Relics and Runes Anthology

by Heather Marie Adkins

  “Fuck Cian,” she said aloud with a defiant lift of her chin. The tiniest fraction of guilt cut through her impertinence. It wasn’t her brother Cian she was angry with. That honor went to herself and no one else. Somehow, she’d gotten herself lost. Somewhere. A ripple of anxiety swept across her chest to settle just behind her belly button.

  This forest might not be in Faerie. For all she knew, she could be in the human realm—or anywhere, really. She tugged the phone from her pocket and held it close. Battery low, signal nonexistent. If she was in the human realm, it was somewhere far from a cell tower.

  Wherever she was, she needed to get out of this unnatural, godforsaken place. If she survived, she vowed to never tease Cian again. At least, not more than once a day.

  She took a tentative step and another, moving with care and caution. The hard soles of her boots crunched against gravel with each foot she set upon the ground. A year ago, she would’ve changed from human clothes to more appropriate faerie garb, but she’d soon realized there wasn’t much point. Besides her mum, who always scowled at what Rori wore, except for those few occasions when Queen Eirlys demanded Rori wear a dress at court, no one cared. As long as the veil between Faerie and the human realm stayed intact, a blue haired girl wearing black jeans, T-shirt, and boots wasn’t remarked upon. Besides, she never knew when she’d be called to the human realm and she liked to be prepared. It wasn’t as if she were one of those flouncy courtiers who batted their eyelashes at some poor fool to gain his favor.

  Rori snorted at the thought and immediately regretted the movement. Even breathing hurt in this wretched place. The only way out was to keep moving forward. With each step she took, Rori retraced her evening for clues to how she’d ended up here. The last she could recall, she’d been at the Shoogly Dragon. Tug was there, as were his merry men, and Sal, too. She’d played darts with some trolls—who soundly walloped her even though she was considered the best dart player in the area. Who knew trolls had that kind of control and dexterity? Not her, that’s for damn sure.

  A soft breeze lifted the hair at her neck, bringing a chill to her sensitive skin. Every nerve ending danced with possibility. If she could find the source of air, she could find a way out—then she could get back home. She turned in a circle, noting three separate paths she could take. No single one looked more inviting than the others, nor could she ascertain which direction the breeze had come from. Without giving herself time to doubt, she headed for the path in front of her.

  Step after step, her strength returned, but the throbbing in her head continued. She licked the underside of her wrist and sniffed. No lingering odor indicated poison. A bit of bad breath, maybe, but at least no one had tried to kill her. At least, if they’d tried, they failed.

  Who would want her dead? Names and faces floated in her mind. Plenty of people had a grudge against her—it came with the job. Officially, she was employed by the Fifth Circle, a public organization tasked with keeping the peace between Faerie and the other realms. The position allowed her freedom to pass from Faerie to anywhere else without question. Unofficially, Rori worked for Queen Eirlys as a spy and assassin.

  Upon reflection, she’d probably made more than one enemy in her two years working for the Seelie queen.

  “Flippinshitgibbon.” Rori stood at a Y in the path, unsure which way to turn. She glanced behind her, but she could only see a few yards before foliage blocked her view. For all she knew, she could be walking in a giant circle. With a quick flick, she snapped the dagger from her thigh and held it up to the nearest tree. She carved a tiny X into the bark, just large enough to see it, but without harming the tree more than necessary.

  Mentally flipping a coin, she headed to the left, marking every third tree she came upon. Minutes turned to hours, and with each one, Rori’s sense of dread grew from a nagging thought to a fully formed beast hovering just to the edge of her consciousness. In all the time she roamed the forest, she’d not heard or seen a single other creature. The emptiness of the woods, the utter aloneness of it, combined with exhaustion and hunger, played tricks on her mind. Thoughts of despair—of giving up and curling into a ball to sleep—bombarded her senses. The more she walked, the stronger the desire to stop became.

