Lord of Legends

by Susan Krinard

  There was scarcely room between the bars for Ash’s hand, let alone his arm, but he struck at once. His flesh screamed in pain as his fingers clutched the collar of Ware’s jacket and jerked the man against the bars.

  “Truth?” he snarled. “What do humans know of truth?”

  The silence became frozen. Ware breathed sharply through his nose. Mariah, who had grabbed Ash’s wrist, went very still.

  “Humans?” she whispered.

  Ash released the other man and pulled his arm back, holding it against his chest. “Men,” he said. “Men like Donnington.”

  “Can you fail to doubt his sanity now?” Ware asked, straightening his clothing with sharp, angry motions.

  “Considering your own behavior…” Mariah frowned into Ash’s face, then glanced at his arm. Already the marks were fading. “Ash knows the meaning of truth. Would anyone not of sound mind understand such a concept?”

  “Who knows what a lunatic might or might not understand?”

  Mariah glared at him. “Do you know how to open this lock?”

  “You aren’t seriously thinking of letting him out?”

  “Can you break it?”

  “I won’t. He’s dangerous, Mariah. He’s also strong, however badly he’s been treated. I can defend myself, but you can’t.”

  “He would never hurt me.”

  “How long have you known him? Two days?” Sinjin snorted. “No. I won’t do it.”

  She turned back to Ash. “I’m sorry, Ash. You must wait a little while longer. A day, at most.”

  “I told you not to promise him anything,” Ware said, his face darker than it had been before. “I’ve got to find that keeper first.”

  They looked at each in a way Ash could hardly bear. “Very well,” Mariah said. “Ash, we shall both be leaving now. But it will only be for a little while.”

  He wanted to wail and beat his fists against the walls of his cage, to rage and roar and attack the bars again and again. But he merely withdrew into the shadows where their light boxes’ feeble illumination couldn’t reach. He watched as Mariah and Ware spoke quietly, and then, after touching Mariah’s hand, the other man left the room.

  A dozen heartbeats later Mariah was at the bars again. “Ash,” she whispered, “I have an idea, but I must make sure the coast is clear first.”

  He remained where he was while she followed Ware, listening to her feet in their small tight shoes tap against the stone. When she returned, her face was flushed, and her movements were as quick and darting as those of a bird.

  “I am going to get you out,” she said. “Tonight, whatever Sinjin may say.”

  Ash knew then that he had won the battle. “How?” he asked.

  “I shall find a way to break this lock.”

  “Why?”

  She had never looked at him so directly or so clearly. “Because I see how it will be. I thought I needed Sinjin’s help. I still do. But he won’t soon agree to let you go, after what you…after how you behaved.”

  It was a reprimand. He did not like it. “What is he?”

  “Sinjin? I meant to tell you—”

  “Donnington’s brother,” he said. “What does it mean?”

  She searched his eyes, her face almost white. “You heard us, didn’t you?”

  “What does it mean?”

  “Brothers are family. They have the same mother and father.”

  “Mother is the female who bore you?”

  “My mother, yes. As their mother bore them.”

  “What is family?”

  The delicate skin over her throat trembled. “A mother and father and children—brothers and sisters—make a family.”

  The food in Ash’s stomach would not remain still. “I am Ware’s family? And Donnington’s?”

  “We…we don’t know, Ash.”

  “I look like Donnington.”

  “You don’t…you are different. It isn’t as if—”

  Ash laughed. “I am my enemy.”

  “No. No, Ash. There is so much we have yet to learn. You must give us time.”

  Time meant waiting. Time meant this room, this cage. He tried to think of something else.

  “What is Ware to you?” he asked.

  “He is a friend.”

  She had called herself Ash’s “friend.” But it wasn’t the same. He knew it was not.

  “He does not believe that Donnington did this to me.”

  “Whatever Donnington may have done, Sinjin knew nothing about it. You must remember that.”

  Ash looked from the tops of the bars to the point where they sank into the ground. “What is husband?”

  “Ash—”

  “Tell me.”

  “A…a husband is like a father. A husband…lives with his wife.”

  “Donnington is your husband and you are Donnington’s wife.”

