The Complete Duology

by M H Woodscourt

Gwyn.

  He glanced at Aluem, but the unicorn remained asleep.

  Gwyn. Help!

  His heart stammered. Lawen’s voice.

  A twig snapped. Gwyn whirled toward it. “Lawen?”

  Gwyn!

  The desperate tone drove Gwyn forward. He plunged into the trees. “Lawen? Lawen!”

  ‘No, Gwyn. Do not follow the voice!’ Aluem’s cry filled Gwyn’s mind, but the beat of wings flooded his ears as his heart galloped against his ribs. Crows swooped from the trees and encircled him. Gwyn cried out and covered his face with his arms, stumbling forward, trying to escape.

  Talons lashed out. Crows pecked at his flesh, drawing blood, shouting in a deafening frenzy. Gwyn grabbed his short sword; drew it forth; slashed at the cloud of birds as he ran. One screamed as his blade bit into its wing. He slashed at another.

  The crows dispersed all at once, clearing his vision. A chasm, dark and wide, gaped ahead. He stumbled over the ledge with a cry.

  He scrabbled at the earthen wall as he plunged into darkness, blood roaring in his ears. His fingers snatched at the vines and roots jutting from the chasm’s face until he snared a strong root and jerked to a halt, hands burning. His arms throbbed as he kicked the wall to dig the toes of his boots into the earth. Dirt filled his eyes as he squinted up.

  Fifty feet above, a dim crack of light revealed the chasm’s mouth.

  He risked looking down, but the darkness hung thick beneath him and he couldn’t find the bottom. Gwyn shuddered. Acting like a fool, he’d come far too close to his death! Aluem would scold him when he returned to their meager encampment — assuming Gwyn managed to climb out of this rift.

  He set his jaw, dug his boots deeper into the wall, and reached one hand up to find a handhold. A root tickled his fingers. He snatched it and yanked hard to test its strength. It should hold. Gwyn sought a similar grip for his other hand, found one, and inched himself up. Burrowed his toes into a higher point in the earthen wall.

  He repeated the process over and over, painstakingly inching upward. His limbs began to tremble. Sweat covered his brow.

  Keep going. Just move.

  Gwyn tried not to look up or down. Just keep climbing. Ignore the fatigue. Ignore the distance.

  He reached up for another handhold but found only dirt. He groped higher, but no root or vine hung within reach. Gwyn looked up. Five feet or more stretched between him and the surface. Sweat drenched his shirt. Stung his eyes. His throat burned. In the gloom he couldn’t spot any plantlife except around the chasm’s lip much too far to reach yet.

  He licked his lips and tasted dirt.

  What could he do? His arms ached and shook. He couldn’t dangle like this much longer.

  “You survived, Simaeri?”

  Gwyn blinked and made out a silhouette hovering overhead. Not Aluem, for the voice wasn’t in his mind.

  “Will you help me?” asked Gwyn.

  The silhouette laughed. “Why should I help you? Better that all Simaeri die. Why not like this?”

  “You’re Ilidreth.” It seemed a reasonable guess.

  “Just so. You are where it is forbidden to tread.”

  A dry smile touched Gwyn’s lips. “I can see why. Chasms are difficult indeed to tread at all.”

  The Ilidreth chuckled. “At least you will die knowing you kept your wit until the end, if that is comforting to a Simaeri.”

  Gwyn’s head pounded as the silhouette vanished from the opening. “Please wait!”

  No answer.

  Pressing his cheek to the wall, he shut his eyes and drew several breaths to calm his thumping heart. Musty odors filled his nostrils. “Think, Gwyn. Is there another way?” His eyes opened. He stretched his arm out to his right and found more vines. Gingerly, arduously, he inched toward them, and tried again to reach up for purchase. Protruding tree roots scratched his fingers; thick, strong. He started upward again, each movement an agony worse than the last, arms leaden. But he kept climbing.

  His muscles screamed and his head hammered until spots appeared against his eyes. Do not give up.

  His foot slipped even as his fingers caught the edge of the chasm. He gasped, dizzy and euphoric. Clawing and scrabbling, he dragged himself, shaking, over the lip and collapsed in a heap. His body quivered as his mind reeled. He was alive. He’d made it.

  Cool wind breathed on his brow, lulling his mind into a doze. He lost track of time, lying still, letting his body recover as the forest groaned and whispered above him. His thoughts drifted into disjointed dreams of Mount Vinwen; of Lawen and his illness; of crows winging overhead, circling, circling.