  With each step, she fought against the pull to quit. With each tree marking, she struggled to keep her focus. When her stomach loudly protested its empty state, she called a truce with the nagging thoughts, at least long enough to search nearby for something edible. Even this was fraught with subtle messages—she didn’t need food, she needed to sleep—the more she thought of food, the more powerful the desire to rest became.

  Food.

  Sleep.

  Food. She shoved the thought in front of everything else drifting through her mind. Not sleep. Food. The pull lessened, but there was definite pushback happening with her psyche. The mental gymnastics she had to endure intrigued her to the point she almost crouched to sit, not to rest, just to sort through what was happening in her head.

  “Ha!” Rori cackled out loud, shaking out her legs and straightening her spine. “Thought you could fool me, did you?” Whatever this odd force was, it had nearly won by tricking her into resting. Something did not like her moving or having her own free will. She set her shoulders and held her chin aloft while she scanned the area for food.

  Red berries dangled from a tree, tempting in their plumpness. She tentatively sampled one, shaking her head at the chalky bitterness that stung her tongue. This was no berry she recognized.

  Immune to one hundred thirty-seven poisons, not much could kill her. Still, she didn’t fancy testing the odds of finding number one hundred thirty-eight. Hunger or no, she hesitated to subject her body to possible ills from this wicked place. She swept past the berries to a patch of clover growing near a rock. At least clover wouldn’t harm her. It might give her a headache if she ate too much, but a few leaves at a time were beneficial. She pinched several stalks to munch now and put a handful in her pocket for later. Only the gods knew when she’d find more.

  Just to be safe, Rori filled both pockets before she stood on wobbly legs. She leaned forward, bracing herself on a tree. This wasn’t hunger—this was muscle fatigue, but she hadn’t been fighting or running. She’d been walking for ages, yes, but this was full body exhaustion. As if she’d been sick for a week. With too much effort, she pushed away from the trunk and stumbled down the path. A few feet on, she stepped around a circle of tall mushrooms, being careful not to disturb the faerie sleeping within.

  Wait, a faerie? Here?

  The first living creature she finds in the forest, and it was another faerie? But it was tiny, no bigger than her thumb. Being fae herself, and the size of an average human, she’d never met another faerie so small. She gazed up at the trees as if they could give her answers. This might be a trap. To her reasoning, everything in the forest was some kind of bizarre version of reality. The sleeping fae might be an enchantment, one meant to lure her into compassion, only to destroy her.

  The best thing to do was leave the fae sleeping in the mushroom circle. Keep walking and forget she ever saw the stupid thing. It was most likely an illusion. Definitely a trap. Even the mushrooms looked shady. This forest wanted her dead.

  “I am Rori MacNair,” she said aloud. “I am descended from mages, daughter to one of the greatest spies and the fiercest warrior ever to protect the Seelie throne. I am not afraid of you, nor will you defeat me this day. I will not die here.” She shouted the words to the treetops, her body shaking with righteous indignation.

  From far away, the sound of laughter could be heard, but there was no joy or mirth, only mocking.

  2

  Rori glared into the distance. Adrenaline-fueled rage lifted her lagging spirits. Whatever this hell was, she would prevail. She took ten steps down the path before she let out a loud groan and turned back to the sleeping faerie. Compassion would someday get her killed. She could only hope that day wasn’t today.

  She bent low and ex
amined the tiny thing. From the clothing, she guessed the fae to be female. It didn’t move when gently nudged. Her skin coloring was a pale chestnut. Life still flowed through the fae’s veins, yet she stayed curled in a tight ball. Gossamer wings covered her like a protective embrace. For a faerie to reveal her wings meant this one was either royalty, or close to death and had lost control of her magic. Rori gently scooped the wee one onto her palm. The poor thing didn’t even flinch at the movement. Never had she known a faerie to sleep this deep.

  Unless she’d been drugged.

  And whoever drugged the sleeping fae must’ve drugged Rori, too. That would explain her physical aches, and why she couldn’t remember how she ended up in the forest. But why? And why leave them in the woods? A slew of fresh questions raced through her thoughts, but still no answers came. Who had drugged them? And what drug did they use? The “who” part of the question bothered her the most. What did they have to gain?