  As Ash had been before, so she was now: mute, voiceless.

  Why had she not spoken the truth earlier, when she’d had the chance? She could not be afraid of Ash, or she would never have returned. But she was afraid.

  “He kept you like this?” Ash said, his hatred doubling.

  “Like…” Her hand swept to the base of her neck, where the heavy cloth covered her flesh. “No, Ash.”

  “You escaped,” Ash said. “You found me.”

  “I…” Her face was beaded with tiny drops of moisture. “Ash, I am not living with him now, but he did not keep me in a cage.”

  “Then why were you his wife?”

  “Because…because I didn’t know what he’d done to you.”

  There was something hidden in her eyes and voice, but he could not make sense of it. Fury boiled under his skin. “Where is he?”

  “Away. I don’t know where. But he will return. That is why, when we leave this place, you must remain hidden.”

  “I will not hide.”

  “Only for a while. But you cannot stay in this cage for one more hour.”

  A promise, like the others she had made—and kept. Yet when she left, Ash could not forget that she had not told him about Donnington. Her husband. His enemy.

  He paced along the front of the cage, striking the bars each time he reached the end and turned for another pass. The pain became a part of him, keeping his anger strong. His heartbeat slowed to match the steady rhythm.

  And then they came.

  Memories. Not like the others, fragmented and seen through the prism of a dream, but solid and bright and real.

  He lay in the shadow of great gray stones cupped in a circle of trees, his mind a voiceless sphere spinning inside his head. Two others stood near him: one was Donnington—like Ash, save for the darkness of his hair.

  The other was Fane. While the human was not unimpressive, the Fane would draw all eyes to him wherever he appeared. His body was lithe and slender, his features finely drawn, his hair a richer nut-brown than anything that could be conceived on earth. His eyes were silver shaded with green, his clothes woven of light and thread so fine it could hardly be seen. He gazed at Donnington with contempt, everything about him speaking of power and arrogance.

  “I kept my part of the bargain,” Donnington was saying. He gestured to the girl lying at his feet. “I brought her, as you asked. Where is my unicorn?”

  The Fane slowly turned his head. Cold eyes surveyed Ash where he lay. “There,” he said.

  “This man?” Donnington started toward the Fane lord, who moved not a muscle, and then stopped to stare at Ash. “He looks exactly like me!”

  Cairbre—for that was the Fane lord’s name—smiled a little. “An odd effect of the transfer. You were the first human he saw when he passed through the Gate, so his body shaped itself in your image.”

  Donnington shuddered. “He wasn’t supposed to be human!”

  “He was cursed to assume human form in your world, but I expected this to be a temporary condition.”

  “You’re saying it isn’t?”

  “Oberon is still powerful. He will not
be so for long.”

  The human scowled. “Can it…can it understand us?”

  “It has not yet learned human speech.” The Fane lord stared at the human until Donnington dropped his gaze. “You have said that you kept your part of the bargain, but you have not fully succeeded, either. The girl is resisting my power. I cannot bring her through the Gate.”

  “Because you’re nothing but a ghost.”

  “It has nothing to do with Oberon’s restrictions on our appearance in your world,” Cairbre said coldly.

  “Then your weakness is no problem of mine,” Donnington snapped. “She’s barely conscious, and you can’t get her through?”

  The Fane’s gaze fell on Mariah. “Some part of her hidden nature has thwarted me. I believe she will not enter Tir-na-Nog unless she is coaxed by one she trusts without reservation.”

  “What has that to do with me? Do you think she’ll still trust me after what I’ve done?”

  “If you fear that she will remember what has passed here, you need not. These memories will be concealed from her own mind.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Donnington reached inside his pocket and drew out a silver object that sparkled with clear gemstones. “You gave me this talisman, and I found the girl for you. I brought her to England, and I haven’t touched her. But I’ll be damned if I’ll woo her all over again just to get her through your bloody Gate. I’m willing to stick to the bargain, but not under these conditions.”

