Squeezing his eyes shut against the old pain, Brenn began his trek down the hill in search of his nephew.
Chapter Nine
Preparation
The very next morning, about an hour after sunrise, Seren and Rori crossed the half-frozen creek and entered Dorcha Forest to collect kindling. Rori, making his way mostly by touch and sound, chattered away, telling her stories of his adventures in the trees before and after he lost his sight.
“When I could still see, I used to climb up to the tops of the beech trees after merlin chicks,” he stated proudly, his fingers brushing the trunk of one of those trees as he used it as a guide.
Seren watched as he carefully picked his way over the massive root system, one hand reaching down to search for stray kindling. Not much grew near the base of the huge trees, but for each trunk or root he encountered, he was sure to bend down and check anyway. She had to admire such thoroughness in one so young, and one who had every right to hate and avoid the world he lived in.
“After I,” he paused and swallowed. “Well, later Uncle Brenn told me I could no longer climb the trees. He said it was easier now for me to have an accident, and he also wasn’t sure if I would still be under the protection of the stones if I climbed too far above them.”
Seren, who had been strolling alongside her small companion, gathering up the sticks he couldn’t see, stopped for a moment and considered him.
“I’ve seen the stones,” she said carefully, “but I had no idea they protected you.”
Rori, who had crawled up one of the larger tree roots, turned and nodded, his sightless eyes huge and leveled on a spot next to her.
“Oh, yes! There are twenty-five of them altogether, and most of them are taller even than Uncle Brenn. He told me they used to be markers for the edge of the property, long ago when old families shared this land. Now, most of it is ours, mine and Uncle’s, and the stones just mark where the protection on the house ends. I’m not allowed to go beyond them.”
Seren listened to his story carefully, picturing the stones in her head. The ones on the southern side of the house stood about a hundred yards from the hilltop, and they were distinctive enough. Like frozen, grey sentinels, always standing watch over the land and the people who belonged to it. She had counted seven of them, two flanking the path where it met up with the main road running past the farmstead. The others stood several feet apart, but seemed to follow a common, invisible line drawn on the ground like willow trees following a creek bed. Another set of eight stretched wide to include the barn and a hefty chunk of the pasture and planting area. Seren wondered where the other ten were.
“Here, in the forest,” Rori piped when she asked, waving his hand around carelessly. “They form a big, lopsided circle. I can go as far as the one on the corner of the east field and the start of the woods, as far west as the one beside the bridge over the lower fork of the creek, as far south as the ones along the edge of the main road, and,” he said with a toothy grin, “as far north as the one in the clearing.”
Seren blinked. “Clearing?”
“Yes, I’ll show you. It isn’t too far away.”
With a confidence found only in the youthful, Rori leapt from his root perch and reached out for Seren’s hand. It took him a while to find her fingers, but when he did, he latched on and tugged, determined to get her to follow. She wondered how he could sense where he was going, but she figured he’d been in these woods so many times, he knew the route by heart and didn’t need his sight to guide him.
Twenty minutes later, the two of them came upon a slight rise in the land topped with an ancient, sprawling beech tree. At the base of the hill was a wide meadow, and in the center of the meadow stood a massive grey stone, at least ten feet in height.
Rori’s hand tightened on Seren’s. “We’re here,” he whispered, closing his eyes and drawing in a deep breath.
“How do you know?” she asked, her tone just as gentle.
Without looking at her, Rori responded, “Can’t you feel it?”
Seren turned to regard the meadow once again. What was once thick, lush grass was now a mat of brown, tangled weeds topped with a light dusting of broad, yellow beech leaves. She closed her eyes and mimicked Rori, taking in a deep breath of the magic-spiced air. He was right. She could feel it. Not just the wild glamour pooling more thickly here, but also the soundless music carried on the gentle breeze and the feather-light touch of leaves falling from above.
When she opened her eyes again, Rori’s head was tilted up toward hers, and he was smiling. He gave her hand one last squeeze then let it go, moving forward and stepping out onto the meadow. After shuffling around for a few moments, the boy settled down, sitting cross-legged on the ground and facing the massive standing stone.
“My mother used to bring me here when the birds first started making their nests and when the blue flowers of the fields started to bloom. We would come here, and I would help her pick the herbs we needed for the pantry. She would make up stories about the stone, tell me it was a sleeping draghan or some ancient guardian of the Weald. Mother and Father used to tell me the Weald is the most magical and wild place in all of Eile, and that Cernunnos lives in the heart of it and that no other Faelorehn man, woman or child has ever crossed it or found its center. Is that true, Seren?”
Seren smiled at the awe and wonder dripping from his voice and had to bite her lip. She had been told by her tribe mates that those living outside the Weald had woven such stories about it, and considering they never saw any other travelers, she understood why. It was a wild and magical place, a place that could never be tamed or tarnished by the greed of those who did not understand it. And just like that, a deep pang of anguish started in her chest and spread to her fingertips. Gods of the Wild, she missed it. Despite the cruelty she had faced there, she missed her home terribly. The rush of the streams in spring, the sweet smell of the leaves and blossoms bursting to life, the fiery colors of autumn staining the leaves, the fading green of long summer days, the clean, biting chill of winter’s first frost. She missed the birds and the small animals, the deep shade of the forest canopy, the green, lush meadows and the clear pools.
