Waverly peeled her eyes quickly from his and glanced at the person seated next to him. Her face brightened at the sight of an Elfin with jet black hair and numerous piercings in both her ears.
It was Luanda, King Asherah's daughter and supposed ambassador. She appeared more mature since Elves tended to grow twice as much in a single year than Humans did. In her left hand was a golden sceptre – Asherah's symbol of power, and a small crown of roses adorned her hair. She stared without interest at her nails as if bored of the delayed beginning of the games.
Just then, a loud conch sounded.
The crowd burst into screams and cheers. A herald welcomed everyone and announced the first game.
"A race between our very own best runners and the equal best of Veston. First one to break the chord wins the victor's laurel." The herald's voice traveled to every end of the temple, magnified by a wide-mouthed object that resembled a trumpet.
The couch came a second time.
From one of the numerous doorways of the temple, four persons stepped out – two fire mortals and two Elves. Waverly immediately recognized the second Elf.
"Brijjet?" She asked in surprise and turned to Diarmaid, who was hooting in excitement.
"Yes, of course. He's our best runner." He said with a wide grin.
"He has powers." Waverly noted.
"Yes and no. Brij already was a fast runner before being blessed with that godly speed." Diarmaid clarified. "He will not be allowed to use those powers now, but I bet you he'd still win us that laurel."
He turned to face the runners as they took their position on the racetracks, his gaze pinned on Brijjet. "Come on, fast feet. Kick their sleazebucket arses."
Waverly frowned when she noticed a Snow Elf directing angry looking clouds onto a part of the field.
"What is she doing?"
"Making it difficult." Diarmaid hungrily said. Thunder crackled within the clouds.
A moment of silence followed, and then, a sharp whistle broke it accompanied by wild cheers. The runners sprinted forward with Brijjet already in the lead. Waverly stood up and peered at them as they disappeared into the sea of clouds.
"Where are they?" She asked, risking a step toward the stone wall before her that served as a blockade.
"Whoever can find their way out first is one step ahead." Diarmaid explained. "Now, please, no more questions, okay? Just watch and have fun."
Waverly kept quiet, watching the clouds. They were thick; grey in some places and black in others. Thunder still crackled loudly inside them, and they stretched on around a part of the track as if never wanting the runners to emerge. Elves were good with illusion magic, and it made Waverly wonder exactly what the runners had been fooled to see inside the fog.
Without warning, her godly senses opened and pushed her right into the clouds. The noise of the spectators reduced to a distant hum, allowing her overhear what went on in the fog.
"Which way now?" The other Elf asked Brijjet. In front of them were a hundred racetracks, leading into winding tunnels. Each tunnel was identical and black as night. The Vestonians were nowhere within sight.
"I don't know." Brijjet asked, panting a little. He pointed to one of the tunnels. "Maybe that way."
No. Waverly said and pointed to the tunnel toward the extreme left. That way.
Brijjet seemed to translate her voice as some sort of instinctive guide because he suddenly halted and looked in the direction she had suggested.
"I think it's that way." He said, pointing to the new tunnel track.
The other Elf glanced at him mistrustingly. "If you're going to mislead me into the wrong track, then come back out and take the right one, you're being stupid."
Brijjet looked taken aback. "What?"
But the Elf had already left him and taken the wrong path. Brijjet tried to call him back, but he was already gone.
Go. Leave him. Waverly urged.
Brijjet suddenly seemed reluctant. He stared suspiciously at the tunnel. To further persuade him, she lit the way with soft moonlight. He lifted an eyebrow, then swiftly darted toward the direction. It felt like surfacing from deep water when Waverly pulled herself out of the cloud. Thankfully, no one had noticed anything odd, not even Diarmaid.
"Why are they taking so long?" He groaned.
Just then, cheers gradually erupted.
Waverly turned her gaze quickly and found Brijjet emerging from the other end of the cloud. He picked up speed and broke the blue chord that signified the end of the line amidst chants and piercing screams of joy, especially from the ladies.
