by Rene Sears
My little piece of nowhere was right on the border of Georgia and Alabama, so the closest gate was in Cheaha State Park. The truck tires kicked up dust and pebbles until the gravel road turned into blacktop. I wound past sleeping houses and closed businesses until I hit I-20 and headed west.
The highway zipped by, reflective white stripes shimmering brighter beneath orange lights and dimming between them, for just me and truckers hauling loads. I didn't have too far to go to get to the park—I'd chosen my house with that in mind. The last forty years of official peace between fae and human hadn't been without incident, and a caster near the gate cut down response time if someone or something inimical came through.
Once I turned off the highway the roads got narrower and darker. Signs directing me to the park flashed green and white in the beams from my headlights and disappeared. I had to slow down as the road curved upward, and now the signs pointed me toward trailheads, toward camping, toward scenic views. I ignored them and turned onto a gravel service road. Here was another good reason to like my truck—though the road wasn't well-maintained, I bounced over the ruts with no problems. The park rangers would have been distressed to see the poor condition of the road, if they ever noticed it. Once or twice a year I came out and made sure the ward was still working to keep people away.
About a mile into the woods, I parked. The truck engine ticked in the cool night air. An owl called somewhere in the distance. I pulled a flashlight out of my bag and flicked it on, slung the tool bag over my shoulder, and started walking. It felt good to stretch my legs. It might be the last pleasant thing I felt tonight.
Now that I didn't have to focus on driving, I had all too much attention to focus on Gwen and the twins. I checked my link to the girls reflexively—they were fine, physically. But the spell couldn’t tell me if they were scared, or what was happening to them. It couldn’t tell me a thing about their mother. My chest was tight and I took a few deep breaths to calm myself. I needed to pay attention to the trail. I wasn't going to be any good to anyone if I broke my ankle.
I liked hiking—in the daytime. Navigating a trail in the woods by the beam of a flashlight was not my optimum experience. It was slow going. Unlike the road, the trail was well maintained, but it looked strange in the narrow light, all flat brights and deep shadows. Even under a full moon I couldn't have seen well enough to walk through the dark, and the moon tonight was only the barest sliver. The strap of my backpack caught in every overhanging branch, and tree roots rose up out of nowhere to trip me. The night air was cool, but I was sweating by the time I reached the crook in the trail, maybe an hour after I'd set off.
I turned the flashlight off and waited for my eyes to adjust. It was dark and quiet, except for a few late-night frogs serenading each other somewhere nearby. The trees became a barely-perceptible landscape of grays and purples. I called up my spellsight. When I first learned to see this way, it had taken minutes to achieve the necessary level of calm, but it was second nature now, as familiar and comfortable as a well-broken-in pair of boots.
A thin lattice of silver rose up, entwined throughout the forest. A botanist would have been very interested in the plants here; some of them had migrated from the other side of the gate and hybridized with local flora. But like the road in, the trail was warded against accidental wanderers, and no botanist was getting close unless he or she was also a caster. I shoved branches aside as I pushed toward the feygate. Usually foliage subtly moved to create a path, but tonight the gate was closed, and I was not welcome. At least it wasn't fighting me directly.
I broke through a net of hanging vines and around the still-mighty stump of an old oak tree, redolent of moss and decay. The feygate arched over the greenery, stonework etched with silver, glowing with far greater a light than could be accounted for by the dim moon. I had never seen it as anything other than an empty arch, but now it was emphatically closed: the arch was completely blocked. Not with a door, or a gate, but a wall of stone that could have been there for centuries. It seemed to offer no possibility of ever opening again. The silver misted in front of me. Gwen and the twins were stuck in there. The link told me the girls at least were all right, but what if they weren't? How would I get to them to keep my promise? I blinked furiously until the gate stopped shimmering.
There was a phouka at the gate in New York. Everything here seemed quiet, but I cleared my throat anyway and said "Who guards this gate?"