“Seren? Are you okay? You got so still and quiet all of a sudden.”
Seren blinked and shook her head, casting her eyes on the boy who was now turned in her direction. His brow was furrowed as his bright blue eyes tried so hard to locate her.
“I am here,” she said, in a voice that crackled a little like dry leaves underfoot.
Rori let loose a great breath and slumped where he sat. “I thought you had left me,” he grieved in a small voice.
Suddenly, that aching homesickness Seren felt was replaced with something far more powerful and devastating. Tears formed in her eyes as she moved forward, closing the short space between them and, against her usual nature, took Rori in her arms. He squeaked with surprise, but quickly hugged her back.
“Oh, Rori! I would never leave you.”
And as she said it, that small part of her she’d buried so deep within her heart knew it was true. And that thought terrified her; left her vulnerable once again.
A cool, late autumn breeze picked up the leaves surrounding them and set them dancing.
“Oh! What time is it?” Seren gasped, putting Rori at arm’s length. “Your uncle will be wondering what happened to us. Are you ready to leave?”
Rori took a short breath and rubbed at his eyes. So, he had been crying too. No need to point it out.
“Yes,” he said in a gruff voice, “but do we have enough wood for the bonfire?”
Seren laughed and reached out a hand, placing it on the shoulder of her young companion.
“Brenn said he just needed enough kindling to get the bigger logs to catch fire. I think what we have is plenty.”
She bent down and gathered her brushwood, bundled tightly together by the extra cord she had brought along. Seren helped Rori arrange his, so he could carry it on his back. With a loose arm draped
across his shoulders, she led the boy back down the trail they had taken, leaving the standing stone to keep its watch over this little corner of the forest. This short trip had stirred up more questions about the mysteries surrounding Ardun, and Seren couldn’t help but wonder about them on their way back. So, the standing stones protected Rori from something. But what? She recalled the growing darkness around his uncle and wondered if that had anything to do with it.
The answers to her burning questions weren’t about to lay themselves at her feet any time soon. Perhaps, she could work them out if she just paid a little more attention. I’ll start tonight, she mused, during the Samhain ceremony. Until then, she’d keep her curiosity to herself.
***
When Seren and Rori emerged from the trees, the sun had reached its highest point in the sky. Seren shaded her eyes against the brightness, well aware that at this time of year, daylight would last only a handful of hours more before darkness set in. At the top of the hill, on the flat stretch of land behind the great house, she spotted Brennon dumping an armful of wood onto the ground. The soot-blackened ring of stones that waited nearby reminded Seren of the mouth of some fearsome monster from the Netherworld.
“I was beginning to worry about you two,” the Faelorehn man said, his voice tainted with humor despite the weariness that strained his features.
Seren opened her mouth to make their excuse, but Rori beat her to it.
“I wanted to show Seren the standing stone in the meadow,” he blurted.
Slowly, the small smile on his uncle’s face faded, and his complexion paled even further.
“Rori.” Brenn’s voice was a rasp, like a blade scraping against the frozen surface of a lake. “Tell me you did not wander beyond the standing stone.”
“No! I know better than that!” Rori cried, his eyes growing large. “I just wanted Seren to see it.”
Relief, so great she could almost feel it, rolled off of Brennon. He let his head fall back, his eyes closed in weariness.
“Thank the gods,” he whispered, too quiet for Rori to hear.
Seren watched the Faelorehn man carefully, half expecting a gentle autumn breeze to pick up and dissolve him into a pile of ashes. Why did he look so stricken? Surely, if Rori had wandered past the standing stone, nothing would have come of it. It was easy enough to turn around and walk back inside the great circle and be, once again, under the protection it entailed.
Yet, something in the way Brennon had reacted suggested otherwise. More questions to add to the pile that had started during her and Rori’s trek into Dorcha Forest. Could there be more to the barrier than she had thought? And if so, why had she not sensed it? Because when you crossed inside the stone circle, she reminded herself, you were wounded and unconscious.
Seren released a troubled breath. So, was she not noticing the magic because she was trapped within it, her senses dampened by a great bubble of glamour? Or was there some other power at work here? She thought of the way Brenn’s cloud of darkness kept out of her sight, like a child ducking behind a tree in a game of hide-and-seek. Every time she tried to catch a glimpse of it, it would skitter away into the ether.
Seren was snapped away from her thoughts when the man spoke again, his voice a little less rough but no less weary. “We can’t start the fire for another hour or so. The stew has been simmering all day, so I’m sure it is done by now.”
He didn’t wait for a response. Brenn simply turned and headed back for the house. Addie and Brogan and the rest of their pack followed morosely behind him with Rori taking up the rear. Biting her lip against the rising anxiety in her stomach, Seren made her way inside as well.
The three of them ate in silence, a heavy pall of some unknown dread hanging in the air. Seren picked at her vegetable stew, consuming very little of it while Rori ate nothing at all. Brennon seemed to be the only one to clean his plate. When he noticed his nephew’s neglect of his own food, he spoke up, “Rori, eat. You’ll need your strength for tonight.”
