by Sharon Lee
"The Fey are easy to displease," it answered, and Sian, astonishingly, laughed.
"Why, so we are, indeed! So we are."
Becca looked for place to put her glass down, and found a flat rock by her knee. Next to it was a large leaf with a broken bit of bread and some fish laid out and ready to eat. She hesitated, wondering if Sian had—then saw a flutter of wings as Nancy darted past, across the picnic, beyond the margin of the rug, where the Brethren crouched in the taller grass, its heavy head bent.
It looked up as Nancy approached and Becca felt her heart rise into her throat. One swipe of that hard, leathery hand would shatter Nancy like a snowflake, and yet she approached fearlessly, holding out a leaf like that at Becca's side, also bearing bread and fish.
The Brethren growled, too low for Becca to be certain that there were words spoken, and accepted the offering, daintily for so wild and rough-looking a creature. It took a bite of bread while Nancy hovered over its shoulder, rapt, and entirely careless of her danger.
Becca took a breath and turned resolutely to Sian.
"Tame Newmans?" she asked, her voice sounding tight and breathless in her own ears. "With collars and compulsions and obedience layered in, Engenium?"
Sian looked up sharply, crimson limning the high arc of each cheek. "Certainly not!" she snapped. "That is not the way thinking beings treat each other!"
Becca raised her hand to her throat, staring into the other woman's outraged eyes.
"Is it not?" she asked icily. "The greatest artificer among the Fey; son of an ancient house of artificers; a man of letters, who sits on the Queen's Constant—"
"Altimere is not only of an old house," Sian interrupted. "He is old. His views and attitudes were formed before the war. Only Sanalda is older." She moved her hand, seemingly forgetful of the bread and fish she held. "He is brilliant, studied, mannerly, and very, very powerful. But he is not civilized! Altimere is the author of the keleigh, and if you suppose that to be civilized, you are a naif, indeed!"
"I rode through the keleigh," Becca reminded her, "in company with Altimere. I must say that he did not behave very much as if it were his creation. In fact, he seemed to be quite sensible of its dangers. If he were its master, surely he would know how to pass through unscathed and untroubled?"
"Author is not master," Sian said, and sighed sharply. "I did misspeak, a little," she admitted, reaching for her glass. "Altimere was one of three persons strong in kest and learned, who together crafted the keleigh. Which worked a wonder for what it was made to do, but soon overgrew itself."
"Gobble, gobble, gobble," the Brethren said in its growly, eerie voice. "Fey. Brethren. Newmens." It made loud, smacking noises, and Becca felt her stomach tighten.
"What reason could there have been to tamper with such terrible forces?" she demanded.
Sian looked away. "Terrible reasons," she said softly. "The Fey stood on the edge of annihilation; many of the Elders—our best and strongest philosophers and artificers—had already fallen before the enemy. They were desperate times and desperate answers were crafted." She nodded at Becca's untouched lunch.
"Best have that," she said. "We'll ride without pause once we're under way—and we must soon be gone." With that, she rose, effortless, and walked off.
Becca looked down at her untouched meal. She did not feel like eating—anything, really, much less dry bread and fish. On the other hand, it would not do to faint, and shame herself before Sian and her "tame Newmans."
She picked up a bit of bread and some fish and nibbled on it.
The fish was salty; the bread sweet. Together, they conspired into an unexpectedly pleasing taste, waking the appetite she thought had languished.
In short order, the portion laid out on the leaf was gone. Becca reached for her glass—and jumped as a low voice growled into her ear.
"I can show you the way."
The glass escaped her fingers; jewels flashed in her side vision, and Nancy caught it, slipping it back into her grasp most gently. Becca paused to be sure of herself, lifted the glass, and sipped before turning to stare at the Brethren.
"Can you, indeed," she said icily. "And I suppose you can kill the Engenium, too?"
Nancy sped in a tight circle, whether in exuberant anticipation or horror, Becca could not tell. The Brethren shook its horns, and growled.
"I can show you the way," it repeated.
Becca sighed and sipped her wine, dampening her dry mouth.
"What is your name?" she asked.
The Brethren leaped up, snarling, tail lashing, blunt fingers curled. Becca gasped, raised the glass, and threw what was left of the wine into its face. It roared, but before it could attack—if, indeed, it meant to do so—a flurry of color darted at its face. The Brethren batted at its tiny tormentor; improbably, Nancy dodged each blow, darting in again, and again.
"Enough!"
Sian's shout shook the air; loosened leaves and cones tumbled out of the tree and into Becca's hair. The Brethren froze, then leaped across the blanket and ran. Nancy dropped down, wings beating furiously, and patted Becca's face with cold, tiny hands.
"Are you well?" Sian asked, crouching down at Becca's side, her arms resting on her thighs.
"Well," she acknowledged and shook her head irritably. "Leave over, Nancy; I'm perfectly fine."
Her maid dropped down until she was perched on Becca's knee, her posture one of continued worry.
"What did you do to anger the Brethren?" Sian asked.
