by Molly Ringle
Larkin latched his gaze onto hers. “Yes. We must, at once.”
“Not at once. Our first task is this quest. We are so close, Your Highness. You would not leave Ula Kana free when there’s but a single step left? We must finish this. I haven’t the strength I used to, but what I have, I vow to employ in assisting you.”
“But it was not meant to be this way! He began this mission and set out on it. I will not do it without him.”
“Larkin.” She had never used his given name before, not without “Prince” preceding it. “I tell you, I have nothing here that can sway Vowri. Your gifts have already done more than I guessed they could, and even those were insufficient to free all of us. To gain any chance of saving Merrick, you and I must return to the human realm, recover our strength, find recruits, create new charms. But first we must stop Ula Kana.”
“But he—he’s here alone, and … ”
“He’s half fae,” Rosamund reminded him. “Ula Kana could sway him if he came with us. Perhaps it’s better not to have him when we face her.”
She had swayed Merrick in the swamp, or nearly. Merrick had fought it. That human half of him, so full of love and willpower, had resisted, though he did require Larkin’s help.
“But he should be with me.” Larkin’s voice faltered.
“You will have many opportunities for happiness once we’ve finished this task. You will be free to go where you will, do what you like.”
“I don’t wish to leave the island anymore. Not the way I once did. What I want is here, don’t you understand?”
Because Merrick loved him. And Larkin hadn’t answered; there hadn’t been time. Merrick might never know.
Haluli could deliver the message, if she returned to see Larkin, but who knew whether she would? Larkin still doubted, in his pain and bitterness, that any fae truly understood the importance, the urgency, of love. However, perhaps he had been wrong, given Haluli’s dedication to saving her son, and Sal’s loyalty toward Merrick and her other human friends, not to mention Arlanuk’s love for Lucrecia and their children …
A thought flared to life. He opened the box, shoved around the remaining items, and seized the wand of carved oak. “Can this be used more than once?” He thrust it into Rosamund’s face.
“Aye, if you wish, but here is not the place to bring Ula Kana to us, friend.”
“Not her.” He held the stick up high and shouted, “I summon all fae who have ever loved a human.”
The wind rose, sending smoky fog scudding across the rocks. Whispers and murmurs echoed off the mountainsides.
“Oh, gracious me.” Rosamund clutched at her tangled hair. “You’ll start a war! Vowri does not take kindly to others entering her territory uninvited, but they shall have to obey that summons and—oh, all we had to do was walk a short distance to the desert and complete our task, but you would do this instead.”
“We shall complete our task. And Merrick will come with us.”
“Or you’ll have invited the death of us, putting us at the center of a fae battle.” Rosamund squinted upward. The clouds were ripping apart in the wind. Stars glimmered between them against a pure black sky.
Haluli was the first to arrive. She flashed into sight, a blue glow, and settled between Larkin and Rosamund. Rather than folding her kiryo-bird wings, she extended them behind each of the two humans as if to protect them. “My,” she said. “This shall be interesting. No one’s ever called a summons in those words before, to my knowledge. How many might come, I wonder?”
Vowri’s voice shivered across the landscape in a warning wail, raising gooseflesh on Larkin’s skin, but he could not see her.
Other sylphs came next, a dozen of them. Then others from all the elements: jinn and drakes and fadas streaked in, fiery comets in the night, chasing off more of the dark and settling on boulders to peer at Larkin and Rosamund. Larkin thought he recognized some from Sia Fia’s realm. Selkies and merfolk and river-dwellers, in their land-walking forms, like pearlescent humans, coalesced into the air, water dripping from their hair and their weed-green garments. Dryads and hobs and elves clumped up the rocks, bringing whiffs of soil and leaf.
A blast upon a horn sounded, and a row of hunters marched up the slope into view, at least ten in total, with Arlanuk at their head. He halted before Larkin and Rosamund and bowed. Larkin bowed back.
“Laird-a-lady,” Rosamund said.