"Bridonis! Bridonis! Bridonis!" The chants were non-bias and came from everybody's lips.
"I told you! I told you he would win us that damn laurel!" Diarmaid laughed, energetically shaking Waverly by her shoulders. "Bloody nubcakes think they know what speed really means."
Then, he pointed at Brijjet and said to whoever was listening. "That's my best friend."
Brijjet lifted the laurel, his beaming face rotating to every axis of the temple. Waverly smiled and cheered along with everyone. When Brijjet's gaze found Aurora's, his smile broadened. Waverly doubted that the princess could see Brijjet, but knew whose name was being chanted. Her smile turned sour as she spotted them smiling at each other.
Brijjet bowed toward the royal platform, where the royals were politely clapping and beaming, all except for Lameth.
Waverly's smile melted off completely when their gazes met again. It seemed as if the King had a mental hook he used to stop her eyes from peeling away from his.
"Zanaan." His chilling voice whispered in her head, sending pain through her entire body.
She groaned and began to slump slowly to the ground.
"What is it? A-Are you alright?" Diarmaid asked, bending over to pick her up. She shivered all over and had broken into cold sweat. "I think you've had a fever just now. I guess that could happen with overexcitement."
"I am fine. I just feel tired." She claimed, wiping the sweat off her forehead.
"Are you sure? You're trembling."
Waverly inadvertently turned to look in Lameth's direction again and felt her neck snap. She was sure Diarmaid heard it too.
Her eyesight instantly went dark.
"What, in the name of—? Waverly!" She heard Diarmaid calling out to her from a long distance, but her attempts to give an answer were futile.
She was faintly aware of being carried away from the crowd whilst people stared and asked if she was alright. The sound of cheering and the herald's voice booming through the temple was replaced by the sound of hooves hitting the ground. Waverly's eyes were open, but she could not see a thing. She was fully aware of the biting cold, the horse underneath her, her hot breath against Diarmaid's chest, and the way her body spasmed painfully every minute.
Soon, she found she was being placed atop a soft bed. She recognized the smell of the place, the voices all around, the feel of aged yet gentle skin on her forehead and against her neck. She would recognize the Nurses even if two of all five of her senses were dead.
"The poor child, she did gaze innocently at Lameth." One of them said gently, but in a slightly panicked tone.
"What?" Diarmaid asked. "What do you mean? He was sitting about a hundred leagues away from us."
"We will appreciate it, we will, my son, if ye allow us to revive tis child ye brought to us for treatment."
"Fine. But I want an explanation as to what's going on right after, and I'll start a fire if you let anyone else see her before I do."
Waverly overheard one of the Nurses chuckle softly. "Ye has not changed in form all the years from which ye has grown from a youngling. But yes, ye will be first the one to see her."
Hands felt Waverly's face, sweet smelling oils dripped through and into her hair, and wet warm clothes dabbed at her neck and chest. After a few moments, the darkness in her eyes began to fade, until the colors in the room came back. The trembling in her body stopped and the fever seized. She was given a bowl of warm milk with cut cheese, bread and slices of oranges.
After her meal, Diarmaid was ushered in to see her. He hurriedly knelt next to her and pulled her into a hug.
"By the sails of Gayl, you scared me near to death." He said.
"I apologise." Waverly muttered, wiping the oil off her forehead. It smelled strongly of eucalyptus.
"What happened to you back there?"
One of the Nurses, Myrta, came over. The ceiling bent to accommodate the movement of her head. "Ye friend looked long into the eyes of King Lameth. He bears the mark of Vesta and tis be the effect that came brutally to her soul."
Diarmaid looked puzzled. "But Lameth has been looking at everybody all day. Why her?"
Another Nurse, Sage, answered. "His Highness does it not with intention. The mark of the Godhead inside of him saw in her a sense of strong emotion."
