The Last Satyr: The Two Paths Part 2

“You’re sure she’s half Light Elf half and not something else?” asked Ronthiel, still suspicious of Leradien.

“Quite certain,” the keeper assured the elf.

“She says we cannot separate her from her spider demon,” said the boy. “Is that true?”

“Neither Lolth nor I can separate her from it,” said Graybeard with a reluctant look of agreement. “Her elf legs are gone, and even if it could be done, it is too late for her. Her demon has tainted her blood with its own. What is mixed cannot be unmixed. We cannot help her.”

“What does it do to her?”

“Oh! Many different things,” he said in understanding. “From your view, it increases her strength, vision, and hearing, as well as her resistance to pain and to magic spells. Yet from her view, you cannot possibly imagine how much it heightens her senses. Everything to her is far more intense than to either of us. For example, she hears us right now.”

“But she is asleep.”

“Yes.” Graybeard nodded. “Even so, our voices come to her. She hears us in her dreams. It’s part of what causes the madness.”

“What does cause the madness?” asked the boy.

“It is because of their sharpened senses,” he replied, looking down at her, “that a drider is so acutely aware of its loneliness. See how she grows restless now in her sleep? It’s from listening to us. She cannot escape what she is, even in sleep. Her own dreams torment her—an endless labyrinth where the walls are made of shadows and the corridors echo with the haunting whispers of her own mind.”

“Is that what drives them insane?”

“Yes. It is the doing of their demon blood and they cannot escape it.”

“Will it make her evil?”

“Driders are not evil as much as their minds are in chaos,” Graybeard informed him. “The spider demon that joined itself to her was always a mindless thing anyway, providing her only with its hunting instincts, such that they become her instincts. Of its own, it has no thoughts to transmit to her. All her thoughts are her own. Though,” he carefully added, “they are now influenced by a spider’s instincts.”

“Is that bad?”

“It’s probably not good.”

“Can you tell if she has a Light Elf’s nature?”

“I can feel her Light Elf half if that’s what you mean, but which dominates, I know no more than you,” he conceded. “As a crossbreed, she can align with either the drow or the elves. Yet I suspect her of a Light Elf’s nature because her demon blood should accentuate her willingness to do wrong, such as capturing you or reducing her willingness to risk her life for you. If she had a drow’s chaotic nature to begin with,” he said. “I doubt she would do those things. Instead, the desire to do the opposite would be greatly intensified and I doubt we should like her at all—or she like us. But even if she has a Light Elf’s nature, the effects of her demon blood would make her more drow like in her thinking. It might even strike a delicate balance between the two where she is aware of her Light Elf nature but rejects it for drow, creating a confusion of good and evil. As I said,” he summarized, “they live in chaos.”

“I have heard her mention a Leradien the Light,” the boy recalled.

“Then there is almost certainly a Leradien the Dark.”

“I have heard her say that, as well. Does that man she's about to go insane?”

“No. As I said, it describes her torture. All driders are social outcasts, regardless of their nature. With their heightened sensations, the sensation of loneliness becomes so amplified it is an all-consuming agony, its intensity magnified to unbearable proportions. They cannot escape it, even in sleep. To them, loneliness is the ultimate torture.”

Almost at once, Leradien began to kick and thrash in her sleep, almost as if fighting something. The boy wondered what caused it but the old keeper didn’t seem surprised at all.

“She hears us now,” he told the boy.

“What if she knew love instead of loneliness?” the boy asked, watching her torment.

“With no balance existing between the two, she would fall madly in love. She is either one or the other. It is either out of the madness of love that she followed you or the madness of loneliness. Either way, it is still madness.”

The boy found no comfort in learning what Leradien experienced daily.

“I don’t wish for her to go insane. How can I stop it?” he asked.

“You can’t,” Graybeard replied. “You can only delay it. Only another can save her.”

“What other?” the boy wanted to know.

“Sometimes our greatest supporters come from the least suspected places,” the keeper said knowingly. “But he is near.”

“Does he have a name?”

“Everyone has a name.”

The boy frowned, wondering what he meant by that. But Graybeard offered no further explanation. Wanting to offer her some peace of mind, the boy knelt down beside her, speaking softly.

“I won’t leave you, Leradien,” he assured her. “I don’t care what happens. I’ll always stay with you. You’re my best friend and I’ll never break my vow to you.”

Leradien’s restless sleep relaxed some. The quiet, soothing flow the obsidian water carried them along. They floated down the subterranean river that carved its way through the vast cavern, the gentle current whispering secrets of the dark depths. Shadows flickered on the cavern walls, casting doubts of their surroundings as the journey unfolded beneath the silent embrace of the underground realm.

