Faeborne: A Novel of the Otherworld

by Johnson, Jenna Elizabeth

  Taking a deep breath and letting it out on a weary sigh, Seren finished her descent from the short staircase and padded silently across the main hall, headed for the door which opened out into the rear yard. Perhaps Rori was down in the barn with the animals or helping Brennon bring in what remained of their harvest.

  As soon as she stepped out into the yard, Seren knew something was terribly wrong. The metallic scent of blood and fear hung in the air like a clinging fog, and the hounds were nowhere in sight. Seren darted her eyes around, pushing against her glamour as the deer within yearned to bolt. The yard was clear of anything suspicious. No dead animals or streaks of blood stained the ground, so she guardedly stepped farther out onto the grass. The fire pit lay before her, a ring of blackened stones and charred wood, the ash pile still smoking lazily from the night before. Beyond the haze of smoke, she could see the barn at the bottom of the slope, its sturdy, thick-beamed walls and ceiling steaming in the morning sunlight as the fog made its retreat.

  Seren’s eyes ran from the barn down to the open space beside it, and her heart sank to her toes. It was hard to judge from her current distance, but she thought the brown, black and white lumps littering the yard looked suspiciously like the chickens from the henhouse. And there, off to the side, a small figure crouched, his blond hair like a golden tuft of wheat against the bleak gray colors of the landscape, was the young boy she’d been looking for.

  “Rori,” Seren breathed. “Oh, no.”

  She gathered up her skirts and took off at a dead run, not slowing as she stepped onto the narrow path trailing down the hillside, picking up speed as she went. As she moved closer to the scene, the carnage she had only guessed at assaulted her senses. Chicken carcasses littered the ground, some torn to pieces, others looking as if they had simply fallen dead where they stood. Multi-colored feathers dusted the air, and blood pooled in some places, the pungent scent of it making Seren’s stomach roil. A small inkling in the back of her mind wondered at who or what had committed such a heinous act, but she shoved those thoughts aside, her concern for the boy taking up all the room in her heart at the moment.

  Rori knelt quietly in the mud, his shoulders hunched and shaking. Just beyond him, Seren noted the outside entrance to the chicken coop. The door had been torn open, splintered wood and tattered feathers strewn everywhere. A few hens cried out in their panicked way, but from the carnage surrounding this side of the coop, she could tell that most were dead.

  Cautiously, she approached the small boy. Before even reaching his side, she knew what had him so transfixed, so absorbed when chaos reigned around him.

  “Rori?” she queried meekly.

  The boy did not answer. He didn’t make a sound; didn’t move an inch.

  “Rori,” she repeated, this time reaching out a hand and placing gentle fingers on his shoulder. Her healing glamour unfurled within her, sending tendrils of power down her arm as it tried to pour forth from her fingertips, instinctively seeking out the pain it sensed in order to wash it away. Biting her lip, Seren held it back, not yet ready to call for its assistance.

  The Faelorehn boy cringed at her touch, but again, made no sound.

  Seren moved to his side, afraid of what she’d find in front of him.

  “Oh, Rori,” she murmured, her voice harsh with sorrow as her eyes fully took in the gruesome scene.

  On the ground, lying partially in the mud with Rori’s hands beneath him, was Ruan, the boy’s red rooster. The bird was obviously dead, his neck broken in three places.

  Forgetting her earlier attempt to keep her skirt somewhat clean, Seren knelt down in the muck beside Rori, wrapping her arm around him and pulling him close. Again, her glamour swelled within her, begging to be set free, yearning to fix the destruction surrounding her. And again, she held it back.

  “I’m sorry, Rori,” she murmured.

  “He did his job,” the boy said, the emotion in his voice barely in check. “He protected the hens as best he could, and some of them are alive because of him.”

  “Yes, he was a brave and noble rooster,” Seren admitted.

  Rori turned his head, his large blue eyes somehow finding her face. Seren sucked in a breath, the pain and anguish she found there almost too much to bear.

  “Do you think he might be able to find my mother and father, somewhere in the spirit world? Do you think he will tell them about me? Do you think they’ll feed him pieces of apples like I used to?”

