Chapter 3 Jysarra 🌙

Jysarra stood in the old stone courtyard, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. Silmariën had kept her waiting for the better part of an hour. The Dancing Dell was built into several long abandoned buildings. The roofs had mostly caved in, letting in the mid afternoon sun. Nature had reclaimed much of the structures with moss creeping along the floor and ivy creating a natural canopy overhead.

She released a breath and shook her hands trying to rid herself of the anxiety tightening in her chest. Jysarra wanted to run. To be anywhere but here.

“Jysarra.” Silmariën’s voice broke through the silence.

Jysarra turned her head just enough to show she acknowledged Silmariën. The high priestess wore a diaphanous gown that shimmered gold and silver as it caught the light. The symbol of the dark dancer, a sword crossed over the crescent moon, hung low at her chest and her hair was pulled back into a waterfall braid with a diadem crowned with a moonstone on her brow. She was flanked by two Protectors of the Song, guards of the high priestess, that Jysarra did not recognize.

“Mára aurë, I Lómelindë Nárëo Lomellindo.”

“Mára aurë, Isilmeldë.”

Silmariën took a seat and motioned for Jysarra to join her. The dark ladies that had accompanied the high priestess set themselves against the wall behind her. Jysarra lingered a moment longer and then sat opposite Silmariën. Her eyes were cast down as if the floor was the most exciting thing in all of Tierra, but still Jysarra could feel those red eyes boring into her. Judging her. She hated it. Jysarra had worked out that Silmariën didn’t like her within the first few days of her arrival at the Dancing Dell all those years ago, though the why had always eluded her. Now that she was high priestess it made her disdain all the more bitter and resentful.

“By my count you have been away for seven years. An extraordinarily prolonged Run. What do you have to show for it?”

Jysarra’s fists clenched as she finally looked up.

A continued life of servitude and unfulfilled desires.

“How does one quantify success of a pilgrimage?”

Silmariën’s lips pulled into a flat line. “I should not have to remind you, Jysarra, that the purpose of the Run is to share our culture with the outside world so that they may see we are capable of coexisting in peace with the other peoples of Tierra.”

A maid interrupted that thought, setting a tray down on the small table between the two with a pitcher of tea and two cups. She curtsied to Silmariën, then Jysarra, and excused herself promptly without a word. Silmariën filled both cups, pushing one toward Jysarra before taking her own.

“Moreover, the Run is to serve as an opportunity for personal growth. Have you brought with you new song, dance, recipes, or swordplay?”

Silmariën took a sip of her tea. Jysarra had a nearly overwhelming desire to close the gap between them and slap the cup from her hand. She took in a deep breath, held it for a few beats, and let the feeling go with it.

I should not–must not–give power to this feeling.

“Forgive me, my lady. In my time away, I traveled the width and breadth of Tierra.” She took a sip of tea, the flavor dancing on her tongue. “I do, indeed, bring song back to the Dell from our kin, the Elequende, returned in the far north.”

Silmariën leaned forward. “You have visited Sildëyúl, then?”

“I have, my lady.”

Jysarra brought the cup to her mouth and took another swallow of her tea. She let the warmth of it spread through her and forced herself to ease back into the chair.

“It seemed to me a perfect blending of the haughtiness of the sun elves and the simplicity of our woodland brothers and sisters.”

“I imagine you must have felt strangely at home amongst them.”

Jysarra’s shoulders tensed. “I beg your pardon?”

“I mean no offense, but of all our kin you resemble a star elf more than any other.”

Jysarra scoffed at that.

“On the contrary, I've always been told it is moon elves that I pass for.”

“It's your eyes. Only the Elequende have violet eyes such as yours.”

There was a loaded undertone to her statement. Jysarra’s lip twitched as she replayed the words in her head.

“That's why you never trusted me. You knew I wasn't a moon elf when I infiltrated the Dell.”

“Yes.”

Silmariën stood and walked out from under the canopy into the sunlight.

“It was my job to assess threats and discern if newcomers were who they claimed to be.”

Something you’ve never forgiven me for.

Jysarra set her cup down and stood. Her posture was rigid as if she was a wooden mannequin set to be displayed.

“You ask if I have brought back song, dance, or recipe. The answer is yes. As for swordplay, when someone can match my skill I will gladly learn from them.”

She took a step forward and stood rigid just outside the line of sunlight beaming into the room.

“Though none of which are fit to be shared here and with present company. You ask if I have spread the word of our faith and culture. The answer is yes, though one may be surprised at the difficulty I encountered.”

