by Vanessa Skye
“What?” I ask, curious and desperate for him to stay.
“There was another gift—the Chalice of Bailitheoir—but it was too dangerous to remain on Tír na nÓg.”
“Dangerous?”
He looks lost in memories as he explains. “It harnesses the power of the gods and goddesses of this and other worlds. I hid it myself, long ago. No one has the right to wield the power of the gods but the gods themselves.”
I nod, even as he turns and walks away.
Chapter Fourteen
After a hard gallop the next day, we reach the cool confines of the forest. With the light mist and the occasional ray of sun bursting through the leafy green, gold, purple, indigo, red, and yellow canopy overhead, everything looks ethereal.
Our party is forced to ride in two straight lines, side by side, along a rough path sandwiched between trees nearly tall as those back at Rhiannon’s version of Lake Michigan and sawed logs tied together with rope. The horses’ hooves clop on the smooth gray stones partially buried in emerald and neon-green moss, and the men’s armor, swords, and shields clink in the otherwise silent wood, despite their best efforts to muffle the noise.
Mandrake tosses his head. There are many fae eyes upon us.
“We are being watched,” I murmur to Aiden riding next to me.
“I would expect so,” he whispers.
Sure enough, I feel a prickle on the back of my neck as I sense eyes settling on us.
“Ho, strangers!” a voice calls from the deep shelter of the trees. “You may no go further so armed.”
At least thirty bowmen step out, surrounding our group, with drawn bows and gleaming arrow tips pointed right at us.
Our men rapidly respond with swords and bows of their own.
A fae with a mess of ivy covering his head and falling down his back and dressed in brown leather from head to toe takes one step forward and aims his straining arrow at Nuadha before he emits a strangled cry of shock and drops to the ground. “Forgive me, my king! I did not recognize you. We thought you were another raiding party.”
Arrows, swords, and bows clatter as the leather-clad fae throw themselves to their knees.
“Stand.” Nuadha slides off his horse. “You have been raided?”
The forest fae scrambles to his feet. “Yes, Sire. Repeatedly. We have lost many good fighters along with much of our winter store. We thought your party was here to finally rout us.”
“What is your name, leader?”
“Forgive me. I am Leith, Sire, leader of the Eadrom people.”
Nuadha sheaths his sword. “Tell me of these raids, Leith.”
Aiden and his men lower their swords but do not sheath them.
“It’s the Talentless, Sire. They have been raiding our community for weapons and food. They have attacked us five times over the last year. I fear they will not stop until we have been driven from our home, or killed.”
“This is no more than a day’s hard ride from Chathair Mhór. They are indeed bold to be attacking so close to your home and army,” Aiden murmurs.
“They have killed several of us, taken many of our weapons and much of our food. We cannot sustain another attack. My fighters have been sleeping in shifts and are exhausted,” Leith says with a pained expression.
“How many of them come?” Nuadha asks.
“Their force must now number more than one hundred, Sire.”
“One hundred?”
Leith nods, looking at the king then back at his fellow fighters.
I look at the unfamiliar faces of the fae around us and am surprised to see several young men and a few women. These are not battle-hardened forces. Most appear to be either forest or earth fae, with only a few war fae.
Nuadha glances at Aiden, and I watch the silent communication pass between them.
“Send your fastest rider back to Chathair Mhór,” Nuadha tells Aiden. “Have him muster a force of no fewer than fifty of my men and form a garrison here to protect this community. They need to bring food from our stores, enough to last through winter…and weapons. Tell them to ride through the night if necessary, but they must return as quickly as possible. We will protect the community until then.”
Aiden nods once and gestures to one of the fae.
The soldier turns and gallops out of the forest, leaving nothing but clumps of moss and stones flying in his wake.
“Set up a perimeter watch one mile out from this settlement in all directions,” Aiden orders five of the men. “I want a runner checking with each of you and reporting to me regularly.”
The five fae selected nod and scatter.
“We cannot thank you enough, Sire,” Leith says with a sense of relief in his voice that almost brings tears to my eyes. “Truly, you are a benevolent king. I will tell my sentries you are friends, not foe. Please, come into the trees and warm yourselves by our hearths. I will have comfortable quarters and a grand feast prepar—”
“No feast, Leith,” Nuadha says. “Keep what little food you have to sustain you throughout the coming winter. We have our own rations. But the quarters for sleeping will be gratefully received.” He nods at the forest fae. “I also wish to speak with any who lived here eighteen years ago. I am looking for one who may have witnessed a badly injured woman carrying a babe not more than a few hours old through this forest.”
Leif nods. “I will ask immediately.” He bows low once more then disappears into the trees followed by his makeshift army.
Nuadha turns and faces the remaining fourteen of Aiden’s men. “We will protect these people until the reinforcements arrive. We are fae! We will not fall in battle, but rise in power!”
The men cheer.
Aiden leads us as we patrol the vast forest.
The dirt trail thins even more, and we are forced to dismount as the trees close in around us. Mandrake snorts in irritation as saplings and low-hanging branches slap his face and body.
