Isle of Winds (The Changeling Series Book 1)

by Fahy, James

  “Found these three at the door,” the old woman muttered unceremoniously, sounding none too happy as she crossed the room.

  The young girl jumped up, scooping cookies from the tray greedily. She glared at Woad, who was eyeing her suspiciously, stuck her tongue out and ran off without a word.

  “Yes,” the beautiful woman said. “You three arrive here, now. This is how it happens.” She cocked her head to one side, like an enquiring bird. She seemed oddly distant, as though daydreaming.

  “Sorry,” Karya said, looking around. “I’m a little confused. We came to see the Oracle. Which one of you is that?”

  “We are the Oracle,” the women replied in unison. The dreamy looking one took a cookie from the proffered tray. “Cookies … I really wanted some earlier.”

  “So I see,” the old woman replied, glancing off into the distant edges of the room, where the young girl was sitting, half hidden by the foliage and guzzling down cookie after cookie. The old woman burped and made a face. “I’ll regret it later, though; they give me terrible indigestion.”

  Robin glanced confused at Karya, his eyebrows raised. “There are three Oracles?” he asked.

  “No, young fae,” the old woman replied. “There’s only one of me.”

  “It’s a lot of work for just one person, believe me,” the other woman nodded, daintily nibbling on a biscuit. “I find it much easier this way. Dividing my labours so to speak.”

  “I haven’t introduced myself, have I?” the old one said, setting the tray aside on a small pedestal and fussing with her apron strings. “I am the Oracle, and so is the me over here, and the me over there.”

  “You can call me Praesto,” the pretty woman said, holding out a hand which Robin shook, faintly bemused. “This is Posterus.” She nodded at her elderly companion. “And the greedy bad-tempered one eating all the cookies is Preteritus.”

  “You’re one person … in three bodies,” Karya exclaimed wonderingly. “Past, present and future?”

  “I’ve never been a person, what a stupid thing to say,” came a high piping voice around a mouthful of cookies.

  “You’ll have to excuse my manners,” the old woman said grumpily. “It’s way past part of my bedtime.”

  Robin just stared. Things in the Netherworlde just seemed to get stranger and stranger.

  “I’m afraid I shall have to ask you to surrender your weapons while you are here,” Praesto said. “This is a place of sanctuary. Precious few such places remain in the Netherworlde. The dark empress has seen to that. You may leave them on the tray, don’t mind the cookie crumbs.”

  “Weapons?” Robin said confused. Then he remembered. He had completely forgotten he was carrying Phorbas’ silver dagger.

  He pulled it out of his belt, feeling the odd tingle in his fingers from the satyr’s mana stone.

  The Oracle watched with interest as he placed it on the tray.

  “How very interesting,” the younger one said, in a lilting, dreamy voice. “If steel could talk … this would have a tale to tell.”

  “It belongs to my friend, the one we’re looking for,” Robin explained. “Well, one of them. I don’t think it would have many stories to tell. He told me it’s never seen any more action than opening letters.”

  “A secret lies buried in silver and steel,” Preteritus sang out from the undergrowth. She giggled to herself.

  “Hush my mouth,” the old woman said. “Sorry, sometimes I see things in the past clearest. It’s always easier to look backwards than forwards, isn’t it. I find if you do it too often though, you tend to trip over your own feet. Look to the future, that’s what I say.”

  “Live for the moment is a good motto,” her dreamy-eyed companion said helpfully.

  Posterus snorted in derision, crinkling her withered old face in a scowl. “I won’t think that in the future,” she scoffed. “Any other weapons? Other than the faun, I mean? He wouldn’t fit on the tray anyway I think.”

  She looked to Karya. “How about you, love?”

  “I’m unarmed,” Karya replied simply.

  “Liar,” the crone replied with a sly smirk. “Knowledge is power they say, eh? Your kind is never unarmed and not all weapons are carried in the hand.” She tapped her head a few times, looking quite demented.

