“But…”
“I don’t care if you’re sixteen or thirty,” said Erisa. “Besides, you’re not the only one that needs comfort.”
Will swallowed, unable to speak because of the lump in his throat, then he nodded.
That night his mother occupied the center of the bed, with Will on one side and Sammy on the other. Even with the chill of winter setting in, the presence of three bodies made them almost uncomfortably warm, and although they slept with but a light blanket over them, Will could tell his mother was sweating. But she didn’t complain, and every time he tried to move farther away her arm tightened around his head, pulling him closer.
Chapter 28
“William Cartwright.”
His eyes opened at the sound of his name. It had been a woman’s voice, but not that of his mother or Sammy. Confused, Will lifted his head and looked around the dark room. With no candle or lamp lit, it was pitch black. He couldn’t have seen his own hand in front of his face. Had he imagined the voice?
“William Cartwright, I call thee.”
He heard it clearly then, as though the speaker’s mouth was next to his ear, and he recognized the voice. She had been the subject of a number of embarrassing and often erotic dreams since their previous meeting. Tailtiu.
Will sat up in the bed, straining his eyes. Was she in the room? Maybe he had dreamed it.
“Will, are you all right?” asked his mother, half-asleep.
“I have to pee. Go back to sleep,” he told her before rising and searching the floor for his boots.
“William Cartwright—thrice named and thrice called. I seek your counsel.”
Will froze, waiting to see if the sound of Tailtiu’s voice would wake his mother. After a few seconds he relaxed, for she gave no sign of having heard anything. Finding his boots at last, he gathered them up and stumbled out of the room. Once he was in the front room, he realized he knew where he needed to go. Within his mind, he could feel the direction of her pull. He was familiar enough with the surrounding area to know the spot she was calling from.
He hadn’t realized there was a congruency there, between his world and hers, but that was to be expected, for the weak places between worlds were hard to notice, even with his relatively newfound sight.
Opening the outer door, he went out into the night, grateful for the full moon overhead. It was only then that he paused. Should I answer her call? Since his first disastrous meeting with Tailtiu, he had memorized the rules. He wasn’t required to answer, and given all the things his grandfather had told him it would probably be wiser not to do so. The fae were dangerous beyond belief, and he had very little experience dealing with them.
And if something went wrong, his grandfather wouldn’t be there to bail him out this time. Highlighting that point was the grey bundle on the porch, Arrogan’s body, wrapped and waiting for burial.
Will squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them again as he took a deep breath. Then he began walking. No one has experience dealing with the fae in the beginning, he told himself. This is how you learn. Despite his internal encouragement, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was about to learn more than he bargained for.
It was a fifteen-minute walk through dense forest and undergrowth, but despite the relative lack of light, Will didn’t worry about losing his way. The place she was waiting for him was a beacon, invisible yet impossible to miss. When he finally drew close, he saw streamers of turyn in the air, and a moment later he heard her voice, purring to him from the shadows, “You came.”
The forest cover was too dense there; he still couldn’t see her, just the traces of her magic as it lingered. Will’s mouth went dry as he realized how close she must be. “I was curious,” he answered finally. “What did you call me for?”
“Can you see in the dark?”
“Is that what you wanted?” he returned. “We haven’t discussed terms.”
Another voice found his ears, smooth, feminine, and mature. The hairs on the back of Will’s neck stood up as a fresh surge of adrenaline shot through him. “You’ve learned well. You do your teacher credit.” A light blue glow filled the air, illuminating the area where he stood within the trees. Two figures became visible, Tailtiu, wild and naked as he remembered, and another woman with white, flowing hair.
Although neither of them showed any signs of aging, the white-haired woman emanated a feeling of age and maturity. Like Tailtiu she was bare-chested, but her hair draped artfully over her shoulders, obscuring the places his eyes went to first. Unlike Arrogan’s daughter, she also wore a light ephemeral gown that seemed to be held up by little more than hopes and dreams. It draped from her shoulders, detoured away from her breasts, and then circled her waist.
