The Frozen Moon

The Frozen Moon - By J.D. Swinn



CHAPTER ELEVEN: WAR AND RECOGNITION


He was still shaken from the confrontation of sorts with Nameh. He ran as he had earlier, with his chest heaving and muscles in a blind fury. But now, they ran together like a pair of ghosts. The silent spells were still in effect, and their footsteps, which should have made heavy thuds against the pavement, made no sound.

They both shot sarcastic comments at the other, bandaging over unexpected feelings of empathy. His thoughts wandered to what she had said about love; he couldn’t help but take comfort in the fact that he wasn’t alone in feeling this way. He had always planned on being married to an amiable girl, but he wasn’t sure if he could imagine himself truly loving another. He forced himself to push down these notions and filled his mind with thoughts of battle. They were soon upon the place he was leading her to: Central Park. It had been a long run, and they were both tired, but it would be worth it, he thought. They paused, leaning on a tree and catching their breath. The sweat on their bodies gleamed in the silvery moonlight and made the pair look as though they were made of polished porcelain.

“There,” he pointed to a spot several hundred feet away, “that’s where it happens.” He finished, breathing heavily. She didn’t speak, merely threw him a bemused look. “The faeries and the pixies war every night, just beyond that bridge.” He explained.

“They have a war every night? I’ve never heard of that. But, then again, the Guardians don’t exactly keep us up to date on magical current events.”

“It isn’t current, per say,” he began with a smile, “it’s been going on for decades. Ever since the park was built, both groups declared supremacy over it, because it is technically nature. Each night, they battle, and the winner by dawn will rule over the other for the coming day.”

“A power struggle every single day? That seems crazy.” At this, she gave a small laugh full of rich and smooth tones, not the giggle of many girls that he found irritating.

“The problem is that the two sides are so evenly matched that neither takes enough loss to surrender. The truth is, humans aren’t so different. I come down here as often as I can and fight with the faeries. They’re the most likely not to kill me if we lose.” He said with his familiar smirk. He knew that as he described the history to her, she was probably wondering which kind of faerie was so keen toward the idea of war; pixies were constantly looking for fights, but not all faeries were this way. No doubt she had come across the Nature faeries, kind and gentle sprites who brought the change of the seasons with their water, earth, and light magic. They were the ones who hung the dewdrops and woke the morning glory flowers when the sun rose, and the ones who moved gentle breezes through the night air. Nearly all of them were cooperative with the Guardian laws.

“The faeries in Central Park are of a different breed than you’re probably used to.” He said, ending her suspicions. “They’re called Moon faeries. They usually don’t mean humans any harm, but they have the tempers of blackdragons. Altogether, they’re rather pleasant…just don’t piss them off. Let’s just say that these are the faeries that they don’t write about in fairytales.” He said with a grin, images of war dancing through his thoughts. He saw a look sparkle in her eyes, the same look he had seen the night they had fought the dragon. Fighting was just as much of a release to her as it was to him, he noted.

“So, we’ll be fighting alongside the creatures with the tempers of blackdragons. That makes me wonder what I don’t know about pixies,” she said, giving him a sidelong glance. He rewarded her with a small laugh, she really was funny, he thought. “Something tells me I’m about to find out.” She finished.

“Ladies first,” he said in mockery.

“Then, what are you waiting for?” she shot back without a pause.

“Ouch” he said, trying to hide the fact that he was impressed. Rarely did he meet someone who could match his wit, and he had never met one who was a girl. They walked down the path together, now able to hear faint sounds of battle. At the bridge, they were greeted by the Moon faerie general, Aksid. He was tall for a faerie, about two inches taller than Max. His hair was long and black, but was translucent like all Moon faeries’. The wings that protruded from his back, just beneath the shoulder blades, held none of the fragility of Nature faeries, and were striking lunar silver. His irises were black, melding with the pupils, and the skin around his eyes themselves were lined with swirling black lines. They were battle tattoos, he noted, and had multiplied since they had last met. The marks were awarded by the queen for valiancy in battle; he wondered how the new marks had been earned.