  Gwyn started up, still quavering, covered in sweat. His body throbbed and his head spun. He staggered to his feet. He must return to Aluem, but which way should he go?

  He cast his eyes to the forest floor, barely visible in the gloom. He bent and consulted the earth with his fingers until he found his frantic tracks heading from the forest southward. He set off, praying to Afallon that he wouldn’t encounter crows or merciless Ilidreth.

  Countless times, he stooped to find his haphazard tracks. Spots grew thicker against his vision as the world wobbled. His skin pricked with cold.

  Wings fluttered. Gwyn whirled and stumbled.

  A sharp point pressed into his back.

  “I am impressed,” cooed a soft, familiar voice. The Ilidreth from the chasm. “In a way it is better like this. It has been so long since I last met a Simaeri. I do long to torment you.”

  Chapter 6

  Gwyn tested his bonds and winced as the ropes bit into his wrists. He lay facing a campfire, arms tied behind his back, legs bound, face burning with the fire’s heat, eyes shut to avoid the drifting smoke. He could hear the Ilidreth close by, sharpening a knife judging from the grating noise of steel on whetstone.

  Did the Ilidreth intend to torture him? Celin had shown him mercy for his youth; but then, Celin had implied not all Ilidreth were so courteous. This one dwelt in the True Wood. Did that make a difference?

  Gwyn fought to keep his breaths even. Where was Aluem? The unicorn had kept him safe, even in these unhallowed woods. But though Aluem had called to Gwyn when he ran after that phantom voice, the unicorn hadn’t followed. Did that mean Aluem didn’t intend to rescue him? Perhaps the unicorn couldn’t follow? Had the Wood harmed Aluem?

  The scraping whir of the blade on stone ceased.

  Cloth rustled.

  The faint pad of approaching feet heightened Gwyn’s dread as his heart raced. He opened his eyes and shifted to peer up. He caught a glimpse of the Ilidreth’s face, features contorted against the fire’s glow.

  “What is your name, Simaeri?”

  “Gwyn,” he whispered.

  “Your full name.”

  He pulled his lips tight.

  The Ilidreth knelt behind Gwyn and caught his arm. The sharp point of a knife dug into his back. “Your full name, or I will kill you.”

  Gwyn shut his eyes. His heart thundered in his ears. “Won’t you kill me either way?”

  Warm breath tickled Gwyn’s ear as the Ilidreth whispered, “You are afraid.”

  Gwyn bit his lip to stifle a whimper. He didn’t want to die.

  Laughter, soft and mad, filled his ear. A hand stroked his hair. “You should be afraid. I shall not spare you pain, Simaeri. Until you tell me your name, your suffering will not end. And after that, long after that, I will kill you.”

  Gwyn inhaled a shuddering breath. Please, Blessed Afallon above, lend me strength. Don’t let me die here. I must save Lawen. Lawen. Would he lie here and give up? No. He would fight for his brother until his last breath. Lawen didn’t know how to give up. Gwyn closed his eyes and gathered what strength he had left. His arms ached with the recent memory of his climb. His head swam. But he couldn’t die here; not now; not yet. Gwyn set his jaw and pulled against the cords binding his wrists. Strain coursed through his body, but adrenaline ran with it. The cords snapped.

  The Ilidreth cried out as Gwyn twisted a
round and snatched the knife from the creature’s hand. In one swift motion he cut the cords around his ankles, and trembling, climbed to his feet. “I don’t have time to be afraid, Ilidreth. I can’t afford to be stopped. You must let me go on, or I must move you from my path. Which will it be?”

  The Ilidreth, a ragged, emaciated creature with matted black hair, sank to his knees, hands lifted in entreaty. “Do not kill me. I will not stop you.”

  Gwyn kept the knife raised. “Have you seen my friend, a unicorn?”

  A cruel smile crawled across the Ilidreth’s face. “Your friend is dying. I stabbed him through. Even a unicorn can be killed if a fae strikes him down.”

  Gwyn’s chest tightened. “Where is he?”

  The Ilidreth pointed, chuckling. “Where you left him. Bleeding out.”

  Gwyn stared at the once-fair creature kneeling before him. Now twisted. Fallen. “What is your name?”

