by S A Archer
“Malcolm—” Kie got to his feet, trying to reach for him
But Malcolm jerked away from him. “He’s still here! I’ll prove it!”
And he didn’t really care a whit about proving it to Kieran. He was proving it to himself.
Malcolm jerked off the ring and tossed it to the ground.
Chapter Five
Immediately, the magic of the new realm crashed over Malcolm. The pained outcry tore from his throat without him even calling it forth. The sounds of magic blared into him like concert speakers against his pointed Sidhe ears. Malcolm’s hands clasped over them as he dropped to his knees. Particles of magic, floating in the air like mist, fluttered against his flesh like tingles and stabs and burns. No one impact all that horrible, but the sudden collective of it like being bitten by a billion electrified, flaming midges at once. The brightness of the magic that permeated everything flared before his eyes like the contrast on a TV had been switched to maximum and the wattage kicked up to neon. Even sucking in air infiltrated him with a thousand fragrances and a million flavors. Malcolm shook his head, as if he could battle back the onslaught.
Kieran said something. Touched his shoulder.
“Shut up! Get away!” Malcolm swung his arm out wide to force him away. He had to focus. Had to fight through all the incoming sensations to find the one he needed.
Squinting, Malcolm swept his vision around him.
Kieran was there. Behind the hill, the swirling portal-thing. A hundred fey milled about the portal. Flicking in and out with zips and pops and bangs as they teleported. All of them spilling magic around them in a great river that crested over the rim of the crater and back down over Malcolm. Wincing, Malcolm fought to reclaim his footing, then spun slowly about.
Donovan wasn’t there.
Wasn’t like an invisible figure standing where he’d vanished, as Malcolm had somehow thought.
“But that’s not true!” He shouted against the noise.
“What?” He caught the hint of Kieran’s voice beyond the chaos, but ignored him.
“There’s something.” Malcolm made a digging gesture toward his head, as if he meant to claw open his skull so the understanding could find its way inside. “Something… Something…Something…”
“Malcolm!” Kieran grabbed up his silver ring and came at him with it.
He spun away. “No! No! I have to find him!”
“Stop it!” Kieran rushed him, but Malcolm cut aside.
He dropped to a knee, and punched up with the heel of his hand, slamming Kieran in the center of his chest and sending him flying back. When Kieran hit the ground, Malcolm spun about again. It was too loud here, so close to the portal. But there was something… “He’s not here… but I feel him…” It was so odd, a defused sensation like the air. “He’s here, but he’s not.”
Beyond the slope a mountain crested upward. All craggy and broken into cliffs. There… If Donovan would have gone anywhere, it was there.
“Malcolm, calm down!” Kieran rushed him again, but Malcolm jolted forward and teleported.
He appeared at a run on the mountain slope. A ridge circled up and Malcolm raced along the narrow track. Away from the portal, away from the fey, there was nothing but the magic of the realm to assault him. And it felt like Donovan.
Everything felt like Donovan.
He was everywhere. All around him. Surrounding him. Filling him with every breath.
But he wasn’t here!
“Donovan!” Malcolm shouted. Then louder, “Donovan!”
He ran, arms and legs pumping. Fast as he could. Higher and higher. He got no closer to Donovan, even though he was just beyond Malcolm’s reach.
He was here, but not. He was everywhere, but nowhere to be found.
The magic seemed to chase after Malcolm, threatening to consume him and drag him to his knees if he stopped. It pulled at him. Wrapped him up. Tangled his body and mind. “Donovan!” He pleaded. “Where are you?”
The ridge ended abruptly in a sharp cliff. It angled out over the drop.
Malcolm didn’t even slow down. Before him, out across the realm, everything was Donovan. Everything was his magic, mixed with the magic of so much more.
Without hesitation, Malcolm flung himself off the cliff. “Donovan!” His voice echoed in the steep valley below as he dropped toward the broken and jagged stones.
Malcolm fell… faster and faster…
Like a diver, he rotated in midair.
Plunging downward head first, toward the valley far, far below.
Chapter Six
The second Malcolm teleported away Tom Cat cut loose with such a heart wrenching wail that it nearly broke Kieran’s heart. Even as he scanned the horizon, Kieran scooped up the cat and cradled it against his chest. The warm bundle curled against him and gripped his sleeve with its claws. Automatically, Kieran scratched the silky fur behind its ears.
But all the while, his sharp fey eyes skimmed over the landscape.
Nowhere.
Malcolm was nowhere to be seen.
He wasn’t that strong of a teleporter. He couldn’t have gotten far.
Kieran listened. His sound magic swept back and forth in ever widening arcs, but still he heard nothing of Malcolm. He hissed, “Bloody hell.” He snatched up the silver ring and stuffed it into his pocket.
Even as Kieran stepped back and pivoted, he teleported. Before he’d fully turned about he reappeared within the main chamber of the town hall. The logs used gave it a New World feel, like a cabin in the movies about early settlements in America. Kieran was certain that hadn’t been the intent. Just as he knew this building itself would probably be repurposed in a month or so, when something more permanent and lavish was constructed. But for now, it provided the space to serve its purpose. Lesser fey of all races milled about, waiting their turn to speak with Tiernan.
