Chapter Text
It was the night of a new moon, and it was dark; almost pitch black. The pine, spruce, and oak trees of the Dark Forest stood tall and their branches loomed overhead, blocking out any of the starlight. A black-cloaked figure moved silently between them, blending into the darkness. Not that there was anyone to see the figure as it headed further and further into the thick of the forest. The figure stopped at a particular tree. Purple magic resonated from its fingers as it stooped low against the dirt.
“No, Scott,” Stiles told his best friend.
“But they’re all alone!” Scott argued, pulling the small haunts closer to his body.
Baby or child might apply to the small, black haired creatures, but they had demonic red eyes and, even young, Stiles could see the beginnings of their nasty claws. Stiles refused to use such innocent words like baby or child to describe the creatures.
“They’re not bunnies,” Stiles said, exasperated. He cautiously eyed the creatures. “They don’t grow up into even fluffier versions of themselves. They’re haunts. You know poisonous claws, saliva, killer of men and all that.”
“But-“
“No,” Stiles interrupted him. They’re of twenty years of age, and Scott still tries to bring home every animal he finds. “You can’t change their nature. They probably won’t even die.”
Scott crossed his arms. “Probably?”
“They won’t die.” Stiles clarified. “Now, let’s get out of here before their mom returns or something. I don’t want to be around for that.”
Scott hesitated, his butt still sitting firmly on the wood’s floor.
“Poisonous,” Stiles reminded him.
Scott nodded and finally stands up. Stiles turned to leave when Scott opens his pack.
“What are you doing now?” Stiles complained. He watched as Scott took two apples out of the pack and placed them next to the haunts. Scott straightened up and shrugged. “Just in case,” Scott explained.
“Those were ours,” Stiles said, looking down at the apples and feeling suddenly hungry.
“We’ll get some more,” Scott promised. Stiles rolled his eyes. Of course they would. The tree lived right outside their properties.
Stiles started to head back home when Scott stops him. “Wait. I want to try.”
Stiles stopped and shrugged, indicating for his friend to give it his best shot. Scott squinted at the trees around him and then up to what little he could see of the sky. He slowly turned around in a circle before pointing west. “That way!”
Stiles snorted and turned and walked the opposite direction.
“Really?” Stiles heard Scott whine behind him before he hurried to catch up to Stiles.
“You were pointing west. We live east of here. And, we didn’t walk near any of the moss-covered trees. Don’t you pay attention?”
“Never see a reason to,” Scott admitted. “You always know which direction North is and which way lies home.”
It was true. His mom called it his sixth sense. Sense of direction. No matter where he was, Stiles could tell what way lay North. He always knew the position of the sun in the sky too, even when they had been stuck indoors for hours. Admittedly, it was a little odd, but as his father said, he had always been a strange child.
They head back towards the town, picking up speed as they go. It was getting darker faster than Stiles thought it would, and he really didn’t want to be outside once it got pitch black. Scott was thinking the same thing, if his apprehensive looks to the sky and equally quickened pace were anything to go by.
They were minutes away from home, and the sun was no longer visible in the sky. It was not just the animals and creatures that liked to come out at night that Stiles feared. Stiles tried to keep his eyes open and alert as he traveled past the last few trees, but he missed the large tree root that rose slightly above the ground. His left foot caught on it, and he fell, crashing to the ground. The darkness always impaired his vision more than he would have liked, and made him more prone to clumsy accidents.
Stiles moaned as his body hit the ground, his hands and knees scraping against some sharp rocks buried into the dirt.
“Not so loud!” Scott hissed frantically and offered Stiles a hand up.
Stiles glared upwards from the floor. “What? Can’t even ask if I’m okay?” Stiles whispered as he gripped Scott’s hand, wincing as his cuts rubbed against his friend’s skin.
Scott shrugged and helped him up. “You’re always okay.” Scott looked down Stiles’ form. “Although your trousers aren’t. Your mom’s not going to be happy.”
Stiles sighed. Scott could always see better in the dark than he could, and he was right. Stiles could feel the tattered scraps of fabric against his knees. “Can’t do anything about it now. C’mon, let’s go.”
Even Scott knew the rest of the way home from here, and Stiles let him guide the way back. He tried to follow Scott’s footsteps exactly, not wanting any other accidents.
They exited the woods and hopped over the small stream before they came to the very edge of the city, where they lived. Buildings were more sporadic in nature and spread out then they were closer and closer to the castle. Stiles and Scott’s cottages were thirty yards apart, and had a plot of land in between. It had been in Stiles’ family for generations. It was a beautiful garden that was the talk of the town and kingdom. Stiles’ mom, Claudia, had offered to share it with Scott’s family when they created their cottage next door. It allowed the family to pick some of the vegetables they grew there- tomatoes, lettuce, and sugar snap peas - and helped the Stilinski family take care of it. There was also an apple tree at the very back, more herbs than Stiles could count, dozens and dozens of flowers.
Stiles’ father, John, said that Claudia used to have a very green thumb, but the garden wasn’t blooming as it did before Stiles was born. When asked, Claudia would smile and say that talent doesn’t always stay in the one place. She traded her green thumb in for the talent of being a mother. Stiles thought the garden looked beautiful and can’t imagine what it would’ve looked like twenty years ago.
Melissa, Scott’s mom, was standing by the apple tree with her arms waiting for them to get home. “You’re late,” she said as soon as they were in hearing distance, and looked up to the now dark sky.
“Sorry, Mom,” Scott said, kissing her on the cheek as they approached. Melissa smiled at her son and then looked at Stiles and shook her head. “We should get you cleaned up before we eat.” She grabbed his hand and looked at his cuts. “You didn’t even clean these out?”
“It just happened,” Stiles said, sulking and pulling his hand back.
Melissa sighed. “Scott, clean up for dinner and let John and Claudia know we’ll be a few minutes.”
Scott nodded and bounded off to the well.
Stiles followed Melissa to her cottage. As routine, Stiles grabbed the fresh bucket of water and a towel and sat down by the table. Melissa grabbed some cloth and the small jar of paste.
