by Jocelyn Fox
Flora and Forsythe turned to Wisp, who stood up and puffed his chest out just a bit. I hid my smile, grateful for the reprieve from my sword-lesson.
“Tess already knew of the Weakness,” explained Wisp. “She would have worked it out in her own time.”
“But time was what I didn’t have,” I pointed out, remembering the horrible spine-chilling growl of the garrelnost and the carrion stench of its breath, the bristling of its ugly mottled fur as it circled Finnead.
“I only urged you in the right direction,” said Wisp. “That was my given task. Pushing you in the right direction.”
“Well,” I said, “you obviously did a very good job of it.”
“How did you kill it?” Flora asked.
I cleared my throat. “You can’t tell anyone else. It’s…it’s sort of a secret. The Sidhe, except for my sword-teacher, they don’t know that I know the Weakness.”
“Have you not met the Queen yet?” Forsythe asked, landing lightly on the desk next to his sister.
“She…um, she didn’t see it,” I said awkwardly. “I don’t…know. She…”
“You hid it from her,” Flora said, standing up and leaning toward me. This time I was sure I wasn’t mistaking the awe in her voice. I shifted in my chair uncomfortably.
“I…well, yes, but…” I trailed off.
“You should not feel useless, or like a child,” Flora said, suddenly grinning, “because you are the strongest mortal we have met in ages, and I have never heard of a mortal besting Queen Mab in a mind-sweep.”
I cleared my throat a little. “Well, I guess that’s good to know.”
“Your secret is safe with us,” said Forsythe.
“I know,” I said. “I wouldn’t have told you if I didn’t trust you.” I stretched my legs as I leaned back in the chair, trying to suppress the vivid memories of the fight enough to talk about it without a quiver in my voice. After a moment, when I spoke, my voice sounded steady. “Finnead took Molly on his motorcycle, and Kirby, Molly’s dog, he stayed with me. They went over a hill. I couldn’t see them, but I heard Molly scream.” I heard my voice going slightly distant and felt my eyes go unfocused, but I continued with the story. “The garrelnost had knocked Molly off the motorcycle and Finnead was fending it off. I had our backpack, and there was some iron in it.” I took a breath and stretched my legs again, the tug of my sore muscles bringing me back to the present, anchoring me against the pull of the powerful memory. “That’s when I heard Wisp in my head. He helped me, told me what to do. I had an iron horseshoe in my pocket. I…I jumped on the garrelnost and shoved it in its eye.” I shrugged. “And then Finnead finished it off.”
“It would have gone very badly for the Unseelie Court if their Vaelanbrigh had been killed,” said Forsythe.
“I know. Or at least, now I know. I wasn’t told that Finnead was anyone important. He just showed up at Molly’s cabin, when she didn’t respond to the Queen’s letter quickly enough.”
Forsythe nodded. “In these times, the Queens have little patience even with their own people, much less when it comes to mortals.”
“You are a very interesting mortal, Tess,” said Flora. Then she turned to her brother. “What was it you were about to say, brother, when we were distracted by the tale of the garrelnost?”
Forsythe leapt from the table into the air. “Yes. Tess, your right hand was injured, but it’s the hand you prefer to use the rest of the time?”
“Yes,” I said. “I guess the Sidhe don’t have a dominant hand. Ramel laughed at me when I told him.”
“The Sidhe,” said Forsythe with a trace of disdain in his voice, “do not deal with mortals half so often as we do anymore, and they do not take care to remember the details of mortal life.”
I shrugged. “I didn’t take offense.”
“In any case,” continued Forsythe, “is your right hand strong enough to hold a sword?”
With a smile, I transferred my sword to my right hand, showing my two small instructors the strength and range of motion that I had carefully built up since my injury. Then, to my dismay, Flora said brightly, “Well, I suppose we should start from the beginning, then.”
