In the Ashes of Her Glade

     ~

          In the Neopia we know, Meridell was saved from destruction by a group of brave young Neopets who traveled centuries back in time.

     But there was another timeline that existed—and perhaps still exists; time travel is a strange thing—in which those young heroes never appeared and Meridell’s forces were completely destroyed by the Darigan Citadel’s army.

     It is in this timeline that this story takes place.

     After the Destruction of Meridell, ~300 BN (Original Timeline)

     Illusen’s Glade was ashes, and worse than ashes.

     Ilere, who had left the Haunted Woods for the first time in decades, stood beside the scorched splinters that were all that remained of her niece’s cottage and thought–So. Her care for those Meridellians destroyed her, in the end.

     Illusen could have run. Could have saved her own skin.

     It would have been a bitter thing to leave her glade—Ilere knew, in her blood and bones and magic, how deeply an earth faerie loved the land she tended; how much it became a part of her, and she of it.

     But no earth faerie could fulfill her duty to the land if she herself perished. Better to preserve her own life and return to restore the land after the danger had passed.

     But Neopets had come running to her when the war their king had started became a hopeless cause, begging for her protection. In doing so, they had done nothing but delay their own fate—and drag Illusen to her doom along with them.

     Ilere walked through the ashes of the glade, stepping carefully around piles of debris.

     Darigan’s forces had done worse than burn the glade. A burned forest could recover; the occasional wildfire was a natural part of the cycles of life. But they had poisoned the glade, as well.

     Dark, venomous magic choked the soil. Ilere had no way to know whether that had been done before or during the final battle in order to weaken the magic of the glade’s keeper, or if it had been done out of sheer spite after the battle’s end.

     The motive hardly mattered now. As things were, there would be no regrowth of Illusen’s glade for a long, long time—not without great effort. If Illusen had still been alive, she would have doubtless exhausted herself trying.

     Ilere, of course, had her own land to tend, and she had no need to burden herself with another. Let the fallen lie. Let some other earth faerie take up the task, if it called to her, or else let the land recover on its own over the next century or so; it would find equilibrium in time if left alone. The magic that flowed through Neopia would see to it.

     Still. It was such a waste. All of it. Everything.

     Ilere supposed the familial thing to do would be to seek some sort of revenge. Ilere and Illusen hadn’t been close, precisely, but they’d written to each other from time to time, and Illusen had generally visited once or twice a year.

     Illusen had been one of the few people Ilere was on even somewhat-friendly terms with. Ilere hadn’t been in contact with her sister or mother for… a long time. Her sister had visited a few times with Illusen when Illusen had been young, perhaps out of a sense of duty, but after that, neither sister seemed to have much desire for further contact. Only Illusen had sought her out, and been… decent enough company that Ilere had been willing to let it happen again. And again.

     She had been fond of Illusen, insofar as she was fond of anyone. Surely she should want to see ruin fall upon those who’d done her niece harm—and who had destroyed the Glade she’d poured so much of her love and power into.

     But Ilere simply felt numb.

     “Why did I even come here?” she said. Her words floated up, unanswered, into the night air.

     Ilere had known of the war between Meridell and Darigan. Illusen had mentioned it in her last letter, and she’d mentioned her own efforts to aid the forces of Meridell, because Meridell was the place she’d made her home.

     It made little sense to Ilere. Surely loving a part of the land some king considered his property did not require swearing allegiance to his kingdom.

     Which was doubtless why Illusen had never directly asked for Ilere’s aid. She’d known her aunt well enough to know better. Ilere kept to herself; she sought aid from none, and very rarely offered it.

     But then… after some time of not hearing anything from her niece, Ilere had heard word of Meridell’s destruction—and that Meridell’s forces had chosen Illusen’s Glade to make their last stand.

     And so she’d come here, on this cold autumn night, to see it for herself.

     As Ilere wandered through what had once, perhaps, been a vegetable patch, she felt something crunch beneath her boot.

     She grew still for a moment. The air, too, was still, and the night far too quiet.

     There was nothing Ilere could have really done, she supposed, save for slipping Illusen a sleeping potion and dragging her out of this pointless war. Let the Neopets destroy each other, if they liked; their lives were already short, and if they wished to shorten them further with war, that was their own business, and they could leave faeries out of it.

     But that would have been wrong. Illusen had a right to her own choices, foolish as they were. Even if those choices led to this.

     Burned stumps. Poisoned soil. Ashes.

     Pointless. Pointless.

     She looked around. The full moon’s light shone down on the ruined Glade, unimpeded by treetops.

     “A waste,” she whispered. “All of it, a waste.”

     Wasted time. Wasted effort. Wasted…

     “Good evening, sister,” came a silvery voice from behind her.

     Startled, Ilere whirled to face the speaker.

     It was a faerie—but of course it was, for who but a faerie would call her “sister”?

     It was a foolish affectation, popularized by the first Faerie Queen—as if having all faeries call each other “sister” would somehow make them family and, therefore, make them more likely to cooperate with one another.

     Ilere had little enough desire to speak with her actual sister, with whom she shared a mother. Being called “sister” by a stranger simply annoyed her.

