Haven Magic

by B. V. Larson

  “So the Faerie should have kept out this shade?” she asked. There was an odd light in her eyes that spoke of a hunger for knowledge, rather than food. Brand noticed that she had barely touched her plate.

  “Aye, they should have,” said Gudrin. “It is a disturbing thing that the Enemy’s bard has so much strength as to be able to get past them.” Her plate was empty and she sat back, loosening her belt and readjusting her rucksack for comfort. Brand thought he saw it jiggle oddly when she moved it, as if a heavy object had shifted inside.

  “Are we strong enough here, on our home isle, to face this thing and ward it off?” demanded Jak.

  Gudrin considered. She picked up the package on her knees, which Brand was now certain was a book, and closed her eyes. After a moment she nodded. “Yes, I feel that we have strength enough if he is alone. The Shade is weak when alone and in the daylight. Especially when working hard to keep the Faerie from noticing him.

  “But that isn’t the real question,” she said, placing both hands on the table and eyeing each of them in turn. Her blue gaze had that hard spark of light again that was painful to look upon. “The real question is why the Enemy has sent his bard to watch you.”

  Chapter Eight

  King Herla’s Story

  Gudrin aimed a stubby finger at Telyn. “I would blame you and your beacon first, were it not for the fact that the shade was seen by Brand even before you lit the fool thing.”

  Telyn frowned at her nearly full plate of cold breakfast.

  “It matters not why,” said Jak, rising and taking up his crossbow. “You say we can ward it off. Let us do so and be done with it. I’ll not have such a creature wandering about my island and creating mischief if I can prevent it.”

  Gudrin shook her head. “No,” she said, in the tone of one commanding children. She took another gulp of coffee, then turned her baleful eyes full force onto Jak. Jak stood where he was, his legs and face twitching, but not moving.

  Brand felt a heat come up his neck and into his face. He stood up, rising to his full height. He was considerably taller than any of them. “Gudrin of the Talespinners,” he said in a loud voice. Some quiet part of him wondered just what he was doing, but a greater part of him pushed past all doubts and worries. “This is the house of Clan Rabing, on Rabing Isle. My brother is the master of this house, and you have taken of his hearth and food. I demand that you reconsider your words.”

  Everyone looked at him in surprise. Telyn smiled. Modi’s hand moved to the haft of his axe. Gudrin was the last to react. She stood up too and faced Brand. She clutched her package to her barrel-like chest and her rucksack shifted on her back as though it held poached game. Her eyes cut into Brand’s gaze and they locked there. Brand resolutely returned the stare, refusing to look down, although it seemed one of the greatest efforts of his life. Vaguely, he wondered if having suffered through the dreadful gaze of the shade he had seen twice now had somehow strengthened him for this encounter. Through sheer determination he held on, managing not to avert his eyes.

  Finally, Gudrin nodded. She dropped her eyes first. She rubbed her face, eyes downcast for several long moments. When she lifted them again, the power in them was all but gone.

  “You are right. I have behaved without consideration for my host,” she said then she sighed and took her chair again. The others relaxed as well. Jak came to life again and Modi let go of his axe. Gudrin suddenly looked older and smaller. “It is just that you do not know what it is that you wish to face. It is a horror beyond description.”

  Brand was a bit amazed to find himself standing there, facing down Gudrin. He frowned and sat down slowly. It was not his normal role to play. He shook himself slightly, wondering what had overcome him. Then he knew: he had not been able to stand his brother looking so weak. Jak didn’t deserve that.

  “Tell us what you can then, and let us decide,” said Jak.

  Gudrin looked around at them, then stood and donned her cloak and her wide-brimmed hat. “There is no way to explain such a thing, it must be seen.”

  They all followed her out into the cold gray morning. Corbin led them into the orchard to the fourth row where he had spotted the shade. Jak had his crossbow loaded, Telyn carried her knife and Corbin and Brand carried the axes they had chopped wood with the day before. When they neared the spot, Modi stopped them with a gesture and stumped forward. He crouched to examine the snow.

  “That’s no use, Modi,” said Gudrin, stepping forward and waving the others to follow. “The shade will leave no tracks.”