They proceeded to have me run drills with my sword in my right hand. At first I felt just as clumsy as if I’d never held a sword at all, but my right hand, being my dominant hand, caught on quickly when I concentrated. And even though my grip on the sword weakened after about twenty minutes, I kept practicing. The burn of my muscles and the sweat dripping down my face distracted me from thoughts of Ramel, Donovan and Emery, riding out in the dangerous dark. But there was one face that I couldn’t erase from my mind with the salt and sting of sweat, and that was a certain named Knight with mesmerizing eyes and the colors of a raven’s wing shimmering in his dark hair. I bit my lip and clenched my jaw, forcing my hand to keep steady so that I could keep drilling, keep my mind busy. I wouldn’t think his name. I wouldn’t wonder if there was an iron-tipped arrow somewhere in the night, destined to bury itself in his flesh. I wouldn’t feel a subtle, twisted prick of jealousy at the thought of the healer who would try to save him, her hands touching his skin as I had never done, fingers tracing over warm bare flesh, feeling the hard muscles beneath.
Muscles. I gritted my teeth. Concentrate on your own muscles, Tess, I told myself fiercely as Forsythe called out the name of another sword-pattern.
“Mind your footwork, there!” Flora called out from above me.
Forsythe, standing on the desk, drew his own sword. “When you bring the sword through the half-crescent pattern, make sure you tend to your feet as well. There’s no use having your sword in the right place if you have no power behind it because you’re off balance.” He demonstrated, dimming his glow so that I could clearly see his small feet tracing an effortless pattern in time with his sword.
I nodded, took a breath and tried again, patiently listening to Flora and Forsythe as they corrected smaller errors in my technique. I ran through the half-crescent pattern several more times until they were silent after I completed the move. I’d learned to take their silence as approval, one trait they had in common with Ramel as an instructor. Though light-hearted and jovial the rest of the time, Ramel became deadly-quiet in our more serious lessons, the Fae-fire flashing in his eyes when we sparred. At first it frightened me. I wasn’t sure whether he would accidentally forget that he was fighting a half-trained mortal girl, and slice me in half, but time built my trust and made it unshakeable. I tried to bring up that trust, and use it to stem the worry clouding the back of my head, telling myself that Ramel would be true to his word and come back in one piece. He’d never broken his word to me before. The Sidhe held honor in high regard, higher than their lives. It would sully Ramel’s honor to die out there, I told myself.
After the two Glasidhe switched positions, Flora called out the next pattern from the desk, and I lifted my sword. Pain flashed through my wrist but I swept emotion from my face, hiding it as best I could behind a clenched jaw and thin lips. But Flora’s glow brightened and she drifted up into the air as lightly as a soap bubble caught on a breeze. “Your sword is shaking, Tess,” she said.
“That’s a sure sign,” said Forsythe from somewhere above me, “that our lessons should be over for today.”
I stubbornly stood with my sword, balancing its tip against the floor. “I won’t be able to sleep, so we might as well keep going.” I shifted my grip to my left hand again, even though the muscles in my shoulder and back felt like stretched, taut rubber bands that would snap at a sudden movement.
“If you still want us to teach you, sit down,” Flora said authoritatively.
I didn’t miss the look that the two trooping Fae exchanged at the sigh of relief that escaped my lips after I lowered my aching body down onto my desk chair. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, instead probing at the wooden
floorboards with the tip of my sword.
“You’ll dull your blade, poking about like that,” Flora said after a moment, not unkindly. Forsythe landed lightly on the desk.
“You probably don’t know,” he told me, “that the Sidhe brought the masters of every style of swordsmanship here to their Courts from the mortal world.”
I looked at Forsythe in interest. “I remember reading something about that.” But I’d merely skimmed the history books, and the book about mortal visitation.
Forsythe nodded. “The Sidhe respect skill in mortals.” He looked up at me. “Almost as much as they respect courage.”
I shook my head as I caught his implication. “They don’t respect me, Forsythe. How could they? I’ve been here barely two weeks, I still get lost in the halls and can’t even hold my own against Ramel for more than two minutes in a sword-bout. I managed to get myself bound here by Mab until I do something that impresses her…and I haven’t seen Molly for over a week.” I sighed. “She’s the whole reason I got tangled up in this mess, and I don’t even know if she’s all right.”
