A Thread in the Tangle (20 page)

“Life was reduced to its basest needs, and those who lived were little more than animals, fighting ruthlessly for survival.
 
It was a time of shadow and horror and those who retained a shred of decency often begged for death to rescue them.
 
But humans are resourceful and despite their misery, their instincts for survival triumphed.
 
Just when life was on the verge of being extinguished, the first ray of hope appeared: the Keeper, who was presumed dead, returned and erected the Gates with the last of his power, trapping Dagenir and the Guardians of Morchaint in the area we now know as the Bastardlands.
 
Civilization began to rebuild, but instead of a civilization built by the hands of faerie, it was one of man, of gnomes, and dwarves.

“Time passed and kingdoms began to sprout in the aftermath of war.
 
Kambe and Kiln, which were formidable kingdoms before the Shattering, began to pick themselves up and dust off the ashes.
 
Kings perched on thrones once again and this is when nymphs reentered the canvas of history.
 
Out of all men, the Druids had fared best after the Shattering, because they were at home in the wilds.
 
Even before the Shattering, many of them were hunted for the sins of their kin.
 
They were already in hiding, and had taken their nymphs to remote forests, keeping them safe during the darkest days.
 
As civilization spread, the Druids began to reappear.

“The so called wise, this Order included, remembered the Druids involvement with Ramashan.
 
They saw them as a threat against the first timid stirrings of civilization, comparing them to Voidspawn and the fiends left over from Ramashan’s terror.
 
This unwarranted fear and superstition consumed the populace.
 
And this is where convenience enters the picture.

“Not everyone believed that the remaining Druids were evil.
 
Most of those who aided Ramashan were either killed or cursed to roam the realms as one of the Blighted.
 
But the witch hunt served a purpose, it was an excuse for the greater majority.
 
You see, after the Shattering, women were in short supply, and without females, a tribe, a clan, an entire race will die.
 
So when raiders attacked, or clans warred, they weren’t after gold or land, but the women.
 
Fertile women were the difference between survival and annihilation, which made nymphs more than desirous commodities.

“So began the extermination.
 
Hunting parties relentlessly pursued the Druids like animals and when they were slain, their nymphs were taken.
 
Here comes an unforeseen problem.
 
A man is possessive enough over a human woman, but nymphs were quite another matter.
 
No man is immune to a nymph’s allure save her kin, and no man would willingly share his nymph.
 
The hunters began fighting amongst themselves.
 
Entire tribes, clans, armies, and kin slaughtered each other over possession of a single nymph.

“The newly formed Blessed Order recognized the danger that nymphs presented to budding civilizations.
 
So with Iilenshar’s support, they seized every nymph they could find, intending to protect them from harm.

“Herein lies another unforeseen snare, because remember, no man is immune to a nymph.
 
The paladins began with noble intentions, but they started taking the nymphs for themselves.
 
Without their Druids, the poor creatures were lost—traumatized.
 
They wanted the paladins no more than they wanted the men who had slaughtered their Druid, so the paladins forced themselves on the nymphs, just as other men had.

“As you know, the Blessed Order strictly forbids rape, so this became a grave issue among their ranks.
 
When a paladin took a nymph against her will, the Law demanded his execution, for ignoring their own laws would weaken the very foundation of the Order.

“Damien Caal, one of the first paladins to dedicate his sword to Zahra, was not excluded from this group.
 
By declaring them property, he killed two birds with one stone.
 
They became creatures, not of human nature, and therefore had no rights in this new civilization of man.
 
It’s also a common belief that a nymph’s only purpose and need in life is to bond with man and this philosophy eased the paladins’ conscience.

“People accepted this, especially when the wars stopped.
 
A single man, under the Blessed Order’s watchful eye, could challenge a nymph’s current owner for possession.
 
Two men dueled, and the victor won the nymph.
 
Rulers no longer threw their armies at each other, because it became a matter of Law, and if they did, then they’d face the Guardian’s divine wrath.

“After the Law was established, only exceptionally formidable men could hope to possess a nymph, otherwise it was a death sentence.
 
The Law also had an unforeseen benefit: in declaring nymphs property, it quenched some of the hunger for them.
 
Children born of a nymph are not legitimate heirs, for there are no half-blooded nymphs, or males for that matter.

“Now we come to my answer for your question as to why people hide the past.
 
In this case, it has to do with what the Guardians have become.
 
Even the Guardians of Morchaint, though considered evil in these lands, are thought of as gods.”

“But the Guardians are faerie, some of them—Yvesa, the Guardian of Peace is a sprite,” she stated, as confused as before, if not more so.

“My dear,” Marsais interrupted, calmly, “a ruler has little control over his subjects.
 
Take the temples dedicated to the Guardian of Love.
 
Asmara is known as the Ever-child, because she hasn’t aged a day in mind or form since the Shattering.
 
She’s a five-year-old little girl.
 
Hmm, but her temples are nothing more than exceptionally exquisite pleasure houses.
 
The virgin priestesses who offer themselves for temple service don’t remain virgins very long.”

“Really?”
 
This surprised Isiilde.
 
It was said that boundless blessings were bestowed on a family if their daughter was chosen for temple service.
 
She wondered if their daughters knew what their service entailed.

“Yes, and I can assure you that Asmara has nothing to do with her temples, nor does she have any influence over her devotees, because where there is a desire in the masses—you can’t stop it, especially when it involves their gods.
 
