, not worry all day about ridiculous chores Nan comes up with like dusting doilies.”

“Dusting doilies?” Lord Runolf groaned and massaged the bridge of his nose. “Oh nevermind. Look, Sylvi, I know you mean well and that you’re a very capable warden when it comes down to it. But with everything that’s going on right now, you cannot honestly expect me to let you just take a handful of supplies—including a horse—and just wander out in the wilderness all on your lonesome looking for some rare winter grub just because it might help the Queen, even if this hunch is coming from Esko himself. Like I said, it’ll be my head that’s lost if anything happens to you and your Nan finds out about it.”

It was at that point that Sylvi remembered the other two wardens standing alongside Lord Runolf, and she was then struck with an idea. “What if it wasn’t just me who went then?” she said, gesturing to Maja and Krundy. “They’ll make sure I’ll stay out of trouble.”

Both Maja and Krundy shared an uneasy look.

It took some convincing, but Sylvi eventually convinced the three of them to agree to her plan.

“On one condition, Sylvi.” said Lord Runolf finally. “I’ll allow this, but you must promise me that should there any be signs of trouble, you must listen to these two and come back home immediately. And they will be the ones to determine whether it’s time to come home, not you. Do you understand?”

Once all assurances were given, Lord Runolf did something unexpected: instead of simply allowing them to take some horses, he gave them two horses, a wagon with a cover over it to protect from the cold winds, and he made sure they had enough supplies for the journey.

 

*

 

By the time that Sylvi, Maja, and Krundy had finally reached the edge of Vinterlund, the day was well into the later hours of the afternoon. Once they were firmly past the border, Sylvi hopped out of the wagon for a moment to stretch her legs and pull out her family’s sceptre.

Now free of the anti-magic powers of the World Tree, the sceptre’s purple crystal glowed brightly as if fresh energy was breathed into it. And with this light, the sceptre’s personality burst to life. The Sceptre of Clan Narin never really spoke to her—it had no magical voice to speak of—however, on the few occasions where she got to take it outside of the province with her, she felt almost linked to the emotions of it. And as Sylvi stretched her legs, a sense of jubilance radiated from the sceptre’s crystal as bubbles that started appearing in the surrounding air, alongside the smell of cookies and cream, and a warmth like from the crackling fires of a hearth.

While most Lundis differed from other Jörds in their wariness towards magic, Sylvi was much more like the latter; having experienced nothing really sinister in terms of the “Cost” that was well known by all mages, she had long since accepted that her cost would be something in the vein of a shortened lifespan. And she was fine with that. Magic made Sylvi feel fuller—it made life more vivid for her. She would happily accept whatever twists of fate or shortened life span that awaited her if it meant that she would get to experience the joys that incantations and other forms of spellwork would bring her.

“You about ready to keep going?” Krundy asked, having walked to the back of the wagon where she was standing. Then he gestured to the sceptre and asked, “Where’d that come from?”

“It’s my family’s magic sceptre. Passed down from my Nan, and eventually, to me.”

“Neat. Does it have a name?”

“No, we never gave it one. Didn’t seem necessary. But yeah, let’s get going. I want to get as far as we can before it gets really dark out.”

“Sounds good to me. Just hop back in the wagon and—”

“Actually, that’s fine, really. You can go ahead and hop in the back. I’ll take the reins.”

Krundy made a confused face and said, “Are you sure? I don’t mind steering at all, I—”

“No, that’s fine! Really, I appreciate it, but it’s fine. I can handle it. You should get some rest anyway. And if anything comes up, you and Maja will be the first to know.”

After a moment of thinking it over, Krundy just shrugged and said, “OK. Thanks.”

Once Sylvi had gained control of the reins of the horses and gotten the wagon moving again, she looked up at the evening sky and could just barely make out the twists and turns in the vibrant, ethereal dance of the Northern Lights. She then took in a deep, reassuring breath and said to herself, “OK. Time to make the turn…”

Up ahead, there was a fork in the road. One way led to their alleged destination, and the other led to the old prison that Sylvi had found on an old map earlier that morning. The trick would be getting the wagon to turn ever so slightly and smoothly so that her passengers wouldn’t question the change in direction away from their declared course.

And so Sylvi pulled on the reins just a little.

The horses reacted audibly, as if they themselves were told where they were supposed to be going and were now groaning and neighing over the undeclared change in direction.

“Shh!” Sylvi whispered to them. “Hush! It’s fine. I know where I’m going. No, stop it! Stop fussing—your fine!”

“Everything alright out there?” Maja called out from behind the wagon’s canvas.

