by Nunn, PL
The group of bendithy mamau females clustered together in the shadowy intersection of two passages were hardly aware of his approach, him in a colorless tunic and plain pants and so unsidhe-like in statue. Their heads were bent together and their hands clutched aprons or baskets of laundry.
He might have ignored their chatter altogether had not Azeral’s name come up.
He paused in his passage and leaned against the chill stone wall to listen.
“An’ the portal he opened was right in the center of main hall,” one haggard, dull haired servant whispered. “The great lord himself stepped out, pretty as you please, but with such a look to his face that I like to fainted dead away right then and there.”
“What did he do, Mitelia?” Another gasped in shocked curiosity.
“He looked fit to kill, he did. But spared not a glance for those of us working in the hall. Just took himself off towards the upper levels. Mark me words things have not gone well for the court, if the master himself looks to be in so black a mood. I’ve never seen such a look on him. An’ I tell you, me girls, pray to the elements that he calls you not to serve him this night, for there’ll be no leaving afterwards. Not for the living.”
Silence swallowed them for a moment as that truth sank in. Fear was heavy on their faces. Alex moved out from the shadows of the wall. Shock passed the servants faces as they recognized him for what he was. Their pale coloring turned gray.
“When did he come?” he asked bluntly, directing the question to the one who had claimed to see Azeral’s arrival.
She stared at him open-mouthed, speechless. His eagerness was too great.
Like the most casually, selfish of sidhe he took the information from the woman’s mind. It was simplicity itself with her mind ajumble with surprise and fear. It barely registered to Alex the indignity of the invasion. But he had what he needed.
Azeral had opened his spatial door less than two hours ago.
Alex swept past the bendithy, anticipation blinding him to rational thought. All he could see was the burning need to find out what had become of Victoria. He took the stairs at a run, brushed past startled servants and the few sidhe that roamed that part of the keep. He headed for the highest reaches of the keep where Azeral kept his own chambers. He reached the great double doors leading to the master’s private chambers and pounded unceremoniously on the wood.
No response. He thought of opening them anyway, but even in his excitement, he pushed that notion aside. There was only so much trespass that Azeral might allow before retaliation was due.
He stood for a moment outside the ornate doors, thinking of another place the lord of the keep might be in such a mood as the serving women claimed. His tower study.
The highest point in the keep. The most strenuous climb. Alex took it without thought. Breath only slightly harsh when he had reached that uppermost level. The magic helped even there, with physical stamina. Using it in such a trivial manner had become very much second nature. He burst into the semidarkness of the great chamber. Only the pale glow of moonlight through the impressive stretch of glass-paned window illuminated the room. It was still as death. No movement, no life.
Only a complex array of shadowed shapes and dark recesses. Alex stood at the entrance to the study for a long, frustrated moment, cursing the wasted time spent in coming here, then whirled and started back. A touch of magic stopped him. It wound like a wire about his middle and halted his progress no small amount of discomfort. He gasped and stepped back into the room hastily, one hand to his stomach, almost expecting blood. The discomfort faded quickly. He stared intently at the spot where he had encountered the obstruction, but nothing was there.
“What do you wish?” The voice snaked out of the darkness. Alex drew breath and turned, searching the shadows once more. There was a movement at the edge of the window. A tall shape moved into the pale light. Azeral’s face was hard as the stone around him. His eyes as cold as the heart of the mountain. Alex was suddenly very aware of the wrath emanating from the man occupying the study with him. It was volatile and grasping. The urge to take up his flight once more, hit him hard. He swallowed and forced it down. Stepped into the study and inclined his head in respect. Azeral made no motion to return the gesture. He stood still as carved marble and waited for Alex to explain.
“How – were you successful?”
The corner of Azeral’s mouth twitched. One long fingered hand moved to stroke the silk of his overrobe.
“Is that truly what you wish to know, Alexander? Is that what you rushed here so swiftly to ask?”
The eyes were like magnets of blue water. They closed in over him and deprived him of air or will. He stood helplessly, while Azeral carelessly sifted his thoughts. As he had done to the bendithy. Azeral found what he wanted.
How could he not? It lingered so strongly on the surface of all Alex’s thoughts. It had been motivating his every action for weeks now.
Victoria.
Azeral smiled coldly and turned back to stare at the night.
“She has fled me again,” he said simply. “I do not have her. As to her welfare…I can only hazard a guess.” Alex closed his eyes in relief, then stiffened as Azeral added, “You’ve done very well to break the spells my daughter laid on you. An act of considerable power. Do you balk at mine?”
Alex gaped. Azeral’s smile turned predatory.
“Of course you do. Galling is it not, to have that leash about your throat? And to be aware of it?”
Slowly Alex nodded, tense for an attack that he had no chance of combating, even if his fickle will would allow him that option. Azeral made no move, mental or physical. Finally, Alex whispered, “What will you do?”
Azeral’s shoulders shook. With silent laughter, or grief, or frustration.
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. What use are you to me if I bind your free will entirely? I seek an ally, not a slave. Slaves are such useless creatures, and inevitably betray your interests. You know what I seek, Alexander. The choice is yours to help or not.”
