Rebirth And Second Chances 102 Volar-Fey Part 2

The Volar-Fey were flittering from flower to flower collecting nectar. Mortals had often ignored their presence, rationalizing their existence and refusing to see what was really there. Instead of what they expected to see. It became almost instinctive, their ability to rationalize and explain away the unknown.

All Volar-Fey were capable of flight, Volar was a direct translation for the French word to fly. I didn't understand how a traditional Gaelic and Celtic species would have a name that was the derivative of the French language, but that was the affectation they had been labeled with. Perhaps the French language had somehow co-opted the word in the distant past when the Volar-fey were prolific and roamed Earth's gardens at leisure.

They were considered a sub-species of Wisps, one of the wee folk. Unlike Wisps, they didn't have the ability to glow or the insect qualities that blended with Seelie form. They were a perfect miniature of Seelie. The tallest barely three inches, but fierce warriors and sorcerers, nevertheless. Nor could they change shape or size, the addition of the wings precluded that ability.

Their ability to glamour was as strong as the Wisps they were distantly related too. They used this ability most often to beguile and entice. If Wisps were well known for leading prey to their deaths, Volar-fey were best known for leading mortals to Underhill. Mortals that were considered beautiful or talented were often targeted.

They ignored me, at first, content to gather their nectar. Either they saw me as inconsequential and no threat or they'd been instructed to allow intrusion by Seelie.

The Volar-Fey had their own court, their own Ranked, and their own Monarchs, but this group could only look to a Duke or Lord as the highest Ranked for direction and leadership. Their Queens and Kings would never have allowed themselves to be trapped and banished, forced to live within a Dungeon. Even if a Sithern existed within the confines of that dungeon. It was more likely that this group had been summoned against their will when the ritual to create the Sithern occurred.

Although diminutive in size, that very size made them formidable. Their ability to use air currents, glamour, and shadow, paired with their ability to fly, meant that they were capable of encroaching in even the most hidden locales. But what made them truly formidable was their ability to ignore wards and formations.

They were quicksilver. Creatures of both moonbeams and sunlight. And because they could see the currents of air and magic, they were able to find the imperfections when creating wards and formations. It allowed them to slip easily past even the deadliest array.

Once they have gained entrance, they became the perfect a.s.sa.s.sin. Glamour was not their strongest magic, they employed poisons to paralyze or neutralize, and those they targeted, their intended victim almost never knew what had killed them.

To slight or offend the Volar-Fey was to risk reprisals from a people that could swarm and infiltrate any room, no matter how warded or hidden, until they were satisfied that honor had been restored. I would not be so foolish as to ignore the significance of Volar-Fey being the first line of defense established by d.u.c.h.ess Wynne.

=[You are trespa.s.sing here. Even though it appears they are ignoring you, they aren't. They are a.s.sessing you, determining whether they should consider you friend or foe. It would be a mistake not to make an offering to the Volar as a token of friendship and respect. They are best appeased with the gift of food and drink, given with the appropriate ritual, it will go far in gaining their respect and cooperation.]= Caraid informed me.

"What ritual?" I asked.

=[Mortals have sought the lesser fey blessings using gifts of milk and honey almost since Danu breathed life into them. As a Ranked Prince, it would be seemly to gift them a few drops of blood. The offering should also be visually pleasing. The Volar-Fey appreciates beauty, nectar, and flowers. So, when presenting your offering, create an artistic representation of those elements.]=

Reaching into my Ring of Hidden Depths, I withdrew several items, a jug of milk, freshly baked bread, strawberries, some macaroons, and a honeycomb. It's amazing the things Jennie had insisted I carry, now I knew why.

Withdrawing a knife, I began making wedges, triangular in shape as I cut the bread into shape and placing them in a pattern. I interspersed the break pattern I was creating with strawberries and macaroons.
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I was meticulous in creating a mandala pattern, drizzling honey and magical essence into each piece of bread as I brought to life a flower of pattern and texture. Cutting my finger, I soaked the last piece of bread in my blood before placing it pride of place in the center. A glistening morsel of blood and honey that was pulsing with my magic and essence.

Grabbing another saucer from my Ring, I poured an offering of milk, floating a few honeycombs into an intricate filigree of glistening decadence and using my knife to mix the honey and milk in a pattern that was geometric and concentric in form. Stepping back, I gave a final appraisal to my creation before I addressed the Volar-Fey.

This time it was Caraid that gave me the words to speak. There was no Wild Magic or instinctive knowing. But the words were formulaic, words spoken with the weight of ceremony and history, words that had created grooves in the flow of time itself, layering and enforcing the meaning behind the offerings to the Fey.

"Warm and moist beneath the hill,

Voices and laughter are soft and shrill.

Glints of light and shadows long move,

And merrying the long night thru.

Danu's children in morning emerge anew Slumber,

and waking each in their time Music,

and laughter interlace and combine.

Earnest crafts folk of diminutive size,

Blessings on you, betwixt us no lies."

The Volar-Fey paused, frozen and expectant, as they turned to appraise my offering. The highest Ranked, a Lord, finally made himself known and cautiously approached, flying back and forth, between food and drink, appraising. Satisfied, he finally dipped to nibble on the bread I had soaked in blood.

His first bite released a magical tsunami and feeding frenzy as the rest of the fey gathered en ma.s.se, to partake in my offering, absorbing both nourishment from the food as well as magic from the ritual. They were like a nest full of bees, buzzing and flying as they jockeyed for position and delicacies.

But even in their feeding frenzy, they were not so boorish as to ignore the least among them. Making certain that an equal share was had by all.

And as they fed and drank, the Sithern pulsed. Pleased with my gesture and my offering. It responded in kind.