The Enchanted Quest

by Frewin Jones

  “Another time, maybe,” said Tania.

  Elias handed Tania a heavy brown woolen gown.

  “Unfit for a princess,” he muttered, “but it will have to suffice! Be swift, my lady! We have little time to spare.”

  “It’ll do fine,” she said, tossing the blanket aside and pulling the gown over her head. Her fingers fumbled as she frantically tied the laces at the bodice.

  Connor was with them a few moments later, his face revealing the same panic that gripped them all.

  The innkeeper gave each of them a warm hooded cloak and a leather satchel of food and drink. Then he led them quickly through the darkened inn and out into a small enclosed courtyard, snatching up a closed lantern as he went.

  They followed close on his heels as he led them at a run across the courtyard and away through narrow back streets, the lantern open a crack so that a slender beam lit their way.

  As they slipped between the huddled buildings, Tania clearly heard a man’s voice calling out something and the echo of horses’ hooves on cobbles.

  “How did they know we were here?” Connor asked as they hurried along. “We didn’t even know we were going to be here till last night!”

  “Sorcery, forsooth!” hissed Rathina as they ran. “Someone is using the Dark Eye of Auger, have no doubt of it. How else could Aldritch’s minions have tracked us so swiftly? It is a bad happenstance, indeed, if all our movements are known!”

  “It was never said that Lord Aldritch was adept in the Mystic Arts,” said Elias Fulk. “Indeed, he was always said to scorn their use.”

  “It seems his distaste has faded somewhat,” said Rathina. “If the horsemen have ridden from Caer Liel, then be most sure they come at Lord Aldritch’s command.”

  “What is the Dark Eye of Auger?” asked Connor.

  Rathina touched a finger to the center of her forehead. “It is a conjuration of the Dark Arts, Master Connor,” she said. “A way of seeing over great distances—of spying out the movements of an enemy.”

  “Like Titania can do?”

  “No! Nothing like that!”

  The Dark Arts.

  Tania shuddered at the mention of this sinister side of Faerie magic. Gabriel Drake had dared to look into those arcane skills, and he had become lost, his arrogant curiosity and greed for power corrupting him completely, until Rathina had defeated him on the field of battle.

  But it was not Drake’s grim fate that filled Tania with concern; it was the knowledge that her own Edric had flirted with the Dark Arts. With good intent he had called on their baleful spells and incantations, but she knew all too well how swiftly a pure soul could be corrupted.

  And Edric was now in the service of Lord Aldritch of Weir.

  But she could not—would not—believe that Edric’s heart could have been so warped or his loyalties so altered that he would use the Dark Arts against her—to help her enemies to track her down.

  He would never do that to me. He couldn’t! It isn’t him— it’s someone else. It has to be.

  “So, does that mean someone knows everything we’ve done since we left the Palace?” asked Connor.

  “It may be so,” said Rathina.

  “Listen, I’m new here, right, and I don’t know anything—but if it’s not the Dream Weaver, is it possible that Aldritch is working for Nargostrond? Could they be in cahoots?”

  “I do not give that credence, lad,” said Elias, panting. “Lord Aldritch would not betray Faerie thus—and he would not bring this plague down upon his own people.”

  “Then what the hell is going on?” Connor demanded. “Who are those guys back there, and what do they want us for?”

  Tania turned angrily to him. “You think any of us know that?” she snapped. “I certainly don’t. I have no idea. All I do know is that we can’t let them find us here.”

  “They shall not, my lady,” said Elias. “Not while I have breath in my body. Come. This way. The stair is steep and uneven. Beware.”

  A narrow stone stairway led down between tall black buildings. The steps were slippery with moss and the rope handhold stapled to the wall was greasy and frayed. At the far end Tania could just make out the canal. As they descended, the sounds of the rushing water bounced off the high stone walls.

