Faeborne: A Novel of the Otherworld

by Johnson, Jenna Elizabeth

  Brennon worked as swiftly as he could, setting up the bed before the great fireplace. He could sense his nephew out of the corner of his eye, grabbing wood from the stack to his left. The moment he moved out of the way to return to Seren, Rori stepped in, feeling his way to the hearth. He reached a hand into the fireplace, his fingers trying to sense if any heat emanated from it. Brenn wasn’t sure if there were hot coals beneath, but Rori must have felt something because he carefully piled the logs into the bed of ashes and then stood back, waiting. A few moments passed before he groped for the bellows hanging on a hook nearby.

  By the time Brenn gathered Seren back up, Rori had managed to get a small fire going. Soon, the pleasant crackle of flames devouring dry wood, and the enticing scent of smoke filled the room.

  “Thank you, Rori,” Brennon said, as he knelt down once again, carefully laying Seren on the floor just beside the cot.

  “Will she be alright?” Rori asked, his voice shaking.

  Brenn paused in his efforts to peel his now sodden cloak away from the girl. His heart seized in his chest as he considered the words. Would she heal from whatever harm had been done to her? He didn’t know.

  Instead of answering, Brenn said sternly, “I need you to fetch the healing herbs again.”

  For several heartbeats, Rori didn’t move. Finally, he queried, “Uncle?”

  Brennon let out a great breath, his hand carefully pushing away the wet hair plastered to Seren’s face. Her skin, usually such a beautiful copper color, looked unnaturally pale, almost as pale as his own skin tone. She was barely alive, injured in some way he could not tell, but all he could think about was the irony in how casually and comfortably he touched her skin. After his encounter with Arlana and the way he had recoiled from her attempt at placing her hand on his arm, he seemed untroubled as his fingers made contact with Seren’s smooth cheek and forehead.

  Shaking the strange calmness from his mind, he turned to Rori. The boy couldn’t see what his uncle was doing, couldn’t discern Seren’s pale and unmoving form, but there was no doubt he felt the emotions brewing in the room.

  Finally, Brennon took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I do not know, Rori. I do not know if she will be alright. I promise you, I’ll do everything in my power to heal her. But, I need your help.”

  Rori worried his lower lip and nodded once, darting off toward the storage room with the confidence of someone who could see the path before him.

  Brennon turned back to Seren and started removing her wet clothing, doing his best to keep his eyes averted from her bare skin. Once the clothes were removed, he wrapped her in a linen sheet and quickly got to work drying her off. He knew from his time spent in the Morrigan’s army that skin to skin contact was the best method for bringing warmth back to a half-frozen body. He gritted his teeth. It was one thing to touch Seren’s face with his hands, but quite another to strip down and press his bare flesh to hers. For a few seconds, he debated with himself, then a small voice said in his mind, You promised Rori you would do everything in your power …

  Before he could change his mind, Brenn sat on the cot and removed his shoes and socks, then his shirt and muddy pants. He grabbed one of the spare sheets and wrapped it a couple of times around his waist, then sat down on the edge of the cot. He leaned down and carefully picked Seren up off the floor, cradling her nude body to his chest. Just as gently, he lay down with her, stretching her out so her back was pressed to his chest and she was facing the fire. He wrapped his arms around her, trying not to shiver. She was so cold, so very cold.

  “Don’t die on me,” he whispered, pressing his mouth close to her ear, so that she might hear him. He knew it was a ridiculous thought, but he couldn’t help himself.

  His bare skin had broken out in goose pimples, but he didn’t care. He would absorb all of her cold if he could and give her all of his warmth. After some time, his breathing grew steady, and the chill lingering in the air melted away as Rori’s fire radiated its own heat. There was nothing left to do but lie there and wait, and so that’s what Brennon did. Every now and then, he would rub his hands up Seren’s torso and arms, trying to get the warmth to return to her. For several long minutes, he waited, willing the fire to burn hotter and cursing the cold clinging to her body.