Melissa cleaned his wounds with the water and then gingerly applied the paste. It was her own mixture of herbs from the garden, supposed to help sooth and heal cuts and scrapes Stiles and her son kept getting. She tsked when she got to his torn knees, but didn’t say anything. Stiles covered his hands in the fabric while she worked on his knees. Melissa held up the cloth in question to his knees, and Stiles shook his head. The bandaging there never stayed on properly, it was just a waste of fabric. They cleaned up and then went over to Stiles’ cottage for dinner.
Claudia, John, and Scott were already sitting down at the table when they walked in. When they caught sight of Stiles’ bandaged hands, Claudia smiled and John rolled his eyes. Neither said anything. Melissa and Stiles sat down, and they began their dinner of soup and day old bread. Surprisingly, John was home for dinner. As a guard for the town, he often worked during dinnertime to late into the night. He normally made it home for one meal during the week. Unlike Rafe, Scott’s father, who lived and worked at the castle and they almost never saw.
They talked amiably to one another, and sat at the dinner table long after the food was gone. They gossiped about their days and poked fun at one another in good spirit. Stiles told them how Scott wanted to bring home the haunts, and Melissa countered with a tale of their childhood when they brought home a bear cub. That took a lot of a special maneuvering not to have an angry mama bear show up in their backyard. Stiles vaguely remembered standing outside with his mom at the sunflowers while the sun was in the middle of the sky. They had been praying to Eris, the Goddess of the Sun, but he remembered a bit of a rush and bright blinding light before things get real hazy.
John half-heartedly lectured Stiles on ruining his clothing, knowing full well it would happen again. Claudia promised she’d patch them before bed and then mentioned that Jackson had stopped by, and wanted to pick up an order for flowers tomorrow.
Stiles and Scott sold flowers and other produce from the garden at the market in town. It’s where they spent the majority of their day when they’re not working on the garden or enjoying whatever time off they have in the Eastern Woods. Jackson was one of their best customers, and Stiles hated him.
Stiles was surprised that Jackson even buys anything from them, such a lowly stall at the market. Jackson was of the House of Whittemore, one of the wealthiest Lords of the land. Normally, Jackson would never step foot near the market, let alone buy anything. He has people to do that for him or nicer, fancier flower shops to go to, as he always reminded Stiles and Scott when they exchanged their finest flowers for Jackson’s money. Stiles would sneer and comment that their lowly, filthy flowers obviously wasn’t good enough for him. Then, Scott would step on his foot in annoyance, not wanting to scare Jackson off. Jackson would huff, but not without leaving with the finest bouquet. Stiles felt a mix of satisfaction and annoyance that he overcharged Jackson every time, and the man never batted an eye. The truth was, even without Claudia’s green thumb, they still had some of the best flowers in the kingdom, and Jackson’s beloved, Lydia, deserved the best.
Eventually, Jackson started getting smart about it, and showed up at the garden instead of the market. There, he was able to place exactly what flowers he wanted, instead of the limited selection that they brought with them to market. Once, he even brought seeds that he wanted them to grow. It was a good arrangement, Stiles thought, because he never stayed long and it meant they could charge him even more.
Stiles had seen his Lydia only a few times. She was always dressed fashionably and stood out against the rest of the peasants. She would wait for Jackson outside of the market square and underneath the shade of one of the nearby buildings. Stiles only knew it was her for the way Jackson presented the flowers to her and for her fiery red hair. He heard more rumors about her than he had seen her. She was from the House of Martin, and was trained to be a priestess for the Goddess Eola at a young age, but then left the order. No one was entirely sure what she continued to do. Some said she was a druid, others murmured about dark magic and strong influence, properties of a darach, or perhaps she had resorted to the life of a mistress. Stiles wasn’t’ sure, but he knew she wasn’t lacking in money and didn’t seem too impressed by the flowers his garden produced. Or she wasn’t impressed by Jackson’s wooing techniques, Stiles wasn’t sure.
Stiles promised to arrange Jackson’s flowers to be picked up in two days’ time, and not soon after, the family cleaned up the table and made a slow process for bed. Stiles crawled onto his own mattress by the hearth, and opened a well-worn book. Claudia said that her line of the family had been literate for generations, making a point to teach all their children to read. Stiles, Scott, Melissa, and John were given lessons at the same time. Claudia argued there was no reason they all shouldn’t learn.
They only owned a few books, most of them practical and used as guidebooks. His favorite was also practical, , but it was more of a narrative. Stiles enjoyed reading the religious text as if it was a bedtime story. Stiles fell into the history of the Goddess of Eola, the Goddess of Wisdom, and tuned out his surroundings. The quiet murmurings of his parents in their bed and the sound of Claudia fixing his trousers disappeared. Eventually Stiles lost focus all together and fell asleep, content and peaceful.
Derek frowned at the gathering of his people. Even within his own time, their numbers have seemed to decrease. He remembers when the Wolf-People used to fill the almost the entire clearing around the Nemeton, the shrine of Elatha, the God of the moon. Now, it was not even half full of people. More people were dying earlier in their lifespan, and infants weren’t living through the first month. They were deaths that his kind normally didn’t have any problem with; it was too human. He has heard talk amongst the elders and the alphas how they weren’t as strong as they once were either, and they weren’t talking as a civilization. Individually, they weren’t as strong and weren’t healing as quickly. Talia, who was his mother, alpha, and the head alpha, thought wolfsbane had started to grow. But none has been found, nor was anyone suffering from its specific side effects of bleeding black and having the black veins of poison.
Their people were slowly dying, and no one knew why. They were here at Elatha’s shrine to ask for help or forgiveness. Some thought they had done something wrong to anger the god and take their power away from them. Talia didn’t think they had strayed from their path or well wishes of the God, and, personally, Derek agreed. But Talia hoped that Elatha would help guide them to better times. Deaton, the Emissary to the Wolf-People of the Dark Forest and also the Head Priest of Elatha, finished the ritual sacrifice on the Nemeton. The large stump of the pedunculated oak tree absorbed the blood of the slaughtered deer.
