When the Astral Elf, Tyrus, had warped Eory and Pollyanna, they entered a world that was not Yharos; it was a world where time seemed to move faster and yet slower at the same time.
Eory fell through a stream of colorful lines of rushing light in a space that was as black as the night sky for what felt like hours, and he had nothing to do but think on the past and the possible future. Tyrus had warned them to speak and move as little as possible.
And so, with little to do but think, his thoughts inevitably led him back to Pollyanna, as she was his only company now.
Eory loved Pollyanna. He had admired her for the longest time when he was younger, but that admiration had turned into love at some point. Sometimes, while Kori was away, the fairy would grab a pen in his room and pretend like he was Pollyanna—the mighty warrior-maiden—battling his own parents or battling a dragon or some of the other monsters he had read about on his shelf or that Kori had told him about.
His imagination was wild and vivid.
Every moment of battling those monsters with his pen felt completely real to him.
When Pollyanna swung her sword, he swung his pen-sword, when Pollyanna sweated with exertion, he did too. When her heart beat so loud that she could hear it, his own heart imitated that feeling.
And when his imaginary crowd cheered Pollyanna as a hero, they cheered him, too.
But this Pollyanna was not the real Pollyanna. The real Pollyanna was right next to him and falling through the same stream of pulsing lights he was.
He shivered when he looked at her and felt immense confusion and disorientation when he thought of his feelings for her.
Just hours before, he was drenched in her fresh blood from her arrow wounds. Even now, he had her dried blood all over him--and her dress was still in tatters due to her arrow wounds from earlier.
He remembered the stink and the sweat and couldn’t seem to get it out of his nostrils. He seemed to be stuck in that moment with her, and found it hard to think of anything else. And his feelings about her turned from loving, to ugly. He didn’t know why this brave and kind act led him to think so poorly of her when she had done things that were genuinely horrible and worthy of disgust.
Perhaps that smell had reminded him of all the other terrible things she had done and who she truly was.
She had seized him by the collar and threatened him for wanting to go to the ball to prove himself. She had shown hatred and disdain for anybody weaker than herself—including himself--even saying they deserved to be crushed. She had mercilessly killed all those guards who travelled alongside him and Kori.
Most of all, if he had only ordered her to go away and never come back, he wondered if his dog might still be alive and he would not have been sentenced to die.
He had come to accept--as he fell through that other world where he felt detached enough from his own thoughts and emotions that he could examine them objectively--that Pollyanna was a horrible person, no matter how much he wished she wasn’t.
But she was a horrible person that he nonetheless had feelings for in ways that would disgust other fairies.
“Old women are sacred things; they are wise and all-knowing just like the fairy goddesses. They must remain untouched by all but their husbands and children, or else they and the one who touches them will become tainted by evil desires and their knowledge shall become corrupted—just like the third, old fairy goddess whose heart was tainted black and foolish by falling in love with a young fairy.” His biological mother and Kori had told him the story so many times that he never forgot it. He took it very seriously.
And everytime he had an errant thought about how pretty Pollyanna’s silver hair looked, or how lovely her luscious and firm her skin was despite being so old, or how well-muscled her body was, he blushed and felt sick to his own stomach at his thoughts.
He had seen so many other fine and beautiful young ladies at the ball and walking about in the castle as well, and yet he wanted none of them the way he wanted the old, vile warrior-maiden. He was beginning to realize it was not normal for someone his age to want someone as old as she; after all, everyone at the ball either seemed to have a wife who was very close to their age or, in some cases, much younger.
Then why don’t I feel anything toward those women? Maybe it’s because she’s the only one I have ever known—even if it was only from fairy tales that Kori told me.
Eory thought to himself as he gazed upon Pollyanna, whose eyes were closed and who appeared to be sleeping.
Eory was all alone, with no one but this woman to depend on, however. He was stuck with her, whether he liked it or not.
He thought about Gershom—both the fairy and the dog—and felt his stomach twist into knots and felt a lump form in his throat.
I just want him to lick my face and give me that stupid grin…
Eory thought to himself sadly.
Eventually, Eory, Tyrus, and Pollyanna all fell out of the brightly colored, stream of light and landed roughly on their feet on a grassy hill whew a rough wind made the grass beneath their feet sing. Eory fell on all-fours and his fingers swam in his eyes.
He hugged his churning stomach for comfort in a moment and swallowed a lump in his throat.
Pollyanna knelt next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Eory climbed to his feet and did not answer.
He thought about how he had been trapped beneath her. He thought of the stink and the arrows heads sticking through her skin that had nearly pierced his own and shuddered.
Pollyanna raised an eyebrow, but otherwise removed her hand from his shoulder. Eory looked at the blue sky with blank tears. In a moment, he glanced to his right to his right to see a stony, small structure—about as tall as Pollyanna--with four pillars supporting a roof, and under that roof, a green candle was lit.
“The caravan will be along in a moment. Do not attempt to run; you have signed the contract, and if you run too far, the magic binding the contract will merely bring you back to my side.” Tyrus said in his usual, monotone fashion.
Pollyanna recognized the structure with the green flame under it. Astral Elves needed to use those to make their way through that other world they were falling through. If they didn’t, they would get lost and perhaps never make it back to Yharos. In her long lifetime, she had been warped to one by an Astral Elf once before.
There were only a select few of those green flames on Yharos, however, because only the Astral Elves of ancient times knew how to make them and the species had since lost the magical know-how of how to conjure them.
I suppose that’s why they can’t warp us directly to the Crater…
Pollyanna thought to herself.
“Ah, here is the caravan now.” Tyrus said.
To Eory’s left, a female Astral Elf driving a long caravan--large enough to fit twelve people on the inside--arrived. Its wheels rolled over the grassy earth and its churning wheels hurt Eory’s sensitive ears as it approached.
Eory looked at the caravan with a flash of fear and fought the urge to run.
He had signed his death warrant, after all.
His chin wobbled and he sniffled with fear.
“What’s wrong?” Pollyanna asked.
“I don’t want to die!” Eory cried.
Pollyanna watched him bawl for a moment and was reminded of who he truly was again; a scared, awkward and sheltered young man who had spent almost all his years tucked safely inside a tower—only to be released and sent to die in a prison of a different kind despite doing nothing wrong, himself.
She wanted to hold him, but she resisted. Instead she said, “I’ll protect you, Eory. I promise.”
The caravan stopped in front of them and Eory looked at it with his heart beating wildly in fear.
Pollyanna kindly took his hand, however, and led him to the side of the caravan. She climbed up on the step of the caravan, grabbed the knob on the door, and swung it open. She then turned to Eory and offered him a hand again.
Eory dried his eyes and took her hand with his own, shaking one. He let her pull him up on the step.
Inside the vehicle were many other people already seated on uncomfortable planks of wood jutting out from either side of the caravan that Eory was expected to sit on.
Pollyanna sat down first, and then Eory sat down next to her and closed his eyes. In a moment, he fell into a deep sleep.
When he opened his eyes, he saw that he was seated across from a waif and that all the seats on the caravan were now full.
The caravan had begun rolling steadily on toward the crater of resentment.