“The half-mortal one?” Flora asked.
I frowned. “Yes. Why, have you heard something?”
“We do not eavesdrop,” said Flora with a stiff sort of pride, “but sometimes the Big Folk don’t realize we’re in the room, or in the passageway, when they talk of private matters.”
I could tell that the whole eavesdropping issue was a sore spot for the Small Folk, so I nodded and said, “Of course, I understand.”
“I heard,” continued Flora, “that they unbound your friend, and she’s a wild one.”
“A wild one?” I repeated.
“Back when Sidhe men and women took mortal lovers, there were many more half-mortal children,” said Forsythe. “And if they wished to live in the mortal world, they required a charm to protect them from suffering the Weakness all their lives.”
“It would take a lot more than just a charm to protect a half-mortal now,” I said.
Flora and Forsythe nodded together.
“Yes,” Flora said, “and so when the child was born she had to be bound.”
“Bound, like I’m bound by the Queen’s word?”
“No. It is much, much more powerful. A soul-binding is like…severing the Fae part of the soul from the mortal part. There has to be a barrier around the Fae half.” Flora searched for better words.
I found them for her. “It sounds like sewing up the Fae half of the soul, keeping it in a little pouch separate from the mortal part.” I couldn’t help a little shiver. “That sounds painful.” It brought to mind the tiny, twisted feet of Chinese girls, barely recognizable after years of tight bindings.
“Oh, it is.” Wisp landed on the desk next to Flora. “I witnessed it.” He shook his head in distaste. “I’ve never heard a mortal infant make those sounds before, and never since, either. Not pleasant, a soul-binding, and not easy.”
“Does it…permanently harm the soul?”
“Not if it’s done right,” answered Wisp. “It isn’t a soul-severing.” All three glows’ light dimmed a little at the mention of soul-severing.
“So the Fae part of Molly’s soul…it was locked up all these years.” I sat back in my chair and prodded at a splinter in the floorboard with my sword, unable to help myself despite Flora’s baleful look. “That explains why she always seemed so distant. Having only half your soul would do that to a person.”
“Mortals are remarkably adaptable, though,” Forsythe said seriously. “I’ve seen, in your world, those little creatures that like the sun, with tails and scales?”
“Lizards,” I said.
“Yes, that’s the name for them. Lizards. And there are some of them that grow back their own tail if it’s cut off.”
I made a face at Forsythe. “Is that what you do in my world?” I asked sourly. “Go around cutting tails off poor little lizards?”
Forsythe crossed his arms over his chest and stared up at me defiantly. “I was trying to see if they would be any good as mounts. Unfortunately they’re much too stupid to be taught anything at all.”
“Some would say that’s a trend with the mortal world,” Wisp said devilishly. I had the feeling that he was trying to make me smile, and he succeeded.
“In any case,” Forsythe continued, “you mortals are very good at adapting.”
“You learned swordplay with your left hand first,” pointed out Wisp, “when you like using your right hand. When I watched you, before I came to you in the dream, you held everything in your right hand. It never ceases to fascinate me.”
“So even though half her soul was bound up, Molly never really knew it was gone.”
“Exactly,” affirmed Forsythe.
I stretched my legs, kneading at the stiff muscles with my knuckles. “And is taking off the binding as painful as putting it on?”
Forsythe did not answer. I wasn’t sure if that meant yes or no, so I looked at Wisp.
“It isn’t quite common practice to take the soul binding off, once it’s in place,” Wisp said. “In older days it was so that the child could live a normal life in the mortal world.”
“If I was half-Fae, I would want to make the decision myself,” I said firmly, propping my left heel up on my right knee so that I could work on a knot that had formed in my calf after the hours of sword practice.
“You forget, Tess,” said Flora calmly, “that in Faortalam there are far more powerful beings than a half-mortal child.”