Derek watched as his Emissary stayed kneeling and bowed on the hard, dirt floor, waiting for a clue that Elatha would help them. Only a few minutes passed before the cool blue crystal in his staff glowed brightly, reminding Derek of the illumination of the moon. The crystal that Deaton had worked into a staff was his connection to Elatha, a way to communicate directly. As Emissary, he was the balance between the beings of Earth and their Gods, which required a more direct line of communication than being a Head Priest received.
All around him, people breathed out in relief that Elatha agreed to contact them through the crystal. Derek did not relax yet. The God might not share good news with them. Deaton was still for a bit longer before he raised and turned to address the crowd. The Eye of Knowledge that was sketched into his forehead by Elatha to mark his Emissary looked darker than normal, contrasting greatly against the brown of Deaton’s skin. The crystal grew even brighter as Deaton spoke, his voice deeper and louder than normal.
“Seek the Spark.”
The woman mulled over the books in front of her. Ancient texts and scrolls of history and religion from as far back as she could find. She had pulled her resources and her connections to get into this particular library and even had access to the journals of king’s advisors of the past. References were slim at best in the most recent and readable texts. Disappointingly, the Spark was seen as a legend or a myth; something that only existed hundreds of years ago, when the gods first started investing themselves in the Earth and its inhabitants. But, it did appear roughly around the same time as the creation of the Wolf-People.
The woman sighed and pulled her notes and the most ancient texts towards her, carefully, so she wouldn’t damage them. Most of them were written in the older vernacular and were very difficult to read. She sighed as she dived into the text. She browsed it first, looking for anything that would stand out. A name caught her eye, one that had stayed the same through the ages. Eris. Interesting. She could only assumed that it was referencing the Goddess of the Sun. She narrowed her focus in and got to work.
Derek stood awkwardly to the side of the Nemeton. Talia had called another gathering amongst the packs of the Wolf-People in the Dark Forest. She and the other alphas had held council after Deaton’s announcement, figuring out which action to take next. Talia had found him afterwards and updated him on the situation, wanting him to be involved. Of course, Derek agreed. He was a Knight, a fighter of his people; it was what he chose to do.
Talia turned to the crowd. “We have come to a decision,” she announced loudly. There was a reason she was head alpha, she personified strength and leadership. Everyone immediately grew silent, respectfully paying attention.
“We asked for Elatha’s help, and he has generously agreed to do so,’ she continued, her voice echoing through the clearing. “To seek the spark, and we shall do so. The alphas and I have decided to send five our best out to find it.” She gestured over to her right where Derek and four other Wolf-People were standing. “First, we have Erica and Vernon of the Boyd pack.” Erica and Vernon Boyd stepped forward. “As seen through their matrimony, they balance one another out perfectly and will be the perfect team. Second, my son, Derek of the Hale pack.” Derek moved forward next to Boyd. “One of our best knights and of superior hunting skills. And last, Ethan and Aiden of the Hayes pack.” The twins walked over to join Derek. “As twins, they have special abilities that even our most powerful Wolf-Peoples do not possess.”
Talia paused and let her audience look at the strong, young Wolf-People in front of them. They represented the pike of their civilization and what they were trying to get back to. “They have accepted the quest to Seek the Spark, and we hope that the moon is on their side.”
“Elatha be willing,” the crowd chanted in response.
Derek and his friends bowed in response, accepting their blessing. And that was it, Derek thought. He was ready to get away from everyone’s attention. Meeting was adjourned.
Apparently not, as a voice called out, “How do we know the spark exists?”
It didn’t take long to identify the speaker as he had pushed to the front of the crowd as he spoke. It was the large and muscular Ennis.
Talia narrowed her eyes in response. “You doubt the word of the Elatha?” she asked icily.
Ennis frowned. He looked like pure muscle, but he wasn’t as stupid as he looked. It wasn’t a small thing to doubt Elatha, the ones who gave the Wolf-People power. “What is it?” He asked instead. “I have heard nothing but rumors.”
Deaton appeared at Talia’s side. He looked at her for permission and she nodded. “Rumors,” Deaton said, looking Ennis in the eye. “You are nothing but rumors to those living far to the South. Part of the story of Elatha’s power, but here you are alive and living.” Deaton paused as he let that sink in. “I do not know what you know and what you do not, but these are the facts as I can share them. The Spark is the most powerful essence on Earth inside a human body and under the protection of the gods. It is due to the gods, that the Spark has become seen as only a myth. Do not let that delude you from Elatha’s words. He speaks the truth.”
Ennis bowed his head, not daring to contradict the emissary himself.
Deaton turned towards Derek and his friends. “Wolf-People, seek the Spark and bring him back to the Elatha at his Nemeton.”
Derek’s eyes flickered to the large tree stump. The Shrine of Elatha where all their rituals and sacrifices were held. In Derek’s living memory, they had never sacrificed a creature with knowledge behind its eyes before. Only animals driven purely by instinct and not gifted with the intellect. Derek looked to his people a shadow of what they once were. Derek felt his eyes bleed blue. If they need to sacrifice a human to save his people, so be it.
Kira stood at the back of the crowd. She wasn’t technically part of the Wolf-People or in any of their packs, so she didn’t always feel like she belonged; however, the Dark Forest was her home and she lived amongst the Wolf-People. As a kitsune that had lightning coursing through her veins, it was a challenge for her to find her place amongst those that relied on their brute strength and sharp claws. Her mother always cautions against their neighbors, stating that that foxes and wolves do not play nice, but they’re never words that Kira’s has ever taken seriously. She has been friends with the Wolf-People since she was born; Derek, Isaac, Erica and Boyd were her closest friends. Kira and her family lived in the Dark Forest because her mother had sworn her allegiance to Elatha in return for some help before she was born. An allegiance that Kira and her human father followed as well.
It was more than an allegiance that made her itch to participate and help find the spark. They were her friends, and she didn’t want them dying off either. Even she could feel the change in energy in them. It had lowered since she was a kid. She jumped a little in place, trying to shake off the itch and anticipation. She thought about going with Derek and helping. He might not approve, but he would never find it in himself to tell her to go home; he was too much of a pushover. But, she pondered over that line of action, her gut pulled away from that idea. It told her to stay home at the Dark Forest. Kira didn’t like the idea of waiting, but as Talia sent the seekers off on their quest, Kira stayed where she was. If she changed her mind, there was always tomorrow. She knew Derek wasn’t going to be leaving on a wild goose chase for the spark this very moment.
