The afternoon was hot, and as the forest began to heat up, it came to life with strange and beautiful butterflies. Or at least that’s what we thought they were at first.
But they weren’t butterflies.
They were tiny humanoid figures with giant multicolored butterfly wings that ranged across the spectrums of yellow and red. They came like a sudden passionate and chaotic swarm out of the deeps of the forest, raced past the teams of tired Rangers, turned—and then were suddenly everywhere.
It was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen in my life, and for a long moment I stopped thinking about coffee and the lack thereof as I’d been doing as I trudged along. Then they started whispering. Whispering like a chorus singing a quiet song they could barely contain. Flitting about and dancing all around the wiped-out Rangers. Cavorting in that confused butterfly dance of a way, bobbing up and down as they flapped their oversized wings just to maintain altitude. Landing on the Rangers and their gear and weapons. Perching on the tops of rifle barrels. Whispering and tittering to one another.
Gandalf—I mean, Vandahar—was ahead of me, and when they came to him he raised his staff and began to laugh out loud. Like a crazy person. Or a wizard. Which is probably the same thing. But it was a great, good, warm bellow of a laugh, and it was comforting to hear after everything we’d been through in this strange world.
I listened to the butterfly people speaking, or singing—whatever it was
—in their enigmatic whisper-language, but it was too low and chaotic for me to make out any distinct sounds or syllables.
“What are they saying?” I shouted to the wizard. If anyone would know it would be him.
He ignored me and continued to laugh at the multicolored tornado we were all now encased in. It swirled around the wizard and the tired Rangers who allowed themselves to become perches for dancing whispering butterflies. And then the Rangers were laughing too. Or chuckling at least. Utterly amazed that such delicate things existed.
“They are of… the Fae,” said Autumn close to me, the beautiful butterflies dancing around her, landing in her hair and on her cloaked shoulders, whispering and then suddenly and urgently flapping off. “Fae Scouts… for the Queen of… Gossamer Throne.”
I continued to marvel at the sudden thunderstorm of delicate little things. Tiny people with caps and swords, and tiny horns, and delicate little clothing, and vibrantly colored butterfly wings. And also, I continued to marvel at how beautiful she was. Last of Autumn. In this moment. I watched her smile… and then I realized it was a sad smile despite the soft afternoon sunshine. Melancholy. Happy now, if only because it was a break from some greater burden she carried and said nothing of. I wanted to take that burden from her, or go kill it. I wanted to do that so the sadness she carried would go away and never come back again.
Uh-oh… I told myself. You’re in…
“They’re saying… the orcs have turned back… as have the rest of the dark host. They are telling us… we are safe now. But… just for today,” she almost sang.
“Is there something else coming? Something dangerous they’re worried about?” I asked her.
“Why do you ask?” “You seem sad.”
She smiled and shook her head, turning once more to the little butterfly people. The Fae. Their scouts.
“No,” she said after a moment of considering them. “That is their… way. All their concerns… reports… all are only ever about today. Always. They are creatures who live only… in the present moment. They don’t think tomorrow and its troubles… that they will ever come. Today is everything. To them. The past is nothing. I envy them for that.”
I paused, watching her. Studying her for intel. Intel I would never share with anyone. Intel I would never use to hurt or manipulate her. Intel for intel’s sake. Intel because I wanted to be the scholar of her. Of Last of Autumn. No—of Autumn. I wanted to be the cartographer of all the places on the map… that were her.
Yeah. I was falling.
If I was Tanner I would’ve been marrying Stripper Number Three and paying twenty-five percent interest on a used Mustang.
Hadn’t even thought about the cute co-pilot since…
“Is there something about the past?” I said. “Something that makes you sad?”
But before she could answer, Vandahar called out, “The queen’s scouts tell us we are safe now, Rangers. A little while more and we shall reach the Hidden Cave. ’Tis a brief walk now. And then there will be much feasting and pleasant talk.”
Once more the teams of Rangers, overburdened, carrying wounded, assisting the walking wounded, tired and hungry, continued on. But there was a new lightness in the day. Because sunshine and butterflies and long walks through epic emerald-green forests were a rare treat. Like a cup of coffee in the afternoon of a long day that had started way too early. This experience… it gave that same feeling.
And now I was obsessing about coffee again. Good going, me.
But I could tell that was how the Rangers who’d trained for the suck viewed the sudden swarm of unexpected butterflies. Like some rare and surprising break that made it all worth it on some level. A magical experience that only happened for those who were faithful enough to endure, and survive, the suck. Maybe that was the unspoken reward they’d been seeking all along without ever knowing it? Maybe that was what they thought as they walked once more through the hot afternoon in the cool under the forest giants.
I traveled next to Last of Autumn for a long time. Saying nothing. Mist, the dappled gray, followed along and occasionally stopped to crop at spots of lush green grass.
“Why?” I said, breaking the silence. Just that. Why.
It startled her for a moment. I realized that once again she’d been in deep, almost prayerful thought. Meditation of some kind.
“I do not… understand,” she said.
“Why…” I hesitated on whether to use the familiar of her name. To cross that barrier. Break that taboo. I sensed there was something that needed to be said, and maybe that was the only way to force the issue into the open warm and forest-scented air between us. Yeah, I wanted to be… more. With her.
“Autumn. Why did you come to help us get off that island?”
This was personal—I’d just made it so—but it was also something that involved the Rangers. Intel that was actually important. And if we were going to get out of this, then intel, in lieu of bullets, beans, and blankets, was the currency of survival.
Her mouth made a little ’o’, and she looked off toward the forest. The sun was starting its fade down through the treetops. Cool shadows began to lie across the forest floor.
“You…” She hesitated. “All of you. You were… in danger. I came to… just help.”
Then she bit her lip and I could tell there was more she would never allow herself to say.
“There’s more, isn’t there?” She nodded reluctantly.
“Just tell me then. And I’ll tell my leader. And maybe we can all find some way to help each other. Us. The Rangers, and your people.”
She took a deep breath.
“My people. My people are… small in number. Nineteen are left. Most are children. And one very old… blind woman. And soon… I must go to my death.”
Wait, what?
I stopped along the march. Stopped there in the forest surrounded by fantastic twisting trees that climbed up into the hot hazy afternoon. I’m sure there was a look on my face that conveyed the stunned silence I felt deep within my mind. Struck that she was facing death when she looked so young, beautiful, and alive.
She nodded.
“I must go,” she added.
Why?
And then I asked.
“Because… a promise… broken. And now… a chance to break… a curse. A chance for life… for the young. All that’s left of us.”
