“Not with Afallon’s blessing.”
‘True. The Lord and Lady were not alone in blessing the world. But certainly, without them the land is far less beautiful. So it is when tragedy and horror strike. But tell me, Gwynter, what is your perception of the world? Your king calls magic evil, and yet you sought the Ilidreth. Your people fight the Fraeli, but you are not a soldier. What way do you see the world?’
Gwyn frowned. “I hardly know the world, if this journey has taught me anything. I came to the Ilidreth out of desperation, and so far, I’ve found allies and foes alike, and even one friend.” He smiled at Aluem, but the smile faded. “Beyond that, I know very little. The Crow King and all who stand with him call magic evil. Should anyone learn what I’m doing here, I may be put to death. It simply can’t matter to me. Lawen is the person I love most in the world. If I can save him, I’m under obligation to try.”
‘But if the Crow King is right, is not your soul forfeit?’
Gwyn’s frown deepened. “The king’s court would argue so. The church might agree. Yet I feel Afallon’s blessing upon me. I’m unsure what to believe, Aluem. Could a provincial lord’s son possibly know more than a king or priest about such matters? I just don’t know.”
His eyes sought the sky, visible like a wending crack between the woven branches overhead. “I had intended to join the Crow King’s army, as my brother did. The fact remains, we are at war. People are dying. I am under obligation to protect Simaerin, but from what threat I couldn’t now say.”
A crow’s harsh cry rang from a nearby tree. Gwyn tensed as he eyed the bird, black against almost-black green. A wall of trees towered on either side of the path. Did a thousand eyes watch from hidden places in the darkness?
‘Fear not. The king’s crows cannot come within the boundaries of Chesevwé.’
“You say the Crow King is trying to stop me, and certainly the birds are acting strangely.” Gwyn sighed. “What must I believe? Am I a heretic? Is the Crow King evil?” He shook his head. “If the Crow King wields magic, why does he call it evil? And how does he, a human, wield magic at all? Isn’t he, as you say, mundane?”
‘I never said humans could not wield magic, Gwynter,’ said Aluem. ‘Many of the Crow King’s generals do. They are mages — humans who wield magic are thus called. You, too, are a mage.’
Gwyn started, sitting straighter. “I’m what?”
‘Did I not say upon our meeting that the Weave had chosen you? Have I not said it since? You are a mage.’
Gwyn laughed. It was a ludicrous idea: He, a wielder of magic? “I’m only a fourteen-year-old boy — my father’s second-born, and from his second wife. I know how to till the land and work the fields, and I have learned some forest lore, but I certainly can’t work magic!”
‘You laugh, yet you are still alive.’
“By Afallon’s blessing and ample help from you, my friend,” Gwyn replied, still smiling. “I can’t credit myself for conjuring anything at all.”
‘Except perhaps good instincts, strength enough to break Ilidreth bonds, and the ability to see within a Vale.’
Gwyn paused. “I can’t be a mage. I can’t wield magic. Aluem, I’m barely noble. My father’s lineage is weak. That we possess Vinwen at all is a boon granted by a past Crow King several generations ago, for heroic service in his army. We can barely afford the servants we have; we can barely feed the slaves we house. We’re nothing special by way of the world.”
‘Who speaks of the world, but you, Gwynter? I said nothing of wealth or prestige. I spoke of magic, which may run in the veins of a pauper as much as a king. The Weave cares nothing for title or lands or jewels. You cannot buy its loyalty. Nor does it choose its wielders from only the most righteous or just men. Thus, those in the Crow King’s service wield magic even for wicked deeds. But now and then the Weave does choose a champion. I believe that champion is you. I believe a great destiny rests upon your shoulders, should you choose to accept the Weave’s calling.’
Gwyn shifted and rubbed an itch on his neck. “A great destiny? I only want to heal my brother and return to my home. To join the king’s army should he require my service. And after I’ve fought my war, if I should survive it, I will return to Vinwen and work the fields, raise a family to succeed me, and die of old age. That is the destiny my father set before me. That is all I can do.”
‘And so your knowledge of the Ilidreth — of what they truly are — of what I am, means nothing? You will return to Simaerin and work the fields, forgetting what you have seen and learned in the True Wood?’