  The Ilidreth sighed. “I remembered once. But that was long ago, when the castle stood bright, its lady fair, its lord alive. Long, long ago.”

  Gwyn turned away, clutching the knife. “Do not follow me.” He darted through the close-knit trees, dodging branches and thorns as he could. Soon he picked his trail up and followed it until he reached the camp where he’d left Aluem.

  The unicorn lay upon the forest floor, silver blood pooled around him. It glowed like moonlight on water, beautiful and terrible. Gwyn knelt beside his friend and rested a hand on his chest. It rose and fell so faintly.

  “Aluem, please forgive a fool. I left you to chase after phantoms.” The knife had struck deep, but nothing vital, if Gwyn rightly guessed anything of the fair creature’s anatomy. The problem was blood loss. Gwyn pulled off his grey vest, wadded it up, and pressed it over the wound. He spotted his herb kit against a nearby tree; stretched out his foot, hooked the kit with his boot, and dragged it closer. Gwyn knew only a little herb lore, but enough to stop bleeding. He rifled through the kit for his jar of cayenne powder.

  He hesitated. Is unicorn blood different?

  It didn’t matter. He must try.

  He wiped his sweaty hands on his pants and continued to rummage through his kit. As he caught hold of the jar, his mind wrestled with a dismal thought: He had failed. Without Aluem, he could never hope to reach Swan Castle and return to Vinwen in time to heal his brother. Even if he saved Aluem’s life here, the unicorn couldn’t possibly travel on. They were stuck, lost somewhere in the True Wood, far from friend or shelter.

  It’s my fault. I fell for the crows’ tricks and doomed my friend and my brother in the same moment.

  If Aluem died now, Gwyn would be alone in this dread place.

  His fingers moved deftly to bind the wound. He laid his head against Aluem’s strong neck and listened to his deep breaths. “Please, Sweet Afallon, spare my friend. Let him live.”

  Afallon was the God of people, not of fae creatures. Would he listen to such a prayer?

  He couldn’t say how, but Gwyn felt the dawn come. Somewhere beyond the True Wood the sun weaved golden threads of light across the greening world. He’d barely slept at all, too worried about Aluem to quiet his mind. Now Gwyn sat up and shifted to find Aluem’s face. The unicorn eyed him back.

  Gwyn started. “Aluem?”

  ‘You move at last. Are you wounded, young Gwynter?’

  Gwyn shook his head. “Not overmuch. Only a little sore. I might have been fevered but my mind is clear now.” He brushed his fingers against the velvet coat of the unicorn. “How are you?”

  ‘Healed, many thanks to you.’

  Gwyn blinked. “Healed?”

  ‘Aye. You stopped the bleeding and that allowed me to recover fully. The only way to kill a unicorn is to rob him of his lifeblood. I owe you my life, Gwynter ren Terare.’

  “No!” Gwyn’s voice rose higher than he intended. He bowed his head. “Not true, Aluem. My reckless behavior caused your injury.”

  ‘I suspect not, for had we both been here, perhaps the Ilidreth would have killed you first, and then stabbed me. Who then would bind my injury? But tell me, if you can, what voice called you into the Wood? What occurred after you vanished?’

  Gwyn recounted his misadventure and Aluem listened in silence. When Gwyn finished, the unicorn raised his head.

  ‘You were blessed indeed, young Gwynter. It would seem your Afallon favors you.’

  Gwyn smiled. “As He favors all people.” The smile fell away. “I hope He’ll continue to favor my quest. I fear for Lawen.”

  ‘May Afallon and the Weave keep him safe. Let us not tarry, for time is stretching on, and we must do our part in the work.’ Aluem climbed to his hooves, shook his mane, and pawed the ground. ‘Yes, all is well. We may ride on.’

  Hope soared through Gwyn’s limbs, lending new strength. He pushed to his feet and rested a hand on Aluem’s flank. “Are you certain?”

  ‘Quite so, my young friend.’

  Grinning, Gwyn caught up his meager supplies and mounted the unicorn. They began their journey again, slowed by the thickset trees.

  Gwyn’s mind felt fresh and strong despite his sleepless night. To harbor new hope after utter despair – it was the sweetest feeling in the world. For the first time in several days, curiosity prodded his thoughts. “Aluem? You’ve mentioned the Weave before. That it had chosen me. What is the Weave?”

  ‘The Weave is life and the magic that runs through it. Some say your god Afallon and the Weave are one and the same. I do not know if that is true, or if the two sources work in harmony, but harmonic is their tune nonetheless.’