Ronthiel, who had overheard, now joined the boy. “She’s asleep, you know.”

“Graybeard says she can still hear.”

“He would know,” the elf replied while watching her. “Did you mean that when you said you’d keep your promise to her?”

“Yes! Why?” asked the boy.

“Oh! Maybe because satyrs are known to lie,” said the elf. “Or maybe because you can’t possibly live long enough to keep it? No offense, Master satyr, but I think that promise needs to be made by someone else.”

“Look! She kicks less!” said the boy of her. “She heard me!”

“Yes. I believe she did,” the elf said, noticing as well. “But Graybeard said it’s only a dream to her. Yet look at how beautiful she is. I’ve never seen an elf so beautiful in all my life. It makes me wonder why.”

“You wonder why she’s so beautiful?” asked the boy in amazement.

“Yes,” answered Ronthiel with an agreeable nod. “It’s not natural. All elf girls are fair, but she puts them all to shame. There’s none more beautiful than her. And I mean, in every possible way. You just have to look at her. One hasn’t got a choice, really. You just have to do it.”

“I notice her all the time,” said the boy. “But I’m a satyr and I’m supposed to.”

“I notice her all the time, too,” admitted Ronthiel. “And I’m an elf and I’m not supposed to. That makes her uncommonly, exceedingly beautiful, I assure you. I can see why those orcs believed she was a goddess. She looks like one to me, too. And sometimes I wonder if she isn’t?”

“Yes!” the boy agreed. “When she spoke to the orcs, she looked-” The boy hesitated, trying to find the right word. “She looked…”

“Magnificent,” finished Ronthiel for him.

“Yes! That’s it!” said the boy. “She looked magnificent!”

Ronthiel simply nodded, looking down at her.

“She’s not fretting anymore now,” noticed the boy. “Look! She’s even smiling. She seems a lot more peaceable. You think she heard us?”

“Yes,” said Ronthiel with a nod. “I think so. Or, at least, I hope so.”

As Leradien’s restless sleep found temporary peace, the camaraderie between the boy and the elf became a beacon of warmth in the cold subterranean shadows. Their makeshift raft drifted down the underground river, a symbol of unity navigating the unknown waters together.

Ronthiel now took his eyes off her to remind the boy. “By the way,” he said. “You can’t tell Leradien that I think she’s beautiful when she’s awake. She’ll never let me live that down.”

“I don’t have to,” answered the boy. “You’ve already told her so twice yourself, while she was awake.”

“Oh! That’s right,” Ronthiel remembered and winced at that. “I did! I’ll bet she makes me regret my saying that!”

The boy nodded in agreement. She would. If ever a woman took pride in her beauty, it was Leradien. If you gave her so much as a grain of sand of a compliment, she would rightfully build it into an entire beach.

Recognizing this, the two crossed sides of the ferry, trying to see the far shore in the dark.

“Do you suppose we will ever get used to this dark?” the boy asked Ronthiel.

“Sure! After about a year,” said the elf. “But I, for one, don’t plan to be here that long.”

“Me either,” said the boy.

“So, did you hear young Joe killed a draegloth?” asked Ronthiel.

“Scratched one off his bucket list, did he? What is a draegloth anyway?”

“It’s a drow with a priestess for a mother and a spider demon for a father.”

“They can do that?” asked the boy in repulsive disgust.

“They can breed anything. Where we’re headed, they even breed orcs with men to stand the light of day.”

The boy remembered the king of the Rim Riders had said that. He shuddered at the thought. “How can we defeat such things?”

“It doesn’t seem possible, does it?”

After a long journey, their ferry raft bumped into the shores of another drow city, one even more fortified than the last. Yet Graybeard boldly walked to the great gates to demand the drow guards let them in. They even let Leradien in. But the guards immediately sent a messenger ahead of them to announce, or warn, of their arrival.

“Why did they let us in?” asked the boy of Graybeard.

“Because they know we’re not an attacking army and because, if one acts as if one belongs here, the guards simply assume you do. Obviously, we are not an attacking army. Also, word of us has yet to reach this city,” explained the old keeper. “The drow are not a unified nation but a collection of city-states. The only thing they hold in common is the worship of Lolth. Thus, no organized communication exists between cities. These guards have simply never heard of us. However, rest assured they know what we are and that word will spread to the city’s ruling house by that messenger. We shall not be free for long unless we find friends soon.”

“Where shall we find friends here?”

“To find a friend here, we must find an enemy of Lolth’s.”

“How do we find such an enemy?”

