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I put a hand on my hip and sigh dramatically. “Oh, come on, I’m going to collapse on my feet here.”
Reiko, the youngest of the three, and a good foot shorter leans in. “Just give us the name of the creature and you may pass.”
“Though you will return after you’ve eaten and rested, of course,” Gorum quickly adds.
I groan. “Dragon,” I mutter.
The three gasp.
“Oh, what a lovely smell they have,” Loehr says. “I’ve met one once, you know,” he says, pointing at me. “So kind, the creature was.”
“You lie,” Gorum says, shaking his head. A bird flies from the leaves above, chirping angrily. “You’ve never met one, and they are not lovely—or kind. They bump into trees, knocking us down with those clumsy tails of theirs.”
Loehr looks offended and puffs up his chest. “They certainly do not. Well, not on purpose anyway. Why, they’re quite graceful.”
Gorum leans toward Loehr. “No, they certainly are not.”
I close my eyes for a second, my eyelids feeling like sandpaper scraping against my pupils. Their bickering could go on for hours. “Boys! Just let me in!”
They stop and stare at me. Reiko looks liable to start crying. Now I’ve done it. I soften my voice. “Please, I need rest. I promise I’ll tell you everything. Later.”
“Oh yes, yes, of course,” Loehr says. “Poor child. You go rest and eat.” They all nod in agreement. Then they sweep their arms, and the oaks unfurl, revealing a village through the opening between the three trees. From any other angle, you would see nothing.
“You may enter,” they say in unison.
I walk through the center. “Thank you.”
“Come back later and tell us of your adventures!” Reiko calls after me as if I’d already forgotten.
“I will,” I say, looking over my shoulder. They all smile, and the trees curl back into each other until they’re gone.
The village of Hydenglen is relatively small. It’s really more of a refugee camp than anything else, with under eighty inhabitants, all of whom are magic-wielding creatures: fae, trolls, pixies, tree spirits, water sprites, and ogres. They were trapped here after the Blood Moon, unable to safely travel through Thaaryn to return to their lands.
Before the night of the Blood Moon, the treaties between the magic user races and Thaaryn were still new, they had been negotiated by King Berhane, giving the Kingdoms a few years of peace. But after the Blood Moon the magic users the king had worked so hard to make peace with fought back when the Steel Guard came for them. Many lost their lives that day.
It started in the castle where ambassadors and dignitaries from other lands stayed as guests. It was quickly deemed that if a magic user was in Thaaryn, their fate was left to that of the newly appointed Regent and his Steel Guard, and the same could be said for any humans who were unfortunate enough to be stuck in one of the other race’s territories.
The few magic users who survived the night of the Blood Moon, and avoided capture, fled to the outlying forests. And that was the start of Hydenglen. Together the different races, despite their own differences and prejudices, combined their magic to create the wards which conceal Hydenglen. Now, we must all live by the tentative peace here, or the magic wards will fail. That’s one way to get the races to cooperate with one another—get along or be massacred by the humans who hate you more.
Speaking of humans, I’m the only one allowed in. Sorcerer or not, I’m still human and they don’t necessarilylikeme here. They put up with me. We have an understanding. A you-don’t-eat-me-and-I-won’t-kill-you kind of thing. That, and I’m the only one who can go to the black market to trade. They use me for trade, and I use them to stay hidden from the Steel Guard. It works. The creatures in here are considered evil—which is why I fit in—it’s the only place I belong, for now.
Hydenglen has a slow-moving river running through it. The town is sectioned off and built around each race’s preferences. I’m currently walking on the south side of the river where the trolls live. Their squat, sod-covered homes are connected with wooden walkways. Some of the trolls hobble in and out of their buildings, tending to their penned farm animals and gardens built just outside of their homes, while others manipulate hot metal, forging all kinds of things, from weapons and armor to jewelry and decorative sculptures—all things I’ll eventually take to the market to sell.
The pixie’s dwellings are built high in the canopy of the trees. At night their luminescent trails leave streaks in the air. Their tinkling sounds don’t frighten me here.
The water sprites dwell in the deep lake the river feeds, East of the village. They can survive out of the water, but they prefer to be in it as much as possible. They have dwellings under the water, but I’ve never been trusted enough to see them. Not that I give a shit what they think.
On the North side of the river, the ogres have large stone houses, a distance from everyone else. They say so they don’t accidentally step on anyone, but we all know it’s because they’re very private creatures. Their religion demands only pure ogre eyes can witness their rituals. And from what little I have heard about their rituals; I don’t want to witness them anyway. So, we all give them their space. Also, ogres don’t like trolls (but really, who does?). At least ogres are polite, trolls on the other hand are blatantly rude.
The only tree spirits are the three that guard Hydenglen. Loehr told me once that there are others, but since the night of the Blood Moon, they are too scared to come out of their trees. Their brothers and sisters who fought back were all burned. So, I imagine staying deep within their trunks, and never showing themselves is exactly where they want to be. It’s a comforting place for them, where they don’t have to see all the horrible things that go on in the world.
We only have one fae. Madam Desmira, or Des, was on a diplomatic mission before the Blood Moon, staying as a guest in the castle. Des founded Hydenglen. You could say she’s the leader of our band of refugees. She lives on the West side of the village, near the waterfall. She says the sound of the water helps her sleep at night. I live with her. At first, she took me in to keep the others from killing me, but once everyone saw my potential, they stopped trying to kill me and instead decided to train me. Which wasn’t much different than when they were trying to kill me.
“Hey, ugly!” A troll named Tuuk calls out. He’s four feet tall, a good foot and a half shorter than me. His nose is flat and wide, and his eyes are dark green. He’s still wearing his thick leather smith apron, which means he just came from forging metal.
“Hey, stupid,” I say, not stopping my walk home.
Tuuk strides up beside me. “Well, the dragon didn’t kill you,” he says matter-a-factly. He pokes at my healing arm with blackened fingers. No matter how much he washes them, they’re never completely clean. “Ran into pixies, did ya?”