For as long as Kieran had been with the crew at the Glamour Club, Tiernan had been Donovan’s second. With the boss gone… and probably gone for good… all the races turned to Tiernan to guide them. From the manner in which he pinched the bridge of his nose, apparently he didn’t crave the position. “Listen,” Tiernan began with an exasperated tone as he halted the jabbering between three fey that battered him and each other with simultaneous arguments, “what’s the bloody difference? Who cares what kind of bloody frame is around the portal? That won’t change how it functions.”
Dawn slipped in beside him, a clipboard propped to her hip. When she spoke with a mild tone, the fey about them stopped their arguing just to hear her. Clever that. She’d intentionally used a soft voice, knowing these particular races of fey would want to hear what a Sidhe said, and wouldn’t speak over her. “Donovan’s element was earth. I think he’d have constructed a stone archway himself, such as the dwarves designed.” Before Eircheard, the dwarf who argued the case for his people, could puff out his chest and begin to agree, she continued. “However, the wood elves and selkie are right. All of us helped in the Creation. So we could incorporate all of the elements in the framework, statuary, and garden around the portals on both ends. Going forth with the idea of balance in the design, I am sure the three of you could form a committee to create the proposed sketches. Something that is suggestive of the blended magics that we witnessed during the Creation.” Dawn sounded so Seelie just then, like the fairies that fostered her. Now and then she’d pull that out. Especially with the lesser fey that would defer to her. It was less evident when she interacted with the Unseelie. And almost non-existent when she spoke with Malcolm, who managed to irk her without even trying. Usually, Kieran found their fundamental inability to tolerate each other kind of funny.
Appeased by the decision, the lesser fey drifted away, once more in rapid conversation with each other, but with none of the aggravatio
n in their tone. Kieran pushed to the front of the line, his rapid steps cut short to avoid stepping on toes. Being Sidhe, his line-jumping would be forgiven by the lesser fey, even when he jostled them in his rush. Boosting his voice with his sound magic so that it reached Tiernan even before he did, Kieran shouted, “I need a search party! Malcolm’s gone!”
That got Tiernan’s immediate attention. He pushed forward, moving aside the fey between them. “What do you mean the bloodhound’s gone?”
The dynamics in the crowd immediately shifted. The tone in Tiernan’s voice had been unmistakable, that sudden edge that meant danger. Half of the fey, those that were more timid in nature, withdrew to the periphery. Those geared toward battle pressed to the forefront. And he knew why. It wasn’t the call for a search party that had done this. They hadn’t heard ‘the bloodhound’s gone’, they’d heard ‘the bloodhound’s gone feral’.
Kieran drove out his free hand to keep them back. “He’s not a danger. He is in danger.” Stopping before Tiernan who’d rushed to meet him, Kieran said, “If we could just find him and put silver on him to settle him down I’m sure we can help him. He’s just upset about Donovan. That’s all. I’m just afraid…” That might not be the best word to use with this crowd, so he tried again. “I’m just worried he might hurt himself. I think he’s grief stricken or something.”
Despite Kieran’s claims, Tiernan pointed to the warriors that stepped forward. Most of them fairies from Dawn’s clan come to make arrangements to establish a new grove. He pointed to the fairies that wore dual swords crisscrossing their backs the way Bryce wore his. “The bloodhound’s probably not gone far. Spread out in a search pattern. Engage with caution. If he acts threateningly, back off and alert me. I’ll take care of him.”
Kieran handed off the cat the Dawn, who hadn’t seen the pass coming and struggled to keep her clipboard and Tom Cat from falling. Propelling himself in front of Tiernan, he said, “If anyone needs to confront him, it’ll be me. We’re mates. I know I can calm him down. I’ve done it before.”
The older Unseelie sized Kieran up with a sweeping glance. “Alright, mate. I’ll give you first crack at him. But if he hands you your ass, I won’t make the mistake of being gentle with him.”
Chapter Seven
Inhale… crisp, fragrant, clean. Blink… A golden mist. Try to move… floating.
Magic flowing.
Donovan flexed his awareness. Nothing but magic surrounded him, flowing around and through him. Pouring into him and pumping back out of him like a great heart. He throbbed with the gushing power.
Not alone in the golden mist. The murmur of the ancients teased his mind without articulation. And beyond that, the hum of a thousand minds all whispering at once.
Donovan!
A familiar voice broke through the mumbling background to echo around him. So much need. So much desperation. It yearned for him with a palpable pull.
Donovan!
A sudden shift. The sense of danger. Of falling. Falling so far. He knew, without seeing, that Malcolm dropped through space. The scene opened in his mind. The cliff. The steep drop. The broken and deadly rocks far below. The young man’s body plummeting towards his demise.
Reaching with his magic, Donovan’s shape lost all definition. The magic of the realm… his realm… embraced him. Merging with it, his will taking form, the ground became as yielding as liquid. The rocks at the base of the cliff melted into sand, then depressed downward into a great bowl, even as spring water refilled the vacancy. A deep lake formed even as Malcolm dove towards it.
