by S H Cooper
Chapter Eight
Torren is hovering impatiently just outside, zipping back and forth as though she’s pacing. The moment Joseph sees her, his eyes widen until they’re almost bulging and he’s stuttering, caught between amazement and trying to ask every question he’s ever had about fae-kind.
“Oh, wonderful,” Torren says with a sigh. “There are three of you now.”
“Aye, Joseph is my other brother,” I reply.
Joseph nods along, still too tongue-tied to properly introduce himself.
“He’s the last of you lot, then? No other siblings wanting to tag along? Or a granny, perhaps?”
“No, fae,” Drake answers testily for me. He keeps looking over his shoulder, probably to make sure Mother isn’t coming after us. If these two keep picking at each other like this, it’s going to be a long journey. “We should get moving.”
“Aye, I can agree with you on that,” Torren says.
Drake offers a shallow, mock bow, inviting Torren to lead the way. We trail along behind her in a line: Drake at the front, me in the middle, and Joseph, still trying to remember how to speak, last.
“Torren?” I peek around Drake to see her bobbing up ahead like a lantern. “Where are we going?
“I’ll tell you soon enough, once we’re on our way and have some road behind us. We don’t want to be overheard.”
“Wait,” Joseph had found his voice again. “We don’t know where we’re going? I thought you said —”
“I said we were going to get help for Father. Didn’t say exactly where that help was,” Drake says, then adds, “But if you’re leading us into danger, fae…”
“Yes, yes, you’ll squash me like a fly. Get in line, lad, your sister has first dibs,” Torren snorts. “Now hush, we don’t want to attract any attention.”
The world changes after dark. It gets bigger, somehow. The trees seem taller, their shadows longer. In the distance, I hear a nightbird singing. It’s the same kind of song I’m used to hearing from the comfort of my bed, but outside, it sounds lonelier and haunted. Everything beyond our fence is lost in darkness. I stay as close to Drake as I can without tripping both of us up and stare at his back. It’s better than looking around and wondering at every little noise and movement I think I see.
The gate creaks open noisily, making my heart jump, and we scurry through. I glance back a few times after it latches again, my eyes watering. When home fades behind us, swallowed up by the night, I face forward for good, biting my lower lip to keep myself from crying. I’ve cried more in this one day than ever before in my whole life.
It’s getting old fast, and it isn’t what Father would want.
My brow furrows in concentration as I wrestle all the bad feelings inside of me into the back of my mind, where I imagine locking them into a trunk. They beat against the top, trying to spring back out again, but I refuse to let them. A knight does not allow himself to be controlled by fear and I’m not going to either.
It’s easier said than done, but for the moment, my burst of bravery does the trick.
We follow the same pathway I’d used to get to the field in the morning. Even in the dark, when everything else seems strange, it feels familiar beneath my feet and confidence creeps into my stride. I can even bring myself to look away from my brother. I recognize the copse of trees off to one side, the open farmland on the other.
It’s no different than going to the field, I start to think, my grip loosening on my pack. The night hasn’t changed anything.
That feeling lasts only until we get to the road, the one that stretches into town off to the left and down beside the sea to the right. Torren zips ahead, veering off to the right without hesitation, and Drake does the same. I pause, though. The road disappears into flat blackness and the faint roll of waves.
My feet don’t know that ground and I’m having trouble making them move toward it.
Joseph’s hands come to rest on either shoulder and I tip my head back to look up at him. His wonder over the fae has worn off for the time being and he’s much more himself again.
“You can still go home, Mary. Let me and Drake do this,” he says. I see a lot of Mother in his expression.
Torren and Drake have realized we’ve fallen behind and stopped. Torren bobs beside my brother’s head. I can see her waving both arms with exaggerated slowness within her orb of light, impatiently trying to direct us forward.
“I can’t,” I reply. I’m proud that I’m able to keep my words steady. “Torren says there will be people looking for me. It won’t be safe here.”
“You will have all of Moorsden’s guard with you.”
