by Jocelyn Fox
“Tess!” said a voice in my ear.
I ignored the voice, pouring the fire from one hand to the other, watching the slow steady stream of taebramh pouring from my wrists. There was a girl at my high school who had cut her wrists and died freshman year. I wondered in slow fascination if she had watched the blood surging out of her wrists as I was watching the white fire spill from mine.
Suddenly there was a sharp tug at my ear, and an even sharper pain in my arm. I lost focus and the taebramh slithered out of my grip, like a coil of silver with a mind of its own, sliding back into the pulsing place behind my breastbone.
“Tess!” said the voice in my ear again.
I came back to myself with a rush, almost like landing in my body after Walking. I realized that we had stopped moving, and Kaleth was trembling a little beneath me, his ears laid back against his skull. Flora hovered by my left shoulder, her tiny dagger drawn back again—I felt a warm trickle down my arm, and saw that she had stabbed me in the meaty part of my upper arm, just enough to cut through the haze of the taebramh. I felt the slight weight of Wisp on my right shoulder, and his hands were still wrapped in my hair.
“What possessed you to do that?” asked Flora in a furious voice.
“Do what?” I answered defensively. “I wanted to see if I could call up the taebramh on my own.”
“You did more than call it, you lit yourself up like a beacon!” Flora replied angrily, brandishing her dagger. “We might as well have sent up a signal to Mab and Malravenar, for the Three Trees’ sake!”
I sat still for a moment, and then carefully slid out of the saddle. “I’m sorry if I frightened you,” I said quietly to Kaleth. He looked at me with wide gray eyes, but his ears came up from their flattened position.
“That was not wise,” said Forsythe darkly. “You should have at least told us that you were trying to access the power.”
“Well, forgive me for not telling you about something that I didn’t even think would work,” I said, walking a few shaky steps. We were still on the relatively flat plains, but the forest looked closer now. Kaleth shook his head when I tried to take off his bridle, and so I left it on. He seemed over his scare as he walked about the small hill, cropping grass and swishing his tail just like any ordinary horse. I spread my cloak on the grass at the top of the hill and stretched my legs as I took a long swallow from one of the water-skins. In the distance, the blue-green of forest foliage hazed the horizon. That couldn’t possibly be the forest that Ramel had mentioned when he’d talked about the farthest boundaries of patrols. Here and there I sighted white dwellings, which though small compared to Darkhill boasted slender spires and sparkling windows. Paths branched from the main road to the dwellings, but as I watched, they were all eerily still, and we hadn’t encountered any other travelers on the road.
“We cannot stay angry with one another,” Flora said finally.
I looked at her in surprise. She had put away her dagger.
“I am sorry I had to hurt you,” she said slowly, “but we feared that you were going to lose yourself.”
I shrugged. “It’s all right. It’s not that deep of a cut.” I shifted my weight from one leg to the other, trying to ease some of the stiffness from my hips. “And thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t know…I didn’t know that I’d actually be able to do it.”
“You have Gwyneth’s blood in your veins. You can do more things than you can imagine,” said Forsythe.
For some reason, Forsythe’s words sent a shiver down my back. I had been getting a lot of those lately, I thought, and this one was because I didn’t understand myself anymore. I had mostly known who I was, coming through the gate to Faeortalam: Tess O’Connor, intelligent and tough young woman, about to finish college and join the armed forces, following in the footsteps of her older brother Liam. And now…now I had become Tess O’Connor, tough but rather reckless young mortal, descended from a powerful priestess, about to face the collective forces of darkness in a foreign world.
“You should take a rest,” Forsythe said, breaking the silence, “in case we are not able to find shelter and must ride through the night.”
I almost protested that I wasn’t tired, but it occurred to me that it didn’t matter whether I was tired or not. It was a matter of practicality. The sun was riding low in the eastern sky. Within a few hours, the sun would set, and we would be riding through darkness.
“How far do you think we’ve come?” I asked Wisp, who alighted on one corner of my cloak and unrolled his miniature maps with a flourish.
“Never fear,” he said as he scrutinized the maps, “we are making good time. Soon we shall find out the fate of your sword-master and your Knight.”