If there was laughter in his voice, Alex thought, it was tinged with hysteria.
Something had profoundly shaken the lord of the Unseelie keep. Something that made his lips white around the edges and his hands fairly shake with pent up agitation.
“What I want is Victoria safe. You promised me she would be.”
“Ah. So I did. Your sweet, gentle Victoria. Leanan made you forget her for a while, did she not? But that one, your human wench, is not so easily forgotten. How long did she pine for you, Alexander? How long do you think she kept her faith in you? Is her loyalty unwavering? Do you trust your Victoria, Alexander?”
He did not understand what Azeral was getting at. The sidhe’s eyes fairly glinted with sparks of energy. Carefully, he answered, “With my life.”
Azeral threw back his head and laughed. “Then your life is most surely forfeit.”
“What are you talking about?” He felt something coil within him. Something cold and fearful.
“She betrayed you, Alexander. And she stole from me.”
“What – are – you – talking – about – damn it!”
Azeral fingered something hanging around his neck. A black glass bubble, the size of a large marble, attached to a thin chain of silver. Alex could not remember seeing the pendant before. Azeral, of all his sidhe, wore little in the manner of jewelry.
“You’ve convinced Leanan that joining the hunt is her most adamant desire, so then join us in the keep of our enemies. You shall find out all you need to know there. You may shatter your illusions at will.”
~~~
The water nymph was very old. Her skin was like the pallor of death. Smooth and white and waxen. Her hair hung limply down her back, spilling in spidery tendrils over her shoulders and across her sagging breasts. There were webs between the fingers of her hands. And the nails of those hands were long and transparent. Strands of algae and elodia clung to her skin, and tangled in her hair.
Sh
e seemed a corpse given up by the pitiless lake. A corpse with a ragged, seductress smile and gleaming dark eyes.
“Will thee come into the water and play?” she whispered. Her voice was like the soft caress of water over rock. The forms behind her began to rise. Other nymphs. Younger, firmer. Sporting more beauty in their pale faces and forms. But the older one was the power here. It was apparent in her voice and in her eyes.
Okar felt the pull. The irrational desire to wade into the water and her promise of watery death.
“Not now,” he answered with some difficulty. “We’ve business here, lady. Ashara’s business. Will you parlay?”
She tilted her head thoughtfully.
“What does Ashara seek of the lake?”
“She seeks crossing for her folk.”
“Crossing?” The nymph’s gaze traveled behind him, to the forest where the Seelies gathered. “Why do the folk of the land wish to take to the water?”
“Necessity, lady.” He gave her truth.
“We need passage.”
The other nymphs were drawing closer, circling their elder, staring at him with hungry, liquid eyes. They were whispering among themselves with watery voices. The old one drifted closer, almost within arm’s reach of him. He kept his position, one hand in the water.
“Ashara has pact with us. But we see no Ashara. Why should we grant thee passage?”
“Because Ashara wishes it.”
“Hmmm. What will thee pay?”
He drew a breath, half expecting the question. “What do you ask that we of the land can give?”
“Will thee dally with us?”
He expected that also, knowing of nymphish appetites.
“I cannot,” he explained. “I’ve no tolerance for the water you breathe.”
She looked beyond him, leered at Alkar. “What of that one?”
He shook his head. “None of us, lady. I can promise you a favor. One for your convenience.”
“A favor from Ashara?”
He nodded. “How can thee speak for the Lady? How can thee give her favors?”
“She is the mate of my heart.”
“Oh.” The old nymph looked surprised, then the leering smile was back.
“So, she mates with such a pretty, young thing. I suppose she would not like thy dalliance with us, hmmm?”
“Most likely not,” he admitted.
Her smile turned sly. “Thee would trust us to see thee safely across the lake?”
He hesitated, wondering what she was getting at. “We would have to.”
“Then wait.” And she sunk into the black water, taking the younger nymphs with her. Silence returned to the shore.
Very carefully he removed his hand from the water, sat back on his heels and drew in several long breaths. Alkar came to stand behind him.
“I dislike this.” His younger brother’s voice was solemn. At the top of the slope he could hear the whisperings of his folk.
Ashara and Neira’sha had claimed these lands as territory for the keep. They had made the pacts long ago with the other denizens of power. He felt lost and frustrated trying to wield their power. He did not wish the responsibility. He wished to be at his heartmate’s side. But that possibility was long past.
Something slid through the fog towards the shore. Several somethings that looked, through the veil of the fog, like nothing more than floating logs covered with aquatic vines and moss. As they drifted closer he saw that that assumption was not far from the truth. They were long, narrow boats that had the look of being carved from great tree boles. Their tips were pointed and curved, and their backs flat. Limbs sprouted from the sides, twisting into the dark water, creating current some feet out from the boats themselves. It was as if the nymphs had very quickly fashioned the boats and not taken time to polish their work.
Dark nymphish heads slid through the water at the side of the craft, guiding the passage with long nailed, webbed hands.
All one could see of them were slender arms and glittering eyes above the water’s surface. Okar looked back to his brother.
Alkar seemed none too pleased with the appearance of the craft.
“Foul. Foul,” he was muttering. Okar wished him silent. The old nymph rose from the water not five feet in front of him.