To openly admit that nymphs are the Sylph’s favored daughters calls into question the foundations of the Blessed Order and the very nature of the Guardians.
 
The Order serves its purpose as peacekeepers, corruption not-withstanding, and above all they have brought order to chaos, stamping out Voidspawn and fiends where ever they appear.
 
From the majorities point of view, the Order fights for justice.
 
You just happen to see it from a different, more personal perspective.”

“That’s why it’s convenient,” she whispered, turning to watch the twirling dancers.
 
Despite the festivities, she felt very much alone.

“Unfortunately,” Marsais sighed.
 
“Most nymphs aren’t as outspoken as you—to be more precise, I have never met another nymph like you.
 
For the vast majority, it’s convenient to overlook the rights of an innocent creature who knows no better.”

“I still don’t understand, Marsais.
 
How can they claim to serve the Sylph?”

“Because they’re a bunch of thick-headed idiots.”
 
Marsais’ perfect imitation of her growling guardian made her laugh with delight.
 
“Come, my dear, I’ll wade into tedious detail later, but for now, this splendid festival is no place to try and understand such things.”

The nymph’s ears perked up and she thought his suggestion sounded very reasonable.
 
She bit into a chocolate covered strawberry, which elicited a moan from her ripe lips, and after the first mouth-watering bite, Marsais’ words faded into memory.

Isiilde was eager to find the Xaionian troupe, so she dragged Marsais through the dancers, continuing their exploration until she was distracted by a fiddler who played a jig for a dapper monkey in a red vest.
 
Delighted by its antics, she watched the monkey as it danced and tumbled obediently for its audience.

“If I could be any animal, then I’d choose to be a monkey.”
 
She imagined that every moment seemed better than the next to the long tailed creatures.
 
“What about you?”

“Hmm, what do you think I’d like to be?”

“A goose.”

“Oh, is my singing that bad?”
 
Marsais arched a brow down at her.

“I read that they fly the farthest every year.
 
If you were a goose then you wouldn’t get restless,” she pointed out.

“I sincerely doubt I could ever settle on just one animal.
 
I’d have to try them all before choosing.”

“Even a vulture?”
 
She wrinkled her nose in distaste.

“Vultures don’t have predators—not so bad, that.
 
It’d be a fairly safe form to assume,” he said, stroking his goatee.
 
“On second thought, if I were a vulture, I’d have to compete with Thira.”
 
Isiilde’s laughter danced with the fiddler’s jig.
 
The air was charged with her unbridled joy, bringing a smile to each and every face as their cares dissipated, forgotten and obscured by the dreamy haze of her voice.

The nymph was oblivious to her persuasion.
 
As she moved through the fair, out of earshot, a ripple followed her.
 
People shook themselves, waking from a dream with a pang of sorrow, discovering that the world was a darker place.

Isiilde’s desire to find the Xaionian performers overshadowed her curiosity, and while at any other time she would have stopped to visit every booth, today, she wove her way through the chaos, searching for exotic wonders.
 
Unfortunately, the clash of steel and roaring crowds reached her ears first.

“Do you want to go to the tourney?” she asked, hesitantly.

Oenghus usually dragged her to every tournament that took place on the Isle, and while duels to the death were only fought for personal reasons or matters pertaining to Law, the tournament rules called for first blood.
 
Watching such displays sickened her.

“Hmm, I’ve seen more than enough men knocking their heads together in my lifetime, but if you want to go, then I certainly won’t stop you.”

“I think I’ll pass too.”
 
Her ears straightened when she saw a familiar face beneath a canopied pavilion.
 
It was a shop that sold weapons and armor forged by master crafters of the Order.
 
But Sir Helwick, a famed swordsmith, wasn’t the one who caught the nymph’s eye, rather a young, bronzed man with broad shoulders held her attention.

She hurried over to the shop with a flutter of excitement.
 
The moment they stepped under the awning, Sir Helwick recognized Marsais and excused himself from his customer to greet them.

“It’s an honor, Archlord,” Sir Helwick said, clasping Marsais’ hand with a brief bow of his head.
 
He was a short bald man with the physique of a keg and a strut of a bulldog whose handshake made Marsais grimace in pain.
 
“I didn’t know you were back.”

“I returned yesterday,” Marsais replied.

Whatever else they might have said was lost to the nymph’s ears.
 
She wandered off towards a certain young man with brown hair, soft eyes, and a sincere smile.
 
He sensed the nymph’s approach, and his conversation with a customer stuttered to a halt.

Isiilde poked at a visored helm.
 
The sun-touched man quickly excused himself from his customer to join the faerie, bowing deeply.

“Hello, Coyle.”
 
She greeted with a smile and a curtsy.
 
“I almost didn’t recognize you with your shirt on.”

Whenever Oenghus worked in the forges, he always took her along, so she was well acquainted with Sir Helwick’s most promising apprentice.
 
The forges were the only place in the castle where she was permitted to coax her flame without fear of causing damage.
 
For the apprentices, her presence meant a break from the bellows.
 
While the smithies were overjoyed to see her, because she could heat the forge to unbearable levels.
 
In short, she was very popular with smithies.

“It’s been near a month, m’lady.
 
We’ve all missed you—well, I’ve missed you especially,” Coyle corrected, scratching his neck to hide a blossoming blush.
 
The movement caused the muscles of his arm and shoulders to flex, rippling beneath a cotton shirt that strained to fit across his chiseled chest.

“We haven’t been to the castle much of late.”