“He’s not my Knight,” I said.
“But you wish him to be,” replied Wisp impishly.
I rolled my eyes even as a warm glow suffused my belly at the thought of Finnead. “There’s nothing to it. It’s just a silly crush,” I muttered.
“But what if it is not?” Wisp asked. “The daughter of Gwyneth and a Named Knight…I have heard of worse matches between mortals and Fae.”
“First of all, I’m not Gwyneth’s daughter,” I said. “My mother’s name is Colleen.”
“A strong Fae-Friend name,” said Wisp approvingly.
I shot him a dry look and he laughed, his musical voice filling the clear air, providing some much-needed relief of tension.
“In any case,” I continued, “I’m not under any illusions. I know I don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell with him.”
“And why not?” Wisp demanded indignantly. I smiled a little at his defensiveness—it was as if I was his sister, and someone had told him I wasn’t pretty enough to be homecoming queen.
I shrugged. “He hasn’t ever shown much interest in me anyway.”
“He has never shown more interest in any maiden,” Flora contributed. “He has a sorrow-blighted past, the Vaelanbrigh, but he has a good heart.”
I remembered the feel of his gentle hands as he carried me, the urgency in his voice as he told me to stay awake after the battle with the garrelnost. “I know,” I said softly. I spread my hands out in a gesture of helpless ignorance. “But I just don’t see how I can even compete with any of the Sidhe maidens.”
“You are beautiful,” said Wisp.
“You are powerful,” added Flora.
“And you are mortal,” finished Forsythe.
“Three things,” said Flora mischievously, “that Sidhe men have a very hard time resisting.”
For some reason, the conversation planted a prickle of irritation that spread through my chest. “I’m hardly as beautiful as Guinna or Bren,” I replied, “and I’ve just discovered my power. There was no way for him to know I’d turn out like this, and if my being mortal is the only reason he wants to be with me, then that’s not the kind of man I want.” I thought of the Vaelanmavar’s leering face as I said the words, the greedy expression on his face as he cornered me in the dark hallway. But you do want Finnead, a small voice in my head reminded me, showing me a flashing memory of his intense blue eyes to drive the point home.
I opened one of the saddlebags and took out one of the packets of food, eating a piece of bread even though I wasn’t particularly hungry after the conversation with the Glasidhe.
“You mortals have an annoying way of selling yourselves short,” Flora said under her breath, but still loud enough for me to hear clearly.
I had to chuckle a little at that. Trust Flora to let me know exactly what she thought, even when it wasn’t particularly what I wanted to hear. Then I sobered a little, thinking about what Flora had said earlier. “What do you mean, the Vaelanbrigh has had a sorrow-blighted past?” I asked her quietly, wrapping the food back up and taking one last swallow from the water-skin before capping it and tying
it to my belt again.
“We will continue this conversation after you have slept a bit,” Flora said.
“Promise?” I said, stifling a yawn. I lay down on my cloak. The ground was surprisingly soft.
“I promise,” replied Flora.
“Wisp,” I murmured.
“You will not Walk,” said Wisp, “although I doubt anyone could force you to go anywhere, now that you have discovered how to call upon the taebramh yourself.”
“True,” I said. I closed my eyes and let my tired body drag me into sleep.
It seemed like only moments later that small hands shook me awake.
“Tess,” Flora said, “Tess, we must go.”
I sat up stiffly, rubbing my eyes. “Why?” I yawned.
“Please, just get up,” she said. “Something is not right.”
Kaleth raised his head as I stood. He made his way leisurely over to me, as if to reinforce the fact that he was a very intelligent being and was just obeying me out of courtesy.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, stifling another yawn. “And you promised to continue our conversation from…before.”
Flora considered, and she began to say something, but Forsythe said suddenly and briskly, “We should get moving again.”
“Flora was about to tell me something,” I said, my voice just this side of complaining. Nonetheless I stood and brushed off my legs, rolling up my cloak again. Forsythe hovered above me, turning slowly in circles, surveying the land as far as he could see. I tipped my face up to him. “What’s the matter?”
