Lilith of the Valley

Our Infancy

We were born in a time of war between the two great realms of Feyteria.

A mere bundle of woodland moss and nectar, I came into existence that day from the fragrant, white-hanging bells of the convallaria blooms. Though I was tiny - something the size of a beetle, a moth, or a firefly - I emerged from my mother’s miniature tulip-shaped womb with one dire and imprinted purpose: to get to the boy before the dragons could find him.

As a Fairy, I was gifted with an elevated sense of awareness. Even as an infant - my newborn skin wrinkled and covered in pollen - I knew the winged serpents were coming. There weren’t always dragons in our lush and wild flower-dense valley. However, they did come, from time to time - every once in the bluest of moons; when the rain fell for seven nights in a row and the auroras of the morning swept over the vast and inconceivable length of the lavender sky. It was then - on these rare occasions - that the sleeping children of humans would sometimes appear in the thickets of clovers and brambles.

That day did not begin just like any other, despite the fact that I had nothing to compare it to. The overnight showers were just starting to wane, and as I pushed back my birth flower’s petals to take in the view of the rainbow-stained sky, my supple, elven-shaped ears caught the whispers of the insects who gave me my name:

“Quick, now, Lilith; they’re coming!” urged the crickets.

“Hurry now, Lilith; hurry, hurry!” buzzed the bees.

And just like that - before I could stretch out my chubby, cherub-like arms for the very first time - my race against their pterodactyl-formed shadows was already running.

The dragons - those highly intelligent yet ravenous beasts - had somehow grown loyal to the commands of our foes, the Faeryns. For centuries, whenever the rain and colorful lights of the dawn were seemingly right, the serpentine monsters had scavenged our land in search of one child and one child only: the boy with the dragonfly mark on his temple.

To many, this distinctly-marked boy was merely a myth, even in a world full of magic. However, to both the Fairies and the Faeryns, he was known as the “Messiah of Fey” - destined to divinely guide the people that raised him toward one, mutually exclusive goal: becoming “Near Angels”.

The Faeryns - our wingless, nemesis cousins - were better equipped to search for the child we were. They were naturally bigger, stronger, and faster than us. Most importantly, they had the dragons on their side, who were acute, able hunters with the noses of hound dogs.

Much to the dismay of the Faeryns, however, the dragon's attempts to discover the boy had - time after time - proven fruitless. My people - the Fairies of Flor - did not have the advantage of dragons, strength, or speed on our side, but we were privy to one crucial detail our rivals were not:

Only when seven nights of rain and the auroras of the morning were met with the bloom of the convallaria majalis - the Lily of the Valley; the fragrant, ivory-belled flower of joy from which was born I - would the boy with the dragonfly mark on his temple appear.

And thus, I arrived in my brilliant, wondrous world that day with a hurried and grievous mission, for failing to claim him meant denying my kind of our highest and most sought-after purpose.

“They’re coming!” Cried the crickets again.

“Over there, over there!” Hummed the hornets and wasps.

All around me, my world was abuzz with the flutters and scurries of insects - thousand-eyed, fuzzy-skinned creatures that gave me great urgency, cheered me on; warned me of the lizardly beasts that were quickly approaching.

The height of an insect myself - with butterflies, quite fittingly, knotting my stomach - I knew that I needed to get higher in order to see. Though I could not yet fly, my plump little body managed to move with a unique and peculiar grace; both awkward and whimsical.

“This way, this way!” A ladybug whispered. I met her little beetle-like face with my bright, violet eyes, and she pointed in the direction of the canopy trees.

I climbed and I climbed; my feet little pin-dots that stood on the minuscule stubs of the stems and my hands reaching up toward the bottoms of leaves. Up, up, up; I pulled myself again and again into the direction of the aurora-skewed sky up above me.

