Storm Crossed

by Dani Harper

  She picked up the box she’d taken the tea from and squinted at the words on it. “Orange peel and cardamom,” she supplied. “But everything else is exactly right. That’s a pretty good trick. How did you do it?”

  “If you mean, did I use some form of deception or pretense, the answer is no. A sorcerer must be familiar with countless plants, in both worlds. I have often gathered ingredients from this realm to use in a spell or a potion.” He didn’t mention that they had been for Braith’s sake. “The sage that grows in this area is especially potent for magic work.”

  “Spells and potions. Magic.” A cloud passed over her fine features as she sat across from him. “That’s what this is really about, isn’t it? That’s why you’re here? There’s some sort of magic attracting your dog to my son.”

  “He is my brother, not my dog.”

  Her hand flew to her mouth in an honest gesture that charmed him. “I’m so sorry that I keep saying that,” she said. “Your brother. I didn’t know he was in my son’s room—I found him after you, uh, left.”

  It had not been a dignified exit. Nor had it been a courteous entrance. “I did not give adequate consideration to my actions. I was intent on retrieving Braith.”

  She snorted. “Is that supposed to be an apology? Because it’s not a very good one.”

  “I explained myself.”

  “Yeah, but you didn’t get to the I’m sorry part. You know, for breaking into my house, violating my privacy, scaring the hell out of me, stuff like that?”

  Growing up a prince of the House of Oak, he apologized to no one. Nor did he in his second life as a Hunter—not even when Lord Lurien once inquired about his stolen horses. So why did he find himself wanting to say something more to this human woman? “I regret my intrusion,” he managed at last, even as he was quite certain he didn’t regret its outcome. The woman’s company was undeniably pleasant . . .

  “I guess that’ll do. And I get that you were worried about your brother. If mine were in danger, I probably wouldn’t be too polite, either. Is it okay to ask—I mean, is he under a spell or something?”

  “You may ask,” he said. Few had dared to. “Of a surety, his form has been changed by a curse.”

  “That’s horrible. It must be very hard on both of you.” She eyed him appraisingly. “Probably worse for you.”

  “Why do you say that?” It wasn’t pity he saw in her expression but something he couldn’t define. True emotions were hard to understand, never mind navigate—and in his experience, humans emoted a lot.

  “Because if someone is hurt or has a problem, it’s always harder for the people who care about them.”

  It . . . has been difficult. The thought caught him unguarded, but she did not press for more. Instead, Lissy moved away from the topic as if skimming over a wound. As if she knew there was a wound.

  “Fox said his name is Braith. Am I saying that right?”

  “Fox is your son?”

  Her gaze snapped to his as she realized her mistake, and Trahern saw again the ferocity with which she would defend her child. After a moment, however, she nodded and relaxed.

  “An auspicious name for a powerful sorcerer,” he declared. “It will serve him well.”

  “He’s not a sorcerer.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because he’s not; he can’t be. It—it just can’t happen, that’s all.”

  “But it has already happened. Can you not see the magic that surrounds him? I have never seen the like of his aura, not even in the Nine Realms. It is why I asked you who is charged with his training.”

  To his surprise, she paled considerably before dropping her head in her hands. “This is so not happening,” she said, more to herself than to him.

  “I do not understand your distress.”

  “No. No, you couldn’t possibly understand. Magic is something you live with all the time in the faery world, but it’s not so common here. Don’t get me wrong, I know about magic. I’ve witnessed it my whole life because my family possesses a gift, but I didn’t inherit much of it myself.”

  “As it did not fully come to Braith. Power chooses for itself upon whom it will rest.”

  “So I’ve heard. But I was glad that it didn’t come to me, you know? I didn’t want the burden and the responsibility of that power. And I certainly don’t want that for my child.”

  “It is true that the possession of great power implies great responsibility. But are you not proud of such rare aptitude? Fox’s gift is very potent. He will be truly spectacular.”

  “Spectacular is not what we’re going for here. Normal, calm, ordinary, everyday. And did I mention normal? Look, it’s not like a talent for music or a flair for art. Those gifts are easy to encourage, and they would bring my child a lot of self-expression and satisfaction. They’d enhance his life, improve it.”