She began stalking around the room, though never breaching into the sunlight that Silmariën stood in. Her footfalls came down hard and pointed on each of the cobblestones.

“Everywhere I go I’m met with the same incredulous responses asking me why I am defending a faith to a Drow goddess. Why I consort with such vile people. And, best of all, how can I possibly be one of you when I look like this?” she gestured to herself. “I would have thought my sisters would understand being judged for the way they look, but somehow that sympathy has never extended to me. No, I’m your showpiece to parade before the masses.”

Jysarra’s breath was coming in short, ragged gasps. She hadn’t meant to say all of that, but the words had tumbled out before her brain could catch up with her mouth. Silmariën, for her part, seemed unbothered.

“And this is why you stayed away, is it not?”

The look Jysarra shot at Silmariën could have melted steel. Silmariën simply turned and gazed up into the sky while sipping her tea.

“You feel…unappreciated? Taken advantage of? Shackled by the responsibility of life you did not choose? Or want?”

Silmariën turned and Jysarra locked eyes with her. The bright sunlight that the high priestess was showered in stung, but she held her gaze all the same. Her fists were clenched so hard that her nails were digging into the skin of her palm and she was noticeably shaking.

“I find it curious that you have chosen now to return to us when Telperien is across the sea. You two were always so close. Would I be incorrect in stating that you fear her disappointment far greater than my judgement?”

Jysarra swallowed hard. Silmariën wasn’t wrong, but she would not be giving her the satisfaction of knowing that. She shut her eyes tight and pushed her anger down deep.

“I know not what you speak of, my lady.”

“No?”

“No. If you wish it, my lady, I can share with you now the song of the stars from Sildëyúl as requested.”

Silmariën padded over to the far wall between the two Protectors of the Song, drew a dagger from one of their belts, and began pruning the ivy vines crawling upward.

“It is said that ivy is invasive and that if you don’t cut it out at the root–” she sheared off a dead section. “It will smother and destroy other plants, even bring down buildings.”

She pruned a few more vines and pulled others away from the wall to thread them into the mass that grew into the canopy overhead.

“However, I have found that with a little coaxing and patience you can point it in the right direction. Then its beauty and purpose can be revealed.”

Silmariën sheathed the dagger and took her seat once again. Jysarra likewise sat, the intense anger and adrenaline of the moment beginning to fade and leaving her weary.

“You are correct that present company is not fit for song and dance. Therefore, I would like you to be present at the Midsommar festival to perform. Your sisters will be putting on a dance at dusk. You shall grace us with song as the moon rises over the city.”

Jysarra hung her head. “If that is your command, my lady, it will be done.”

“It is my desire, not an order.”

Jysarra stood abruptly. “It will be done. If I may be excused.”

She didn’t wait for a response, but turned and walked out of the chamber before she could say anything else she’d regret or fall apart completely.

***

The sunlight was beginning to fade, casting long shadows across the Green Market Square. The lampwrights’ guild was out in force, whispering their arcane words to bring light to the street lanterns. The city became a dance of warm light and deep shadow, though it did nothing to dampen the spirits of the people. The warmth held firm to the air, making Jysarra thankful she had changed out of her vestments and into an evening dress. The bodice had a deep, plunging neckline extending nearly to the waist, which left little to the imagination. A sheer shawl that twinkled in the light rested over her shoulders and draped down her back. An ornate gold belt with a leaf motif and a crescent moon buckle cinched around her waist, and the skirt fell to the ground in layered waves with a high slit revealing nearly the entire length of her long legs. She had replaced the diadem on her brow with a simple gold circlet and the symbol of her faith hung low against the curve of her chest.

Jysarra weaved through the crowd like a predator stalking its prey through the brush. She was determined to not let the earlier tension of the day ruin her evening. There was a cute flower girl she was looking forward to seeing again and, with any luck, waking up next to the following morning. She spotted Astrid sitting at the corner table of the Hostess of Fertility’s patio. She stood from her chair as Jysarra entered the courtyard and she was able to take her in fully. Astrid had changed into a long, flowing white dress that was simple, yet graceful. It was strapless, her shoulders bare, with a delicate neckline trimmed in gold. The belt was a vine that sat high on her waist and was made of yellow flowers and green leaves with the strap cascading downward. The skirt had subtle Laurentian knotwork embroidered with silver thread throughout.

“You look beautiful.” Jysarra said.

“And you look dressed to kill.”