“We find the highest-ranking man in the city,” replied Graybeard. “Amongst the drow, women are bigger and stronger than their men and so they rule their husbands. They afford men no more position than light elves do their school girls. Keep in mind that they are the exact opposites of our Light Elves in nature. So when a drow male rises in rank, it’s for an important reason. The drow male we are interested in here they call Kreel. He is the chief weapons maker of this city.”

After receiving directions, they called upon a fine house, fortunately with double front doors, as that was all Leradien would have fit through. Male servants answered the door, for few self-respecting drow women would consent to be a servant to a male. They let them in most reluctantly when they saw the drider, for drow despise driders. You could see they wished to admit her by the servant’s entry, but she was too big for that. So she came in by the front doorway.

They were led to the master of the house, a small, slender, drow male.

“I am Kreel,” he said in greeting them. “I am told you asked for me.”

He was an older, yet handsome drow; his white hair had turned gray over time above his purple, almost trusting eyes. Oddly, he seemed not the least bit offended by Leradien’s presence. He even gave her a friendly glance.

“I am Graybeard,” said the keeper. “This is my company of friends. We have come to see you.”

“You are far from home, oh keeper of the Light Elves,” said Kreel, recognizing him with a bow. “Why do you call upon a drow, especially in a city of Lolth’s?”

“We have need of your help.”

“I expect you do,” he agreed. “For, no doubt, armed guards are already being sent to find and arrest you. But, if you seek my aid, it means you must require weapons, for that is the only help I can offer.”

“Weapons, yes,” answered Graybeard. “But we need more than that. We need friends.”

“What makes a keeper of Light Elves think he will find friends here in Abboth? The ruling house of this city has no love for you. You will find them to be enemies.”

“I believe you have no love for Lolth either,” said Graybeard.

“Why do you think that?”

“Because no high-ranking male as yourself would worship her, as you are still little more than a slave to drow women,” said the old keeper. “And you also show no loathing of our drider here when a true Lolth follower would never do so since she obviously failed Lolth.”

Kreel studied him for a moment and then gave a consenting nod of agreement.

“You are correct. I am little more than a slave and I am not a follower of Lolth’s, or else I should have immediately sent for a company of drow women to cause your arrest. They are coming anyway but, if so, it’s not by my doing.”

“You’re a part of the rebellion!” gasped Ronthiel.

“I shall draw the conclusions here and not you,” Kreel told him. “You are in my house and on my land. What brings you?”

“We have come for the satyrs,” replied Graybeard.

“Then you have come to the wrong place. There are no satyrs here save the one you brought with you.”

“We have only stopped here on our way to rescue them.”

“Really?” asked Kreel with interest, summoning his servants. “That’s interesting. I assume that explains your need for weapons. Before we continue though, would you care for some drow wine? I do not wish to be inhospitable to my guests.”

“I should be delighted,” said Graybeard, adding, “the others too, if they might? We have had a long journey.”

“That is not a problem,” Kreel said. “Ours is not fruit wine as fruits and berries do not grow down here. I shall spare telling you what it’s made from so as not to spoil the flavor, but at least it gives it a fine green hue. Shall we exchange glasses?”

It was a common courtesy to exchange glasses amongst drow to demonstrate the wine was not poisoned.

“No, thank you. I’m sure it will be most excellent.”

“And I am just as sure it isn’t. We lack the finer things down here. We have to make do.”

The servants brought in their goblets and the wine poured. They drank, and the boy noticed it was thin, like water, and with only a faint flavor, rather more brackish than sweet, but it warmed them all pleasantly.

“Now explain your being here,” requested Kreel.

Graybeard let the boy explain, and he told the other of their reason and adventures in coming here, leaving out any mention of drow battles lest it offend. Yet Kreel seemed more interested in their life on the surface than their adventures here.

“Have you heard of Moon City?” he asked.

“I have,” said Ronthiel in the boy’s place. “It is an abandoned city in the middle of a great forest northwest of Linthiel.”

“It is abandoned no more. My keeper lives there,” replied Kreel.

“A drow keeper other than Lolth?” asked the boy. “Living on the surface?”

“We drow can return to the surface,” responded Kreel. “It takes about a year for our eyes to adjust to the light, but a few of us have done it. I envy them. I should like to see the forests and the moon with my own eyes.”

“Who is your keeper?” asked the boy.

“Her name is Eilistraee. She is the daughter of Lolth.”

The boy’s eyes opened wide as he gasped in alarm. The thought of finding an ally in the heart of darkness turned into a haunting fear that their journey had suddenly taken an ominous turn. The daughter of their enemy and with guards coming for their arrest could only mean one thing. It sent a shiver of dread down his spine.