“Iri tah dominise,” he said, clasping his right wrist with his left hand, and offering his open palm forward. Max had grown accustomed to the traditional Moon faerie greeting of warriors, and responded.

“Iri tah remine,” he answered, making the same gesture.

“Maxim tah, you have come again to battle with us?” he questioned in a hurried tone, eager to return to his people in battle.

“Yes, General Aksid. I have brought another as well. She will aid in the fight.” The general gave an approving nod and turned back to the raging fight behind him. Although it was difficult a first, he was soon able to mirror the formal English spoken by the faeries; respect was more important than anything in faerie culture. Love, as he recalled from many encounters, was a near foreign concept, but respect had taken the place of affection in human culture. Max carefully watched Nameh’s face light up as she saw the turmoil that lay ahead. There was a mix of faeries and pixies intertwined in a clash of metal, bows, and arrows. The faeries could be identified by their thin, metal plated armor for defense, while the pixies wore thick brown leather for agility.

“What did you say to him?” she inquired curiously.

“It’s the ancient faerie language,” he began, “He said to me: Here, a warrior approaches. I said: Here, a warrior stands. It’s an acknowledgement of fighting status; to be given the title of ‘tah’, or warrior, you have to prove yourself in battle.” He saw the eagerness in her eyes, and began to move toward the battle, drawing his sword. She did the same, her slender arm looking even longer with the steel extension. He gave her one last look, as if to burn her excited image into his mind, and plunged into battle. If it had been any other girl, he thought, he would have been worried for her safety. Nameh was not any other girl.





The clanging of iron and steel was melodious and soothing to Nameh’s ears. Hundreds of lanky bodies of faeries and pixies tangled about her like spiders. She felt an intense pain from her mark; there was a wealth of magic near. She pulled her strength into her right arm and fed it into her sword, glowing faintly, it responded to her will.

She lunged at a nearby pixie who was standing over a Moon faerie woman, ready to deliver a fatal blow. With one slice, the leather armor across its chest fell open as if it had been made of paper. She was surprised at her own strength. From the tear in the leather oozed thick, black tar; its sheen was eerie in the pale moonlight.

The pixie turned to Nameh, determinations of death in its stare. It was then that she truly witnessed the madness of pixies. Its eyes were the same black of the faeries’, but held fewer traces of humanity; its hair stood short and spiked, a bleached, lifeless yellow in contrast to the faeries’ black. Everything about its features was pointed: its ears came to a harsh peak, its nose angular, but most pointed of all were its horrific teeth. They were razor sharp and glistening white, like that of a shark, but needle thin. It’s wings were small and a similar faded yellow; she also noticed as it turned that each vein down its wing ended in a thick barb as long as her fifth finger.

The pixie carried a weapon like dual headed spear, forged out of wood and metal flowing together so that one could hardly tell where the wood ended and the metal began. It was a material no human could replicate without magic. In a fury, the creature jabbed it toward her, but she easily dodged it, bringing her sword down on its striking shoulder. Blood now flowed from both its wounds, bathing the pixie in the harsh black. For a moment, Nameh mused; she could have believed that he were only a black pen drawing, now being inked out by its creator and sent back to the world of the mind where it belonged among lurking nightmares.

She eased her sword into the monster’s chest, just below the breastbone. With one final, horrific shriek, the pixie crumpled to the ground in a blackened, glistening heap. The faerie woman gave her a look of gratitude; Nameh nodded, then continued through the battle. When she focused all of her strength into her sword arm, she realized that she could kill most pixies with only one blow. She ravaged through the crowd, slaying beast after beast; she hardly seemed to notice that she was now dripping with black blood.