Upon finally reaching the summit, I paused for a moment to take in my world with infant-filled wonder. Our side of Feyteria - known as the Tropic of Flor - was a valley aglow with an endless spectrum of colorful blossoms, which stretched out as far as the eye could see. Both above and to the left of our flora-rich lowlands, dallops of floating islands hovered in ambient space; some foliaged with trees, some anchored with bridges, others aflush with cascading waterfalls. On the other side - just beyond where the jacarandas and agapanthus stopped blooming - laid the Labrith of Faer; a somber, caliginous expanse; governed by the Faeryns and home to a handful of other nefarious beings.

“Over there, over there!”

I turned around to see a young mantis, who had suddenly joined me at the top of my ivory-belled, green-leafy tower. She extended her claw out toward the cluster of trees; just beyond where the waters of two joining rivers flowed down to the starbeds. It was that instant in which I finally saw him.

He was a cherub-like child - somewhere around the age of two - with big, puffy cheeks and a head full of hair; his entire existence aglow in the light of the morning. Swaddled like a cocoon in a dirt-ridden cloth, he’d been placed on the cool, moss-covered floor just below the dinizia trees. I can’t explain how, but I immediately felt a connection - as if we’d both just been born with the same wonderous, tightly-wound kismet.

“How do I get there?” I asked the young mantis, who watched me with two friendly eyes.

“Get on my back! Hurry; they’re coming!”

My stomach fell to my feet as she lept from the leaves and the lilies. With two outstretched, translucent wings, she rode the wind up past the poppies and lilacs; in the direction where the boy with the dragonfly mark on his temple lay sleeping.

“Faster!” I wailed; hearing the hiss of the dragons above us.

Somehow, we managed to get to him first. The mantis touched down on his chest, and I slid onto an unstable mountain which rose and fell with the coos of his breath. For a moment, I stared up at his face and watched as he slept - dreaming about all the great things we would soon achieve.

“The dragonfly mark,” the mantis reminded me.

Yes; of course - I’d forgotten. There was still one final part of my mission - I had to unite the boy’s mark with my blood.

In the years to come, I’d learn more about what the dragonfly mark on his face represented. I'd also learn more about my own origin - about how being born from the convallaria blooms meant I was a symbol of joy and hope for my kind. At the time, however, all I knew was that if I failed to douse the mark with my blood, my people would never achieve their highest potential.

And so, I climbed and climbed - once again - up the boy’s chest, over his shoulder, down and up the gully of his cushiony neck; for somehow I knew I had to make the rest of the way on my own.

I had just reached the side of his cheek when a shadow darkened the sky from above me. With a pounding heart, I crawled and I crawled; as fast as my chubby little arms and legs would allow me. Looking ahead of me, I could see the dragonfly mark on the side of his brow - just beyond the double half-moon of his eyelids. I was almost there.

The screech of the dragon roared from behind me. Two more inches…one more…

I made a slit in my palm with the thorn of a blackberry bush, which I’d managed to grab during the flight. Drips of my pearly-white blood spilled onto the curves of his eyelids, and I reached out to meet the dragonfly silhouette with my hand.

But - alas - I was too late:

Just before I was able to embrace the mark with my blood, the claws of the dragon wrapped around his stout little body, and carried him away into the auroras of the morning.

Children of Flor & Fire

“Lilith? Lilith!”

I woke up to the sound of my best friend, Zinnia, calling my name.

“Wake up! You really need to see this.”

I sat up from the ground in a flurry. It was one of the long summer days just before the onset of Lluvium - our 5th and final season in the Tropic of Flor - and we were searching for pixies.

“Where?” I shouted out groggily. I ran my fingers through my mushroom-brown hair and dusted the earth off my wings. I was eight years old and had a terrible habit of falling asleep in the meadows, even though it was now terribly dangerous to do so.

“Over here!” Zinnia exclaimed. Her voice was radiating with excitement. Just like the colorful Zinnia flower, Zinnie was bright, attentive, and charmingly effervescent, with coral-red hair that resembled the blossoms from which she was born.

With a buzz of my crystalline wings, I propelled myself over to where she awaited me alongside a bevy of windflowers.

“Look!” She insisted. She peeled back the petals on one of the ivory-white buds and revealed a tiny, sleeping pixie inside.