  “Very well.” Cairbre said. He steepled his elegant fingers under his chin and glanced again at Ash. “I propose another solution. There is a very ancient bond between unicorns and virgin maidens. It was how men hunted the beasts before they fled to Tir-na-Nog. The unicorns were compelled to give themselves up to the maidens, but the enchantment had power over the females, as well.” He forestalled Donnington’s interruption with a lift of his hand. “If we permit the girl to meet with Arion, she will inevitably be drawn to him, and he to her. If he wins her trust, he himself can lead her through the Gate.”

  “That’s utterly preposterous!” Donnington sputtered. “Allow it to meet the girl? Shall I throw a ball to introduce them?” He shook his head sharply. “Even if such a scheme would work, how do you propose to win the unicorn’s cooperation in contributing to its own destruction?”

  “By making him believe that I will convince Oberon to lift his curse if he cooperates.”

  “Then he mustn’t learn anything about our scheme.”

  “It is dangerous to take me for a fool, mortal.”

  Donnington seemed not to hear him. He was staring at Arion, his expression filled with contempt.

  “Are you sure it will be worth hunting?” he asked. “I expect to earn my trophy with a good chase and kill. It doesn’t look as if it could walk, let alone learn to speak.”

  “Arion, unfortunately, did suffer a considerable shock, but in time—”

  “You mean it has lost its senses?” Donnington worked his hands open and shut. “Is it insane?”

  Cairbre floated a few feet off the ground. “He will be sane enough for you to hunt, mortal.”

  Donnington’s skepticism gave way to contemplation. “You want them to meet,” he said slowly. “I have an idea of how to bring that about.” He met Cairbre’s gaze. “Mariah’s mother was considered mad because she saw visions of another world.”

  “Ah, yes. Fane blood coming to the fore.”

  “Mariah spent years looking after her mother. She has great sympathy for those who suffer the same affliction.”

  Something passed between Fane and human, but Arion’s senses were fading, and he sank into a gray world, formless and still.

  When he woke again, Donnington was gone and so was the girl. Cairbre stood above him, a giant shadow against the moon and stars.

  “You heard all that passed,” he said.

  Arion tried to rise. There was something terribly wrong with his body, but he was only just beginning to feel it.

  “Yes, you heard,” Cairbre said, “though Donnington believes you did not understand.” He smiled. “Do you remember, Arion? Do you remember what you have lost?”

  Arion remembered. He remembered running in the perpetual sunlight of Tir-na-Nog, his mane and tail flying on the breeze that never grew too warm or too cold, his muscles rippling under his gleaming coat, his horn striking sparks that blinded the lesser beasts who bowed to him. Rabbit and hind, fox and red-eared hound, all crouched and cried their praise: Arion.

  Only one other word had meaning for him: freedom. Freedom from the chains of mortality. Freedom to do as he pleased, whenever he pleased. As he ran, unfettered, his people followed, every one as flawless as the gems humans so coveted.

  But he was mightiest of all. He was perfection, the most noble creature ever to walk the fields and groves of Tir-na-Nog, greater even than the Fane. He was king, and not even the lordlings dared to defy him.

  Until Cairbre. Until a Fane had attempted to subvert Arion and his people, who had ever disdained the doings of the humanlike creatures with whom they must share Tir-na-Nog.

  You will help me defeat Oberon, Cairbre had said. I shall rule, and give you all you desire.

  But Arion had desired nothing. He turned his back on the Fane and laughed in the way of his kind. Cairbre made many threats, full of boasts as such creatures always were when their will was thwarted. But Arion had only lifted his tail in contempt and led his people away. Cairbre had risen in a streak of smoke, wailing in rage as he disappeared. And Arion heard nothing more from him until the day he was brought before Oberon.

  Though there was much Arion did not comprehend of Fane ways, he understood then that Cairbre had taken his revenge. It was Cairbre who whispered in the Fane king’s ear, who made him believe that Arion, not Cairbre, intended to rebel. Cairbre who urged Lord Oberon to punish Arion for his supposed crime. Cairbre who watched, smiling, as Arion was cast from Tir-na-Nog and condemned to a human existence.

