Faeborne

by Jenna Elizabeth Johnson

  Brenn squeezed his eyes shut and tried to picture the other features he had been able to catch a glimpse of. Her eyes were larger and more angled than most, and her ears a little more narrowed at their tops, compared to his and Rori’s. Not pointed like the race of Fomorians who most resembled the Faelorehn, but more oval compared to the rounded ears of his kind. And there was her slender graceful figure, and her hair as silky and dark as toasted flax seed.

  Brenn drew his hand from the door and curled his fingers into a fist. He couldn’t let her striking features ensorcell him and encourage him to open up his heart. He had far too many demons lingering there already. There was no more room for anything, or anyone else, especially not someone as lovely as the strange girl resting peacefully in Roarke Manor’s great room.

  Seren, he reminded himself. Her name is Seren.

  And how easily she had stirred up those demons with a few simple questions. By asking about Rori’s surname, she had unwittingly torn open Brenn’s memories. He’d somehow managed to skim over the details the night before, but being asked about his family, twice within a twenty-four hour period, was too much, especially after his unfortunate encounter with Baird Corcorain in Dundoire Hollow earlier that morning. True, his old wounds should have been healed by now, and by most accounts, they were, only because neither he nor Rori ever spoke of what had happened. And then, this strange young woman stumbled into his life and dared to ask what had become of his family, forcing him to think about a past he’d just as soon forget. But it wasn’t really her fault, was it? How was she to know what hellish nightmares she was dredging up with her curiosity?

  Brennon gritted his molars and drew in a breath through his nose, savoring the sting of the early morning cold. The rain had lightened a little, but even so, as he stepped out from under the eave and started to cross the yard, the dampness had no trouble finding the gap in his collar. The wolfhounds, the alpha pair who had been waiting for him on the piles of dried grass beneath the porch cover, leapt to their feet and loped after him. Brogan and Addie were the parents of the rest, and the two most loyal to him. Their grown pups were down in the barn with Rori, most likely.

  Brenn sighed at the thought of his precocious nephew. Perhaps he had been too hard on the boy when reprimanding him about his curiosity. It hadn’t been an inappropriate question. In all honesty, Brennon was still trying to come to terms with what his mind was desperately trying to tell him: that Seren was something of myth and legend. The only problem was, Brenn wasn’t ready to accept the most likely truth. Her arrival still had him a little on edge, like a horse scenting a wolf in the area, twitchy and wary until the danger passes. Rori’s easy, innocent inquisitiveness had tipped the balance, and instead of allowing Seren to answer, he had barked at the boy to remain silent.

  At the bottom of the small hill the land flattened out into a widespread blanket of fertile farmland. The rich earth veined and pooled between the low hills and thickets of trees dotting the landscape from Lake Ohll and Dorcha Forest in the west and north, all the way to the mountains and moors east and south of Ardun. As Brennon stepped out onto the wide, muddy expanse of the barnyard, he did his best to avoid the deepest puddles. He carefully meandered his way toward the massive building, its great west-facing door flung open. Inside, the floor was mostly dry, a carpet of old hay and packed earth. The ceiling rose twenty feet or more, and thick beams of wood crisscrossed like the laced fingers of some forest giant using his strength to hold up the roof.

  Rori wasn’t easy to find right away, but Brenn guessed where he might be. Taking a left, he strolled past the stalls housing the small collection of livestock they kept and came to an area which was sectioned off with tall, thin willow branches forming a lattice fence. Inside, several hens in a mottled mix of browns, whites, reds and blacks scratched around in the dirt. Nesting boxes piled four high and five wide lined the wall like compartments waiting for letters and packages. A few feathered bodies, stoic hens in the process of laying their eggs, occupied some of the compartments, while others were bursting with the dried, fine grasses Rori had harvested from the edges of the fields.

  As he suspected, Brennon found the boy sitting on a stool in the corner, his lap full of red plumes. A collection of black, green and violet tail feathers cascaded over his knees and the hand not holding onto the bird belonging to the feathers was gently running down its glossy neck, careful not to damage its large comb.

  Brenn came to stand next to the indoor chicken coop, crossing his arms and resting them atop the fence. He crossed his ankles in a similar fashioned and leaned his weight against the willow branches, ignoring their groan of protest. With a tone he hoped came off as casual, he asked, “So, how is Ruan doing this morning?”

  Rori didn’t flinch in surprise. Brenn hadn’t expected him to. Instead, he kept stroking his favorite pet, soothing and reassuring the rooster as much as he was soothing and reassuring himself. Brenn tilted his head to the side to glance at the bird and soon felt himself smirking. Trusting fellow. He had his eyes closed, and his breathing was even. Spoiled rotten creature, more like. Rori had raised him from a newborn chick, and the two were inseparable whenever Rori was working in the barnyard area. Sometimes, the rooster even followed him out into the fields, leaving the hens to fend for themselves.

  “Rori, I want to apologize. I did not mean to scold you inside. I’m just a little nervous about everything that has happened since last night.”

  Rori continued to preen the rooster, but he lifted his head a little. Good. He was listening.

  “I’m not used to having guests, and the girl, Seren, well, she isn’t like most people.”