  There was one question Rori refused to let herself ask. The answer might’ve destroyed her. Yet it lingered in the back of her mind, taunting.

  She ignored the taunt and snuggled the fae into an inner breast pocket of her jacket. Hopefully the sound of her heartbeat would give the lass some comfort.

  What the hell was going on? The questions continued to swirl around and around her mind. Nothing about this forest made sense. Had there been faeries at the pub? She scrubbed a hand over her face, trying to recall. Yes, two. Or three—she couldn’t be certain. Again, she retraced her steps of the previous night, from the dart playing to singing a rousing rendition of “Give Yer Goats to Mam for Milking”—always a crowd pleaser—and then what? After that, everything became fuzzy.

  Her stomach gave a vicious pinch, reminding her she was still hungry. The mushrooms wobbled when she prodded them with her boot. They looked edible, but skepticism won out and she left the fungi alone for the time being. If she became desperate, she’d make her way back to the spot, but secretly she hoped she’d be out of the forest before that happened. Even when non-poisonous and cooked properly, she hated the taste. Gods, but she wished Cian were there to advise her. Not that she’d ever admit it.

  What would Cian do if he were here? Her brother had always been the cleverer of the pair. From a young age, he showed promise in everything he did—something Rori publicly scoffed at, but secretly envied. Ever since she could remember, she’d worshipped Cian like a devotee their goddess. When their dad disappeared, Cian took it hard, but flawlessly filled the void their dad left. Rori had been eight at the time, and Cian sixteen. Not quite a man but forced by circumstance to act like one.

  Where the hell was Cian, anyway? Rori moved through the forest, chewing one clover leaf at a time and marking every third tree she passed. The last she’d heard, Cian had been sent to the Unseelie court. Not an outrageous assignment. Eirlys was trying to maintain peace with Queen Midna, after all. But why Cian? He was a spy and assassin, too. Surely Eirlys wasn’t thinking of murdering the Unseelie queen?

  If ever there was a man who could take out a public figure like Midna, it was Cian.

  Rori stopped so suddenly, her boots skidded on the dirt. What if Cian was involved in a plot to kill Midna and she’d gotten caught up in it somehow?

  She scanned the trees with renewed interest. This could be one of the forsaken forests in the Unseelie kingdom. Even those Rori knew better than to trespass. Filled with dark creatures and witches who practiced ancient, some would even say forbidden magic, Rori had heard tales of snakes that ate their victims whole. Reptiles so large they could break tree branches with their weight. An involuntary shudder tightened her shoulders. Rats and snakes and horrible beasties could stay far away from her. Although, at the moment, she wouldn’t mind seeing one living forest creature. Just something to let her know this wasn’t an eternally damned place.

  If this was a forbidden forest and she were captured, Queen Midna might hold her for ransom—which wouldn’t be paid because she wasn’t of noble blood and Queen Eirlys would deny any knowledge of Rori—or she might be forced into service for the Unseelie queen. A strange jag, not of pain, but something not entirely terrible, ran the length of her. She’d heard tales of the sordid acts Midna made her slaves perform on one another. A second jag, this one tinged with nervous desire, surprised Rori.

  To be captured and become one of Midna’s sex slaves—she stopped the thought before it bloomed into full-fledged treason. She was a subject of the Seelie court. She was Rori MacNair, assassin and spy to Queen Eirlys. Her loyalty was now and forevermore pledged to protecting the Light. The Dark court, with its promiscuous queen, was better left to men like Cian, who had more experience. With women, with court politics, with life in general. As much as she loved her brother and was quite possibly a little jealous of his achievements, she didn’t envy him an assignment at the Unseelie court.

  A third jag, this one full of dread. Every nerve went on high alert. Not wanting to call attention to herself, Rori opened her magic a fraction. If she were attacked, she wanted to be prepared, but she also knew showing too much magic was like setting a beacon above the treetops. The last thing she needed was a scyver to pick up her scent. If she was in Faerie, she didn’t have to worry about the vampiric magic hunters, but if she was in the human realm, they were a very real possibility.

