Britt rubbed tired eyes and set aside the book she had been reading, a technical description of the workings of a machine called an engine. The magic she could gain from continuing that line of research could bring great value to the little colony of Free People, but that wasn’t what she was searching for right now. She had hoped to glean some small bit of information that could lead to a more destructive, or protective, type of magic.

She had always wondered about the ancients, what questions they might have if they could see what had happened to their world. Though it was all she had ever known, Britt still found it strange that studying the creations called technology by the ancients was the path to gaining magic in this new world that was created by the ancients most powerful weapons. She had once, before the invasion of the Protectors, as they called themselves, read a small reference to weapons of mass destruction, but all knowledge of those devices had been studiously destroyed in the years after the world was destroyed: the magic that could have been gained from the study of those weapons would have been incalculable. She had never been able to follow that bread crumb, however, for the Protectors had come, with their religion that banned all study of the Ancients and their technology and outlawed the use of any magic that had been gained already through that study.

No one really knew where the Protectors had come from, and most of the common folk did not appreciate their heavy-handed discipline. The Free People were those common folk who had enough and sought to regain their autonomy. They had been fighting and hiding for the past three years, and Britt had finally managed to learn how to create a magical barrier, through careful study of a theoretical book on something called “force fields”.

Britt frowned to herself, falling backwards onto her bed to stare at the ceiling. A solution was out there, she just needed to find it. After a long couple of minutes lying on the bed, Britt suddenly sat up straight, almost banging her head on the low ceiling. “The archives!” Britt whispered to herself, flinging herself from the bed to start rummaging through the trunk that held most of her books. Moments later, she emerged with a slim volume held triumphantly in her hands.

Careful to not ruin the delicate pages, Britt opened the old book and leafed through the pages until she found the passage she was looking for. The book was a traveler’s guide to a place called Canada – according to the maps, where they lived now was in what had once been Canada – and it contained several references to various libraries throughout the land. She quickly scanned the list until she found the one that was, according to the old maps, the closest to their little hide-a-way. In an old city called Vancouver, it was one of the few libraries that had not only retained its collection when the world went “digital” (Britt had never fully understood what that meant), but had moved many of the cast-offs from other libraries to its own shelves. It was perfect.

Holding the book open, Britt fished out some pressed paper and a charcoal stub and began making notes, starting with directions on how to reach the library once they reach the ruined city.

It would be difficult, and there was no guarantee that the library still existed, or that it hadn’t already been destroyed by the Protectors. She would need to bring along Gabrielle and Jorge, of course; they had been a part of this since the beginning. And Mage Cecille, of course, since her skills with magic went far beyond Britt’s own, and Britt suspected they would need that skill to even locate what they needed. Continuing to take notes, Britt considered that the way to the library may not be clear and that they may be forced underground – thankfully the Ancients had developed quite useful underground tunnels, once used to transport cast-offs from their homes, it should prove to be the perfect path if necessary.

Finally, Britt sketched out the supplies they would need to make such a journey with five people, marking off what they could easily obtain from their own stockpile and what they would need to scavenge for. She paused, sighed, and reworked the figures – she wouldn’t be able to go with them, there was simply too much that needed to happen back here and no one she trusted to do what was necessary.

By the time Britt finished all the planning, the sun had long since set and she was working by the flickering light of her oil lantern. Looking over her notes one last time, Britt left them on her bedside table – an overturned barrel that had once held grains – and turned off the oil lantern. She would talk with her sister and Jorge in the morning, though she was certain the two adventurous friends would have no problem undertaking such a journey. And it would get their minds off the broken necklace.

“One… Two… Three…” Zol pressed his hands tight against his violet eyes as he faithfully counted to 20. Behind him, he could hear Zel scampering away to hide, the undergrowth rustling around her as she moved. “Eight… Nine…” The sounds of her movement fell away from Zol’s ears, though he could still hear the steady breathing of Alice, their caregiver. She never hid, no matter how many times they played. Her partner, Joseph, was likely shadowing Zel as she found her hiding place. Zol hoped that Joseph would hide, too, otherwise the game wouldn’t be as fun. He would give Zel’s hiding spot away.

“Nineteen… Twenty! Ready or not, hear I come!” Zol lowered his hands and looked around, blinking momentarily as his eyes adjusted to the soft light of the forest. He was a slight boy, with straight, midnight blue hair that just touched his shoulders and bangs that almost covered his eyes. Zol never smiled, and neither did his sister. Despite the games they would play, the twins were very serious children who never seemed to actually take true joy in what they did.