She came straight up, as if propelled and stood with the dark lake washing about her knees. She held out one long arm to Okar and gestured. He stared at her, stricken, thinking twice about blithely accepting nymphish generosity. She discerned the hesitation on his face and hissed, “Falter too long and lose our benediction.”
He turned and motioned for his folk to approach the shore.
“There are liken to a hundred of us,” he told the nymph.
She shrugged. “So be it.”
The nymphs pulled the first craft to shore, beaching its nose in the sand. The wounded came first, limping on their own or outright carried. One of the scouts carried Neira’sha, struggling with her down the steep slope. Alkar ran to help, half taking the elder as the scout stumbled at the foot of the beach. Another followed with the human girl. Okar lent his own hand.
They laid Neira’sha in the boat and the old nymph shied back, eyes narrowing.
Okar looked to her, not knowing what to expect, but she merely retreated to a deeper level and watched them from there.
Slowly, the boats moved through the dark waters of the lake. They rode low in the water with their burdens. There were a dozen of them, each guided by a nymph, each holding ten or more passengers. They made little or no sound as they cut across the surface of the lake. The fog soon obscured vision of all sorts. Okar clutched his knife, stretching all his magical senses to no avail. The depth of the water and the thickness of the water-based fog weakened his land-based power to the point of non existence.
A wet hand slithered out of the water to clutch his wrist. He jerked away in shock, but the fingers were strong and resolute in their grip. A voice whispered out of the fog to him.
“Keep thy fears close, sidhe. For things live in this lake that feed on such emotions.”
The fingers slid up his arm, caressing, cold. Gritting his teeth he hissed back. “Let go.”
Soft laughter answered the command.
And at its leisure the hand slipped from his arm and retreated back into the water.
The boat rocked slightly. He closed his eyes and made promises to honor the water spirits if they safely reached the far shore. He wished greatly, that Ashara, who had dealt with these folk, were here to caption this situation. He surely had no desire to do so.
“Okar.” Alkar’s voice came to him out of the mist. “There’s something to the right of us.”
Okar turned that way, peering miserably into the white. He could barely make out a dark shape in the water. A drifting log, he thought. Nothing more.
The whinny of a horse broke the watery still. A great snort, as if a horse blew water from its nostrils. He heard a nymphish curse.
“Selkie,” a voice from the water spat.
The chill mist seemed to drop ten degrees.
The log-like form shifted, lifting somewhat from the water and the shape of a nag’s head could just be discerned. The dull reddish glow of its eyes shone like a beacon through the fog. Okar drew his knife, heard the sinuous sound of other weapons drawn. Felt the tension in the air.
Selkies were not to be trifled with.
Predators of woodland lakes, with the single-minded pursuit of living flesh. The harmless equine head did not conceal the blunt teeth of a herbivore, but the canines of a flesh eater. Whether the nymphs had some bond of neutrality with the thing remained to be seen, although from the curses of the elder by his craft, he doubted the likelihood of any such communication.
“Is it a danger to us?” he hissed, leaning over the side of the boat towards the dark, nymphish head he knew to bob there.
“By itself – nay,” the nymph shot back. “If its kindred should join it…then thou shalt know the meaning of watery death.
”
“Mother Earth,” he breathed. Sat back, shaking. “How far to the shore?”
“Half a league.”
He muttered a curse. “Get us there, nymph. Remember our bargain.”
“If I recall,” the nymph shot back pertly, “our bargain hast not yet been struck.”
He refused to rise at the bait, instead concentrating on the shrouded waters. The selkie slowly followed in their wake.
Another dark head joined the first. On the opposite side of the boat more equine heads floated to the surface, filmy orange eyes fixed hypnotically on the scattered boats.
There was the soft sound of the water swallowing something at his side, and Okar turned to find the nymph gone. The boat drifted without her guidance.
“They’ve fled,” someone called out across the water. And he knew it was not the selkies they spoke of. Pairs of orange eyes skinned along the surface of the lake, pacing the boat. He could just make out long ears laid flat and the wet swirls of dark horse hair. Something rammed into his craft and it rocked sharply. A child cried out.
He started, agonizing at the sound of fear. It was not the child of his flesh, so the distraction was not as poignant as it might have been. Someone moved at his side, shifted up from the bottom of the boat and clutched at his sleeve. Hair so pale it was indistinguishable from the fog, spilled over him as a fragile head rested on his chest. A voice like the most delicate of fall flowers, ready to wilt, ready to succumb to the first frost, drifted up to him.
“Lend me your strength, youngling, I’ve none to spare of my own.”
Neira’sha. He dropped his knife in his efforts to pull her upright, to support her against him.
“Lady, the nymphs have abandoned us. Selkies surround the boats.”
Before he could stop her, she leaned over the side of the boat and trailed a hand in the water. A touch of sunlight graced the surface where she had touched. The fog melted away from the spot in concentric waves. He felt her shudder and let her draw on the reserves of his own power, for he could feel in her body how weak she was. She knew of a way to manipulate water magic that he had no notion of. She chased back the fog until the dim light of sunrise touched the lake around them.