Jysarra smirked and let out a breathy chuckle. Both ladies took a seat and the server came by with a pitcher of water and two wine glasses filled with a white.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty.”

“Not at all.”

“I also, um–”

Astrid placed her hand over the potted plant next to the table, and a lily grew out of the soil at the beckoning of the arcane that flowed from her fingers. She plucked it from the dirt and offered it to Jysarra.

“Your favorite,” she said, smiling.

Jysarra took it, ensuring her hand lingered on Astrid’s for a moment longer than necessary. Just as she had earlier in the day Jysarra threaded the flower into her hair just above her left ear. She also took the opportunity to tuck her hair behind her ear and smile.

“Druidcraft? Interesting. How about some better lighting.”

Jysarra traced a sigil in the air and an orb of soft violet light appeared in the space between them. Astrid smiled, grabbed her glass, and motioned for Jysarra to do the same.

“To taking chances.”

Jysarra clinked her glass against Astrid’s and brought it to her lips. The wine had a crisp, flowery taste that went down easily.

“To returning home,” Jysarra said.

She hadn’t intended to make it sound so bitter, but the feeling clung to her like a snake coiling around its prey.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Jysarra reached across the table and took Astrid’s hand in hers. After all, it was easier to touch than to speak.

“I would much rather focus on something good such as getting to know more about you. You’re Laurentian, yes?”

“I am, though we live in the outer city, not the quarter.”

“We?”

“I live with my mother.”

Astrid’s gaze fell to the ground. Jysarra gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

“There’s nothing wrong with that. You’re still young after all. Speaking of which, how old are you?”

Astrid traced a slow circle with her finger on Jysarra’s palm.

“Why? Wanting to make sure I’m in your age bracket?”

“If we go by just numbers I’ll be out of many people’s age bracket,” she said, laughing softly.

“And what’s your number?” Astrid asked, leaning in.

“One hundred ninety-one, which would be roughly equivalent to twenty seven for you.”

"So I’ve found myself with an older woman?” She took another drink of her wine. “How provocative.

Jysarra’s lips pulled into a smirk. “Twenty-one then?”

“Close. Twenty-two.”

“Twenty-two and you already have your own business? Quite ambitious.” She ran her tongue across her lips. “I like that.”

Astrid blushed and ran her fingers through her hair.

“What about you? Have you always lived in Brighthollow?”

“No.” Jysarra let that hang in the air as she swallowed a rush of anxiety. “I came here on my fiftieth nameday. Still a child by our reckoning.”

Her head hung low and she fought back tears. Astrid gave her hand a squeeze and Jysarra slipped a smile onto her face, though it never reached her eyes. She was skilled at practiced warmth.

“How did you come to learn druidcraft?”

“My family are descendants of the Circle of the Høye trær.” Jysarra looked at her quizzically. “Tall Trees.”

Jysarra had to bite her lips to stop herself from smirking.

“I know. It sounds better in Laurentian. We strove to preserve the old ways, our stories, songs, our very history.”

Jysarra set an elbow to the table and propped her head up in her free hand.

“Did you know the lands your ancestors migrated through were once my people’s kingdom?”

Astrid tilted her head. “Wasn’t Ilumar a…Dark Elf realm?”

Jysarra’s gaze immediately fell. Her entire body tensed.

Why in the nine hells did I tell her that?

“You don’t like to talk about yourself, do you?”

Jysarra’s hand withdrew from Astrid’s. Her lips pulled into a thin line and she reached for her glass.

“I didn’t mean to offend.”

Jysarra took a long, slow drink as she let her eyes wander over the crowd. She spied something on the old Laurentian wall across the square.

“What is that?”

Astrid followed her line of sight. “The Firelights’ calling card.”

“I saw that symbol on my way into the city this morning along with an answer from the Faceless.”

“There has been…tension, to say the least, between the Faceless and the Firelights.”

“Who are these Firelights?”

“There are some, mostly within the walls, that label them as just another group of thugs sowing chaos, but to those of us in the outer city they are freedom fighters.”

Jysarra scrunched her face up to squint at the symbol on the far wall. It resembled an insect.

Perhaps a firefly? Why not call yourselves the Fireflies in that case?

She shrugged the thought off and turned back to Astrid.

“Why would anyone think them a criminal group? Aside from the graffiti, that is.”

Astrid traced a finger around the rim of her glass.

“They’ve had some run-ins with the city watch, but that’s only because–” she stopped abruptly and straightened like a board.

Jysarra cast an eye back and saw two members of the city watch walking by. She turned back and snuffed out the floating orb of light between them.

