“Well, aye, didn’t we know we had not seen the last of her? Can’t say it makes me unhappy, to help the wee mite.” The oxen trudged onward, listening, but unconcerned with their master’s mumbling.
The next morning the sun rose hazily, for smoke was in the air from distant fires, blighting its brilliance. The three companions put their stores together for breakfast and Sean worked on his fish traps, hoping to catch their dinner. Breanna was guilt-ridden, wondering whether all the destruction behind them had been her fault, for after all, the witch wanted her, and had gone to great lengths to capture her. She asked Tom while they were traveling what he knew of witches, and though he hesitated to speak of them, he gave her some information.
“The stories I’ve heard all my life, including what my mam taught me, ’twas the most powerful witches once were elves who went wrong and learned black magic spells from the Spectre’s followers—you know, the one takes you to the lake fire when he catches you. They lost all the love they ever had for souls and started to hate as the magic ate into them, for it left no room to grow good feelings, only bad, deceitful roguishness. Couldn’t say they had hearts anymore, for love grows in hearts. Witches was said back then to have middles, middlings, centers—whatever you wanted to call them, they didn’t have true hearts as we do. If it’s still beating, they can be a lot of things, but they can’t be a born witch. Course, this is only old-lady tales, and could be wrong.
“Now there is such a thing as making a witch out of someone not born that way. Some say Yahmara Cromcraft was born with a true beating heart; she was made a witch later through a special gathering that chanted her in as one of them black sisters. Then she reached in, pulled out her own heart quick as a striking viper. Them what gathered together came from all over, and ’tis said the Spectre made her the most powerful one amongst ’em. From what I hear, if she’s the one after you, girl, you have some trouble coming.”
“What does she want with me, Tom? I have nothing, not even family anymore.”
“Not sure, but you have something she wants.”
“Do you think she’ll hurt Elida?”
“More like she’ll try to make her one of ’em. Yahmara is evil pure and through; to take a child and make her into one like herself would give her great satisfaction. Now enough talk of witches. We’re making good time, so let’s find a fishing spot. I’m getting hungry for breakfast.”
8.
“How much longer do you think we’ll be on the road, Mathena? You are the finder and I know you will lead us to Pentara Wood without fail, but do you have any thought of time? I am so weary of bread without butter and honey. What I would give for some vegetables from the garden. Umm.” After a disappointing breakfast, Mara had climbed into the seat beside her friend. The day was young, but they had been on the on the road for several weeks.
Mathena’s expression was tranquil; the peace within her had been revived after she found out Breanna was still alive. She had settled into positive thoughts, believing she would someday bring her family back together. After five summers of the Spectre’s fire in her belly tearing her apart with grief over the terrible death of her child, she could breathe again without hurting inside. Breanna had proven she was a survivor by using the memories given her by the other sisters, the memories that had come from the wise ones who ruled the elves thousands of years before. Sheela had related an incident in which Breanna was on a cliff, and had to jump to safety. Mathena smiled with gratitude for the bond she had with all the women. Though they were not blood sisters, they were drawn tighter together because of the gifts they carried.
There was also an echo in her mind of a voice asking for fire. Perhaps it was Breanna. She hoped to learn the truth if her child had called upon her for help. She turned to Mara and patted her arm.
“We’ll stop soon, Mara darling, and buy some good bread with butter and honey, and you may stuff yourself. I would enjoy it also. There is a village close to this road, just a short distance away. We shall find an inn and treat ourselves for one night. Does such sound good to you?”
“Yes,” Mara said, stretching her arms up high, yawning. “Then I shall have a nap until we arrive there.”
“Go to the back of the cart, sister, and sleep. Send Anola if you will.”
“A’right,” Mara said. “She can sit with you for a while.”
They had covered leagues since the day they left Nore Mountain. Sheela had given the Farqells speed greater than their natural pace; at times their big feet barely skimmed the surface of the hard road, easing their burdens as the wagons moved faster toward their destination and with less effort. Sheela had devised the words with help from Miralda; their heads together formed the enchantment using Sheela’s gift for movement. They had laughed with one another afterward, happy as they once were a thousand years before, using their memories for good, for a purpose.