The woman’s eyes flickered over her translations. Certain words popped out her, and she slowly put the facts together. Wolf-People. Jealousy. Twins. Elatha. Eris. Power. Destruction.
It wasn’t everything, but it was something. A much stronger start than she had. She closed the books and put them away and carefully packed her own notes into her bag, her fingers crossing over the sigil carved into the leather. She quietly left the tunnels of the archives, emerging to where priestesses were bowed down in prayer. She left the sanctuary as softly as she could. She moved quickly through the city, not wishing to be distracted or delayed, and headed towards the heart of the Eastern Woods. She had people to talk to and more work to do.
Stiles winced as he slowly made his way back home. He had woken early that morning and had tended to the garden. For some reason, it had gone quicker than expected, his fingers flying through his chores like magic. Since he finished early, he had some free time on his hands before Jackson arrived for his flowers. Stiles, feeling energetic, had gone into the woods, hoping to walk off some of his energy.
Fifteen minutes in, he had thought he had spied a thistle nest for pixies up in one of the higher branches in the trees. Although Scott was the one that always wants to take the creatures, magical or not, home with them, Stiles was usually the one to find them. Like the haunts, Stiles had heard weird noises and decided to investigate. Sometimes, you can make deals with the magical creatures or they can lead you to something valuable, but that has rarely happened in Stiles’ experience. Generally, Stiles finds them interesting and fascinating to watch.
So, Stiles had decided to inspect the nest, and climbed up the tree. With his long and strong limbs, it wasn’t that difficult to lift himself up and climb branch to branch, even if he did almost slip a couple of times.
Stiles’ theory had been correct; the nest had been home to some pixies. They had not been happy to see Stiles at first, but he had bartered his way into their good graces with trinkets from his sack. There were left over pieces of fabric from when Claudia had last used the sack, an old compass that he never need to use, and a hard-boiled egg. Once he had thought he had entered their good graces, he had tried communicating to them. Stiles had thought that they had found him funny, not annoying or irksome until they had flown at him, pest like. Stiles not only had gotten distracted but had lost his balance and fell from the branch.
He had managed to roll a bit when he landed, so he hadn’t thought he had broken anything, but it had hurt like hell when he finally found the energy to get his body off the dirt floor. He had scowled up at the pixies, who weren’t paying him any attention and had made his way back home.
He knew he probably looked like a mess, especially since he kept running his hands through his hair in irritation from the pixie’s behavior. He can already see the dirt smeared into his clothes and down his forearms. At least Dad can’t complain that he ripped them, he thought as he tried to wipe the dirt off.
He arrived at his cottage before Jackson, so as quickly as he could move, he got a bucket of fresh well water to start washing off. He stripped out of his clothes and scrubbed his body down, using his eyes and the reflection in the water to deem if he was dirt free. He dumped his dirty clothes in the water and pulled his spare clothes on. He rushed out to the garden to group the flower arrangement he had done that morning and put it in the cottage so it would be handy when Jackson arrived. As Stiles waited, he started trying to wash the dirt and grass stains out of his clothing.
There was a knock on the door five minutes later. Stiles quickly dried his hands and grabbed the flowers before opening the door. To his surprise, he opened the door to not only Jackson, but Lydia too. He stood there with his mouth gaping open and the flowers dangling in his hands.
Jackson scowled at him, but glanced at Lydia and straightened up. “Lydia, this is Stiles, the gardener who put together a special bouquet just for you.” He glared at Stiles and Stiles managed to present the flowers to her. Jackson nodded and then pushed the next few words out past his teeth, “Stiles, this is Lydia, House of Martin.
Lydia smiled and took the flowers from Stiles’ grasp. Stiles released them and let his hand fall uselessly down to his side. Lydia was beautiful. He had assumed as much since Jackson was chasing after her, and she had appeared lovely from a distance. But it didn’t prepare Stiles for seeing her face to face. Her skin was pale and smooth; flawless. Her hazel eyes were bright and knowing as they took in Stiles’ appearance. Her mouth curved into a perfect smirk as if she knew what he was thinking. Her purple dress flattered her figure, drawing Stiles’ eyes down to her bosom before he got distracted by her hair. He knew it was a fiery red, but it was only then that he remembered that those with the hair color fire were notorious for the magical ability. Her hair was attractive quality, long and flowing, beautifully framing her face, but it mostly made him realize her magical potential and his gaze was drawn back to her eyes. Maybe it wasn’t just power he saw there.
Lydia was still smirking when Stiles finished his study of her, and she must have realized it because her smile widened and her eyebrows rose pointedly. Stile grinned, meeting the challenge. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Lady Lydia,” he said as he gently took her hand and kissed her fingers.
Jackson glared daggers at him, and Lydia looked amused. Her smile looked less like a smirk but more genuine. “The pleasure’s all mine.” She glanced down at the flowers in her hands. “Orchids have always been my favorite, as Jackson knows. The ones from your garden are quite exquisite. The gardener must be very talented with his hands to nurture such lovely flowers.”
Stiles was thrown at the comment at first, but then noticed at how Jackson’s hands were balled into fists and his knuckles were starting to turn white from clenching them. Lydia might be using him, but Stiles didn’t mind if it was at Jackson’s expense.
Stiles smiled at Lydia, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “My talent extends beyond just flowers, my Lady.” He watched as Lydia’s eyebrows rose slowly in response. Her smile twitched as if it meant to grow wider.
“Oh?” She remarked, “How so?”
Before Stiles could respond, Lydia’s playful manner disappeared completely and dissolved into genuine surprise. “You read?” She asked, looking beyond him.
“Er, Yes.” Stiles replied, turning around to see what had caught Lydia’s attention. There on the kitchen table lay Stiles’ book, where he had left it after he woke up that morning. When he moved back to face Jackson and Lydia, Lydia had schooled her features back to normal.
“Talented with your hands and your mind,” she practically purred, “that is a rarity these days.” Her eyes flickered to Jackson as she spoke, who turned an angry shade of red. “What is it that you read?”