  At some point, Rori returned. Brenn absently told him to set the herbs on one of the tables. After that, he didn’t know what his nephew did. He dozed on and off, jerking awake from time to time and shifting to get Seren’s blood moving. Finally, after what seemed like hours, her skin began to prick with goose bumps. A few minutes later, she started shivering.

  “Good,” Brenn whispered, rubbing his hands over her arms again. “You’re starting to warm up.”

  Within half an hour, her shivering stopped, and she released a tired sigh. Brenn leaned back away from her and tilted her head in his direction so he could see her face. He nearly melted in relief. She was deep in sleep, her earth brown hair now dry and curling away from her face. Her thick, dark lashes rested against her cheeks, cheeks that had regained their color. He knew he should get up, add logs to the fire, heat water for herbal tea. Prepare dinner so she would have something to eat when she woke up. But for some reason, lying there and holding Seren close to him brought peace to his heart, now he knew she was recovering. Brennon allowed himself fifteen more minutes, just to make sure her breathing remained steady and her skin stayed warm, then, reluctantly peeled himself away from her, quickly tucking the blankets around her once more.

  As he did this, Seren let out a soft mewling sound and stirred in her sleep. The noise, although small and unconsciously made, sent shivers through his blood and some deep, desperately lonely part of him wished to claim the sound for himself. Do not leave her, a voice said. She craves your touch. Your nearness.

  Before the satisfied feeling could take hold and make him do something truly foolish, Brenn shook his head and stepped away from the Fahndi woman, almost tripping over Rori. The boy had curled up on the floor atop the spare blankets like a puppy. Nola, unsurprisingly, had followed his nephew’s lead. The great cat lay next to him, her tail tucked over her eyes. As soon as she heard Brenn adding more logs to the fire, however, she lifted her head curiously. When she noticed the master of the house was no longer lying next to Seren, the cat stood, then stretched and yawned, displaying an impressive set of teeth, before trotting over to the cot. After a few moments of feline consideration, she leaped up onto the blankets tucked around Seren and made herself at home on the young woman’s stomach. Brenn grinned when he heard the tell-tale rumble of Nola’s purring.

  Good, he thought, that will help Seren.

  Deciding it was safe to leave his nephew and the Fahndi woman alone for a few minutes, Brenn made a quick trip upstairs to don a fresh set of clothes. When he returned downstairs, he first checked on Seren, smiling at what he saw. Her color was so much better now. Brenn reached out and brushed his fingers down the curve of her cheek, not finding the gesture strange in the least. Of course, he was the one initiating physical contact, not her. Yet, some bone-deep instinct told him had she been the one reaching out to stroke his face, he would not object. Perhaps he was finally healing from those wounds inflicted upon him while in the employ of the Morrigan, after all. Or, maybe he had no qualms because this was Seren.

  When Brenn was certain Seren wouldn’t take a turn for the worst, and when he could hear Rori’s deep, sleep-induced breaths as he rested peacefully on the ground beside her, he decided to leave the house and assess the damage outside. The day had progressed well into late afternoon, the lazy sun staining the western sky scarlet. Dermot was still in the yard, though closer to the road, cropping grass and letting his reins trail behind him. He greeted Brenn with a lazy whicker. Despite all that had happened, Brennon couldn’t help but smile a little at the horse. Gathering up the reins, he led the animal easily toward the barn, trying hard to ignore the lingering stench of blood and fear permeating the cool air. He would have to bury the chickens
in the morning. Those who survived, Rori’s Ruan and five or six hens, had found their roosts in the coop.