“Arlanuk, lord of the hunters,” Larkin greeted. “Rosamund Highvalley, former court sorcerer. I believe you’ve met.”
“We have.” Rosamund returned the bow with respect. “A pleasure to see you again, m’lord.”
Arlanuk grimaced at her, then addressed Larkin. “If you mean to test the truth of what you asked at your departure, then let my presence here prove me honest. Through your sister and our two sons, I have learned love as well as grief, for I have long outlived them all.”
“I believed you then, and I do not test you now,” Larkin said. “Rather, I summon you, and all these others, because I know your grief too well. And I beg for your help.”
He turned to take in the whole of the glowing, fidgeting, sparking, dripping assembly. There were perhaps a hundred fae already, jostling uneasily against each other, and others were still arriving, one by one.
Vowri screamed, lower and angrier. Her form became visible, spreading out to darken the stars. The wind howled, a freezing gale. The intruders shifted in wary defense, aware they were here against the rules of fae territorial agreements. Some flared their light or hissed in defiance.
A few humble items dropped from the sky and crashed at Larkin’s feet: the obsidian blade; the poem-card; and the perfume bottle, which shattered and exuded its melancholy scent. “The deal is ended,” Vowri said. “I keep your beloved forever, and I offer no assistance in your quest.”
Larkin’s knees shook as he crouched to pick up the obsidian blade. Gods, what had he done?
He stood and looked about at those who had gathered to await his word.
Rosamund laid a hand on Larkin’s arm. A surge of magic vibrated in his throat: a spell to raise the volume of his voice. He had received it before from exo-witches, to assist in speaking to crowds.
“Well, friend,” she said in his ear, “make your speech if you must.”
He turned to take in the whole assemblage, scraped together his words, then spoke. “I thank you for answering my summons.” His voice thundered, shaking the ground under his feet, audible even above Vowri’s gale. “I confess I had little hope many would come. I have wronged you, as has my colleague Rosamund. We did not credit you with your true depth of feeling. She disregarded your interests as irrelevant and hostile to those of humans, while I, even in my respect for you, considered you too different from us to ever allow for mutual understanding. I see now my mistake, as does she. We should have understood long ago. We ask you not only to forgive us, but to help us.
“You have loved humans. You have grieved for losing them. Rosamund and her wife Philomena have suffered this grief for decades, trapped in this bleakest of places.” He turned toward the witch and the flickering ghost, standing so close their edges blurred together.
Many of the fae’s expressions, as they followed his glance, softened in sympathy.
“I too am caught in the same despair.” His voice cracked, but he steadied it. “I have fallen in love with my friend Merrick, as we walked through your lands. He is half fae. To me it seems he belongs neither to this realm nor the other, but wholeheartedly loves both. He awoke me, and Ula Kana too, through an accident, simply because he was seeking magic to help his family. Love motivated him throughout.
“He made mistakes, yes. Ula Kana’s release has been wreaking devastation, killing humans, dragging fae to her side. She did not answer this summons, I see, because she is not among your number. She does not understand this which we all feel. We suffer more than she, we perhaps even make mistakes she would not make, but it is we—you and I and Merrick and many more—who want
this island to be a place of harmony. We are the ones who deserve to prevail, friends.
“Merrick is trapped here. Out of love for his land and family and friends, he accepted Vowri’s terrible offer and became a prisoner so we might walk free. I maintain this is not fair dealing. He is not the only one to suffer so. Look about you. Though I cannot see them, perhaps you can. Can you show me them, those who languish on their nests? Can you lift this veil Vowri has cast?”
Many of the fae only fidgeted, unwilling or unable to act. But others did something—a brightening of a glow, a flicker of the hand, a whispered chant. Then, as if a cloth was pulled aside, the sky widened, uncovering an array of tragedy.
Countless nests, horrifyingly more than Larkin had seen before, floated from near the ground to high above and every level in between, and those were only the ones he could discern in the night. On each thorny prison sat a broken human, many slumped and immobile, some raving, some standing to cry out to the fae. Near most nests lingered a ghost, sometimes two or three; while in the spaces between, other ghosts roamed, misery in their downturned mouths.
