Page 67 of Trials of Dusk and Dreams
Lady Selene commands the center of the room, her pale tartan dress shimmering like liquid moonlight. The Hollow Hunt gleams in her unnerving, luminous eyes as she surveys the settling students. Heath, her tall and slim Shadow, sits behind her with a box of medical supplies. Alfie, Irisa, and Becky huddlenearby, whispering. Alfie’s gaze darts to me, a silent promise of unwanted conversation. I’ll need to bolt after class to avoid him.
“Good tidings, precious dew drops,” Lady Selene’s melodic voice fills the air. “To understand the importance of battlefield triage, we must first grasp the concept of empathy and perspective. Let me share a tale as old as the stars: the fable of The Two-Faced Moon.”
Her eyes, luminous with the Hollow Hunt’s glow, sweep across the room. “In a realm long ago beyond mortal understanding, the moon was a living entity with two distinct faces: one radiant silver, basking in adoration, and one shadowed, often forgotten or feared. The silver face grew vain with constant praise, while the shadow face bore the weight of neglect.”
I lean forward, drawn in despite myself. Geraldine’s eyes widen with interest beside me.
“This imbalance,” Lady Selene continues, “caused chaos in the world below. Seasons shifted unpredictably. Tides behaved erratically. Rhiannon, a lesser-known fertility deity, heard the moon’s plight. ‘Why do you wobble so? she asked. The moon shared its woes, speaking of its divided nature and the chaos it caused. ‘Balance,’ she said, ‘is not achieved through dominance or neglect but by recognizing the worth of both sides.’ Only when the moon learned to rotate fully, integrating both faces, did harmony return. Now the beings on earth celebrate the full cycle, finding beauty and wisdom in both light and darkness.”
She pauses, letting the message sink in. “Just as the moon learned to embrace both its faces, we too must recognize the value in all aspects of ourselves and others, especially in times of crisis. True strength comes from balance and understanding the light and shadow within us all.”
I shift, acutely aware of my hidden darkness. This fable reminds me of home, of how Queen Maebh drew too much fromthe inky side of the Well and ended up creating a taint in the magic source. That taint warped my intention to wake an army of undead, instead waking so many more. Imbalance can tip both ways. We can’t eradicate the dark. We have to learn to live with it.
Lady Selene’s gaze lingers on me as she transitions. “Now, we practice. Empathy and perspective are our most potent battlefield tools. Pair up.”
Alfie’s voice cuts through the rustling. “With all due respect, Lady Selene, empathy has no place on the battlefield. This is my fifth year. Sentiment only gets you killed.”
A chill runs through me at his familiar mindset.
Lady Selene turns, her expression serene but her eyes sharp. “Ah, young Alfie. Five years, yet wisdom eludes you. Have you never relied on a comrade? Never drawn strength from shared struggle?”
Alfie’s smugness falters. His gaze flicks to me, then darts away. Lady Selene continues, her words shimmering. “Empathy isn’t weakness. It binds a fighting force and anticipates ally and enemy. Without it, we’re solitary moons, forever half-shadowed.”
The class nods. Alfie flushes, tapping an odd rhythm on his Chaser charm. My spine tingles—what’s he doing?
“Now,” Lady Selene says, “let’s begin. Remember—understanding others helps us understand ourselves.”
Heath approaches with supplies.
“Ready to play doctor?” Geraldine winks, nervousness beneath her smile.
“Sure,” I say. “That’s an old-world healer, right?”
Her expression falters. “I forget sometimes you’re not really one of us.”
I resist tugging my hair over my fae ears.
She quickly adds, “I meant an old-worlder. Not friend.”
“I get it. Don’t worry.”
But as we clear space to work, I feel less connected to her than I should. We settle on the floor amidst bandages and sour-smelling elixirs. Medicinal herbs mingle with Avorlorna’s sweetness.
“Okay,” I start, faking calm. “You’ve got a sprained ankle. What’s your name?”
Geraldine quirks an eyebrow. “Um . . . Geraldine?”
I nudge her. “Pretend you’re a stranger.”
She ponders. “Call me Scary Spice.”
“Weird name, but okay.”
Nearby mortals chuckle. I assume it’s a funny reference from her time and want to ask, but we’re ushered back into the exercise. Caring for another soothes me as we practice treating different injuries. It’s a return to basics, a reminder of the empathy often lost in quick fae healing. I guess that’s why the Folk have fables about it.
The door bursts open. Puck saunters in, his grin chilling me. Slicked auburn hair and green embroidered silks set off his stony gaze and chalky skin. White powder dusts his shoulders.
“Someone’s got a bad case of dandruff,” Geraldine mumbles.
