Through Time-Pursuit

by Conn, Claudy

  “Would ye mind if we had a go at it?” Chance asked and turned to Trevor. “Apparently Trevor can locate Fae Relics, and Royce has exceptional abilities as well, so the two of them together may be able to get a sense of its location if it is in the castle.”

  “Mind?” His lordship rubbed his hands together. “’Tis a great adventure. I’ll be helping ye in any way I can.”

  “The question is where do we start?” Trevor said, a frown drawing his brows together as he glanced around.

  “Aye, if only we had an inkling of what it looked like—somewhere it had been kept during the years before it was hidden away. We might then get a ‘feel’ or a scent of it to track,” said Chance, thoughtfully looking at Royce. “Isn’t that right, lass?”

  She nodded. “Yes … I need something, even a place where it might have been kept during the Fallen Druid’s reign would, as you say, be helpful.”

  “Well, that’s something, Princess, that I can help ye with,” his lordship said, hurrying towards a set of shelves on the far wall. A dark, richly carved mahogany cabinet that had been well oiled and polished stood against the wall between shelves and shelves of books. It was a beautifully preserved testament to many centuries past, and Royce watched with keen interest as his lordship pulled open a middle drawer and withdrew an ornately carved oak box.

  With all eyes on him, he walked back towards the sofa and set the long, rectangular box on the coffee table. “Go ahead then, open it,” he told Chance. “I haven’t looked inside since I was a boy.” He took up a place on the sofa and motioned for Royce to sit beside him.

  She smiled, plopped down on the edge, and anxiously waited for Chance to open the box.

  “What are you saying? The Peckering was inside here?” Chance was clearly astounded.

  “Aye, ’tis all we have left of it, but it was proof of its existence, proof that the legend was true. See the engravings …”

  Its name in Gaelic was deeply etched into the lid of the box. Chance bent and opened it to display a black velvet casing within. It certainly had an indented shape where the Peckering had once reposed. On the inside of the lid in ancient Danu lettering again was its name, ‘Peckering’. A drawing of it was etched into the inside of the lid as well. It was a dagger with a hilt ornamented with jewels.

  “A dagger? The Peckering is a dagger? How the bloody hell is a knife going to help us stop Pestale from breaking the time barrier?” Chance demanded, dropping down onto a large leather-bound chair.

  “Well, of course it is a dagger—thought ye knew that—and as to helping ye? Well, ought ye not to remember that it is a Sacred Seelie Hallow? Aye, it holds the key to Dark and Light Magic. It can do almost anything, and it was to m’own clan the Seelie Queen entrusted it …” He lowered his head. “Much to our shame …”

  “Oh, I am sure that Queen Aaibhe does not blame you,” Royce stuck in. “And it makes sense to me that it is a dagger. It slices through the barrier of time—it divides Dark and Light Magic.”

  MacBathe smiled at her. “Aye then, wee Princess, ye see—don’t ye?” He sighed. “Nevertheless, much shame was brought upon our name by the Fallen Druid, and so I would like to help ye with all m’heart.”

  “Which brings us back to the crux of the matter—finding it,” Chance said, looking directly at Trevor. “Can ye? Can ye find it now?”

  “I cannot from its box. I need to be very near it to locate it, but Royce can.”

  All eyes turned to her, and she said with a long intake of air, “I think so … this box, this picture allows me to track its shape and scent and see it in my mind,” Royce said. “I shall start with a locator spell. Ete spent long hours training me, and there is no one better than Princess Ete at locator spells.”

  Trevor looked at her and smiled, “Right then, Red. Impress us.”

  “Don’t you think I can?” she said playfully as she took the empty Peckering case into her hands and started lightly fingering it.

  She closed her eyes, said the ancient Danu words, and listened to the hum in the atmosphere. She realized even the box, long empty, still had a magic all its own. It called to the dagger, and she could hear it. Apparently her Royal Seelie presence had awakened the Peckering’s sheath … the box.