Zel and Zol played hide-and-seek because Alice had told them children should play games, and had taught them how to play. Every day, after lunch time, the twins dutifully played two rounds of hide-and-seek, each seeking the other once, before they returned to their studies. The forced play hadn’t yet made the children any less serious, but Alice and Joseph silently hoped, though they knew it was likely a baseless hope. None of the previous child gods of the moon and stars had ever become playful, all of them had been distressingly serious.

It took Zol about ten minutes of peering around the forest before he caught sight of Zel’s foot protruding from behind a bush. Moving silently, the young god snuck to the other side of the bush and parted the leaves, to reveal Zel’s shoe carefully positioned to look like her foot peeking out. Zol frowned down at the shoe, his brow crinkling. This was different.

He began looking around again, carrying the shoe with him for no reason other than he had been taught not to leave things in the forest. Zol knew his sister could not have gone far to hide, so he continued to peer around the forest until the most unusual sound reached his ears. Tilting his head, he tried to orient on the strange sound. It was vaguely familiar, like he had heard it before but slightly different. Lifting his eyes up to the forest canopy, his eyes alighted upon his sister. And she was laughing.

Zel, a perfect copy of her brother Zol, crouched in the tree on one of the thicker, lower branches with Joseph sitting lazily on the branch above. She had a small hand in front of her mouth as she giggled, watching her brother looking around on the ground for her. Joseph had suggested the hiding spot, though the shoe had been Zel’s idea.

“Found you, Zel!” Zol called out, pointing to his sister, “What are you doing up there?”

“Joseph helped me! It was a good spot, wasn’t it?”

Zol nodded somberly, “I wouldn’t have found you, if you hadn’t started laughing.”

Zel blushed slightly as she climbed down from the tree, “I’m sorry about that. It was just… it was fun watching you search in all the wrong spots for me!”

“Oh.” Zol raised an eyebrow, but said nothing more as he grabbed Zel’s hand and they began to walk back to the sanctum together, Joseph and Alice trailing slightly behind.

The sanctum had been one of the first temples erected for the God of the Moon and Goddess of the Stars, though it had not held worshippers for many years. Their joined symbol, a crescent moon tipped with a five-pointed star, was displayed prominently above the stone entrance, still clearly visible despite the years. Most of the temple was underground, save for a mosaic and pillars that ringed the entrance. The mosaic had once been a replica of the night sky, though the forest had reclaimed most of its beauty through the years. The pillars, once gleaming white marble etched with various stars and moons had stained to black and was decorated with vines that wound their way around.

Once, worshippers had gathered on the mosaic, hands raised to the sky as they praised the god and goddess that ruled the night. Once, they had filled the entire mosaic and their praise could be heard for miles around. That time had long past, but the God of the Moon and Goddess of the Stars made the abandoned temple their home, as a small homage to those who first believed in them.

As the four began to make their way down the stone steps, a strange sensation moved through all of them at once. Stopping suddenly, but in unison, the four looked at each other, confusion on the faces of the child god and goddess and fear on the faces of their caregivers.

“What was that, Alice?” Zol inquired, always the one to take the lead.

“Nothing good.” She responded, ushering the children down the stairs. “But we will find out.”

He flung the headpiece away, growling at it as he did so. “I’ll never be as good as father, so why should I even bother trying?” He sat down on the ottoman in a huff, the brightly coloured feathers and streamers of his costume fluttering delicately about him. “He should be the one performing this dance, not me.”

His companion, a short, stout woman with kind eyes looking out amid the wrinkles of her face, her steel-grey hair pulled back in a serviceable bun. “My dear boy, that does not matter. Your father has innumerable years of practice heralding the sun, you will not be as talented as he overnight.”

“I just don’t understand why he had to leave us like this, Analise.”

Analise clucked softly and sat down beside the young man. He was barely more than a child, having only reached his 16th nameday mere weeks prior. He took after his father in appearance, blazing blonde hair so bright you might think it would illuminate the darkness and eyes that were the opposite – dark coals that had unfathomable depths in them. Analise sometimes found those eyes to be disconcerting on one so young, but she had cared for the boy since he was a babe and she was mostly used to them. After all, when playing nursemaid to a godspawn, certain allowances had to be made. “Your father is a very important god, Jesavan, and this is not the first time that he has left unnanounced. You simply do not remember the times before.”

