Chasing the Bard

by Ballantine, Philippa

  The Fey had only produced one true Bard in their time, a sad, lonely creature that was eventually consumed by his own melancholy. Even his great music had not been able to save the mortal woman he loved from death’s embrace, and he had followed soon after. Even fickle humanity still recalled his name, but his tale was a warning to all other Fey.

  No, the Bardic gift was far more suited to the human condition, and yet even there it was rare. William was a gift not only to the Fey, but the humans as well.

  “Soon,” she murmured, “Soon you will come to your ancestral home, and discover your True power. The time is very near.”

  Sive tucked the bundle of papers into her belt, arose from the grasses, and brushed herself off. When they next met, she decided, she would reveal the Fey to him, and he could begin to become useful.

  Will was a good-hearted young man, and he would want to help her. That was not the only reason; she wasn’t foolish enough to have relied on mere friendship to bind him.

  In the two mortal years that they had met, he had changed, become a man. Tall and broad-chested, with a smile always at the ready, he had the easy manner that would win him friends in any realm—indeed he had worked a perplexing magic on Puck. Watching Will she had noted how well they received him in Stratford, how he had a word for even the smallest, how animals came to him. William exuded a subtle power on all around him, and that boundless energy would have to be tapped soon, or else she risked losing it to a human woman. Sive knew such things could happen.

  “Not if I have anything to do with it,” she whispered to Bayel, who was nuzzling at her, “And who could ever compare with the Fey.” The horse had no answer for that. Slapping the shaggy neck fondly, she caught up her skirts, and leapt to his back. “We best return in case Mordant is about. We’ve been lucky so far.” The stallion snorted and jogged sideways; even the mention of the dark Fey was enough to upset his nerves. The Veil parted with a sigh, admitting her home.

  Sive dismissed the saddle and bridle from the stallion and Bayel, as usual, kicked up his heels to be free of the silly trappings. If only her own bondage was as easy to set aside.

  Sive stood for a moment, rather forlornly watching him gallop away down the hill to graze in the sweet grass. He never stayed within sight of Mordant’s hall, nor could she blame him. Given the opportunity, she too would be running down the slope, never looking back.

  The hall of her husband was a sullen presence against Sive’s back, and she was unwilling to face it. Macha dropped from the sky to roost on her shoulder, and while those talons still hurt, the raven’s gentle thoughts gave her mistress some ease.

  I am here, the raven murmured against her mind. We are together—never alone. Fey creatures had few words, but the images of strength and love were stronger than any voice could give. Not for the first time, Sive gave thanks to the Mother that she had seen fit to send Macha.

  Touching the raven’s chest, she straightened her shoulders against whatever might come.

  Her usual tormenter appeared to have missed her arrival. Could the evil sprite have found someone else to torture?

  Sive pressed the front door open, her whole body braced for a fight, and then stopped in shock. From down the hall came the unexpected sound of weeping. What could make Wyreck cry? But more outrageously the noise was coming from her chambers. The idea that the sprite had the audacity to enter that personal domain bought her in long strides down the hall, all trepidation forgotten.

  Sive burst into the room, expecting any kind of violation to be taking place. Chairs and tables lay overturned in every direction, dark wine spilled it all Puck sat cross-legged, his face hidden in his hands. It was her cousin that was crying.

  Sive touched his shoulder, concern outweighing her stymied anger. But when he looked up, he was chuckling rather than sobbing.

  “Oh dearest," he clutched her hand, “I’m extremely sorry about the mess—but it wasn’t all my fault.”

  Looking around for Puck’s accomplice, Sive gave a groan of disbelief. The dark, human shaped smear and crushed wings on the wall by the door could be only one thing—all that remained of Wyreck.

  “Puck, you fool,” she spun on her still grinning cousin, "It’s not like I haven’t thought of the same thing—but really!”

  The smile faded as something dark passed across his face, “Sive, I think you...”

  “I mean, do you honestly think Mordant won’t notice Wyreck’s missing?” Her foot caught in a pile of singed clothing, and she flicked it away.

  “Brigit’s dead,” Puck broke in before she could draw another breath.

  It took a long immortal heartbeat for that to sink in, but when it did Sive was washed clean of smaller concerns. All sensation ceased, except for the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Now she understood mortal pain, now she knew real fear. The last of the First Born had left them. No one remained who'd seen the dawn of worlds.

  “Oh Puck.” Her hand opened palm upward on the bed where she had dropped. He took it, pressing his warmth into her sudden coldness.

  “There’s more,” fingers clenched on hers, “Much more. I took her Last Breath, I saw...”

  “Wait,” Sive’s eyes glassy with tears sprung open, and her body held deathly still. Puck had not heard it, but she was used to the sounds and nature of Mordant’s Hall. The slight shift of attention, the little creaks it gave signalled one thing—its master had returned.

