The Frozen Moon - By J.D. Swinn Page 0,1
two inches taller than Max. His hair was long and black, but was translucent like all Moon faeries’. The wings that protruded from his back, just beneath the shoulder blades, held none of the fragility of Nature faeries, and were striking lunar silver. His irises were black, melding with the pupils, and the skin around his eyes themselves were lined with swirling black lines. They were battle tattoos, he noted, and had multiplied since they had last met. The marks were awarded by the queen for valiancy in battle; he wondered how the new marks had been earned.
“Iri tah dominise,” he said, clasping his right wrist with his left hand, and offering his open palm forward. Max had grown accustomed to the traditional Moon faerie greeting of warriors, and responded.
“Iri tah remine,” he answered, making the same gesture.
“Maxim tah, you have come again to battle with us?” he questioned in a hurried tone, eager to return to his people in battle.
“Yes, General Aksid. I have brought another as well. She will aid in the fight.” The general gave an approving nod and turned back to the raging fight behind him. Although it was difficult a first, he was soon able to mirror the formal English spoken by the faeries; respect was more important than anything in faerie culture. Love, as he recalled from many encounters, was a near foreign concept, but respect had taken the place of affection in human culture. Max carefully watched Nameh’s face light up as she saw the turmoil that lay ahead. There was a mix of faeries and pixies intertwined in a clash of metal, bows, and arrows. The faeries could be identified by their thin, metal plated armor for defense, while the pixies wore thick brown leather for agility.
“What did you say to him?” she inquired curiously.
“It’s the ancient faerie language,” he began, “He said to me: Here, a warrior approaches. I said: Here, a warrior stands. It’s an acknowledgement of fighting status; to be given the title of ‘tah’, or warrior, you have to prove yourself in battle.” He saw the eagerness in her eyes, and began to move toward the battle, drawing his sword. She did the same, her slender arm looking even longer with the steel extension. He gave her one last look, as if to burn her excited image into his mind, and plunged into battle. If it had been any other girl, he thought, he would have been worried for her safety. Nameh was not any other girl.
The clanging of iron and steel was melodious and soothing to Nameh’s ears. Hundreds of lanky bodies of faeries and pixies tangled about her like spiders. She felt an intense pain from her mark; there was a wealth of magic near. She pulled her strength into her right arm and fed it into her sword, glowing faintly, it responded to her will.
She lunged at a nearby pixie who was standing over a Moon faerie woman, ready to deliver a fatal blow. With one slice, the leather armor across its chest fell open as if it had been made of paper. She was surprised at her own strength. From the tear in the leather oozed thick, black tar; its sheen was eerie in the pale moonlight.
The pixie turned to Nameh, determinations of death in its stare. It was then that she truly witnessed the madness of pixies. Its eyes were the same black of the faeries’, but held fewer traces of humanity; its hair stood short and spiked, a bleached, lifeless yellow in contrast to the faeries’ black. Everything about its features was pointed: its ears came to a harsh peak, its nose angular, but most pointed of all were its horrific teeth. They were razor sharp and glistening white, like that of a shark, but needle thin. It’s wings were small and a similar faded yellow; she also noticed as it turned that each vein down its wing ended in a thick barb as long as her fifth finger.
The pixie carried a weapon like dual headed spear, forged out of wood and metal flowing together so that one could hardly tell where the wood ended and the metal began. It was a material no human could replicate without magic. In a fury, the creature jabbed it toward her, but she easily dodged it, bringing her sword down on its striking shoulder. Blood now flowed from both its wounds, bathing the pixie in the harsh black. For a moment, Nameh mused; she could