Though I was now the height and weight of a ferret, the honeybee-sized pixie that twisted and turned there was a mirror image of myself not long ago. While fully-grown fairies were only slightly smaller than humans, my translucent-winged people all began their lives as tiny, flower-born pixies.

I smiled at my friend, who seemed quite proud of herself.

“This whole row is full of them,” she said, “every one of these unblossomed buds has one of them inside”.

I took a deep breath. “Ok. Let’s get them all to Regent Cleome as quickly as possible.”

Zinnia nodded at me, and we began carefully plucking the buds from the stems and placing them in our baskets.

It was nearly a decade after my failure to secure the Messiah, and I had spent the better part of my childhood anxiously trying to redeem my honor. Though no one ever blamed me, I was haunted with guilt - for unlike the Faeryns, my people would have done so much good as Near Angels.

To make matters worse, I was constantly reminded that - being born from the Lily of the Valley - my purpose was to bring joy and peace to my people. In Feyteria, all flowers had meanings. Tulips, daffodils, daisies - there was significance tied to each of them all, and each Fairy was meant to represent the bloom from which they emerged.

Of course, there were also the lasting repercussions from the day I was born. Only the afternoon prior, Preceptor Edenite - a clairvoyant Elf from the Woodlands of Lure - had paid a visit to our village with some troubling news. The Messiah, who was now reining as the young, reckless king of the Faeryns, was commanding the dragons to capture all pixies from our valley. Nearly in tears, Preceptor Edenite revealed her unsettling vision to us, in which the Messiah was turning our very own pixies against us by infecting them with the venom of Chimera Bats; highly egregious creatures native to the Labrinth of Faer. It was a type of dark, frightening magic that changed the DNA of our youngest; transforming them into insect-sized parasites which entered and controlled the minds of the dragons.

This was - as we came to find out - how the Faeryns were continuing to keep the dragons loyal to them.

Both the Fairies and the Faeryns knew that while the Messiah’s guidance was the key to becoming Near Angels, only by cultivating a successful alliance with the dragons could our destiny truly prevail. That was because the dragons were born from the one, single element that was simultaneously capable of creating, supporting, taking, and protecting life: fire.

Upon learning the Messiah’s intentions, Regent Cleome - the highest Fairy in command of our “kingdom without a king” - ordered Zinnia and I to retrieve as many pixies from the valley as possible. The Messiah had obviously discovered a way to help the Faeryns prolong their control of the dragons. However, if we eliminated their source, perhaps they would lose their control of them. Perhaps - with a bit of luck - we could find a way to get the dragons to ally with us.

Zinnia and I collected buds for the better part of an hour, then began the long walk back to the village; our arms full of sleeping children.

****

It was late in the afternoon by the time Zinnia and I returned. Upon approaching the outlaying rose gardens, we were surprised to see Preceptor Larimar - the most elite of the clairvoyant Elves - standing at the entrance of the courtyard. Oddly, no one seemed to realize he was there, despite the fact that the whole town was alive and bustling with movement.

Similar to how Fairies were born from flowers, Elves were brought into existence from the essence of minerals; embodying the supernatural powers of the many stones derived from the depths of the Earth. An enigmatic creature with the palest of blue skin, Preceptor Larimar was true to his origin and was known by all in Feyteria as the “Seeker of Truth”.

“Good day, Preceptor Larimar, “ I said to him in passing. He was a tall statue that towered over me.

Preceptor Larimar gently grabbed my arm. “I’ve been waiting for you, Lilith,” he said. His voice was soft, though hauntingly urgent. He looked at both Zinnia and I with stoic eyes; his blue complexion transforming between shades of cyan and cobalt. I always thought it was odd how the Elves wore their emotions on their skin, not on their faces.

With the innocence of a child, I held out my apron full of sleeping pixies and looked up at him. “Did the Regent tell you?” I asked, “We’ve been retrieving all the pixies so the Messiah's dragons can no longer find them.” Always seeking to evoke feelings of joy, I hoped my words would bring the Preceptor peace. They did not.