“Mostly the stories of the gods,” Stiles replied. “The stories of the Goddess Rosmerta are some of my favorites.”
“Indeed,” Lydia murmured. Jackson glanced between them, the reference to the Goddess of Fertility and Love having gone over his head, and Stiles smirked. “Have you ever come across Aonghus’ love doves?” She asked, batting her eyelashes.
Stiles nodded thinking back to when they had found one wounded by the apple tree with its mate cooing sadly overhead. Scott had wanted to bandage the bird’s wing, but Melissa had hurried out of the house, stopping them from touching the animal. She had scolded them and had reminded them that one touch of their beaks can cause you to become suddenly infatuated with someone. She had kept her eyes on the one circling above and made them all put on tough gardening clothes before they tended the creature. It took a week before the love dove was able to fly again, and Melissa had made sure to keep them in the house while its mate was circling around.
“Really? How curious,” Lydia said, her voice dropping an octave. The look in her eyes had changed somewhat, causing Stiles to feel uncertain in the game they were playing.
Jackson took advantage of Stiles’ silence. “Lydia, we should get going. We’re going to be late.”
“Yes, of course,’ Lydia said, not even glancing at Jackson. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Stiles. I would love to explore your garden some time.”
Stiles grinned. “You are welcome to explore anytime, my Lady. A private tour just for you.” He bent down and kissed her fingers again, and Lydia beamed before she let Jackson usher her back to their carriage.
Stiles closed the door, not bothering to watch their departure. He laughed a little to himself as he replayed Jackson’s reactions in his head before he thought of Lydia. Lydia was. . .well, she was something. Not only was she stunning, but she was clever and walked all over Jackson. Stiles knew he was missing information, but he was intrigued by her, and had enjoyed her company. He wondered if she would actually visit again.
Derek closed his eyes as he let his wolf emerge from within. He felt his nails and teeth lengthen and sharpen. He stretched slightly as his face transfigured to give him better sight and hearing. He flickered his eyes open, bright blue spilling from them.
He focused on the scene around him. He did not see anything but trees, but he could hear the heartbeats of the creatures around him. There were many underground and far above, but Derek concentrated for one above the ground. He moved forward silently, taking care not to step on any twigs.
Ten minutes later, he finally found what he was looking for. He narrowed in on his prey, his body tensing and coiling into a ball.
The moment it stopped eating and lifted his head, Derek pounced.
Derek dropped the deer off his shoulders at the base of the Nemeton. It had taken more skill than he had thought to suffocate the deer without killing it. He needed it fresh for the sacrifice. He sighed as he knelt down next to it, waiting for it to regain consciousness. He placed his hand gently against the deer’s neck, feeling the blood beat through its veins.
He waited patiently, until the deer was close to consciousness, and then he carefully picked it up and laid it directly center on the trunk of the Nemeton. Then he kneeled, knees falling in well-worn and sunken patches of dirt on the ground. He took a deep breath before he began, praising Elatha.
“Elatha, Blessed God of the Moon and father of our people. You are our Moon, our light, our strength. Without you, we would be naught. We thank you, for we are blessed and beyond humans. You are our savior,” Derek recited from memory.
“I have brought this deer for you,” Derek said slowly trying to time it correctly, “Fresh and alive with its heart still beating and its blood still vital, which I give,” he paused and seconds later the deer’s eyes flew open and started to move in panic, but Derek was quicker.
“For you” He said as he used his claw to slit its throat. He watched momentarily as the blood drained out of wound and was soaked up by the Nemeton. “I hope it feeds you and keeps you well. I ask for guidance, my father. You showed us mercy and kindness when you told us to seek the spark. I’m afraid I ask for more in seeking this legendary creature. I beg of you.”
Derek closed his eyes, bowed his head, and kept his hands firmly on the Nemeton, expecting to wait for a long time for a response. It wasn’t rare for Elatha to take up to an hour to respond, if he responded at all. To his surprise, he felt a presence only minutes later. The Nemeton became cool to the touch and then Derek felt the sacrificial blood rush under his hands, staining them. Derek kept as still as he possibly could, until he could no longer feel the blood underneath his hands and the Nemeton became warmer.
“My thanks and gratitude Elatha. Please continue to guide and protect me on this mission” Derek whispered, leaning his head down to the Nemeton before he raised and opened his eyes. Carefully, he turned his hands over. On each palm remained a picture created by stain blood. On his right was a figure of a human, probably a man. On his left was a circle. He stared at them, puzzled, and then shook his head. He knew who could help him. He turned around – and froze.
Deaton stood just feet behind him, still and quiet as a statue. Derek made eye contact and Deaton smiled.
“Emissary,” Derek said after his heart stopped pounding so hard in surprise. “I was about to come and seek your aid.
“I know,” Deaton said.
Derek didn’t respond. He was never completely comfortable with the powers the Emissary had, like the limited foresight he received through the Eye of Knowledge. Derek did not like that Deaton knew what he was going to do before he did it at times. It made him question how much of a choice he really had.
Deaton stepped forward. “I knew you would come here. Talia has raised you well in the art of the gods. I knew you would complete a ritual before starting your quest.” Deaton looked down at Derek’s hands and then held his own out. “Let me see.”
Derek walked closer to Deaton and placed his hands in Deaton’s, the palms turned upwards. Deaton looked at them, before using his left hand to trace the circle.
“What do you see, Knight?” Deaton asked him, his eyes never leaving the symbols.
Derek glanced down at his palms. “A man,” he replied, more sure of that symbol. He thought silently, as he looked at the circle, a dark red spot at the center of his palm. “The sun,” he finally said softly.
Deaton looked up and gave a small smile. “Yes. As in the stories.”
Derek’s eyebrows furrowed as he tried to think of the stories that Deaton was referring to. Bits and pieces slowly came back to him. He remembered them in his mom’s voice, when he was younger, telling them to him. The history of their people: how Elatha made them into being, and how his sister Eris, the Goddess of the Sun had become jealous. She had wanted a connection to someone on Earth too, and injected her essence into a human. His eyes flickered down to his right palm. The Spark now resided in a man.