  “She’s practically one of me anyway,” the other, distant-looking woman said. “One of seven, always one of seven. But the whole is not always greater than the sum of its parts, it would seem. Eris should not have meddled in the order of such things.”

  “You’re talking in riddles,” Robin said, getting rather annoyed.

  “‘Course they are,” Woad said. “What did you expect? She’s the Oracle. If you wanted the shipping forecast you’re in the wrong place, Pinky.”

  “Look, we need help,” Robin said. “We were told you might know where my friends have been taken. We did a finding spell but they’re nowhere.”

  “Everything’s somewhere,” Preteritus trilled, skipping over to the pool.

  “I used a cantrip to locate them,” Karya explained. “It failed. We think Strife is taking them to Lady Eris, but there are no tracks.”

  “They are not headed to Dis. They are nowhere your feet will take you,” Praesto said, looking into middle distance.

  “Can you help us?” Karya asked.

  “We will and do,” Posterus cackled. “I remember it all.”

  They positioned themselves around the placid pool, each version of the Oracle kneeling and peering into the water. As one, they reached out their hands and began tracing strange patterns in the liquid, making it eddy and swirl. The flames in the braziers seemed to dim and gutter.

  “What are they doing?” Robin whispered after watching the three figures sway for a few minutes. The light was growing dimmer until the only illumination came from the moon high above.

  Karya shushed him. “Looking,” she said quietly.

  The Oracles’ eyes rolled back in her heads, until only slivers of white showed. There was an odd feeling of growing pressure in the air.

  “What are they doing now?” Robin persisted in a hushed whisper

  “Seeing,” Woad replied. “They are seers after all. Now hush!”

  They watched in silence as the misty waters rolled back and forth hypnotically until, just as the motion was making Robin feel drowsy, there was an almighty crash. The water in the pool jumped as though a giant hand had slapped its surface, and for a second Robin thought he glimpsed shapes in the mist.

  The images were gone as soon as they had appeared and the pool clearing, settling back into its innocent state. The feeling of pressure lifted and the braziers flared back to life, filling the temple once again with bright, cosy light. Wisps of steam coiled from the pool’s surface.

  The Oracle stood up, all three of her opening their eyes. “Well,” said Praesto. “I have looked and I have seen. I can tell you three things.”

  “Your friends have indeed been attacked by Eris’ men, Moros and Strife,” little Preteritus said in her piping voice. “Both Phorbas the satyr and Henry the human boy have been used for the sole purpose of bringing you here to the Netherworlde.”

  “No place for a human,” Praesto said, her pretty face a perfect composition of elegant concern. “Your Henry does not belong here. He is in terrible danger. He is being held nowhere on Netherworlde soil. But he is indeed in the Netherworlde.”

  “What? That doesn’t make sense!” Robin cried, frustrated. “Are they here or not? They can’t be both.”

  Posterus raised her arms to the sky. “Hidden in the clouds he is … on the isle in the sky.” She looked back at them, dropping her arms and regarding them shrewdly. “Far beyond the reach of any down below.”

  Robin was about to exclaim that he didn’t understand, but the Oracle held all six of her arms up to silence him.

  “Three things I can tell you,” she said with three voices, speaking in unison. “And three things I have. To ask more than is offered is to ask a boon …
which requires sacrifice.”

  Their faces had darkened as though the shadows were gathering around them. The smell of incense seemed to fade until only blood remained.

  “But…” Robin began.

  Karya gripped his shoulder “Don’t, Scion,” she warned. “We’ve got what we came for. Trust me, we have to tread carefully here. There are rules with the Oracle. Very old rules.”

  “Very wise,” the old woman nodded, suddenly rather normal-looking again.

  “I hope this information helps you in your quest.” She passed a hand across the small pedestal which held Phorbas’ blade, an oddly business-like gesture. “Now then, don’t forget to take your weapons with you when you go. It would be a terrible thing to find your friend the satyr and to have lost his mana stone. They cannot be replaced.”