  “You think there is no creativity, no fulfillment to be found in sorcery?”

  “Sorry. I’m not trying to be insulting. It’s just that Fox has—well, he has issues. And magic would only complicate his life to an unbearable degree.”

  Trahern studied her. “And if he suffers, so would you.”

  “Yes.”

  “That is exactly why he must be trained to control his power, to manage it and himself.”

  “Are you kidding? Managing himself is all we ever focus on. It’s what we have to focus on. It’s the only thing that’s going to help him cope with a world that is too busy, too fast, too loud, too stimulating, too everything for him.”

  “The child has an illness?”

  “No. Yes. No. I don’t know how to explain it to you. Fox has Asperger’s Syndrome. It’s a form of high-functioning autism. Sensations, sounds, and other stimulation easily overwhelm him. He doesn’t cope with change, with transitions, very well. He needs structure, routine, predictability. And he needs help in interpreting and understanding not just the world around him but people in general. For instance, he often misses important cues in others’ words and behavior.”

  Trahern struggled to reconcile her words with the perceptive child in the other room. “Your son is very intelligent, and wise beyond his years.” Like his mother.

  “It has nothing to do with how bright he is. You want to talk spectacular? Well, Fox is spectacularly smart to the point of being brilliant.” Her smile was genuine, but there seemed to be sadness as well as pride behind it. Trahern had never seen such an expression. “And what’s even more important? Despite his difficulty in reading others, he has a truly compassionate heart,” she declared. “Like when some people came to the door one day collecting donations for the food bank, and I gave them a couple of cans of tuna and a jar of peanut butter. Afterward, Fox asked me why, and I had to explain to him that some people just don’t have enough to eat. I didn’t think any more about it at the time, but it must have really bothered him.

  “A few days later I came downstairs in the morning and found half the food in the house bagged up and sitting by the front door—and I do mean exactly half. If we had two cans of beans, he kept one for us and put one in a bag. If we had four cans of peas, two stayed and two went. He had a terrible time when we had an odd number of something . . . But the point is, once Fox knew, once he understood that someone needed help, he absolutely had to do something.”

  “You permitted him to give away your food?”

  “Well, of course I did.” She looked at him askance. “Not only had he stayed up all night working on it, I wanted to encourage his kindness.”

  Most of the Tylwyth Teg regarded kindness as a weakness. No one encouraged it, least of all in the House of Oak . . . but it didn’t seem prudent to mention it. “Fox is truly unique,” he said instead, then added silently to himself: And so are you.

  “I know, right? But so few people get to appreciate Fox’s good qualities. They just see a child in the grocery store having a tantrum when really he’s just reached the limit of his ability to cope. I—”

  A light, frantic
knocking sounded, and Trahern heard the front door open. “Hey there, Fox. Hi—uh—hi, Braith. Hey, Lissy, where are you?” The voice reminded him of the healer he’d seen the night before, the woman with the short black hair who had cleverly prevented the child from revealing his name. “Aidan’s at the forge, so I brought reinforcements, just in case!”

  A new voice piped up. “Well, now, ’tis a fine big dog you’ve got there, Fox. And will ya be needin’ a charm to keep this great beast in line?”

  “That’s my cue,” said Lissy. “Feel free to take your time with your meal. You can join us whenever you’re ready.” She left to greet her friends.

  Trahern took her at her word and remained behind. Although he ate the bread and cheese on his plate and drank the rest of his tea, what he really wanted was a few moments to think. He couldn’t even pretend to understand what she’d been describing. She spoke as if the child had some sort of deficiency, and yet there was nothing wrong with Fox that Trahern could discern. If he had possessed a physical deformity, then sorcery would amply compensate for it. If he were somehow lacking mentally? The magic would have passed by him, unable to make the sure connection it required. He could understand that Fox was sensitive to his environment—all good sorcerers were. But Lissy seemed to think the quality extreme.

  A puzzle indeed.