Gwyn sighed, shaking his head. “If I thought I could help, if I thought my service would open the eyes of my Simaeri brethren to the truth — if it could stop the war between my people and the Fraeli — I would do it. But I haven’t that kind of influence. I’m only a boy, not of age until six months hence, and my standing in the world is as humble as any nobleman could claim. It’s simply impossible.”
‘What is impossible is not simple, and what is simple is always possible, young Lord Gwynter. Do you stand by what you said? If you could make a difference, you would?’
“I would have no choice should it be within my power. My conscience would require it.”
‘Then let that be enough for now, Gwynter. Consider what you learn here; let your heart absorb it. And perhaps — should you prove to be more than you believe — just perhaps you will change the world.’
At Gwyn’s insistence, the two companions didn’t rest that night. Fresh urgency flooded his soul as the weight of lost time pressed upon him. Lawen had been so fragile over a week ago. How must he be now? Could he already be dead? Gwyn tried not to think that way, but restless fears crept into his mind like spilled ink over parchment, staining every hope.
Then there were the crows. The birds’ numbers grew as unicorn and rider galloped along the stream; now the evil fowl resided on every tree in sight, eerily silent, as though they waited to snare Gwyn if he should step off the Crystal Way. Gwyn fought against a mad desire to flee, until morning finally dawned.
Aluem’s pace slowed. ‘Would you like to stretch your legs, young Gwynter?’
Glancing at the trees, Gwyn shook his head. “I don’t think that’s wise.”
‘The path is safe.’
“I…I couldn’t walk on it, surely. I’m human.”
‘Even a human without magic could walk this path.’ The unicorn halted. ‘Shall you not try?’
Gwyn’s limbs throbbed. He hesitated, then smiled. Swinging from Aluem’s back, he struck the water and found it solid as ripples raced from his feet. Laughing, he studied the crystalline stones beneath the stream. Warmth pulsed from them as their light sparkled in the pale sunlight, dimming his fears.
‘They are called starstones in your tongue. Léathial. The Lord of Shaeswéath plucked them from the heavens to pave this pathway many ages past.’
What a beautiful story. Gwyn stooped to rest his hand against the flowing water beneath, yearning to touch a starstone. He expected to meet resistance, but his hand passed through the water while his feet remained planted on its surface. Warm water bathed his fingers and his hand tingled. He brought his fingertips just shy of the nearest stone and hesitated. He glanced at Aluem, who watched him with twinkling eyes.
‘Do not fear. You can cause it no harm, and it certainly shan’t harm you.’
Gwyn let himself smile as he grasped the starstone. Warmth filled his body. His fears fled; doubts melted. The forest grew brighter, and fairer, perhaps as it had been in an age long gone. Birdsong rang through his soul; almost words; almost human. The wind laughed at him and tugged on his ponytail. Come. Fly! it warbled.
‘Come, Gwyn. We must not dally.’
Startled, Gwyn dropped the starstone and the world dimmed. He pulled his arm free of the depths; the water rushed from his sleeve, his hand, his fingertips, leaving him dry. He laughed. “Magic is wondrous.”
‘All of it, yes. Good and evil alike. That is why many are seduced b
y what is dark and forbidden. There is always wonder where there is power. But wonder is not the result, merely a symptom.’ Aluem glanced up the path. ‘The waters here shall long flow, but your time is short. We must move.’
Gwyn mounted, still grinning. “If only I could bring back a starstone for Lawen. He would love to feel its warmth.”
‘Should we succeed, he will feel of something far better. Besides, these starstones cannot leave Chesevwé, for the waters here bind them to this world. Otherwise, they would fade or fly again to the heavens as they chose, now that Lord Roth is not of this realm.’
“Still, I would love to show him. But not at the cost of entering the True Wood a second time. I’ll have to be satisfied with telling him of it. I confess I’m glad to have a story to match all his grand adventures.” Despite Lawen’s condition, Gwyn found his spirits much higher for touching the starstone. The feeling lasted all through the day, and still as the sun set, he felt warm and safe. Fears couldn’t touch him.
That night, as he rested his head against Aluem’s soft mane, he thought he heard the stars far above and close beneath faintly singing.