Becca sighed. "I asked its name."
"Oh." Sian stared at her. "Well, you wanted to be rid of it." She rose, shaking out her sleeves. "Time to mount up." She moved away, leaving Becca sitting with her back to the tree.
"Well," she said determinedly, and rolled clumsily to her knees. The dress was bunched inelegantly and she wavered for a moment, almost falling—and her elbow was caught in a strong grip. Steadied, she rose to her feet, shook the bits of leaf and bark off of her skirt, and inclined her head.
"Thank you, Nancy," she said, with what dignity she could muster. The little creature mimed a midair curtsy and began to zip away.
"Nancy—"
The wings hesitated. Nancy twirled 'round to face her.
"It was extraordinarily brave of you," Becca said, bending down to meet honey-yellow eyes, "to leap to my defense. I wish, however, that you not risk yourself. Something like that—Brethren—could break you with a touch of its hand."
Nancy tipped her tiny head to one side, mimed another curtsy—and was gone in a flash of wings, which was, all things considered, not the answer Becca had been expecting.
"At your leisure, Rebecca Beauvelley," Sian called from the back of her mount.
Becca sighed sharply and went to mount Rosamunde.
Meri walked, and occasionally stumbled, but he did not fall.
He moved inside almost total darkness, his steps lit only by the feeble glow of his own kest. The trees he walked among gave off no slightest glow, and yet—they were not dead; they had not so much given up their essence as been separated from it.
A stick turned under his foot, and he very nearly lost his balance. His mouth was dry, but the water skin was long empty. Perhaps his luck would turn, he thought murkily, and he would fall into a stream.
Soon, he thought, he would have to stop. He was worn and feeble, his legs trembling with strain. It was not a decision he made willingly, but it was apparent that if he did not rest soon, he would fall—and where he fell, he would lie.
Best, he thought laboriously, to pick his spot, than leave it to chance.
As for choosing his spot—that was trickier. Every time he placed his foot, he struck a stone, or a stick.
He was so tired.
Ahead, a smear of light beckoned, green and fresh. Meri blinked, squinting his shorteye. He had walked so long among these frozen, unnatural trees—was his vision creating a dream of tree-aura, to comfort itself?
But, it appeared not. The aura grew brighter as he walke
d, as if it were not one, but several. Meri felt his heart lift, and he walked more quickly. A breeze sprang from somewhere and kissed his hot cheek. Above, dancing beyond the reach of high limbs, were stars.
Meri threw himself into a ragged run toward those bright and welcome auras. A cry broke from his lips as he flung himself to his knees at the base of a pine, and pressed hands and forehead against the aged trunk.
Sleepy, half-absent comfort flowed into him from the tree, and he bit his lip to keep from sobbing like a sprout. When he had control of himself, he looked up and about him.
Behind, there was darkness; before him was the glow of a elder, somewhat sleepy, but wholly natural wood. To his right was a stand of larch, glad in the vermilion robes of age, their aura a thing of icy menace.
He had walked full circle, Meri thought, sagging back against the pine, and was back near the Newman village.
Chapter Eight
They rode on into the dusk, Brume's lead a bit longer than it had been, as Becca urged Rosamunde to a more considered pace.
At first, Sian had glanced over her shoulder often, to be sure that she followed; lately, she had looked less often. And that, Becca thought, was precisely what she wanted.
What she did not want, so she had quite decided over these last few hours, was to remain in the keeping of a Fey or to be brought as a prisoner among her own people, who would rightly despise her.
She would, therefore, part from Sian's company, and before they came upon this village of "tame Newmens."
And, she thought, chewing her lip, as dark was quick approaching, it was time to put her resolution to the test.
The idea of venturing alone into the nighttime woods was daunting, but perhaps, after all, she need not be without a guide.
"Nancy," she said softly, as if Sian could hear her across the distance, and over the noise of the horses. An instant later, she felt a tiny weight on her right shoulder and the touch of cool fingers on her ear.
"I wonder," Becca said, all but whispering, "if you might fetch the Brethren to guide us away—at once."
There was a momentary pause, as if Nancy considered the wisdom of this mad request; then she was gone in a flash of silver and jewels, streaking off toward the trees at trailside, and vanishing among the shadow-limned leaves.
Becca sighed, and leaned forward to whisper in Rosamunde's ear. "Be ready, bold lady. You will need to be clever, quick, and silent, which I know you are. We must depend upon the Brethren, but it is not necessary, I think, to trust it."
A strong ear flicked, as if in agreement. Becca sighed again, and looked about her.
How magical the forest seemed, with this new sight of hers! The trees each sported their own pale aura, plainly visible in the growing darkness. Ahead of them on the path, Sian's shroud of turquoise light also glowed brighter, bathing Brume's flank with ghostly radiance.
Becca glanced down at her own brown fingers, outlined in palest gold. A glance behind showed Rosamunde's flank likewise gilded.
