Faeborne: A Novel of the Otherworld

by Johnson, Jenna Elizabeth

  Her memories swirled, and she found herself gazing upon another scene, this one featuring a slightly older version of herself. She walked through the middle of her tribe’s settlement, hand in hand with her mother. As they passed, Fahndi men and women turned and whispered to their companions. They were sure to give mother and daughter plenty of room to pass, their eyes constantly assessing. The gesture was subtle, something she and her mother always experienced when among their people, and she hadn’t understood it until that day. They weren’t just rejecting her, but her mother as well. Because of what Seren was. A half-breed created without the blessing of the tribe, or, according to rumor, without the consent of her mother. The memories began to churn again, but the familiar image of her mother brought tears to Seren’s eyes, and she didn’t see what torment her subconscious wished to show her next.

  “Oh, mama,” she murmured, her voice catching in her throat.

  She struggled to turn away from the images, scenes of ridicule and heartbreak, but something kept her fixed to the spot.

  “Uncle!” a small, familiar voice cried out. “Uncle, Seren is speaking!”

  Seren thought she heard the clap of boots ringing out over stone tiles, but the sound was muffled.

  “Seren?”

  Another voice, this one much deeper, but as gentle as a cool autumn breeze.

  Something touched her hand, something warm and strong. Fingers interlacing with her own. There was familiarity in that touch, and she sucked in a great breath as her glamour pulsed once in joyous recognition.

  “Come on now, Seren. Wake up. You had a trying morning yesterday. Something attacked the chickens, remember? And you helped Rori’s rooster.”

  Suddenly, different images flashed through her mind, images of blood and death and Rori hunched over, crying.

  With a loud gasp, Seren’s eyes flew open, and she jolted upright. Nola the cat, who had apparently been sleeping on her stomach, went tumbling off the cot in a whirl of fur and disgruntled hissing.

  “Careful now,” Brennon chastised gently, pressing Seren’s shoulders back against the pillows. “Take it easy. You are just now beginning to recover. I don’t want you overexerting yourself.”

  “I-I can sit up,” Seren insisted, in a weak voice.

  Brennon nodded his head and asked Rori to help make a backrest out of all the extra pillows. When she was settled once again, Brenn pushed a bowl of hot vegetable soup into her hands.

  Sighing in pleasure, Seren began to eat, her stomach and body aching to replace what her healing magic had burned off. As she ate, Seren tried to study Brenn out of the corner of her eye. His dark hair was damp, as if he’d been out in the rain, and his grey eyes were darkening to soot. Even now, after being around him for so many weeks, she found herself admiring his Faelorehn beauty.

  He also seemed unnaturally still, as if something weighed heavily on his mind.

  But of course he has much to think about, Seren told herself. He came home to find most of his chicken flock dead and you passed out in the mud.

  Seren felt her cheeks redden at the thought. She must have looked on the verge of death. And with Rori being so upset about his rooster … Gritting her teeth, Seren took a deep breath through her nose and got back to her soup, accepting a thick piece of bread with a sheepish smile when Brennon offered it to her.

  Eventually, she ran out of soup and bread. With her stomach full and her thoughts not so scattered, Seren said with an apologetic grin, “I just keep getting myself into trouble around you.”

  She glanced up and gave Brennon a real smile, to let him know she was teasing, before sobering again.

  “Was it faelah that attacked the chickens?” she asked.

  Rori, who had been sitting in a smaller chair next to his uncle, flinched ever so slightly. Seren caught her bottom lip between her teeth, sorry she hadn’t broached the subject more gently.

  “No,” Brennon answered hoarsely. “No, it wasn’t faelah.”

  “Then, what?” she pressed, setting her empty soup bowl aside.

  Brenn put out his hand again, this time touching her forearm. Although the contact sent a jolt of shock up his own arm, he left it where it was. Seren had been very ill, for what reason he could not puzzle out. She needed to lie still and rest.

