B00T3PMJTS EBOK

by Tracy Tappan

  Erig shifted his focus to see what was so important.

  Across the field, Clarkia had her face stuffed in a honeysuckle, her wings aglow, her bottom wiggling as she went deep for the nectar.

  Getting drunk again, the maldulsa. Which meant Daucus would be dipping his stamen in her carpel later tonight…if the man could still function after the lesson Erig would be teaching him about the downfalls of distraction.

  Beyond Clarkia, countless Fey lanterns twinkled, swaying from branches above and about the tree houses the Tuatha made for themselves. Clan lands sprawled out from this Meeting Tree like spokes from the hub of a wheel, sometimes covering more than a mile in certain directions before Balboa Park ended and civilization began. Save for due west. About five hundred yards in that direction, the territory of Erig’s people, the Dryads, or Tree Fairies, ended abruptly at a powerful ward demarcating them from the Earth Fairies…despicable fungi, every last one.

  Between the Earth and the Tree, there were thousands of Tuatha Dé Danann living here. Yet should Middle World humans tromp through these lands—and in the daytime they sometimes did—they would see only tree upon endless tree with their humanoid eyes. Such was not the case with animals. Predatory birds, canines, and felines posed the only true danger to the Tuatha. Besides dark magic.

  Erig turned back to the assembly and opened his mouth—

  “Enough!” Conium bellowed, the leader of Clan Salix’s custos preempting Erig’s plan to put a stop to this mayhem. “It has been over a year since Fey power was first threatened. Too long. We’ve had meeting after meeting, and solved nothing. Eight warrior souls have now been stolen. Too many.” Conium’s fist came up. “Clan Salix will take over direct guardianship of the Stone, and we will resolve this.”

  Erig’s wings went rigid, blasting a spray of golden dust into the air and lifting him several inches off his bough.

  Daucus’ head snapped around, Clarkia’s rump forgotten.

  Zig burst into a series of streaking zings, leaving angry contrails of glittering dust in his wake.

  At least now there was silence. Anxious, breath-holding silence.

  Guardianship of the Tuatha Dé Danann Treasure changed from clan to clan every one hundred years, and Erig’s clan, Cercis, had nearly seventy-five years left guarding the precious Stone. To have the responsibility taken away would be the highest insult. Just the suggestion was.

  Eyes hot, Erig caressed the hilt of his dagger, his fingers lethally tracing the intricate hawk design: the heraldic emblem of his clan. “When the fifth element opens the portal in the Middle World,” he inquired mildly, “will Alnus be able to open a door on this side?”

  Eyes shifted.

  Conium’s face went red as a hibiscus all the way to the tips of his pointed ears.

  Alnus was Clan Salix’s mage, and while Salix might be the most powerful clan in many respects, Erig’s boasted the most powerful of all the mages. The wise Picea. Everyone knew she was the only one with magic strong enough to manage a portal opening.

  Even so, Salix’s leader clearly didn’t appreciate Erig calling attention to this lack. Conium’s wings stretched to their fullest extent and gave a huge whomp of a flap, the resulting swoosh of air sending a hapless Kigelian tumbling off into the next tree.

  “It is now wintertime,” Erig said in a profound tone.

  Everyone knew what this meant; it was the only season in which contact could be made with those of them in charge of the Stone. For a fifth element ritual to be successful, all four elements had to be in place: the season of winter, the direction of north, the element of earth, the Treasure of Stone.

  “Clan Cercis,” Erig continued, “will soon have this resolved in battle. Picea has foreseen an interconnection in the near—”

  “Look!” A Tsugian pointed a dirty finger skyward. “She comes!”

  The assembly turned as one to look up.

  Picea.

  The queen mage was seated majestically on a carpet woven of sticks, leaves, moss, and flowers, carried along—for show alone—by four stout Cercisian attendants. The half dozen or so ladies of her court flitted gracefully around her, leaving sprinkles of fairy dust here and there. Picea was dressed in a flowing gown of indigo blue which rippled, wave-like, around her. Her blue-black hair, touched with grey in a pattern of neat checkerboards, was caught in an elaborate design of twists and curls.

  Erig caught his breath. Please say it is time. He glided straight upward, revealing himself to his mistress out of the masses.