  For once, Modi didn’t heed Gudrin. He raised his thick-fingered hand again, signaling her to stop. Scowling, Gudrin obeyed. She grumbled something about the warrior class of the Kindred. Modi moved around the trunk of the tree with care, until at last he halted with a grunt of recognition. He waved the others forward.

  “As I said...” began Gudrin, then stopped. “By the dragon’s breath!” she breathed. “There are prints!”

  The River Folk crowded around and they could all see the tracks too. Just four horse tracks, all alone in the fresh snow, as if a horse had appeared by the apple tree and then vanished. There were no tracks leading to the tree, nor away from it. Nor was there any way that someone could have jumped a horse to that spot through the trees. The white frost on the branches was undisturbed.

  Gudrin was rubbing her face. She scowled and clenched her package tightly to her chest. On her back, Brand saw her rucksack lurch not once, but twice, as though something had fallen to one side and then the other, by itself. Gudrin jerked her head in annoyance. “Quiet!” she whispered over her shoulder. Then she caught sight of Brand watching her.

  Brand frowned and stepped toward Gudrin. He wanted to know what was in that rucksack once and for all.

  “This is very bad,” said Gudrin before he could speak. “The shade is strong enough to take bodily form, even if for just a moment or two.” She shook her head.

  “Doesn’t that just mean we could hurt it with our weapons?” asked Jak.

  “No, I doubt it. I’m not sure even Modi of the Warriors here could best one of them,” said Gudrin, her face was a mass of deep lines. She looked older when she worried. “It takes more than ordinary steel to injure a shade.”

  “What should we do?” asked Telyn. Gudrin startled a bit, turning around to notice for the first time that she had come up behind her to stand close.

  “You are a quiet one, aren’t you?” she asked. She waved her hands for everyone’s attention. “Jak, we must leave this place. We must flee. I don’t know why the Enemy has his shades after you, but that doesn’t matter. We must run to a safer place. And after that, we must find Myrrdin. He may know why you are hunted.”

  Jak nodded in agreement. “I think we should head for Riverton. The Harvest Moon Feast and the Offering must be performed. There is no more time. If I can’t bring them Myrrdin, then you will have to do.”

  Gudrin raised her hands in protest. “But I’m not fit to perform the ceremony! I haven’t the craft!”

  “Neither have we, nor have any of the other folk of the River Haven,” argued Jak.

  Gudrin clutched her package and clenched her eyes tightly, as would someone in prayer. Brand saw her rucksack shift twice more. He and Corbin exchanged quizzical glances. He had seen it too.

  Finally, Gudrin raised up her head, and all her years seemed to run through her in a shudder. Brand wondered just how old she truly was.

  “I will do it,” she said simply.

  They gathered their things quickly and went to the dock in a tight, nervous group. All of them felt that they were being watched. When they reached the shore, they discovered that a third boat was there, a small rowboat. The faded insignia on the boat prow, painted on the weathered wood identified the boat.

  “That’s Arlon Thunderfoot’s rig, the hunter from Hamlet,” exclaimed Brand. “What’s he doing here?”

  “Careful boy, it may be cursed,” said Gudrin, holding back his arm. They all watched as Mo
di moved forward to peer into the boat. He signaled for them to approach.

  Inside the boat they found only one oar. There was frozen blood on it.

  “Where’s Arlon?” asked Brand, already guessing the grim truth.

  “He’s merling food, by the look of it,” grunted Modi. He turned to Gudrin. “We must sink what we don’t take.”

  Gudrin nodded. She turned back to the empty rowboat and the stunned River Folk that had gathered around it. “I grieve with you all.” She raised up her package above her head in both hands.

  “The River gives, and the River takes. In the end, the River knows us all,” she said. Brand was honored she had quoted a proverb of the River Folk. It was only right, as this was a benediction over one of his people.

  Gudrin then gestured to Modi, who quickly struck a hole in the bottom of the boat and pushed it out into the flood. The warrior moved to the leather boat that the two of them had come in and scuttled it as well.

  “We will all take the skiff,” said Gudrin. “Come.”