  As it was obvious the woman had no servants, he moved the plate and cup to the sink—but he didn’t like leaving them there. A flick of the hand wove a minor restorative spell, punctuated by a soundless flash of rose light. All the dishes were now clean and dry and (he assumed) in their proper places. Satisfied, he reentered the living room. The healer he’d seen before was indeed there. There was no mistaking the lock of white in her short black hair, a sure sign of a long-ago spell gone awry. Behind her open, friendly face, she was as alert and watchful as if he might turn into a dragon at any moment. Wise. And a most loyal companion.

  Lissy gestured in his direction. “Brooke, this is—”

  She stopped there, and he realized she waited for permission to reveal his name. The consideration touched him. “Trahern,” he supplied, and added a small bow.

  “Okay, good.” Lissy sounded relieved. “And this is our dear friend Ranyon.”

  As he rose, Trahern caught sight of a knee-high creature glaring at him, its knobby brown arms folded defiantly over a bright-blue tunic bearing some sort of bird emblem. An odd blue hat with the same embroidered bird sat at a rakish angle on thick braided hair that sported leaves, and its wizened face appeared carved from knotted wood. By the stars of the Seven Sisters, an ellyll! He hadn’t seen one since old Heddwen disappeared—

  “What business brings the likes of you here?” demanded Ranyon, all but vibrating with barely leashed anger. “Bad enough yer of the Tylwyth Teg, but better a snake had crossed the threshold than a treacherous son of Oak!”

  TEN

  Trahern was taken aback as the ellyll spat on the floor at his feet. “Why insult me, good sir, when it pleases me to see you?”

  “Don’t be good sirrin’ me. And it would please me ta be callin’ down lightnin’ where ya stand.” He pointed a long twiggy finger that glowed like a white-hot ember.

  Energy sprang instantly to Trahern’s palms, but not before a thunderous roar shook the glass in the windows. The great gray grim leapt in front of him, showing every one of his long teeth at the ellyll—

  And abruptly vanished.

  “What have you done with my brother?” shouted Trahern, holding aloft an apple-size sphere of crackling green light. If Braith were injured in any way . . .

  The ellyll adjusted his strange blue cap, jamming it down on his long braided hair until a handful of leaves went whirling to the floor. “I sent your great calf of a pet to Tir Hardd.” He put up his little knobby fists in front of him and bounced from side to side on his woody toes. “Yer lucky I didn’t send him clear to the Nine Realms, but I’m savin’ my energy fer you, ya fradychwr!”

  “I am no betrayer!”

  “You’re a son of Oak! A sprout from a tainted tree! Deceivers and assassins all!”

  “A sorcerer does not prey on others.”

  “Ha!” snorted Ranyon. “A sorcerer, are ya? Came fer the boy, I’ll bet, but yer not gettin’ him or his power.” He jabbed at the air with his clenched hands. “I’m ready fer ya. Let’s see whatcha got!”

  “I came here to retrieve my brother. Return him at once!”

  “Return my family, ya greedy traitor!”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Lissy inserted herself between them, seizing Trahern’s arm with both her hands before he could throw the sphere. “Hold it right there, everybody. No one’s having a wizards’ duel in the middle of my goddamn house!”

  “The House of Oak destroyed my entire clan!” protested Ranyon. Brooke knelt beside him and tried to calm him, but he was past listening.

  Lissy eyed Trahern with suspicion. “It was you?” She gripped his arm tighter.

  “Nay! It was an ill business, and one I had no part of,” he declared aloud, then turned to mind speech in an effort to reach her. Do I seem such a monster to you?

  Her hand relaxed somewhat. “Well, then, who was responsible?”

  Not only had he not expected the question, he was unaccustomed to being questioned at all. Yet something about this woman made him want to explain, to have her understand. Trahern extinguished the sphere of energy in his palm and lowered his hand. He lowered his voice as well. “Eirianwen has led the House of Oak longer than anyone can remember. She craves power and status and the expansion of her territory, and lays her plans accordingly. The Ellyllon are not fae but elementals, the only beings in the Nine Realms whose magics exceeded her own, and they refused to lend her their talents.”

