by Anthea Sharp
If he could draw upon her strength, she reasoned, then why could she not do the same with the other Dark Elves? It was worth a try, at any rate.
“I will go with you into the mortal world,” Hestil said, just as Avantor arrived.
“That is not wise.” The healer frowned. “Would Bran agree to rob Hawthorne of both its commander and its second? What if you never return?”
Hestil’s eyes narrowed, but she did not argue. “I could say the same for you, Avantor. If I stay behind, then you must as well.”
“Bran must have a healer—”
“Then we will send Brethil,” Hestil said.
“And Ondo,” Avantor replied. “And perhaps—”
“Stop.” Mara held up her hands. “I’m not taking an entire troop with me. Who knows what we’ll find once we open the gate? With luck, Bran will be waiting to step back into Elfhame.”
The memory of her vision rose, and she clenched her jaw to keep her fear from spilling forth.
Avantor and Hestil exchanged a look, and then the warrior offered her a hand up.
“Our people are gathering at the gateway stones,” she said. “Let us make the attempt and, as you said, see what lies on the other side.”
Mara gulped the last of her tea and then took Hestil’s calloused hand, glad of the assistance.
Nearly two dozen Dark Elves stood in a loose circle around the gateway. They bowed to Mara as she passed, and some offered words of thanks and encouragement. Hestil and Avantor strode beside her, Ondo just behind, and all too soon, she stood before the stones marking the gateway.
A hush fell. Mara bit her lip, then turned to Avantor.
“Everyone must take hands,” she said, with far more confidence than she felt.
What if her plan failed? What if it did not, only to reveal tragedy on the other side?
Avantor reached to Hestil, who linked hands with Ondo, and on down the line to the last warrior. Once they were all connected, Mara took a deep breath and set her hand on Hestil’s shoulder. She had no notion if this idea would work.
True, she’d opened the gateway by herself once before, but that was after weeks of letting her wellspring lie quiescent in the mortal world. She did not have that depth of power now.
Now, she and the rest of the Dark Elves stood arrayed before the silent gray stones of the portal. The air between was still, showing only the clearing beyond. Three glimglows flitted overhead, and Mara sent them a grateful glance. They had always been her allies.
With a deep breath, she held her free hand, palm open, toward the gateway. Recalling Penluith’s admonition not to try, she focused instead on the thought of Bran there, beyond the gate. The azure ring on her finger pulsed with her heartbeat.
“Edro!” she cried.
Blue light flared, and the runes inscribed on the portal stones blazed to life. The view of the clearing between the stones flickered, but did not change.
She squeezed her eyes shut and poured herself into channeling the spell of opening. Already, she could feel her wellspring’s power dipping.
“Open!” she yelled, and tightened her grip on Hestil’s shoulder.
A surge of power flowed through her, and the wavering strength of her wellspring roared back to fullness. The gateway shimmered, then cleared to show the trees of the mortal Darkwood.
Mara sucked in a breath of dismay. Instead of the frosted winter landscape she’d glimpsed when Bran went through, the fresh green of spring brightened the forest beyond.
Still holding the portal open, she glanced at Avantor. “It is a different season than before.”
She’d forgotten that time moved differently between the realms, and panic tightened her throat. How many months had passed in the mortal world, while she had rested? At least two, judging by the season.
“Look.” Avantor nodded to the clearing in the human world. A glowing scroll lay on a flat rock just outside the gate. “Can you reach it?”
Mara reached, her hand coruscating with light as it passed between the stones. Her fingertips brushed the curl of paper, and she strained forward, managing to grasp one edge.
The gateway crackled as she pulled the scroll through. Once it was in her hands, she realized that it was not paper, after all, but bark. She guessed Bran had fashioned it somehow, using magic and ingenuity.
“What does it say?” Hestil asked.
One-handed, Mara held the scroll up. It unrolled, and for a moment, the elvish markings were unintelligible. Then the writing blurred and re-formed, and she read the message aloud.
“Beloved. I must pursue the Void further into your world. Find me.”
“To the point,” Hestil said dryly. “How much longer can you hold the doorway?”
“A bit,” Mara said, though she felt the strain of channeling their combined power. “I am going through it, of course.”
“I am with you,” Ondo said, and Mara noted the pack of supplies at his feet. “I swore to our commander that I would protect you, and I will not break that vow.”
She could not argue with him, though she’d prefer to go alone.
“Very well,” she said.
“Take Brethil, too,” Avantor urged, but Mara shook her head.
“You’re lucky I’ve agreed to Ondo.” Her hand trembled, the gateway wavering. “We have no time to argue. Besides, I’m not certain I can transport even the two of us safely through.” She glanced at the scout. “Are you ready?”
He nodded and stepped forward.