  “Please feel free to take a cookie on your way out,” Praesto said cheerfully, her head cocked on one side like a bird again, smiling wanly. “It’s a long road ahead.”

  * * *

  They recovered the dagger and filled their pockets with cookies before leaving. The eldest version of the Oracle shuffled them back to the door in her brusque manner, and before long, they were sitting outside in the warm night air.

  “Hidden in the clouds,” Woad mused, stroking his chin in what he seemed to hope looked like a thoughtful way.

  “On the isle in the sky…” Karya added. “I’ve never heard of any such place.” She sighed, picking stray hairs from the lapel of her tatty coat. “Well, perhaps coming to see the Oracle wasn’t as good a plan as I thought. You never get a straight answer … I should know.”

  Robin ignored them. He was busy rummaging in his backpack.

  She glanced over at him curiously. “What are you looking for, Scion?”

  Robin heaved a large book from his pack.

  “‘Hammerhand’s Netherworlde Compendium’,” he said triumphantly, heaving it onto his lap. “It’s a kind of encyclopaedia.” He cracked open the cover and began flipping through the index.

  “And … you think now is the best time to be catching up on your homework?” Karya asked curiously as Robin tilted the book to catch the light from the braziers.

  “No,” he said, giving her a sidelong look. “I’m sure there’s something in here about an island in the sky. I’m certain of it. Back when I was learning Featherbreath, Phorbas mentioned it. It’s like a Netherworlde myth or something.”

  “A myth?” Woad asked questioningly.

  “A lie that tells the truth,” Karya explained to the faun.

  “Here it is!” Robin pointed at the page. “‘The Isle of Aeolus’.” There was a sketchy illustration showing a massive mountain floating in mid-air. Near the peak of the mountain there seemed to be some kind of town. Karya and Woad peered over Robin’s shoulder, watching the inked clouds swirl silently on the yellowed page.

  Robin’s eyes roamed over the dense script. “It says here that, before the Arcania was shattered, the Tower of Air was a powerful field of magic. The people who lived in this city despaired for the other members of the Netherworlde. When Eris’ war began, as a protest against the bloodshed, they uprooted their city from the earth. They lifted the mountain into the sky, creating the Isle of Winds.”

  “So, where is it?” Karya asked.

  “No one ever saw the island again,” he reported despondently, reading ahead. “Apparently it was lost in mists and clouds and retreated over time into legend. There’s no indication of where it might be, and no real proof that it ever existed.”

  “Well, apparently Strife and Moros have found it,” Karya said. “Though, why would they take Henry and Phorbas there? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Perfect place to hide them, isn’t it?” Woad said. “Where do you hide something you don’t want to be found? Somewhere so secret everyone thinks it’s a myth. Clever.” He narrowed his blue eyes. “Clever like velociraptors.”

  Robin and Karya had to admit this was sound logic. Robin searched through the compendium for more information.

  He flattened the page as it rustled in the breeze. “It says here … ‘Ad augusta per angusta’.” Robin made a face, “… Whatever that means.”

  “It means ‘to high places by narrow roads’.” Karya said. “No idea why though. Anything else?”

  “‘Alta alatis patent’,” Robin read aloud carefully. “Seems these words were on a map, somewhere near the Singing Fens, wherever they are.”

  “North-east from here,” Woad said. “A week’s solid travel just to get to the Fens, or two weeks on lazy non-faun feet.”

  “‘Alta alatis patent’ … ‘The sky is open to those who have wings’?” Karya translated. She threw her hands up. “Well, we don’t have wings, so that’s a fairly useless clue. I suppose we’re expected to tame some harpies, are we?”

  Robin ignored her, reading on. “There isn’t much more. Lots of pretty dry explanations about how technically difficult and impressive it must be to float a mountain … blah, blah, blah … nothing useful.” He flicked to the final page in the section. “Only… here at the end the legend says ‘the path of wind is open at dawn. Look to the goddess to find your road’.”