It’s not just about me, though. It’s about our parents, the whole village. I might not be a sword like Father and my brothers yet, able to fight off danger, but I can be a shield, like Mother.
I turn to the right and take a step toward Drake and Torren. My hands are shaking slightly and I bunch them into fists.
“Come on, the others are waiting,” I say.
Drake’s gaze lingers on me until we reach them, then he pokes a finger at Torren. She swats at it and blows a raspberry at him. Her complaints about human rudeness lead us down the road. No one asks why I stopped. If they think I’m a coward or will continue to slow them down, they don’t say that, either.
We fall back into the same line again and follow the curve of the road away from Moorsden.
The land on one side gradually drops away into a high, steep cliff. Far below, waves crash against its rocky face. We must be at Eoman’s Reach. I remember it being marked just outside our village on Father’s map. It’s said that you can almost see the edge of the world from the highest point of the Reach. As much as I’m afraid of heights, I wish the sun were up. I would have liked to see the view.
I try to ignore them but it doesn’t take long for my feet to start hurting. The soft soles of my shoes aren’t meant for long walks and I can feel every rock and pebble beneath them. The ache spreads up into my legs and back and no amount of adjusting my pack is helping. I try favoring one foot then the other, doing an awkward half hop as I try to keep up with Drake, but I’m still falling behind.
Wordlessly, Joseph tugs my pack away and hooks it over his own shoulder. I don’t have the energy to argue, I have to save it to keep going. Walking should not be such a challenge!
“Lean on me,” Joseph offers.
I grunt and brush his arm away. I can do this! I have to be able to. If I can’t even get this far without needing his help, then how can I expect to get wherever Torren is taking us? I stomp forward, purposefully at first, then my feet begin to drag. Drake continues to get farther ahead with Torren. Joseph stays behind me. He doesn’t seem to be struggling at all, but he slows down as I do, until my legs feel wobbly and I’m breathing hard.
“Drake!” Joseph calls.
I flush in embarrassment when our brother turns and sees how far back we’ve fallen. He and Torren wait for us to catch up before Drake speaks.
“We’ll set up camp over there, in those trees,” he says.
“I can keep going,” I tell him, but he shakes his head as I try to limp passed him.
“I’m tired,” is all he says.
It’s a lie. I know it is. He’s still standing straight, his expression focused and sharp. He’s not even rubbing at his eyes like he does when he’s sleepy. Still, he opens his mouth in a wide yawn and nudges me off the road, towards the woods where he wants to stop for the night. Joseph offers his arm again and, this time, I take it gratefully. Torren huffs and grumbles, but follows us.
When we find what Drake declares a suitable place to rest, I lean against a tree and sink stiffly to the ground.
How can every part of me hurt, I wonder while I peel my doe skin boots off.
Beneath, my feet are sore and blistering. I rub one of them tenderly, trying to work out some of the pain. Joseph lays out his bedroll, then the one he’d brought for me beside it, before helping Drake gather twigs to build a small f
ire.
The woods are even darker than the road. Moonlight pierces the treetops in thin shafts that offer little light. Underbrush rustles all around us. When leaves crunch close by, I jump and jerk my head toward the sound. Torren giggles from a low-lying branch overhead. She’s lounging on her stomach, one arm dangling downward.
“Easy, lass,” she says, not unkindly. “It’s only field mice and the like.”
“How do you know?” I ask in a voice just louder than a whisper.
“I come from a forest like this one. I know almost all of its sounds.”
It’s the first thing Torren’s told me about herself and it stirs up the curiosity that had been pushed aside by everything else I’d been feeling all day. I flip open my pack and pull out my shawl. After wrapping it around my shoulders, I settle as comfortably as I can against the tree trunk.
“Is it far from here?” I crane my neck to look up at her. “Your forest?”
“It was,” she replies. It’s wistful and sad.
The fae rolls on to her back on the branch and I lose sight of her. Only the glow from the orb that surrounds her lets me know she’s still there.
