Storm Crossed

by Dani Harper

  “Not at all. These ash trees began as seedlings sent from the Nine Realms by Gwenhidw herself and were planted not long after Aidan rode with the Hunt.”

  Lissy caught herself before she protested the impossibility of such a claim. This was a very different world—a different dimension, even—and it probably didn’t operate on the same principles as hers. I wonder what my university professors would think?

  A single pinnate leaf spiraled downward, and Lissy caught it in her outstretched hands. Its vivid green leaflets were tipped with red and magenta and seemed to glow before her wondering gaze.

  “A blessing of protection for you. You’ve pleased them with your admiration,” said Trahern.

  “They—they heard me?”

  “Of course. The ash trees possess awareness. All trees do, in both worlds. They vary only by degree.”

  The knowledge stunned her, and hard on its heels was a revelation. “Fox! When he was little, Fox started patting trees with his hands and talking to them. He—he still does with some of the bigger ones on campus.”

  Trahern simply nodded as if he’d expected it, then rode close enough to pass his palm over the great leaf. It vanished from her hands, and its bright colors reappeared within a crystalline disk on a fine silver chain around her neck. “It is no light thing when a tree bestows its favor. Now it cannot be lost.” Without waiting for a response, he rode ahead.

  Lissy stole a moment to admire the lovely pendant, then quickly tucked it inside her tunic to make doubly certain she wouldn’t lose it. “Thank you,” she called out to the white branches so impossibly high over her head as Cryf trotted after Cyflym.

  She wasn’t a scientist anymore. She was a child in a make-believe storybook. Any thought she’d entertained of taking rock samples or studying specimens dwindled and vanished as the day bloomed with unimagined wonders. Transparent flowers that chimed in the breeze. Tiny red salamanders that burst into flames when startled, then ran off as if nothing had happened. Exotic scents that rose up from black sands along the shores of an amethyst lake. And in a darker forest, beneath a looming sky, the arches of an ancient stone bridge crossed a slow-moving stream of glowing blue lava. Everywhere she looked, there was something new and profoundly amazing. And when they traveled on open land, she could see for herself that even the sky was strange and unpredictable; the sun rose along its expected arc, then traveled back the way it came until it was joined by a larger twin. And all the while, a fat orange moon floated in a midnight sky on the opposite horizon . . .

  There was no how or why. No explanation could possibly suffice. There was only what existed, what was experienced, in the moment.

  At the edge of another forest, their horses stopped abruptly, and Trahern put his finger to his lips. Be still and watch, he said in her mind. She could see nothing beyond save smooth hills covered in compact golden-green moss. The air itself changed, however, alert with tension as if a storm approached. Lissy strained to hear something, anything. Instead, it was a sudden vibration in her bones that alerted her to the approach of something mighty.

  “Rhai corniog,” said Trahern, as fifty or so shaggy animals suddenly topped a hill and thundered down its sides.

  Unicorns, she thought, but these were far from the dainty and delicate creatures of legend. The size and heft of heavily muscled Clydesdales, the animals fairly radiated power. Great cloven hooves were skirted with long jet hair; dark roan coats were speckled with blue and gray. Their single horns were not slender spirals but thick and curving blades that tapered up from their broad foreheads and flashed in the sunlight. A tangy scent filled Lissy’s senses, a strange blend of lathered sweat, hot iron, cool earth, and (of all things) rosemary. The unicorns paid no attention to the riders but galloped on, tossing up huge chunks of moss as they passed. They vanished behind a rise as suddenly as they’d appeared, and in their wake, the ground was not merely trampled but churned, and perhaps even a little charred in spots. Yet blushes of velvet green were already appearing like a new crop in a plowed field.