  He lowered his head once again, great, fat tears running down his cheeks. “I just don’t want him to be lonely.”

  The boy started sobbing, his eyes clenched shut, his shoulders shaking.

  A harsh pain deep within Seren’s heart rose up and threatened to overwhelm her. Her glamour, already distressed, responded in kind, urging her to heal the agony.

  I cannot repair this hurt, she tried telling it. I cannot bring the rooster back to life.

  Why not? that stubborn, wild magic asked. Have you ever tried?

  Seren pulled in a deep, harsh breath through her nose. No. She had never tried. She had merely accepted death as another part of life. But could she bring this small creature back to the world of the living? And if so, was it the right thing to do?

  Seren blinked back her own tears and regarded the bird. It looked as if only his neck was broken, no other major wounds except some missing tail feathers. Would performing such a feat change the balance of nature somehow? Using her magic to help things grow and to heal things never did. Perhaps if she treated this as a healing session, it would not matter. The rooster may have stopped breathing, his heart stopped pumping, but there could be a spark of life yet lingering in him. If his spirit hadn’t fully departed yet, then would it really be considered bringing him back from death? Seren glanced down at Rori and used her glamour to sense his emotions on a much deeper level. His sorrow was great, the pain physical as well as emotional. In that moment, she would do anything to ease this boy’s suffering.

  Taking a deep breath and making a decision, Seren glanced around her. Brennon still hadn’t returned from wherever it was he’d disappeared to, and although the house never received any visitors, she wanted to make sure there was no other soul around. What she was about to do could be witnessed by no one.

  Satisfied she and Rori were alone, Seren reached down and placed her fingers on the rooster’s neck. She closed her eyes and let her glamour flow free, like blood rushing from a bad wound. An intoxicating, drowsy sensation made her want to lie down and sleep for an eternity but somehow she managed to stay alert. Her eager magic sunk into the bird’s flesh and found the damaged bones, muscle and nerves. The task took great concentration and drained nearly all of her glamour, but as she worked, Seren felt the torn tissue reforming and healing. Her stomach clenched, and she realized she should have eaten before trying this. Using her power always burned off her energy and left her ravenous. A moment passed, then another, all the while her potent glamour flowing from her fingertips into the body of the lifeless rooster. Her breathing became labored and shallow, and she was certain had she access to a reflecting glass, she would see a wraith gazing back at her, pallid skin and sunken eyes in a gaunt face.

  Despite her exhaustion, Seren knew her efforts hadn’t been enough. She had healed the rooster’s wounds; knitted his bones back together and rethreaded his spinal cord. But he was still dead. This small creature’s soul had already departed. Common sense and her own state of impending illness told her there was nothing more she could do. She had made a valiant effort. But she couldn’t let it go, not with Rori sitting close, his sightless eyes still spilling great tears. He loved this rooster more than anything in the world, except maybe for his uncle. He had lost too much; suffered too greatly for her to give up without a fight. Not when she might still be able to do something. Ignoring the little voice inside her head telling her she was taking a terrible risk, Seren delved deeper into that well of glamour pulsing just beside her heart. If she tried hard enough, if she looked deep enough
, she could find Ruan’s soul and coax it back into his body. She needed to seek it out in the veil between the world of the living and the world of spirit.

  As long as it hasn’t crossed over, she told herself, I’m technically not raising him from the dead.

  Taking one more deep breath, she reached out with what little strength she had left. The darkness faded, and she felt her own essence stretching into the other place beyond. She called Ruan’s name, begged him to return for Rori’s sake.

  I have healed your living body, she whispered into the open void of the place between the spirit world and their own. You are needed back here with us for a while longer.

  Seren couldn’t say how long she wandered in the spirit world, but eventually, a small, bright speck of life brushed up against her conscious. She recognized the essence as the soul of the little rooster who she had seen following Rori around the farmyard.

  Smiling, she called out to it, coaxing it back into the body she had made whole once again.

  The second the bright spark settled into the rooster’s breast, Seren felt his life force burst forth with great energy. Ruan’s heart started beating furiously, and from his throat came a raspy, disgruntled complaint.