  Picea met his look. “It is time.”

  Erig exhaled a huge breath. He chopped a hard gesture at his ranks of Cercisian custos, who had been waiting in wing-humming anticipation just outside the Meeting Tree. “We go north!”

  Erig and his men took flight, speeding their way through the moon-dappled darkness along aerial pathways the Tuatha had traveled for hundreds of years. Wind streamed through Erig’s short hair and occasionally whistled musically off his wings.

  They arrived at the site of the portal well ahead of Picea and her attendants. Erig flew in an impatient, repetitive Z pattern while he waited. He gripped the hilt of his blade. His blood ran hot.

  Picea finally arrived on her carpet and came to a floating halt. She held out her palm, and it filled as if from nowhere with a small pile of sparkling white dust—the only of its kind.

  The mood went solemn.

  Moving forward, the custos bowed their heads before her, bobbing lightly in the air, wings whispering.

  “Tonight,” Picea said, “you fight for the Sidhe race. You fight for the humans who are our allies in magic. And you fight for the pride of your clan.”

  Erig drew in a deep breath.

  “Boni vobiscum,” Picea blessed them.

  Erig slowly released his breath.

  The grounding principle of the Stone of Destiny, the Treasure they guarded, was The Stone knows the heart of man. Only a Tuatha Dé Danann with an unblemished heart would succeed in this, and thus Picea had said, Goodness be with you.

  Emotion expanded Erig’s chest. Although he might be tarnished in many ways—ways he wished he could forever forget—he never doubted the purity of his heart as a custos.

  Picea tossed the white dust over their ranks.

  Erig shut his eyes as a luxurious heat traveled through the tiny ribbed veins of his wings and flowed into his body, the strength of Picea’s magic coursing through him.

  “You may pass,” Picea announced.

  Erig lifted his head.

  A long, cylindrical tunnel made of what looked like clear gel was now visible at the portal site. Where it terminated Erig couldn’t see, but it had to end with the fifth element on the Other Side. The portal couldn’t have been opened otherwise.

  “Erigeron,” Picea summoned.

  He coasted over to her.

  More white dust appeared in her hand. She titled her palm, pouring the dust into a pouch of indigo velvet, then handed it to him. “You will need this to access the villain’s True Form.”

  To fight his evil magic. Erig hooked the pouch onto his belt. He met his mistress’s gaze for what might be the final time, then darted into the tunnel, Zig and Daucus flanking him, thirty of his other men following.

  Five minutes into their journey, the fifth element appeared, her image blurred through the gel of the tunnel, but…wait. Her?

  “A woman,” Daucus remarked, incredulous.

  Erig slowed.

  Blonde-haired, the fifth element sat cross-legged on the forest floor with her fingers dug into the soil. Her head was sagged back on her neck, demonstrating her deep, meditative state, and oddly, a man, also blond but not a fifth element, was seated at her side, an arm wrapped around her. Nearby, an older woman thumped a drum, and about six others observed.

  Erig continued onward, slower now. He thrummed his wings in a hailing signal.

  The fifth element’s head came up and she opened glassy eyes to him.

  Erig wrenched to a halt, cocking on
e knee back and angling his wings to catch the most wind resistance. A Tenebris Mala!

  “Infernus,” Daucus cursed.

  Zig narrowed his eyes and hissed a string of even nastier curses, any one of which would’ve sent his mother fluttering out of her tree.

  Erig’s hand automatically lowered to the velvet pouch at his waist, but he checked himself before he could extract any of Picea’s dust. He shouldn’t let impatience lead him down a wrong path. It was the fifth element’s responsibility to expose her True Form to them.

  Erig waited, his tension sending erratic spurts of dust off his wing-tips.

  His men buzzed softly behind him, all but motionless except for the small wing movements needed to remain aloft.

  Finally, a ghostly impression of the fifth element’s human body materialized out of the top of her blonde head and rose into the gel tunnel, completely naked. Taking on her True Form, her hair lightened to the color of Erig’s hair then lengthened, twisting in teasing curls around her thighs, and her eyes changed to a sparkly blue. Her skin was smooth and unmarked…at least in front.

