Brena

The twenty-one Zavaedies and Tavaedies dressed in swift silence. The utter blackness of pre-dawn matched their spirits. Though the healing rain had soothed the physical wounds inflicted on them, nothing could heal the ache of what they had lost. They danced open the faery door to the underhill knowing they would find corpses.

At least they died innocent, Brena told herself. Better than to emerge into this world of torture and war and hate, where even good deeds were rewarded with betrayal.

The hole into the earth appeared at the center of the clearing. Normally, the magic of the exit would have allowed each Initiate to emerge from the ground one at a time, as the ceremony required.

Abiono descended into the hole. He leaped back out almost immediately, his whole face transformed.

“They live! They live!”

“But how is that possible?”

“The magic of the tor itself? It was built by fae…”

“Who cares? They live…”