Chapter 3 - Part 2

Festa buzzed over the treetops, keeping himself invisible with his inherent arcane energy as the leaves rustled slightly in the breeze. It was a soft breeze, barely noticeable to the bigger folk, but Festa – who weighed barely four pounds – had to bank hard to the left to avoid being shoved down into the branches.

A sparrow burst upwards, nearly colliding with the pixie that it could not see. Festa restrained himself from speaking a naughty word, and swung downward to hug the nape of the ground. The pixie liked flying high because the view of the Reaches was better, but he was less likely to have a collision near the ground.

The thought of flying while visible so that the birds could see him was not an option. One of his uncles had been eaten by a hawk.

The pixie curved upwards, over a gassy knoll, and then came to a halt, hovering in mid-air.

Festa recognized the elf, mostly because he first recognized the eagle sitting on a nearby tree limb. It was the Gatekeeper druid with the stern face. The cranky elf was casting a spell to determine what magic had been used in the vicinity. The pixie could follow that sort of thing. He didn’t know how he did it, he simply did. Festa was on the serious side, for a fey creature, but he was by no means introspective.

“What was slain here?” the druid wondered aloud.

The pixie flew forward, but slowly, keeping an eye on the eagle’s sharp beak. Many of the big folk had died in this area, this was where Pienna and the Reachers had fought back the snooty people from across the river. Festa wasn’t sure how long ago it had been, not a week, but longer than yesterday, that he knew. He had been planning on flying past Chubat’s grave to put a flower petal on it. He wondered if the elf meant Chubat.

The druid was pursing his lips, studying a slightly burned area in the grass. Upon seeing the burn, Festa suddenly remembered.

“A carrion crawler!” cried the delighted pixie, popping into view.

The elf jumped back and swallowed what probably was a naughty word. The eagle spread his wings and yelled, causing the pixie to make himself invisible again.

“No, no do not go!” the elf commanded, rather sternly. He waved his hands, muttering magical words, and Festa found himself wreathed in blinking purple colors, fake flames that stuck with him no matter how he flew. They did not burn, or provide any heat. But they made his invisibility useless.

“Brother of nature do not let your bird eat Festa!” the pixie begged, noting that the eagle’s eyes were locked on his form.

“No, no, he will not,” the elf said in a more conciliatory term. “I apologize, for you startled me. One of the aberrations was here?”

“Yes,” Festa said, spitting. “Daelkyr-worm. Fagh! Bresbin killed it.”

“Bresbin?” The elf seemed confused.

“Aye,” Festa said.

“Please elaborate,” the elf said, moving a step forward, holding a smile on his face.

“Well, on the morning after they buried Chubat,” Festa said. “You know Chubat?”

“Focus,” the elf said. “Before the Reachers moved south and west to Varna and the Brelanders went north. What happened?”

“Carrion crawler,” Festa said. “Big one. Very big, more than others, hard chitin, acid tentacles.”

“A horrid animal, but a twisted thing,” the elf said, grimacing. “But Pienna did not slay it?”

Festa shook his head. “Crawler sprang without warning, no one was sure what brought it here. An air spirit told me yesterday that someone left a trail of food for it, but –”

“What happened here?” the elf pressed, his patience growing more false.

Festa swallowed, and considered flying away, but he wanted the elf druid to remove the fake flames around him so he decided to do as asked. “Crawler killed three men,” the pixie explained quickly. “Arrows and swords did not hurt it. Pienna was trying to stop it, Bresbin popped out of nowhere. Shot it. Carrion crawler keeled over dead, they burned it.”

“Who is Bresbin?” the elf asked, stepping forward again.

“Goblin archer, good at hiding, comes out of hiding from nowhere and shoots you,” Festa answered, moving an inch or so backwards.

“And killed it with one arrow?” the druid demanded.

“Said it was a family heirloom,” Festa explained, finding himself whining and not sure why. The elf made him nervous. “Arrow of slaying also holding other enchantments. Killed the crawler right away.”

“Family heirloom?” the elf frowned.

“Goblin say he’s a Gatekeeper, too,” Festa explained.

“The goblin is from the Shadow Marches?” The elf seemed very skeptical.

“Droaam. Then here, the Eldeen.” Festa flew a foot higher. “Druid, can you remove the flames?”

The elf held his hand out. “You need to sit in my palm to do it,” he said.

Festa frowned. He didn’t think the elf was being truthful. “The Gatekeeper is sure?”

“The goblin went with the Reachers?” the druid asked, ignoring Festa’s question.

“No, with Pienna,” Festa said. “She wanted to go by herself, she did, but Bresbin promised he was a Gatekeeper follower, so she took him with her.”

“Where did she go?” the druid asked, a cold desperation entering his voice.

“The flames?” Festa asked.

The elf was quiet for a moment, then stepped forward and cast a spell. The pixie relaxed, but then wondered why it seemed that the druid was casting an earth spell.

A stone jutted upwards, flowing like a candle melting in reverse, grabbing the pixie by his feet, sliding around his legs and thighs like cold snakes. Festa shrieked, trying to wriggle free, but to no avail. While he wriggled, the druid cast another spell, and the cold flames around Festa vanished along with his invisibility. In seconds the rock was a hard, solid prison around the lower half of Festa’s body, and the pixie was exposed for all to see.

The elf stepped forward, and glared down at the pixie. Cold, sickly fear spread through the pixie’s body.

“Where is Pienna now?” the druid asked, a sick, hard desperation in his eyes.

“Nature-brother, Festa is a fey, not a twisted flesh!” the pixie exclaimed. “Festa is not the Gatekeeper’s enemy!”

The druid leaned down. “Where. Is. Pienna?”

Festa began to shiver. Needing to fly, needing to flee, but being unable to. He fought back tears. “Festa promised not to tell,” he said, trying to sound big.

The elf withdrew a very sharp needle, half as long as Festa’s body, from a pouch on his belt. The needle was made of cold iron, making Festa’s flesh crawl just by looking at it.

“Festa will tell,” the druid said, leaning forward.

No one but Aruunis and his eagle heard the pixie’s screams of pain. It took almost an hour, for Festa was braver than even Festa knew, but in the end the pixie talked.