  “Then you believe in Afallon?”

  ‘Not by the same name, but yes.’

  Gwyn pondered the idea of Afallon being the source of magic. No doubt the Crow King would fight against any such notion — but then, he would also have Aluem burned alive. Gwyn ran his fingers through the unicorn’s mane. “What did you mean about the Weave choosing me? For what?”

  ‘As to that, it is best I say nothing at present. For now, surviving the True Wood and obtaining your brother’s cure are all that we should focus upon.’

  Gwyn nodded. “About that. Celin said nothing of what the cure might be. How will I find it?”

  ‘I do not know,’ answered Aluem.

  They rode on in silence. Gwyn’s thoughts lingered on Lawen until his heart grew heavy.

  ‘Tell me, Gwynter,’ Aluem said after a while. ‘Why do the Simaeri fight against the Fraeli in this age? I have seen your battles from a great distance, but the reason for their fighting escapes my understanding.’

  Gwyn raised his brow. “The Fraeli? Well. The Crane King broke a longstanding treaty with the Crow King and war has been waged these last thirteen years for that reason.”

  ‘Ah. The breaking of oaths is an all too common sin in the mundane world, if I rightly recall.’

  “The mundane world?” asked Gwyn.

  Laughter rushed through Gwyn’s mind. ‘I meant no offense, but in hindsight perhaps the term is offensive. We of the Weave have always referred to those without magic as mundane or of the mundane world.’

  Gwyn shrugged. “It doesn’t offend.”

  ‘If I may ask, what treaty did the Fraeli break?’

  Gwyn frowned as he thought back on conversations between his father and Lawen over the years. “It has to do with the Ilidreth lands, I believe. Some of the Fraeli have tried to claim pieces of it for themselves, and rumors whisper of alliances between Fraeli immigrants and Ilidreth outposts. You mentioned such an alliance yourself. The Crow King claims that the forests belong to Simaerin and the Fraeli have no business taking any of it. Long ago, the Crane King acknowledged the Crow King’s right to all this land, but since then his people have sailed the channel down from Fraelin nonetheless.”

  Aluem sighed. ‘In truth, neither mundane king has a right to anything, for long before your peoples came to inhabit this land, the Ilidreth ruled all of this continent, then called Ilid, and all the isles around it. It is a pity that squa
bbles arise so, and many lives are lost, bathing the land in blood that taints its magics. The Weave is unsettled, and this war answers why that has been so.’ Aluem sighed again. ‘Though it would be unfair to say only the mundane have played a part in that. The Ilidreth, too, have shed blood unjustly.’

  Gwyn thought of Father, so desperate for a cure that he would demand one of what he believed was a savage race. And he had died for what he didn’t gain.

  Gwyn’s heart throbbed and his throat tightened. There was no way to know now if Father’s death was his fault or the fault of a Fallen Ilidreth.

  Fallen. Celin wasn’t Fallen.

  “Aluem, you spoke before of one who knows why Swan Castle and the Ilidreth fell — but you said he can’t speak. Why?”

  ‘I did not say he could not speak, but that he could not tell his tale.’

  “But why?”

  Aluem softly sighed. ‘You shall see.’

  Chapter 7

  Despite Gwyn’s secret fears, nothing delayed the two companions further that day. At eventide Aluem halted and commanded Gwyn to raise his head. Weary but curious, Gwyn looked up and let out a gasp.

  Before him stretched a pathway glowing like moonlight on water. It wended between the trees and out of sight.

  ‘Behold Chesevwé — the Crystal Way.’

  On closer inspection, Gwyn realized the path was not made of paved stones but was in fact a stream lighted by glowing stones deep beneath the flowing water. He tore his eyes from the view to look at Aluem.

  The unicorn stepped forward. His hooves struck the surface of the water as though it were made of stone; he stepped fully onto the streamlet path. Ripples bloomed beneath the unicorn’s hooves. Gwyn stared between the water beneath and the wending way ahead. Small wonder Celin had said Gwyn couldn’t make it quickly on his own, if he made it at all.

  Gwyn glanced at the trees surrounding the Crystal Way. “If Swan Castle has fallen, and everything there is twisted, why does this path remain beautiful?”

  ‘The Lord and Lady fell, but some of their grace remains. If not so, perhaps all the world would be mad.’