  Gods, but it felt good to let her magic free, if even just this small amount. Magic was forbidden in the human realm and Rori rarely used it in Faerie. Why would she? A good blade was just as effective as a spell. Still, she kept tight control of how much she allowed to open. It had been fifteen years since that terrible day when she’d lost control of her magic and she’d vowed then to never let herself be seduced by its seeming limitless power again.

  Her lagging energy slaked away as her magic encircled her like a lover’s embrace. She tilted her head back and stared up at the leaves. What if she did send a beacon to the sky? Who would see it? Even if the Unseelie queen captured her, and forced her to become a sex slave, surely that was better than being trapped in these endless damned woods.

  “Stop it, Aurora. You’re talking nonsense.” Rori spoke in her best Cian voice, and tried to sound as authoritative as her big brother.

  “You’re right, as usual.” Under her breath, she added, “Bastard,” then laughed at the ridiculousness of having a conversation with herself as her brother. “I’m losing it.” She peeked inside her pocket at the sleeping fae. “I’ll get us out of here before I go completely mad.”

  The faerie didn’t move, but Rori could’ve sworn she saw the slightest flutter of a wing.

  Purpose renewed, she strode along the trail, marking trees as she went, and making mental notes of the minuscule changes in the forest. Here, some trees were thick-trunked and covered in ivy; over there, some had ferns growing from the valleys between branches; farther along, tall, slender trunks in muted greys stretched above the leafy canopy. This was absolutely no forest Rori knew. And she began to suspect it wasn’t in the Unseelie kingdom, either.

  Her heart rammed into her throat. It could be in the elven kingdom. If so, then she was dead. The elves kept to themselves, not interfering in fae business and vice versa. King Thane didn’t tolerate fae being in his lands. His punishments were more in line with Queen Eirlys’, except Rori didn’t think Thane had a dungeon. She imagined he would tie a trespasser to a tree and leave them for dead. Fae-elven distrust went back centuries, with no one recalling now what started it or why it continued. And if somehow she’d stumbled into Thane’s enchanted forest…

  Panic joined her burgeoning dread and she fought them both with each step forward. The more her anxiety rose, the harder breathing became. The air thickened with her increased pulls of oxygen. She paused and forced herself to think of happier times. When she was young and Cian would chase her around their garden, pretending to be an ogre. Or when she first entered the Academy and the pride she saw on her mum’s face.

  Her breathing slowed and the air thinned.


  Curious.

  Rori continued on, being mindful of her breathing. When her thoughts careened toward despair, the air became thick and she’d repeat the process, thinking happy thoughts until she calmed. This deep into the forest, she couldn’t afford to waste energy or oxygen. Pacing herself, she came to yet another fork in the road and chose right this time instead of left. The trees clumped closer the farther along the path she traveled, until her shoulders brushed the trunks on either side. A slim line of gravel led through the moss growing at the tree bases. She trudged on, sometimes sidling between two onerous trunks until absolute darkness made continuing difficult. Even with her enhanced fae sight, she couldn’t make out what was beyond her outstretched hand.

  Snickertits. Rori pressed a palm to her forehead and stomped a circle twice before she bent over, hands on her thighs, and considered her choices. Go back the way she came and take the left path, or carry on into the darkness and hope for the best. The smart move would be to retrace her steps, but Rori wasn’t known for making the smartest choices. Which was why Queen Eirlys chose her to become a spy. Her targets never saw her coming, and if they did, they wouldn’t know what to expect from Rori. At least, that’s what she told herself. More likely, her erratic behavior annoyed the queen beyond measure. But it was more fun to think Eirlys appreciated her quirkiness.

  She stood to her full height and set her shoulders. The forest would not win this day. She took out her phone and prayed there was enough battery life to get her through this patch. The light illuminating from the flashlight app wasn’t much, but at least it cast a small circle through the inky blackness. Mobile in one hand, dagger in the other, she lunged forward with the determination of a general marching to war.