For a fae, she was practically modest.
Fear helped him keep his thoughts in line. After his previous adventure in the fae realm, his grandfather had insisted he read a book detailing the fae and their customs, and while he hadn’t finished it, he had learned quite a bit. He ignored the stranger, returning his eyes to Tailtiu’s face. “I’ll ask again. What did you call me for, Tailtiu?”
The red-haired fae girl pouted. “I thought we were friends.”
“We are,” said Will. “But we have to make the rules of our exchange clear before we can speak freely.”
The stranger laughed, and Tailtiu’s lips curled into a smirk, then she answered, “Mother wanted to speak with you.”
Mother? If she’s her mother, then that would make her… Will’s mind stopped dead in its tracks, refusing to go further. His mouth opened and he heard himself say, “Grandmother?”
“Ware your words, William,” said the fae lady. “Don’t let surprise be your undoing.”
Her warning was enough to snap his thoughts back into focus. Addressing Tailtiu, he asked, “What will you give if I speak with your mother?”
Tailtiu drew closer, a hungry look on her features. “What would you like?”
She’s hundreds of years old, and she’s my aunt, Will repeated to himself, not that his body seemed to care. “One hour,” he said firmly. “For one hour you’ll answer any questions without deception. In return I’ll do the same.”
The fae girl smiled. “Done.”
“And what of me?” asked Tailtiu’s mother.
“I can offer you the same terms,” said Will.
The older fae seemed to think for a moment, then replied. “Not quite good enough. What if you decide to answer my questions and then kill me afterward to prevent me from using the knowledge I gain?”
It was a ridiculous suggestion on the face of it. Either of the two women could easily overpower or kill him, but it reminded him of something he had forgotten. “For one hour I’ll freely and honestly answer your questions while you do the same. At the end of that time we end our discussion under an oath of peace. I will offer you no harm and you will do none to me.” As he finished, a new thought occurred to him. She’s helping me. That didn’t fit with anything he had learned about the fae.
His chain of thought was broken when Tailtiu eased forward and brought her lips to his. The rush of pleasure shocked him into stillness. Her hands went up to brace his head as she leaned into him, and Will could feel his turyn draining away by the second. Somewhere deep down, a rational voice commented, I’m dying. But even as it warned him, his arms circled her waist.
“Stop,” ordered Tailtiu’s mother, and somewhat reluctantly, the fae girl pulled herself away.
Feeling faint, Will’s legs gave out and he collapsed into a sitting position. “That wasn’t part of our bargain,” he gasped when he could finally speak again. Unlike the first time he had met Tailtiu, his turyn was recovering rapidly.
“I owe you another favor,” said Tailtiu, without an ounce of repentance in her voice.
“An unbounded favor,” clarified Will. “That makes three now. Two from last time, and this one.” He had learned the term from his studies. An unbounded favor was rare, as it meant he could ask for anything. Such f
avors were almost never given in a negotiation, but were a penalty for a debt that accrued through accident or foul play. Such things were the main reason one had to be careful to set terms before asking questions of the fae.
Yet she indebted herself, thought Will. That wasn’t an accident. She knows the rules better than I do. They’re part of her blood. First her mother had helped him set his terms, now this. It couldn’t be coincidence.
“What did you want to know?” he asked.
Since the hour had started, Tailtiu jumped into the conversation. “Can you see in the dark? You came without a light.”
“No,” admitted Will.
“Why didn’t you make a light? You’re a wizard after all,” she continued.
Her mother interrupted. “He hasn’t learned to use his magic yet. Have you, William?”
He shook his head. “I’m not really a wizard. Grandfather was just beginning to teach me.”
Something passed across their faces, but whatever emotion it represented was too subtle for Will to guess. “Arrogan was the reason I had my daughter call you, William. I felt his death. Would you tell me what happened?”
The shift in the conversation caused Will’s throat to tighten. Unsure what to say, he took a moment to collect his thoughts.