Waverly fiddled with the bread crumbs on her tray.
Sage turned to glance at her. "But it be best that we put her not to a burden with confessions of such personal matters or else the medicine that keeps her awake should prevail backwards."
Waverly bent low to hide her flushed cheeks. She knew what Sage meant. Right before her gaze met with Lameth's, she had felt a strong wave of jealousy toward Aurora, but she had had no idea that the King carried a Godhead in him. The only person she had met who hosted Vesta, or Fira as she was commonly known, was Lord Desi, but he was a god, whereas Lameth was mortal.
However, Myrta had said the King only bore a mark and not the Godhead herself.
"What do you mean by the mark of Vesta?" She asked.
The third Nurse, Reela, relieved her of the food tray. "Blessed he is to carry in him a fraction of a fraction of her supernatural powers. Lameth, a two-way soul he is."
"What does that mean?" Waverly still felt frail, as if she had just woken up after a long slumber on an empty stomach.
Diarmaid sighed. "A two-way soul is one that has notoriously existed both in old times and in this time."
Waverly turned to him. There were candles in the Almshouse, but they were overshadowed by the beautiful warm colors in the walls.
"Are you saying that the King has existed before?"
"His soul has, perhaps. Makes a lot of sense now." Diarmaid said.
"I still do not understand." Waverly complained. She yearned to know how the King had known she was a god's blood even with such great distance between them. Brijjet was also Zanaan. She wondered why the Vestonian King had not whispered in his ears too.
"Ye must have time a lot of it to spare to understand it all." The fourth Nurse, Noble, muttered.
"Can you not shorten the story? Pa always did that."
"Lameth, the reincarnation of an old dead soul, he is." Sage began. "Old Navat, first of the first bloodline of Kings of Veston he was and first blessed of the mark of Vesta. Lived on he did for so long like Elven blood was in him. Navat wished to know death not, but Deusa came still for his soul to claim and bring to judgement. Navat evaded her and his soul he sealed in the golden Bowl of Time. Tis the bowl that lingered for generations and generations, until Lameth. Navat found rest in the body of him. He stayed in him, allowing for manifestation the mark of Vesta which a power tis so extreme that judges and cripples whomever be overtaken with negative emotions."
"So, to put it more simply, Lameth is a living emotion reader." Diarmaid concluded. "He can tell when there is malice in a room; anger, fear, betrayal, hatred, jealousy or vengefulness. No one can come before him and lie about their feelings, which is why he is a formidable ally during these times."
Waverly nodded. It made sense to her why the King would come at such a time. No one would dare plan a conspiracy or attempt betrayal with him around. She wanted to ask a thousand other questions, but held back.
"If you feel better, you can return to camp and rest. I don't think going to face Lameth again would be such a good idea." Diarmaid said, offering his hand.
Waverly gladly took it.
For the next four days, she missed out on the games, but received news updates from Phyllis and Ceylon about how it had gone. Apparently, Brijjet had not needed any form of assistance from her. He won the second race held in her absence. Phyllis badgered her to reveal why she had been carried out of the temple, but Waverly only explained that she had fainted from overexcitement.
"You should have seen Grace, then." Phyllis had laughed. "She got so excited, she stepped on a Neon, and now, her hair is pink."
"She won't come out until it wears off." Ceylon contributed with a sly smile. "I don't think that will be happening any time soon."
The NeverEnd came to an end quicker than the Floom had done. According to Dermot, the next season would be Pour. The season of steady rainfall.
It came as an endless pleasure for Waverly that the heat had passed, and she was more than excited do things under the pouring rain. She trained, carved, practiced archery, avoided the Vestonian next door, adventured more with Dermot; and began to learn how to read, write and speak like a modern Elf which was the most difficult thing yet besides shooting an arrow.