  “The tide is on the turn,” said Elias, his face ruddy and running with sweat as they stepped out from cover onto a paved wharf lined with stone bollards. An assortment of small sailboats bobbed on the running water. “That is good. The river will bear you away.” He walked quickly along the wharf till he came to a white hulled sloop with a single mast. “This is the Blessèd Queen,” he said breathlessly. “She will serve you well, I believe, although she has never been out of sight of land.”

  He stood at the paved edge, breathing hard, helping them down one by one into the boat. “Do not set the sails till you are on the ocean,” he warned. “A white sail can be seen from above.” He turned, indicating the high hill of the village. “A keen eye from up yonder could ruin all. Go now and good speed be with you. I will cast off the mooring ropes. If the men come to me, I shall do what I can to throw them off your trail.”

  Tania looked anxiously up at him. “Don’t put yourself or your family in danger,” she said.

  He smiled, wiping the sweat off his brow and throwing the rope down to Connor. “Have no fear for me, my lady,” he said. “I have kept the inn here for fifteen hundred years and more; I have learned how to deal with bothersome folk.”

  Rathina and Connor leaned over the gunwales and pushed hard at the side of the wharf. The Blessèd Queen edged out into the canal. Black water widened between Tania and the innkeeper.

  “Look after yourself,” she called.

  “And you, my lady,” he called back, lifting his lantern so the slender beam of light shone out bright as a star toward them. “Sail to good fortune! Farewell!”

  The current of the retreating tide was surprisingly strong, and the boat was carried quickly along. The slim lantern beam winked out and Elias was swallowed in the night.

  Connor got busy inspecting the furled sail and checking the rigging. Rathina was at the stern, the tiller under her arm as she watched the banks flow past.

  “What can I do?” asked Tania.

  “There is a wooden staff in the keel,” Rathina said. “If we come too close to the banks, use it to fend us off. It is hard to steer with no sail, and I can do little till we are out of this millrace.”

  The pole was almost as high as Tania was tall. She found the rocking of the boat tricky, and she needed to hold on to something as she moved about. She settled herself on a small triangular seat at the prow, the pole upright in her hands.

  The night was windless and still. She shivered although the cloak was warm about her shoulders. She glanced back at Hymnal on its humpbacked hill. It was black against the dark clouds. Few lights were showing and nothing moved. But somewhere up there the horsemen of Caer Liel were hunting for them.

  Who led them here? Hollin the Healer, perhaps? He hates me enough to want me dead. What if he’s the one using the Dark Eye of Auger?

  It made sense to her that the man from Alba might be guiding Aldritch’s soldiers. He didn’t simply detest her. From the way he had behaved the last time they’d met, it was clear he had a genuine terror of her.

  Half-thing, he called her. She-witch.

  But something about the idea of Hollin using the Dark Arts nagged at her. I thought his magic was all pretense—a lot of hooey, with magic pebbles and incantations.

  Could it be?

  Connor’s voice snapped her back into reality. “Tania!” he spat. “Get the staff ready.”

  They had come out of the mouth of the canal and were now in the main body of the River Styr, caught by crosscurrents that were turning the sloop around and pushing her toward the bank.

  The river had changed since they’d last seen it on their way to Hymnal. It was high and wide now, its waters lapping at the grassy bank.

  Tania twisted her
self around, heaving the staff out over the prow, ready to fend the boat away from the looming bank. But at the last moment the eddies let go of the vessel and sent it seaward. They had escaped Hymnal undetected. A sense of relief and elation swept over her.

  “Now let us hope for a good east wind!” called Rathina.

  Connor was standing behind Tania, although she had been too busy hefting the staff to notice his approach. “Not much hope of that unless the weather changes,” he said, looking up into the roof of cloud. “There’s not a breath of air.” He rested his hand for a moment on Tania’s shoulder then made his way back to the mast.

  Zara could have whistled us up a wind, she thought disconsolately. Or Eden . . .

  Or Eden.

  She thought of her oldest sister with her solemn face and melancholy eyes and with her fall of prematurely white hair. Tania closed her eyes, holding that image in her mind, picturing Eden’s face.

