The Night Voice

by Barb Hendee

  He needed answers, and his kin before his birth into this world might be the only ones to supply them.

  “Do we have enough coin to lodge all of us?” Wayfarer asked quietly. She had not spoken much since leaving the forest.

  “We may not need to pay,” Osha answered. “The innkeeper knows I train with the Shé’ith.”

  Hoisting one chest from the wagon, he ushered Wayfarer and Shade toward the stable’s open bay doors. Chane and Ore-Locks carried the other two chests as Chap contemplated Osha’s claim.

  It seemed the Lhoin’na and the an’Cróan had some customs in common. Though anmaglâhk did not earn wages for service, they were given food and shelter. Perhaps Shé’ith were viewed here in the same way. After all, they did function as their people’s protectors.

  Osha led the way, and after a short walk down immaculately manicured paths off the street, he approached a one-story building constructed of light gray stone, and he set down his chest.

  “Please wait here,” he said in Numanese before entering alone. Only moments later, he returned to direct everyone around the inn’s rear.

  “We have three rooms,” he said, indicating the closest oak doors in the inn’s rear wall.

  Chap looked up at Wayfarer.—I . . . will stay . . . with you—

  Wayfarer might have hesitated and glanced toward Shade, who had already sauntered off to the nearest door. Then she nodded.

  The distribution of rooms took no discussion. Chane and Ore-Locks took the third. Osha said he would take the second to himself, but he opened the first door for Wayfarer. Without waiting to see her in, he hauled off his one chest toward his own room.

  Wayfarer quickly stepped inside, and Chap followed, as did Shade. This still took him aback, though it should not have, considering how close Shade and Wayfarer appeared to have become. His daughter did not display anything more than acceptance toward him, and he was still afraid of losing even that much of a change.

  Something was different. She was different. Still, he had—would—never blame her for any coldness toward him. And it was not the first or thousandth time that he had thought of Lily.

  Several years ago, during his time in the an’Cróan lands, he had been accepted as mate by the white majay-hì whom Wynn named Lily. He knew even then that he could not remain with her and would soon leave with Magiere and Leesil and Wynn. But he had also known that at some point, Wynn would be forced to part from them as well.

  Chap spent his last night in the an’Cróan forest with Lily, trying to express to her all that must be done. Someone had to be sent to watch over Wynn, for the Fay still feared any mortal knowing of them and perhaps whatever part they had played in all that had happened before or after Magiere’s birth. Chap knew they might eventually make another attempt on Wynn’s life.

  He gave Lily every memory he held.

  In faltering with memory-speak, he begged her for something terrible.

  One of their children would be condemned to banishment, or at least that was how a child would see it. Only someone akin to himself might stand between Wynn and the Fay. Even just any majay-hì was not enough. And once Chap finished his request, his begging, he lay there with Lily the rest of that night in close silence.

  He left her before dawn, her eyes still closed, though she could not have been asleep. Moons later, his children had been born without him, including the one chosen—the one Wynn had later named Shade.

  Shade had come to love Wynn, the two now as close as sisters. Something like this appeared to have started between Wayfarer and Shade, though the complications among the three concerning Osha could not be easy on any of them. Regardless, Shade still blamed Chap for forcing her away from home, siblings, and a mother in the absence of a father.

  Among other sins, this was another for which Chap could never ask forgiveness.

  “Only one bed,” Wayfarer said, looking around the tiny room. “Shade, perhaps you could keep Osha company for tonight, so he is not all alone?”

  Before Shade could answer, Chap stepped in and spoke to Wayfarer.

  —I must . . . go out—

  She turned to him with wide green eyes. “At night? Why?”

  Shade turned and fixed upon him.

  Chap wasn’t certain what to think of this and remained focused on Wayfarer. And his answer could not be a lie, not to her.

  —It is time . . . I speak . . . with . . . my kin . . . at . . . Chârmun—

  “The Fay?” Wayfarer whispered. Her breaths quickened. “You will talk with them? Why?”

  Before he could answer, two clear words rose in his own thoughts.

  —Not . . . Chârmun—

  Chap’s hackles stiffened in a back step at those sudden words in his mind. This had never happened before. No one other than his kin had ever spoken to him this way, and not in . . . using . . .

  Memory-words?

  Shade huffed once.

  —Chârmun . . . is not . . . true . . . First Glade—

  Chap could only stare at his daughter as she stood watching him. How had she done that?

  Those six broken-up words had come in Wynn’s voice out of his memories. No creature but another Fay-born with memory-speak—like the majay-hì—could have found such memories, and they would have had to touch him to do so. Most did not understand language—and a specific one—to use memory-words instead of memory-speak.

  Shade understood both, like himself, though she was far better with memory-speak.

  Chap had always thought memory-words would work only with those who actually used spoken language. Obviously Shade had. And he had never considered anyone with such ability to be able to use it with him.

  “Chap, what is wrong?”

  Wayfarer’s question startled him as much as Shade’s first two words. For a moment, he did not know how to answer. Did Wayfarer know Shade could do this?