“Um, yup, we’re fine.” Sylvi said, nervously. “Just the horses being restless, I think. They’re just not cooperating as well as I’d like.” As soon as the words left her lips, she instantly regretted having said them.

“Oh, ok. Here, let me help come out of here and I can with them—”

“No, no, no! It’s fine, Maja! I’ll just—”

“Um, where are we going?” It was too late. Maja had already peaked her head out of the wagon’s canopy out to see what was going on. “I thought that the spot that the horticulturist was talking about was in the other direction?”

Before Sylvi could even answer, Krundy popped out of the wagon as well and his face was expressionless as he took in which path exactly she had taken them down. “Sylvi…” he said accusingly.

“…Um, yes?” Said Sylvi.

“This road only has two actual destinations, and neither of them are the spot that you had described to Lord Runolf or either of us.”

“Um—”

“One of those places is an old abandoned mining system that caved in years ago, making it impossible to actually enter.”

“Right, so—”

“And the other is a prison—a dungeon-class prison. One that’s storied to hold many very dangerous and soulless men, and guarded by almost equally questionable guards.”

“…”

“…”

“…Please, just trust me.”

“Give me the reins, Sylvi.” Krundy had fully moved onto the front seat of the wagon and was reaching over to snatch the reins from her.

“No, wait! Just listen to me for a second!”

It was no use, though. The horses abruptly came to a halt when Sylvi mistakenly tugged on the reigns, and at the moment where she lost her balance, Krundy reached over and snatched the reigns from her. Then he slowly turned the horses and the wagon back around.

“Alright, I think it’s time to go back home now.” Krundy said. “Maja, make sure she stays in the wagon.”

“Look, Sylvi,” Maja placed her hand on Sylvi’s shoulder. “Just come back to the wagon and take a seat.”

“No!” Sylvi quickly shrugged her off. “Please, need…I need to get to the prison. I’m sorry I lied, but I have to get there to check something out.”

“Check what out? Why do you have to go to a prison?”

She could see no way around it. Sylvi was going to have to come clean about all of it if there was going to be any chance of convincing Maja and Krundy to not take them back to Vinterlund.

But was that the only way? The thought came to Sylvi from a very unsuspected source.

Just before she was about to reveal what had happened in her dreams to the other two, a surge of what Sylvi could only describe as a plea for caution came from her family’s sceptre. She looked down on it and watched as the light in its crystal started to swirl and twist as a strange smoke danced around inside of it. The smoke from the crystal then twisted into the shapes of runes. Sylvi was never the most adept student of the magical arts, but she knew what she was seeing and what was happening: these runes were the spells that the sceptre still remembered. These were the spells that its past users—like her mother, her Nan, and whoever else owned it beforehand—had used when the sceptre was in her possession.

The spells that it was showing Sylvi were ones of persuasion, mood-alteration, and even outright mind control. It was almost the sceptre was gently whispering to her: You don’t need to listen to them. You have options.

“NO!” Sylvi blurted aloud, surprising herself, along with both Maja and Krundy. “I mean…look, I’m sorry I lied, but please just hear me out for a minute and if you still want, we can head back home afterwards.”

After sharing a questioning look with Maja, they stopped the wagon, and Sylvi told them all about her time in the Dreamwilds the night before and what she was told by the strangers she met during her dreams.

“Look, Sylvi,” Krundy sighed. “I remember hearing about your parents when all of that bandit stuff went down, and I’m sorry it all happened, but chasing after leads in dreams to find them?”

“Let’s say that the people you met in your dreams were actually trying to help you with no strings attached,” Maja started. “How are we even going to get into the prison to see them? We don’t even know who they are.”

“Yeah, but I think I know how to get to them, anyway.” Sylvi replied. “There’s a barred window we’d have to get to. If we tell the guards which window it is, they might figure out what dungeon cell we’re talking about…please, you guys! I need to do this. If there’s any chance that I might find a clue to where they are, then I need to take it. What if it was your parents? Wouldn’t you do the same thing?”

The other two said nothing for a minute. Then finally Maja placed a hand on her shoulder and said, “I’ll go with you.”

“THANK YOU! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Then Sylvi turned to look over at Krundy.

“…Alright, alright…I guess I’ll come along. It’s all for a good cause, right?”

Sylvi screamed and jumped up and down for joy, shaking the wagon and causing the horses to protest. “Thank you! You won’t regret it!”

“Yeah. Right.” Krundy said, hesitantly. “So what if Lord Runolf skins us alive for going against his direct orders?” he added sarcastically.

“Well, maybe it won’t come to that,” Said Maja. “Hopefully we can just go to the prison, get the info we need, and then leave.”

“And what about the part where they want Sylvi to free them from their ‘unjust’ imprisonment?”