  Numbly, the four River Folk climbed aboard after Gudrin and Modi and they cast off. Even though he had not known Arlon all that well, it was difficult to accept that he was dead. Brand couldn’t remember having ever heard of an actual murder before—but the Battleaxe Folk seemed so sure they’d just discovered one. Certainly, there were accidents along the river now and then, but never an intentional killing. Except for merling attacks, the people of the Haven rarely died violently. He took in a deep breath and nodded to himself. It had been the merlings, of course. He felt sure the merlings were guilty, just as they had slain his own kin.

  For several minutes they traveled in silence, letting the current sweep them away from Rabing Isle. Brand looked back at it. With the recent events and the new mantle of white snow, it didn’t look friendly. It hardly looked like home at all.

  For sometime Gudrin sat on the centerboards, hardly moving.

  “Gudrin of the Talespinners?” said Telyn in a soft voice.

  Gudrin stirred and looked up at her.

  “What is it that you carry on your back?” she asked in a hushed voice.

  For a few moments, the river made the only sounds that any of them could hear. The water gurgled as it rushed over rocks near the shore. A bird called in the Deepwood and was answered by another back on Rabing Isle. Brand thought the call was a strange one, perhaps a type of bird that he had never heard before.

  Gudrin finally spoke. “It is my burden,” she told Telyn, as if this answered everything.

  The River Folk were subdued on the voyage back to Riverton. The sky was gray and the water was the color of shadowed steel; even the skiff seemed less full of life and only drifted south with luffing sails and bobbing prow. Telyn now had eyes and ears only for Gudrin, urging her to tell them a tale of ancient times. Brand smiled, missing her attentions, but knowing that when her curiosity was piqued she could not be distracted. Gudrin at first seemed reluctant, but finally let herself be persuaded with Telyn pleading so emphatically.

  Gudrin opened her package and removed a large book. The book was bound in ancient, scaly leather and had clasps of bright brass or perhaps even gold. She clicked open the clasps and opened the book with slow reverence. Brand could see only that the pages were filled with the odd blocky script of the Kindred. Gudrin flipped through a page or two, muttering to herself. At length she looked up at them, nodding absently.

  “So, you wish to know of the Dark Bard, my curious young lady? Not an unreasonable request. However, any tale of the Dark Ones must necessarily begin with the tale of...” glancing about and leaning forward, she all but whispered the name, “Herla.”

  Brand noticed Telyn’s eyes, which were serious and eager. Gudrin sat back against the boat’s rail and made herself comfortable. The River Folk moved about the skiff, settling themselves without thought or urging from Jak in places that would both balance the skiff and allow them to hear the tale over the sounds of wind and water. Modi alone rode in the bow, where he listened without appearing to.

  As the tale began, Brand felt a chill wind come up the river against the current. It made the sails luff and flag. He and Corbin moved to lower them and drift with the current.

  “Herla was one of the first human kings of Cymru, which is the ancient name for this land,” said Gudrin.

  “So he was once human?” asked Jak in surprise. Gudrin halted and glared at the interruption.

  “Human indeed and a great man as well. The Teret tells of his fall. Once, many years ago, King Herla met another king who was a pigmy, no bigger than a child. This small creature, so the story goes, was mounted on a large goat. He was gaily attired in a cloak and pants made of the dappled hide of fawns. He wore no shirt however, and his chest was bare and milk-white.”

  “Oberon,” whispered Telyn. Gudrin paused and glanced at her. Telyn blinked. “Sorry.”

  “Indeed, Oberon it was, but then he was a young lord. He was more wild and playful in that millennium than he is in this. He introduced himself to Herla as follows: ‘I am lord of many kings and princes, an unnumbered and innumerable people, and have been sent, a willing envoy, by them to you…. Let us agree, therefore, that I shall attend your wedding, and that you shall attend mine a year later.’