Drake and Joseph kneel in front of their bundle of kindling with tinder and flint. They’re arguing over the best way to get it to spark, oblivious to the shift in the fae’s mood.
“Did something happen to it?” I tilt to one side, but I still can’t see Torren.
She doesn’t answer right away.
“Torren?” I say up into the dark branches.
“Aye,” her voice drifts down. “Meverick Conan happened to it.”
“The same one who —”
“That’s the one.” The words are clipped, angry. “He was a friend to my people once. All of the Conans were. We’d lived side by side for generations.”
My brothers’ squabbling has died down and they’re sitting back on their heels, half turned towards us. The name Meverick, and the way Torren hisses it through clenched teeth, has caught their attention. The fire will have to wait.
“When he was a lad, he came to us, wanting to learn our magic. Humans are not usually very good with magic, it’s not in your blood like it is for fae-kind. We didn’t think Meverick would be any different, so we taught him a few things. Tricks more than anything. Meverick wasn’t like other humans, though.”
Torren had sat up and her legs are hanging over the side of the branch again. They kick back and forth in agitation.
“He picked up everything we taught him. Quickly, too. It wasn’t long before he wasn’t satisfied with the little things, like conjuring puffs of smoke, and wanted more. The chief of our clan forbade it. No human should wield fae power like Meverick did.”
She waves a hand through the air and a trio of sparkling butterflies, blue, purple, and pink, float down to me. They flutter cheerfully around me and I giggle, until one by one, they burst into a colorful flame and vanish.
“After he was told no, he stopped coming into our forest. He wasn’t happy, to say the least, but we didn’t see him again for a while. And then the war started. Conan’s men marched from the castle and only a handful returned with an army nipping at their heels. Meverick came to us one last time. He begged for our help, but fae do not fight human wars. Lord Conan, Meverick’s father, and most of their men were killed. Their home was left in ruins, their lands burned. For a time, we thought Meverick had died or run off. But a creature such as him doesn’t go down so easily.”
Torren spreads her hands wide and a trail of smoke flows between them. It shifts and swirls until it’s reshaped into tiny figures that look like fae. She pokes one and it pops, leaving a little wisp in its place that gets carried away on the breeze. In the light of her orb, Torren’s dark face is tight with pain.
“My people began to disappear.” She jabs another smoke fae with her finger and it bursts just like the first. “The elders first. They were the wisest and most powerful. We put up barriers, we had guards, we did everything we could, but it wasn’t enough. Meverick wanted our magic, and now he wanted revenge, too. He took both. Our chief handpicked four of us to go in each direction seeking aid from sister courts. I was one of them. I went north. By the time I returned a fortnight later, no one was left. Meverick had seen to it.”
She slashes her hand through the remaining smoke figures and they collapse into mist at her touch.
“I’m sorry,” Joseph says sincerely.
One corner of Torren’s mouth tugs into a rueful smile. “Me too.”
Drake has turned back to the kindling and strikes his flint and tinder together sharply until sparks fall on the wood and catch into a small fire. He sits back heavily and stretches with a noisy yawn. Scooting a bit closer to the flames, I greedily soak in their warmth. Joseph does the same.
“Is that why you were following him, fae? To avenge your family?” Drake asks without looking up from the fire.
“Aye,” Torren replies. She’s let her orb of light go out and is no more than a voice from the dark. “But it’s worse than I could have imagined. I’ve been watching him as best I can for a hundred years, but I’ve only gotten short glimpses. Rumors. He’s built a wall of magic around himself that I can’t get close to. What started as fae magic has grown and twisted into something I barely recognize. And now, thanks to today, I know it’s not just my people’s.”
“What do you mean?” Joseph offers me a heel of bread from his pack and I take it eagerly. I hadn’t realized how hungry I’d gotten.