  His nephew surprised him by saying, “But neither are we, Uncle. Maybe that’s why Cernunnos sent her to us.”

  Brennon smiled, a small, sad smile that he was glad Rori couldn’t see. He didn’t quite know why his nephew’s words should make him feel melancholy, but they did.

  “So, you think it is Cernunnos who sent her, do you? Why do you say that?”

  The boy turned his head toward Brenn now, and although his eyes were wide, their gaze seemed to look past him.

  “Because,” he whispered, “she turns into a deer. Like the Fahndi from my book of fae-tales.”

  Brennon stilled and a cold chill coursed through him. Was Rori right? Could that be what his subconscious had been hinting at since he woke up that morning? And now that he had his nephew to point it out, to say the words with such surety, could he really keep telling himself it had all been an illusion? Eile was a land of deep magic and places still unexplored, and for him to deny the existence of something simply because he had only ever heard of it in stories was not only foolish, but dangerous, as well.

  Brenn worked to regain some of his composure and took a breath. He was ready to accept the strange truth, but he needed someone to verify that truth. “Tell me, Rori, how would you describe someone who was Fahndi?”

  Rori screwed up his face, trying to recall the details from the book.

  “They are like us, but their skin is darker, more like clay soil, and they all have black hair and forest-green eyes. Oh, and their ears are different, but I can’t remember how.”

  Goose pimples rose over Brenn’s flesh, despite the relative warmth of the barn. All the characteristics he had noticed in Seren. Except for her eyes. Hers were more brown than green, and her hair wasn’t exactly black, but still... Good gods. Was she truly one of these legendary people, and if so, what on Eile was she doing so far away from her home? The Fahndi were the favored tribe of Cernunnos, and they lived deep in the heart of the Weald, leagues upon leagues away from the northern reaches. Did she not have a family who would miss her?

  “I don’t need to remind you, Rori,” Brenn said, his voice low and serious, but not cruel, “that this must remain a secret between the two of us. Should anyone from town come by, you cannot tell them. Can I count on you for this? It might bring ill will down upon Ardun, as well as Seren, if anyone from Dundoire Hollow kne
w what she was.”

  Brenn said this as much for their benefit as well as for Seren’s. He knew what it was like to be different, to have some quality another might covet or fear. He knew the dangers of such things. After all, he had learned the hard way that fear and jealousy could so easily poison a person’s heart and make them forget how to love.

  The boy nodded his head vigorously, then, abruptly cheering up the way children do, he set his rooster on the ground and piped, “So, she is Fahndi then?”

  Ruan, having lost his lofty seat on Rori’s lap, flapped his wings and crowed, making sure all within hearing range knew that, despite the fact he was treated like a pampered lap dog, he was still the king of the chicken coop.

  “I’m not saying that for certain,” Brenn countered. “We will assume nothing, treat her no different than any injured person who has come into our care. Seren may choose to tell us, but I’m not going to force her. If she is running from some trouble, or has just stumbled upon ill luck, I want her to feel safe here. That’s the least I can do for her after shooting her, don’t you think?”

  Rori bobbed his head. “Yes, but does she really look like a Fahndi?”

  Brennon pictured those huge, flashing golden brown eyes and her beautiful skin once more, then shook his head to clear it. Yes, she did look like one of the Fahndi, but he wouldn’t admit it so assuredly to Rori. Instead, he unlatched the small gate and waited for his nephew to step out, not needing the assistance of his fingers to find his way in a place so familiar to him.

  Brenn reached out and pulled the boy close, ruffling his hair. Instead of giving him a straight answer, he said with some amusement, “I don’t know. I’ve never seen one before.”

  Rori giggled and pushed at his uncle, hoping he would let him go. It was no use. Brenn was a good two to three inches over six feet of well-conditioned muscle and strength, and Rori didn’t stand a chance against him.

  Now that the small rift was mended between them, the two of them got to work on the damaged fence. Brennon carried the spare posts out, and Rori dragged along the tool bag. Their boots squelched through the mud as they made their way to the far northeastern corner of the large pasture, the mare and her endlessly curious foal in tow.

  When they arrived at their destination, Brenn felt his heart sink. The broken boards didn’t look like they’d suffered the usual wear and tear that occurred on a farm. Instead, it appeared as if someone had taken an axe to the wood, splintering it into pieces and leaving deep gouges in the posts. A sickening unease began to build in the pit of his stomach as he took in the damage, all too aware this was not a result of the sheep or horses pressing through old, rotten wood. Brennon took a deep breath and closed his eyes, rifling through his memories and examining all the mishaps that had occurred on Ardun land of late. A handful of months ago, he had woken to find a section of their freshly planted field uprooted, the seedlings shredded and scattered like twigs torn from larger branches after a storm. A few weeks after that, some of the trees in their apple orchard had been knocked down.

  Brenn had been completely flummoxed, until he saw the horseshoe prints and the rope burns on the trunks of the felled trees. Someone was trying to sabotage their livelihood, and he had a feeling who it might be. Only the Corcorain siblings were vindictive enough, and hated him enough, to stoop to such levels. But Brenn could not take the matter to the town elders. They did not trust him, and never had since learning of his special gift. And Baird and Arlana had the ear of Uscias, a man with enough glamour to intimidate and manipulate any weak-souled person living in Eile.

