by Jocelyn Fox
“Legend says,” she explained, “that your mortal horses mixed their blood with dragon-kin of the Far North.”
My eyebrows shot upward at that thought.
“Don’t ask me to explain the mechanics of it,” said Bren, grinning at me over Kaleth’s back. “It’s just a legend.”
I shrugged. “An interesting one, I guess.” Then I craned my neck curiously. “They don’t have wings, do they?”
“Well,” Bren said, “not anymore.”
Kaleth huffed out a breath—whether he was indignant or amused, I wasn’t sure.
“With your permission,” said Bren to Kaleth, holding something similar to a bridle in her hands. “She isn’t experienced, so I apologize for its use.”
Kaleth lowered his head, letting Bren slip the straps over his head.
“All right,” Bren said briskly. “Here.” She took my bow and quiver, strapping them to the side of the saddle, and showed me how to attach my scabbard. In the end I decided to keep my sword on my belt, even though it might be a bit annoying while riding. I figured the sense of security would be worth it. Bren also strapped the bundle of my cloak, extra clothes and food to the back of the saddle. That, at least, I recognized from reruns of old Westerns on lazy Sunday afternoons.
“One foot goes here,” said Bren, showing me where to hook my toe, “and then just swing over.”
I didn’t know what to do with my hands—I thought it would probably be rude to grab a handful of Kaleth’s mane, and there was no horn on what passed for a saddle. So I just swung my arms and tried to jump off my right leg awkwardly…and ended up in the dirt, with Bren hiding her mouth behind her hand and Kaleth looking at me as if to say, Really?
“Well, sorry,” I said to them both, “I’m not a cowgirl or anything. That would be Molly’s department.” I sobered quickly as I thought of my once-friend, lost in the throes of the war in Faeortalam. Or lost to me, at any rate.
To my surprise, Kaleth knelt, bending his forelegs so that it would be much easier for me to swing onto his back. “Thank you,” I said.
“He is a gentleman,” said Bren with a touch of amusement.
Once I’d managed to get my right foot hooked into the little strap on the other side—Sidhe saddles favored minimalism, I noted—Kaleth stood smoothly and turned his head to Bren.
“You have about fifteen minutes until the south postern gate is open,” Bren told Kaleth, who blew out a breath in reply.
I shifted in the saddle, trying to get used to the feeling of being so high above the ground. I wasn’t afraid, it was just very different. Thankfully, Kaleth’s back wasn’t very broad, and I barely had to stretch my legs to sit in the saddle. It was comfortable, all things considered.
Bren used a portion of our time to show me how to hold the reins. She told me they were really just a formality, and I could really just tell Kaleth where to go if I wanted. And then she paused, standing by my knee.
“Well,” she said. “It’s time for you to go. Five minutes until the gate is clear.” She cleared her throat and took something out from one of her skirt’s hidden pockets, pressing a wrapped object into my hand. “I did some research,” she said quietly, “and this was hidden in the Great Library, with the accounts of Gwyneth. I thought you might like to have it. And it might provide some…protection.”
The object was wrapped in a thick white cloth, slightly yellowed with age and bound several times by a leather thong. The knot of the thong simply disintegrated when I tried to untie it. I unwound the many layers of cloth. In my palm sat a simple charm, about the size of a half-dollar. It was a plain circle, the metal thick and twisted like part of a decorative wrought-iron fence. Coiled in its center was another piece of leather, this one remarkably untouched by age.
“She left it here for a reason,” Bren said with conviction. “From what I have been told, Gwyneth never did anything without a reason.”
“Is it…iron?” I asked quietly.
Bren nodded. “Old iron, too. It’s powerful, from what I could feel.”
I frowned as I threaded the leather through the small circle at the top of the charm. “Did she really hide it that well? I thought Sidhe could sense iron.”
“I think she asked the Ancient to conceal it, until it was forgotten,” said Bren. “But all that matters is that I found it, and I knew I was meant to give it to you.”
I tied the leather necklace around my neck. “It won’t give me away to any Sidhe that are in the area?”