  She felt a vibration, unique to itself, and all at once the Peckering connected with her, as though it had expected her all along. She didn’t find the Seelie Hallow—it found her!

  “At last,” said the soft voice of the Peckering for everyone in the room to hear. “I am for you, Princess.”

  “It is a female,” Royce said as she opened her eyes. “Of course … its purpose is nurturing. In spite of its sharp blade, it wasn’t made to kill.” And there was one more fact, she knew, for she felt it with her entire being. The Peckering was nearby.

  “Where is it, lass?” Chance asked as he moved to sit beside her and rested his hand on her knee.

  She looked at his hand and raised a brow at him, but he ignored this, reached, and touched her cheek. “Go on … find out where it is …”

  Even in that exciting moment, even as she was about to discover the whereabouts of an ancient, long-missing Fae Hallow, the Milesian consumed her mind. How dare he hold her knee like that? How dare he smile at her in just that manner … and oh, but she knew she really didn’t want him to withdraw his hand or his smile

  “I am trying,” she said irritably. She was charged with emotion and all of it conflicting. How could she be anything but irritated?

  And then the Peckering spoke again. “Dark, damp, and old … I am in the dungeon.”

  “By all that …” started MacBathe. “It has been in the dungeon of the original part of the castle … all along.”

  Royce got to her feet, closed the box, and said, “We’re on it, Peckering.”

  “Hurry—no time to lose,” it answered.

  Again, Chance took her hand and sent a rush of sensation through her body. Ridiculous, she told herself. She just couldn’t let her physical needs—her hormones—to rule her head.

  The Peckering, so pleased it seemed to Royce to be heard, started to chatter. “I am the Peckering. Yes, yes, I am she, Light and Dark, and mistress to the Fallen Druid no more—though he remains. I am of Seelie Fae …”

  “Remains? Remains where?” Chance demanded, fixing on that one word.

  “I no longer answer to him or to anyone other than a Royal Seelie Fae,” she answered haughtily.

  “What, Peckering, did you mean—the Fallen Druid remains?” Royce picked up the question.

  “Simply that, nothing more,” Peckering answered. “Come for me … and we shall speak of many things, Seelie Princess Royce.”

  “You know my name?” She was shocked.

  “As you searched me out—I returned the favor,” Peckering answered. “Now, Seelie Princess Royce, come for me …”

  ~ Seven ~

  COBWEBS HUNG IN profusion along the walls and railing as they descended deep into the original dungeon. Spiders scurried along their webs, and Royce let out a scream as one came close to her face.

  With a blink the cobwebs were cleared from their path, and they made their way down the last set of circular stone steps.

  MacBathe held up a large, lantern-styled flashlight as they stood at the wide chamber’s cavernous entrance.

  Trevor saw some old torches hung from the walls and lit them with a thought. Royce smiled at him. “Well done, Trev.”

  He smirked at her. “Parlor tricks.”

  She laughed, and Chance frowned at them both. “Right then, we are not here to play games.”

  Both Royce and Trevor looked around with interest because, in all her years, Royce had never visited a real dungeon. It was exactly what Hollywood depicted them as. Totally bleak, gloomy, damp, and full with an assortment of stone slabs, chains, and an odd collection of forgotten furniture evidently stacked and stored by past residents.

  Trevor walked over to an instrument of torture and in a disgusted accent said, “By Danu it sh
ocks me, though it shouldn’t, what degradation humans can inflict on one another.”

  Lord MacBathe glanced at him for a moment and answered quietly, “Indeed, I quite agree.”

  “Trev …” Royce admonished in a low voice.

  He frowned at her. “Well, even you with your great love of humans must admit that they seem to thrive on conflict. And … look at these things they used to inflict pain—how could they?”

  “Barbaric,” said MacBathe. “Aye, but we learned from our past.”

  “No, you did not. Torture still goes on,” Trevor complained roundly.

  “Oh, and I suppose we do not do much the same, but on a different level?” Royce threw back at him.

  “No, we do not,” he answered smugly.