In her childhood years, she had learned to speak like the ancient Elves from HalfHyde and like a Human from Judson. Pa had assured that with the Elvish tongue being half as old as the world itself, same as their English, the culture of it would last until the world came to an end, but Waverly sorely recognized how wrong he was.
Modern Elves in Alpgeton wanted to sound nothing like their ancestors. They cut half of their words short and used the Alp tongue only when absolutely necessary.
"My great-grandfather spoke Elven English his entire life." Dermot revealed. "He lived to be eighteen hundred and thirty two. My father told us that before he passed into the afterlife, he requested that all his descendants keep the culture of Elven English alive."
He shrugged and cackled quietly. "Too bad."
He had brought Waverly to a beautiful fall in a part of The Woodlands – the smallest one she had seen in Alpgeton since most waterfalls were huge. The water was white, and foamy, and cold; full of flowing seeds and rocks, leaves and tiny fish. The rock off which it cascaded was only twelve feet high. The spot was very well hidden and Dermot's favorite since childhood. It was enclosed on both sides by low hanging trees, taller trees and some peculiar, pleasant shrubbery.
The fall emptied into a streamlet that flowed on and on into where Waverly never really found out.
She stood waist deep inside the stream with her eyes fixed on the tiny fishes in the water and her arm raised in readiness to catch one whilst Dermot stayed crouched near a rock, adding finishing touches to her newly carved image with a small woodworking tool. She had done a Neon Stallion from Elven wood, but had not gotten the horn and left hoof right.
"I still cannot catch a single one. They are too tiny." Waverly complained without removing her gaze from the water.
"Say that again." Dermot said. "Like I taught you."
Waverly's eyes slowly darted toward him. He watched her with a ghostly smile on his lips because he knew how difficult the last forty-something tries had been for her.
"I. . . still. . ." She cranked her head sideways with her mouth half open.
"Can't." Dermot offered, suppressing a laugh.
"C-C-Can. . . t. . ." Waverly stuttered and burst into laughter. Dermot joined her.
"That was better than the last. . . hm, twelve times. You've gotten it right before, why is it so hard now?" He offered.
It rained moderately, but the raindrops were filtered out by the branches above and so they came down in sprinkles, flattening Dermot's hair against his neck. He had let it grow longer in the past few months so that he looked very different from Diarmaid.
"It is difficult to remember to shorten my words." Waverly noted and returned to her fixed position.
"A lot less difficult than trying to catch pint-sized fish with your hand." He teased.
"I will catch one." She muttered.
"Okay." Dermot rose and walked nearer to the stream, the image in one hand and his tool in the other. "So, let's make a bet then, shall we?"
"What. . . bet?" Waverly asked, lifting her eyes to squint at him. She had known him long enough to feel cautious whenever he offered to make bets.
"If you can catch one of those fishes – just one then, I won't bother teaching you modern Elven English. But if you can't before evening comes, you have to learn and speak Elven English forever."
"Forever?" She asked, looking amused.
"Yes. Catching tiny minnows with your hand is an impossible task, even the best fisherman can't do it. Only a few have been known to catch them."
"So if I catch just one, I can stop learning modern Elven English?" She asked, her face was painted with a smug smile.
"Yes. I wouldn't look so confident if I were you though, but do we have a bet?" Dermot smirked.
"We do. I will catch one. You just watch."
"Oh, I'll be watching." He sat down on a rock and crossed a leg over the other. "I'll be watching right here."
Waverly bided her time carefully in between dips, but the fish seemed to know when she would thrust her hand into the water. They clustered in a spot, and just before her hand plunged fully, they would quickly disperse and she would end up presenting an empty hand to Dermot.
Evening came quickly. The trees darkened, and Waverly's arm ached to madness. She had tried to make use of her left, but it proved even more useless.
Dermot stood up with a long sigh. "Well, it wouldn't do if I did not show you how it was properly done."
He made his way into the river and made Waverly squat until the water reached her neck.
"You have good timing, but you've been trying to catch them the wrong way." He quietly offered.
