The Enchanted Quest

by Frewin Jones

  “It is coming nonetheless,” said Rathina, moving down the vessel. “It is upon the water.” She looked at Tania. “Do not doubt me, sister. I know the taint of the Dark Arts in the air. We are pursued.”

  “How?” Tania asked. “How could anyone have got out of Faerie? Everyone should be asleep.”

  “Ask me not how, Tania,” Rathina replied. “Simply believe what I tell you. A darkness dogs our trail, and it will go ill for us if we do not outrun it.”

  “We can probably put on a knot or two if we pay more attention to the wind,” Connor said. “Rathina, will you take the tiller? I’ll work the boom. If there is something nasty behind us, let’s make sure we stay well away from it.”

  Tania knew to get out of the way as Connor loosened the ropes that held the boom. He began to feed them out, letting the long wooden pole swing, feeling for the wind in the mainsail. Tania clung to the mast as the boat picked up speed. She stared uneasily into the east.

  Nothing. Not a sign of pursuit. Not a speck, not a dot, not a shadow on the sea.

  But she knew better than to question Rathina’s instincts. Somewhere out there something ruinous was stalking them.

  As the daylight faded, Tania felt sure she could discern the faintest possible hint of a golden hem to the eastern sky: the Gildensleep, lost beyond the horizon but coloring the darkling sky nonetheless.

  They had made good speed into the evening, although it had been hard work for Connor in particular, pulling on the ropes, swinging the heavy boom across the boat so that the mainsail caught every last breath of wind.

  Tania turned her eyes westward again, peering out across the sea, searching for the first sight of land. Her head ached from the strain, but she wasn’t prepared to let that stop her. At least she could do this one thing. At least she could . . .

  She gasped. “I see something!” She stood on the wooden prow seat, leaning forward, narrowing her eyes. The sun was below the horizon, and the waning light made the sky glow lustrous as a pearl, but there, where the sea met the sky, she felt certain she saw a sliver of solid darkness that had not been there before.

  “About time!” said Connor, panting. “Can you make it out yet?”

  “Not really,” Tania called to him. “It’s just a kind of dark streak. But I’m pretty sure it’s land.”

  “The land of Alba!” called Rathina from the stern. “Fate winds a curious thread, to be sure. And we the first of Faerie to traverse this stretch of water for ten thousand years!”

  As they sailed on, huge bright Faerie stars began to appear. They appeared in ones and twos at first, twinkling in the eastern sky, but then they ignited in a silvery wash that swept across the heavens until the whole sky was ablaze.

  But their light illuminated nothing, and the remoteness of the jeweled sky seemed to make the sea even more black and daunting. Tania strained her eyes. Something was approaching them: something huge and dark, rolling in ponderously over the waves.

  “Fog!” she shouted. “We’re heading into some really thick fog!”

  The stars and the sea and the distant land were suddenly obliterated as the thick black fog swept across their path, engulfing the small boat in its damp and blinding embrace.

  “Do you see any lights on the land?” Connor called to Tania. “Any sign of towns or whatever?”

  “No, I can’t see anything now,” Tania replied, looking back down the length of the boat. Even Connor’s form was misty, and in this clinging fog one darkness seemed much like another.

  But as they sailed on through the fog, she fancied she could hear a new sound. Waves breaking on a faraway shore, perhaps? No. Not that.

  She listened intently.

  It was a creaking sound—a familiar sound she recognized but could not put a name to. Muffled groaning. A leathery straining noise. Waves slapping hollow on . . .

  A ship!

  That was it!

  Creaking timbers. Canvas sails taut in the wind. The smack of sea on a hull.

  A huge looming darkness came up fast on her left.

  “Watch out!” she shouted. “There’s a ship!”

  A host of red lights broke out above them in the fog. They were lanterns of red glass, swinging wildly, lining the sides of a great dark galleon, their shutters thrown back to reveal black timbers and sails and a mass of black-clad men leaning over the gunnels. There were shouts and whoops and the sound of ropes snaking down. A stone hook crashed onto the planks of the Blessèd Queen a couple of inches from Tania’s foot. She jumped aside as more came pounding down, cracking the timbers, sending up splinters.

