FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy

by Mercedes Lackey

  “I’m—”

  “I’m not finished.” Tears shone in her eyes, but her voice was steady. “I’ve waited five years to have you in front of me, and you’re going to listen. Dorin was a peacemaker. I was visiting her when you stopped by our town. I told her not to go, but when she heard there was trouble in the square, she had to try to make people stop fighting. When I found her she was unconscious, bleeding from her head, bruised everywhere. There was nothing I could do except try to ease the pain. She suffered for two full days before she let go.”

  “I don’t suppose it would help if I apologized.”

  “No,” she snapped. “I don’t want anything from you. I don’t think you can be sorry. There’s too much of your father in you.” She stepped closer, fists clenched. “I don’t want you here. Nothing would make me happier than to turn you out and let you and your brother destroy each other. But my husband thinks that this poor, misguided girl needs you, and he seems to think he can accomplish something with you, as well. He’s wrong. It’s too late. But if it satisfies his curiosity or eases his guilt, perhaps that alone is worth something.”

  “His guilt?”

  “About what happened to your mother. He still wonders what might have happened if she had brought you back here instead of staying with that monster. He would have let her come back. They sent letters, talked about it before she died. She refused. He loved her, though, even after what she did to him.”

  My mouth went dry as I realized why Albion looked so familiar. “She was his daughter.”

  “You didn’t know?” That seemed to please her. “By his third wife, before me. He has the decency to take his wives one at a time, but he’s been around for a long time. He sees your mother in you, and it blinds him to what you really are.”

  Someone knocked at the door, and it creaked open. “May I join you now?” Albion asked Emalda, and she nodded.

  “Of course,” she said. She took the third cup to Rowan and poured a few drops at a time into her mouth, then checked her pulse and pinched the skin on the back of one hand. She turned back to Albion. “He can stay until she wakes, or until we decide his presence is doing nothing to help her.” She looked at me. “After that, you are no longer welcome in my home or on this island. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” It was hard not to say anything else. I knew she was right to be angry, but I wasn’t accustomed to being spoken to so disrespectfully by someone like her. It had been bad enough to be insulted by Mariana, who had earned my respect and who had once cared for me. To take such abuse from a stranger was much more difficult.

  Emalda left us and closed the door behind her, and Albion let out a long breath. “She’ll be back.”

  “I do hope so,” I said, and immediately regretted it.

  Albion frowned. “I’m sure she’s not easy for you to get along with, but she has good reasons for feeling the way she does about you. I’m surprised she’s willing to let this happen at all. Emalda is a better woman than you know. Not everyone would make these compromises.”

  “But she’s not making them for me.”

  He had turned to check on Rowan, and spoke without looking back. “She told you.”

  “Why didn’t you say something when I asked yesterday?”

  “I thought you had enough on your mind without all of that.” He stood straight and crossed his arms. “Perhaps I was concerned that you’d hold me responsible in part for what happened to Magdalena, because of the letters.”

  “No. Learning that she wasn’t a traitor is the best news I’ve had in years.” The letters that got her killed had been nothing more threatening than correspondence with her father. One more thing Severn would answer for if I ever saw him again.

  Albion sank into the chair nearest the bed. “There’s so much I’d like to tell you, and to ask you, but there’s not time. Rowan is holding up for now, but we don’t know how long her body can go on like this. Emalda had an idea last night, though. You can get into people’s minds?”

  “In a sense, but—”

  “Were you ever able to do it with Rowan?”

  And then I understood what he was suggesting. “Not while she was awake.”

  Albion nodded. “I wondered. Would you be willing to try it now?”

  “You mean sleep here?”

  “It would be easier than moving her to the lighthouse.”

  I sat down to think. It was probably impossible. Rowan wasn’t sleeping. If she was dreaming or thinking anything at all, it was at a far deeper level than I’d ever tried to reach. It would be dangerous. I could lose myself completely, and even attempting it would leave me vulnerable to attack.

  But if there’s a chance…

  “I’ll need to be alone with her,” I said. “I can’t have anyone else in the room.” Albion didn’t say anything. “Emalda wants someone watching, doesn’t she?”

  “She suggested supervision, yes. She may be concerned for the girl’s safety—”

  “Rowan has been with me for quite some time. I’m not going to hurt her now.”

  “Indeed. But there may be a concern of what could happen in a circumstance like this. Also, there’s the possibility of the students finding out. We have strict rules about propriety, and Emalda wouldn’t want to make an exception for someone like… well, for you.” He sounded apologetic. It didn’t help. “Let me speak to her. Perhaps if I slept in there?” He gestured toward an open door that led to a smaller bedroom. “I think that’s the best I can offer. I’ll close the door, if it helps.”

  “Not really. Better you than her or someone else, I suppose.” A headache was brewing behind my eyes. “I’ll do what I can. That’s all I can promise.”

  I returned long after dark, having spent the hours between visits flying, trying to tire myself and make it more likely that I’d sleep.

  And I planned.

  Albion seemed trustworthy, but then, so did I when I needed to. Even if he meant no harm to me or Rowan, there were still other people in the building. There was that window that would be so easy for someone to get in through. I would have to leave a significant part of my awareness in the room, ready to pull me back if there was trouble. To do otherwise might let me deeper into Rowan’s mind, but the risks were too great. It would have to be enough.