Taking his hesitation for reluctance, she added, “Do you know who I am?”
“I’m not sure,” he answered, “but if you’re Tailtiu’s mother—doesn’t that mean you’re my grandmother, Aislinn?”
The elder fae studied him. Her face was inscrutable as she responded, “He was my husband once, but the woman who loved him died long ago. Don’t make the mistake of ascribing human traits to the fae, William. There is no relation between us. Humans have souls; the fae do not. We are creatures of pure magic, without morals or true emotion. The closest thing we have is hunger and passion, bound by the rules of the power that sustains us. The only thing I share with the woman who was your grandmother is her memories and her name, Aislinn.”
Her words matched what the book had told him, but he still couldn’t believe it. “You’ve changed, but you’re still the same person…”
“Do you know why they caution mortals not to partake of food or drink in the fae realm, William?” asked Aislinn. When he didn’t answer, she continued, “Because it grows inside you.” Stepping closer, she held up one finger then put it into her mouth, when she withdrew it a small cut was on the tip, bleeding. “A drop is all it takes.” She lifted the injured finger to his lips, letting it hover there an inch away. “The fae realm is immortal, as is everything within it. This is true of my flesh and blood as well. Your body is mortal, William, perishable. Any part of me or the realm I come from, if taken into you, would eventually replace your mortal husk.
“Even a drop of my blood would end your humanity, though it might take years. You would slowly begin to feel the call, drawing you to our realm, and you would heed it or perish here. In the fae realm it would grow, gradually replacing your mortal flesh, until all that remained of you would be a fae creature with your memories, and eventually even those would be lost to the mists of time,” she finished.
Will stared back at her. Though she had finished speaking, Aislinn still held her fingertip in front of him, almost touching his lips. He could smell a faintly floral scent coming from her skin, or perhaps it was her blood. Growing up, he had seen blood many times, so it didn’t bother him, but this time he felt a strange urge. He wanted it.
Aislinn’s eyes grew dark. “Take it and your suffering will be over.”
His mouth was watering and Will licked his lips involuntarily. Closing his eyes, he remembered his grandfather. What would the old man say if he was here now? Then he asked, “Did you offer this to him too?”
His grandmother flinched, then withdrew her finger. “Never.”
“Why not?”
She sighed. “In the early days, I still loved him, and his hatred of my husband was always too great.”
“Why did you marry Elth—?” Will stopped, for Aislinn had placed her uninjured hand over his mouth.
“Don’t say his name or even my skills will not suffice to hide this meeting place from him,” warned his grandmother. He nodded and she withdrew her hand. “I did it to save his life.” Then she glanced at Tailtiu. “Though if I had known of the unborn life in my womb, I might have chosen differently.”
According to the myths Will had grown up hearing, Aislinn was the goddess of magic. While it was obvious that those stories weren’t strictly true, it made him wonder. He had seen his grandfather face down Elthas in the fae-lord’s own realm. If she had been Arrogan’s teacher, could she be any less powerful? “Do you fear him?” asked Will.
Aislinn laughed. “Not his power. The fae are bound by rules. I fear my oath. To save your grandfather’s life, I pledged my service to the Lord of the Hunt. I cannot disobey him.
“I was naïve in thinking all he would take was my life. After I accepted his bargain, he took me as his wife. Knowing the dangers of the fae realm, I refused to eat, but it was not food or blood that he used to change me. For years he tortured me with pleasures too great for human flesh to endure. It was a relief when my heart finally disappeared and even my memories could no longer bring me pain.”
As Will listened, the implications of her story began to sink in, rendering him speechless. No wonder the old man hated Elthas so much. Arrogan’s wife had given everything to save her husband, and he had probably blamed himself for what happened to her. And now he’s dead.
Aislinn watched his face carefully, as though she might read his thoughts. “Don’t pity me. I am beyond sorrow now. Let my tale be a warning to you, William Cartwright, as you deal with the fae—as you deal with me. Make a mistake and I could do the same to you.”