  He exhaled once again and looked toward the window across the room. After several seconds, he turned back to regard the Fahndi woman before him. Her golden-copper skin was paler than usual, just a few shades darker than his own, and there were dark circles under her large brown eyes. Brenn felt his heart twinge, the way it always did when he caught Rori struggling with something he had most certainly done with ease before the blindness. During those times, he would stand back and simply study his nephew, his heart swelling as the boy pushed himself to complete whatever task he’d undertaken. On a few occasions, Brenn had felt tears form in the back of his eyes. Rori never complained, and he had more reason in the world than anyone to do so.

  It was in those moments, Brennon found himself looking to his nephew for inspiration. And now, the same feeling washed over him as he studied Seren’s face. It was true, he didn’t know what had happened to make her so ill, but he had a nagging suspicion it had something to do with the chickens and the badly injured Ruan. Had she somehow healed the rooster? Rori had been so convinced the bird was dead before Seren came out to see what had happened. But Ruan had been fine. Brenn had seen him with his own eyes. A little beat up with too many tail feathers missing, but he had flapped his wings and crowed, his voice rather hoarse, as if he’d only been chased by one of the hounds.

  Brenn blinked and realized Seren had been waiting a long time for his answer. He hadn’t wanted to tell her about his troubles with some of the families from Dundoire Hollow, especially not the Corcorains, but he felt now he had no choice. She was a long-term part of their household now, at least until spring came again, and his farmstead was attacked often enough by his enemies that she might start to notice. He didn’t have to tell her everything, just enough to keep her vigilant.

  Drawing in a breath and letting it out gradually, Brenn said, “There are some people in town and living on the land neighboring Ardun who do not like us all that much. I suspect they were behind the raid on the chicken coop.”

  Seren’s eyebrows drew together. “But, why? How could anyone dislike you and Rori so?”

  Brenn felt a bit of the tension leave his shoulders, and his mouth tugged up on one side. For the first time in days, he was displaying a natural smile, one not forced or used as a way to intimidate others. It felt nice.

  Seren, on the other hand, blushed and drew back against the cot. This only made Brenn smile more widely. He was glad to see the color return to her cheeks. She hadn’t looked right without it.

  “I just don’t see why anyone would want to harm you or your nephew. Both of you are so kind and gentle spirited.” She grimaced slightly, then added with a mumble, “Well, other than what happened the other night with the ritual.”

  She waved her hand around, and by the way she averted her eyes, Brenn knew she hadn’t meant to stir up that particular subject again.

  He wanted so much to be warmed by her returned faith in him, but sour guilt dominated instead. Oh, if only she knew the truth and how wrong she was.

  Instead of giving her a real answer, Brenn cast his eyes toward the stone floor and laced his fingers together, resting his elbows on his legs. “People do terrible things for petty reasons. This isn’t the first time someone has tried to sabotage the farm, and it won’t be the last.”

  “Have you tried to stop them?”

  Brenn glanced back up at Seren with bemusement. He could tell by the tone of her voice she understood it was a stupid question, but she had asked it anyway. He shook his head. “I would if I could gather enough evidence to prove who is behind it.”

  Although he knew who had orchestrated the attacks, he could never verify it. The town elders would demand evidence, and even so, Arlana and Baird, and Usci
as especially, had Dundoire Hollow clamped tightly in their fist. The elders would not risk having the life squeezed from them by upsetting the Corcorain siblings and their resident Druid. Besides, they already disliked him enough for his one-time association with the Morrigan. It was pointless trying to convince a group of superstitious Faelorehn men to see his side of the story.

  “I wish I could help,” Seren said in a small voice, pulling Brennon from his unpleasant thoughts.

  Brenn snorted and gave her a rueful smile. “I only wished to warn you in case something else happens. And to keep your guard up, even if I’m nearby.”

  The three occupants of Roarke Manor spent the rest of that gloomy autumn day mostly indoors. When Seren was feeling better, she relocated to the comfortable chair in front of the small library, and she and Rori commenced with her reading lesson. Brennon, feeling restless and still unable to shake the odd sensation enveloping him, decided to move through the house fixing small things he’d been neglecting for far too long. A window frame in need of sealing, a chair leg which required tightening, old candles, nothing more than small stumps, swapped out for fresh ones. Each room had some small inadequacy Brenn saw to.