  Emalda offered to make me something to help me sleep, but I declined. I needed to be able to wake quickly, and I didn’t trust her. The woman looked like she’d just swallowed something bitter every time she looked at me, and it seemed an unnecessary risk.

  After she left and Albion retired to the adjacent bedroom, I focused on leaving a portion of my awareness in the room. I lay down beside Rowan and tried to clear my thoughts so I could drift off.

  Jumbled and confusing images of the past few months filled my mind. After some time, dreams began to crowd in. Rowan was running away from me, and when I looked down, my hands were massive, scaly things with dangerous claws. I dreamed I was consumed by fire, and then that I woke with Rowan safe beside me, back at the Grotto. There was a dream where Rowan was asleep in a tower like a story-book princess, guarded by a red dragon and missing for a hundred years. But none of those versions of Rowan were real or reachable.

  I reluctantly relaxed my hold on reality, and slipped deeper into something that was like a dream, and yet not. The world expanded around me and lost the surreal, slippery quality that always gave my dreams away. This was a different state, one I’d never experienced before.

  I flew over a large expanse of water in my eagle body. There was land in the distance, but the wind was pushing me back as fast as I could fly forward. The colors of the clouds and the water were muted, and the sound of the waves and wind seemed to not quite reach me, but this place felt far more real than any of my previous dreams. If I was going to find Rowan, it would be here.

  I tried diving down to get under the wind, but huge waves threatened to soak me. There was no getting above the storm, either. Lightning flashed through the clouds each time I tried.
The wind pushed me back again and again, and each time it did, the bedroom flashed into my mind—the window with moonlight shining through, shadows of the elm tree on the floor, the wind whistling at the corner of the building. Two doors fought for my attention, one I would never be invited through, and another that sat open just enough that I couldn’t be sure no one was going to come through. Albion was awake on the other side.

  The more I focused on the real world, the harder the winds pushed me back in the dream. A sudden gust sent me tumbling toward the water, and I barely managed to climb back into the air before a massive wave could soak my feathers. I was growing tired, and knew I couldn’t keep flying for much longer. Staying would be far too dangerous. I sensed that an accident in this strange world would have very real consequences. There was also a chance that if I went any deeper I would lose myself completely in her mind. I decided to pull back and try again after I’d had a chance to wake and come up with a better plan.

  The bedroom began to solidify in my mind, and one more thing caught my attention. Rowan. There was the tiniest hint of a frown on her brow, and her hand twitched—the one I could see myself holding. She was responding to my presence, but it wasn’t enough yet. I knew then what I had to do.

  I gave up.

  I let go of the consciousness that held me to the room and to my body, not knowing whether I would be back. It didn’t matter. What mattered lay beyond the storm. I let myself fall completely into the dream, and the colors and sounds of that place blazed to brilliant life.

  I found a channel of calm over the water, between the howling winds that still grabbed at my wings if I drifted to one side or the other. I flew forward, and rushed toward the land ahead me.

  Towering stone cliffs rose from the water, and storm waves pounded on the jagged rocks at their base. A warm breeze pushed me from behind, and I rose over the edge of the cliff. Dark trees formed a line just past a rocky, barren field next to the cliffs. Strange vines wound their way through the trees, and mosses blanketed the rocky ground. Some unfamiliar bird trilled in the distance, and I realized that this place reminded me of the dreary woods in Rowan’s dream.

  I flew over the trees, searching for a path, a clearing, any indication that I’d find what I was looking for.

  “Rowan!” I’d expected to have nothing but bird noises come out, but my own voice echoed out over the endless forest. How long had I been flying? Every muscle in my body burned from the effort, but I couldn’t rest. I was running out of time. If I woke, I might not get another chance to come back.

  “Rowan!” I called again, desperately listening for the response I wanted more than anything I’d ever wanted in my life.

  There was nothing. My hope faltered. Perhaps I’d been wrong, and this was nothing but an empty dreamscape.

  Then, from somewhere near a river that was just barely visible, sparkling beneath a break in the trees…

  “Aren!”

  I turned and forced my aching wings to beat harder, pushing toward the river, my heart pounding. Please don’t let this be just a dream, I thought. I dropped toward the treetops.

  Chapter XXXVIII

  Rowan

  NOTHING HAD CHANGED, EXCEPT THAT now I was waiting. I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around what it was that I was waiting for, but I held desperately to the idea that there was something. When I felt myself drifting back into the haziness that had held me before, I brought the voice back to mind. If I could remember it speaking my name, I could remember myself, if only in a vague way. Layers of fog in my mind kept me from remembering exactly what my name was, but I knew the voice had said it.

  I heard it again, once. It was distant and muffled, not speaking any words that I could understand, but hearing it again filled me with relief and longing. “Don’t forget me,” I whispered.

  I paced the edges of the clearing, counting my footsteps and finding it impossible to keep track of the numbers. The dark path was still dull and shadowy and vaguely frightening, while the other path remained bright and inviting. It smelled good, too, like there might be a meadow just around that bend in the path, filled with warm sunlight and sweet peas and clover. Maybe strawberries. I stepped onto the path, intending to go just far enough to see, when a sound froze me where I stood.