Larkin could not find Merrick’s nest. Likely Vowri had put him far away, knowing that to see him would give Larkin strength. Which indeed he needed. The sight of this widespread horror drained him of his courage. A satisfied sigh trembled down from Vowri in the air. She fed upon such emotions. They fortified her.
“Who are they all?” he asked Rosamund.
“Just people,” she said. “Those who have gone missing, who ventured into this realm and were unlucky. I know not their stories, aside from some my fae friends have learned and told me; but from those, I gather that most did not deserve to be captured half as much as I did.”
The summoned fae appeared stricken too, and their faces gave him just enough strength to continue.
He drew a deep breath. “You see. You see how she has robbed the world of joy, time and again. All these people are mourned by loved ones, some of whom linger here after death to be near them. All of them suffer for their love. Can we allow this to continue? Deals between fae and humans are a longstanding tradition, one I would not dream of ending. But this outrage is no deal. Rather, it is an ongoing plague of kidnapping and torture, and it cannot stand. I appeal to you: will you help me end it? For the sake of harmony, and the love you’ve borne humans, will you act?”
“Friend,” Rosamund said in his ear. “This is not what we’re here to do.”
“I. Don’t. Care,” he told her, his voice still reverberating in the slopes of the mountain.
She eased away a step.
The fae rumbled in conversation, each element murmuring amongst themselves. Some crossed lines: a dryad spoke with a selkie; a drake sizzled over to consult with two sylphs. But though all glanced at the nests with sorrow in their eyes, they still hesitated.
Arlanuk, who had been conferring with his hunters, strode back to stand before Larkin. The wind rippled the fur of his stag-like beard. “The trouble is this, young prince. Vowri is among the most powerful on the island. She’s held this territory longer than most fae can remember. Nor have any of us wanted her land much: a harsh place, all rock and smoke. It is suited to her.”
“Yes, but—”
Arlanuk lifted his giant hand for silence. “However. You make a worthy case. Ordinarily I would not face her in battle, as in her own territory she is too powerful even for me. But … ” He reached into a leather pouch and drew out the silver hammer charm. “Someone has recently given me an advantage that might be of use.”
Rosamund cackled. “There it is! A perfect use for it, powerful friend. I would have asked you to do this very thing, had I been able to visit your land rather than being detained along the way.”
“And for you I would not have done it,” Arlanuk retorted, silencing her laughter. “You were brought here by selfish ambition as much as by love. But Larkin and his companion have impressed me favorably.”
The sky darkened to an impossible black, extinguishing the light of the other fae. Vowri’s form became solid, rippling in a vast sheet, horizon to horizon. She sank until Larkin found himself stooping, afraid to come into contact with her. “Ah,” she sighed. “You’re all feeding me so well. All this fear and sorrow in one place. I shall keep each of you, fae and human alike. You cannot stop me.” The last sentence she spoke lower, threatening.
“Think you not, Vowri?” Arlanuk answered. He reared his antlers, lifted the hammer charm, and from his throat bugled a sound so loud that Larkin clapped his hands over his ears.
The air began tingling, crackling, flashing. The ground shook. Crouching to cover his head, Larkin felt spells invade his body, slamming him all over, crawling into his bones and flesh. He twisted in pain. Blood trickled from his nose.
A shield of shimmering air wrapped around him—from Rosamund—and the pain receded. She huddled beside him, panting from the effort of maintaining the magical cloak around them both.
“Well,” she shouted in his air over the cacophony, as lightning and earthquakes and whirlwinds and improbable waves of water pummeled the mountainside. “I do hope we live to see how this ends.”