“Where can I find him?” He asked Deaton.
Deaton shook his head and dropped Derek’s hands. “That I do not know, for I am neither the Emissary nor the Priestess of Eris. She has gone through many pains to keep her Spark hidden.”
“It could be anyone. Any man,” Derek said, annoyed. It still wasn’t much to go on.
Deaton stared at him. “The Spark is under the protection of Eris,” he stated clearly and then turned at left.
Derek wasn’t sure if Eris would help him if he was going to sacrifice it, but there was only one way to find out. Derek headed home to collect the supplies he would need and then started his voyage to the Shrine of Eris.
She watched him carefully, observing every move the wild, limbed just barely a man made. She added every piece of information she collected to her puzzle. According to her research, the Spark had been around for generations and somehow passed down through family lines.
She reached out with her power, feeling the land around her. This place reeked of magic, but she couldn’t spot it with her eyes. It was embedded into the land and was crawling all over the one cottage. The man was tending his garden, and she watched as he cut his finger on a thorn and started cursing.
The gardener did not seem very adept, but the garden looked beautiful anyways. She had made inquiries about the garden too. Within the constraints of living memory, it has always been the most picturesque garden in the land. She wondered if it was possible for the Spark to infuse the plants with his or her magic, causing the land to feel entrenched in it as it was. The magic around the house would be explained if a Spark has always lived there, small magic infusing into its surfaces and mounting through time.
The land was her biggest indicator that she was right, that the Spark lived here. It was the conversations that she overheard that narrowed her suspicions on the man. The mothers’ laughing conversations on how much trouble their boys could get into, but were never late for a meal. How Stiles would always just know what time it was and appear and drag Scott into the kitchen. There was the father teasing the mother about how her green thumb had lost some of its power. Stiles pretending to be annoyed that Scott always got lost or didn’t know which way to go, and Scott accusing him to be weirdly blessed with a compass in his head.
Things had added up, and she was fairly certain that Stiles was the Spark.
Derek arrived at the town closest to the Shrine of Eris a few days later. He was tired and dirty from his travels. He felt the pressure to act, to save his home and desperately wanted to go right ahead and ask for Eris’ help, but he saw the judgmental looks on passer-bys’ faces, and found an inn. He needed to make a good impression on Eris in order to receive her help. He was glad that he had shifted back into a more human appearance at the last town; his rough appearance alone made the owners cautious of him. He had to throw in an extra small golden trinket on the table for them to accept him at their in.
As soon as the innkeeper and her husband were satisfied and had shown him to his room, Derek closed the door shut and stripped down. There was a jar full of water and a small basin. He dumped the water and pulled a piece of cloth out of his pack and started scrubbing his body. He rung the dirty water out of the open window. When he was satisfied that all the dirt was gone, he collapsed on the bed, letting his muscles relax for a few minutes as he waited for the water to evaporate from his body. He had traveled so far in a rush and didn’t take a lot of time to break and rest. It wasn’t long before his eyes closed on their own accord, and he fell asleep.
Derek dreamed. There was the Moon and the Sun in the sky, both shining brightly. Instead of the expected chaos of the two celestial beings in the same sky, it was calm. Derek felt a surge of power and confidence rip through him. He brought his eyes back down to Earth where grass lay as far as he could see with an old oak tree and an apple tree. Two figures stood side by side. A moonbeam shot towards the man and the oak tree. The man shifted. He turned to the woman, and embraced passionately. As the man lay down with the woman, a beam of light from the sun made the woman’s belly button glow as she cried out in ecstasy. The man followed shortly after, and the two became one. Another man stood in their place, and Derek felt his heart flutter in his chest. The man came and stood directly in front of him, and smiled.
Derek woke up, restless. The moon was high in the sky, and Derek could feel it pulling at him. He frowned at himself, angry for falling asleep. Nighttime was not when he should seek help from Eris. Unable to fall back asleep, Derek pulled on his dirty clothes, and headed back outside. Making sure no one was around, he shifted and started to run, giving in to the moon’s pull. As he recited the rituals and prays in for Elatha, he remembered that he had dreamed, but he couldn’t remember of what. He tried hard to remember, but only was left with excited anticipation brewing in his stomach. After a few miles of running, he returned to the inn, determined to get some sleep. As he fell asleep, he convinced himself that the feeling and the dream had been a good thing.
Derek arrived at the Shrine of Eris when the sun was high in the sky. A priestess greeted him. Beyond her, he could see multiple people praying around a rock formation with symbols carved into them. The shrine. Derek couldn’t help but marvel how different it was from the Nemeton.
The priestess cleared her voice softly, and Derek looked back to her. He stood, straight, tall, and proud, as a knight should, but anxiety loomed underneath the surface, wondering if he was appropriately dressed. He didn’t wear any of his knights clothes, for they all had loyalties to Elatha, but he wore his nicest items. Not the ones that he had traveled in that were soaked with sweat.
The priestess smiled at him, encouragingly.
Derek nodded and opened his mouth. “I request to see the High Priestess and Emissary of Eris.”
The girls’ eyes grew wide in surprised and gestured for him to wait, for she turned and hurried beyond the shrine.
As Derek waited, people came and left. He started to wonder if he had been forgotten, or worse, ignored. When he was debating of going directly to the shrine, a dark haired woman approached with the Eye of Knowledge carved onto her forehead, Eris’ Emissary. He bowed his head when she came up to him.
Her eyes scrutinized him while Derek returned to his stance as a knight; silent and patient.
“Child of Elatha,” She finally spoke, addressing him. “What business do you have here?”
“I have come to ask for Eris, Goddess of the Sun and sister of Elatha, to aide me in my quest.”
The Emissary frowned. “You are welcome to pray at the shrine and make your case.”
Derek shook his head, “I will pray and give my regards to the Goddess, but I ask for interpretation.”
She gestured to the multiple priestesses behind her. “Anyone of them can provide you with assistance. Why did you ask for me?”
“Elatha sent me to seek the Spark,” Derek explained. “My quest has led me here. I needed my Emissary’s help then. I figured I would need your help now.”
Her lips drew into a thin line. “My brother helps more than he should.”