Nothing answered. The forest was quiet except for the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant frogs, and I had no sense of anything listening. I tried again. "Who guards this gate?" The stillness remained adamantly unbroken. Maybe there was nothing here.
Third time's the charm. "Who guards this gate?" Most minor fae couldn't resist questions asked in threes. I bit my lip when nothing answered. If this gate was unguarded, I had to move on to the next. There were several between here and Anil in Texas, and maybe one of them would be open enough to get a message to Gwen. Even just for a minute, a second, and I could—
The frogs went silent. A screech broke the night. A feathered missile flew at me from above, talons extended. I ducked, hands flying up to cover my face, and the bird came close enough to pull at my hair.
My heart hammered, and my breath came in short gasps as I scrambled to the side, hands slipping in wet moss. The smell of leaf mould rose where I had disturbed the ground cover. The silver bracelet was a heavy weight at my wrist, but I didn't want to bring out the sidheblade yet. The bird hadn’t hurt me, and I'd rather talk my way out of this if I could. It might be able to help me.
The bird came around for another pass. It glowed silver in my spellsight, but I would have known this bird was unnatural even without it. Falcons weren't generally nocturnal. It called again as it circled. I pulled power from the ouroboros knot tattoo over my shoulder, channeled it into my fingertips, sketching algiz, a rune of protection. It wouldn't do much against a physical attack, but I hoped it would communicate my intent. The rune hung in the air, glowing and throwing off silver sparks. The falcon mantled and called again, but it sounded less strident.
"I mean you no harm." I held my hands open to show it I was weaponless. "I want to understand what's happened to the gates."
The falcon landed on a branch not far from the gate and called softly, a much more mournful sound than its previous cries. "Do you know?" I asked.
It cocked its head. A silver disc inscribed with a rowan leaf crossed by a golden arrow gleamed against its breast, hanging from a thin leather strip that circled its neck. Silk and leather jesses dangled from its legs. Some poor minor fae, most likely, bound for the entertainment of a lord. I didn't recognize the sigil. Gwen would have. My heart contracted, but I made myself focus. Even a minor fae, even bound, could hurt me badly if I were careless. I could not afford to be careless. Gwen needed me. The girls needed me. Even Eliza and the Spellcasters' Association needed me, right now.
The falcon made a strangled, croaking noise, but it wasn't attacking. It was trying to tell me something.
"I'm sorry. I don't understand."
It shook its head and hopped down the branch, closer to me. The silvery light illuminated rumpled feathers around its head and shoulders.
"Were you trying to get in the gate?"
It tilted its head until one fierce eye had me firmly in its gaze and slowly, deliberately nodded. A chill rippled my spine. "It won't open even for you?" If the gate was closed even to its own...what was happening in Faerie?
The bird just as slowly shook its head. I shivered violently, then got myself under control and bowed. It wasn't polite to thank the fae directly, but... "My name is Morgan Tenpenny. I will remember your help. If ever I can help you in return, I will." It looked straight at the closed gate, then at me. "If I thought I could open it, I would, but if the gate won't open for you, nothing I can do will work. I'm sorry I can't help more.” I tilted my head respectfully and backed away, feeling my way through the trees until a trunk blocked my view of the fe
ygate—and the falcon.
I rolled my shoulders and turned back in the direction of the road. Maybe someone had called while I was checking out the gate and I wouldn’t have to do any more driving tonight.
The falcon flew past me, landed on a bush, and made a quer-kee? sort of noise. My shoulders tensed back up.
"I'm sorry. I can't get you in the gate."
The next noise it made was less questioning, more irritated. I hesitated, then kept walking. An annoyed squawk sounded behind me, and I drew algiz again and let it hang in the air. The falcon stayed silent, and after a tense moment, I hurried on. Somewhere in the woods, one of the frogs queried another, and the chorus began again.