When the first of the spewing mountains sent fire across Pentara Haven, all the elves moved into castles on the Darth of Qayborn, a large peninsula off the Qayborn Sea. They lived there for many centuries, and in those times, Wellanor, Eliandor’s father, died from fast-flowing lava from a mountain crater, leaving his son as the new councilor. Eliandor’s sons had been hunting with Wellanor, and they also were burned to ash, leaving the parents to grieve and seek comfort in their many grandchildren.
As the generations of children grew older, they yearned for mates, but the only elves nearby were kin. In rebellion against the councilor’s commands, some of the family, including his great granddaughter, Ulura, chose mates from the land of men, and bore children who were mixed kind. They named themselves Qays, for the place where they were born. One such child, Mathena, was born to Ulura.
Eliandor had known his future. Someday he would be forced to turn the Qays out to protect the purity of the elves. In his sorrow, he gave eight mixed-kind children the gifts from the old ones, the ancients of his world. One of the children was his granddaughter.
At the age of seven summers, little Mathena was chosen by the rest to be leader of the group, to direct them all in play. She had come late to the fullness of her gift (for they were gifts, those abilities), realizing the finger spark, theretofore thought to be her only ability, was actually the beginning of crooked lightning bolts and raging fires. Philema, one of the mothers, taught her own daughter and the other seven young females how to use their gifts, and, more importantly, how to keep them out of sight of others.
In addition to Mathena’s connections with fire, her sister Anola had a gift for crossing language barriers; she could hear and speak with any entity, living or dead. Winona battled demons, while Miralda could overcome witches’ spells. Mara could see through darkness of all types, and Sheela could jump from bad situations. Willow had the White, a cover that made anyone or anything under it disappear, but the eighth, Yahmara, would not divulge her true gift, and chose to stand apart from the others. Their education lasted for five years, until the dark blue-gray Phoebus flew over the barricades of the city and took the teacher, Yahmara’s mother, away in its beak.
The seven used their gifts several times to bring evil to task, but the councilor insisted the children withhold practice of their special abilities until they were old enough to manage human emotions; that was, until they had their fifteen-year maturing.
Time passed and the children grew, and most obeyed Eliandor’s command.
But after her mother’s passing, Yahmara had become bitter. She refused to share her secret with her sisters, and turned toward evil and the world of the Spectre, the nemesis of the Creator. A later fight with Mathena left Yahmara with an injury of the knee bone, a scar she would carry forever, along with a hatred that was greater than life. She began practicing black arts and witchery, and before long, Eliandor discovered Yahmara’s evil ways. He discarded her in a fashion that was both cruel and damaging, but he left her alive, a fact that many, including Eliandor, later regretted.
On the day of the Qay children’s maturing, the councilor l
ed his people home to rebuild Pentara Haven, but disallowed those who had chosen mates from the world of men, and borne children to them, from entering the elven forest. He insisted the Qays become a race of their own.
After Yahmara left to pursue her own magic, the seven worked tirelessly, keeping watch over their people, destroying monsters that land and sea continuously renewed. It was a dreadful time, for even Mathena’s mother, Uluru, was taken by the creatures. Sadly, there were too many land and sea monsters for even the seven sisters to conquer, thus, the Qays as a race finally left the seaside lands that had been their home for hundreds of years.
Nore Mountain, where they settled, was favored by gigantic red heart trees, and one in particular had been spelled by a hateful druid thousands of years before, causing the tree to fall and cover most of the topside of the mountain. The tree’s outer bark remained firm, but its insides became hollow, providing the perfect home for the new race of mixed-kind people. Cottages were built inside, but the seven gifted sisters who usually were called upon to use their special talents found their abilities were quashed by the druid’s old magic, and could offer little help to their family.