"Why are you whispering?" Whispered Waverly.
"Your voice leaves vibrations in the water and they can feel it." Dermot replied. He directed her hand underwater and opened her palm at a spot.
"When they cluster," He moved her fingers ever so slowly into a fist. "Close your hand quietly, but not too firmly or you'll squash them."
Waverly kept her hand open. Like before, the fish gathered again in great numbers right above her palm. Slowly and steadily, she reached up until she could almost feel them, then with bated breath, made a fist like Dermot had showed her. Her skin tickled as she rose.
When she opened her palm, half an entire school of fish were flapping inside the small water left in her hand.
Dermot beamed at her. "The bet still stands. You lost!"
Waverly laughed and released the fishes back into the water. "Why did you tell me only a few people can catch minnows with their hands when you can do it so easily?"
Dermot climbed out of the stream. He seemed to ponder the question for a split second. "I am lucky to be amongst the few."
"Does Diarmaid know how to catch tiny minnows?" Waverly asked as they headed away from the fall. Their recreation had come to an end.
"Diarmaid couldn't catch a tuna with both eyes open." He replied with a chuckle.
That night, the rain beat hard against Waverly's roof. Her room was cool and comfortable as she lay snug under her new blankets – presents from Cassiope. They were soft and blue with tiny, decorative threadings of pink pigs and yellow corns. Nearest the bed was a single lantern that warmed the room a little. Waverly had moved it away from the east wall because of her neighbor. His presence in the next room threatened to melt their shared wall into a brick puddle and she did not wish to wake up to the start of a fire in the middle of the night.
Waverly's eyes had begun to shut lazily when water splattered against her shoulder. She rose hastily to search for the source and her eyes traveled to the roof. A tiny hole was slowly appearing in it, and a sharp beak protruded in and out in fast pecks.
"Goody!" Waverly whined.
She recalled sending the bird off with a letter for HalfHyde a few days ago and he had apparently returned with her reply. She marched to the door and opened it, then stood on the small portico and whistled. Goody flew to her drenched in rain water with a wet scroll attached to his talon.
Waverly brought him inside, dried him up and found pieces of bread crumbs for him to nibble on, then began to work on the scroll. It was soaked on ends and had begun to break off, but the rest of it remained intact.
She unrolled it with care and pulled the lantern close. A part of the ink had faded. Luckily, she could still make out a good amount of HalfHyde's words.
". . . That ye be well. . . parts day and day, but tis not of missing children, but dying . . . lost over tis and it be increasingly difficult to keep watch on traveli. . . heed nor pay ear to law that states none must leave. . . to keep order, but intellect be what. . . I reckon the King's daughter ye has encountered . . . Elvenhome bound she made . . .with the Elves. . . I wish child, that safe. . . Conviction of tis I be. . . Ye will survive and ye will make me. . ."
Waverly read the letter over and over, trying to understand it. It confused her, but the last parts of it assured her that her father was confident that she would be alright. The thought made her relax a bit. She stared at Goody as he nibbled on the bread crumbs. He often shivered a little between bites and ruffled his feathers. Waverly went over and refilled his tray, stroking his back. She felt appreciative of him since he was the only link to her father and hometown.
"You have poked a hole in my roof. Now, I cannot sleep there any longer. I have to move my bed." She whined unhappily.
The next morning was the oddest one Waverly ever woke up to.
She heard singing – the most melodious voices belting out the sweetest songs in the strangest language. At first, she feared she was in a vision, yet it did not feel to be so. She pushed back her covers, climbed out of bed and walked to the window. Goody was asleep next to the warm wall with his grey head dipped within his feathers.
Waverly pushed back the curtains. It had always been easy for her eyes to take in the morning light so she did not wince from its sharpness. A dull thin fog hung low over the trees, obscuring everything from view.