“No worry,” he replied, far too quickly, as he dropped down to shoulder-height again. “I just think it would be smart to camp somewhere sheltered tonight, not out in the open.”
“Makes sense,” I said in a nonchalant voice, but I knew that something had caught Forsythe’s attention, and not in a good way.
I stowed my cloak as best I could behind the saddle—to my despair, my cloak roll looked lumpy and misshapen, not smooth and cylindrical as it had been beneath Bren’s capable fingers. Swallowing a growl of frustration, I decided that I wouldn’t make Kaleth kneel for me to mount, and I told him as much. The blue-roan horse turned his head, snorted at me, and then went back to cropping grass as if to say, Suit yourself.
“Grab his mane, if you insist upon being stubborn,” Wisp suggested. “Otherwise we’ll have to dust you off again.”
“Your confidence in me is so encouraging,” I told the Glasidhe dryly. I heard Flora suppress a chuckle. Forsythe remained silent, observing our surroundings again. His seriousness made me turn back to the saddle, eager to be moving. I hooked my left toe in the stirrup and, after arranging my scabbard so that it wasn’t digging uncomfortably into my left thigh, I reached up and grabbed two generous handfuls of Kaleth’s course mane. He gave no indication that he even noticed my weight as I hauled myself up into the saddle. I grinned in triumph as I slid my right toe into the stirrup.
“There,” I said, slightly breathless. “That wasn’t so hard.”
I didn’t even bother to pick up the reins, instead just tucking the excess under my knee so that it wouldn’t get all tangled.
“Let’s go then,” I said to Kaleth, adding after a moment, “if you’re ready, that is.”
Kaleth turned his head, fixed me with one of his knowing gray eyes, and then turned his head forward again. He shook his mane, swished his tail, and then promptly set off at a fast trot.
“How exactly like a male,” I said to myself, but I couldn’t help but be a little amused at the horse’s prideful streak. He was, after all, the equivalent of a war-charger, I reminded myself, used to carrying Sidhe knights into battle; and here he was carrying a mortal girl across the country-side on a likely ill-fated rescue mission. Even though he was a volunteer, I supposed he could be forgiven for needing a little time to adjust.
We followed the road over winding green hills. Occasionally we would pass expanses of flatter land, patch-worked with gold and green, furrows wrinkling the earth. I saw what looked like wheat, golden and heavy-headed; but that was the only plant that I really recognized. There were tall blue stalks with pale ears that looked a bit like corn, and vibrant green vines that covered some patches, producing bright gourds and melons. But even though the crops looked like they were ready for harvest, there was still not a soul in sight. My skin began to prickle at the emptiness of the land: there was an unnatural feel to it. The Glasidhe must have felt it, too, because all three of them abandoned their various perches in favor of flying ever-broadening circles about my path, circling in the air like brightly bejeweled dragonflies. I saw small silver flashes through Flora’s glow, and after a moment I realized that she had a throwing knife in each hand, spinning them restlessly like a college student twirls a pencil mindlessly about her finger. I sat up straighter in the saddle, twisting to look at the road behind us.
“The danger is not behind, but ahead,” Forsythe said grimly, flying by me on a low pass.
I clenched my teeth to stop a shiver and forced myself to look straight ahead. The rolling hills gradually flattened, and the ground became rockier as the farmland faded. The air gradually grew cooler, and I smelled the forest on the breeze, if I closed my eyes when the slight wind caressed my face. I couldn’t decide whether the change was because it was growing late in the afternoon, or if it was because we were traveling northward. I had no knowledge of the weather in Faeortalam. Was it influenced by the whims of the Queens, or was it independent and natural, like in the mortal world?
Eerily, I had my answer scant moments after my questioning thought.
“The danger may be ahead, but there are other unpleasant things behind,” said Flora suddenly, pointing with one dagger over my shoulder. I twisted in the saddle and Kaleth slowed to a walk so that I could keep my balance while I gazed back at our path. Just at the horizon, oily black storm-clouds reared up in the sky, boiling higher with every second, split now and again with the forked flash of lightning-tongues.