Chapter 8
The Crystal Way flowed between enormous gates that formed great swan wings of crystalline stone. Early morning sunlight gleamed against the spanning feathers, casting rainbows before the gaping entrance. Gwyn stared as Aluem halted to give him a proper look. These were the gates of Shaeswéath: the beginning of the land of Swan Castle; heart of that once-great realm of the Ilidreth in the days of Lord Roth and Lady Shalesta.
‘You may well be the first Simaeri to enter the domain of the fae in three hundred years,’ said Aluem in hushed tones, though his voice was in Gwyn’s mind. ‘Art thou prepared to enter?’
Gwyn’s fingers gripped Aluem’s mane so hard he couldn’t feel them any longer. His throat felt dry and closed. He forced himself to swallow. For Lawen. “I won’t turn back.”
Aluem bobbed his head and trotted forward. The gates lay open, and only now did Gwyn notice that one massive door hung by a single hinge. Swan Castle was indeed fallen. Beyond the gateway he looked ahead to find a rising slope; the Crystal Way flowed upward, leading them toward the castle proper still a three days’ ride away.
“Surely other travelers have sought this place. Haven’t any of them found it?” whispered Gwyn. Though the realm stood empty, he didn’t want to disturb its peace. This place felt how he imagined a king’s tomb: hallowed, ancient, sorrowful.
Aluem nodded. ‘There are many who still seek this place, either to prove or disprove its existence. Most do not make it to the True Wood, and far fewer survive the True Wood to reach the Gates of Shaeswéath. If any pass through the gates, I little doubt they die before reaching the Castle.’
Gwyn shuddered. “What foul thing resides here?”
‘A single Ilidreth. Kive by name.’
“Kive.” Gwyn swallowed. “The one I’m obligated to kill.” His chest tightened. How could he accomplish this task if none before him had succeeded? He’d never killed anyone before. “Is he a dreadful specter?”
‘I do not know if your words do him proper justice. There is no Ilidreth so far Fallen in all the True Wood as is Kive. He alone dwells in Shaeswéath, and no sane Ilidreth will dare approach him.’
“Please,” said Gwyn through a shiver, “no more. I’m sorry I asked. I’ll find out soon enough.”
‘So you shall.’
They traveled on in thickening silence. Gwyn’s heart raced with the prospect of facing the coming terror. Would he have the strength to survive? Would he die here, in this realm so far removed from all he knew and loved? All alone, save for Aluem. Mother would despair when he didn’t return. How could he not have considered her feelings until now? Hadn’t she already lost a husband to the Ilidreth?
I cannot change what I’ve done. Nor do I regret the effort to save Lawen.
The forest continued alongside the Crystal Way, somehow darker than outside this empty realm, though Gwyn hadn’t thought that possible. But he noticed one welcome change.
“The crows are gone.”
The unicorn nodded. ‘None of them would dare to enter here in daytime. Tonight, we must remain alert.’
Gwyn’s one glimmer of hope expired.
Despite the looming trees, the sky hung more exposed, and Gwyn welcomed the meager sunlight, shadowed though it was. Its presence drove him forward, even as instinct screamed at him to retreat. His fingers stroked the hilt and pommel of his short sword. Onward, unicorn and rider trotted, slowly approaching the castle.
So slowly.
Darkness fell suddenly. Gwyn glanced up and found black clouds gathered above. Thunder rumbled and the earth quaked. Sweet Afallon, protect us. The air tingled as the storm drummed against the sky. Was this magic?
Ahead, someone screamed.
Gwyn started up. Aluem’s pace quickened as Gwyn drew his blade.
They crested another steep hill, and below — at the hill’s base, just off the Crystal Way — hunched two figures. Gwyn shook Aluem’s mane like reins, though the unicorn already charged toward the strangers. Another scream rolled across the air.
“I said no!”
Gwyn squinted until he made out the two figures. A pale-haired little girl pressed her back to a tree, while before her knelt a thin man with long, tangled hair of raven black. He reached toward her with slender fingers, as though to entice her. She looked petrified, eyes wide, face colorless.
Aluem came to a halt as the girl spotted him. Her blue-green eyes widened more at the sight of the unicorn and her mouth fell open. Slowly she looked up to meet Gwyn’s gaze. He threw himself from Aluem’s back and trotted from the Crystal Way, sword brandished.
“Fall back, stranger, before I run you through.”