  “Take them alive, my lads,” called a harsh voice from out of the sky. “Do them no harm for the present. Let us learn who dares to sail these waters without Lord Balor’s leave!”

  Tania spun around, instinctively reaching for the staff that lay in the bottom of the boat: a weapon against the invaders.

  A black shape moved toward her, and she saw the gleam of a curved crystal knife. She swung the staff hard, hitting the knife arm just above the elbow.

  There was a sharp crack and a roar of pain. Tania drew back then thrust the pole forward again. The man doubled up as the butt of the staff rammed into his stomach. She used all her weight to follow through, and the man was pushed up against the gunnels. The side of the boat took him behind the knees, and he was flipped over with a shout. A fountain of white water rose as he plunged into the sea.

  Tania could see Connor by the mast struggling in the grip of three men. And in the stern Rathina was warding others away with savage sweeps of the tiller arm. But more were coming, swarming down the ropes, tipping the small vessel wildly as they leaped aboard.

  A curved sword was thrust toward Tania, sparkling like the crystal swords of Faerie. She hefted the staff, parrying the blade away. A black shape came hurtling down toward her.

  “Tania!” Too late she heard Connor shout a warning.

  There was a blinding pain in the side of her head, and the world exploded in an agony of red fire.

  Chapter Ten

  A furnace blazed in Tania’s head, searing her brain.

  Her face felt as though someone had hurled a volley of needles against her raw skin. There was salt water in her mouth. She realized she was lying on a hard surface. Her head pounded, heavy as lead.

  Hands gripped her upper arms, dragging her to her feet. Brine ran down her face and neck. Hard fingers closed like a vice on her chin, wrenching her head up.

  Gasping, she forced her eyes open. For a few moments all she could see was swimming black and red. Shadows and fire. Forming half-shapes that melted away again and reformed in meaningless blotches.

  “A pretty mare, to be sure,” said a voice as the world eddied around her. “She’s no peasant girl, I’ll warrant. Some grieving father will pay a fine ransom for her return.” The fingers dug deeper into her flesh. “Hoy! Waken now, mare!”

  The pain helped bring Tania to her senses. The floating shapes settled and she found herself staring into a face stained red by the light of many lanterns. A man’s face. Long and hollow-cheeked and deep-eyed with a black goatee and a fierce hooked nose, all framed by dark curling hair.

  An instinct of fury made her snatch at the man’s wrist and drag his hand away from her face. She glared at him, pulling herself free of the men who had brought her to her feet, aware of the clammy darkness of the fog swirling around her.

  She swayed, dizzy, hurting.

  “A spitfire or I’m much mistaken,” said the man with a cruel smile. “Good. All the better. The fish that turns belly-up is poor sport.” He peered into her face. “Are your brains addled or can you speak?”

  She swallowed, her throat tight and leather dry. “I can speak,” she croaked. She coughed again, drawing herself upright. “Why did you attack us?” she demanded. “Where are my friends?”

  Ignore the pain. Ignore the way your head feels. This has to be dealt with.

  The man stepped aside, and finally Tania was able to make sense
of what was happening. She was on the deck of a large galleon. Beyond its high rails the fog blotted out the world. Black sails billowed like thunderclouds. Men stood around her, many holding up lanterns from which poured red light. They were dressed in simple clothes: leather or woolen tunics, leggings of animal skin or dark cloth. Some had bare feet; others wore high boots. Most had crystal swords thrust into their belts; others had daggers and bludgeons.

  The man who had first spoken to her wore a long black coat tied at the waist with a red sash. There was a white ruff at his neck and lace at his wrists. Crystal buckles glinted on his boots.

  Now Tania could see that Rathina was standing a few feet away, her arms twisted behind her back, held by a huge man. Close at her side Connor was on his knees, held down by two other men; one of them pressed a sword blade to Connor’s neck.

  Rathina’s face was full of defiance. “Sister,” she called, “are you well?”