  “Eden?” she mouthed the name, less than a whisper. “If you can hear me, send us a wind. Please—send a wind.”

  She felt something. The tiniest thing. A tingle in her fingertips. No more than that. Imagination, perhaps. Wishful thinking.

  She opened her eyes. The ebbing tide was drawing them toward the mouth of the river. She could see the curve of the bay. Flecks of white on water. An arc of gray surf where the waves were breaking on the sand. The hunched dunes of Weir.

  Hymnal—a dark ridge against the sky.

  She puckered her brows, staring at the hilltop town. It looked as though the hill spiked with rooftops was sliding away beneath the clouds. She blinked and looked again. No! Of course—it was the clouds that were moving. Moving ponderously westward.

  And then she felt a cold wind on her face and in her hair. She lifted her face to the sky and smiled.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “The wind’s come up,” said Connor, stooping to loosen the ties that held the reefed mainsail to the boom. “That’s what I call a piece of good luck.”

  “That’s what I call prayers being answered,” said Tania.

  “Ha!” exclaimed Rathina, her eyes bright. “You called upon Eden, then! ’Tis good she can aid us so. Master Connor, set the mainmast, if you have the craft. And the jib also. We must make the most of this mystic wind.”

  Connor gave the two of them a bemused look. “Everything has to be magic with you people,” he said, shaking his head.

  The two sisters laughed aloud at his disbelief.

  As Connor released the last of the leather thongs and hauled on the halyard to raise the sail, Tania turned her eyes to the darkling west.

  Now their journey had truly begun.

  Chapter Eight

  The Blessèd Queen plowed the ocean, curtained in a fine salt spray. The choppy waves were capped white and foamed with lacy veils of spume.

  Tania still was not quite used to the jolting as the prow was shouldered upward by the waves and then dropped—up and drop, up and drop—but she was at least able to brace herself when she saw the frothing crests of larger waves approaching.

  It was not yet dawn, but away behind them the fleeing mountains of Weir were lined with a frail silvery light. The east wind was still blowing strongly into their triangular sails, and above them the clouds were being torn to scurrying shreds. Patches of black appeared through the clouds, and in the far gulfs of heaven stars glittered frostily.

  Tania watched Connor rig the sails, wanting to help but knowing he had no time to teach her. Being of no use was frustrating, especially as Connor and Rathina clearly had their hands full.

  Rathina was at the stern, the tiller under her arm, her black hair blowing all around her face. Judging from her narrow-eyed expression, keeping a steady course was hard work in such a wind.

  Tania leaned out of Connor’s way as he looped the bowline from the jib sail around and around a cleat set at the prow.

  “The trick is to tack to about forty-five degrees from the wind,” he told her as he secured the rope. “Normally you’d use the boom to change the angle of the mainsail to the wind and then tack from port to starboard to keep a straight course. But as we aren’t aiming for a specific place, there’s not much point in doing that right now.” The sloop dropped suddenly into a deep trough between waves and he stumbled forward, turning quickly to sit down against Tania on the triangular prow seat. “Whoops! Sorry about that,” he said, lifting his arm to wipe the spray off his face. “I haven’t quite got my sea legs yet.”

  “It is fierce,” she said. “I’m impressed that you can stand up at all. If I tried, I’d probably topple overboard in about ten seconds.”

  He smiled. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I took a lifeguard course a few years back.” He gazed into her face. “I’d save you.”

  Tania tried to shift away from him, but the seat was too narrow for her to avoid the pressure of his body against hers. The moment when she had almost allowed him to kiss her back in the inn was gone. Elias Fulk’s interruption had saved her from making a terrible mistake.

  “Listen, Connor . . .” she began hesitantly.

  “I know, I know,” he said quickly. “Back off, Connor. Give it a rest!”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just . . .”

  “You’re still in love with Edric, aren’t you?”

  “I am. Yes, I really am.” She attempted a smile. “Friends, huh? That would mean so much to me.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Friends. Friends is good.” He gave a crooked grin. “Boyfriends come and go— friends are forever, right?”

