Speaker 1: A forest of earth and moon.
Speaker 2: An Arcane Heart Studio production, created and written by Eansley Bay.
Speaker 1: Chapter seventeen, The procession.
Speaker 2: The walk back to Sleagh Fall is quiet to quiet.
The Faye delegation moves through the woods like smoke. They
don't snap twigs, they don't leave footprints. They just glide,
their long robes catching on nothing. Their face is serene
and terrifyingly blink. I am leading them. Technically, I'm the
air welcoming a foreign delegation. In reality, I am a
man walking to his execution, hoping the executioner is in
a good mood. Your forest is quaint, says he hasn't
given you a name. He is just the envoy. His
skin the color of birch bark, and his eyes are
entirely black. It is healthy, I say, keeping my voice steady.
We have kept the industry out, We have kept the
humans on the paths. The envoy touches a pine tree
as we pass. The bark instantly turns brighter, more alive
where his fingers brushed it. It smells of fear, It
smells of wolf. I correct him, this is our territory.
We are in agreement. Then he smiles it's a sharp,
thin expression. I simply was expressing the voice of the trees.
He keeps walking as I ponder if trees can fear wolves,
or if trees can fear it All behind him, the
others follow. There are five of them, two guards in
armor that looks like loven thorns. Without my even seeing when,
nor how, two younger ones aids maybe joined us after
my discussion with the envoy and the last one. There
were five of us, and then in a blank there
were six. The new one is different. He's looking around
without any motion to touch, bark or examine the ground.
He looks on his board.
Speaker 1: Who is he?
Speaker 2: I ask, nodding to the bored one that the envoy
glances back. That is, he struggles for a word I'll understand. Finally,
he adds, that is the cousin sarches cousin. Nothing else
makes sense to me a cousin. Your language does not
have the word for their connection, but you may use
the word cousin. The eyes boy says, we are all
eager to pay our respects to the fall and attache.
I feel a wave of relief. If this is what
they are traveling to Slate Fall for, to pay their
respects to sortia.
Speaker 1: We don't have anything to worry about.
Speaker 2: He is buried in our family plot to honor him,
I say, and the respect in my voice is real.
A grave, the envoy says, how human. We reach the
edge of the tree line. The man arises up from
the gloom. Its windows dark. The sun still hasn't risen,
but the purple dark is lighter. Here A shower of
meteors feels the sky for a moment. You have a
large stone pile, the end boy says, looking at the house,
it is well joined to the land. I'm shocked that
a phay is actually impressed by our Frank Lloyd right house.
Sourzer never said anything. It's all home. Stop at the date.
My heart is hammering against my ribs.
Speaker 1: This is it.
Speaker 2: Once I let them in, there is no going back.
I am inviting the monsters into the castle before we enter,
I say, turning to face them, I need to know
what happens after you pay your respects. The envoy stops.
The others stop behind him, perfectly in sink. After he asks,
I want to say that they spoke of balance a debt,
but I don't want to open that door. Will you
speak with my father, the Alpha, or will you return
The yenvoy smiles. It sounds like ice cracking. We will grieve,
then we will talk. He steps closer. The air drops
twenty degrees. I can see my breath clouding in the
space between us. Take us to Sortsia. For the first time,
I feel the compulsion of the Fae, and it's so
complete and so powerful. But I don't even hesitate. I
open the gate and start walking toward our family plot.
And although I don't want to do it, by all
that is holy, I can't help but feel unhappy to
do it. Welcome to slate Fall, I say, in a
voice that may or may not be mine. The envoye smiles,
thank you, and as his foot hits the gravel of
the driveway, the driveley lamps flicker and turn a burning,
violent violet.
Speaker 1: The Fay have arrived. The shadow moves where the light
one stood. So then whispers in the mt The wind
did cry. It calls an a flading acles signal fo
chosen fre