  “The wicked wrach demanded we help her make slaves out of the Dragon Men! A’course we said no!”

  Trahern nodded. “After that, Eirianwen regarded every ellyll as an enemy. Rumors were spread at Court that the clan was preyed upon by migrating bwganod at a gathering—”

  “Lies!” Ranyon shrieked. Brooke gave up trying to soothe him and simply locked her arms around his waist from behind and held on. He seemed not to notice. “Lies and treachery!”

  “There were many lies and much treachery, and I was privy to none of it. What was done to your people was never revealed to me, or indeed to anyone. It took a very long time, and considerable coin, before I finally uncovered the truth—that Eirianwen had found a way to infiltrate the Ellyllon lands.”

  “There was a battle?” asked Lissy, releasing his arm at last.

  “There was no fair fight, or we’d have kicked yer sorry arses and sent ya runnin’ with yer traitorous tails between yer legs!”

  “There was no fight at all.” Trahern’s voice was subdued. “There were no soldiers, no army. Only a venomous plague of small orange wenwyn toads gathered from the bottle trees in the easternmost realm. Their poison stops the heart instantly, and they can bite many times.” Lissy was silent, and horror dawned in her sable eyes. He wished he could stop now, leave the rest of the sorry tale to the imagination . . . But only truth will honor the dead. “There were countless numbers of the dangerous creatures hidden in every house, every barn and tree, every tavern and well. Eirianwen’s magic not only cloaked the toads from sight, it controlled them and suspended them in waiting. At the next dark moon, in the deep of night, she loosed them all.”

  “But—but what about their own magic?” Brooke looked from him to Ranyon and back. “Why couldn’t the Ellyllon defend themselves?”

  Ranyon’s voice was bitter, and tears ran down his angry face. “To kill one elemental is to weaken all, dontcha know. To kill so many, so fast, so sudden . . . We were overwhelmed where’er we were, and most were in their beds!” Unable to contain himself, he broke free of Brooke’s arms and flew at Trahern, beating on him with furious fists. “Lofruddio bradwr! Murdering traitor! The foolish Court believed your lies because the bodies were gone,” he cried. “But their bo
dies were fed to the bwganod in Coedwig Swamp to hide the proof of the plot!”

  By the Seven Sisters . . . He hadn’t known that part, hadn’t been able to determine why all of the villages were empty. It made sense that Eirianwen wouldn’t want the bodies left behind to be examined—and any remains that did turn up would be in a bwgan nesting ground, adding credence to the rumors. The sobering revelation wrung a sigh from Trahern, and he simply stood still, accepting the little ellyll’s blows without defending himself. Ranyon’s knobby hands stung like the hooves of a hunted hart, but the ellyll had clearly suffered far more—

  A sudden high-pitched wail rent the air. Trahern had forgotten about Fox; indeed, everyone had. The child hugged his knees, rocking violently back and forth on the couch with his eyes squeezed tightly shut, keening in distress.

  “Now look at what you’ve done!” Lissy whispered fiercely.

  “We did nothing to harm your son,” protested Trahern.

  “Nothing except argue and yell and threaten each other in front of him. Now for heaven’s sake, everyone be quiet so I can think.” She took a deep breath, and he could see her gather herself as if for battle. “Brooke, could you go find Squishy Bear for me? I think Fox left it—”

  A sudden determined knocking at the door made everyone jump. “Melissa? Melissa, honey, is everything all right in there?” The caller resumed knocking loudly.

  “Oh, for the love of little fishes!” Lissy made a peculiar motion as if to pull her own hair out, then headed for the door, whispering quickly to Brooke as she passed.

  The healer moved fast, seizing Trahern by the shoulder and Ranyon by the hand. She steered them into the kitchen more by sheer force of will than physical strength. Trahern was unaccustomed to taking directions from humans, never mind being handled by them, but part of him sensed it would make things easier for Lissy if he complied. No doubt the ellyll is of the same mind, or he would refuse to be in the same room with me. The visitor couldn’t see either of them unless they permitted it, of course, but their presence might interfere with Lissy’s attention.