We move slowly, stopping every so often to listen for soft footfalls or other signs of the enemy, but as we travel deeper into the heart of the woods, the forest is so thick it creates a perpetual feeling of twilight and not a single sound escapes. Not even the birds chance singing and breaking the silence. It is as if the whole forest is holding its breath, waiting.
“Someone approaches,” Nuadha murmurs, drawing his blade without a sound and holding up one finger.
A young female fae walks into the path then stumbles back, her eyes wide as she spies our party with swords raised. “F-forgive me,” she whispers, kneeling. “Leif said you wanted to speak to me…”
Nuadha helps her stand. “You saw the old woman and the baby near this place nigh on two decades ago now?” he asks softly.
The woman nods. “I-I did, Sire. I was but a faeling at the time, playing in these very woods.”
“Tell me what you saw,” Nuadha says as he gestures for three of the men to patrol the immediate area while we speak.
“I was picking wild mushrooms not far from here…” She fidgets and wrings her hands together, glancing at each of us. “I-I, uh, I saw an old woman. I remember it clearly because she was quite old, and I had never seen such a being before. Her robes were…scorched and bloody, and she appeared wounded.” She looks away, as if unsure as to what to say next.
“From which direction did she come?” the king asks.
“I-I do not know. She appeared to come from no direction at all. When I looked up, she was there, talking quietly to…that fae,” she says, pointing a shaky finger at Baird.
Nuadha nods.
“I couldn’t hear what they were saying.”
“What else did you see?”
“The old woman was carrying a bundle. When it cried, I realized it was a babe.”
“Anything else?”
She shakes her head. “I was only young. Over the years, I convinced myself I imagined it. When the fae…fell, I ran away. I do not know what happened beyond.”
Nuadha places a hand over hers. “Thank you. I will h
ave one of my men escort you back to your home. It is unsafe to wander the woods alone at this time.” Nuadha nods toward one of his men and faces Baird. “Does this match with your memories, friend Baird?”
Baird nods and we begin our patrol again.
“I was following this trail back to Chathair Mhór after a visit with the fae of the lough. They had been skirmishing with the nearby earth fae over disputed river territory.”
“I received your message, I remember. I assumed you had perished on the return journey, but no sign of you was found.”
“It was late afternoon, and I was walking to this very community in hopes of finding food and lodgings for the evening when Estrild appeared before me. I did not realize the faeling was close also.”
“Appeared?” Nuadha questions. “The girl said the same. Explain.”
“She came out of nowhere. She did not emerge from a thicket or behind a tree. One moment she was not there,” Baird shrugs, “the next she simply…was.”
Nuadha rubs his chin and looks around the area. “Estrild had some power but not that much.”
Baird runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “It is the best way I can explain it, Sire. She was wounded and bleeding from several places, including her ears, nose, and scalp. She was terribly aged…so much so that I almost didn’t recognize her. She had several burns, and her clothing was scorched. One arm hung limp at her side—I think it may have been broken. The other held a tiny babe,” he says, nodding toward me. “She passed me the baby, said the child’s name was Alys, and told me to take her to the human world and protect her at all costs.”
I watch Baird side-eye the soldiers. I know he’s skimming parts of the story, particularly the detail about my predicted future.
“No sooner had she issued her instructions and assurances that we would not be lost between worlds than she fell from her wounds and died. My guess is she was shielding the child from whoever was trying to harm her.”
Mandrake neighs loudly. A large contingent approaches from the south.
“How many?” I ask.
At least fifty.
Nuadha strides toward me pulling his sword from its scabbard. “What is it?”
“A band of fifty approach from the south.”
“It is too soon to be the men from Chathair Mhór.”
“Agreed,” Aiden says grimly.
“Take us out to meet them, Alys.” Nuadha jumps on the back of his horse and takes off.
Mandrake quickly kneels.
I climb on and barely settle before we’re galloping south so fast the other horses are struggling to keep up despite their head start.
I fling my arms around Mandrake’s neck to avoid being pushed off his back by one of the many tree branches flying toward me at an alarming speed.
Once the trail opens up, I sit up once more.
We draw near.
“We are close!” I yell and pull my sword at the sound of so many others scraping free of their scabbards behind me.
Soon, Mandrake’s keen senses are no longer needed as the desperate clangs and screams of battle ring out from up ahead.
“Fall back to safety, Alys!” Aiden yells.
Even if I wanted to follow the order, Mandrake is having none of it. He plunges headlong through the trees to emerge on the pebbled bank of a river, trampling two of the enemy before they even realize he’s there.
I assess the situation and see a ragged force of about fifty engaging the tan-covered forest fae we met earlier. Despite desperate attempts by the forest fae, I can tell they are being overwhelmed by the larger contingent, yet they throw themselves at the enemy—and certain death—with little care for their own well-being, and I quickly see why.
A group of women surround children cowering in the trees near the river with food, fish, and the baskets used to gather the supplies scattered across the sandy grass. While the women all have their swords drawn, they cannot effectively fight and protect their children at the same time.
Rage spears through me.
We plunge across the shallow river with me firmly on Mandrake’s back, ready to protect the innocent.