  “Hold,” Erig ordered his men. He flew forward to inspect her.

  On the ground, the fifth element’s human body jerked.

  Her True Form in the gel tunnel faded.

  Erig slowed again.

  Back on the ground, the fifth element’s male partner moved to sit behind her. He put both arms around her and squeezed tighter, whispering something into her ear.

  Her True Form flared back to full visibility.

  Erig continued forward, circling her. No blemishes on the back side of her, either. He completed his circuit and nodded at Zig and Daucus. She could be trusted.

  He winged his way to the front of her and stopped in a hover. “Fifth element,” he said formally. “The Tuatha Dé Danann beg your leave to travel a conduit to the dark evil threatening Fey power.”

  There was a long pause while she just stared at him. Her eyes shone in wonderment and an awestruck smile spread across her face.

  First time seeing a fairy, is it? Erig cleared his throat.

  She blinked once, then lifted an arm straight out from her body. Another gel tunnel opened along her arm’s trajectory.

  Erig glanced at his lieutenants. This is it. Battle. He zoomed down the new pathway.

  It wasn’t a long flight. Maybe only two minutes passed before Erig found himself in a dingy living room, a black-haired man the sole occupant. No, there was another…a woman slumped, beaten and unconscious, in a corner.

  Erig snarled.

  The black-haired man bolted to his feet. He couldn’t see Erig and the other custos, but obviously could feel the intensity of their presence. And this— Erig shoved his hand into the velvet pouch and threw a fistful of white dust at the man.

  A dark blob began to rise out of him.

  The man threw back his head. He had a scar on his lip and one milky eye. The other eye was the solid black of a Tenebris Mala. “No!” he yelled, clearly feeling the pull of his True Form leaving him.

  Erig back-stroked out of the way as the dark blob took on a sinister shape, its form pockmarked and stitched from end to end with scars. The blob kept growing, developing into the most fearsome creature he and his men had ever battled. Kill it, and the black-haired Tenebris Mala would lose his power to perform an un-protection ritual. The magic of the Stone would be saved.

  Erig yanked his blade out of its sheathe and, with a savage roar, surged forward.

  * * *

  Ţărână

  Nỵko stood in the middle of the stage—a stage that had been built all of about one week ago at Garwald’s Pub for regular jam sessions by Ãlex’s band and other entertainment, like tonight’s pre-Christmas talent show. He was acting the role of male sort-of ballet dancer, which he didn’t mind because it merely consisted of him standing in one place and throwing Faith and Kacie into amazing displays of acrobatic ballet. Faith had tried to talk him into wearing tights for their performance, but he’d no way’d it. That would’ve gotten him eaten alive by ribbing from the warriors, and he wasn’t very good at returning their banter. So he was dressed in black pants and a white dress shirt.

  The spectators ooh’d and aah’d as he tossed the sisters to either side of him into turns—called pirouettes. They rotated with admirable precision, looking so alike…except Faith turned with a bit more fluidity than Kacie, wore a brace on her knee, and had a blue-and-red dragon on her back. Nỵko looked down at his wife’s belly, still virtually flat, even though she was four months along. He flushed, pleasure and pride both. Inside that beautiful woman grew his kid. Yeah, speaking of ribbing…Nỵko had taken a lot over losing his virginity and impregnating his mate all on the same night.

  Nỵko peered through the bright lights to the audience, spotting Shọn in the front row. His little brother was almost watching Nỵko more than the girls, no doubt making sure Nỵko didn’t drop anyone precious. As if. Nỵko was handling a pregnant wife.

  But Kacie was Shọn’s squeeze.

  The day Nỵko and Shọn, along with Pändra and Faith, had emerged from the Hell Tunnels, Kacie had flung her arms around Shọn’s neck and thanked him for saving her sister with a peck on the cheek, then dashed off to accompany Faith to the hospital, leaving Shọn with his jaw down on his chest. From there the rest was, as they said, history. It was the general agreement that those two would bond any day.

  Nỵko shifted his attention over two seats, finding Luvera, eight months pregnant and looking it, and next to her, Tonĩ was holding Sharanna on her lap. Tonĩ had spent a full month in the hospital after her near-fatal birth, which hadn’t been a breeze for either Tonĩ or Jaċken. Once Jaċken got his wife and daughter home and settled, though, things had gotten serious.