“We can figure that out when we get there!” said Sylvi, still bouncing over the fact that she now had real allies that were fully on her side in this quest of hers. “For now, let’s just focus on getting there.”

And before anyone else could add anything else to the conversation, Sylvi waved about her sceptre in the air—weaving in and about the conjuration axiom—and with it she conjured up three pipping hot cups of hot cocoa, warm blankets, and a batch of small but colourful fireworks that burst above them in the air.

“Alright!” said Sylvi. “Now let’s turn this wagon around! Drachenhold Prison, here we come!”

 

*

 

Mox Magnusson

The Prison Halls

The World Tree

 

“Don’t bite! Don’t let her bite!” croaked the prison guard in broken Gibberish, as he was being choked through the bars of Mox’s cell door. “Help me! Please!”

“Mox, just let him go!” yelled Orn. “You’re not going to accomplish anything!”

“You heard what he said! You saw what he was doing—trying to tease me into doing stupid tricks!” Mox shot back. “You still think I can’t hurt you from in here, little man? First, I’ll drain you for all the delicious blood your pathetic human body is worth! Then I’ll break out of this cell, and then—!”

Mox shrieked in pain as someone had splashed a bucket’s worth of water on her—only it must have been more than water because it burned her upon touching her skin, causing her to gasp at the sheer shock of the sudden pain.

“Back! Back!” barked another guard, his Gibberish equally as poor as the first. “Let go now, or else we’ll splash you with more!”

Mox hissed at the man as she reluctantly obeyed his command and let go of the man. The guard in question coughed and hacked as he pulled himself up to his full height. “Ha! How’d you like the taste of garlic water, you damned mosquito!?”

“Garlic water?” Mox hissed. “What is—?”

“Don’t behave? Get more!” said the older guard that had just given her the previous warning. Then he looked over at the guard that Mox had just let go of and cussed under his breath. “Come on, we get you looked at.”

“What about them?” seethed the injured guard, as he pointed at Mox. “We’re just going to leave them on their own? What if they get out?”

The older guard actually chuckled. “They not going anywhere.”

As soon as they were out of sight, Mox looked down at her body, saw that she was already healing, and re-approached the cell door. Since they had been locked in there the previous night, Mox had attempted to escape several times.

Throughout it all, she had to endure the mocking and teasing of not only the guards but also all the onlookers and random people living in and around the World Tree who wanted to gawk and point at a real, live vampire. Then one particularly stupid prison guard in question had actually tried to make her do tricks by offering some blood-soaked strips of meat, and that was when Mox decided she had had enough and she grabbed hold of the guard, leading to the events that had only just finished unfolding.

“Mox, stop it.” Said Orn, as she kicked on the cell doors with all of her might. “You’re only hurting yourself more.”

Mox ignored him and continued her efforts and kept kicking. “They can’t keep us in here. We have to keep moving! I’m sick of being their freak show, and it’s not going to be long before that Knight finds out where we are and tries to get us.”

“Mox, relax! As bad as it is being locked up right now, there’s no way that that guy’s going to just attack the World Tree like that…our people are an arrogant bunch, but not by that much…Mox, I said knock it off! You’re hurting yourself!”

Both Mox and Orn—along with their siblings were being held in the prison cells in some part of the World Tree’s branches, and the Jörds were more than capable of containing vampires should the need arise: not only were the bars of their prison cells doused with the same strange garlic-laced water that was splashed on her, but there were also crucifixes dangling from the bars that would also burn her when she got too close to them. Regards, Mox now cared little for these repellents. Time after time she would try to pry the bars open, but between the burns she was sustaining from the bars’ vampire defences, and that she was already so weak from fighting and having not fed in so long…Orn was right. She was doing more harm to herself than good.

“UGH!” Finally, Mox relented, and examined her hands; they were covered in burns, and black blood from the wounds on her head dripped onto them.

“That’s what you get for trying to ram the bars with your head earlier, idiot.” Said Orn.

“…Why do they hate us so much, Orn? And what’s garlic water?”

“…You remember how Father and Mother told us that the outside would be very dangerous for our kind? When we were little? Looking back on those moments now, I think it’s safe to say that they weren’t just talking about the sun. Based on how those guards have been talking and shouting at us and how well prepared these cells are, I think it’s safe to say that we might be some of their worst nightmares. I remember something about how the enemies of the province would use things like garlic as weapons against us, but I thought that was just in the fairy-tales they told us as kids.”

“Yeah, well, apparently those tales were true after all! And how could they just hate us out of the gate like that? We didn’t even attack them when we first got here! And…and I only threatened to drain the guard of his blood because I was angry and hungry.”