The thin man turned to Gwyn, who gasped. The stranger’s irises were bloodred and glittering beneath his curtain of black hair. His clothes were in tatters, swaths of black, perhaps the remnants of robes. His flesh, though fair, held a faint sickly blue tint like a corpse. He smiled, and the motion sent a chill down Gwyn’s spine.
He knew this man, this creature, for what he was. “Kive.”
The Ilidreth blinked and canted his head, each motion slow and deliberate. “Does the rat know Kive?” he asked in a low, breathy voice.
Gwyn took a step forward, sword pointed at the Ilidreth’s heart. “Back away, fiend.”
“Be careful!” cried the girl. “He’s very fast and very strong.”
Kive turned back to the girl. “Hush, rat, and let me eat you.” His voice drifted across the air, slow, lilting, somehow inviting.
The girl whimpered but lifted her chin. “I told you I’m not a rat. I’m a girl! You can’t eat girls.”
Gwyn inched forward to brush his sword-point against the Ilidreth’s shoulder. “And I said to back away.”
Kive considered the blade, then turned back to the girl. “Such a young juicy rat. Such big red eyes.”
“My eyes aren’t even red,” cried the girl, half-shrieking. “They’re blue. Green. Ish.” She glanced at Gwyn and shrugged rather forlornly. He could see the wheels turning in her mind as she tried to save her life.
Kive looked again at Gwyn. “Rats always have red eyes.”
Gwyn wasn’t sure of that, but he shrugged, trying to show none of his fear. “I guess that means she’s not a rat. Hers are a kind of blue-green. Look.”
Kive turned to her. “So they are. A bird, then? Sooo crunchy. I like the wings best.”
The girl let out a squeak. “I’m not a bird either. I don’t even have wings!”
Gwyn pressed the sword a little closer. “Back away. You can’t eat her.”
With lightning agility Kive lashed out and knocked the sword aside. Gwyn staggered with it.
The Ilidreth’s gleaming eyes considered him. “Should I eat this rat instead?”
“He’s not a rat either,” the girl insisted. “He’s a boy.”
Kive rose to his feet. “Rats oft
en lie. But they taste good just the same. Hush, lying rats, and let Kive eat you.”
“No!” said the girl, folding her arms as she swallowed. “We’re not rats, and you can’t eat us just because you want to. If a Kive eats what he thinks is a rat but isn’t, h-he might get sick.”
“I never get sick,” said Kive, taking on a petulant tone. “Only hungry. Sooo hungry. But which are you? Birds or rats? Or are you flies? Oooh, I do love flies. Juicy flies, so tiny, so fresh.” He closed his eyes, mouth working, as though savoring something delicious.
The girl looked ready to retch. “We’re not flies either. I told you, I’m a girl. A girl named Nathaera.” She glanced at Gwyn as she said that last. “And he’s a boy named...?” She rolled her hand, urging him to speak.
“Uh, Gwyn. Gwynter ren Terare.” He bowed his head, sword pointed again at Kive.
She managed a wan smile. “Ren Terare is of Vinwen Province, isn’t it? I’m of House ren Lotelon of Crowwell.”
Gwyn blinked. She was of high noble lineage indeed. But what in Simaerin was she doing all the way out here, and all alone — except for her deranged captor?
Nathaera turned back to Kive. “Besides,” she said, voice quavering now, “you’ve eaten enough today. You must be full by now.”
Kive paused, perhaps considering that. Then he shook his head. “Where there are rats, they must be eaten. Master said so.”
“Well, there aren’t any rats, so you needn’t eat anything or anyone!”
‘Besides, these two are not alone.’
Aluem’s hooves whispered in the grass as the unicorn approached. Nathaera let out a gasp and her hands shot out as though she wished to touch the majestic creature. In the same moment Kive shrank back with a hiss.
“This is Aluem,” said Gwyn. “My friend.”
Nathaera nodded, eyes riveted on the unicorn. “Yes. So he just told me. In my head.” She slumped against the tree. “I’m not entirely sure I’m not out of my head.”
Gwyn laughed softly, but as Kive shifted his smile vanished. Gwyn kept his blade trained on the fallen Ilidreth. “You mentioned a master, Kive. Is he here?”
The Complete Duology Page 5