  Rori gasped, his dark eyes widening as his sobbing stopped.

  “Ruan?” he croaked.

  The rooster cried out again, kicking his legs and trying to get up out of the mud. Rori reacted slowly, pulling his hands back and freeing the bird. Ruan bolted up and scuttled away a few steps, only to shake his feathers and prance in front of them in the proud, cocky way of roosters.

  “Would you look at that?” Seren said, her breath coming in near gasps. “I think he was just in shock, Rori. He’s going to be okay.”

  Despite her exhaustion, her heart cried out with joy. She had done it. She had brought Rori’s rooster back to life. And, it had been worth the trouble and pain it caused her just to see Rori’s brilliant smile and to hear his exuberant voice.

  “Seren! Is he really alive? Are you sure I’m not imagining it?”

  Seren shook her head and immediately regretted it. Her head ached from the overuse of her glamour.

  “I’m sure,” she struggled to say. “He’s going into the coop to check on the hens who survived.”

  Before she could say anything more, a piercing pain shot through her heart. She gasped, the sting so terrible and fierce it took her breath away.

  “Seren?” Rori asked, his cheerful tone turning tentative. “Are you all right?”

  He reached out his hand, searching for the young woman.

  Not wanting to worry him, Seren lifted her own hand, crying out and biting her lip when the movement caused the ache to pulse through her once again.

  Rori’s fingers wrapped around hers, and he made a noise of dismay.

  “Your fingers are so cold!”

  Seren took a breath to deny his claim, but the agony hit her again. She dropped her other hand to the ground to keep from falling over, but it wasn’t enough. As a searing fire tore through her, she collapsed in the mud. Rori’s screams filled the air, but she couldn’t respond to them as a cloud of blackness closed in on her. Perhaps she had finally pushed herself too far, after all.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Recompense

  As the sweeping hilltop of Ardun came into view, Brennon felt the tension drain from his body the way water slipped from his cupped hands. The drizzling fog had thinned beneath the autumn sun, and now the low clouds wisped over the rooftop of his home like the fingers of a mother passing through her child’s hair. Brenn breathed a sigh of relief, grateful for this sanctuary of sorts from his enemies. The alcohol had long since burned out of his system, and although some aspects of the ritual from the night before were still very vivid in his mind, he was eager to return to his nephew. The anger Arlana Corcorain stirred in him made him long for someone who had the opposite effect on him, and that person was Rori. His nephew would be awake by now, probably down at the barn doting on his chickens. Perhaps Seren would be with him as well. A tiny spark of warmth shot through him at the thought of the young Fahndi woman, but it was soon doused by a shock of cold dread. Seren would not be eager to see him, and he could not blame her. She had watched him cut Rori and bleed him like some sacrifice offered to the gods. If only she knew the heart of why he had done it, and how much he hated doing it, perhaps she might understand. Even forgive him for such a deed. But he could not tell her. That was a secret he and Rori kept entirely to themselves.

  In spite of his apprehension, Brennon was glad when Dermot passed between the two standing stones and crossed into the protective barrier surrounding his home. The freshly renewed spell hummed against his glamour, its strength not yet worn down by the passage of time. It disturbed him but eased his troubled thoughts as well. The stronger the barrier magic, the safer Rori would be.

  As horse and rider moved closer to the barn, however, the hairs on the back of Brenn’s neck stood on end, and Dermot began to snort. Immediately, his warrior senses were on full alert. Something wasn’t right. The air was too still, and the dogs hadn’t come out to greet him. When Brenn guided his horse off the trail and onto the flat expanse of land that stretched before the barn, he finally saw what he’d only felt earlier. His heart sank to his stomach, and his fingers began to tingle. There were feathers scattered everywhere, damp and plastered to the ground. Several unmoving mounds of white, brown, black and grey, twisting the unease in Brenn’s stomach even further. The chickens. Something had broken into the coop and killed the chickens. But it wasn’t the dead animals that made his heart seize in his chest. There, in the center of all the carnage, lay an unmoving shape, a small boy kneeling beside it.