Adrenaline pumped through her veins, and life all but fell away. It was only her, her sword, and the seemingly endless supply of foes. She had heard only one pixie speak throughout the battle, when he had challenged her. His voice had been shrill and unpleasant, like dragging a knife over glass. She wondered why the faeries, who were not much different than the pixies, seemed so much more civil, more human. She cut down another pixie, and another, drawing on the excitement of destroying evil. The pixies weren’t exactly evil, she thought, but they were more so than the faeries with whom she was fighting. But who even knew where the line between good and evil rested anymore? She supposed nearly everyone seemed good in their own mind, and those that stood in their way appeared evil. The best anyone could do was fight for what they believed in.

She was dragged from her thoughts when an arrow embedded itself in her back, penetrating the Guardian battle clothes she was wearing just below the shoulder blade. She reached back and ripped the arrow from her skin, grimacing against the pain. Had she not been wearing the Guardian clothes, it would have killed her. The arrow tip was soaked with her blood, crimson against the steel. She whirled about to see a pixie standing twenty feet away, his bowstring still quivering. She was upon him instantly, much to his surprise; he had likely expected her death. Her body was fully in shock, and she felt almost nothing after the initial blow. She drew no dagger, no sword, but brandished only his arrow. With her shoulder and the speed she had gathered, she struck him square the chest, knocking him backward onto the ground. She stared into his eyes with her own intense glare, “Don’t you know it’s dishonorable to strike from behind?” she nearly growled. A smile now spread across her face, a look of terror across his. She stabbed the arrow through his heart, and the delicious irony not wasted on either of them.

As blood poured out of his chest, it mixed with her own that had covered the arrow. The result was a ghastly black streaked with a deep crimson, the blood of a human and the blood of a monster so mix, she thought. Where did she know those words from? She didn’t have a chance to search her mind for the answer; her vision was suddenly blurred out in a flash of white light. All around her, the sounds of battle ceased and were replaced by an unearthly quiet. She wondered if the arrow had sunk deeper into her torso than she had originally thought, she might have been bleeding out into the late summer earth without even realizing. Breaking the silence, weapons clattered to the ground in a thunder.

The brightness faded, and her eyes adjusted as the light returned to the normal nighttime glow. So she wasn’t dead. All around her faeries stood, confused, with weapons still drawn. She looked down at the pixie she had killed with the arrow. The blood which had, only a moment ago, covered his body was now gone, leaving behind no traces. She blinked, trying to put the pieces together in her mind. A figure jogged over to her from across the lawn, but she was nearly too overwhelmed to recognize Max.

“What did you do?” he asked breathlessly. She stared at him for a moment, his words seeming to bounce off of her shocked mind. Finally, they sank in and she responded.

“It wasn’t me,” she said. “I was just fighting, and then…” she trailed off, not sure how to continue; she wasn’t sure what had happened next.

“It was you, I sensed a huge burst of magic coming from you, and then all the pixies were dead.” He said, not hiding his excitement well. “What was the last thing you did?”

“I had just stabbed this pixie with an arrow.” She said, indicating the fallen creature at her feet.

“But that’s a pixie arrow,” he started, “where did you get it from?”

“He shot me in the back with it,” she said lightly, brushing it off, “it wasn’t bad so I stabbed him with it.” She finished with a smile. At this, he couldn’t help but laugh. It had been childish she thought, and it sounded much worse when verbalized, but Max seemed to appreciate this. He bent and pulled the arrow from the pixie’s chest and examined it. He seemed to draw his conclusion quickly enough, and lifted his eyes to meet hers.

“That’s what I thought,” he began, extending his arm so that she could better see the arrow, “there’s no blood on it.”

“There was, it was covered in blood before.” She said, furrowing her brow.

“Remember from the book? The blood of a human and the blood of a monster so mix, and aid will come to the Markbearer. When a Markbearer kills a Child of the Spark who has drawn their blood, and the blood of both mix, a blood vengeance spell becomes possible.”

“I didn’t recite the spell – I don’t even know the spell!” she said with frustration.

