Page 202 of The Dryad Storm

“How can a tree stand against a world-consuming demon?” my uncle Wrenfir exclaims, and I curse, for maybe the hundredth time, the East’s foolish decision to send out their storm band despite our strident warning. I look toward Sylvan, Oaklyyn, Yulan, and Alder. They’re a single silent unit, Sylvan’s gaze fixed with piercing gravity on us all, our alliance too little, too late.

Hizar’drile turns to the Dryads, remorse writ deep in his night-dark features. “You were right about everything,” he admits. He moves his lightning-flashing gaze over us all. “Who here agrees it’s time for us to follow the Dryad Fae as our leaders in this fight?”

Sylvan spits out a disgusted sound, and Iris gives him a tortured look, her invisible fire whipping around him, a mournful expression overtaking Yulan’s deep-green features.

“You seek to follow us?” Oaklyyn snarls, her gaze a lance. “Then followthem.” She slashes a finger toward the Zhilaan Forest’s cloud-high canopy. “Place them aboveeverything. Cedenot one more inch of Forest.”

The Forest’s agreement rumbles through my rootlines—through all our rootlines—in a bone-deep rush, and Raz’zor growls his support, red fire burning inhis eyes, his aura lashing protectively around Oaklyyn.

“There is one heartening development,” Vang Troi informs us. “The Water Fae Tierney Calix and the geomancer Mage Or’myr Syllvir have managed to reshield the Vo River and its bracketing Forest.”

Renewed sounds of surprise break out as Yvan and I dare one quick look at each other.

Both Vang Troi and the Noi Fire Hawk kindred perched on her shoulder narrow their violet and midnight gazes on me. “It seems your geomancer cousin has been quite active,” Vang Troi comments, a sly edge to her tone. “We’ve received word that Mage unity is breaking down in Gardneria. A new Resistance has sprung up with the purple Xishlon moon as its symbol. All thanks to Or’myr Syll’vir.”

More murmurs of surprise.

“It seems Or’myr fought Vogel’s V’yexwraith when the demon’s power was fledgling,” Vang Troi continues. “He marked the beast with a Xishlon moon before the creature was drawn back west through some type of Shadow tether. Apparently, the moon marking was embedded with concentrated geomancy spells that partially detonated before Vogel could destroy them all.”

“What did they do?” Diana demands.

Vang Troi’s shrewd gaze swings to my Lupine sister, Rafe beside her. “They caused suspended purple moons to appear in the sky all over the Western Realm. Including one large moon suspended straight over Valgard.”

A shocked laugh bursts from Rivyr’el, stunned looks traded all around.

Vang Troi’s expression hardens. “Vogel’s rapid destruction of the Forests of the West has thrown the Natural World there into dangerous disarray. The already stormy autumn weather of the West has been whipped into constant tempests, causing increasing numbers of Mage farmers and fishermen to sour on Vogel. A group of fishermen went so far as to lodge a protest against the Shadow sea weapon Vogel created, which had the unfortunate side effect of poisoning and disfiguring huge numbers of fish.”

“Vogel will kill anyone who dissents,” Queen Freyja Zyrr points out.

“He has,” Hizar’drile affirms. “Which is why the protests have taken a stealthy turn. Not only have dissenting Mages taken up Or’myr Syll’vir’s purple moon as their symbol of Resistance, but they’ve also adopted the forbidden color purple itself as a sign of rebellion. Paintings of Xishlon moons have begun to turn up on Gardnerian buildings and on the street’s cobblestones, and purple ribbons have been tiedaround doorknobs on Mage Council and military buildings.”

“It’s infuriating Vogel,” Vang Troi adds. “He’s made the possession of anything purple or bearing the image of a moon punishable by death.”

“I hate to rain on your Resistance parade,” Mavrik interjects from where he and Gwynnifer sit beside Jules and Lucretia. Mavrik holds up his fastmarked hand. “As Vogel’s Shadow power increases, he’ll gain the ability to tether more and more of the Magedom to himself via their fasting spells. Includingeveryonein this purple Resistance as well as the whole of Alfsigroth via their Zalyn’or necklaces.”

Wrenfir huffs out a sound of blistering frustration as he glares at us all. “Vogel has access to primordial demonic magic that we don’t have a good understanding of. He’s always one step ahead. Who knows what other horrors he’s accessing with that Shadow Wand of his.”

“The question is,” Ra’Ven adds, “how do we access that knowledge, as well?”

“We have a way,” a masculine voice calls from beyond the Dryad’khin massed before us.

We all turn, unsettled sounds rising as the thick crowd parts and four figures stride toward us.

Astonishment shocks through Yvan and my Wyvernbond as I blink at them, not quite believing my eyes.

The lead figure is a slender Mage about the age of my uncle Wrenfir. He’s clearly joined with the Forest, his ears pointed, his green hue deepened and heightened, a streak of violet through his short black hair... and there aregillson the sides of his neck. He’s dressed in purple leaf armor and is holding hands with a Selkie woman garbed in the same purple Dryad’khin leaf armor. The Selkie’s dark blue feet are bare, her long, silver tresses violet streaked, a silver sealskin wrapped around her shoulders.

And behind them stride Gareth Keeler and Marina the Selkie.

A sound of surprise bursts from my throat as a sense of Marina’s prismatic light and water auras, that flash every color on Erthia, shimmer through my vision. The image of the Verdyllion Wand-Stylus pulses through my mind as my power empathy picks up a new Dryad line of light power inside both her and the other Selkie.

Gareth’s and Marina’s hands are tightly clasped, Gareth’s powerful water aura swirling around her. A small octopus is looped over Marina’s shoulders, its hide flashing every bright color, water magicked into being around the tentacled kindred. My Dryad’kin senses identify purple mangrove roots sheathed at both theirsides, Marina’s silver sealskin secured around her shoulders, both of them garbed in purple leaf armor.

There’s a shock of dark purple through Gareth’s black hair, its silver streaks now blazingly prominent, gills marked on the sides of his neck, as well. His ears have gained subtle points, and streaks of violet decorate Marina’s waterfalling silver tresses.

“Gareth... Marina...”The words escape my lips as Yvan and I both rise, along with my brothers, Ariel, Valasca, Ni Vin, Andras, Alder, Queen Freyja, and my other Dryad’khin family, friends and allies who worked to liberate the Selkies what feels like a lifetime ago.

Marina’s and Gareth’s eyes light up with looks of deep emotion and even deeper alliance as they draw up beside the other Mage and Selkie couple and take in our equally Forest-altered appearances.

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