  “Rori,” Brennon breathed, without thinking. “Seren.”

  He leaped from Dermot’s back and sprinted toward his nephew and the unmoving form of the Fahndi woman. Rori didn’t seem to hear his approach.

  “Rori!” Brennon barked, his voice a harsh rasp against his throat.

  The boy jerked up, his eyes growing wide as he turned his head in the direction of Brenn’s voice.

  “Uncle!” he cried, trying to stand but stumbling instead. “Something got the chickens, and I thought Ruan was dead, but Seren did something to help him. I don’t know what she did, but when she was done, Ruan was alright, but then Seren just fell over!”

  Rori paused to take several deep breaths, tears streaming down his face.

  “Shhh,” Brenn said, falling to his knees beside Seren’s still form. “It’s alright, Rori. I’m here. I’ll figure out what’s wrong with her.”

  Brennon ignored the mud and chicken blood seeping into the legs of his pants as he knelt beside the unconscious woman. Carefully, he placed one hand behind Seren’s head, the other on her arm. She was lying on her side, and he needed to roll her onto her back, so he could see what damage had been done. As soon as his fingers came into contact with the skin on her neck, he hissed in shock. She was freezing, even colder than his own rain-numbed fingers.

  “Oh, gods,” he whispered harshly, his voice so quiet Rori didn’t hear him. “Please do not be dead.”

  With shaking fingers, he searched for a pulse beneath her jaw. He melted in relief when he felt a light flicker, evidence that her heart still beat. But, she was so cold and pale. Her dark hair was wet and plastered to her face, and her clothes were soaked through.

  Brenn shot a glance up at Rori. He, too, was wet and shivering from the light rain.

  “How long ago did this happen?” he asked, his voice sounding harder than he had meant it to.

  “I-I don’t know,” Rori said, past his chattering teeth.

  “Can you walk?” Brenn pressed, as he started untying the cord that held his cloak in place.

  Rori nodded and made to stand up, almost falling over again. Brenn reached out a hand to steady him.

  “I need to carry Seren,” he said. “You’ll have to hold on to the back of my shirt as we head back up to the house. Do you think you can d
o that?”

  The boy nodded fiercely, adopting that hard look to his face he always took on when Brenn asked him to be brave. The picture of him kneeling there, looking like a young soldier ready to take on whatever horror the upcoming battle brought, made Brennon’s heart twinge with pride. This boy was so extraordinary, so much like his mother.

  Brenn shook his head and focused on the task at hand. He stood up and laid his cloak out on the ground, then carefully bent to lift Seren. She felt lighter than she had when he’d carried her back from the woods, and that worried him. Once she was lying on top of his cloak, he wrapped the edges up around her and reached down to scoop her up into his arms once again.

  “Grab onto my shirt, Rori,” he said, and the boy complied.

  “Ru-Ruan,” Rori rasped quietly.

  “He’ll be alright,” Brennon replied, spotting the rooster standing off to the side with the surviving hens. “Whatever attacked them is long gone now.”

  He moved as quickly as he could, unable to run flat out because Rori was clinging to him and doing his best not to stumble. Brennon was desperate to get Seren inside. He wondered if any of the coals from last night’s fire were still hot. He hoped so. The faster he got Seren’s temperature back up to normal, the better. Once at the top of the hill, he picked up his pace and crossed the wide lawn, leaving Rori to trail after him. The boy knew his way from the edge of the yard, and Brenn wasn’t worried about him.

  The back door was slightly ajar, and Brennon simply had to nudge it with one shoulder to get it open. Inside, the house was steeped in silence, and the air was chilly.

  “Rori!” he shouted. “I need you to work on a fire as fast as you can!”

  He heard the boy enter behind him and didn’t address him further. His nephew knew what to do. Carefully, Brenn set Seren in one of the stuffed chairs by the tall bookcase and jogged to the large storage closet. He pulled out the cot she had used those first few nights she had been recovering from her arrow wound and swiftly put the wooden pieces together, sliding the canvas hammock into place. He then pulled out several spare blankets and some large pieces of linen meant for drying.