  Brennon sneered in disgust as he considered Uscias, remembering the weight of the Druid’s eyes upon him as he left Dundoire Hollow earlier that day. The man was even more devious than Baird and had ten times the ambition. And his hatred for Brenn was like a dormant volcano: Brooding and silent, its volatility hidden beneath a calm surface that, when it finally did erupt, would level all in its path. Uscias, with Baird and Arlana serving as his henchmen, had tried to destroy him once, several years ago. They had failed. Now, they were striking out at him from a different angle, biting at his heels instead of coming down on him like a hammer. He would just have to find a way to overcome this obstacle as well.

  Brenn heaved a great breath, then returned to his work, eyeing the damage dubiously. Eventually, he would have to think of something to discourage his enemies. Until then, he and Rori would do their best to rebuild whatever the malevolent trio managed to destroy in the small hours of the night. With that not-so-comforting thought, Brennon turned back to the task at hand. He chose a board amongst those he’d brought along that matched the length of the damaged one and got to work nailing it into place. Rori served as a tool and equipment provider, becoming distracted only when the foal nudged him with his nose, trying to get him to play.

  When the fence was finally mended, Brenn and Rori checked the rest of the perimeter for more damage. After finding none, Brenn concluded the vandal must have been hoping the horses would get out. He shook his head with a rueful smile. If Baird and Uscias knew the Roarke horses at all, they would know the animals were too well-cared for to ever consider running away. Brenn and Rori let them wander free half the time as it was, and even if the mare and her foal had slipped through the hole in the fence, they would return before sundown.

  “Are we going back to the house now?” Rori asked, once he had all the tools packed away safely.

  Brenn tilted his head and regarded the sky. A light mist had dampened their clothes over the past few hours, but darker clouds loomed on the horizon.

  “I think that would be a good idea,” he concurred. “Especially since the sky looks ready to open up again.”

  With a final glance at the mended fence, Brenn turned Rori in the direction of the barn, and the two of them began their trek back through the damp fields.

  Chapter Seven

  Friendship

  Seren wasn’t sure what pulled her from her sleep, but the moment she opened her eyes, she was ready to leave her nest of blankets behind. As timid and cautious as she was with regards to her new surroundings, she was also itching to explore. She lay there for several long minutes more, fighting a silent battle between her uncertainty and curiosity. In the end, curiosity and boredom got the better of her. With Brennon and his nephew outside somewhere, she decided to take advantage of what time she had.

  Working up every ounce of her courage, Seren silently crawled out of the blankets and pressed her bare feet to the floor. She hissed at the slight, rough texture, but was delighted to find the heat from the nearby fireplace had warmed the stone like rocks baking under a midday sun. She took a moment to examine the long white garment she wore, one of Brennon’s shirts, she decided. It was big on her, the sleeves too long and the hem brushing the tops of her knees. She lifted her arm and pressed the fabric to her nose, taking in a long, deep breath. It smelled nice, like lavender and cedar and something else. Something she had never smelled before. Shrugging, she decided it was probably Brenn’s scent. With a sudden flash of realization, Seren wrapped her arms around her body and gasped. When Brenn had found her, she had been in her doe form, which meant when he carried her back to this place, she had been naked. Seren groaned and tried to shake the embarrassment from her mind. Nudity wasn’t a big deal among the Fahndi. When one Shifted, one’s clothing didn’t Shift with them, so it wasn’t uncommon for someone to return to the village in deer form, and then, Change without a stitch of clothing covering them. But Brennon wasn’t Fahndi. He was a complete stranger.

  Doing her best to shake off her slight discomfort, Seren turned and retrieved one of the lighter blankets from her pallet and proceeded to drape it around herself. It made her feel a little more secure, and it also helped to stave off the slight chill that waited for her beyond the range of the fireplace. With her warm shroud in place, she padded silently around the great room of the manor house. The ceiling she had studied at length from her pallet. It was high on one end, with log beams
set at an angle where they met up in the center with the beams from the opposite wall. The walls were composed of large stones held together with some sort of plaster, their solid uniformity interrupted only by the occasional door or window set with thick, warped glass. Seren narrowed her eyes, deciding the glass was hard to see through mostly because of the rivulets of rainwater streaming down the panes. Nevertheless, the weak autumn light still managed to find its way inside, giving the great room a cheery, open air. Seren took in a deep breath and turned to study the rest of the room.

  A set of shelves hung on the wall opposite the massive fireplace, and Seren found herself drawn to the unfamiliar sight of books and other knick-knacks stacked from ceiling to floor. As she moved closer, she felt her hand reaching out to touch these things. Her fingers trailed over an ornately carved wooden box, a collection of polished stones, a scroll rolled up and tied with ribbon, a leather pouch full of some unknown substance … When her hand brushed the cover of one of the many books, she paused, her eyes narrowing to study the gold-leaf title. More intrigued by the flash of color than the book itself, she carefully pulled the volume from between two others and held it the way she had been taught to handle baby birds.