  “Sure enough, the elfkin king appeared at Herla’s wedding with a huge train of followers, bringing wonderful food and drink for the feast. And a year later, just as he had promised, Herla went to attend the elfkin king’s wedding, which was held in a magnificent palace in the depths of a mountain. The only entrance to the palace was by the way of a cave in a high cliff. When the time came to leave, the little king loaded Herla and his companions with gifts. Many delightful and intricate mechanical toys and finely wrought clothing and jewelry did he give the king. Lastly, he gave the king a small bloodhound to carry, strictly instructing him that on no account should any of his company dismount till the dog had leapt from the arms of its bearer.

  “When Herla came out of the mountain palace and into the sunlight of his own kingdom his joy was short-lived. He asked news from a shepherd, and he learned that not one year, but many hundreds of years had passed since he had last been there, and he himself was only remembered as a king of ancient times who had vanished into a cliff and had never been seen again.

  “The king, who thought he had only stayed for three days, could scarcely sit upon his horse for amazement. Some of his company, forgetting the elfkin king’s orders, dismounted before the dog alighted and instantly fell to dust. Realizing why they had dissolved, the king warned the rest under pain of like death not to touch the earth till the hound had leapt.”

  Gudrin paused here to light her pipe. To the others, listening closely to her tale, it seemed an infinitely slow and tedious process. At last she had the bowl glowing redly and blew several gusts of blue smoke into the open air. “Alas, from that day to this, the hound has never leapt.”

  “Never?” asked Brand in surprise.

  “Never,” repeated Gudrin. “And so through all the long centuries, the king and his mad coursers have wandered on horseback ever since, never alighting, never touching the earth, nor bed, nor even feeling the warmth of a campfire. And—although the curse has held them ageless for centuries, they still need to fill their bellies.”

  “But what kind of men could stay on horseback for centuries, even if ageless?” asked Jak incredulously.

  Gudrin shook her head. “They were men no longer, but cursed, undying creatures. They were ageless, but they weren’t changeless. They became darker of spirit and came to prefer the night over the day. As hunters they were soon unequaled. Instead of his crown, Herla came to wear the great antlered stag’s head that is now familiar to us.”

  “But the worst change was due to the curse. For soon, the huntsmen learned why the bloodhound was so named. At first, it would eat nothing, though they offered it every kind of meat that they could kill from the backs of their cursed steeds. The small hound thinned and sickened, and Herla despair
ed. He cursed Oberon, and wanted nothing more than to avenge himself upon the trickster. Many times, he pondered alighting upon the earth and ending his torment, but stubbornly he refused. Only the hope of vengeance kept him going.

  “So it was very important to him that the hound didn’t die. He ordered his coursers to bring him every variety of food imaginable, and it was quite by accident that they first learned the dog would lap at the blood of a stag, served to it in a wooden bowl.

  “The hound would drink the blood, but it did not return to health. They fed it stag’s blood, but still it sickened, although its decline was much slowed. After a time, Herla came to know the truth in his heart.

  “‘Find the shepherd with whom we first spoke,’ he ordered his coursers. ‘Find him and slay him. Bring back his body into the forest that we might empty his blood into this wooden bowl.’ Grimly, his coursers did as they were told. When served this bowl the hound relished it and soon grew strong again.

  “In this way Herla and his followers learned to feed the hound, and in time it robbed them of the last of their humanity. For men can’t take and drink the lives of other men in a perpetual hunt without changing. They became cursed horrors of the night. Worse than the Faerie themselves—than those who had created them.

  “Oberon came to regret his trick and his curse. Many times have the paths of Herla and Oberon crossed, and always it has been a grim meeting.”

  “And now these horrors have taken an interest in us?” asked Brand in dismay. “Why? Why is the Dark Bard here?”

  “That I do not know,” replied Gudrin.

  “So the bard is one of Herla’s coursers, Talespinner?” asked Corbin thoughtfully, “and if any of the Wild Hunt step down from their mounts they will fall to dust. Perhaps all we need to do is coax them to alight.”

  “Ah, a fair assessment, Corbin. But few have managed to get any of the Wild Hunt to leave the backs of their horses. The bard in particular is tenacious. He too was cursed by the Faerie to live in death, to walk the Earth undying. He too, was once mortal, and lives on through the strength of his vengeful will. He is unusual in that he can be apart from Herla and his hound and still exist.”