“I’m afraid the Messiah is now looking for something more than just pixies, Lilith,” he said.

My heart dropped to my knees. “What else could he possibly be looking for?”

The Preceptor’s eyes remained still; his skin phasing sporadically between shades of ashen and blue. “My child, in a place where there was once joy and laughter, a bright, red fire will soon burn after.”

The Elves were known for speaking their premonitions in prose, and his words were whispers that danced in the air. I bowed my head to think for a moment. “You speak of the dragons,” I said, “and of how they’ve destroyed our land. We saw the burn marks in the valley earlier today.” I looked at Zinnia, who - for the first time ever - was utterly speechless.

The Preceptor spoke only one more verse before vanishing:

“And now in Feyteria and all around, a creature with wings shall make a sound: the one, true heir to the royal crown.”

****

It was the morning after Zinnia and I returned to the village, and I couldn’t help but keep thinking about the Preceptor’s words.

Even though I wasn’t supposed to, I snuck out from the sandalwood bungalows and began wandering down the pathway into the valley. The courtyard was quiet and calm - all Fairies soundly asleep in their leaf-covered dwellings - and I tiptoed over the pebbles as to ensure no one would hear me.

I felt as if I was on the hunt for something. However, I wasn’t sure what it could possibly be. Deep in thought, I ran my fingers along the fuzzy, broom-like tails of the fountain grass and drifted further and further into the meadow.

Our land had changed significantly since those eight years ago when I crawled out of my tiny, freshly-bloomed lily. What was once a lush, flower-filled valley was now blemished with burn marks - fires created by the dragons who searched for our pixies. What the Preceptor had said was true - our Tropic of Flor really was once a jubilant place; now it’d been marked with the scars of destruction and avarice.

Despite all this, there was still plenty of life and magic. Though I now towered above them, I would always be connected to the world of the flowers and the insects. As I stepped closer to the heart of the valley, I began to hear the whispers of the tulips and beetles around me:

“Over there,” they said to me, “come, quickly!”

I couldn’t help it - I followed their voices. I stumbled over and under the thickets of yarrows until suddenly, something caught my eye.

“There, do you see it now?” A grasshopper asked.

I squinted. In the distance, along a ridge of horribly charred earth and rock, a bright little spec of orange danced vibrantly in the light, settle breeze.

“A fire poppy,” I whispered upon seeing the bud, and I could feel the spirits of the trees agreeing with me. Fire poppies were a class of flora known as “fire followers” - plants that used heat and burnt earth as signals to sprout. As far as we knew, a Fairy had never been born from one.

I was drawn to it instantly and began to walk over. As I did, the Preceptor’s words echoed in my ears: “In a place where there was once joy and laughter, a bright, red fire will soon burn after. And now in Feyteria and all around, a creature with wings shall make a sound: the one, true heir to the royal crown.”

Upon approaching the poppy - the little ball of fire that it was - I cupped it gently in my hands. I stared at it and wondered if the winged pixie inside could really be the one, true crown of Feyteria - the one whom the Messiah was now searching for so desperately.

“Open it!” a ladybug insisted from behind me.

However, the petals began to unfurl on their own. I watched in disbelief as out stepped a dragon - no more than the size of a bee.

“Zenriyelle,” I whispered, and she flapped her little wings and let out a screech. “I am going to name you 'Zenriyelle'. It means ‘Queen from the Fire.’”

I smiled, knowing I was finally going to bring my people the hope and happiness they deserved.

I was going to bring them a dragon.

I was going to bring them the Queen.

Adolescents of Colliding Kingdoms

I was sixteen when I was summoned to meet the Messiah. The Faeryns were partnered with the Witches of Rune; evil conjurers who spied on our village and reported back to our foes per part of their contract. Of course, their overriding concern was Zenriyelle.

And so, Zenriyelle and I set out on the pathway; across the Great Grimlock Gully and into the Labrinth of Faer.

