"Listen," Shya said.

Not having yet blown a single note, she tilted the flute from her lips. "To what? I don’t hear anything."

"And neither does Otherealm. For centuries, only the wind has sung here. Please," Shya said, nodding at the flute. "Play for us. Play the first string of notes ever heard in Otherealm."

Gabby was no musician, but her mother had taught her a few tunes when she was small. She hadn't played for years. Her heart heavy with the loss of her brother, she lifted the flute to lips that quivered with emotion. For you, Galen, she said silently to the air.

The first note came out shrill but sweet, and she held it long before following it with staccato twitters that covered the scale. The song she sought came quickly then, a tune her mother had called An Ode to Vetta. There were words to go with it, and Gabby sang them in her mind as she played:

To Otherealm her heart belongs,
for Vetta's magic weaves this song.
Peace and truth will bind the spell
that keeps her village safe and well.
And when she hears this song once more,
Vetta's return will banish lore
that heeds lies made by mage and king,
who do not love the Shya'ling.
For those great creatures hold the spell
that keeps Vetta's village safe and well.

Shya swayed in rhythm with the song, his faceted eyes closed, his scaly cheeks wet with tears. He had heard Gabby's mother play it many times, and it undoubtedly brought back fond memories of their life as a family.

Gabby continued to play, her neck and shoulders tingling with the flute's lovely sounds. The air filled with music, and she hoped Galen's spirit could hear it as he flew toward heaven. May his soul find peace in Vetta's arms.

The thorn bush quaked its silver leaves, tinkling in harmony with the flute's airy song. Gabby saw something blue sway among the branches. It came out into the open, the tiny creature's face creased with a smile. The Jakkaryl danced beneath the leaves, yanking one from a branch to twirl above its head as it spun around in dainty circles. It was too late to catch it now, and far too cruel to even consider, so she was content to simply watch the pixie dance.

A glittering halo appeared above the Jakkaryl's head. It spun as the Jakkaryl did, then lowered to sprinkle glitter around the small, twirling body. Its blue fur sparkled, then began to fade as the creature grew larger, spinning faster and faster until it became a blur. Gabby’s gasp left her without air for the flute, so she had to stop playing.

She glanced over at Shya, whose eyes widened in awe. "What's happening, Shya?"
Shya's neck convulsed when he swallowed. "A miracle, mistress."

Gabby returned her attention to the Jakkaryl, which was no longer a Jakkaryl at all. The woman standing before her had hair of silver, long tendrils of it curling down her shoulders and hanging just below her slender waist. She was not young, but neither was she old. Her violet eyes smiled brightly from a pale face that glowed with pure joy. A garland of flowers hung around her neck, and when she moved her arms, the sleeves of her gown glimmered with colors of the rainbow.

"Who is she?" Gabby whispered, while rising slowly to her feet, fearful of breaking whatever spell had created this apparition. The woman didn't appear ghostly, yet spirit seemed to describe her best.

Before Shya could answer, the woman spoke. "I am Vetta."

Gabby stepped back, surprise making her limbs weak, her knees almost buckling beneath her.

Shya smiled.

"Yes, my dear Shya'ling. You remember me, though your eyes have never seen me before now." Vetta glided toward him, her feet barely touching the ground. She petted Shya's head and he leaned into the caress, eyes closed, a pleasant purr sounding from his throat.
"Where is the Jakkaryl?" Gabby asked.

"I am the Jakkaryl," Vetta said.

"You mean there is -- was -- only one, all along?"

Vetta nodded.

"But my brother... Galen is dead because I failed to catch you and bring you back to King Uln so that he can make h is wish--"

Vetta shook her head and crooked a finger. "Come, child. I have something wonderful to show you."

Gabby and Shya followed her to the other side of the thorn bush. Beneath the prickly branches lay Galen, curled up on his side with his eyes closed, his shoulders heaving with the deep breaths of a sound sleep.

Vetta knelt beside him and ran her long, pale fingers across his forehead. "Hush," she warned Gabby. "Do not wake your brother. My bringing him here has caused great stress to his fragile human body. He needs rest now."

Gabby held both hands to her mouth, stifling the cry of joy that swelled inside her throat. Galen was alive! But she had failed her quest; she'd not captured the Jakkaryl as promised.
Vetta caught Gabby by the shoulders and gingerly lowered her to sit beside her brother. She cupped Gabby's face with her hands. "Sweet child. So much has happened to you, to your brother. I am so sorry I could not help you sooner."

"I don't understand. I thought you... I thought the ancient sorceress Vetta was..."
"Dead?" Vetta smiled. "That is what my husband wanted you, and all the villagers, to believe."

continued . . .