“Because?”

Astrid leaned in and spoke low. “Certain members of the city watch are…let’s just say there is rot in every orchard.”

Jysarra was poised to follow up with more questions, but something caught her senses. Her chin dipped as she turned her head. An ear pricked up. Then she heard it clear as day. The unmistakable sound of a whistle. A whistle of the city watch. It was followed by screams and then the faint scent of smoke reached her.

“What is it?” Astrid asked.

“Something’s wrong. My apologies, I have to go.”

Jysarra pushed herself up and vaulted over the stone halfwall, disappearing into the crowd before Astrid could say another word. She’d have to apologize to the girl the next time she saw her, if there was a next time, but she couldn’t just sit idly and do nothing if people were in danger. The smoke pulled her toward Brickstown and she began to wonder if the Scorched Hammer had finally gone up in flames, but quickly discovered it was one of the old warehouses consumed in an inferno. In stark contrast to the joyful patrons in Green Market Square the people here were in an understandable panic, even the members of the city watch. Jysarra strode to the center of the neighborhood and let her voice ring out clearly.

“Séremë.”

A wave of divine energy surged out from her in all directions and a serenity washed over everyone it touched. The screams and panic died down, the watchmen helped citizens to safety in an orderly manner, and a couple of the arcanists began to coax the water from the river to douse the flames.

Jysarra spotted a group in the cul de sac to her right. An acolyte of the Morninglord was setting a broken leg while several others were writhing in pain from burns. Jysarra rushed over, took the symbol of the Dark Dancer in her hand, and called out a word of restoration.

“Envinyata.”

The seared flesh renewed itself within moments as divine energy flowed over the group. A collective sigh of relief was Jysarra’s reward and they all looked at her like she was a goddess come down to save them.

“Thank you, my lady,” the acolyte said.

“Keep them safe.”

Her ear twitched again and her body turned instinctively toward the sharp sound of another whistle. Jysarra sprang to her feet and ran through the alleyways until she burst into the caravan court of Riverside. She immediately spotted a city guard hunched over another figure.

As she approached, she saw the figure on the ground was a Dark Elf, one wrist bound in a manacle, the other arm broken, and the eyes were glazed over. An empty vial lay next to them. Jysarra knelt down and plucked the vial up delicately to examine it.

Please don’t let this be what I fear it is.

“H-he drank that. Shit. I only turned away for a moment and he was on the ground.”

Jysarra sighed and her head dipped.

“This is Drow poison. There is no antidote.”

His gaze fell to her chest and for just a moment she felt exposed.

“That’s a holy symbol, right? You’re a priestess?” He reached out toward her. “That means you can bring him back.”

“No. This–” she held the vial up. “This kills instantly when consumed. I would need diamonds to even attempt resurrection. Even then, a soul must be willing to return and I doubt this one would have any desire to do so lest he draw the ire of the Spider Queen.”

Jysarra slipped the vial behind her belt, then placed a hand gently upon the dark elf’s brow.

“Máre nórë tanna tyé Númenillor, tenn’ i Alta Cala. Lelya na sívë, ar enwa cuilë nu Anar, yassen aldar ar lossië vírë.”

The guard turned sickly pale and a bead of sweat ran down his cheek. Jysarra reached out and laid her hand over his.

“What’s your name?”

He looked at her, eyes wide. “Nils.”

“Nils. What happened here?”

“Honestly, I’m not really sure. Kyra and I got split up–” he straightened and turned to peer out of the court. “Kyra…”

He leapt to his feet and ran out to the main avenue before hooking a left toward the docks. Jysarra followed, equal parts confused and curious. The riverwalk was in pieces along with the remnants of several small boats that must have been moored here.

“Isilalcarë.”

The same orb of violet light she had conjured for Astrid appeared floating in front of her. Nils was running his hands through his hair in clear shock. Apart from the damage to the docks nothing else seemed out of place, except for the odd fact that none of the lanterns were lit out here.

Nils was obviously looking for someone. He kept calling out a name. Jysarra, on the other hand, was taking in every detail she could, no matter how minute or mundane. Something had come upriver and shattered the docks. As she stepped slowly amidst the broken planks something caught her eye and Jysarra knelt down. It was a bracelet. No, it was a silver bangle. Jysarra picked it up like she expected it to bite her. She turned it around and found an inscription.

Nai cala tyava síla laurië mi i mornië

Jysarra shut her eyes tight and gripped the bangle so hard it hurt. “Mairen.”