  “I seem to recall tales of our wars—one so horrific, in fact, that it ended with the destruction of our beloved Danu!” she answered sharply.

  His lips tightened, and he said, “That was a long time ago.”

  “So what are you saying, Trev—we evolved? Cannot humans do the same?”

  “Humans will never evolve. They don’t have it in them.”

  “Er … begging yer pardon, young Prince, but … human here,” said his lordship.

  Chance chuckled and slapped his friend MacBathe on the back. “And proud we are to have ye on our side, Druid High Priest.”

  “Well, that is just it, isn’t it? He isn’t quite as human as the rest. He is a Druid—a high priest, in fact, aligned with the Fae,” returned Trevor.

  Royce wanted to punch her long-time friend, but she decided to leave that till later when they were alone.

  She had to get busy and find the Peckering. She could see that Trevor by his look of puzzlement had not yet discovered its location, and thus, it was up to her.

  “Here, Princess Royce,” the Peckering whispered. “I am for you.”

  “Why is it whispering?” Chance asked in a wary tone.

  “I don’t want him to hear.” The Peckering’s tone was hushed and cautious. “The princess must take charge of me before he remembers where I am …”

  “What are ye saying, Peckering? Is he here?” asked Chance.

  “Yes, and no … now, please, come to me, Princess Royce—find me … take me.”

  Royce went forward, sure as she touched the stone wall. She closed her eyes and whispered, “Here … she is here …”

  “Never say so?” exclaimed his lordship.

  “What—is it embedded in the wall?” Chance’s well-defined brows were up, and Royce felt a thrill as he came up beside her and ran his hand down her arm. Even through her jacket, he had the power to make her tremble.

  “Yes, yes—she is here, right here!” Royce answered excitedly.

  “Right then …” said Chance, looking about as though seeking a tool.

  Royce smiled and turned back to the wall. She whispered ancient Danu words, and the next thing everyone knew, she held the gold, bejeweled hilt of a short, curved dagger up towards the ceiling. “The Peckering,” she said softly and in some awe.

  Chance went forward, and then, suddenly, shock flooded Royce’s system. She bent over as her body writhed in pain. “Ahhhh …” she cried and then let out a scream as the pain turned into agony.

  She felt herself pulled and twisted and thrown.

  And then, swoosh. Thump. And more pain.

  A hard, earthen floor pressed against her cheek. She put her weight onto her forearms and was thankful she had gripped the Peckering tightly; it was still clasped in her right hand.

  She jumped to her feet, bent over her knees a moment, and sucked in air. No more pain, only the mental residual effects. But where the hell was she?

  “Oh no,” the Peckering said sadly.

  “Oh no? What do you mean, oh no?” she asked as she looked around. She wasn’t in the MacBathe dungeon—that was for certain. She wasn’t sure where she was, but it was nowhere good.

  A barren, foggy realm greeted her gaze, but through the mist, she could see torches. As she leveled her Fae eyes she discovered what appeared to be some kind of fortress.

  Immediately and without hesitation she tried shifting back to MacBathe.

  Nothing.

  She calmed herself and asked, “Okay, Peckering, where are we?”

  “In a macabre world of emptiness,” the Seelie Hallow answered in a hushed voice.

  “Can you get us out?”

  “I am not certain …”

  Royce sighed and studied her surroundings. The sky was a painted swirl of variegated shades of gray and black. Irregular, cloud-like formations moved through a dark sky. It had the look and feel of a painting … a dark, bizarre painting depicting the promise of awaiting horror.

  The next thing she saw: rats.

  Rats the size of miniature ponies, and they were scratching at the earth as though looking for food.

  “We don’t have rats in Faery,” she told the Peckering. “I … don’t even like the little guys, and these …”

  “That may be so, Princess, but these rats can harm us.”

  “But … we are Seelie …”

  “So we are, but in this realm, you are mortal.”

  “Damn, damn, and damn again, why—what happened, why are we here?”

  “No time now, Princess—they have seen you.”