She chewed her lip, wondering if Nancy would be able to find the Brethren quickly, and if it would be willing to guide her. She had angered it, after all, and there was nothing save her own folly to support her uneasy hope that the creature still followed their small party.
What if she had put Nancy into danger? She would never forgive herself, if her order had brought harm onto her maid. Why hadn't she simply guided Rosamunde off the track and taken her chances alone?
Because she was craven, she answered herself bitterly. If had not been, she would have faced the marriage her father had made for her, and tried to change the future Altimere had shown her. Surely, there must have been some way to turn Sir Jennet from malice toward—if not friendship, at least a sort of comfortable neutrality.
Ahead, Brume vanished 'round a curve in the trail. This would be the time to slip away, if she dared to—
A flash of silver drew her attention to the right, and there was Nancy, turning handsprings in the darkening air, perilously near the horned head of—was it the very Brethren whom they had rescued from the High Fey's hunt or another?
As if it heard her unspoken question, the Brethren raised its hand, white bandage glowing in the dusk.
"Now, Rosamunde," she whispered, and applied the lightest pressure on the reins.
His pride would not allow him to return among the Newmen looking as if he had rolled down a mountainside. Indeed, his pride had taken a severe drubbing and needed to be coddled.
Meri stripped off his leathers, begged a few leaves from a near-at-hand soapwort, and waded into the darkling pool, disturbing the leaves reflected on its surface. A Wood Wise—nay, a Ranger—who had become lost under leaf? There was a tale to set Sian's court howling with laughter. He moistened the leaves, and scrubbed himself briskly, giving no quarter to aching muscles.
There was, of course, he admitted to himself, dunking his head beneath the cold water, something else, far more daunting than merely becoming lost.
He had been afraid.
Yes, there was the core of his shame. He, a Ranger, who had given his willing service to the forests of the Vaitura—he had been afraid of the trees under which he had walked. He had run away, to pile shame upon shame, and wept like a child on receiving the comfort of an elder.
Best for all if he returned to Sian immediately, and confessed his failure. After she was done laughing, she might send someone competent to mend . . . whatever was wrong. While he—
Well, he asked himself, ironically, and what will you do? Offer yourself to the sea?
Meri soaped himself a second time, submerged, and burst to the surface. He wrung his hair out and quit the pool. Shivering, he pulled his clothes on, and braided his wet hair, the memory of those cold, unnatural trees still in his mind.
In his years of wandering, he had never seen such trees, nor heard of their like from any other Ranger he had met on the trail.
"Of course," he muttered, shrugging his pack on and picking up his bow. "You were asleep for almost nine thousand nights, all praise to the chyarch of Ospreydale. Who knows what wonders may have sprung up in your absence?"
And, yet, the trees. Surely the trees knew of this affliction. And what the trees knew, they passed on to the Rangers.
Didn't they?
"What ails them?" he aloud, hoping that one, at least, of the sleepy elders might hear him—and answer.
He waited, eye closed and mind still, respectful of their age. When he opened his eye again, the early stars were flirting in the darkening sky.
A moment more he stood, considering his options. His instinct was to return immediately to Sea Hold and lay all before his cousin Sian. However, courtesy required that he properly take his leave of Sian's Oath-held, and warn them to avoid the trees beyond the larch. Jack Wood might not have the eyes of a young man, or of a Wood Wise, but he clearly had access to other senses which had given him some small knowledge of the wood's strangeness.
Definitely, Jamie Moore, who was to all Meri's senses a proper Wood Wise sprout, should be told of the strange trees and warned away from the deep wood. Such trees had the power to confuse an experienced Ranger; he did not wish to consider what they might do to a sprout.
He settled his pack, took a breath, and bowed gently to the elders drowsing about him. Then, he turned his face toward the Newman village and began to walk.
"Quick! Be quick!" The Brethren darted ahead of Rosamunde, vanishing into the long shadows.
Scythe take the creature! Becca thought. How was she to follow when her guide disappeared? She dared not call out, nor urge Rosamunde to the speed her own nerves pled for. It was very true that Sian might miss her at any moment, and come thundering back on her big grey horse to snatch them under her so-called "protection." But she would not risk a stumble, or—worse!—a broken leg for her mount.
Before them, etched against the dark air, was a dazzling loop of garnet and green.
Nancy.
Becca touched her tongue to her lips, and l
eaned forward to whisper in Rosamunde's ear. "Follow, beautiful lady, but at your own pace. Do not risk yourself for me."
Both ears flicked, as if Rosamunde laughed at such faintheartedness. She moved forward at a measured walk, placing her feet so precisely that Becca scarcely heard a leaf rustle.
Proceeding thus, they followed Nancy's beacon, away from the path, and deeper into the trees.
Becca bent her head, allowing the branches they passed beneath to sweep harmlessly above her. They had been riding for some time, with no hint of pursuit, yet Becca kept craning toward the rear, expecting to hear the sound of hoofbeats and Sian's order to halt. It seemed fantastic that they could have gotten away so easily, and yet it appeared that they had indeed.