The camp was stationed on a rise some kilometers away from the palace, and from that height, she could see into the massive courtyard on a clear day and the glint of the palace windows in the sunlight. She washed and took a tray out to get breakfast. By then, the camp was overflowing with comrades busying themselves over numerous things.
As Waverly passed by, she picked up small talk from a Human and an Elf.
". . . since last night. It has been strange, but that is the story." The Human was saying.
"Did anyone else notice anything odd during patrol?" The Elf asked. He stood with him arm on his waist and was a good deal taller than the Human.
"Not exactly. We did six swaps and every man reported of the weather condition. I, for one, thought I should ask a native first before jumping to conclusions." The Human answered.
Waverly walked past them to the smorgasbord where ridiculous quantities of every kind of food had been laid out. She carefully picked up a bread roll, a small plate of eggs and moved over to a stack of clean teacups.
Just then, she heard a neigh and turned.
Trotting gracefully toward the table was a Neon Stallion. He had multicolored mane, and a coat so white and shiny that it made everything else around him look like dirt. He swished his mane and reached down to poke at an unusually large red apple. Waverly moved away to allow him a little bit of space, but the animal seemed to have difficulty sticking the fruit.
"Excuse me, m'lady?" He began.
Waverly felt a wave of shock run through her spine then recovered almost immediately. Neons were Hammitonians and almost every creature from the realm could speak unlike those in Bremeton.
"Can you help me—?"
"Of course." Waverly interjected. She put down her own tray and reached for the apple. It was heavier than it looked, but she picked it up carefully and slid it through the sharp point of the Neon's horn.
"Thank you, m'lady." He said.
"What is your name?" She found herself asking.
"I am Rubick, m'lady." He replied.
Waverly thought he was a rather gentle stallion. He had kind eyes, big and light brown like melted peanuts.
"I am Waverly. It is nice to meet you, Rubick."
Rubick bowed carefully so as not to lose his apple. Another sound made Waverly turn. It was a great purring, and she would have known it was a lion without having to look, but she did anyway. The animal was strutting toward the second smorgasbord on the opposite side, whipping its brown mane pompously as it did.
"Move over!" It growled at a Dwarf.
The Dwarf bared his teeth. "I was here first. Wait your turn."
Waverly watched them. She had developed a big dislike for lions, and this one was not making it better. It kept nudging the Dwarf, until it succeeded in chasing him away. A few people stared, but the others kept their noses in their business.
"What are you sneering at?" The lion asked.
Waverly blinked. It was talking to her. She did not realize their eyes had met and that she was probably making a face at the creature that caught its attention.
"I said, what are you looking at, rookie?" It asked again and began to walk toward her.
She barely moved.
"You." Came her reply.
The lion snarled and looked around as if waiting for someone to plead for Waverly's sake, but only a few folks seemed to be watching them quietly.
"I wonder why they put a greenhorn in a camp for experienced warriors." It growled then turned to face Rubick. "And what are you looking at, rainbow?"
"I wonder if you can intimidate the enemy like you do your own brethren." Waverly heard herself say calmly in spite of the fact that she had begun to steam in the ears.
A small laugh came from somewhere in the crowd then quickly ceased.
"You have a big mouth." The lion growled.
"Yes. It is only a hundred times smaller than yours." She backfired.
Now, the whole camp really watched the scene. The lion seemed to enjoy the show it was putting on as it believed itself to be greater and could put Waverly down however it wished to.
"Do lions talk in your home realm, rookie?"
"No. And my name is not rookie."
"I see. You should show more respect to us talking lions."
"I have met other talking lions who showed more respect than you did to that nice Dwarf over there." Waverly said, slightly jutting her chin toward the Dwarf in the corner. A couple of people glanced at him, mostly the ones who had ignored the drama at first.
"I am not a friendly lion." The lion said.
"It is quite obvious, that bit."
The creature's eyes became slits and anger lined its face, but Waverly did not feel intimidated even in the slightest. "I would swallow you whole in one bite if we were not on the same side."