  “I’m not sure that’s—”

  “Look, I’m sorry if I’ve been a total jerk with the come-ons and all that,” he interrupted. “It’s just me being an idiot. Am I forgiven?” He stood up, one hand closing around the bowline as the boat lifted and fell.

  “You’re forgiven,” said Tania. “Of course you are.”

  “Great.”

  He made his way down the boat. Tania watched him thoughtfully as he checked the rigging at the mast and then moved to the stern to speak with Rathina. He’s a good guy. . . . Look how he jumped in to help us when any other person would have run for the hills. And the thing is, the idea of getting together with him isn’t exactly off-the-scale gross. But I can’t. I really can’t. If the circumstances were different . . .

  Her fingers came up to touch the teardrop-shaped pendant that Edric had given her. The stone was a bond between them—not just an emotional bond but a mystical one, too. By tracking the black onyx stone Edric had been able to follow her into the Mortal Realm.

  A disturbing thought hit her.

  Could it have been Edric who had used the Dark Arts to follow them to Hymnal? Was he still using the stone to trace her movements? Was it the pendant that had drawn the horsemen from Caer Liel to Hymnal at dead of night?

  Was Edric capable of betraying her like that? The thought pressed hard against her heart.

  From love everlasting to hunting her down for his cruel master?

  Edric? Could you do that to me?

  She got unsteadily to her feet, and suddenly the stone felt as if it was burning hot against her flesh. With a fierce, violent movement she tore the necklace from around her neck and threw it into the sea.

  A fist squeezed her heart, forcing the breath from her lungs as the necklace sank beneath the dark green waves.

  Edric was gone from her—and now she had cast away the only reminder she had of him.

  Would the agony of lost love never fade?

  She closed her eyes.

  Please let it get better, she begged. Please don’t let it hurt this bad for always.

  The night was ebbing slowly away. The coast of Faerie was a black ribbon along the eastern horizon, and above it the sky was pearly white.

  The sea was lively still, but the spite seemed to have gone out of it, and Tania had even dared now and then to stand and stretch her legs.

  She noticed that Connor was squatting, hunched with his back to the mast. He was half turned awa
y from her and he seemed to be holding his stomach.

  Seasick, maybe?

  Odd, though—he’d shown no sign of it earlier, and the sea was a lot less rough now. All the same . . .

  She got up and made her way toward him, the heavy gown encumbering her legs as she clung to the rigging with both hands.

  “Connor? Are you okay?”

  He twisted around, giving her a startled look. “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “You looked like you might not be feeling too good.”

  He stood up, his hands pushed into his pockets. “No, I’m doing great. How about you?”

  “Better now that it’s calmed down a bit.” She turned to Rathina, sitting in the stern with the tiller held firm under her arm. “How’s it going?” she called.

  “All’s well,” Rathina replied. “Eden’s wind is a boon to us; steady from the east, it pushes us on a fine western course.”

  “Actually we’re heading more west-northwest than absolutely due west,” Connor said. “Not that it matters, really.”

  Tania looked at him. “What does west-northwest mean, exactly?”

  He threw out a straight arm, his hand pointing ahead but slightly to the left of the prow. “That’s due west,” he said. He swung his arm so his hand aimed out over the prow. “That’s west-northwest.” Another shift to the right. “Northwest.” Another. “North-northwest.” He adjusted his arm a final time. “And that there is north.”

  “Oh, I see,” said Tania. “I’m impressed—except how do you know that?”

  “My dad taught me to navigate.”

  “Yes, I get how you know the terminology, but . . .”

  “Tania!” called Rathina. “Would you take the tiller for a while and give me some respite?”

  “Of course,” said Tania, glad to help at last.

  She picked her way cautiously to the stern of the boat, lifting her skirts to avoid tripping. She took Rathina’s seat, tucking the wooden tiller under her arm and gripping it with both hands.