“I assumed that you didn’t, but you struck me as a Listener the first time I met you.”

“A what?” The mystery he was speaking with was growing tiring to Nameh, she was confused and wanted answers.

“When you receive the Shask, you are given one of many talents. Some people are Healers or Sensers, others are Seers or Whisperers, and a few are Listeners. Listeners are those who can hear magic; basically, they say that when a Listener is in need, the magic that the Great Warlock left behind speaks to them. That’s why you could use the blood vengeance spell; you saw the blood mixing and knew the potential.”

“So, because I killed this pixie with a bloody arrow, all the pixies died?” she asked. Her mind raced with skepticism; she couldn’t possibly have been responsible.

“Not all the pixies,” boomed a deep voice. Nameh turned to face the source of the voice, the general Aksid. “All the pixies that were battling are now dead, but there are still a small number that would have been guarding the Queen. It seems that our wars are now over, for the time being.” He said with a gentle smile. It occurred to her that he was an especially calm Moon faerie, based on Max’s description. “The pixies will return, after rebuilding their numbers and receiving reinforcements from surrounding tribes. But for now, you have brought us peace,’ he said with a small bow.

“General,” she began humbly, “I cannot claim the honor for this battle. It was by pure accident that I unleashed that spell.”

“It is not only for the spell that we wish to honor you for. You fought valiantly, you both did.” He added, turning for a moment to Max. “The Queen will see you now.” He finished. He turned and left the two, apparently knowing that Max could lead the two of them. She could see the surprise in Max’s eyes at this news.

“It’s quite an honor for any humans to be permitted to see the Queen,” he said. “There is a festival once a year where the court is opened, but only warriors can be in her presence on any other day.”

“Max, I don’t know if I should go,” she said with the uncertainty she felt, “I really didn’t’ do anything.”

“You did, trust me. The faeries would not invite you to see their queen if they didn’t know that you proved yourself. I saw you out there; you killed like twenty pixies besides the spell. Actually, I’m beginning to think you have issues,” he said with that boyish smirk that made her stomach knot. She sighed and relented, following him across the lush grass of the park; he had clearly been invited into the Queen’s presence before, and knew his way. He stopped in front of a cluster of trees, before her eyes, the trees separated as if to make way for them. The great trunks groaned as they slid apart, revealing a clearing in their wake. Peering into the dark, she could barely make out a few shadowy forms. Max entered the clearing first, motioning for her to follow.

When she crossed the threshold into the clearing, the scene changed dramatically, no longer shrouded in shadows, but bathed in sunlight. Within the clearing, there seemed to be a preserved daylight, as though night only existed outside this haven. She was standing before a small pool of ice, which seemed impossible to her in the late summer warmth. Beneath the surface of the ice pond, a silver liquid shone. She realized that the light filling the clearing was not sunlight at all, but moonlight trapped within the ice, shining as brightly as the sun. Across the ice, there was a beautiful faerie seated on an ornately carved throne of fine wood. She had the dark, slanted eyes of most faeries, but they seemed softer somehow. Her dark, luminescent hair fell down to her waist in curls, and it occurred to Nameh that she had never seen a faerie with curly hair before. Her skin was pale, but not the lifeless pale of a vampire, a shining pearl which reflected the moonlight filling the room. She was dressed in a silver-white gown of velvet which fell in long folds around her ankles. The Queen looked as though her very existence had been forged from the moon itself, and it became clear that they did draw all of their power from it.

The Queen spoke to Nameh in a voice that could be compared to nothing but a moonbeam, soft and sweet and dark all at once. “I see that you are admiring our moon pond,” she said with a smile, “moonlight captured in eternal ice, a gift from the Nature faeries. We are the faeries of war, and offer them protection; theirs is the craft of beauty, and they offer us that which we do not possess.” She puzzled over the Queen’s statement for a moment; the Moon faeries appeared as beautiful as any creatures she had ever seen. Then she realized that she was referring to their ways of life: the Nature faeries spent their lives creating art out of the world’s splendors, while the Moon faeries fought a constant war of spite. She wondered if it was an empty existence.