  —No . . . first try . . . with our kind—

  Was this as unsettling for others he spoke to this way as it was for him now? And all the more so with his own daughter. He reached out hesitantly to search for words in Shade’s surface thoughts, and there they were, out of her memories.

  “Chap, answer me . . . please!”

  Startled again, he looked up into Wayfarer’s panicked eyes.

  —It is . . . nothing— . . . —but . . . where is . . . the true . . . First Glade?—

  Almost instantly, he saw a ring of aspens in Wayfarer’s mind. The girl glanced at Shade and then back to Chap. He answered Wayfarer’s unspoken question about Shade.

  —Yes . . . she told . . . me—

  Wayfarer appeared troubled now. Perhaps this was something not meant for outsiders. Then he saw more thoughts surfacing in the girl’s mind.

  Vreuvillä passed from the dense forest into a clearing that held that ring of aspens. She headed straight for it, entered, and in standing at its center, she spread her arms.

  More memory-words rose in Chap’s mind.

  —They come . . . the Fay . . . come . . . there—

  On impulse, he tried calling up words in Shade’s mind.

  —Can you take me . . . to this place?—

  A brief pause passed.

  —Yes—

  He turned instantly to Wayfarer.

  —Shade . . . and I . . . will go— . . . —You . . . remain . . . here— . . . —Please open . . . the door—

  He would not expose Wayfarer to his kin for anything, no matter that it appeared Vreuvillä somehow communed with his kin for unknown reasons. Chap could not help wondering of what the priestess might be capable and what she had been teaching the girl.

  With a troubled expression, Wayfarer opened the door to let them out.

  Chap slipped into the night streets, following his daughter.

  • • •

  Inside the small room th
at Chane shared with Ore-Locks, he set down the chest he carried. His skin felt as if insects crawled all over him. It had begun the moment he had driven their wagon across the grassy plain to enter the forest.

  He had been to this land before, and he had not forgotten its effects upon him as an undead, even while wearing the “ring of nothing.” No undead could enter lands protected by Chârmun or one of its “children.” The forest would sense such an intruder, confuse it with madness and fright, and the majay-hì would come to pull it down and slaughter it.

  Chane had known what to expect, but he had forgotten how bad it would become, even with his special protection.

  The moment the wagon passed into the trees, he had begun to feel . . . something.

  A nervous twitch squirmed through his body. Then a tingling, annoying itch began swarming erratically over his skin. With no breeze, he had still felt a sensation like dust blown over his exposed face and hands.

  The prickling grew.

  The forest did not fully sense him, but it sought to do so. It examined him and would not stop, because it could not quite determine what he was. This would continue until he once again passed into the outer plain beyond the trees.

  The forest’s probing raised another, greater concern.

  “Are you all right?” Ore-Locks asked.

  Chane did not answer. “I have to go back out,” he said.

  Ore-Locks set down his chest next to Chane’s. “Now?”

  “There is something I must gather that can only be found here.”

  “Should I come with you?”

  “No, stay, guard the orbs. If you come, we will have to ask Osha or Chap to watch over them, and that would bring more questions. My task is . . . private.”

  Ore-Locks frowned. “We have already talked about you and your secrets.”

  “Not secret, but private. There are flowers that only grow here that I used up in making the healing concoction. I want to gather more.” He paused and decided not to mention—for the moment—that such could also be used as a poison against the undead.

  “Do you still trust me?” he asked.

  Ore-Locks crossed his arms. “You know I do. Get on with it, but try not to take too long.”

  Chane left his personal pack and took only Welstiel’s old one as he left.

  • • •

  Chap followed Shade down the same path he had taken that day with Osha and Ore-Locks. Soon enough, and well before spotting the glow of Chârmun ahead, Shade cut into the undergrowth, and the going became much harder while he kept as silent as possible.

  Tonight, they could not attract attention from other majay-hì—or Vreuvillä.

  By Shade’s actions, she clearly knew this, though Chap wondered what she knew about the wild woman’s teachings and influence over Wayfarer. He tried to push aside such worries as they kept on and on through dark, tangled, wild places.

  Chap began to lose his sense of time when Shade dove through a wall of foliage. He followed and was soaked by clinging moisture before he stepped out beside her on the edge of a clearing. Across the way stood a circle of aspens amid a soft glow.

  Other than that, there was no way to know why this place was kept secret or how it had come to be. He had to trust that Shade knew more than she shared upon realizing what he had intended to do. Now he hesitated in remembering Wayfarer’s memory of the priestess standing at the center of the aspens.

  He was no . . . whatever she was, but he was Fay reborn in a Fay-descended body.

  Chap stalked an arc in approaching the aspens but did not enter. Shade followed behind on his left. He stared about into the darker forest all around.

  I am here, come for you! Answer me!

  He had done no wrong in not bending to their unspoken fears. They had carved up, torn, and stolen memories at his birth into flesh. They had tried to kill Wynn. He would not cower and grovel before his kin.

  A breeze began to build in the forest.

  Mulch upon the clearing’s floor churned around his paws.