I flicked on the flashlight but didn't let spellsight fall away. It seemed to take longer to get back to the truck than it had to reach the feygate. I was tired. Even cold, the half-cup of coffee in my truck would be welcome. "I'm too old for this," I told the woods, and the frog song didn't disagree. Forty-three was hardly decrepit, but I missed sleep more than I had in my twenties.
After what seemed like far too long, the trees opened up on the service road, where my truck was waiting. It had to be after four. The sky wasn't yet tinged with gray, but the night felt closer to morning. Adrenaline had gotten me here, but I was running on less than four hours of sleep, and it had been a long time since I pulled an all nighter. I thumbed the button on the key fob, and the truck unlocked. I could almost taste my coffee.
I tossed my tool bag into the passenger's seat and started to slide in when a scream split the silence. Heart pounding, I twisted to face the night. The falcon barreled past me and landed, mantling fiercely, on the strap of my tool bag. Its beak opened wide in a silent cry.
"What are you doing?" I yelped. "You can't come with me." I reached toward it without thinking, and the powerful beak snapped. I pulled my arm back and held both hands open, trying to look harmless. All right, then. I wasn't going to be able to remove it without a struggle, and I didn't want a struggle. I just wanted to do my damn job, check out the feygates, and find my sister.
It made a chuckling sort of noise and sidehopped closer to the window. It reached a talon to the seatbelt and tugged at it. I snorted and sat gingerly in the driver's seat. Under its glare, I buckled in. It seemed I was going to have a passenger for the rest of the night.
"Are you okay in the car?" That much steel ought to give it fits. It rolled one yellow eye and I shrugged. If it wasn't a problem, then it wasn't a problem. I wasn't completely keen on driving to the next feygate with a predator capable of taking my eyes out, but I couldn't evict it, either. And if I could figure out how to communicate with it, it might be able to shed some light on the current situation.
I took a sip of my coffee—cold but better than nothing—and was pleased my hands didn't shake. Nothing to see here—no big deal when strange fae get in my car. It was turning out to be a very odd night. I turned the key in the ignition. The truck rumbled to life and I pulled out the map and plugged the charmingly-named Bogue Chitto state park, one of the newest feygates, into my GPS, which told me I had a little over a six hour drive. At least after a while it'd be light. The falcon tilted its head, looked at the map, and made a slight, derisive noise. I ignored it and set off down the gravel service road.
Once we were on the highway I dialed Eliza, who picked up after the first ring. "Yeah?"
"Nothing. The first gate was shut solid. Not a clue how or why."
"This one too. Any word from anyone else?"
"Anil's checking the gate in Texas. I'm on my way to Louisiana. No one else has called."
"We have another problem." Another fae trapped on the wrong side of a gate? I glanced sideways at the falcon, who was listening. I decided not to mention it to Eliza until later. She would want to know, but she wasn't the one sitting next to it if it got pissed off I told her about it. "Seth is sick." It took me a minute to remember who Seth was. Seth. The spellcaster who lived near a gate in Georgia, near Magnolia Springs.
"What's wrong with him?"
"I don't know. It's not something I've seen before. But it's...somehow, it's twisted up all the lines of energy in his body."
"Are you saying he has some kind of magic flu?" I heard the incredulity in my own voice, but I couldn't help it. It was ridiculous. "A metaphysical sickness?"
"I don't know," Eliza snapped. Then, "Sorry. I'm on edge." And you haven't slept any more than I have. "I've called in Dr. Ramachandran. She's on her way here." Saranya Ramachandran worked at the Center for Disease Control. She was also one of the casters I'd left a message for. If she was on a plane from Atlanta to New York, at least I knew why she hadn't called back.
"Let me know what she says. I haven't heard from anyone else. I'm going to stop by Helen Oshiro's since she's on the way to the next gate."
"All right. We'll keep in touch."
"Yes." A reassurance for both of us that we wouldn't be the people not answering our phones, as if we could guarantee it. I hung up without saying goodbye and dropped my cell into the cup holder next to the travel mug.