“It is very beautiful,” responded Nameh. Her eyes flitted about the clearing, studying her surroundings. Beyond the trees, she could see nothing; it was as if they were in a separate world. There were two guards on either side of the queen, having much of her beauty, but none of her fragility.

“Yes, but we are not here to speak of beauty. We are here to speak of battle,” the Queen said. In these words, Nameh could hear the carefully hidden tones of malice, laced with honey to mislead the listener. The faeries were not evil, but were not as pure as perceived, she thought. “You both fought nobly,” she said in a proud voice, “and your spell has brought us great victory and many days of peace,” she added to Nameh. “Maxim tah Solie, you have already earned my people’s title of warrior. Step forward.” Max complied, circling around the ice to stand before her throne. “I award you a mark of the tah to bring you the strength of all faerie kind. Although it is customary to receive this mark on one’s face, I will present it to you as a token.” She extended her hand, unfurling her slender fingers to drop something small and silvery in his hands. He hadn’t touched her fingers, and Nameh thought they may have shattered if he had. At this, Max stepped back, giving a small bow.

“Nameh, step forward.” Although she had never told the Queen her name, she was not surprised that she already knew. She approached the throne as Max had. “You have never before fought with us, but have proved yourself well,” she said in an amused tone. “I grant you the power of the tah warriors, and you will now be known in our domain as Nameh tah Seran.” The queen rolled the words off of her tongue with an inflection that she didn’t think she could replicate if she tried. The Queen offered her hand forward again, and Nameh cupped her hands beneath it. A cool and smooth object fell into her palms, and she bowed before her. “You, we will also offer a mark of the tah.” Nameh backed up to stand next to Max, and the Queen was still for a moment. “Leave this place now, and return only when you have understood the mark we have given each of you, and you are ready to fight beside us again.” She shut her eyes in closure of her encounter with them, looking deceitfully calm and innocent. She couldn’t help but imagine that beneath her papery eyelids, the placid and calm ocean waters could soon give way to a violent storm.

On her throne, she looked like a delicate silver flower, frail yet beautiful; a sort of art that one locks behind glass and protects from the slightest of wind. She wondered if the Moon faeries were so apt at war for the defense of their fragile queen. As they turned to exit the clearing, she could feel the stares of the guards boring into her back. They crossed the entranceway of the throne room, and night once again fell on them; severing the bond they had shared for a moment with the faerie kind. The night air felt surprisingly cool around them, as she hadn’t realized that it had grown so cold. The clearing had been a sort of bubble outside of reality where time and conditions of the mortal world had no bearing.

“See, I told you they were kind of intense,” laughed Max.

“Yeah, but you didn’t tell me anything about their traditions. I’m not entirely sure what just happened.”

“To put it bluntly, you just got knighted,” he said. “They gave both of us a mark of the tah, which I don’t think has ever been done before – given to a human, I mean. We can’t actually bear the mark, because you can’t bear any other mark along with the Shask, so she gave us…whatever she gave us.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the token.

It was a pendant of sorts, crafted from the finest white-silver she had ever seen. All at once, the symbol was delicate and powerful: made of sweeping lines and sharp corners blended together. When she saw it, she couldn’t read it the way she could read the Warlock’s book; it was an ancient faerie language, she guessed.

She pulled her own token from the pocket of her belt. It was cool, as if it had been left in the snow and had only just been picked up again, though it had rested close to her skin for some time. The similarities between the two symbols was clear; they were both made of the same sweeping lines and corners, but hers seemed familiar, as though she had created the symbol herself or seen it in a dream. It seemed to call to her, as if it desperately wanted to tell her the message it cocooned within the metal, but she could not quite understand. She strung her talisman around her neck, instantly feeling that it had become a part of her. She watched Max do the same, fumbling with the intricate fastener. He looked up to see her watching him with an amused smile. He returned her smile embarrassedly, and for just a moment, she saw a glimmer of the Max she had seen earlier that night.