There was a hiss that escaped from the trees as my serpentine companion and I stepped deeper into the dark, shadowy territory. The plant and animal life were different here; that was for certain. Here, the flowers blossomed the color of ash and crumbled almost immediately down to the Earth, and the insects were scarlet-eyed hornets that hummed in the night.

Zenriyelle was now the size of a fully grown tiger, as was her temper. I smiled to myself as I watched her retaliate against the spite of the zymphodiles - rabid, chipmunk-like creatures that nipped at our feet - with the steady funnel of fire that spewed from her mouth. Few Fairies had ever made the journey this far from the Tropic of Flor. However, with Zenriyelle by my side, I didn’t fear much of anything.

Though I was no longer a dreamy-eyed child, I remained as convinced as ever that my fire-born friend was the answer to the Preceptor’s riddle; a winged ruler derived from a flame. It made perfect sense why the Messiah was demanding my presence, for the only way the Faeryns could officially secure their Near-Angelhood was by having complete and utmost control of the dragons. They needed Zenriyelle, as she was the missing piece to the Messiah’s greatest desire: cultivating an army of Faeryn Near-Angels.

Of course, there was no way in hell I was going to hand her over, for as Zenriyelle grew, my fortune was finally starting to change. Once haunted by so much culpability, I was finally propagating the hope I so earnestly aspired to bring to my people. Zenriyelle was truly the most powerful card of all. And, if I played things just right, all would soon change for my people: we would soon achieve our Near-Angelhood.

Darkness was starting to fall all around us, and I felt oddly at peace as it did. Despite being a creature of flora and sunshine - there was a strange draw to the night that called to my name. It was a curious irony that followed me lately - one I attributed much to raising a dragon. After all, dragons were creatures born from the brilliance of fire yet capable of all that was dark; it was no wonder a dragon was the heir to the throne.

Upon reaching the gates of the Messiah's tall citadel, I was greeted by two Faeryn guards who wore thick, iron armor - dark figures who eyed me with animalistic senses and nous. I had never in all my life been so close to a Faeryn. Our foes - who were born from the Earth’s many faunas - were sturdily-built and much larger than I. These two men in particular were especially muscular, and I quickly found creatures like lions and rams in their faces.

They seized my arrow and bow, then led Zenriyelle and I through a dead, twisted garden and up to the iron-clad doors of the citadel.

“Hello, Lilith,” A deep voice echoed as soon as we’d stepped through the entrance. I didn’t know the voice. However - I did.

“Please, don’t be afraid. Come, approach the throne.”

With Zenriyelle by my side, I proceeded to walk down the aisle to where a figure of a man sat in the shadows. When I approached him, I stopped and bowed. “Your Highness,” I said. Then, slowly, I lifted my face to finally see him.

He was eighteen and a young man of an impeccable build, with the same earthy hair I remembered. He had sharp, chiseled features and amber-brown eyes, and at the height of his right temple sat none other than the infamous dragonfly birthmark. He wore an ivory-white mantle, which was a color quite unusual for a king, and it contrasted sharply against the bronze of his skin. He was - if I was being honest - quite becoming. I wondered: did he remember me?

“You remember me, don’t you?” He said to me suddenly. His reddish-brown eyes danced brightly in the fire, and a hint of a coy smile begin to form on his lips.

I ran my fingers through my long, fairy-brown hair. “I believe that is beside the point, Your Highness,” I said to him starkly. “May I ask why you’ve requested to see me?”

The smile on his lips began to soften, and I couldn’t quite pinpoint his angle. “I know you think you know why you’re here,” he said, “however, the truth is that I only wanted to introduce myself to you, Lilith. Please, call me Lassrin.”

I felt my adrenaline stall. “You didn’t bring me all this way for Zenriyelle?”

He raised his eyebrows. “So that’s what you’ve named her. Lovely name, it means -“

“Queen of the Fire,” I said, cutting him off, “but…you knew that.”

He nodded his head. “Yes, I suppose that I did. But please, don’t worry - I have no intention to take her from you, Lilith. I know how much she means to you.”