  “Your condemnation served two purposes,” Cairbre whispered in his ear. “I had my revenge for your defiance, and I could buy a human to aid me in the search for my bride.” He laid his slender hand on Arion’s head. “His price was one I was pleased to pay. I promised him that he might hunt the rarest game of all.”

  Arion bucked against the restraints that bound his limbs, but no part of his body would move as it should.

  “You don’t yet understand, do you?” Cairbre purred. “You have been cursed to take human shape and will never be restored as long as Oberon rules Tir-na-Nog. You will end your life on the spear of a mere human.”

  The hunt. The hunt which had not occurred in a thousand human years…the hunt from which the unicorn kind had fled, never to return to the world they graced with joy and light since the beginning.

  On earth, Cold Iron ruled. On earth, under the right conditions, a unicorn might be killed.

  “You are afraid,” Cairbre said. “In all your life, you have never been afraid. Death was but an empty shadow. But now, my friend, it is real. If I but tell the mortal what Cold Iron may do to a creature of Tir-na-Nog…”

  Arion’s hornless head struck the ground, and his blood, red as the fireflower, dripped onto the ground. Arion reeled. Unicorns’ blood was as clear as their crystalline horns, and it was never shed.

  Except on earth.

  Arion reared up, trying to strike at the nearest enemy. Cairbre laughed as Arion fell back to the ground.

  “Humans have their great obsessions,” Cairbre said. “Donnington’s is hunting. He is willing to surrender this girl to me in exchange for you. When I have the female, with her mix of human and Fane blood, I will bring new hope to Tir-na-Nog and win the fealty of many.”

  Arion struggled to make the noises Fane and human created so effortlessly. He felt strange muscles move, but no sound came forth.

  “You have but one chance, Arion-that-was,” Cairbre said, his silver-green eyes dancing. “Donnington is stupid. He knows not the Fane. He believes that I am bo
und to keep my promises. But he is also clever, in his primitive way.” He stared across the rolling field that stretched away from the stones and the trees. “She is a virgin. She will be drawn to you and you to her. You will make her trust you, and you will deliver her to me.” He sighed. “Oh, I know that Oberon’s curse prevents your return. But he will soon find himself weakened, and I shall open the Gate and allow you to pass.”

  In the distant realms of memory, Arion found a scene so far from his understanding that he knew no unicorn yet alive had ever experienced it. A unicorn knelt in the forest, humble and tamed, his head in the lap of a virgin girl. The hunters came, their common mounts winded and sweating, their faces triumphant as they saw their prey brought low at last.

  “Yes,” Cairbre said, seeing the tale of blood pass behind Arion’s eyes. “But if you obey me, such things will never come to pass.”

  Arion tossed his head, and Cairbre smiled again. “You wonder how you are to meet and woo this girl in a world you do not understand,” he said. “But that is the beauty of Donnington’s scheme. The girl is afraid of inheriting her mother’s supposed affliction, yet she is drawn to those the humans deem mad because of the emotion they call compassion.” He bent to caress Arion’s face with his fingertips. “It will not be difficult for you to appear as one of these mad humans, Arion. You have not yet learned to speak their tongue or ape their manners. All you need do is continue to wear the mask once you have come to comprehend them.”

  Freedom. A way back. A release from this ugly shape that imprisoned him in mortal flesh.

  Life. Retribution.

  “Yes,” Cairbre mocked. “You must win more than the girl’s compassion. You must win her love. But you must never touch her. Your human form may be tempted, but she must be pure when she comes to me. Win her, but do not let her claim your heart.”

  “Dahh…” Arion moaned. “Daahn…”

  “Donnington was worse than foolish to take the girl in the mortal bond humans call marriage. But he has not violated her, and he will bring her to you. I shall not interfere. This is yours to accomplish alone, Arion. Prove your worthiness and you may yet survive. But she must not know. She must never know.”

  Ash snapped out of the past, his hands scored with a dozen stripes, skin hissing and crackling. In an instant, he had remembered all. He understood how he must have come to be imprisoned, though the details still escaped him. He grasped at last why he looked like Donnington, the first human he had ever seen, the mirror in which he had glimpsed his terribly changed body. He knew why he must remain close to Mariah, why he must court and claim her.