“It’s not fair!” Jesavan cried, standing up and moving towards the open window of his dressing chamber. The view before him was an incredible panorama of bright green trees, birds flitting about in their canopies, with the sparkling waters of the ocean peaking through. Jesavan was oblivious to the beauty, however, and his black mood brought shadows over the forest though no clouds were visible in the sky. Analise moved to him and put her arms on his shoulders in an effort to comfort the young god, but he shrugged her off and took a step away.

“Child-”

“I’m not a child!” He said petulantly.

Analise sighed, “Very well. Jesavan, life is not about being fair. Especially for gods. so get rid of any thoughts you have of fair.” She grabbed Jesavan by the shoulders and steered him back to the ottoman, pushing him into the seat and then settling beside him again. She patted his knee affectionately, “You will go out there, just before the sun sets. And you will dance, Jesavan, as you have never danced before. When the drums begin to beat and your foot begins to tap, I promise all thoughts of not being good enough will fly away.”

“How do you know, Analise? You’re just a mortal. You can’t possibly know that!”

Analise chuckled, not at all offended to be called a mortal. Technically, that was what she was, though she had lived for centuries. “Jesavan, your father had the same fears when he first heralded the sun, too. I told him the same as I tell you now.” She smiled, “And do you know what, ‘Ven? It was the most beautiful dance I have ever seen him perform. The rawness of his inexperience made him so sincere in his movements.”

“I’ll never move like him. He can flow, and I just can’t.”

“Jesavan, just because he shines with the light of the sun does not mean that your candle does not shine brightly, or will not one day be as bright as the sun. Now, up, child! Let’s get that headdress on, and you can go and show the people that your flame is burning bright.”

Jesavan allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, reluctant but accepting of his duty. He picked up the headdress, smoothing one of the bright red feathers that had been bent when he threw it, and settled it upon his head. He spread his arms and spun slowly for Analise, “How do I look?”

“Like a young sun god.” She shooed him with her hands, “Now go, ‘Ven. Go and dance with all your heart and soul. Say goodbye to the sun, ask it to join us again in the morning.” She touched his face gently with a wizened hand, “You will be perfect.”

He grabbed her hand as she withdrew it, “You will watch?”

She smiled, eyes twinkling, “I could not miss your debut, Jesavan. I have waited to watch you dance for many years, now.”

The night air tastes sweet as my feet take me along the faint forest pathway, only visible thanks to the tiny, dancing lights that lined each side. I can feel my body swaying slightly in time to the still-distant music even as my feet pull me forward. I’ve already given up on stopping my forward momentum, having unsuccessfully snatched at my doorframe, the fence post and passing branches. My fingers would slip and my feet would take me marching onwards again, towards the barely heard music and whomever was making it.

I can feel the trepidation in my chest, the fluttering of those panic butterflies in my stomach. What awaits me? What is drawing me through its music? Thoughts of sirens luring sailors to their death flash through my mind, though surely it couldn’t be anything like that. My little village is no where near the ocean and the music sounds as though it was the creation of many, not of one. Do forests have sirens, I wonder to myself, but I have no answer.

The firefly path leads me deeper into the forest, and still my feet keep time with the music that draws closer with each step I take. I can hear the individual notes and voices better, now, and it sounds like an entire choir of singers. If this voiceless, beautiful sound can truly be called singing. To my left, I see a fox and her kits peeking out of their den, as entranced by the music as I am. They resist its call though, and as my feet lead me past them the trio duck their heads back into the den. I had hoped, for a moment, that perhaps they would join me on this journey and I feel a sadness that reaches deep down to my soul when I realize they will not.

I have no time to dwell on this, however, as my feet continue to march forward despite my wishes, and my body continues to sway in time with the music. I do catch sight of a few birds that seem to be flying to the beat of the music, dipping and zipping around the tree canopy like so many acrobats. I wish I could have paused to watch them dance, but my feet continue to take me forward, through the forest.

I’ve been walking for over an hour, now, and the deeper into the forest the less familiar everything is feeling. Despite growing up next to these woods, spending days and nights playing and hiding around the trees, I cannot recognize what is around me. The trees feel more ethereal, and the vines that creep around their trunks sport flowers I’ve never seen before.

I try again to stop myself, my actions more desperate now than when my feet led me from my home, and I grab at the passing branches. The bark strips off in my hands and still I continue forward, unable to resist the music. What is waiting for me? Where am I even going?