  Brenn took the time sealing up the entrance with what remained of the door and some spare planks he scavenged from the barn. As he completed this task, he checked for evidence only a wild predator might leave behind. No claw marks in the earth, no teeth marks on the wood or tufts of fur caught on protruding nails. There were, however, a few stray boot prints closer to the creek bank, and he couldn’t say for certain whether or not they belonged to him or Rori. Not for the first time since arriving home from Dundoire Hollow, Brenn felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

  Once the chickens were secure, he continued to lead Dermot into the barn. The dogs, it turned out, had been locked in one of the covered stalls, only driving home his suspicions. No, it hadn’t been an animal attack on their flock. Someone, not something, had visited his farm while he was gone. A fierce, hot anger washed through him, burning away whatever fear he’d felt for Seren and Rori. His enemies were growing bolder. He wondered, now, at Arlana’s intense focus on ensnaring his attention at the Black Boar. Had she been trying to keep him from going home? And that consideration only churned up another, more dreadful thought: Seren and Rori could have so easily been harmed. Bitter guilt and self loathing boiled up in his stomach. As he had been off dealing with his inability to handle the aftereffects of their Samhain ceremony, his nephew and the young woman currently under his protection had been left for the wolves.

  Brennon clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, giving the tight hold on his glamour just enough freedom to let it bubble to the surface of his skin. He had vowed never again to use that part of his magic so coveted by the Morrigan and so feared by his fellow Faelorehn men and women, but should anyone ever threaten those he cared for again, he would not hesitate to let the fury of his glamour wreak havoc upon them, the consequences be damned.

  After letting the pack of wolfhounds out of their makeshift pen, Brenn got busy tending to Dermot, hoping the soothing, familiar routine would cool his anger. He removed the horse’s saddle and the blanket beneath, then the bridle and the bit. Before it grew too dark, Brenn fetched a lantern from the wall and used some of his glamour to light it, careful not to release too much. Picking up one of the curry brushes, he got to work on Dermot while the large horse munched away contentedly at his oats. A quick survey of the barn told Brenn the chickens were the only victims of the attack. The sheep and goats dozed in their own pens, and the mare and her foal watched him curiously as he tended to their pasture mate.

  The job of caring for Dermot did the trick in soothing his glamour, but it did not help with the low burning anger blackening his mood. He had been patient for three years with those who wished to frighten him away or bully him into doing their bidding. Baird and Arlana and those they had in their pockets had always found a way to damage him just enough to let him know they feared him, but not enough to drive him and Rori away. He had hoped, with time, they would give up. But today’s events only proved they were growing bolder and more insistent.

  If not for the geis on this land, he told himself furiously, I would gather up Rori and leave this place.

  But, it was that very geis which guaranteed Rori would never be harmed by the Morrigan. The very thing protecting his nephew also tied him to a place so full of sorrow and regret, and an entirely different sort of danger. Ardun had once been the world to Brennon. As a child, he remembered swearing to his father he would never live anywhere else. He would spill his blood to defend his home because it was the most beautiful place in all of Eile. That was before the Corcorains gave his name up to the Morrigan’s soldiers. Before he was dragged away, crying like a small boy. Before he was warped into a man who may or may not still have a soul. Brenn squeezed his eyes shut. He had not been broken by the goddess of war and her advisors, but perhaps he had paid a much higher price than he realized simply to prove they could not own him. Perhaps that was why he was so easily overwhelmed by the darkness of his haunted past. He hadn’t been broken apart, but he had been hollowed out, and the void had been filled with death and sorrow and madness.

  Brenn let out a great breath and returned his attentions to the Shire horse. He could not think about what was lost today, only what was gained. Many of the hens had been slain, but Rori was unharmed, at least physically, and Seren, who had been so close to death, had much improved. Brenn reminded himself he couldn’t breathe easy just yet. He didn’t know what Seren had done to become so ill, and there was still the chance of a fever or sickness arising from her ordeal.

  By the time Brenn left the barn, the world was cloaked in deep twilight. The dogs followed him back, all of them subdued and quiet, radiating guilt for having failed to guard their home. Brennon didn’t blame them. Odds were whoever attacked them this time used their glamour to overpower the hounds and keep them quiet. At least he could appreciate that small blessing: his tormentors hadn’t killed any of their dogs.

