“What is the price of our passage?”
“I’m feeling especially generous today. I will accept a kiss. From Griane.”
Darak glanced at Griane, who nodded. She stood on tiptoe, her cheek upturned. With a quick twist of his head, the Trickster captured her mouth. His long arms swept her up, pressing her body against his. One hand traveled down her back and over her buttocks before he released her, licking his whiskers. Griane stumbled backward, only to have her hand snagged by the Trickster.
“You will have many years with your Darak. You will shout at him when he tries to bully you, slap him when he becomes insufferable, and wrap your long legs around him when he becomes frisky.”
“You’re the one who is insufferable.”
“But magnificent. And you, dear boy. Shall I offer you a prediction?”
“That depends on what I must offer in return.”
The Trickster laughed. “Your hand will do. What’s left of it.”
“What’s left I offer freely. And with it, my thanks for all you have taught me.”
The Trickster squeezed his hand gently, although his eyes widened in mock amazement. “The hero gains wisdom and the girl. Happy ending, indeed.”
“But not the end, I think.”
“No.” The Trickster’s face grew solemn. “I predict we shall meet again, Darak. Until then, guard the portal’s token.”
His hand tightened convulsively on Fellgair’s. With all that had happened since he had returned to the grove, he had scarcely spared a thought for the strange little ornament. Now his suspicions were confirmed: somehow, his destiny was linked to the people he had seen through the portal—and to the Trickster.
“As long as you do no harm to me or to mine, you will always be welcome in my house.”
The Trickster nodded once. Challenge made. Challenge accepted. Then he grinned. “How kind. I do love travel. So broadening.” The clawed fingers flowed through his as if his grip had no more strength than a child’s. “Well, as much fun as this has been, it’s getting late. You’d best toddle along, children.”
Darak hesitated. “I need … may I have a moment, Lord Trickster?”
At Fellgair’s regal wave, he slowly approached the tree. He stroked the lowest branch of the Oak, tracing the shallow grooves with his fingertips. The little sprig of holly was too high to reach, but it bobbed toward him, as if Cuillon were saying farewell. Perhaps Cuillon could see him, even from that distant Mountain of his.
Finally, he laid his palms against the trunk and whispered his brother’s name. A faint tingling warmed his fingertips. He told himself that Tinnean recognized him. He told himself that he would always feel his brother’s presence, even if he couldn’t cross the veil separating their worlds or stand before the tree and stroke its smooth bark. He told himself that it was enough that his brother’s spirit was safe. And he knew it was a lie.
Griane touched his arm. “Lisula will open the way.”
It took a moment for the words to reach him. When they did, the upwelling of relief left him weak. As difficult as it would be to open his heart and mind in Lisula’s presence, at least he would see Tinnean again. And while they were apart, the Oak and Cuillon would watch over him.
He squeezed Griane’s hand before nodding to Fellgair. “I’m ready now.”
Fellgair sketched a rectangle in the air, then grasped one invisible edge and peeled it back. At first, all he saw were trees, bathed in the same half-light as the grove. As the light grew brighter, he realized that the shafts of sunlight came from the east, although it was nearly sunset in the First Forest.
“I don’t usually muck about with time, but I couldn’t resist the image of you striding out of the forest with the sun shining behind you. Never underestimate the power of drama, children.”
Darak bowed. “As long as the sun rises and sets, my people will tell the tale. And all will speak of the Trickster’s cleverness and his generosity.”
“And you say you have no gift for words. However, I must insist that you forgo any mention of generosity. I can’t have people thinking I’m a slave to my affections.”
With that, Fellgair shooed Griane through the portal. Darak took one last look behind him and froze.
Speedwell sprang up at the base of the tree. More shot up from the earth, a living blue pathway, straight as an arrow, leading right to him. Hairy stems clustered around his feet, heart-shaped leaves opening from them and then the flowers themselves, bright blue with round white centers.
Fellgair’s smile was gentle. “It seems your brother also has a flair for the dramatic.”
Remember his eyes, as blue as blossoming speedwell.
Darak bowed his head.
“He knows you, Darak. He will always know you.” Fellgair sighed. “A lovely gesture. Horribly sentimental, but still lovely. Don’t weep. You’re forever weeping these days.”
Darak scowled and dragged the sleeve of his tunic across his eyes. “I thought that was what you wanted—to see me weep and break.”
“I’ve seen quite enough of both, thank you.”
“Damn you.” The curse sounded much less effective because of his laughter.
The Trickster plucked a single blossom of speedwell and handed it to him. “One should always bring back a token of the great quest.”
“Will they welcome us, do you think?”
“They’re already flocking out of the village.”
“But how—?”
“I sent a few dreams last night. To your chief. To that ripe little Grain-Sister. Lisula, I think her name is. And one more. Let’s see. Who was it?” Fellgair paused, tapping his claw against his ruff. “Ah, yes. The incredibly ancient Sim.” Fellgair winked.
“You’re as bad as Griane.”
“High praise, indeed.”
Darak stepped through the portal.
“Oh, Darak?”
“Aye?”
“When you tell the tale, do try to work in magnificent.”
The Trickster’s teeth gleamed. The portal closed.
They walked through a forest of budding trees. Patches of speedwell blossomed on either side of the trail, their blue contrasting sharply with the white of the snowdrops and the yellow of the primroses. Water dripped off branches from melting icicles. The air smelled of damp earth and new life.
“It’s just like my dream,” Griane whispered.
Astonished, he stared at her. He’d had the same dream these last three nights. A vision made real by Tinnean and Cuillon. By Struath’s sacrifice and Yeorna’s. By his father who had guided him through Chaos. By the Trickster and his vision mate who had taught him about himself. And by the girl walking beside him who had restored his body and his heart.
They emerged from the forest to see their kinfolk surging through the field. He raised his hand in salute and was greeted by a great shout of welcome. Griane smiled up at him. With the speedwell pressed between their clasped hands and the morning sun warm on their shoulders, they came home.
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Acknowledgements
PART ONE
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
PART TWO
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
PART THREE
Chapter 31
&nbs
p; Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Heartwood (Tricksters Game) Page 36