“No,” said Will, meeting her eyes evenly. “You’ve already helped me. My mistake with the bargain earlier, Tailtiu’s kiss, both of those things were done on purpose. You’re not the same as Elt—as him.”
“Such thoughts will lead to your doom,” said Aislinn. “Now, I have answered some of your questions, spoken and unspoken. Answer mine. Did you see how he died?”
Casting his eyes downward, Will nodded. “He saved me, as well as my mother and my cousin. Soldiers came to my house, along with a sorcerer.” He went on to explain everything he had seen, but he stopped short when it came to his grandfather’s final moment, telling her only that the old man had removed the spell-cage within him.
“Did he give you something else?” asked his grandmother, her eyes boring into him.
Unsure what to say, Will looked away. He still didn’t know what the spell was that his grandfather had given him, but it felt like a secret he shouldn’t share.
“He did,” declared Aislinn. “You passed the trials. He wouldn’t have died without giving it to you.”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” said Will, stumbling over his words. “He was only beginning to teach me. I’ve only just learned the runes. I can’t even cast a spell yet.”
“Careful, William. Honest answers, remember? Break our bargain and no hidden sentiment will prevent me from extracting a penalty from you—a penalty you do not want to pay,” she warned him. “I know the way he taught you, because I was the one who taught him. If he taught you the runes then you had already passed the trials. Show me the seal.”
“I don’t even know what it is,” admitted Will, “or how to show it to you.”
Grabbing his right hand, she pulled it toward her in a grip that seemed made of iron. “I cannot take it from you unwillingly,” said his grandmother. “I can only examine it. Think of it and it will appear.”
As soon as she suggested it, the spell-construct rose from his palm.
“He never changed it,” said Aislinn, her voice dropping to a whisper. If Will hadn’t known better, he might have thought he heard a hint of sadness in her words.
“What is it?” asked Will.
“Something you don’t need,” she answered, her
tone grave. “A worthless relic from our time, long forgotten in this age of degenerate mages and indolent sorcerers. It is called a limnthal, the mark of a true wizard.”
“Why did you say it hasn’t changed?”
Aislinn smiled sadly. “Each one is unique, given by a master to his or her student when they feel the time is appropriate. Usually that comes after an apprenticeship has been completed, but Arrogan couldn’t afford to wait. This is the mark I gave your grandfather when he satisfied my requirements. Ordinarily he should have created a new one for you, but since he was dying, he gave you his own, the one I made for him.”
Will’s eyes began to water, but he was shocked from his sorrow by her next statement.
“Give it to me,” ordered the elder fae.
Without thinking, he answered, “No.”
“It will do you no good,” said his grandmother. “It grants no power or ability. It is little more than a symbol of achievement, something no one will even recognize, and if anyone did, it would bring you only misfortune.”
“Then why do you want it?”
“Because it is mine. It means nothing to you. Give it to me and I will grant any wish you can imagine,” she told him, her eyes shifting colors from blue to lavender as she spoke.
Will closed his hand into a fist, and the limnthal vanished from sight. “It isn’t for sale. Useful or not, it’s the last thing he gave me.”
Aislinn seemed to relax. “Very well, Grandson. I will respect his discernment in deciding to give it to you, but you have chosen a hard road for yourself.”
His face showed surprise at the word ‘grandson,’ and Aislinn laughed.
“Don’t think too much on my acknowledgment,” said his grandmother. “The fact remains that I will not hesitate to take everything you have if you make a mistake, William. Never forget that.”
For a moment he could feel a sense of alien malice radiating from her, but rather than creating fear, it engendered a feeling of sadness in him. How terrible it would be, to have once been a woman who loved and was loved, only to be consumed by a magic that rendered you incapable of anything but hunger and cold logic. Aislinn must have seen the emotion on his face, for she looked away then, unwilling to meet the pity in his eyes.
The Choice of Magic Page 22