  A dagger of concern for her kin went through her; after all, only he and Auberon remained. Picking Puck up by the shoulders, Sive clasped him to her, and then stopped his questions with one hand to the lips.

  “Mordant returns,” she hissed. “There is no time for this. Go back to Will and wait for me there. I will come when I can... if I can...”

  Thankfully her cousin did not argue—he must have seen fear and felt the atmosphere of the hall. On the other side of her hand Puck’s mouth pursed in a faint kiss, but Sive pulled him close to her so they were for a second eye to eye, so he could see that she was serious and meant every word. “Look after Will, Puck—promise on your life. No matter what.”

  “Of course,” he said, but there was no time for any more. Parting the Veil, Sive thrust him without mercy into the human realm. At least there he would have a measure of protection from what could well follow, and Will might live. Mother let it be so! Still, with Puck gone she was now truly alone.

  Brigit, my mother-sister, my kin gone? Strange how thoughts were unable to find any purchase knowing that her aunt was no more, but there were things to do. If any portion of the world that Brigit had loved was to survive, then only her niece could save them. I will not fail you, Sive promised.

  Her Art moved to her command, smoothing Wyreck’s remains from the wall and returning the room to its former state. In a moment, the whole incident might never have happened. She considered casting a glamour of the sprite to smooth things over, but Mordant’s Art surpassed hers. Once that would have enraged, but now on the other side of Brigit’s death, it was another fact of her new life.

  The Hall was rousing, stirring awake to the presence of its master, and nor was it the only one to feel the change. The glamour he had worked on Sive had once more sprung to life; heart was beating faster, skin aching for his repulsive touch. All of his possessions knew that their owner was returning.

  Sive’s hand rested on the slick dark wall, its tremble traveling up her arm, and settling in a dread knot about her heart. He’d killed Brigit, she reminded herself, logical brain struggling against physical glamour. The vague erotic tendrils scuttled ahead of him down the corridor to tickle her defences. Sive braced herself, easing from the chair in which she had waited. Surely now she would find out if she was worthy to call herself Anu’s daughter.

  Sive plastered a half smile on and waited to for her enemy to come.

  8

  All this the world well knows; yet none knows well To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.

  The time had come. Planning a
nd drawing on his resources, Mordant was almost ready to let the dark light within shine forth. Inside, he could feel his master’s touch readying him for action.

  “Soon,” he whispered reassurance, “You’ve waited long enough to be free... soon.”

  The Unmaker replied with a flash of remembrance.

  It was an easy thing to get lost in the Between; the mists and paths were elusive, never remaining the same. Many times Mordant wanted to turn back and return to the Fey, but the memory of Sive pushed him on. She would perhaps marry him if he returned with a cure for the malaise.

  The mists were chill, and even his Art could not keep that out. He stopped to clear ice crystals from his eyes and rub his hands together as humans did. In that moment of distraction the path he had been following withered away. The biting winds of the Between leapt up around him, demanding entry into his very bones.

  Mordant cast about, looking for any sign of a path, or a direction. But there was none, and he could feel his Art diminish—he'd spent too long away from the Fey.

  “Too long indeed.” A figure emerged from the clouds, tall and dark, a stark contrast to the white of the Between.

  Mordant tried to see beyond the shadows, but he could make out no face or sex. What creature could live in this place?

  “A creature with the answers,” the reply came softly, and now he could feel a fingering touch in his mind, gentle like his own mother’s. “Why do you come?”

  “The malaise, a sickness in my people, we thought there might be a cure here.”

  “I see,” the figure stepped closer. “And if there was a cure, but there was a price to pay, would you pay it?”

  Despite the calm the creature radiated, a flicker of alarm went through Mordant. Glancing back over his shoulder he realized that there was nowhere to run. He swallowed his panic as best he could, “Who are you?”

  “A child of the Between, a maker of myth.”

  He took a step back. “That is ridiculous, the Mother of All is the only child of the Between. Every Fey knows that.”

  The figure grew taller, so tall that the mists seemed to dwindle. Mordant tried to pull his eyes away, but they would not obey. It was closer, and it made the chill of the Between seem like a summer’s day—this froze him to the very core. “She hasn’t all the answers—not at all. I am the malaise; the only cure is within me. Do you have the courage to save all you are?”

  His blue lips moved. “Yes.”

  Now all there was darkness, he couldn’t even remember what Sive’s face looked like. Hope dwindled and disappeared.

  The Unmaker laughed at his courage, and tore away his resolve, until he was but a shell. He hollowed Mordant, drawing away all his emotions and thoughts, until there was room.

  “And now I fill you,” it hissed with delight. The dark light of the

  Unmaker poured into him, and agony was all he knew after.