Waverly glanced sideways for any reactions to the lion's statement, but none came. Everybody was poised in a halt as if someone had paused time in the middle of whatever activity they had been doing.
"You should make those threats to the other side. There are lions there, after all."
"Lions do not eat lions."
"So, you mean that if another lion were to attack someone on your side, you would let them walk away?"
The lion gave a brief roar that startled a couple of Humans a few ways off such that they dropped their trays to the ground in a noisy clatter. "Do not twist my words, you little pheasant."
"I only asked you a question." Waverly shrugged calmly.
"You can talk all you want, but you better watch your back. Like I said before, I am not friendly." The lion said quietly.
"No, of course you are not." She agreed with a chuckle. "You are just an overgrown cub with hair and no manners whatsoever."
That seemed to do it.
The lion sprang forward with a giant leap, but before anyone could react, it suddenly missed Waverly and fell on its side. It rolled over, whimpering in fear, shook its mane and hastily bolted in a run. A wave of shock passed through every face. It all seemed confusing to the crowd, but Waverly knew what really caused the lion to miss its target.
As soon the creature lunged, her eyes glowed, and, like an open window, the lion saw a false future of himself, dying in the most disgraceful and gruesome manner at the hands of an even smaller lion. She was uncertain how she had done it, but it was what she wanted to happen.
Apparently, that was the lion's worst nightmare and she made him see it. She turned and acknowledged a surprised Rubick with a nod, then headed back to her room.
After her meal, she stepped outside again and found the most unlikely visitor standing there.
"That was some guts, kid." He stated simply and walked away.
It was her neighbor. The elderly Vestonian she had been so wary of.
Even though she was still quite shocked that he had given her a compliment, the feeling of mistrust she harbored toward him melted away.
She made to round the corner and saw flashes of purple within the trees from the corner of her eye. It was Phyllis.
"Morning, Phyllis." She greeted.
Phyllis did not return the greeting because she still panted from her run. "Did you hear it?"
Waverly tilted her head. "Hear what?"
"The music and the singing this morning. Did you hear singing?"
"Yes. Yes, I did. What about it?"
Phyllis took Waverly's hand and led her to the back of the camp where trees hung low like a canopy and a twenty foot drop led steadily down to a wide, cleared out path.
"You have a window that looks directly into the palace courtyard, so did you see them?" Phyllis asked, staring at the road below as if checking for footprints.
"You are confusing me all the more. See what? I did not see anything. It was foggy at dawn, but I did hear the singing. What were those?"
"Eyér Virga. Air spirits. They're here now. Apparently, we cannot see them, but they are here. They haven't visited in thousands of years."
"Does their visit now mean something?"
Phyllis turned to face her. "Sometimes, I forget that you're not an Elf. Yes, it does mean something. I heard someone say they saw a number of guards marching toward the palace at the stroke of dawn. He said that they were likely escorting someone, someone who walked in their middle, but no one was there when he looked. There was only a trail of fresh water."
"Fresh water? What are you saying?"
Phyllis wiped her forehead. "I'm saying that I have a strong suspicion. It makes enough sense."
"Nothing does, actually." Waverly noted.
"I hope I'm not wrong. The Eyér Virga sang this morning after over a yearthousand; there was unnatural fog everywhere, the air smells fresher and cleaner, and look. . ." She gracefully reached up and plucked off a leaf then showed it to Waverly.
"The leaves are greener than usual."
"The Floom?" Waverly inquired, inspecting the leaf. Its green appeared sharper, whereas the Floom would have made it look warm.
"Not the Floom. I didn't want to voice out what my suspicions were before, but I can't help it now." Phyllis said. Her eyes looked fiery.
"What are your suspicions? You can tell me."
"I think those guards were escorting a god to see the King. And I know who that god is, or rather, goddess."
Waverly's ears tingled in deep anticipation.
"Juniper is here." Phyllis whispered.