Mandrake lowers his head as he runs, spearing two more of the enemy on his long horn before shaking them loose and covering both of us in their blood.
I position Mandrake in front of the children like a barricade before sliding off his back with my sword in one hand and my dagger in the other.
There is a small part of me, the bullied part—the human part—that wonders how I got here. A month ago, I was doing homework, and now I am willing to kill to protect the people of a land I didn’t even know existed. But the larger fae part of me wants blood—and a lot of it.
A scraggly, smiling fae approaches with a sword. The fae is dirty, his clothes don’t fit right, and he swings his sword awkwardly.
I’m certain he’s feeling lucky at finding some scrawny female with a couple of pointy sticks, but I wipe the smile off his face with a single swipe of my sword, and he backs away wiping blood from a cut on his cheek and circling me warily.
With Mandrake using his horn to keep the fighters away from the children at my back, I advance.
“Why are you doing this? You are murdering families and children.”
Behind my skinny opponent, Nuadha screams a battle cry and takes multiple heads with wide arcs of his flaming sword.
As if that’s the signal, a few of Aiden’s soldiers emerge from the brush.
The fae takes a swipe at me.
I block the blow easily and return a swing of my dagger, which draws more of his thick blood as it connects.
“We will no longer be the oppressed!” he yells, rushing me with his weapon raised.
I dodge and run my sword through his side as he stumbles.
He crumples to the sandy ground.
I feel a pang of regret. He was nowhere near as skilled as Aiden and far too easy to kill. I don’t understand how Talentless can be responsible for thousands of fae deaths. They are untrained, at best.
Aiden is a capable solider, taking on many fighters at once, but the king—Nuadha is a force to be reckoned with. He decapitates five men with every leisurely swipe of his blade, and as the battle rages on, I understand why he doesn’t have a shield. The fables of an arm fashioned from silver are true.
I watch, wide-eyed, for a few seconds between combatants as an enemy fighter brings his sword down viciously upon Nuadha, who simply raises his left arm and catches the blow. The blade clangs against the limb but doesn’t appear to cause him any serious harm. The next moment, he runs the man through as the flames of his claymore roar.
Even though our numbers are few, the superior skill of Aiden’s forces plus Mandrake skewering the enemy with his wicked pike means we quickly get the upper hand.
As I kill two more Talentless, I see several breaking ranks and fleeing into the woods.
Mandrake gallops toward me with his white coat covered in blood and gore. There are more. They mean to overwhelm the forest community from the north while we are engaged here.
“More forces…” I grab Mandrake’s mane and pull onto his back. “Take the trees!” I scream at Nuadha before we charge north.
I hear the heavy hooves of the troop’s horses behind me.
In minutes, we reach the entrance to the community and an endless set of spiral stairs similar to those of Rhiannon’s people.
I’m already climbing before Mandrake even comes to a full stop, and I hear Nuadha issuing orders not far below.
“Scatter through the trees. Fly or climb to the tops so that we might have an element of surprise. Alys and I will take the stairs.”
With my weapons drawn, I sprint to the top and take an enemy guard from behind then two more fall before they have a chance to turn.
I hear Nuadha quickly dispatch more behind me as I fight my way through several men and toward the main force advancing on fae sheltered in the trees.
Cries of fear and surprise ring out only to be silenced
as Aiden’s men reach the end of their long climb to engage the force from a vantage point.
These ragged bunch of fighters are no better trained than the band we encountered below, and Nuadha’s sword quickly forces those who have not been killed to flee deeper into the trees.
Three run across a suspended bridge toward a small house built around the mighty trunk of a tree.
Rather than follow, Nuadha simply severs the ropes holding the bridge and send them shrieking to their deaths hundreds of feet below.
I follow two more across a wooden bridge, throwing my dagger at the back of one.
The other turns and attempts to cut me down with his blade.
A simple duck and the strike misses, and as I rise, I plunge my sword into his belly and out his spine.
Blood spurts from the wound in a horrifying fountain before he falls.
I pull my dagger from the other dead fae’s back.
“You fight well, faeling,” Nuadha says.
I turn to see him wiping blood from his face. His left arm is ruined, and glints of silver shine through his torn skin.
He must notice my frank stare because he answers my unasked question. “It will be healed anew by morning.”
I reach for his arm. “Does it hurt?”
He steps back. “I stopped feeling the pain thousands of years ago, child.”
Really? Despite the last hour, I’m still a child! I grit my teeth and clench my weapons in my fists, ready to take him to task over it, but jump at the sound of children screaming nearby.
Without permission or backup, I sprint in the direction of their voices.
There must be thirty Talentless fae hammering at the door and windows of a large house, and judging by the screams, it’s nothing but children barricaded inside while their parents fight to keep them alive.
I shout as I pounce and kick one away from a window then another away from the door before flinging him several feet away.
My dagger and sword flash in the light of the remaining lanterns as I kill five of them before they even have a chance to engage. Two more go down just as they raise their swords, and another two after short scuffles. Thick, sticky blood drips from my long braid and soaks my clothes, but I know none of it is mine. I haven’t even been wounded.