  “Sisters, is it?” said the bearded man. He looked sharply at Tania. “You will speak sense to me, mare, or I’ll have the young dog’s head from his shoulders.” He gestured casually toward Connor. “Am I understood in this?”

  Connor lifted his head, and Tania saw the fear and helplessness in his eyes.

  “I understand,” Tania said, forcing the anger out of her voice. She turned to Rathina. “I’m okay,” she said. “Don’t worry about me. What about you?”

  “A few buffets, forsooth, but I bend like the willow and am not easily broken.”

  “Connor?”

  He nodded but didn’t speak. A sharp crystal blade grazed his throat.

  The bearded man’s eyes narrowed. “Whence come you, mare?” he asked. “I know not your accent, and there are alien words in your speech.”

  “My name is Tania, not mare.” She brought a note of Faerie royalty into her voice, hoping it might give the man something to think about. “And before I tell you anything else, I’d like to know who you are and by whose authority you have attacked us.”

  “I am Theodore Welsh,” said the man, and there now seemed to be an intrigued note in his voice. “Commodore in service to Lord Balor.” He said this last name as though he expected Tania to recognize it. “And now give a full account of yourself and your companions and your purpose upon Lord Balor’s waters or you will rue it.” His face tightened. “And speak no riddles, neither, woman. I have heard nonsense enough from the lad and threats aplenty from your ebon-haired sister.”

  “A sword in my hand is all I ask of you, Theodore Welsh,” Rathina snarled. “And then bring your men upon me in whatsoever numbers you choose. I’ll spit ’em like sucklings!”

  “Be still, woman!” shouted Welsh. “Or I’ll send you home without a tongue in your head. And belike your father will thank me for it as a great kindness upon his house!”

  Tania lifted her head and looked directly into Welsh’s eyes, summoning all that she had learned of Faerie dignity and propriety. They had not even reached the shores of Alba and already their quest was in the balance. She needed to gain time to think. “I am Princess Tania Aurealis of the Immortal Realm of Faerie,” she said, speaking loudly enough so that Welsh’s men could hear her. “My sister is Princess Rathina Aurealis, and our companion is Connor Estabrook, a good friend whose death the House of Aurealis would take hard, Master Welsh.” She paused for a moment to let this information sink in. “We are on the business of King Oberon and Queen Titania of Faerie. You would do well to return us to our boat and let us go peacefully on our way.”

  There was incredulous silence for a moment and then laughter rang through the ship. Theodore Welsh grinned at her.

  “A pretty fancy, maid,” he scoffed. “But when I was a babe, my nanny told me that the Faerie folk were winged and very tiny indeed—and that they wore clothes made from leaves and petals.”

  “Then your nanny was mistaken, I’d say,” replied Tania, trying to ignore the mockery of the sailors that surrounded them.

  “Come, tell a more worthy tale,” said Welsh. “Whence come you?” He looked her up and down. “Ha! I’d vow your father knows none of your errantry. What was it that brought you here? A wager? A game of truth or dare? A mishappenstance? Ill fortune and a capricious wind?”

  “My sister is telling you the truth,” called Rathina. “Are you so witless that you do not recognize royalty?”

  Theodore Welsh drew his sword and took a step toward her, his face thunderous, the blade pointing at her throat. “By the howling of the Shee, if you speak one more word, woman, I’ll give you a blow you’ll not recover from!”

  “Rathina—hush!” Tania said urgently.

  Her sister glowered but said nothing more.

  Welsh lowered his sword, turning slowly to look hard into Tania’s face. The laughter of the sailors had stopped, and they were watchful now.

  “Set her feet to the fire, commodore,” called a rough voice. “That’ll squeeze the truth out of her.”

  Welsh smiled as though the suggestion appealed to him. “I’ll not be lied to nor mocked, maid,” he said, his voice grinding as he brought his face close to hers. “Tell me the truth or I’ll have you dance Lord Balor’s hornpipe.”

  “I don’t know what that means,” Tania said quietly, holding his gaze.

  “It’s a merriment you’ll not likely survive,” he said. “A spar-strung rope looped tight about your neck and burning coals beneath your dangling feet. Then I’ll have the truth from you, wench.”