Bren shook her head. “Quite the opposite. Gwyneth thought of that too.”
I took a deep breath, tracing the cool circle of iron against the delicate skin of my throat. “Seems like she thought of almost everything.”
“She was a very powerful woman,” said Bren, “and you should be proud to have her blood in your veins.”
“I am,” I said truthfully.
“It is time,” said Flora, settling onto my other shoulder. Forsythe settled into my quiver again.
“I think she would be proud of you, too, Tess,” said Bren. Before I could reply, she said something to Kaleth in a commanding tone, and the Sidhe mount surged forward, toward the south gate.
I clamped my knees on Kaleth’s sides and gripped the reins with white knuckles.
“Take hold of his mane,” said Flora into my ear. “He will not mind, and he needs no guidance now.”
I dropped the reins and grabbed Kaleth’s mane, crouching down as well as I could to make myself streamlined. Wisp let out a shrill of delight as Kaleth increased his speed, his hooves pounding against the ground, then echoing against the cobblestones as we entered the courtyard. Dimly I heard a few shouts of surprise, but the rushing wind blurred the voices.
I lifted my head, and saw the south gate. The gate stood open, the portcullis raised, its teeth leering from the top of the opening. I had time to think dimly that I hadn’t known that Darkhill had a moat, and then we were flying through the gate, and a weight that I hadn’t known was there lifted from my shoulders.
Flora let out a whoop of joy as Kaleth surged down the dirt path, the cadence of his hooves the only counterpoint to the muffled roar of the air rushing past my ears. And then I felt a smile stretch my face, Gwyneth’s iron circle cool against my throat. I had talked to the Ancient, we had escaped the power of Mab, and I would soon find out the fate of Ramel and Finnead. I had lost Molly, but I had gained Bren as a friend that could be depended upon, and I had discovered the well of white power within myself. All in all, not bad for a day’s work. I grinned and crouched lower on Kaleth’s neck, eager for the adventure ahead.
Chapter 23
After a while, Kaleth slowed from his headlong gallop to a remarkably smooth trot, a pace that I surmised he could sustain for as long as needed. I sat up, and stretched my back, smoothing out Kaleth’s mane where it had become crinkled from my grip. The crisp air tasted fresh on my tongue, wilder than the air I remembered breathing just through the gate, when I had first come into Faeortalam.
I twisted and gazed back the direction we had come, and even though I strained my eyes, I couldn’t see Queen Mab’s palace, not even as a suggestion in the far distance.
“Even with Kaleth’s speed,” said Flora, “we’ll probably have to travel for at least two days before we encounter any sign of the patrol.”
“And that depends on whether they’ve started back toward the Queen’s Keep,” added Forsythe.
“Do you think they have?” I asked.
“We cannot venture a guess,” said Forsythe. “If there was a battle, there will almost certainly be wounded, and that slows a traveling party down significantly.”
A sickly chill slipped down my spine. “Well,” I said, trying to sound brave, “hopefully there aren’t any wounded.”
“Their Walker is dead,” Flora reminded m
e quietly.
“I know that, and I don’t care,” I snapped. Flora, keeping pace with Kaleth at about my shoulder height, drew up short for a moment, the color of her aura darkening. I flushed guiltily at my rudeness and took a breath. “I’m sorry. Worry makes me tense.”
“Apology accepted,” Flora said smoothly, and the tempo of her wing-beats increased tenfold as she flew off ahead of us down the rutted dirt pathway.
I sighed. I needed all the help I could get, I knew, feeling very alone and very vulnerable out in the wilds of Faeortalam. I hoped I hadn’t offended Flora too deeply, because even though she’d accepted my apology I could tell that she was a little miffed by my rude reply. As Kaleth followed the dirt path farther away from the safety of Darkhill, I let my mind wander, one finger tracing the circle of Gwyneth’s pendant as I thought.
