Lady Leaves the Lake: Faerie Forge Chronicles

By Helen Savore

A smith's courage is bound into a sword of destiny

Viviane is a fae smith, capable of creating epic weapons that shape the elements. Smiths aren't permitted to fight in the battles that forge the faewilds, but Viviane rebels and finds herself responsible for the death of a herald.

Cast out by her family, Viviane must sunder fae society so that smiths are free to shape the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Oberon's Forge Press llc
• Release date: Dec 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9781946625052

Helen Savore

Helen Savore writes fantastical worlds filled with a mixture of modern and medieval settings. She explores stories loosely based on Arthurian legends, secretly wishing that King Arthur would return to pull the world from the brink of darkness. An engineer by day, and a gamer when time allows, this paper ninja writes, reads, plays with pen-and-paper RPGs and folds origami. It’s not surprising that her stories are filled with unexpected folds and twists that blend seamlessly with reality. Learn more about Helen’s stories at right here. You can also follow her on Twitter @ImaPaperNinja.

Book preview

1

Darkness

Viviane? Can it not wait until after the repairs? I'm choking out here.

Freva twined around their broken trident on the shore. The dark sinuous myrial resembled our foe, the Moraeddyn, bearing one long running fin from crest to heel. They weren’t an entire cylinder though, having strong reddening flippers that could approximate a leg if necessary. Still, I could see how they would be more comfortable with the sturdy support of a foci.

No. I spoke as my head and crest tentacles trailed down my back to slap my mottled blue body. My coloring was one of the few things I shared with my family, though Escal told me my eyes were closer to unburnt coal. How unlucky was I to have split aft fins, so that I could crawl out of our waters and interact with the land walkers? My fore flippers even extended into tendrils that approximated fingers. Was it no wonder I was a smith? An entire profession and vocabulary most of my family need not know. Imagine how I feel?

I pointed to Mergu, my hammer hardened fingers holding defiantly steady, confident despite my mood. Not too far. Ten breaths, then come for me. Tap me, tackle me, I don't care what, just make contact and hold on for another good ten-count.

Mergu waved with their left flipper, their green-blue scales glinting in the unfiltered sunlight. Their twisted and tan right flipper remained still, a mockery, a mistake, an undeniable wound: it was probably the only reason Mergu and Freva humored me.

The war had marked each of us.

I backed up, ran along the small shore, and with three bounds I hit the water.

Blind. My sight disappeared instantly, not a gradual collapse of vision going black, but an immediate lack of sensation. Not only my vision, but all senses. I lost the echoes of the shore above, and the dark silence became so penetrating that my ears ached attempting to find something, anything, in that curious sound of silence.

I could only sense my own sleek, scaled body, but not even that I floated, remained still, within water. I traced my molted face, black eyes, and the slits of my pulsating gills with fine, flat fins, reassuring myself I lived, and had not merely lost memories cast astray in the fae wilds.

I yelled, Is anyone there? and thrashed against the endless darkness. I couldn't hear Mergu. Couldn't see, couldn't touch. I hoped they hadn't closed in yet, but I knew it wasn't true.

I could move, I'd proven it before. Water pushed against me, but at a constant pressure, betraying no pulse of current or ripples of others' passage. It had been a tease of sensation, but a welcome one, when I had first been banished topside. Now? Now I spun, shifting my flippers in a gyrating dance, flailing to not fall into any pattern, reaching out to find something. Anything.

Anyone. Where was that Mergu? Could they have abandoned me, their family, despite the curse?

Feeling was gone, sight was covered in unnatural ink, and sound not muffled, but absent. No amount of concentration aided me in discerning smells from the gas combing through my gills.

I screamed again, just to prove I could. Hello! clearly formed in my mind and I moved my mouth to match but I had no sense of my own cry.

This was getting me nowhere. I propelled myself to what I thought to be the surface.

I broke through. Light, sight, a blur of stone across the far shore. The gentle rock of waves slapped my flank scales and an imperceptible breeze teased my crest tentacles, a meek peer to the water's current below.

My family's territory had shrunk over the seasons, and this small, enclosed lake was our last land outpost. Two watch crags guarded the entrance, and they reached so high they nearly crested the water. On lower tides I sometimes saw our warriors, not that they ever responded or waved back. Many of my creations were brought there, they doubled as armories in addition to defensive positions.