Centuries passed, and the Qays were grateful for the peace and safety they found on Nore Mountain. Even the seven gifted ones were content to put aside their former abilities for the greater good. The tree was the perfect home, for inside, all was peaceful, though crowded, and there was no need for magic, or gifts, or an abundance of children. In the hollow tree on Nore Mountain, when Breanna Ascroft was born, she was the only child in the village.
“Mathena, what are you thinking, dear? You are far away, ensconced in a fog of memory, I think.”
“Yes, Anola, I was taken back to the beginning, when we were children and the evil creature took my mother and our teacher, and of the work we did for our people. I have missed it much. When my mother left, I never dreamed my own child would be chosen as the Old One’s champion. There is much to do. We must find her, and destroy our old playmate, Yahmara.”
“My Petkin,” Anola said, “has long known my desire to use this gift again, to be certain I still had such ability. It was his thought that I should go with you. I miss him, and our lines, Mathena, but my fear for our world is greater than my sadness. Yahmara will try and destroy it all, for her bargain is with the loveless Spectre and his underworld demons.”
“I agree with you. I do wish I could be with Lyman, but my heart is torn to shreds by this news my enemy is on the heels of sweet Breanna. I must carry on to Pentara Wood, and beg Eliandor to interfere with the magic of those witches. I fear it runs very deep, even into the dark world, and my daughter is at much risk.”
“Have you seen those who follow us?” Anola asked,.
“Once—after they made a wrong turn, they returned for a short while, but then they were gone. This causes me greater fear for my child. Perhaps they have her already.”
“It’s possible. Such would be reason to withdraw from us. Even so, if they have our baby Breanna, Yahmara will know the danger she is in from the seven. She won’t long let us go unmolested. I expect to see her creatures soon. Are we prepared?”
“We are. You know what you must do?” Mathena asked off-handedly. She knew without asking that Anola would do her part.
Anola nodded, for no words needed saying.
As an afterthought, Mathena looked in Anola’s eyes and asked a question she had wanted answered for a long, long time. “Do you grow weary of hearing every voice, man, elf, or beast, as their chatter grows louder and louder in your thoughts?”
There was no time for Anola to answer, for out of the west, a winged creature came at them, the smell of it preceding the glimmer of its eyes. But the glance of despair Anola gave her friend spoke more than any words.
Mathena calmly lifted her right hand and shot a length of fire upward, catching the creature on the wing, flaming the tips of its feathers as it tried to gain height and leave the area.
“I don’t think you have permission to go,” she said to the huge bird as she readied her other hand to spread a layer of consuming fire around its body.
“Come down, evil bird, or we will take your life,” Anola squawked.
The blast had enveloped the entire back of the bird, and the creature was in agony. It settled on the ground near the wagons and rolled in the road’s loose soil, seeking relief. Anola spoke again to the creature and after listening to its long response, she appealed to Mathena, who extinguished the fire immediately. The smell of burning feathers and scorched meat drifted from the carrion eater into the cart, a thoroughly awful odor that continued on to the beasts hiding in the high grass.
Anola spoke again and the bird answered. Finally, it waddled away into the green grass on the side of the trail and lay still.
“What did it say, Anola?” Winona asked from the second cart.
“Sisters, prepare for good tidings, but also for sadness.” she said to her friends. “The witches do not have Breanna—she has eluded them several times—but they have taken a child who is dear to her. Mathena, our girl is on her way to Yahmara, but refuses to be captured even though they have sent many black spells for her. The Phoebus is a servant; it does not know reasons or small details, therefore I could not go deeper. The bird overheard that people in the villages are being turned against the girl and her two companions. But Mathena, she has friends: a young boy and a man grown. She is not alone.”
“Thank you, Anola,” Mathena replied. “You have done well. We must make haste to Pentara Wood. Breanna’s life may depend upon our quick arrival.”
9.