“That’s no ordinary storm,” I said, my voice quiet with awe and a little fear. The slight wind stilled, and the air hung heavily about us, but the storm-clouds surged forward, gaining ground every moment.
“Mab has found out you slipped her net,” Forsythe said grimly.
“And I’m guessing she’s angry,” I whispered. The rumble of thunder reached my ears, even though the storm-clouds were barely past the horizon. If it was Mab’s doing, this was one storm we definitely didn’t want to catch us. I imagined her beautiful, imperious face frozen in cold fury, and I shuddered.
“Mab does not like to be bested,” Wisp said, his wings quivering.
Kaleth turned his head and observed the storm. The thunderheads were already closer. He blinked, and then pulled at the reins, pawing the dirt. Flora slipped into my boot, her tiny beautiful head poking up over the leather. Wisp settled behind my ear, taking a careful handful of my hair, and Forsythe appointed himself the rearguard, situating himself between the edge of the saddle and my cloak-roll.
“Damn Mab and her pride,” I said between gritted teeth. My heart quickened and my head spun with a rush of adrenaline as I shook the reins loose, looping them around one palm before taking two generous handfuls of Kaleth’s mane. I dug my toes hard into the stirrups, leaned forward and said to Kaleth’s pricked ears, “Let’s see if you can outrun this storm, then.”
In answer, Kaleth bolted forward, his great body surging as he stretched his legs, hooves pounding the earth even faster than when we had made our escape from Darkhill. Now, we were running from Mab herself—and I had a feeling that it was a race for our lives.
Chapter 24
The wind whipped tears into my eyes as Kaleth galloped down the beaten-dirt path, kicking up dust behind us that hung like a plume in the heavy air. Over the rushing of the wind, I still heard growling and rum
bling of thunder behind us, and my heart beat faster. I imagined a gale imbued with the force of Mab’s fury, and then I blinked and tried to stop imagining, because it was too frightening.
In the back of my mind, I hoped that Bren hadn’t suffered from helping me slip out of Darkhill. And the guards…I hadn’t seen them, but I knew that the Ancient probably lulled them to sleep with silky threads of taebramh stroking their minds. They were probably young knights or guards, like Ramel and Emery. I hoped they hadn’t gotten in trouble either.
The air rushing past me slowly changed until it felt like autumn. I clutched Kaleth’s mane with numbing fingers, and I felt Wisp press closer behind my ear, his small body beginning to shiver. Flora ducked her head below the edge of my boot, wriggling down to nestle in the tender curve above my heel. I leaned forward, urging Kaleth on, trying to shift my weight to help him. I felt his muscles surging beneath me, but when I stole a glance over my shoulder, I knew with sinking dread that we weren’t going to outrun the storm. The storm-clouds had devoured half the distance between us, looming black, more intimidating than any storm I had ever seen in my life. Sickly green, dark purple and blue mottled the underbelly of the clouds, reminiscent of the strange colors staining the sky before a tornado. Kaleth strained forward, his ears laid back against his skull as he struggled to wrench more speed from his laboring body. I knew he sensed the danger, and I also knew, from the way he’d looked at me in the stables, that he considered it his duty to keep me safe while I was his rider.
What exactly could the taebramh do? I thought suddenly. It was the stuff of dreams in my world, but here in Faeortalam it was the very fabric of their existence, the essence of reality. I could control that, I thought, crouching closer to Kaleth’s neck. I closed my eyes, my arms trembling from my death-grip on his mane, fighting the urge to be sick from the rolling motion of his gallop with my eyes clenched shut. My body protested at the dizzy feeling of disorientation, but I clenched my teeth and found the pulsing white point beneath my breastbone. I thought of speed as I touched it: wind, wings, breathlessness, fire leaping through dry grass. And very gently I drew a small, thin thread out of the well inside me, so fine it was like a piece of invisible silk from a spider’s web. I pushed the thread down through my right arm, and thought of the thread slipping into Kaleth, flowing down to his hooves and lessening the labor of his lungs. I felt the thread hesitate at the tip of my finger, clinging to the warmth of my skin, and then I pressed it against Kaleth’s smooth, warm neck.