     The faerie wore a black, hooded cloak, and the face beneath that hood was deathly pale. The only color on her face was the lavender shading on her eyelids and the dark purple of her lips. Her wings were shaped like those of an earth or light faerie, but were a mottled lavender, and her long hair, tucked mostly into her robes, was white and streaked with violet.

     Strangest of all was the pale purple glow of a heart—her heart?--shining on her chest, clearly visible through the black folds of her cloak.

     The heart pulsed. The sight of it made Ilere’s stomach churn, and she forced herself to look into the faerie’s eyes.

     But her eyes were hardly a comforting sight, either—the faerie’s gaze was cold, calm, and somehow piercing. Ilere suppressed the urge to take a step back.

     She thought she recalled reading something about a faerie like this—one who was no mere faerie, but something more—but she couldn’t quite remember.

     “Who are you?” Ilere asked. “Why are you here?”

     The faerie smiled. “I could ask you the same thing. Though I suppose I know you you are, already. Ilere, daughter of Ilurel.” She tilted her head to one side. “And, incidentally, aunt of the late Illusen of Meridell.”

     Ilere kept her face still. “Who are you?” she repeated.

     The faerie’s smile seemed to grow sharper. “I am the maker and breaker of kings; the voice that guides to the greatest of heights; the drive only sharpened by success. I am called Ambition, little sister.”

     “Sister” was bad enough; the “little” made Ilere grit her teeth.

     But now, at least, Ilere knew who she was dealing with.

     “And where are your companions?” Ilere asked.

     “Close by,” came a gruff voice that made Ilere’s head snap back over her right shoulder—a ghostly grey Gelert wearing another hooded black cloak and holding a broadsword.

     “Ever close,” came another, lower voice, again behind her, but to her left—a likewise-cloaked sickly-green Skeith with a ghostly skull glowing through his face.

     Ambition, Revenge, and Greed. Three ancient spirits known for influencing those in positions of power—leading them first to success, and then to crushing ruin.

     But Ilere surely had nothing to fear from them. She was in charge of nothing but herself, and she had no desire for anything else.

     “I suppose you had some hand in… this,” said Ilere, looking back towards Ambition.

     Ambition dipped her head in the slightest of nods. “If by ‘this’ you mean the war… then yes. We did play some role in it. A fine and bloody affair.”

     “A wasteful and pointless affair,” Ilere replied, keeping her voice steady.

     The Gelert, Revenge, chuckled, walking up to stand beside Ambition. “No price is too high for vengeance. I treasure those who would spill an ocean of blood in exchange for a pinprick, and the spark that started this war was surely no pinprick.”

     “Aye,” added the Skeith, Greed, moving forward as well. “War is expensive, in lives and coin, but there are such prizes to be won—land and treasure both. The victors don’t see it as pointless. There is still feasting in the Citadel.”

     “They sing songs of their victory,” said Ambition. “Their history books shall tell the glories of the Darigan-Meridell War and the totality of Darigan’s conquest.”

     Ilere’s stomach twisted.

     “There is no glory in these ashes,” said Ilere. “No victory in lifeless soil.”

     The faerie shrugged. “The victory wasn’t yours,” she said. “You never answered, before—why are you here?”

     “Why are you?” Ilere replied.

     “We sensed someone skulking in these parts,” Greed rumbled.

     “Someone powerful,” said Ambition.

     “Someone perhaps worth speaking to,” said Revenge.

     “Powerful, yes,” said Ilere. “And not to be trifled with. I am not your prey. Hunt elsewhere.”

     “Perhaps not,” said Ambition, with a maddening smile. “You… well. When I look at you, I see a dull little home in a dank little forest, with little thought of seeking anything more.”

     “Of course not,” said Ilere. “I have all I want. All I need. I simply want to be left alone.”

     “Indeed, indeed,” said Greed. “All you want is to be left alone. You and your little patch of land. It’s stayed much the same for centuries, hasn’t it? You haven’t sought to expand the borders of what you call your territory; you haven’t sought any sort of profit. You simply tend your lands and harvest only what you need. Sometimes you barter for things you can’t make yourself, but… you really don’t have anything fancy, do you? No expensive jewelry; no pricy paintings; no little luxuries.”

     “I see no point in such things,” said Ilere.

     “Of course,” said Revenge. “You’re so terribly practical, aren’t you? No need for anything but the essentials. You only keep what you need—possessions and people both.”

     Ilere said nothing.

     “You didn’t really need her, of course,” said Revenge, nudging something on the ground—something that shone pale in the moonlight—with one of his footpaws. “She was the only relative you had that cared enough to visit, these last few years. And the only one you cared to speak with. But you didn’t need her. So it was no issue to toss her aside.”

     “There was nothing I could have done,” said Ilere.

     Ambition chuckled. “Didn’t you just say that you were powerful? No one to be trifled with? And yet you expect me to believe you too weak to even try to help your own family.”

     “She never asked,” said Ilere.

     “Because she knew you’d refuse,” said Greed. “You’d say it wasn’t your fight. And yet I have the feeling that if you’d needed help, she’d have come to your aid without a second thought.”