“So, what are you?” she asked as a sudden thought.

“What am I? Well, that’s kind of broad. Let’s see, 5”11’, blond hair, blue eyes, Protestant…shall I continue?”

“Hmm, Protestant; didn’t see that coming. I meant, what’s your talent? You said I was a Listener, what are you?”

“See, that’s more specific. I’m what they call a Senser, that basically means I can feel magic more exactly than other Markbearers. I can sense exactly how many Children of the Spark are in Central Park right now, for instance, or how many humans will be waiting for us when we return to the Academy. I can also sense how much magic is in the marks the Queen gave us: a hell of a lot if you were wondering. It’s hidden magic, though, most people won’t be able to sense it. Unfortunately, we can’t use it until we figure out what they mean; or, that’s how normal marks of the tah work.”

“Apparently, you’re not a very good Senser,” she said playfully.

“Why do you say that?” he asked almost defensively.

“Because, I tailed you for over a half an hour, and you couldn’t shake me, or determine who or what I was.”

“Sensing is not that exact.” He looked at her with a convincing glance.

“Why didn’t I know immediately that I was a Listener?”

“Most people take a while to figure out what they are; it usually presents itself in some situation of need. For example, Talar and I found out we were Sensers when we were on a training run. We were supposed to go out and find a nest of hobgoblins in some subway station. We wandered for a while, not realizing that they take well to hiding, if we hadn’t been able to sense them behind us, we may have been ripped to pieces.”

“I wonder what Mira is, then.” she mused. “I wonder if Wyd would be a Senser too, if he weren’t a warlock.”

“You certainly do a lot of wondering, don’t you?”

“I am a curious person, I suppose.”

“She’ll find out on her own someday, Mira I mean. Come on,” he said quickly, “let’s go. Dawn’s coming and the others will be waking up soon.” She followed him toward the edge of the park, the cold pendant around her neck the only reminder of what they left behind.





Even though several minutes had passed, Max still felt his heart pounding in his chest, aggravated by something other than battle. The scent she carried was nearly intoxicating, though she had no knowledge of it, and the breeze brushed it temptingly against him. She wandered on unknowingly, probably ignorant of how his breath was catching in his throat, he thought. Feelings were usually much easier to suppress, but he couldn’t choke these out, a frightening realization.

He couldn’t keep his eyes off how her fair skin and pure white hair caught the lingering moonlight. Her dark eyes seemed to perfectly mirror the night sky, and she was at peace in the night. They passed a small pond surrounded in lush grass, and Nameh immediately turned off toward it. He knew that dawn was coming fast, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull her away. He was sure that her stomach couldn’t be twisting as his was, that her heart couldn’t be screaming and taking her so off guard like his was. She couldn’t feel like he was feeling, his mind told him.

Nameh dragged a slender foot over the surface of the water, having removed her shoe, drawing gentle ripples in the pond. He saw the relief in her eyes at the cool water’s touch, and a soft smile crossed her features. Silently, he sat on the bank beside her and gazed off at the surroundings. He had always preferred being out at night, when the world seemed to sleep and problems of the day seemed to fade into silence for a time.

You know… he began, but was cut off by Nameh’s finger on his lips as she leaned toward him.

“Not now” she whispered, brushing a butterfly kiss on his lips, retreating just enough to look him straight in the eyes, intently watching his response.

After what felt like an eternity, he gently answered her kiss. For a moment, they were two people feeling completely at ease, not two Markbearers with dark futures and death likely awaiting them. He framed the moment in his mind, hoping to capture its essence indefinitely. The scene stretched on for a lifetime, and was over in a breath- he didn’t know or care. They lost themselves in the closeness of each other and the shadows plaguing their souls retreated for a time. They felt love. But dawn was approaching fast.