The surface ruptured as Malcolm plunged through. The bloodhound’s momentum punched the young man deep into the dark water. Donovan could feel the infiltration of the water into Malcolm’s lungs. The weight of the water gripped him and dragged him even deeper.
Until Donovan touched it with his thoughts, and used the water itself to gather about the young man’s body and heave it upward and toss it forth onto the shore where he rolled the rangy body onto its side. He expelled the water from Malcolm’s lungs with the barest flick of his will, and re-inflated them with the fresh air.
The young man was exhausted in body and in magic, resting on the bed of sand miles above the magic at the very heart of the realm. Malcolm’s eyes remained closed. His mind closed to the world around him in a state near unconscious. But Donovan could reach him still. Malcolm?
I can’t do this on my own.
The feeling of Donovan’s hand squeezed over the young man’s shoulder, as he’d done many times before. You are stronger than you know.
Malcolm’s eyes squeezed closed, rejecting the words. It all used to be so clear.
The touch of Donovan’s fingers stroked over Malcolm’s forehead, brushing back the wet bangs that slid to cover his eyes. Hold to what I have taught you.
The very ache from Malcolm’s heart echoed within Donovan like the squeezing of a great fist inside his chest. I don’t know where to go from here.
Follow your heart, and you will find the path. What more could a father tell his son? When the vista of possibilities were too great and terrible to endure, much less navigate? Donovan did not sire the young man’s body, but he was father to him in many ways. He recalled the torment of youth which plagued Malcolm now. The pain of truly defining oneself once parents and mentors had ceased to mold them. Some broke under the pressure, either healing stronger or becoming crippled by the scars.
The bloodhound already had plenty of scars.
The very nature of his magic threatened what little stability the young man had. Donovan placed his hand over Malcolm’s heart, where the magic of the realm flowed through Donovan and into him. In this magic, I am always with you. You are never truly alone.
Done fighting, Malcolm finally let go, passing out completely.
Donovan watched over him as he felt the search to find the bloodhound draw closer. The thumping of a fairy’s wings beat at the air. He wasn’t in his compressed fairy size, but flew about in his five foot tall shape. That took a lot of strength and determination to stay aloft as long as this one had. Donovan recognized Thorn from his fortitude of spirit even before he saw his face. The fairy didn’t see Donovan, only the bloodhound curled on his side, drenched and muddy. “I found him!” The fairy called out, and someone blew a horn to alert the others.
As they gathered about, taking the bloodhound into their care, Donovan faded back.
Back into the golden mist where he truly resided. Only a wisp of his mind had reached forth.
The shape of his body had formed in a golden outline, more transparent than not. Donovan was crouched, as he had been beside Malcolm, his arm still extending to touch the young man’s chest. Although now he touched nothing.
Alone once more in the mist, Donovan rose. The shape of him dissolved once more. His awareness melded into the ebb and flow of magic and thoughts, drifting back into the dream of the realm.
Chapter Eight
Kieran leaned over, his elbows resting on the mattress. His back ached, but he’d stayed in the chair beside his bed, bent forward so his hands rested on Malcolm’s forearm. Massaging the taut muscles, he hoped that even a little bit of the gesture reached his friend’s awareness.
The same for the Touch, which dribbled from his palm and into Malcolm’s skin. With the silver ring on Malcolm’s index finger Kieran’s Touch didn’t echo back to him, like it would have with a lesser fey, but he thought his magic would still reach Malcolm, despite the silver. It would block Malcolm’s magic from coming out, but Kieran was pretty sure magic could still go inside. That was his understanding of silver, anyway.
Thorn shifted by the door. His fairy wings shivered, giving a distinct rustle. The guy had to be getting tired of standing there. It’d been over two hours.
“You can go,” Kieran told him, speakin
g over his shoulder at the fairy warrior.
“The regent said to stand guard. I’m standing guard.” Thorn said, and from what Bryce told him about Thorn’s skill with those blades from when they fought off the werewolf attack on the grove, he was one bad ass fairy.
“Regent…” Kieran muttered under his breath. That wasn’t the term Tiernan came up with for himself. The lesser fey had deemed him such. Until the Creation, the lesser fey followed Donovan. Now that Donovan was MIA, they all looked to his ‘second’, Tiernan. It didn’t take a lot of intuition to see that Tiernan didn’t relish the job, but he didn’t shirk it either.
Kieran felt Malcolm’s arm twitch under his hand. It slipped from beneath his fingers as Malcolm reached to wipe at his face. The motion dislodged the cat which murred his aggravation. But Malcolm sat up and propped on his elbows anyway.
“Hey, Mal.” Kieran said, letting him know that he was there. Malcolm gripped the ring and Kieran reached out to stop him. “Whoa... Don’t take that off now.”
Thorn straightened and started to approach, but Kieran raised his hand to stop him.
“Relax. I’m just switching fingers, it’s starting to burn.” He jerked it off and jammed it back onto his fourth finger.
“You okay, Mal? You had me worried there.”
Malcolm ran his fingers through his hair brushing his bangs out of his eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. Whatever.”
He sat up and swung his legs off the side of the bed.