“Brother?” Derek said, his eyebrows going up in surprise. But then he started to notice small similarities between her and Deaton, like the shape of their eyes.
She continued on speaking, as if he hadn’t spoken. “You have received enough help, Knight. I suggest you use it to your advantage.” She went to turn away, but the yellow crystal on the chain around her neck began to glow. Eris had deemed him worthy enough to pay attention to.
She stood still with her eyes closed as Eris communicated to her through the crystal. Only when it no longer exudedany light, but lay dull against her neck did she open her eyes. “It appears you have the favor of the gods. Or your quest does. I will not tell you who the Spark is, but I shall tell you this: Look for where two dwellings meet with its own nursery inbetween. There, colors bloom from the earth. They are sought by those under the protection of Argent seek to exchange for goods.”
With that, she turned and left, vanishing into the crowd. Derek stood, processing as she left. He had no what she had meant. It was like she was talking in riddles. He sighed wearily and put that thought off for now, and went to pray his thanks and praises to Eris at the shrine.
Stiles was leaning against the trunk of the apple tree, sitting on one of the lower branches and munching on an apple. He and Scott had just gotten back from the market and Stiles was taking, what he felt, was a well-deserved break. He finished his apple and threw the core as far as he could towards the woods. He was debating on a second apple when he spied Lydia approaching his home. Stiles smiled and quickly swung back to the ground.
Lydia had visited with Jackson once more since the first time a week ago, and she had shown up by herself twice after that. Stiles liked her, a lot. She was intelligent and bold, not afraid to tell him he was wrong (or stupid). Most people Stiles knew would never be that direct with a stranger. He only had that type of relationship with his parents, Scott and Melissa, and Lydia just jumped right into it.
Originally, Stiles thought Lydia only visited him to make Jackson jealous, or prove some point – he wasn’t clear on how their relationship worked. It had thrown him for a loop when she had shown up alone. She had spent most of the day watching him work in the garden. She made it clear she didn’t enjoy getting her hands, or more importantly her dresses, dirty. As the day grew on, Stiles got the sense that she was able to relax and feel more at ease than she had in a long time. It was clear she was a scholar from the way she questioned him about the garden; what he was doing, how it worked, and the effect it had on the market and vice versa. Stiles liked that she pushed him. He enjoyed the challenge.
Now, Stiles grabbed an extra apple and shined it with his shirt’s sleeve and met her at the front of the garden.
“For you M’Lady,” he said with a grand gesture, bowing low. Lydia rolled her eyes but took the apple anyways.
“You do know I’m not a Lady, correct?”
Stiles shrugged as he straightened up. “You might as well be one,” he replied. He eyed her outfit. It might not have been entirely formal or extravagant, but decidedly fashionable and expensive. “You look like one.”
She gave him a cryptic look. “Looks can be deceiving.”
“Like how you actually have brains?” he asked her, not able to stop his mouth in time. He bit his lip and turned around so he wouldn’t see her expression. He didn’t know what her weird look at him was for either.
“Do I look like someone who would you expect me to go on a quest?”
“A quest for the best gown in all the land?” Stiles asked, he turned back to her and grinned in a joking manner. She clenched her lips together, narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. Stiles stopped smiling. “What kind of quest?”
Lydia didn’t answer at first. She made her way through the garden, first looking at the herbs before stopping in front of the flowers. She leaned forward to smell them as she asked, “Oh just for a nixie.”
Stiles’ eyebrows rocketed in surprise. “A nixie?”
“Yes. Would you be interested?”
“I. uh, Yeah! Um. Is this my quest?” Stiles stumbled over his words in his excitement before trailing off in confusion.
“You would accompany me.”
“I can do that,” Stiles answered, not minding having to spend time with Lydia. “When?”
“Tonight,” she said as she plucked a rose from the earth.
“Oh,” Stiles said, surprised. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Being in the woods after dark and everything?”
“You’re not scared of a little dark, are you Stiles?” She asked, turning around, the rose clutched tight in her fingers.
“It’s not the dark so much like the creatures that come out of it.”
“Like nixies.”
“I, uh. Yeah,” Stiles said, as he thought about it. Nixies were water spirits. Rumor had it they took shape at night under the protection of the night sky. “That makes sense.”
“Indeed. I will see you tonight, Stiles.” She said, heading back for the main road.
“Okay. You’ll be back?”
“Tonight,” she repeated, with a little annoyance laced through.
“Yes, M’Lady,” he said, bowing again. After he stood up he said, “You act like one too.”
Lydia frowned at that, but continued on her way to the road. Stiles sighed as he watched her go. If he was going to be out late, he might fall behind the following morning. He had a lot of work to do before then. He groaned and then threw his head back and yelled, “Scotty, get your ass out here! We got work to do!”
Stiles had decided that he would not tell his parents about his. . .quest. They knew his tendencies to attract the magical folk and they knew his tendencies to end up with bruises, cuts, scrapes, and, memorably, a broken wrist because of them. Instead he had casually mentioned it to Scott before bed, so Scott wouldn’t freak out about having to keep a secret from their parents, grabbed his cloak in case it got chilly, and snuck out to the apple tree to wait.
Lydia appeared when the sky was dark and the moon hung high in the sky. For some foolish reason, Stiles thought she might have changed into something more suitable for trampling through the woods (although Lydia probably didn’t tramp). No, she was wearing the same thing as before. Her long, blue dress brushed against the floor as she walked. Stiles eyed her long, flowing sleeves distastefully. There was no way that they wouldn’t get caught in something, but Stiles held his tongue. He was too excited for a chance to see nixies.
They greeted each one another amiably and headed towards the woods. After pestering Lydia with question after question, Lydia finally told him to shut up and told him a little about herself. It was interesting to compare truth to rumor. She had been dedicated to be a priestess for Eola by her parents. She had enjoyed the lifestyle it revealed to her, and the opportunities she had. She explained that spent most of her time with the books and in their libraries. She had wanted to learn more than the shrine and Eola’s library could offer, so she left.
Lydia fell silent after that. Stiles wasn’t sure if it was because it was difficult for her to talk about that transition in her life or because she had shared with him as much as she was willing. Stiles managed to keep his mouth shut for once and didn’t pry any further. Instead, he did what he does best. Ignored the lingering pause and changed the subject.