“First of all,” I replied in a voice just as velvety smooth, “Molly is not a child, just as I’m not a child. And second of all,” I said as I put down my left foot and started to work on my right calf, “Molly is the most powerful being in Faeortalam right now. Or if not the most powerful, the most important.”
“Why do you say that?” Wisp said in a slow, careful voice.
I chose not to look up from my leg, trying to appear unconcerned as I replied nonchalantly, “Because she can wield the Iron Sword, of course.”
A stunned silence descended over my desk, pressing down like a heavy warm palm on the top of my head. After a moment I couldn’t help myself. I looked up. Although they were silent, the Glasidhe’s auras burned as bright as miniature stars.
I set my leg down, and held my hands loosely in my lap even though my fingers itched to keep moving. “Do you know anything about the Iron Sword?” I felt a small flush of pride at the unbroken calm of my voice.
But the small Fae seemed not to hear my question. I couldn’t see their expressions, or even where they were looking, because of the bright flare of their glows. And then all at once they leapt from the desk and flew faster than thought over to the other side of the room, leaving neon trails in my field of vision. Frowning, I watched as they congregated on the pillow where Lumina had lain, sleeping. Galax gently awoke the princess, and she stood, the purer, whiter light from her aura mingling with the rosy dawn-hues of Wisp, Flora and Forsythe. They talked in quick, low voices—or rather, from what I could gather, Flora and Forsythe and Wisp were talking, and Lumina listened. After a few moments, I gave up on eavesdropping and stood, wincing at the pull of already-sore muscles. I hung my sword on its peg in my wardrobe, and grabbed a clean shirt and trousers before heading to the shower niche. With the way the Glasidhe were preoccupied, I doubted that they would even notice I wasn’t sitting at my desk anymore.
The hot water felt wonderful on my sore muscles, but standing under the steaming stream failed to calm my racing thoughts. I sighed through my teeth, frustrated. My mind galloped wildly away from me, image after image flashing through my mind. Some of the images surprised me, and some of them took my breath away.
I thought about Liam, and the last time I had seen him before he had boarded the military transport plane that would take him to Afghani
stan. He’d looked at me, his green eyes shining with the excitement of adventure. And he’d told me not to worry, that he would be absolutely fine, that nine months would fly by like no time at all.
Was time still passing in the mortal world while I was here? Was there a massive search for Molly and me, a manhunt for the mysterious motorcycle rider who had spirited away two pretty young college students? Had the state troopers shown up at my mother’s door back in Pennsylvania, telling her that they were very sorry but her daughter was now a missing person?
A reflexive rush of anger tingled in my fingers at the thought of my mother. I saw in my mind her face, still beautiful but beginning to show its years. I saw her as I looked down from my window at home, watching as yet another man showed her to our front door, and yet again she was not satisfied with anything she could find. A good handful of decent men had courted her in the years since my father’s death, and although at first I was a little angry—a natural instinct, I think—I accepted it eventually, and even grew to like the idea of having a step-father. As a teenager I began to see that it would’ve done Liam good to have a father figure. Maybe he would have stopped worrying about me so much. Maybe he would have been able to smile a little more often.
I worked soap into my hair, creating a rich lather and letting the water sluice down over my chest and stomach. There was a kernel of bitterness buried deep in my heart that I could face now, so far away from home, in a different world. I had felt it, but I’d never put a name to it. I was bitter toward my mother, because she wore her grief like a veil, and pushed everyone away. Oh, sometimes she would date someone for a few months, and the first few times Liam got his hopes up. Mom’s boyfriend came over to the house, watched football games with Liam on television, then threw around in the back yard, talking about women and the world (as Liam understood them at the time). Liam would begin to like him, form a sort of bond; and then the guy would just disappear. I hated watching Liam’s hope die in his eyes, and I think I might have begun to hate my mother for it. More than a decade after my father’s death, and she didn’t allow herself to feel anything, probably not even for Liam and I.