I don’t have to wait much longer to discover the truth.

Just as my panic reaches a crescendo inside my breast, my feet stop. At first, I can’t understand what has happened, I still feel as though I am moving ever forward. But then my sense catch up with the rest of me, and I can’t be anything but overwhelmed.

Before me, in a glade I have never seen before, a dozen or more tiny forms dance and spin, sparkle and shine. They dip here and there, coming together and then spinning apart in an amazing display of color and coordination. It feels like I am watching a living firework show, and I can’t help but be completely captivated.

From where I stand at the edge of the glade, I still can’t see the source of the music that continues to draw me in. My feet, no longer taking me forward, begin to tap in time to the beat, my body sways of its own accord and I find myself barely able to hold back from joining the dance.

I take a cautious, difficult step. Difficult because I just want to leap into the dance. I see the trio of little drummers sitting on their mushroom seats, a small, delicate woman pulling the strings of a miniature guitar. The wordless song tugs at me, and I am finding it harder and harder to resist.

Finally, I can take it no more. I tear off my clothing, for the music demands that I be free, and I leap into the circle. I can feel the joy of the pixies as I begin to twirl amongst them. They dart around me, weaving in and out of my flowing hair, around and under my waving arms. I stamp my feet in time, and several of the pixies stamp the air beside me.

I can’t help but laugh as I spin, thinking for a brief moment what I sight I must make – in my thirties, dancing naked in a glade with naught but glowing pixies for light. The thought left my mind as soon as it entered it, for this was not a night to dwell on the mundane. Tonight was a night to revel, to dance, to feel joy and wild abandon. I can feel the pixies encouraging my dance, they make me the centrepiece for their own beautiful dance and, together, we create that which this world has never known. It is just a shame there is none but us to enjoy it, but this is as it must be. I know this, and so do they.

Finally, after whirling and dancing until time held no meaning, I collapse on the ground, exhausted, spent, unable to dance any further. The pixies circle me, and I watch them with delight and contentment. A shimmering of dust falls from their wings, gently dusting me, and I yawn widely as it settles on me. Before I know it, I’m fast asleep in the little glade.

I am awoken by sunlight creeping up to my eyes and I sit up straight, the night before just a blur of music and lights in my memory. With an unsteady hand I rub my eyes and push my hair from my eyes. I pause, halfway through the act of pushing back my hair when my eyes really fix on the color. What used to be a dark blond is now streaked with colors of all sorts. Greens and blues, pinks and purples, reds and oranges.

A reminder that the night before was real. A reminder that I determine I will embrace, though the other villagers may shun me for it. No matter – they shun me already, this will be no worse.

With my head held high, I gather my discarded clothing and begin the walk home.

Catch up with Part One here!

Jorge and Gabriella made their way through the darkening forest to the camp of the Free People, to deliver the bad news about the necklace. Gabriella’s mind was racing furiously, trying to think of a weakness in the demons, something they could exploit in order to win this horrific war. Jorge walked in sullen silence, still numb from the loss of the necklace and all that it implied.

Night had fallen and the pair was navigating by starlight by the time they approached the camp of the Free People. As they neared, they heard the bird calls in the trees that meant their approach had been noted and they were friendly. Gabriella relaxed slightly at hearing the calls, not realizing until then that she had somehow convinced herself that with the shattering of the necklace, the Free People had shattered, too. Foolish, but she couldn’t help herself.

Once they reached the small collection of huts and treehouses nestled into the deepest part oft he forest, the pair quickly strode towards the home of their leader. As much as anyone was a leader of the Free People.

“Britt!” Gabriella claled out as she pushed open the door, Jorge on her heels. “Britt, you in here? We have some bad news…”

The leader of the Free People stepped out of one of the chambers, adjusting the weapons belt around her waist, “Bad news?” She sighed, brushing back raven-black hair and twisting it into a knot, “Alright, lay it on me. What’s happened now?”

Gabriella sighed and pulled the gem from her pocket, the only remaining piece of the shattered necklace, “It just shattered, Britt. We didn’t even get out far enough to use it for the barrier.” She handed the dull gem to Britt, who narrowed her green eyes at it, as though her glare could reverse the damage.

Finally Britt sighed and dropped the gem into her own pocket, “Thanks for bringing the gem back. I had really hoped.. It would have been so easy, just get the barrier up and be hidden from them.”