  Brennon ascended the hill, glancing up every now and then to take note of the stars winking to life in the dark sky. A small part of him was afraid to go inside. What if Seren had fallen back into her illness while he was tending to Dermot and seeing to the remaining chickens? What if he returned to find Rori in shock after waking up and remembering the events of the day? That’s what had happened to his nephew when the boy’s mother and grandparents had died. For weeks after their deaths, he hardly spoke or ate, barely sleeping at night or sleeping the entire day away. Brennon had been worried sick the boy would simply waste away. When he did manage to sleep at night, he was often visited by night terrors so awful, they ripped the most horrifying screams from his throat. At least, he had that in common with the boy. For a long time they shared in the torment the night brought them. What if this incident brought those horrors back to him?

  Brennon clenched his jaw and rubbed at the back of his neck, surprised to find a film of sweat there. He came to a dead stop in the middle of the yard and tilted his head back, once again admiring the few stars scattered across the deep blue velvet sky. He took a deep breath, then another, letting it out calmly as he did his best to push the darkness of the past few days from his mind. Would he and Rori ever find peace in this prison they lived in? Brenn tried to conjure up the most pleasant thing he could think of. Ardun, before he was taken by the Morrigan. Running through the fields during high summer, fishing for trout in the creek, playing hide-and-seek among the small circle of standing stones and oaks on the highest point of the hill. None of these memories brought him much peace, however. They only served as a reminder of what had been lost. Someday, perhaps, he would be able to look back and appreciate them for what they were: moments of happiness he had the privilege of experiencing. But he could not do that today.

  Brennon was about to give up on his search for joyful recollections when an image of Seren smiling flashed into his mind. She hadn’t known he was watching her and Rori as they dug into the earth, pulling up the root vegetables that had grown late into the season. He had thought her pretty before, like a delicate autumn leaf, not yet tattered or pushed into the soft earth by the forest creatures. When he saw her smile, really smile, at something his nephew had said, she had transformed into a being of radiance and beauty. And he had seen her as nothing less ever since.

  Brenn drew in a sharp, hissing breath. He clenched his fists and dropped his head to stare at the dark ground beneath him. What was he doing? Had he not told himself this sort of thinking was dangerous? Hadn’t it been bad enough holding her pressed close against him earlier that day? Yes, he had done it to save her life, but if he was being entirely honest with himself, he’d admit he enjoyed the sensation of having her slight body so near to his, even if her skin had been like ice. Thinking of Seren in such a way was dangerous, and he had no right to do so. To open his heart up to anyone else was to invite an innocent person into his own, haunted prison, and no one deserved to be weighted down with such a burden. He was far too damaged to enterta
in the idea of emotional companionship with someone else.

  “I am cursed with far more than just bad glamour,” he murmured to one of the wolfhounds panting affectionately by his side.

  With one last glance at the darkening sky, Brennon left the yard behind and closed the distance to the house. He feared he could no longer control his feelings with regards to the young Fahndi woman who had burst into his life like a sudden rainstorm. And despite his determination to keep his distance, both physically and emotionally, some part of him, the part still capable of showing compassion and feeling love, was rejoicing, if only just a little.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Scourge

  Seren dreamed, or perhaps she was lost in the afterlife. She wouldn’t be surprised if the latter were so. She had gone too far after Ruan’s spirit and now she couldn’t get back. Memories of her short life played out in obscure, water-stained scenes, as if she were watching them take place just below the surface of a clear lake. All of her little joys and sorrows were on display, and her heart ached to witness them. She recalled the first time she felt loss, when she finally realized her peers would never accept her. Seren had been five years old, and she had asked to play a game of hide-and-find. Being the newcomer, she had volunteered to count. After searching for her friends for nearly an hour, she found them all down by the creek, playing another game entirely.

  The image painted a vivid scene across her mind’s eye, the brilliant greens and yellows of summer set against a backdrop of rushing water. The clear, ringing laughter of the other Fahndi children was almost deafening as she gazed upon them from behind a screen of cattails. She had realized in those moments she’d been tricked, and that none of the other children wanted her around.