  “They renew the soil,” said Trahern. “When next we pass this way, the moss will again cover the hills.” He looked at her expectantly, but Lissy couldn’t think of a single question to ask. Not one. Her brain could only vaguely wonder if sensory overload had finally taken its toll. Perhaps that was why she didn’t notice Cyflym sidle close to her own mount until Trahern reached out to her. His strong hand stroked the side of her face, then slid beneath her hair to cradle the back of her neck. His long, cool fingers made luxuriant circles along the muscles there, until relaxation made her shoulders drop. Her guard dropped as well. She might be in an alien wonderland in an unknown dimension, but not only did her body know Trahern’s touch, it recognized his energy as surely as if it were visible. Magic had nothing to do with how grounded and centered she felt when close to him. Somehow, he always brought her to herself.

  Brushing his lips over her face, her eyes, her mouth. Lifting her from the saddle and bearing her away from the horses, the path. Into the forest through a tall bower of blue-leafed bushes to a clearing—and a bed of golden violets. The scent of vanilla rose around her as the cool flowers bruised beneath her, beneath Trahern.

  She had been here before, in her dream. In that night vision, however, she hadn’t possessed sleek white hair. And her lover hadn’t held up a strand of it and frowned.

  “Yn wir,” he said.

  The strange vibrations that buzzed over her entire body didn’t startle her as much this time, but the sensation was just as weird. When the hum lifted, however, she was still a little surprised to find herself to be . . . well, herself. Not only was she naked, but a glance at her hands and arms confirmed that she was no longer faery pale. Trahern, resting on an elbow beside her, drew out a lock of her hair and released it. The dark curl sprang from his fingers, and he smiled.

  Lissy smiled, too. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer me to be fae like you?”

  “Have I ever given you cause to think I would?”

  “Not even once.”

  Her bare skin quivered beneath the long, light stroke of his hand as he bent to kiss her, carefully tracing the outlines of her lips as if memorizing them. I can think of no word in your language save beautiful, but it is hardly adequate to describe you. When he finally raised his head to look at her, it was still impossible to discern the color of his eyes, even in the sunlight. But there was something new in them, something unexpected and—

  Trahern’s clothes vanished as well. They’d loved many times in the glow of firelight and beneath the moon’s pale rays. Now, sunlight warmed his marble skin, and the many glyphs and symbols glinted like liquid fire. There was fire in his touch, too, and she was wet for him long before his heated lips found their way to her breasts. He kissed them carefully, reverently, paying homage to each, worshipping her nipples with tongue and gentle teeth before working his way even lower. His breath was hot on her belly, low, lower . . . until his thick white mane spilled unbound across her thighs in a rush of silk, and his burning mouth found her aching clit. The abrupt storm of sensation shot her into glorious overload. Lissy seized his hair and pulled his face hard against her as she came.

  Then drew him onto her, welcomed him into her. Slick. Deep. Hard. Again she climbed, gasping at the dizzying height, reaching for that high, clear edge of pleasure—

  And took him with her as she tumbled over the brink.

  Still naked, they lay together for a time, her head pillowed in the hollow of his shoulder and his arm around her. As she often did, her fingertips traced the outlines of his ledrith.

  “Will Fox develop these, too, as he learns more magic?”

  “I do not think so. Power has come to him through his bloodline, yet he is not fully fae.”

  Not fully fae—but partially. She hadn’t looked at it quite like that. “Well, less for me to explain to the school, at least.” Because she was pretty sure that while the little dragon image was invisible to ordinary humans, the ledrith were not.
She kissed the one closest to her, intent at first on following its spiral with her lips—then giving up and laying her head back on Trahern’s shoulder with a sigh. “I dreamed about this place, you know.”

  “I am not surprised. You claim to have no magic, but you have more than you realize. You sense things all the time.”

  “I dreamed about us. Right here, flowers and all.”

  His voice in her head sounded intrigued—and not a little pleased. And what were we doing?

  “Pretty much what we just did.” She laughed. “But the real thing was much better. Besides, I didn’t like the mask you were wearing in the dream.”

  “What mask?”

  “It was copper, with stones set into it. A half mask, really.”