  By evening, everyone was tired, their emotions having drained their energy from the previous day’s chaos. They ate an early supper in near silence, then sought their beds with nothing more than a mumbled blessing for fair dreams among them.

  For the next two weeks, Brenn, Seren and Rori followed a similar routine. Brennon and his nephew spent most of their days in the barn, patching up cracks in the walls and making sure the hay was clean of vermin. They also kept busy cleaning and repairing the chicken coop, making sure everything was set for the fast approaching winter. Seren, on the other hand, took up her previous job of preparing the meals for everyone. As she regained her strength, she became more efficient at her task and was even able to put aside a handful of hours each day to call her own. She would spend her free time studying the letters and words Rori had taught her, or creating something beautiful from the dyed sheep’s yarn Brenn had given her.

  Three weeks following Samhain, Seren’s healing glamour finally returned to its full capacity. By then, Ardun had also experienced its first true snowfall: a thin blanket of white covering the fields and rooftops and remaining throughout the entire day. That night, she and Rori and Brennon enjoyed a meal of wild boar and vegetables, Seren only eating the stewed carrots and turnips, of course, and Rori eating far more than either she or Brenn thought possible. With the hounds scattered about the great room in sleeping piles of wiry grey hair, and Nola curled up in the basket full of blankets, Brennon, Rori and Seren played cards late into the night. The three of them laughed and told stories and, for the first time in so very long, simply enjoyed life without the worries which often plagued them during their waking hours.

  Of course, such enjoyment was short-lived. As soon as the house was still and quiet after an evening spent in pleasant company, an unnatural darkness settled upon them. Seren had been in a deep sleep, one free of dreams, when a blood-curdling scream of agony woke her. She bolted upright, drawing in great breaths of air as her heart raced in her chest. It was late into the night, judging by the light cast by both the moon outside and the glowing embers in the hearth. For several seconds Seren sat up in bed, willing her heart to slow as she tried to decide if she had actually heard the scream or dreamt it. While contemplating the matter, the horrifying wail came again, followed shortly by another. All the hair on Seren’s arms and the back of her neck stood on end. Never in her life had she heard something so heart-wrenching. As awful as the noise was, at least now she knew it hadn’t been a dream.

  A third scream convinced her to throw back the covers of her bed. By the time she reached her door, whoever was in distress had cried out once again. With trembling fingers, Seren pulled open her door and poked her head out into the upstairs walkway. She first looked in the direction of Rori’s room, thinking the small boy was being haunted by night terrors. Another anguished cry, sharp enough to create new splinters in the floor planks, crawled up her spine. She spun around, seeking the source of the terrible screams. The color drained from Seren’s face when she spotted a small lump pressed against the foot of Brennon’s bedroom door. Rori.

  Seren opened her mouth to call out his name, but another shout, this one more guttural than the others, sounded from behind the door. Taking a shaking breath, she moved toward Brennon’s bedroom, an awful feeling of dread taking root in the pit of her stomach. Not Rori who was being visited by nightmares, then, but his uncle. It seemed to take her an eternity to reach the end of the dark hall, but when she did, Seren reached down a gentle hand and placed it on Rori’s shoulder.

  He jumped at her touch, not expecting it.

  “Seren?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion.

  “I’m here, Rori. Tell me, what is wrong with your uncle?”

  He turned to regard her, his sightless eyes huge and bright, the tears making them shine more clearly in the darkness. “He has nightmares a lot. You just haven’t been here long enough to hear them.”

  He curled back upon himself, pressing the side of his face to the door when Brenn let out another scream of agony. Rori was shaking now, his hand placed against the rough wood just beside his face.

  “He-he made me promise never to go into his room when he has the nightmares. He told me to stay in my own room and try to muffle the sounds with my pillow. But I can’t do that, Seren. And I can’t help him.”