Gulping, the boy nodded and felt for his spoon, doing as his uncle asked.
All the while, Seren watched them as she pushed her vegetables around in their broth. The meal continued this way, the strained silence looming even as they worked together to clean up afterward. By then, the sun had dipped low in the sky, a deep red disk nestled between the trough of the hills to the west. When the final plate was clean and dry and returned to its place in the cupboards, Seren turned to face Brennon. She was a stranger here, so she did not know him and his nephew as well as her own people, but she knew something had changed drastically in the past day or two. Although never as outwardly friendly as his nephew, Brennon had been polite and congenial, ever-ready with a story or a gentle compliment. It was as if an entirely different man had switched places with him. And it was having a negative effect on Rori as well. She could hardly stand it any longer.
Garnering her courage, Seren drew in a breath and asked, “What is it that haunts you, Brennon Roarke?”
Brenn, who had been banking the fire in the oven, stilled, then turned around slowly. He leveled his pale grey eyes on her, their color changing to obsidian. Not in the usual, flashing way of the Faelorehn, but clouding over like ink spilled into a glass of water. Seren had to stifle a gasp. The effect was unnerving, to say the least.
For a few small moments, Brenn closed his eyes and became completely still, as if struggling to gain control over something. Eventually, he spoke, his voice low and empty of all emotion.
“I know I offered the hospitality of Ardun to you until spring, but I fear after tonight you may very well change your mind, Seren of the Weald.”
Confused and somewhat frightened by those words, Seren took a step back, almost yelping when a light touch brushed her arm. She shot her head around to find Rori standing there, his unfocused gaze trained on the wall across the room.
There was worry in his sightless eyes, and maybe even a pinch of fear. His sullen expression and quiet voice did nothing to appease her own concern.
“It’s time to begin the ritual,” he whispered.
He let his hand drop from Seren’s arm, then shuffled his way out of the kitchen, following his uncle like the reanimated dead.
Fear and anxiety clenched Seren’s stomach, but her curiosity was far stronger. Taking a deep breath and drawing on her small well of courage, Seren followed after them, hoping she wasn’t making a huge mistake.
Chapter Ten
Ritual
A whispered breeze, carrying late autumn’s frigid taint, ruffled the tops of the trees beyond the creek. A few remaining leaves still clinging to the thin branches shuddered in protest, their resolve as stubborn as Seren’s. She would see this night through, no matter what lay ahead. That same gust pulled a section of her hair loose, sending it curling around her neck like a scarf. She shivered and did her best to tuck the strand back into place. Rori released her arm and moved to help his uncle build up the pyre, feeling his way around the large logs until his fingers found the kindling they’d gathered that morning.
The strange, subdued sense of foreboding hovering around the two of them intensified, and Seren felt the deer living inside her twist in protest as it sensed the danger. She clasped her arms around her torso and fought the urge to give in to instinct.
You will not flee! she told her wild glamour. You will not act like the timid yearling you once were.
Something nudged her leg and she gave a tiny yelp. Seren shot her eyes downward only to find one of the younger wolfhounds leaning against her. She lowered her hand to pet the animal on the head, then glanced around at the others. Some of them paced, moving back and forth in that worried way dogs often did when commanded to stay behind as their master strode away toward danger. A few were even whining softly, and those a little more active in their display of distress were panting.
“What’s wrong with the dogs?” Seren wondered aloud, her voice sounding small.
Brennon picked up another dead branch and tossed it car
efully onto the mounting pile.
“They are growing restless. They know what is coming.”
Seren felt the blood drain from her face.
“What is coming?” she whispered.
It was Rori who answered her this time.
“Faelah,” was all he said.
“Faelah?” Seren’s brow wrinkled at the familiar word. “You mean the abominations the Morrigan creates? The ones you told me about?”
Rori did not answer, but Brenn nodded. “And Cumorrig.”
Before Seren could ask what a Cumorrig was, Brenn drew the fingertips of one hand together. Glamour rippled up his fingers, gathering into a sphere of flickering fire so dark blue, it was nearly impossible to see against the inky sky.
“The Morrigan’s faelah roam more freely this night and the next, especially since we reside so close to the borders of her realm.”
He lowered the ball of indigo flame to the tinder. With a crackle and pop, the dead brush caught, sending plumes of white smoke into the air. Orange flames followed the blue ones, their brilliance casting a large circle of yellow light around them. The sharp bite of smoke made Seren’s nose itch, but she was not averse to the heat. As the fire grew in size, she tried not to think about the faelah.
Brenn stood back up and moved a few steps back, watching as the fire took hold. There was still plenty of wood, enough to last the night through, Seren realized.
“Rori, stay here with Seren and the dogs. I won’t be long.”
Seren blinked as the Faelorehn man turned on his heel and started back toward the house. Seren wanted to ask the boy what Brenn had forgotten inside, but one look at Rori had her biting her tongue. His gaze was aimed toward the fire, his expression somber and his eyes brighter than usual. If Seren didn’t know any better, she would have thought Rori was about to cry.
Faeborne: A Novel of the Otherworld Page 11