  Fallen leaves rose slowly in a column that turned around him and Shade, illuminated by the aspen circle’s light. The forest around them appeared to darken even more, and in that dark, branches appeared to writhe in ways the wind could not have caused.

  Chap heard his daughter’s shuddering growl laced with a whine that did not stop. He waited, listening to the creak of shuddering branches settle into the crackle of leaves. The rustling chatter suddenly echoed and shaped inside his mind.

  What now . . . deviant? You failed to keep the sister of the dead safe in ignorance. So what more do you wish to know . . . and ignore?

  This had always been their goal, to keep Magiere from any possibility of fulfilling the reasons for her creation: to serve the Ancient Enemy, to lead the undead hordes, and to walk in all lands, even those enchanted against the undead.

  His kin did not acknowledge how much she had fought this in using her birthright against the minions of the Enemy.

  Still, Chap was uncertain what final purpose she had been intended to serve. Another war upon the world had to be focused upon a goal other than destruction and death for the sake of it.

  And then there was what he had sensed within two orbs so far.

  He would not let his kin bait him into justifications. Yes, he had his sins, but not the ones they tried to put upon him.

  Tonight, he would ask the questions.

  What are the orbs—the anchors? How were they created and how are they used?

  Only the wind’s hiss and the chatter of branches answered him. He pressed on.

  What answers—memories—did you rip away from me when I chose to be born?

  Gusts blew through the clearing, and though he heard Shade snarl, he did not move or look away from the surrounding trees. The hiss of leaves grew to a crackle as a chorus of leaf-wings buzzed like a hornet’s nest in his head.

  His kin spoke.

  Where is your charge? Have you fallen so far as to abandon her? And now you corrupt your own misbegotten flesh by straying so far from your path!

  Chap snarled as he answered.

  Do not speak of corruption to me or of keeping those with me in ignorance and from taking any side in what is coming. Now the Enemy awakens again . . . and again you do nothing, as you likely chose a thousand years ago.

  There was a pause and then . . . Leave the enslaved alone.

  Chap’s thoughts blanked. What did that mean?

  The wind began to die. Darkness started to yield to the aspen ring’s glow. Branches in the forest settled in silence as the torn leaves fluttered to the earth. Everything fell silent.

  Chap rushed to the forest’s edge. Come back . . . and face me!

  No answer came. They were gone, and he had achieved nothing—learned nothing. There was only a hint in what might have been a tiny slip.

  —Where . . . to . . . now?—

  At Shade’s memory-words, Chap looked to her watching him. All of this had been another feeble attempt by his kin to sway him to obedience. All that was left was to follow the course he had already set for the others. Tomorrow, they would resupply and then head southeast as quickly as possible.

  He answered Shade . . .

  —Bäalâle Seatt—

  There was only one thing he had heard that nagged at him—enslaved.

  What did this mean?

  • • •

  Chane slipped out of his room at the inn.

  Leaving Ore-Locks behind, he headed for the great tree arch through which they had first entered a’Ghràihlôn’na. Out on that road, he broke into a jog toward the grassy plain beyond the Lhoin’na forest.

  That was the only place he had ever encountered the white flowers called Anamgiah, the “life shield.”

  Though he had a nearly full bottle of the healing potion—which he
hoped was correctly made—he had used up the other ingredients necessary. However, there were still two possible uses for the white blossoms themselves, one being their own natural property to bolster life itself.

  As for the second potential use . . . well, he did not care to think on that just yet, but he might never have reason to come here again, and he could not waste the opportunity to gather more of the petals.

  Along the way, he passed many dwellings and buildings out among the trees. The moon was bright above, and lights from dwellings high in the trees marked them as he passed. He saw no one, for everyone would be high above, in their homes, this late at night.

  He broke into a run once the last of those passed out of sight, and he finally saw a break in the trees ahead. Then he slowed and turned off into the immense trees, weaving through to the plain’s edge far away from the road. There, he stopped short of the tall grass and crouched to listen. He heard no hoofbeats nor smelled anything made of flesh in the low breeze. Tonight, he had no desire to be seen or questioned by a Shé’ith patrol.

  There was only the scent of the golden grass shifting gently in the dark—Anamgiah had no scent.

  Still crouched, he looked in all directions one last time and then crept out beyond the trees.

  The sensation of a thousand insects crawling over him vanished, and he half closed his eyes in relief. Holding off the forest’s fear-laced prodding as it tried to seek out what he was had been so pervasive that its sudden absence was bliss.

  Chane crept forward in a crouch, spreading the grass with his hands, but only the tops. He did not dare touch what he sought with his hands. He did not have to go far, and he flinched when moonlight raised a tiny white glare between the grass stalks.

  It was almost too bright to look upon as he spread the stalks even more.

  A dome of white flowers sprouted with the tan grass. Tiny pearl-colored petals—shaped like leaves—looked as soft as velvet, as delicate as silk. They appeared to glow, though the stems and leaves below and around them were a dark green that would have looked black to anyone without his night sight.

  The last time Chane had come to gather Anamgiah blossoms, he had been foolish enough in his ignorance to touch the white petals, even to hold one in his palm. That had almost ended him there and then.