  A few fresh tears poured down his face, and he tried even harder to press himself against the door. Seren felt tears form and fall from her own eyes, as well. This child, this blind little boy who had all the reason in the world to shy away from fear and strife, did just the opposite when those he loved were in the most need of that love. Here he was, saddened not because he feared his uncle’s strange dreams, but because he could not help him. Seren’s heart swelled, despite the current, dismal events. She didn’t know if she’d ever find a bond mate and have children of her own, but she couldn’t imagine loving anyone more than she loved Rori in that moment. Now, she understood why her mother had not cared what their tribe mates thought or said to her. If this was what Daniela had felt for her daughter, then such a sacrifice would be an easy one to make.

  Brenn’s continued howls of pain and despair ripped Seren from her internal thoughts. She took a deep breath, eyed the door and came to a decision. Nightmares were the result of damage done to one’s emotions and spirit. In a way, they were their own kinds of wounds. She was good at healing wounds. She had returned Rori’s rooster from the spirit world, had she not? And she had been feeling well for a full week now. Perhaps, she could use some of her glamour to heal Brennon’s suffering.

  “Move aside, Rori,” she said, her voice low but firm. “I’m going in there. Your uncle told you to stay out, but he didn’t tell me to.”

  Rori pulled away from the door just enough to turn wide eyes on her, as usual, not quite meeting her gaze.

  “Can you help him?”

  “I can try,” she said, standing up from where she’d been kneeling beside the boy.

  A tug at her nightshirt brought Seren up short. She glanced back down at Rori. He was no longer tilting his head up in her direction, but had his eyes averted. “You tried to help Ruan, and it made you sick.”

  Apprehension tainted his voice, so Seren knelt back down and took Rori’s face in her hands. His eyebrows jerked in surprise, but it was the only movement he made.

  “I am much better now, Rori. And I promise you, I will stop if I feel like I’m going to get sick. Okay?”

  He nodded, and she leaned down and kissed him on the forehead before he stood up to inch away from the door. “You stay out here, just in case. Sometimes people lash out in their dreams because they aren’t quite awake. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “What if he lashes out at you?” Rori pressed.

  Seren grinned. “I’ll be able to see his attack
before it comes, so hopefully, I can jump out of the way.”

  To her surprise, Rori beamed at her. “Alright. I’ll be out here if you need me.”

  Another sharp cry from Brennon’s room reminded Seren she should hurry. Taking a breath, she called upon her inner courage and lifted the latch to the door, cracking it open a few inches. The fire in Brennon’s room had died down, so she instructed Rori to fetch her a lamp or some candles. The boy nodded and darted down the hallway, his hand trailing over the balcony railing to guide his way. Seren turned toward the bed, but could see nothing but a bundle of white sheets in the dim light. Every now and then, the sheets would twitch and the figure lying beneath them would hiss in a breath or groan in utter fear. The sounds reminded her of the primitive complaints of terrified, injured animals she encountered in the forest.

  “I’m here, Brennon,” she murmured, inching toward the bed. “I’ll help you.”

  Brenn thrashed suddenly, violently, and Seren leaped back, a small yelp lodging in her throat. The Faelorehn man screamed, a sound so harsh it must have torn the surface of his throat.

  Again, Seren’s own skin prickled, and her heart quickened its pace. Before she tried approaching the bed again, Rori returned, handing her an oil lamp and a few candles. She got to work quickly lighting them, and soon, the bedchamber was bathed in enough light to see by. When she turned back toward Brenn, the scene had changed dramatically.

  Seren swallowed hard as she considered the man lying before her, his fingers clawing at the sheets, his bare torso covered in cold sweat. His chest rose and fell far too quickly, making the beautiful Celtic tattoos drawn there look alive and menacing. She had never seen this Faelorehn man as vulnerable as he was now. His hair was damp, and his eyes jerked behind their lids, mimicking his erratic thrashing on the bed. Clearly, some powerful nightmare had him trapped in his own subconscious. Was it because of the blood ritual he had committed on himself and Rori that had him fighting demons in his sleep? Or was it something else? Perhaps the darkness she’d detected lingering around this man since the day she’d woken up in his home? Could that same foul stain gain more control while the man slept? A shiver coursed down Seren’s spine. She wouldn’t be surprised if all of those factors played a part in Brennon’s current condition.