  Over the past couple of months the warriors had been making ready to save the human women trapped in Oţărât, memorizing the routes of the Hell Tunnels given to them by Shọn, sharpening their knives, and buying heat-resistant suits.

  It was time to go to war.

  At least topside one less worry awaited them now that Pändra had successfully performed her fifth element ritual and stopped Videön. Some questions still remained unanswered. No one knew how Videön had acquired an enchantment power enabling him to perform a Celtic un-protection ritual or why he’d kidnapped Elsa Mendoza in the first place, and, most disturbingly, they didn’t know why Videön was creating an army of amulet-wearing super beings. Ignorance was never fun, but Nỵko figured Videön would play his cards soon enough, then they’d all know what was up…and probably need to build an Ark or some other Chicken Little The sky is falling stuff.

  One thing they had discovered was how Videön managed to identify the vessels. Videön had kidnapped Moriah, Idyll’s shamanka friend, who was an aura-reader, too, and had forced her to check out men with original family surnames and “see” which ones were carrying these important souls. He’d kept the poor woman in custody up until the time he’d been stopped by Pändra and no longer had a use for the shamanka.

  Idyll said that Moriah was taking an extended vacation in the Bahamas.

  Nỵko looked over a few more seats and found Pändra cuddled next to Thomal. Those two were a solid couple now, and Thomal was really changing because of it. He’d recently painted a portrait of Tonĩ and Sharanna that had every momma in town lining up outside his door.

  After Nỵko had cleared his head from his half-bond, then his procreation glaze-out, then his post-reproduction hibernation, he’d felt pretty bad about beating up Thomal. But, well…maybe it’d done some good. Unfortunately, Thomal and Arc still weren’t back to normal, but they seemed to be slowly improving.

  The music ended, and Nỵko took a bow with Faith and Kacie, then the three of them left the stage, passing Ãlex along the way—his band was the final act.

  Backstage, Nỵko hugged his wife. “You were so amazing out there,” he told her.

  Faith beamed up at him, but before she had a chance to answer, some
one tugged on his sleeve. Jaċken.

  “Everything set, Nỵko?” he asked.

  Dev was standing beside Jaċken, his silver eyes bright with excitement.

  “Yep.” Nỵko pulled the remote out of his back pocket. “Which one of you wants to do the honors?”

  Jaċken snatched the remote out of his hands.

  “The fuck?” Dev protested.

  Jaċken lifted his lip at his friend. “I’ve been dealing with him a lot longer than you have, Nichita.”

  “You bonded with Tonĩ in February,” Dev countered. “I got together with Marissa in October. That’s only eight months difference, so you can shove—”

  “You know what, Devid? My cow died last night, so I don’t need your bull.” Jaċken smirked.

  “You’re a dildo.” Dev made a grab for Jaċken’s shirt collar.

  “Guys,” Nỵko intervened. “Ãlex is starting.”

  Both men’s heads swiveled toward the stage.

  Ãlex was standing in front of a tall microphone, strumming his guitar and singing. Nilan, Barbu, and Iosif, his bandmates, were jamming behind him.

  “Now,” Dev hissed.

  “No,” Jaċken said from the edge of his lips. “I’ve been watching him rehearse, and a high note is coming up where Ãlex opens his mouth really wide and—ah!” Jaċken jammed his thumb down on the remote activator.

  A long stream of purple ink sprayed out of the microphone and hit Ãlex directly in the back of his throat.

  Ãlex choked and stumbled back, his fingers tangling discordantly in his guitar strings.

  The audience gasped into silence.

  Oh, man, jeez. Nỵko buried a smile. How cruddy was it that he’d contributed to Ãlex’s embarrassment—the man was a friend—but…dang, he couldn’t help but feel proud of his handiwork. That had worked perfectly.

  “Ãlex…bro…” Gábor said, ending the silence with a chortle from the third row. “You look like you just blew Barney the Dinosaur.”

  As if on cue, a mouthful of purple “spunk” spilled past Ãlex’s lips and dribbled onto his shirt.

  The silence broke completely, then, a gale of rollicking laughter sweeping through the bar.