  “You idiot! She is telling you the truth!” shouted Connor.

  “Kill him!” Welsh called abruptly.

  The sword was taken from Connor’s neck and the sword arm lifted high. Connor shrank away from the coming blow, his eyes screwed shut.

  “No!” Tania shouted. “I’ll prove it to you! I’ll prove we’re from Faerie.” An idea had come to her—but it would only work if she could get closer to Connor and Rathina.

  “Hold!” Welsh held up his arm. The sailor became still, his sword ready to swing down at a word. The commodore stared at Tania. “If you can give me clear assurance that you come from out of the mythic east, then your worth to me will increase a hundredfold,” he said, his expression curious now but his voice still doubtful. “Lord Balor has sought for years beyond count for some proof that Immortal beings dwell beyond the eastern horizon where no one dare go.” His gaze pierced her. “Do you tell me you are Immortal?”

  Tania wasn’t sure how to answer that. As half-Faerie, she had never really understood whether she was Immortal or not—and with the breaking of the covenant made between the King and the Divine Harper she could not be sure that anyone in Faerie still had that gift.

  “How could I possibly prove that to you?” she replied cautiously.

  “A sword through your heart might work the trick,” said Welsh. “Dead, you be Mortal—alive, then ’tis likely otherwise!”

  “No, that would only prove I’m not invulnerable,” Tania said coolly. “I never said I was. Even a person with the gift of Immortality could be killed with a sword.”

  “A fair answer,” said Welsh. “So—show me your proofs, and if all is as you say, then you will be most welcome guests in the fortress of Dorcha Tur. And if not—then the dungeons will keep you till your better sense prevails.”

  “Fine,” said Tania. “But I’ll need to be with Rathina and Connor. We have to be in physical contact with one another if the thing is going to work.”

  Theodore Welsh stepped back. “Heed me, maid,” he said as she walked past him and across the deck toward Rathina and Connor. “Your boat is sunk, and I have men at my command who can shoot an arrow into a garfish at fifty yards. If you have thoughts of leaping overboard, dismiss them from your mind unless you wish to be food for crabs and urchins.”

  “That’s not what I intend to do,” Tania said. “Just let me hold hands with them, and I’ll show you something that I’ll bet you’ve never seen before.”

  “Release them, but keep a wary eye,” Welsh called to his men.


  Rathina stepped forward, rubbing her wrists now that she was free of the big man’s grip. Connor was allowed to stand up, but there was still a drawn sword close by.

  “What’s the plan?” Connor asked under his breath.

  Tania reached out her two hands to them. “Just hold on tight and you’ll see,” she said.

  “Ahh!” Understanding dawned in Rathina’s eyes. “Yes, sweet sister! Proof, indeed!”

  Tania turned, standing between Connor and Rathina, holding them both by the hand. A faint smile crept up one side of Connor’s face. Tania could sense that he’d caught on to her plan as well.

  “Ready?” Tania said. “Move with me on three. One. Two. Three.”

  She sidestepped. But even as her foot was moving, she heard Connor’s voice.

  “Good-bye, commodore! Good-bye, you sucker!” Someone gave a shout, and she felt Connor’s hand wrenched out of hers.

  Then the ship was gone and there was only dark air beneath her feet.

  Part Two:

  Beyond the Shores of Faerie

  Chapter Eleven

  Tania knifed down into water that was so cold it tore the breath out of her lungs. She floundered, her head under the surface, her dress billowing up around her. She could still feel Rathina’s hand in hers, the nails digging into her skin.

  She kicked out, her lungs already hurting. Her face burst up into dark air. She sucked in a lungful of air and sank again, swallowing water. Panicking, she lost her grip on her sister. She struggled upward again. She was aware of her dress tenting up. It helped keep her afloat, but it made it hard to swim, great wet swaths of cloth rising like the mantle of a jellyfish all around her. Tania knew the thick material would soon become waterlogged and heavy. But at least they were not also wearing their cloaks—that added weight might have sent them both to the bottom.

  She heard splashing and coughing close by.