I stood up tall, despite the fact that I dwindled in comparison to all in the room.

“Very well then,” I said, “Can I assume you are also familiar with the words of the Preceptor?”

The Messiah’s eyes sparkled once more. “I am.”

I remained in silence for a moment, trying my best to make sense of his motives. Something was off.

He stood up and approached me, and my heart began to flutter inside the depth of my chest. He was at least a foot and a half taller than me, although; something about the energy between us seemed enigmatically less threatening than our difference in size. “You have no need to worry about Zenriyelle, or any of your plans with her,” he said to me quietly, “what I am looking for is still out there, and soon you will learn what it is.”

He then walked away and left me with the Preceptor’s words on repeat in my mind.

Season of Full & Imperial Bloom

“Why are you picking those flowers?” The small child asked me. She was bright - like a sunrise carnation - and emerald-eyed.

I smiled. “These? Because these are Lily-of-the-Valley, the flower from which was born I. I’m allowed to pick them, you see; they are a part of me.”

The child gave me a funny look. “That’s not a very good reason to pick something,” she said.

I nodded at her and laughed. “You’re right. I’m picking them because they symbolize happiness, and I’m planning on giving them to my dear friend, Zinnia. She is to be wed today.”

The girl’s face lit up. “Oh!" she exclaimed, “Yes, well, I guess that’s a very good reason then.” She looked at the flowers. “How cute, they look like little wedding bells, even.”

I smiled at her. “Yes.”

“Azalea!” Someone suddenly shouted.

“Coming!” She yelled back. “I have to go,” she said to me softly.

I nodded. “Ok. It was nice to meet you - my name is Lilith. Maybe I’ll see you again?”

She looked at me curiously. “Shouldn’t your name be Lily?”

Before I could answer, however, she darted away. I watched as the flutter of her little wings disappeared down the path. Then, with a shiver, I turned back to the lilies. Up above, the sky was beginning to turn grey, which was odd given the time of year. Word around the village was that the Messiah was responsible for the recent changes in the climate, as smoke from the fires of dragons restricted the light of the sun.

The dragons were still roaming our land in search of pixies, though we had since developed the habit of retrieving most of them before they could ever be found. Though no one seemed to speak about it, the great question that remained, really, was how the Faeryns were still controlling their minds without pixies.

There were many things still in question, to be honest.

A flash of lightning suddenly lit up the valley before me. I turned and looked at Zenriyelle. “We'd better go, girl,” I said to her. I stood up to climb on her back - but just as I did - something bright in the ivory-white lilies caught my eye: a cluster of little red berries.

I picked one and stared at it, just as the rain started to fall. I’d never seen anything like it. Why did I not know my very own flower grew fruit? I decided to grab the whole cluster, figuring I’d soon be hungry.

***

That night, I recalled the most curious memory by way of a dream. As my body lay in my bed fast asleep, my mind was back as a beetle-sized infant, sitting on top of the Messiah’s rising and falling chest. As I stared at his face, my thoughts drifted back to me. I found myself remembering quite clearly the feeling that we - the Messiah and I - would soon achieve many great things.

The Messiah and I: it was enough to force me awake.

Startled, I sat up and reached for the berries. I cupped them in my hands and examined their bright, scarlet-red color by the light of the moon.

“Eat!” chirped the crickets. I smiled and popped one in my mouth; always appeasing the bugs.

It started as a tiny fire on the tip of my tongue, and before I could spit it out, it spread down to my throat. As I panted and grabbed my neck, the words of the Preceptor flooded my eardrums:

“In a place where there was once joy and laughter, a bright, red fire will soon burn after…”

Tears ran down my face; for I now understood. I was the Lily of the Valley that symbolized joy; I was also the fire of poisonous berries. I embodied the essence of good and evil in one.

Could it be?

Just as I let out a scream from the terrible burn, the Messiah was suddenly standing before me.

“Hello, Lilith,” he said, “It's you. Will you join me?”

Part II coming soon