“The poison he used today, it’s something called the nightmare sleep. It’s made from ancient magic practiced by the oldest court of fae-kind: the Dreamweavers. They can control dreams and the nightmare sleep is one of their most wicked concoctions. It’s only supposed to be used as a punishment for the most evil of men. From what I could tell after I looked over the field, only your father was poisoned. It was meant specifically for him.”
“What does it do?” Drake demands around a mouthful of dried meat.
“It forces a person into a deep sleep they can’t be woken from. They’re forced to live out their worst nightmares over and over again. Unless they are given the cure, they remain asleep until they…” She stops herself, but we all know what she means.
“But you know where the cure is,” I say hopefully.
“I do,” Torren replies. “At least, I think I do.”
Drake makes a choking sound and swallows hard. “You think?”
“If Meverick has his hands on the nightmare sleep, I don’t know what that means about the weavers. They would not part with any of their magic so easily, especially not for a human. We just have to get to their caves and hope for the best.”
“And that’s your plan to save our father?” Drake is simmering and I look pleadingly at him to keep his temper in check.
“It’s the only chance you’ve got,” Torren says matter of factly. “It’s this, or you sit at his bedside and watch him waste away.”
“And what about Mary? How is she involved in any of this?” Joseph asks.
“I don’t know.” The fae sighs. “It seems Meverick only became interested in her after seeing your father protect her. I’m hoping the weavers might know more, but we have to get to them first. One thing at a time, lads.”
Drake grumbles something and grabs a stick to poke irritably at the fire. Joseph just listens, caught between fascination and horror. I feel the same and it’s overwhelming. I have to believe in Torren and her Dreamweavers. I finish my bread and crawl into my bedroll. The ground is bumpy and cool beneath me and I toss and turn for a while, but nothing makes it better. I want to be home more than I ever have before and that longing sparks a memory. When I’m sure Drake and Joseph aren’t looking, I quickly reach into my pack and snatch my doll out. I tuck her beneath the fur cover with me and hug her close.
“Joseph and I will take turns keeping watch,” Drake announces.
“I will as well,” Torren offers from her branch.
“I can, too,” I say. I w
ant to pull my weight the same as the others.
My brothers trade a look, though, and both shake their heads. “Rest, Mary. You’re going to need it.”
I sigh in response and Joseph pats my head.
“There will be many more nights before we’re home. You can keep watch on one of those.”
I roll over, putting my back to the fire, and bury my face in my doll’s hair. The unfamiliar forest sounds are drowned out by Joseph singing an old ballad of a golden-haired maiden and her knight under his breath. My brother’s voice, steady and sweet, fills my head until I fall into a restless sleep.
Chapter Nine
A hand slapping over my mouth wakes me suddenly. I grab at it in a panic, still barely awake, and try to push it away. The more I fight, the more firmly it presses down, until I ball up my fist and swing as hard as I can. My knuckles barely clip someone’s chin.
“Shh,” the person hisses sharply. “It’s just me, Mary, calm down!”
I blink, clearing some of the remaining sleep from my eyes, until the world comes into focus. The dim morning sunlight reveals Joseph crouched over me, the pointer finger of his free hand pressed against his lips. He keeps glancing hurriedly over his shoulder, his eyes searching the woods for something. My heart thuds in my chest, but I stop struggling so he uncovers my mouth. I start to sit up, giving him a quizzical look. He puts his hand on my shoulder and pushes me back down into the bedroll.
“Stay low.” He’s still talking in a hoarse whisper and I want to ask what’s wrong, but he’s dropping handfuls of leaves over me until I’m almost entirely covered. “Don’t move. Don’t make a sound. Whatever you hear, stay put.”
“Joseph,” I only manage to get his name out before he’s standing with his back to me.
The grate of his sword sliding from its sheath sends a ripple of chills through me. My brother crosses our camp to stand in front of the fire pit. He’s turning slowly, eyes narrowed and head tilted slightly, listening. I don’t see Drake or Torren. My doll is jabbing against my side and I wriggle her loose with as little movement as I can. I keep her arm tight in my grip.