     “That was her weakness,” said Ilere. Her throat felt suddenly tight. “She gave and gave and gave of herself. Endlessly. And this is where it got her.”

     “Ah, yes,” said Ambition. “Surely she was a fool. Surely she got what she deserved.”

     Rage rose in Ilere’s chest, and she summoned a spell to her hand, letting it crackle in her grasp. “Don’t speak of her like that.”

     “Why not? You did,” said Ambition. “Throw that magic, if you like. It won’t do anything to us. We are not the sort of beings you can harm that way.”

     Gritting her teeth, Ilere lowered her hand, letting the spell evaporate. “Even so. She was my kin. For all that I disagreed with her choices, they were hers.”

     “Yes,” said Ambition. “Her choices led her… here. And yours have led you… where? A lonely little tree in the middle of the Haunted Woods. Lonelier, now. One fewer visitor. And you never had many.”

     “Nor wanted many,” Ilere replied.

     “You want so little, don’t you?” said Greed. “A dingy patch of forest, and solitude.”

     Ilere was not going to waste her time on defending her chosen home—her lovely, dark, and ravenous home—to these spirits. “I do cherish my solitude, yes. And I think it’s time I returned to it.”

     She summoned up her magic to teleport back home--

     --and was overwhelmed by a wave of nausea and a wrenching in her chest.

     “No, sister,” said Ambition, smiling so sharply. “I don’t think we’re finished here.”

     “I am not your prey,” Ilere snarled. “Hunt elsewhere for the weak-minded—find someone who wants power, or wealth, or—”

     “Or vengeance,” said Revenge. “Such as, perhaps, retribution for a relative, cut down in her own home.”

     Ilere stared at him for a moment. “It won’t help. It won’t bring her back.”

     Revenge chuckled—a cold, somehow metallic sound. “She cared about you. Did you care for her at all?”

     “Yes,” said Ilere. “I did.”

     There was a reason Illusen had sought out Ilere after moving to Meridell. They were alike, in some ways—two faeries who hadn’t quite fit in within Faerieland; two faeries who preferred to make their homes in the wilder parts of Neopia.

     And now she was gone.

     “And yet,” said Revenge, “you will sit and do nothing while those who destroyed her celebrate their victory.”

     “It… it would be pointless,” said Ilere. “She’s gone. Nothing will change that.”

     “You could see to it that those who stole her from you were punished,” said Revenge. “I could point out the one who made the final blow, if you wish to be… moderate.” He grinned. “Or I could point out others. The archer who struck her wing with an arrow. The mages who defiled her glade. The knight who—”

     “Enough,” Ilere hissed. “Enough. I know you. I know who you are. I know what you do. You twist minds, corrupt hearts. But I am not your prey. She was my niece, and I cared for her.”

     She was my family, and I didn’t help her in her time of need.

     “I am not above vengeance,” said Ilere. “I protect what is mine. I’ve struck out against those who have sought to steal from me, or who trespassed where they had no right, or who bought harm to the Woods I love. But Meridell is fallen. There’s nothing left to defend here. If… if I knew who struck that final blow—if I knew who cursed my niece’s glade—if I knew, beyond a doubt, who had hurt her, and they stood before me… I would want to punish them, yes. I would do it. But I know that there is nothing you can offer me that isn’t tainted. You care nothing for me or my niece, and anything you do is for your own twisted designs. I will not be your tool.”

     She took a deep breath, and said “Hunt. Elsewhere.”

     Ilere met Revenge’s gaze, stared into his eyes. He stared back for a few moments, his red eyes flickering slightly.

     Then he snorted softly. “There we have it. Coward.”

     “Dullard,” Greed added.

     “Fool,” said Ambition.

     “So sour,” Ilere replied, archly. “I’m sure you can find someone else willing to play your games. Why don’t you go look for them.”

     “Ah, but we have a game in progress already,” said Ambition. “Very well, my simple sister. If you don’t wish to participate, then for your own health I advise you to keep your distance.”

     Ilere nodded. “I have no desire to meddle in Darigan’s affairs. Or yours. I don’t expect I’ll be returning here any time soon.”

     Let Darigan’s forces have their victory, for now. The Three would see them brought to ashes in the end. It was what they did.

     “Well enough,” said Ambition. Her pale eyes glowed for a moment. “Stay out of our way, and we’ll have no cause to cross paths again. A pleasant evening to you, sister.”

     And with that, the three spirits faded away, leaving Ilere alone.

     A cold breeze began to blow. Ilere pulled her cloak more tightly around herself.

     She sighed. There was nothing left for her here. Nothing at all. It was time to go home.

     But just as she started to ready another teleportation spell, something on the ground caught her eye—a little tan acorn lying between the scorched roots of a roughly-chopped tree stump.

     She stooped down and picked it up. The acorn seemed strangely unharmed. A bit ash-streaked, but…

     She tucked the acorn into her pocket. Perhaps she’d try to grow it. One last remnant of Illusen’s Glade, still standing despite everything.

     With one hand still curled around the acorn in her pocket, Ilere closed her eyes and teleported home.

     The End.