The sky lightened behind us as the highway rolled by. After the third time I yawned I started looking for a McDonald's or Starbucks along the exits. For a few moments, the sky was gray, and then after that it paled, dawn pressing in, a visible reminder of my lack of sleep, and then a pink sliver of the sun was over the horizon and rising. Despite everything, the daylight lifted my mood.
"Well, maybe it's not so—" I turned to the fae in the passenger seat, and almost swallowed my tongue. One moment, the falcon had been a small brown shadow out of the corner of my eye, and now, as the first light of dawn struck, it blurred, and resolved into a naked man.
"Morgan," he croaked, and I heard the falcon in his voice. I straight armed the wheel to keep myself from running us off the road.
"How—? What—?" I said, like any callow caster who'd never run into the fae before. Some of them wore curses tied to the sun or the moon, or the love of someone who'd died centuries before, and they liked to toss them onto mortals who crossed their paths. There was almost always some loophole, some out, but it was never anything you'd want to do. I didn't want this fae passing his curse on to me.
"Please." He coughed. "A moment."
I tried to keep my eyes on the road. The man next to me was handsome and well-built as all the fae court were, naked but for the leather cord and the silver medallion crossed with gold around his neck, but as the sun rose above trees and cloud formations, his shadow seemed edged with the suggestion of feathers. Gwen would have known the sigil and known who cursed him. Gwen might have known him by sight. There were a thousand subtle markers that would have told her how to interact with him. I would have to parse it out through conversation.
"I beg your pardon, lady." He coughed again. "I owe you a debt for taking me with you. Perhaps together we can find a way back underhill."
"Do you know why the gates shut, lord..." Was he actually a lord of the fae court or only a minor fae, as I'd thought before? Safer to err on the side of caution. Being overly polite never hurt anyone. Being rude, even accidentally, could.
"You may call me Falcon. It's probably best for the both of us."
"All right, lord Falcon." If that is your real name—which it most certainly wasn't. I glanced at him, which was a mistake. There was nothing feathery about his silhouette now, and he wore nothing besides the medallion at his neck. The fae are not embarrassed by nudity, I told myself, and neither am I. But it was hard not to look.
He did not seem much taller than me. His hair was the same color as the falcon's wings, and fell about his shoulders in a tangle. The medallion glinted in the hollow between his collarbones. He looks younger than me; he's probably older than my great grandfather.
I had to focus. Now that he could talk, he might be able to tell me something, and I was wasting time being flustered. "Take a look in the back. There might be a jacket or something you can put on behind your seat." A towel, even, would be welcome.
<
br /> "A jacket?" He looked down. "Ah. Indeed. The gesture is appreciated, but unnecessary." Light shifted next to me. He had conjured clothes, and they weren't the overly formal, archaic court clothes I'd seen Elm and his family wear, but jeans, boots, and a t-shirt. A glamour, not real clothes. Still, it was less distracting and he wouldn't get arrested for public indecency.
"What happened with the gates?"
"I am uncertain."
I bit back a frustrated response. We both wanted to know. We want the same thing, for now. It might not make us allies, exactly, but as long as we both wanted to find out why the feygates had closed, we could help each other. I just needed to be careful.
He tapped long fingers together, thinking. "I felt the queen's summons, but I waited too long in the woods." Some twist in his voice suggested there was more to it. "Something rippled down the leylines, and I did hurry then, but I was too slow. The wall filled the gate all in an instant, and I could not pass, though the summons still called me. You are certain no human magic can...?"
"None that I know of." When I got back home, I'd check the library I'd accumulated throughout my career as a caster for any references to alternate routes to Faerie, or the gates closing in the past, but I didn't remember anything off the top of my head. "Do you know why the queen summoned you?"
"I do not think it was a summons meant particularly for me—it was too impersonal for that. I think she meant all those who visit the upper lands to return to Faerie." He sighed and leaned his head against the window.