But no one came here voluntarily. It was a fall back point. The only ones here were a small contingent of guards. Tunnels beneath connected to our other waters, and I alone was denied those, for the time being.

They had to come to me. Freva hadn't moved a bit. How long was I under, was it too short? Had I not missed Mergu because they still were counting down?

Mergu?

Here, they answered, and I swiveled, gazing at my prison.

Mergu stood by the forge, rattling a flail of chain links that fell apart with each shake. Nearby on the shore were a few simple dwellings, and store caverns carved out of the hillside. The drab wood buildings mostly provided lodging for when land walkers visited.

Did you even try? I slunk back onto the shore, my lower flippers stiffening in order to maintain my balance on land. I had heard of other myrial families that turned the oceanic magma flows into fine hearths, avoiding the need for topside forges, and the need to learn to walk.

But even if the Llyn had such a place, they would have denied me. Their last smith was too valuable in this drawn out war, too valuable to even let swim the waters that were their home.

Mergu threw the remaining chain into the hovel and met me on the shore. Yes, Viviane, I did. But twelve times smacking you without a response...? Their breath hitched as they lifted their left flipper again. I don't want to do that again, but with your permission given, if you don't attend to our foci soon, I might.

I wasn't scared. The words, even Mergu's demeanor, were serious, but their yellow eyes quaked. They were scared; I was simply an easy target.

I slipped down, maneuvering past the upheld flipper to nab the chains, causing a few more links to flake off. Running my fingers along it I got a sense of loss that matched the gravity in Mergu's eyes. This thing wasn't just struck, it was broken, and continuing to fail, as if infected by a disease. I glanced to Mergu's right flipper, their injury was not random.

Who broke it?

Over-extension, calcification. Shapers couldn't go past the accumulated strength of their foci, no matter how practiced and talented they might be in shaping the elements. I was told these lessons were burned into other fae when they were young, maybe even their first time touching a foci. There were only two ways to cause someone to calcify: make them do something reckless, or break their foci at just the right time.

I looked again at all the injuries, no, all the survivable ones. I could fix their foci, their weapons, but no one could fix them. Maybe a human, if they were a Druid, but I'm fairly certain that was a myth our elders spread as a kind of pathetic hope. But if they still swam, they fought.

Mergu glanced back to Freva. Even their above-water movement was a slither, swaying against the weak air as they approached and then passed into the forge. I shall explain as you work.

I gave Mergu a blink, making sure that was okay with them, and when they made no other movement, I proceeded inside.

Freva flattened themself against the near wall, their gills flaring, trying to shed the hot air I guessed. I hated air. It was thin, insubstantial, terribly inefficient at conveying anything. I despised being forced to breath it. It almost sickened me to think I had adapted to it, seeing how much more trouble Freva, and now Mergu having joined us, was having.

I dropped the mess of chains on my worktable, shoving aside the other items; a few sets of bands, a scythe, and a trident not nearly so well made as Freva's. Speaking of, Freva, do you have any offerings for me? Or were you simply here to guide Mergu through my irascible temper?

Freva's jaw dropped, revealing fearsome teeth that were essentially tiny swords. I wished I were half so well endowed, but then I would never face an enemy so had no need to intimidate.

I had not thought it that way. No, I have a hook that was also destroyed when the herald landed.

Herald? I ducked. Even in my lonely, abandoned cove I knew fear. Heralds were Oberon's agents in the fae wilds, elevated from select smiths, but turned into something more. While they might observe, and moderate, conflicts, more often than not they dove into protracted battles, and ended them.

How was Freva still alive to tell the tale?

I calmed enough to reach out and take the hook, though I remained silent as I prepared.

The weak heat of the banked fires was a gentle tease. Would that I could leave it that way, but no. I had planned to be some time at testing out the boundaries of my curse before running in to the pair and co-opting them into my experiments. I stoked the fire and began shifting things around to find the right sized tools, shooting my gaze at the broken foci. These chains were not just physically broken. Stroking them I perceived the impressive array they were previously: a net more than a weapon. Now it was a sickly pile of chain links that never ended.

This was like a sickness in the composition of the foci itself.

How did a herald do this?

It is what heralds do. Mergu slapped their mobile flipper on the worktable. It quivered then yanked up, the ambient heat no doubt ruining their attempt at emphasis. Heat ruined so many things. How young are you?