  Their huge red eyes were looking her way, and two of them reared onto their hind legs and clawed the air as they screeched. They were quite a distance, but they began a pace that put that distance behind them.

  Royce attempted shift jumping, which allowed for shifting in spurts. It worked. Ah, she thought, piecing her facts together. Still have some magic … have to find the right kind and get the hell out …

  She jump shifted three times and reached the stone fortress, noting that there were no windows—nada! There was, however, a set of two hardwood doors, and she pounded with all her might.

  The rats were closing in.

  “Peckering!” she yelled.

  “I think I have evolved beyond immortal,” the Peckering said thoughtfully. “I don’t believe the rats can hurt me.”

  “Great. I am very glad for you, but if I’m mortal they sure can hurt me—do something!”

  “We shall go inside,” the Peckering said, and suddenly Royce felt herself transported within the building, Peckering-style—very different than Fae shifting. It was like being dissembled and then reassembled again. Horrible, thought Royce, but at least the rats were on the outside, and she was safely inside.

  Sorta safely—because inside she was assaulted with a cloud of black magic, hostile and pervasive.

  The chamber she found herself in was cold, damp, and sparsely furnished. Spider webs were everywhere, and something about the enormous size of the webs made her uneasy. She realized she didn’t like spiders anymore than she liked rats!

  Aside from the feeling that black magic was attempting to stroke her, she was relatively safe—from the rats at least.

  “You know where we are, don’t you, Peckering? Fess up, and tell me where are we, and why are we here?”

  “I did not know this would happen. I would have tried to prevent it had I known.” The Peckering’s voice was filled with sadness. “Apparently, Princess, I was spelled, spelled without my knowledge … forgive me.” The Peckering sounded ashamed.

  “You were spelled?” Royce felt stupid repeating this, but it was the only thing her mind could zero in on at that moment.

  “Yes, my Princess, and I am terribly sorry …”

  “How could you not know?”

  “It was done in my absence … probably using my housing … the box that led you to me. You can’t think I would have known and not warned you?”

  “I see …” Royce was thinking hard and fast.

  “I was spelled, and I am deeply ashamed,” Peckering said on a low note. “The black magic spell was the last thing the Fallen Druid must have enacted before he buried me in the wall …”

  “Doona blame the Peckering,” a de
ep male voice said as a man, or what appeared to be a man, emerged from the depth of the dark corridor at Royce’s back.

  She spun around and opened her eyes wide when the torches flickered violently as he approached. She braced herself as she took his measure—here was the Fallen Druid, presumed dead. He didn’t look dead—not at all.

  He was a giant of a man, and once upon a time, she thought, women might have considered him attractive. Now, no one could. His face was lined with the ravages of time and dissipation. His eyes were black stones that depicted emptiness; at least, she thought, they showed no soul. His movements were primal as he stalked towards her, like a wild animal on the hunt—hungry.

  Something about the leather and furs he wore increased the savage appearance he presented when he moved through the dim light of the torches.

  Royce took a step backwards.

  A feral movement of his lips as he looked her up and down made her take yet another step back. She was momentarily struck by his stone-cold black eyes. She was definitely in trouble.

  She could appeal to him on absolutely no level.

  She whispered his name as much to herself as to him. “Well then, you are the Fallen Druid—MacBathe.”

  He inclined his head. “So I am, and who did my Peckering bring me?”

  “I am not your Peckering—at least, no longer your Peckering,” the dagger said defiantly.

  That appeared to anger him; he growled low in his throat, threatening both Royce and the dagger she held tightly fisted at her side. An idea popped into her head, and she steadied her nerves with the hope that it might work.

  Something in the heavy air played games with her Fae senses and made her feel unwell. Fae didn’t suffer illness, but here, although still Seelie Fae, she was no longer immortal. The realization came in a flurry: he was doing something with the atmosphere—using black magic.

  She focused and saw the waves of darkness surrounding her. She put up a shield of white magic and sighed with relief that she still had that power. At least her stomach would stop turning!