“Lydia?” He asked, realizing just how far away they were from his cottage. “Do you know where we’re going?”
Stiles felt more than saw Lydia turn her face towards him and give him a judgmental stare.
“We’re awfully far north. The woods don’t continue for more than a mile or so.”
“I know where we’re going, Stiles,” Lydia responded, her voice cold.
Stiles bit his lip and didn’t say anything. There was something irking him, but he couldn’t pin point it. They traveled in silence for a few minutes before Stiles got restless.
“Why do you want to find a nixie?”
“Curiosity mostly,” she admitted. “I heard rumors of where to find them. You were extremely excited when I mentioned them. Too excited for a sane person. Why did you come?”
“I want to hear their music.”
Lydia halted and slowly turned to him. “The music that’s meant to lure you to your death?”
Stiles shrugged and continued walking. “That’s why we’re here together, isn’t it? Just make sure I don’t drown or do anything dumb.”
“That’s not going to be easy,” Lydia said under her breath before catching up to him and taking back the lead.
Lydia made herself move calmly through the woods, although the anticipation strummed through her and she wished to hurry Stiles along. She reined that energy in and focused on the land around her. She knew the Lake of Afli was close, she could feel its power growing stronger with each step.
She ran through the steps of the ritual in her head, making sure she wouldn’t forget anything. It was crucial that she did everything precisely. She heard Stiles inhale sharply next to her, and she turned to find his face turned down in harsh lines. He was anxious. That was a good and bad sign. If he was the Keeper of the Spark, like she suspected, he was probably feeling the pulsing of the lake, just like she was; however, if that was true, she didn’t know how much longer she could get him to cooperate. She harnessed her power, concentrating it in the palms of her hands, ready for anything.
She saw a glimpse of the lake up head. She just had to find the correct spot, where the earth jutted into the lake and the flowers grew. The place where she could steal the Spark.
Something was wrong. He felt this terrible presence the further and further north they walked. He kept his senses on the lookout for some creature that could be causing his unease, but he couldn’t see any animals, magical or otherwise. That didn’t reassure him in the least. Then, they came across the lake. There was only one lake this far north, the Lake of Afli. Stiles had heard stories of it, and not just from his family. Stories that sounded like they were made to scare small children were told in hushed voices, as if they were scared to speak its name too loud. Stiles would have been curious to explore it, if he hadn’t seen the looks on the adults’ faces when they spoke of it. They had been terrified, and Stiles realized, uneasily, that it wasn’t just a story for children. Terrible things had happened there, things no one would ever speak about, but Stiles could believe it has they got closer and closer.
“Lydia,” he whispered frantically and grabbing her hand. “Stop! We can’t be here. We have to go back!”
Lydia froze when he grabbed her hand. Her face was set in grim determination.
“We have to keep going. We need to get to the lake.”
Stiles shook his head. There was something wrong here. “No, Lydia. I don’t know what’s gotten into you, if it’s luring you, but I won’t let you go any nearer.”
“It’s a shame,” she whispered.
Stiles nose crinkled in confusion, “What is-“
White light poured out of Lydia’s hand and came straight at him, capturing his wrists together in a painfully tight binding. Panicking, Stiles pulled backwards, twisting his wrists apart. To his complete surprise, the white binding evaporated, disappearing completely. He looked up at Lydia, her eyes narrowed in on his wrists. “Lydia, what-“
She did it again, the power even brighter than it was the first time as it captured his wrists. He didn’t panic this time, and simply pulled his arms apart. The magic disappeared.
Lydia began to breathe deeply, annoyance clear on her face. “So be it,” she said, her entire body glowing white and then she shot all of her energy at Stiles.
Reflexively, Stiles through his arms up in front of him, but it didn’t matter. He felt the power hit us body and left him gasping for breath, but beyond that, he was fine. Again, there was no power to be seen.
Lydia’s face was set in fury. Stiles expected another magical attack, as she made his way towards him, but instead she raised her hand back and slapped him hard.
Stiles hissed, as his face swung to the right. He brought his arm up for comfort, but Lydia grabbed it, kicked him against the chest, and forced him on the ground. Stiles wasn’t sure what was happening to him anymore, but he felt Lydia grab his other hand and cool metal sliding against his wrists, and then he was pulled forward until he was in upright position.
“Magic might not harm you Keeper of the Spark, but these are iron cuffs. You aren’t getting out of these,” she hissed before she started pulling him towards the lake.
Stiles followed as his mind spun. “What did you call me?” He managed to get out. The power of the lake started to overwhelm him, pulling him towards it. He didn’t like it one bit. “Lydia!” he said shrilly. “We have to stop!” He tried to struggle and go back, but the combination of Lydia and the lake was too strong.
Lydia could hear Stiles try to fight the lake from behind her, his breathing heavy and uneven, but she ignored it. His pull against her slackened, as they got closer. She pulled him right up to where there were six different flowers in perfect circle, right against the lake. She carefully stepped forward, centering herself in the middle of the circle, her dress covering them. She let go of Stiles’ cuffs, and he fell, gasping to the ground.
She turned to look at him one last time before she set the spell in motion. She knew it would transfer the Spark to her, but she wasn’t sure what would happen to his body. If he would remain unharmed or even survive. “So be it,” she whispered. And then she began.
She let the power of the lake flow through her as she began to chant. Her breath quickened as she felt the surge of energy through her. She bent down to the water and released a vital of her on blood. Then, she brought her hands together to create a cup. She dipped them into the lake, and brought the water up to her mouth to drink, careful to never stop chanting. Her body trembled with the exchange, and Lydia felt like she could fly. She carefully stood up, and closed her eyes, letting the power take over her and manifest in her hands. On their own accord, her hand sat on one another, harnessing the energy into a white orb. Her hands grew apart as it got bigger and bigger.
Stiles knelt on the ground, unable to move, but that was the least of his concerns. He couldn’t remember how to breathe, his vision started to get blurry. The last thing he saw was an enormous ball of blinding light before he closed his eyes, giving way to unconsciousness.