It wasn’t entirely impossible that I was Gwyneth’s descendant, I mused. I’d been told that the taebramh was strong in the people of her island. That probably meant she was Irish. It fit with her name, and I had Irish blood on both my mother and father’s sides of the family. Considering my own surname, that was hard to miss. The more I thought about it, the more it felt…right. I’d wanted so badly for my life to have meaning, and it was that longing that had given birth to my plan to follow in Liam’s foot-steps, earning a commission as an officer after graduation and helping to fight a war that wasn’t really mine to fight. But come to think of it, was this war in the Fae realm mine to fight? Was it my duty to defend Faortalam against the evil of Malravenar? Their world was not my world.
And even as I asked myself that question, the answer was apparent. Of course I would do all I could to defend Faeortalam against Malravenar. I wasn’t duty-bound to fight against him, and I put aside Mab’s binding edict keeping me at the court for the moment. I loved the wild beauty and freedom of the Sidhe world, the exhilarating sense that the constrictions of daily life back in my own world were suddenly gone, like chains lifted from my wrists. I hadn’t realized the weight of others’ expectations until they had disappeared. I had friends, good friends that I trusted more than friends I’d known for years back in Sionntalam. Life was simpler here, more dangerous but more beautiful, and that was a trade I was certainly willing to make, I thought. I was willing to take Faeortalam as my own world, if that meant I could feel the white light singing in my blood, and watch the stars paint their song across the velvety night sky.
When the sun burned high overhead, we stopped so that I could stretch my legs and the Glasidhe could rest their wings. After maybe a quarter of an hour, the Glasidhe and Kaleth became restless, ready to move on, so I let Kaleth kneel and I swung up onto his back, grimacing at the pull on my muscles. Kaleth set off again at a brisk trot, but the forest remained an indistinct smudge on the horizon, and I had the sinking feeling that it was much, much farther away than I’d first thought.
We rode until my legs started stiffening again, the sun beginning its descent. When I looked up, I said with surprise, “The sun is setting toward the East.”
“Ah,” said Flora, “I forget that even the sun sets differently in your world.”
“Do you think anyone has noticed that I’m gone?” I asked.
“Aside from those whom you told, it isn’t likely. Not when the Ancient helped you,” Forsythe answered.
I shifted in the saddle. “Do you mind if we take another break? My legs are starting to hurt again.”
Forsythe seemed dissatisfied but Flora said, not unkindly, “She isn’t a seasoned rider.”
As soon as I swung out of the saddle, my legs began one long scream of protest. I winced and tried to sit down on the grass gracefully, swinging my sword to one side and succeeding only partially as a cramp seized my left hamstring. I rubbed at the muscle and gritted my teeth. When the spasm passed, I leaned back on my hands and took a few deep breaths. “Are we still making good time?” I asked Wisp.
“Most certainly. Your mount—”
“Kaleth,” I supplied.
“—Kaleth,” allowed Wisp, “is very swift. Perhaps because you are not wearing armor, and we are not carrying heavy provisions.” He flicked his wings dismissively. “I know little of such things, though.”
“We are traveling very light,” said Forsythe from above. “And Kaleth is a strong mount.”
Kaleth swished his tail noncommittally and continued grazing close to the path.
“You should eat,” Flora told me.
Now that my legs had settled down, my stomach growled at the mention of food. I grimaced at the thought of standing up.
“Stay,” said Wisp, as if he were talking to a puppy. I stuck my tongue out at him, but was happy enough to stay seated. Wisp and Flora industriously opened one of the saddlebags, and suddenly a piece of bread, a piece of cheese and a strip of some sort of dried meat flew at me in short succession, hurtling through the air as if launched from a slingshot. I laughed in surprise, catching the food easily.
“You have good aim,” I told the Glasidhe. Wisp bowed theatrically and Flora’s musical laugh floated over the air, sweet as church bells. It was good to hear them laugh, but it did nothing to break Forsythe’s grim mood, and we all soon settled back into silence.