Smiths do not see battle. Freva ran a flipper along their head and down their back, beads of moisture pulling away with which they then harassed their gills.

Not by choice, I growled, and not quite accurate, either. I made sure to counter their words before I sympathized with their actions. The enclosed air warmed my skin, too. Terrible element, and a strange one. It could blend the properties more than the others. Not quite an admixture, more a hint of connection.

I approached the forge, putting a flipper to the banked flame. It was ready, once I found a fix for this curse. A physical patch would have to be effected, too.

This goes too long. Mergu flicked. How long will you stare at it? Can you fix it with your blank eyes? Lift a tool, something.

Fear and loss. I had to remember Mergu was upset for their loss. There was no apparent discussion of retiring having lost their good flipper. They meant to return to the fight with their foci.

But then they weren't the only one to lose. What was a limb to your home?

I'm not trusting my foci with you. Mergu yanked the foci away. A few more chain links fell off, I couldn't tell from where. Where is Escal?

My flippers searched for the alloy that was not there. The physical representation of the bond I had shared with Escal existed—a silver pendant foci with four stones in a diamond pattern, representing each of the four elements—but nothing sang from it. It was duller than my Llyn family alloy, which was little more than badge. I was wrong, there was something worse than losing your home: losing your life.

I hope... I started exhaling another breath, clenching the foci tighter, trying to give a glib response. I was determined not to show them my grief. Be useful, be enchanting, be likable, and then folks might yell for your release. A martyr? Well then, their job was half done. I hope, I repeated, they were laid to rest in Dohsm grotto, but since I am cursed above the waters, I was unable to attend the funeral service.

Something broke the light, which was interesting because it came from beyond the fire. Freva's dark form appeared to ooze and penetrate the hovel. How did it happen?

Four simple words and I was gone. The water churned about me so fast, counter current dragging muck and flotsam. It was chaotic, but it was sight. And sound. I almost wished I could block it, the mixture of roars, warbles, and cries. The whines were the worst, a dull keen that was not so much audible as felt.

This was not the world we were meant to be in though. Where had this stray school of eels come from? The thick coral that dotted the hills were great cover to get deliveries closer to the lines, but somehow these enemies hid within them. They were attacking Escal when I exited the passage. I had lurked behind my teacher, not wanting to be sent back so soon. I had thought there was nothing to fear here.

I was wrong, and it cost Escal their life.

I'm not sure how long they tangled with Escal, but Escal somehow evaded their blows. The foe seemed reticent to shape the elements here, but simple slices and buffets eventually added up.

I still don't know what I did to reveal my hiding spot, but I heard Escal's call. Viviane! and as their eyes met mine a slice cut their gills. Ichor spilled.

No! I yelled, but after a moment there was no one to hear my cry.

Escal grabbed at the fatal wound and roared. White dripped along their scales, spreading faster than any ichor or anything else could against the push of the waters.

I had subconsciously grabbed the alloy I shared with Escal in my flippers, it flashed then dulled, leaving one, single, dead scale, white as Escal had become, and those that touched them.

Calcification. Escal was a smith. They couldn't shape, but somehow they reached beyond a shaper’s potential and hurt themselves. Hurt themselves so bad it spread and took out the enemy myrial.

Recovering from the pain in my flipper I saw them—all nine of them—drifting towards the floor below.

Viviane?

Freva's unnervingly steady voice brought me back. It was too easy to slip into that memory; it had haunted me since. Escal's death made me the Llyn's only smith, and, as such, banished me to the shore. But it was not the worst. I would have endured it to stay by Escal. They basically raised me after Betris abandoned me, realizing I would never be a warrior, could never defend our family.

But I wanted it desperately now. I wanted to fight so I didn’t lose Escal, to be by their side. To stand by my family instead of hidden away.

I didn't want to lose those I loved ever again.

Viviane? Freva repeated.

I blinked both eyelids, giving me the jolt of clarity I needed.

I rattled the chains before me, reaching onto the here-and-now to ground myself. I repeat, how did a herald do this?

When no answer was offered, I continued, unable to bear the silence. I thought a herald destroyed those that displeased them, and a herald reveals themself only once displeased.

It was a warning, Viviane.

Strong warning, Mergu continued. They initiated a cease fire by destroying foci.