Gabriella and Jorge nodded glumly in response.

Britt waved her hand dismissively at the two, “It wasn’t your fault, alright? We knew this was a long shot, but we had to try. The necklace was just too weak to hold the magic that we needed. We will find another way.” She paused, “Go check in with Tyler, he is putting together a hunt and was looking for a couple of extra bows. It might do you some good to get out and not be brooding on what happened.” The two nodded and turned to go, “Oh, and Gabriella? Be careful. I can handle losing a necklace, I can’t handle losing my sister.”

Gabriella smiled broadly and threw her arms around her sister, “Thank you, Britt. We’ll see you soon, alright?”

“Of course. Now go get us some meat!”

Gabriella wiped at the tears forming in her eyes and then darted out of the hut to join Tyler on the hunt.

Back in the hut, Britt pulled the gem out of her pocket and looked at it for a long time. She hadn’t been lying to Gabriella, they had all known it was a long shot, but so many of their hopes had been tied up in that little necklace. To know that was gone, now, well, that hurt. And it meant she needed to come up with another brilliant plan to save them

The whispers were all around the main market square, in all the taverns, wafting out of the alleys and hidden corners. “The Torva are coming” they whispered, barely understanding who the Torva even were. They weren’t supposed to understand, they were merely serfs and even had they all the information at their fingertips, they still wouldn’t be able to grasp it.

Drakyn hated to remember how he had been one of them. It seemed like so long ago, not the mere weeks it had truly been. None of them could see the difference in him, his old friends and acquaintances treated him the same, but he had a difficult time pretending to be the serf he once was.

As he crossed the market square, his thoughts flew back to a few weeks ago, to when his eyes were finally opened.

He had been in the orchard, the one to the south of town, picking the harvest fruits for his master, when he stumbled across an old skeleton, hidden in the tangled brush on the edge of the orchard. Clutched in the skeleton’s bony grasp was a simple, though delicate chain, one that reminded Drakyn of the circlets that the Lords wore.

Curious, he had plucked the chain from the skeletons fingers and held it up to the light, enchanted by the gleam of the metal in the mid-day light. “I wonder what it feels like to wear one…” He thought to himself, hesitantly holding the chain above his head, wanting to wear it but terrified at the same time. After several long moments of indecision, Drakyn dropped the chain around his head, letting it settle along his brow.

It was like the chain had unlocked some sort of door in his mind, the one that let him reason, create and understand. Whatever change had begun it hadn’t stopped when he removed the chain. He hadn’t realized the change right away, of course, only that he began to feel restless in his work, work that had once satisfied him. He could see the injustice of the current system, the serfs oppressed and forced to work for the Lords and the serfs couldn’t even understand how they were oppressed.

He had never wondered about the chains before, never considered them to be anything more than decorative, a symbol of their position. Now he knew it was so much more – the chains were designed to break whatever seal was placed on the serfs at birth. He understood, now, why the serfs were required to either have their children in one of three mandated birthing halls, or bring their newly born child to the birthing halls as soon after an unexpected birth as possible. He remembered watching the midwives hum and haw over his baby sister, never realizing that their gentle touches held a far more sinister purpose.

Drakyn shook his head roughly, banishing the memories. He was on an errand for his master, and if he wanted to keep eating, he had to keep pretending nothing had changed. Which meant that he had to pretend he didn’t understand what the coming of the Torva could mean, that he had to act like it was just an interesting thing to waste his breath on.

He hated all the pretending. He hated the lying, he hated seeing his parents and sister move like sheep when he knew, knew in the very bottom of his soul, that they were really no different than the Lords, except for the circumstances of their birth and the limitations that the Lords forced upon them. Removing one’s ability to be creative, to think for themselves was reprehensible, Drakyn knew. He felt his hands beginning to shake with the anger he kept in check within him and he forced himself to relax, to let go of the anger, at least for the moment.

If the Torva were truly coming, that would be his chance. The Torva hated the Lords, though no one truly knew why. Drakyn suspected they might be people like him, those who had once been serfs but were released from that dullness in some way.

He would bide his time, Drakyn decided, and wait for the Torva. Then he would appeal to them, show that he hated the Lords as much as they did. And if they had a way to remove the bonds that held his parents and sister, he would beg them to remove those. As much as he hated the Lords, knowing what they did to the serfs, he hated the thought of his family being restricted when he might be able to free their minds.

When the Torva came, he would be ready for them.