As I ate, I thought about what might lie ahead. The patrol was already attacked, and most likely the rescue party as well. I bit into my piece of bread vengefully, wishing that I had discovered my powers a little earlier so that I could have gone with them. But then, I thought, I might have been the Walker that was killed. I would have had to report to the Vaelanmavar every evening, and the thought of standing before him, even in my insubstantial Walker-form, made my skin crawl. Part of me still fervently hoped that I was wrong about the Vaelanmavar, despite my intense dislike of him; but part of me knew that he was a poisonous man with anger in his heart, and he would probably stop at nothing to avenge himself of those whom he thought had done him wrong.
A new thought struck me, and chilled me to the bone. If the Vaelanmavar was indeed treacherous, had he taken his revenge on Finnead and the rest of them because I had refused his advances? I frowned unhappily, toying with the last of the dried meat as I mulled over the unpleasant idea.
“Why do you look so sad?” Flora asked with a touch of concern. “We have not found anything out for certain.”
“I just thought…if the Vaelanmavar is really setting this patrol up, do you think he would do it just to spite me?” I asked quietly.
After a moment, Flora replied, “If he did, there’s nothing for it now except to try and help as best we are able.”
I nodded. “That makes sense. But I can’t get that idea out of my head. I would never be able to forgive myself.”
“There would be nothing to forgive,” Flora said fiercely. “You cannot control the doings of evil men. That is the same here as it is in your world.”
The driver of the car that had killed my father had had a hefty amount of points on his license, two other instances of drunk driving and he had never served any jail time—until after he had taken my father away from his family. The bitter bile of injustice was a taste I knew well, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. I sat for a few more moments, and then stood. “Let’s go.”
I already knew I was going to be sore the next day, so I reasoned that good time was better than trying to favor my unhardened body. After I clambered heavily into the saddle, feeling about as coordinated as an elephant, Wisp settled onto my shoulder. Flora, after murmuring something into to Kaleth and listening for a moment, sat cross-legged between the horse’s ears, grasping his forelock in her tiny hands. It would have been comical if the grim situation had not been pressing down on us heavily. Forsythe took up his post behind the saddle, on my cloak-roll.
“I’m ready when you’re ready,” I said to Kaleth, and without any further prompting he set off at his customary brisk pace.
> As the sun rode low in the eastern sky, our long shadow raced along the ground next to us, stretching out like a specter from Kaleth’s hooves. I bit my lip as my tender muscles began to ache in earnest, reminding myself that time was of the essence, and it wouldn’t be any easier riding tomorrow. I wasn’t going to become road-hardened overnight, so I would have to accept some sore muscles. As we rode and I got used to the rollicking rhythm of Kaleth’s gait, I let my mind wander a bit. I wondered if I could call up the white fire at will. Wisp had said that my soul made the taebramh that was the source of my power, so it would stand to reason that it would be available to me whenever I called upon it.
I tried merely thinking about it, and my fingertips itched vaguely, as though I were holding my hands close to an electrical current, but not quite touching it. When it became plain that wasn’t working, I tried a different approach. I closed my eyes, and tried to tune out everything, even the beat of my own heart. It was hard: there was the wind rushing by, and Wisp trilling comments every so often into my ear, and Kaleth’s hooves pounding the dirt in cadence. It took me a while, but finally I closed my eyes and slipped into a smooth silence, retreating far enough within myself that all the distractions around me fell away. Then I envisioned the taebramh inside me; I saw it as a molten knot behind that tender spot just below my breastbone, the place where the ribs join together, below the red-hot throbbing of my heart. I brought to mind the pulsing veins of taebramh in the wall of the passage at Darkhill, and the way my fingers had felt when I’d plunged them into the coursing stream of white light.
My fingers began tingling, a half-painful feeling like pinpricks of silver-cold needles. I couldn’t feel my legs anymore, and it felt as though a white-hot iron slipped between my ribs. I gasped a little but then my lips stretched in a triumphant smile as I felt the taebramh flowing slowly outward from that pulsing place behind my breast-bone. I nudged the white fire into my arms, and my fingers stopped tingling as the fire filled my hands. I opened my eyes, and everything was edged in a white glow. I looked down and saw, in my cupped palm, a pool of white fire, trickling from the veins in my wrist.