The room was really cold. Her feet felt like pieces of ice from the Tribon, and her nose was raw from the snot running each time she tilted her head. Her fingers had turned blue once or twice, and the Bad One had told the others to loosen the ropes that tied her hands. She was tired of crying all the time, being sad for her mam and poppa, missing her family.
She will come. Bree will come and get me. Elida was not yet nine summers old, but she knew true character—she knew her Bree. Sometimes when the really Bad One stared at her hard, Elida was scared so badly she wet her small clothes. The Bad One liked her then, and smiled a red smile that looked like bloodied lips Elida had once when she fell off the haymow at home.
“Scared, little human?” the Bad One asked. “Are you so frightened of me you wet yourself?”
Even though she was whimpering, Elida replied defiantly, “Yes. Why do you have to scare little girls? Can’t you hurt big people?”
That made the Bad One really mad, and they tied Elida’s hands and put a dirty rag over her mouth. She laughed to herself. Sean would have really liked what she said.
Elida was a smart person. Breanna had noticed that about her when she told her about the arrows. She listened in the dark cellar, heard the water dripping, the mice running across the floor, heard them all whispering secrets, the Bad One and the others. One time her mam had said to never mention the word w——, or your heart would stop. She called them the Bad Ones and the Not-So-Bad Ones. One of Not-So-Bad Ones gave her extra bread the night before. She said it was to keep her from getting too sick.
“Yahmara wants the Qay girl to see you still alive when she gets here.” They knew Breanna was coming.
When the big, smelly bird had carried her from the campground, she missed Kit real bad, and hated leaving him, but was glad the bird didn’t eat him. She was really glad the bird didn’t eat her. Her shoulders had hurt for a long time after it put her down on the rocks, but the pain went away later. Then they put her in the cold cellar, but left her untied. She maybe shouldn’t have said anything to the Bad One, but she had been tired of crying, and needed someone to know she was not just a scared little girl. She had some courage, maybe not as much as Bree, but still, she wasn’t going to just be quiet. She had said her prayers and felt a little better, just like her mam had always told her.
“Say your prayers, little Lida, always say your prayers.”
&n
bsp; Elida cried again and the snot ran from her nose, but there was no way to wipe it.
10.
He stood alongside the great falls, watching the small faeries dip water from its foam. They believed the foam held the answers to all the questions ever asked, a notion Eliandor believed to be fatuous. There was often more than one answer to almost all questions, as there were surely more worlds than one. The faeries were a simple-minded lot that he had little patience with; however, just as there was more than one world, there was more to those worlds than Eliandor Pentara.
The river surged at the top, sending jets of clear water shooting upward off the boulders at the cliff’s edge, forming a thick mist. The plane below the mist, a wide, continuous rush of water, appeared as a bright path one might walk from the cliff to the deep pool down under.
An arc of color shone above the mist where light filtered through the tall trees. Some called such things rainbows, although Eliandor thought the name foolish, for the river’s water came from the ground, but the rain was from above. He loved those falls, had given them the name Illene’s Arc, in honor of his mate, the most beautiful of all creatures. She appeared more beautiful to him in that moment than ever before. He turned and stared into her eyes, seeing there the reflection of the halo from the falls. Illene sent him a question, forgoing the spoken word.
They are coming; you know this. They seek her; they wish your intervention. Will you leave this wood and go in search of all that we have abhorred these thousands of years?
He stood very still, allowing the timeless serenity of flowing water to settle into bones and blood; the peace that had sustained him throughout his long life had been called upon during the wrath and pestilence that struck mankind’s realm with running blood and dying children. They had come to him for safety because he was leader and councilor of elfkind, and he protected them from the scourge of the world, only to regret his decision later when his people began to mate with them. He had sought a deeper peace then, craving serenity in his very being to guide him down the path he knew he must follow. Turning them away from their homes in Pentara Wood had taken great fortitude, the peace he fought for finally claiming its home within the marrow of his bones as he and the other true elves marched away from the Darth of Qayborn, never to see his long line of grandchildren again.
The Gantlet Page 10