I gasped, my head ached from one eye attempting to bulge. My gaze flicked between the pair. Only you two need fixes? I groaned, that wouldn’t be the worst of it. Did we lose anyone?

I don't think so. Freva seemed to shrink, collapsing within themself, either in sadness or indecision. As far as foci, it was only those using in that instant. Most are raiding closer stores. Their eyes drifted behind me to the hearth, but that could wait.

So, the herald called for a halt. To what end?

Four seasons. Mergu coughed, jerking before bringing their working fin to their gils. We get to live and fight as we near our doom.

Freva shifted closer. We can win this in less. With this threat, we can make it clear to the Moraeddyn the cost of taking too long to settle.

I wasn't sure how to process what they were saying. Heralds were the stuff of stories, like humans. Except these threats were nightmares, and one had visited Llyn.

I fiddled with Freva’s hook. It too was sheared in an unfamiliar manner. However, while not physical the damage seemed to more closely parallel the actual cut. This was something I could work with.

So, they favor Llyn? Then why not destroy the Moraeddyn now? I looked down and ran a finger along the crack of the hook, determining which ingot would affect the best fit to fix it.

Of course, Mergu said before I finished.

No, Freva answered. The charge was levied equally. The GodKing is concerned how this conflict is effecting the Kehsl trough.

Four seasons, I repeated. It was too quick, even if my services were not needed desperately, I could not be trained to shape in that time. A smith's study was too rigorous; there was nothing beside the forge.

I could not join my family on the lines, so I had to continue to work from behind. I looked to the ground of the hovel, wishing I could penetrate the gentle waters again, where I belonged.

Freva spoke, eyes never leaving the fires. Will you be able to handle many?

My stomach roiled, though I wasn’t sure if it were in relief or fear of cowardice. What could I tell Freva that they could understand? I had raged against my curse too long, I could not relent for even a moment, not even a moment of relief that I would never have to face the herald.

I sunk under the shame that filled me.

"I have nothing but time."

2

Fears Fought

The fires of Oberon's Forge sank below the horizon, giving way to night, and soon rose again. A new day.

I stared into that light, too long, undoubtedly hurting my eyes. Still, it was a simple joy to face. Darkness drove too many of the land critters to sleep, making it too still, feeding my loneliness.

It was strange to feel separated when there were more myrial around than I could remember since I was sent to the shore to learn Escal's craft. But most concerned themself with preparations for the convoy. Freva and Mergu were the forerunners of many, and our iron and other metals were running dangerously low. In advance of the arrival of our trade partners, Deihderm, some shapers were sent off the lines to eke out a bit more copper from the mines as they prepared the existing loads for the caravan.

I knew this through Iald, the council's speaker, explaining painstakingly in their gurgling voice to be sure I knew this was a hardship to be forced on shore for more than a moment. It was an acceptable lot for me, their smith, but not one such as Iald. They were also the one to continue to present me with more mundane work, which I didn’t argue, but quickly put aside to resume at the forge. I think they might have tried to negotiate with the traders around me if they had understood our metal needs enough, but Iald did not.

As each myrial arrived they made sure to alert me about the herald. It would have gotten tiresome if their stories hadn't varied widely, and I hadn’t been desperate for the interaction.

Apparently, the herald was nine feet tall, and smaller than a minnow, a nigh invisible threat. The hammer they wielded was, of course, any and all metals imaginable. One even suggested it was carved from pure diamond. I couldn't decide if that was more or less foolish than the one who claimed it was made from a fallen piece of Oberon's Tower in the sky.

A few lingered by the shore as they ate, and the hyperbole became a challenge.

Betris will bellow and the herald will be sent back by the vortex, all the way to Oberon's Tower.

When the herald summons us we will give the Moraeddyn our weapons, so they mistake us and wipe them out entirely.

Eleri rose shivering on a pair of tentacles which solidified into legs on shore, one pair rose high like a crest above their head, and the middle twitched presumably for balance. I would offer my flipper, Eleri said, miming the shake with one of the middle tentacles. And once they drop their hammer, spirit it away. Heralds are smiths; Oberon must work through the hammer. They gave me a shy glance and tapped the water with the very tip of one of the leg tentacles, sending small ripples towards the pebbles I lounged on. What do you think Viviane?

I sprung up, shifting my legs to a stable stance. "If