  He snapped the book closed in frustration. “More riddles,” he said. “Doesn’t anyone ever just say what they mean here?” He ran his hands through his hair, making it stick up all over his head in blonde spikes.

  Karya pursed her lips. “Well … it’s something to go on at least. We know that your tutor and the human boy are being hidden on the Isle of Aeolus, which would suggest that it’s not a myth. And we know that to get there we need to take a high, narrow road somewhere near the Singing Fens, and that apparently we need wings. Hmm.”

  “And we need to get there at dawn. Or ask some goddess. Don’t forget that bit,” Woad said, scratching his ear absently.

  “Look, the only lead we have is to go north, to the Singing Fens,” Karya said. “We can try and figure things out along the way. Like Woad says, it’s about two weeks’ travel, and it’s best for us to keep moving. We need to gain some ground.”

  She set off down the winding steps which led down to the moorland below.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Robin argued, shouldering his backpack and hurrying after her. “Anything could be happening to Henry and Phorbas. We can’t just trudge across the moors for weeks on end.”

  “Well, if you have any better ideas, let me know on the way, eh?” Karya huffed.

  Chapter Nineteen –

  Hawthorn’s Way

  By the time the sun rose over the craggy moorland, they had put some miles between themselves and the hill of knowledge. It was now nothing more than a vague misty shape on the horizon behind them. Karya insisted they keep going, wanting to put as much distance between them and their pursuers. Woad didn’t seem remotely affected by the long march, but Robin was growing weary from the constant travel. However, Henry and Phorbas needed him, so on he went.

  They walked through the morning. There was a nip in the air, but the sky above was clear and sheeny-blue. Robin was immensely grateful that it was warmer here than back in the human world. They never would have made it this far over deep snow.

  Robin and Woad were bickering about how many miles they had travelled by the time they crossed the moors and came down into gentle rolling hills beyond. To Robin’s inexperienced legs, it felt about fifty miles. Woad, however, was certain they had done exactly nine and a half. Karya ignored them both, lost in thought.

  Woad began to say something rude, but stopped, open-mouthed, staring ahead.

  Atop of the next before them, a tall figure stood. A man was leaning rather nonchalantly against the tree-trunk. He wore a tatty kind of leather skirt and sandals, like a gladiator. His chest and arms were bare and the three companions could see that he mustn’t have eaten a full meal in a long time.

  What shocked Robin most, though, was the sight of large curling horns spiralling out from the man’s mop of curly brown hair.


  “That’s a … that’s a … fae,” Woad sputtered.

  “What do we do?” Robin whispered urgently to Karya.

  “I don’t know!” Karya whispered back. “I’ve never actually met one of the fae before … Apart from you, of course. You never see them. Your kind are supposed to be in hiding!”

  “We are in hiding,” the man said, his voice deep and resonant, at odds with his half-starved body. His long oval eyes regarded them with a curious mixture of amusement and suspicion. A brief smile flicked across his hollowed cheekbones. “No better place to hide than plain sight … sometimes.”

  His attention flicked lazily from Karya to Woad before finally settling on Robin.

  “I know what she is,” he said slowly. “And anyone can see that that thing there is a faun. But what in all the Netherworlde are you?”

  Robin felt himself wilting a little under the scrutiny. He was trying not to stare at the horns.

  “It’s polite to introduce yourself first!” he said, sounding much more defiant than he felt.

  “Names have power,” Karya said, sticking her chin out proudly, seemingly bolstered by Robin’s example. “They shouldn’t just be given away because someone happens to have a bow and arrow.”

  The fae flicked his eyes to her momentarily, as if she was a bothersome distraction, then drifted back to Robin. “I didn’t ask what you were called,” he said. “I asked what you were. And I find that these are hardly the times for proper etiquette, more’s the pity.”