CHAPTER 43
MERRICK WAS HUDDLING IN HIS PROTECTIVE shell, pondering in gloom how little food he had left in his pack and trying not to imagine what he would eat when it ran out, when the wind began howling. Haluli jumped and said, “I must go. I’ll return soon,” and vanished before he could ask why. Well, Vowri was sure to control her fae visitors closely, and to throw them out from time to time. He had to get used to being abandoned.
The darkness thickened, shutting out everything around him, as if it meant to smother him. He drew his knees in and clung to the memory of caressing Larkin. Could it have been just the night before? It felt like a year ago already. If he could keep those memories alive, cup them in the shelter of his hands for as many days, weeks, years as it took, then maybe he would retain his sanity, as Rosamund had.
A sheet of magic spread across the air, tingling on its way by. The darkness retreated. He could suddenly see far through the night, by starlight and the glow of ghosts and fae, and the sight took his breath away. So many nests, so many prisoners. Grief and torture and death going on for centuries, with no one to stop it, few who even knew about it. The legendary Rosamund couldn’t escape, not until Merrick came to offer himself up two hundred years later. Was someone else’s self-sacrifice in a future century the only hope he had?
Then Larkin’s clarion voice flashed through the realm like a sunbeam: “You see. You see how she has robbed the world of joy, time and again … ”
Merrick leaped to his feet and flattened his palms against the invisible wall. At least six levels of nests lay below him in the air, and he couldn’t spot Larkin. But a golden glow came from down on the ground, hidden by nests and rocks, and he suspected that was where Larkin was, and probably Rosamund and Haluli too. And others? What was happening? Larkin seemed to be addressing a crowd.
He didn’t speak long. After requesting the fae’s help, Larkin stopped. The prisoners called out in desperation for more, for news. Merrick strained his ears to listen.
Vowri darkened the world again and spoke in thundering, icy tones, threatening to lock everyone up. The sound of her voice sent Merrick and all the other captives back to defensive huddles in the centers of their nests.
Then came a voice that sounded like … Arlanuk? A loud blare followed.
The storm began.
A tornado whirled toward him, a blue glowing cloud shredding nests apart and flipping them upside down. Merrick had about two seconds to see it coming, his eyes widening in terror, before it was on him, flinging him into a spinning vortex. He crashed into wailing people and thorny branches. All over his body, gashes ripped open. Bruises bloomed. The roaring wind ate up his hearing. Clawing at the air, he gathered his magic, ready to escape, though he was so disoriented he had no idea which direction to go.
Then his side smacked hard against rock, and his right l
eg caught and snapped at the shin. Pain speared through him. But he had landed, and he lay covering his head and trying to breathe while the storm slowed to a stiff wind.
White ends of bone stabbed through his ripped trousers, in the middle of a spreading patch of blood. He whimpered in agony. All his available magic, sent to the spot, eased the pain a little and slowed the blood loss, but it was no use. He couldn’t self-heal something like this.
On the plus side, it seemed he wasn’t locked up anymore.
The sky brightened. He squinted, his eyes aching. He’d forgotten the night was artificial, brought on by the lapis lazuli globe. The charm had evidently been undone. The smoke was blowing away too, revealing a crystalline blue sky.
Around him, filthy prisoners sat or staggered, most of them being tended by fae. A jinn healed the head wound of an old woman, using the fiery glow of his fingertips. A hob took off her cloak and wrapped it around a trembling man. A mermaid, wearing her land legs though scales shimmered around her waist, poured clean water from her hands over a woman’s infected feet. Ghosts hovered near, murmuring.
Haluli appeared and knelt before Merrick. “Are you hurt? Oh goodness. I’m afraid we used rather too much force in that storm. Be still.” She passed her hands along his leg. The magic sped through him, assaulting him with needles of pain as the bone clicked back into place and the skin knitted. A sweeping comfort followed, and he exhaled in relief. Sweat dripped down his temples.
“There,” she said. “It’ll take time to heal fully, but now you’re out of danger.”
He sank onto his elbows. “What happened? Were we all freed?”
She nodded and cupped his face in her hands. “Arlanuk used your charm. He owns this territory now.”