  Trahern was silent for so long that she turned her face to look at him. “There is a marketplace close by. It has a tavern with good ale, where we can rest and eat,” he said.

  “I know a change of subject when I hear one. So, is it a real thing, this mask? You said in the dream that your will was not your own.”

  “Such a mask exists, and I would not speak of it here and taint what we have just enjoyed. Let us go to the tavern—we have traveled much this day.”

  She wasn’t fooled. More like she had been traveling a long time and he’d merely been out for a warm-up. It was all too obvious by the horses’ behavior—Cyflym was always dancing around as if anxious to be given his head. Cryf often craned his great head around to look at her. Despite his strange white eyes, she had no trouble sensing his dismal puzzlement at his new role as tourist transport. Like a prize rodeo horse demoted to kid’s pony. Poor guy. Lissy laughed. “Okay, okay. It’s kind of you to try to make me believe we’re all ready for a break, but I’m well aware it’s just the wimpy mortal who needs a rest.”

  “What does wimpy mean?”

  She didn’t get a chance to answer as the shifting sunlight revealed golden eyes amid the lobed leaves as something large emerged from the brush. A tall green buck with polished jade antlers stood staring at them, a thick cape of long emerald hair covering its neck from ears to chest. Lissy held her breath. The magnificent creature had to be as big as the bull elk she’d once seen in Yellowstone—and probably just as dangerous. She gasped a little when it suddenly pawed the ground and snorted loudly with flared nostrils.

  It will not hurt you. The Green Stag only seeks to remind us that it rules this particular forest.

  Are you sure? Because it looks like it wants to stomp all over us.

  If it wished to do us harm, it need only brush our skin with its antlers. Every tine is tipped with venom.

  Every tine, huh? The heavy rack was a hunter’s dream, at least twenty points, maybe more. That is so not comforting.

  Trahern’s arm suddenly tightened around her. Whatever happens, do not move.

  What . . . There was no time to even think. The stag charged right at them, leaping at the last possible moment. Lissy held her breath as its deep-green underbelly and knife-point hooves soared high over them, coming to rest at the opposite end of the clearing. With a final snort over its shoulder, the emerald animal bounded away among the trees.

  “An interesting omen, and a good one.” Trahern stood, rising to his feet as gracefully as a panther. “Are you well?”

  “You keep asking that for some reason.”

  He grinned and held out a hand.

  Trahern chose the best seats in the house—best according to a Hunter’s way of thinking. From their table in the farthest corner, he could see all who came and went while shadows hid his own features. Lissy was likewise veiled. Instead of sitting across from him, he had seated her at his side so she, too, could study the crowded tavern. He had renewed her glamour before leaving the flowered glen, but though her form was once again disguised, her own vibrant spirit shone through as she watched the diverse clientele with interest. He was proud of her. She’d embraced her many new experiences in the faery realm with wonder and delight. And neither the plunge over the falls nor the lengthy ride had brought a complaint to her lips—

  And would those lips taste the same while disguised?

  Trahern resolved to find out, but not here—though his body stirred at the thought. It was rare enough for him to be seen in the company of another Hunter, never mind a female. The coblyn child who had waited upon them had already cast sidelong glances at Lissy as if she were a novelty. Perhaps it was because she smiled at the boy—after all, Hunters were not known for their friendliness. Should you ever meet any of the Tylwyth Teg, hide your feelings, he cautioned her.

  Why?

  They do not experience emotion as mortals do, and therefore do not read it well. If you do not demonstrate your feelings to them, you have an advantage.

  This is how you live in your world?

  No, only how I survive.

  It wasn’t long before a broad silver tray, heavily laden with food and drink, appeared to escape the kitchen, bobbing and weaving around the tables and their occupants and narrowly missing a towering bwbach heading for the door with a wooden keg tucked beneath its hairy arm. The tray came to a halt before Trahern and Lissy, and wide, stubby hands slid it onto their table, revealing the red cap and smiling bearded face of Fychan himself.