  “Rowan!”

  The voice again. So close and so clear, coming from somewhere above me. I noticed my heartbeat. Had that been there before? Certainly not so loud or so fast. I knew that this was important. Rowan was my name, I was sure of that, but who did the voice belong to? I felt the memory becoming clearer, but still just out of reach.

  “Rowan!” the voice called again, and everything came flooding back—the world I’d grown up in, my family, my past, magic, and pain, and a long journey. And…

  “Aren!” My voice was far too quiet. I cleared my throat, took a deep breath, and shouted again. “Aren!”

  I kept yelling, not really aware of what I was saying, desperate to be heard. A shadow passed over the clearing, and I looked up in time to see a winged shape gliding overhead, gone before I could wave my arms to attract attention.

  Which way had he gone? Suddenly I couldn’t keep any of it straight in my mind. I ran to the river and shielded my eyes against the sun, searching the sky, seeing nothing.

  “Rowan?” His voice was behind me now. I spun around to see him standing at the place where the dark path met the clearing. Almost. I almost saw him. He didn’t seem real, and I could make out the shapes of the trees behind him. I stepped slowly toward him and halted a few steps away. I was in shadow there, and I could see him better without the sun in my eyes.

  “I can hardly see you,” he said.

  “I’m here.” My voice cracked again.

  He held out a hand and I tried to take it. There was nothing there but warmth. Nothing I could hold on to. An empty pit opened inside of me. “Are you alive?” I asked. He certainly looked like a ghost.

  He smiled. “Yes.”

  Another thought occurred to me. “Am I?”

  “So far,” he said. “I don’t know for how long, though. You’ve been gone for too long.”

  “I thought so.” I took a long look around the clearing. “I want to go back with you.”

  He looked behind him, listening for something. “This way,” he said. As I watched, he flickered out, then returned. “I don’t think I can stay here.”

  “You’ve been in my dreams before.”

  “I don’t think this is really a dream,” he said. “Not for you. Maybe that’s why I can’t see you properly.”

  “Guess we’d better go then.” I wanted desperately to take his hand, but all we could do was walk beside one another, occasionally overlapping when we climbed over a fallen branch or dodged a boulder. He kept disappearing, and appeared less substantial every time he returned. A crashing noise grew louder as we stepped out of the forest onto unfamiliar, stony ground. I could barely see Aren in the bright sunlight.

  He pointed out over the water. “That’s how I flew in.”

  I stepped closer to the cliff. There was no way down. No path, no handholds, no boat at the bottom to carry me home, just rocks and crashing waves a terrifying distance below me. I stepped back. I’d always been afraid of heights.

  When I turned toward Aren again, he was gone. I waited, but he didn’t reappear. I wondered whether he could still see or hear me, or if he was awake now, waiting for me to follow. I walked along the cliff, but everything around me stayed the same.

  Ahead of me and behind me, the edge of the land stretched out in a straight line as far as I could see. Below me, that horrible drop to the rocks, the water, and waves that crashed so hard that the spray wet my skin. The path into the forest was still there, ready and waiting. I knew that I could go back, that the sweet-smelling path to the meadow would be there for me. But I also understood that while going that way would lead me to a beautiful place, maybe a better place, it would never lead me home. My body would die. I would never see Aren again.


  I turned back toward the cliff. My heart slammed, and my stomach tried to climb into my throat.

  I hope this is a dream.

  I closed my eyes, leaned forward, and dived off of the edge.

  At first it didn’t feel like falling, aside from the wind rushing into my face. The sound of the waves quickly grew louder, though, and nothing happened. I didn’t transform into a bird or a fish, the waves and the rocks didn’t disappear. The roaring beneath me only grew louder. I forced my eyes open and was faced with the unforgiving surface of a huge rock, so close that I could see the barnacles clinging to its cratered surface. I threw my arms around my head, knowing that it wouldn’t do any good.

  The impact knocked the wind out of me, but was considerably softer than I’d expected. It didn’t even hurt, once I managed to draw a breath. The air didn’t smell like salt, but like air-dried laundry, and I felt warm again. My body was heavy, though, and it was a struggle to pull my arms away from my face, to drag them down over the soft, smooth surface my body rested on.

  When I manage to force my eyelids open, I found myself in an unfamiliar room. Moonlight flooded in through a large window near the end of the bed. My neck was stiff, but I managed to turn my head to the left. Furniture—a sitting area with sofa and chair. A glass vase of flowers and a teapot on a low table in the middle. A bookshelf, too far away for me to be able to see what kind of books it held. Interesting, but not at all what I was looking for.

  I took a deep breath and forced my head to turn the other way.

  Aren lay beside me, still asleep. His breath was heavy, but uneven. Dreaming. Was he trying to get back to me? Or perhaps he’d made it back, and found that I had disappeared.

  I only enjoyed the sight for a moment while I worked up a bit more strength, enough to try moving my fingers, to lift my hand to his face. His cheek felt rough under my fingers.