Regret was now fully consuming Mox at this point. She realized that whatever preconceptions the humans and elves of this place might have had about her were no doubt solidified by her actions and threats.

Feeling absolutely miserable—with her hands shaking with rage and pain—Mox looked at her brother glumly and sank to the floor. “I didn’t even mean any of those things I said. Not really…Orn…my stomach.”

“I know…I’m hungry too. These lousy Jörds. They could’ve at least left us a fresh rabbit or something.”

“No, they would never do that. They want us weak so that we’re easier to deal with…Orn, do you think Ed…do you think the Pendles are ok?”

“I think Eddie is fine, Mox. I’m sure they all are. I don’t think the humans would hurt the elves. They just want to ask them about us, I’d wager…that being said, it’s us vampires I’m more worried about. By the way, where’d your pixies get to?”

He was referring to Heather and Glimmer Gaunt. Two pixies that Mox had drafted into her servitude as a penalty for saving their lives after they helped some monsters lure them into a trap some time ago.

Mox pointed up to a small iron cage that was hanging from the ceiling just beside her cell. “It’s made of iron, so they get burned too if they try to even touch them…Heather? Glimmer?”

A series of grumblings came from the cage at first, but eventually, the sisters crept into view, albeit begrudgingly. Heather was the pixie with auburn hair and an orange flower petal dress. The other one, Glimmer, had purple hair and a violet flower petal dress.

“Yes, mistress?” Glimmer answered, timidly.

“What do you want?” Heather snapped.

Mox crooked her head. “Heather. Is that anyway to speak to me? Apologize. Now, please.”

Instead, Heather gave her a sour frowned.

“Heather.” Mox growled. “Mother’s Rules remember?”

Heather’s wings drooped then, and after a moment she finally muttered, “Sorry…my lady.”

Mother’s Rules were an ancient set of laws that were imposed on the world by the High Fairies in the previous age, but then lost any power they had with the defeat of their leader, the Faemother. However, for most Fae Kindred—like the pixies and unlike the vampires—Mother’s Rules would always have some sway over them. Even if it was only psychological.

“Good.” Mox grinned. “Much better. Are you two able to break us out?”

Glimmer shook her head, embracing her sister. “The World Tree is giving off a field of anti-magic, so there’s nothing we can do. We think it might hang over this entire region—this Province of Vinterlund. And even if it wasn’t…we’re too weak.”

“We’re starving, miss.” Heather shot at her. “We can’t even get out of our own cage…why can’t you just turn into a bunch of bats and fly out?”

“We can’t.” Orn chimed in. “Our cells differ from yours and the ones the elves are in. The gaps in the cell bars are too narrow for our bat swarms.”

“As if it wasn’t clear enough that they know exactly how to deal with vampires…and probably kill us should it come to that,” Said Mox. “Should we even bother trying with mind control?”

“Might as well,” Orn shrugged. “Although it’s probably safe to say that they’ll probably have some kind of mental protections against us given how—”

“Um, excuse me?” came a little voice from the cell next door to Mox’s. “Lord Orn? Lady Mox? How much longer do you think they’ll keep us in here for?”

The voice in question belonged to an elderly elf by the name of Mr. Fritz. He was reaching his hand outside and it was covered in small bleeding cuts from the fight they had endured earlier. Not all the elves were taken for questioning. They placed the rest into cells like Mr. Fritz’s. Probably because they didn’t know the spells necessary to understand and speak Jördic.

“Hi, Mr. Fritz. How are you holding up?” Mox asked.

“Oh, I’m…I’ll be fine.” Mr. Fritz chuckled weakly. “Just feeling very weak at the moment. But, that’s nothing that a sip of silverbrew won’t fix, ha-ha…do you suppose they’ll be sending someone to tend to our wounds soon? As you can see, my hand here is still bleeding a worrying amount.”

Mox wiped a bit of drool from the corner of her mouth before saying, “Um…I’m sure they’ll send someone to look at you guys eventually, Mr. Fritz. Just hang in there, alright?” Then Mox turned to her brother, reached out to him with her mind and—with a pained look on her face—she thought to him, “He smells delicious…”

Orn nodded. “Just hang in there.” He thought back. “We’ll find something to eat soon. Maybe we can coax a rat or a squirrel out of hiding or something.”

With nothing else to do, Mox laid down on the floor, huddled up in a ball. With any luck, she would wake up soon and realize that the past few months were nothing more than a horrible dream—an adventure in the Dreamwilds that, in reality, was nothing more than a moment in time.

“Maybe if I’m lucky…” Mox whispered to herself, as she stared at the back wooden wall of her cell, hoping for the best.