  “’Tis about time thee graced my doorway again,” he said to Trahern. He bobbed his head to Lissy, who nodded back solemnly—though Trahern could sense it was difficult for her to repress her natural warmth.

  “I have been on Lord Lurien’s errand,” he said.

  “As I thought. I could not figure thee no longer cared for my cooking or my ale!”

  “Never that.”

  Fychan made a show of accepting Trahern’s coins, then leaned forward with a lowered voice. “Three suns ago, someone came asking about thee. We don’t get many Tylwyth Teg here, only Hunters like thyself. Drove away half my customers that night. Wanted to know if I’d seen thee.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  Fychan laughed as if he’d heard a good joke. “Told him he’d have to ask Lord Lurien himself, as I was but a poor tavern keeper and not worthy to serve the Wild Hunt.”

  “House?”

  “He wore no colors, so I could not tell. Not a commoner, though—he spoke much like thee, save I could tell he didn’t care to be talking to me at all.”

  “Truly, it was his loss,” Trahern said, and passed Fychan two more coins. “I am indebted to you as always.” The man grinned and touched his cap, winked at Lissy, and strolled away.

  “Is something wrong? Who would be looking for you?” she asked. “Your family?”

  “It would surprise me greatly if one of them ventured to Tir Hardd.” But who else could it be? More important, what did he want? What would cause Eirianwen to send someone to the new colony that was so eschewed by the nobility? Lissy was disguised well enough that no one, not even his mother, would know her for a mortal. Still, Trahern would have to take her away from here as soon as possible. I do not want her involved in whatever business the House of Oak thinks it has with me. “Perhaps someone sought the aid of the Wild Hunt.” Though remote, it was a possibility, and therefore not a lie. It made him uncomfortable just the same.

  “Do you think he’ll come back?”

  “I do not know. If it is the Hunt he seeks, he will find riders at other taverns. Perhaps he has found Hyleath and Iago already. They often drink together not far from here.”

  Knowing it would delight her, Trahern passed her a plate made of polished agate sliced so thin she could see through it, then pushed the enormous platter closer to her so she could take whatever she wished. The coblynau had produced a tidy feast, and he could tell by the color of the ale in the silver tankards that Fychan had opened one of his better barrels. “Eat what you will, but drink only a little of this—faery ale is very strong.” Trahern signaled another coblyn. “Bring us water as well.”

  “What about the old stories?”

  “What stories?”

  “That if you taste any
food or drink in the faery realm, you can’t leave.”

  Trahern couldn’t help but laugh. “I promise you, there is no such enchantment. Food is merely sustenance, whether you are mortal or fae. The only concern is whether or not it is poisoned. And this is not.”

  “Well, that’s a big relief.”

  Lissy appeared to enjoy the meal. As for himself, he could not stop thinking about Fychan’s words. The House of Oak had no power that could trump that of Lord Lurien. Trahern belonged to the Hunt, and nothing could change it. Still, was Lissy’s dream a warning?

  Having finished her meal, Lissy reached again for the ale, but he was quicker. The tankard floated out of her reach and circled around to Trahern for inspection. Almost a finger’s width of the potent drink was gone, and he set it on the tray of a passing server.

  “Really?” she said. “It’s that strong? I thought when you said to drink just a little, I could at least have the mug.”

  “The mild flavor is deceiving. A mortal—even your friend Aidan—could not drain the entire cup without losing consciousness. You would not wish to return home to Fox in such a condition.”

  “Good point. Thanks for the save. I’m not going to pass out from the food or anything, am I? Because I really enjoyed it.”

  He heard nothing more. The tavern was busy as always, yet a movement at the door had captured his attention. There, a short figure in an earthen-colored dress seemed to have stepped from his memories whole. Every detail was just as he remembered, from the braided hair with many shiny charms woven amid its brown leaves to the bright eyes in a softly wrinkled face. Her slender fingers appeared more like twigs than flesh as they reached for the great brass handle—