“Be careful,” Avantor said, his expression sober. “Return to us safely, Princess Mara Geary of the Hawthorne Court, and bring our prince home.”
“I will.” She could feel her strength ebbing.
“Now,” she cried, letting go of Hestil and grabbing Ondo’s hand. She dashed forward, pulling him behind her into the fading light of the mortal world.
33
Breathless, Mara stumbled into the clearing. The surrounding evergreens rustled, as if in surprise. Ondo gripped her hand tightly—the only sign of his apprehension.
She glanced over her shoulder. For a heartbeat, she glimpsed the glowing violet sky of Elfhame, the stars of the flowers scattered beneath the huge trees. Then the gate closed, a sigh of blossom-scented air brushing past them. Mara’s connection with the linked elves cut off, and she swayed as exhaustion slammed into her.
“My lady!” Ondo dropped her hand and rushed to prop her up.
“I’m all right,” she said through gritted teeth. “Help me sit.”
She must rest—but first she must attempt to locate Bran.
“Did you bring a scrying bowl?” She glanced at the pack of supplies Ondo had brought. Thank goodness he had been thinking ahead, even if she had not.
He helped her settle with her back against one of the portal stones, then fetched a small silver bowl and poured a measure of water into it. The scrying bowl shook in Mara’s hands, the liquid shivering. But no matter her exhaustion, she must reach her husband.
Bending over the bowl, she spoke the rune of scrying. “Show me Bran,” she whispered.
Her wellspring responded sluggishly, and the surface of the water continued to reflect the dusk sky overhead. A stab of fear went through her. What if she were too late? What if her vision had come true, and she had lost him?
No. She took a steadying breath. Bran lived—she felt it, a steady glow deep inside.
She touched her wedding ring with the tip of her thumb. Instead of trying to force the scrying, she focused on her yearning for her husband, the bright, steady warmth of the love they shared between them.
“Bran,” she said again, her voice taut.
The silvery water shimmered, then an image formed in the center. Bran’s face, gazing back at her, his features shaded by a deep hood. She slumped in relief.
“Mara.” His voice was thick with emotion. “I knew you would come. Are you well?”
“Well enough. Ondo is with me. Where can we find you?”
A crease formed between his brows, and h
e glanced over his shoulder. “I have traveled a distance, beloved. It will be no easy thing for us to meet.”
“I would go through fire and flood for you,” she said, her heart clenching. “But where are you?”
“Far beyond the borders of Raine, I fear. In a place called Parnese.”
Parnese? She frowned, trying to place it on a map. Didn’t it lie beyond the sea, to the south?
“What of the Void?” She curved her shoulders forward and shot the forest an apprehensive glance.
He frowned. “I am still following its trail. It eluded me, easily crossing the great water while I had to search for a passage over.”
The surface of the bowl flickered back to reflecting the sky for a moment, then cleared again.
“The scrying is fading,” he said urgently. “Ondo must remain in the forest, guarding the gateway. Our kind is much feared in your world.”
“Yes.” Her throat dried with fear. “Are you safe? Unharmed?”
“I am managing.” He gave her a crooked smile. “The sight of you heartens me greatly.”
“We will speak again, soon,” she said. “After I rest.”
“Take care, my heart. I cannot bear to lose you again.”
His image blurred, until only the tree-edged sky remained. Mara swallowed back tears and looked at Ondo.
“You will find him.” The scout sounded certain of the fact.
“Yes. And together we’ll banish the Void.”
She and Bran had faced impossible odds before. And this was her world. She would fight fiercely to defend it.
“Must I remain in the forest?” Ondo asked, a stubborn look in his eyes.
“You heard the prince’s command,” she reminded him. “You must stay in the Darkwood. But, perhaps, you can escort me to where the forest ends before returning here.”
She rose, one hand braced on the rough granite portal stone.
I’m coming, Bran, she thought into the descending dusk.
Three glimglows swooped overhead, then danced to the edge of the forest. They bobbed up down impatiently, as if expecting her to follow. Gathering herself, she stepped forward.
“Where are we going?” Ondo asked her. “You must replenish your strength.”
“I will.” She glanced up, to where the first familiar stars were beginning to twinkle in the sky.
The Darkwood hushed and rustled, but she was not afraid.
She was home.
34
Bran drew his hand across his face, tasting dust.
At last, Mara had crossed back into the human realm. His spirits felt lighter than they had in moons. Although he had known it would take time, he’d begun to wonder, with an edge of despair, how long he would have to wander the mortal world alone.
No longer.
The tight band of worry about his ribs eased. Mara had crossed into the human realm, and all would be well.
He settled his sword more firmly over his hip, then strode from the quiet alleyway back out into the busy marketplace he’d been browsing when the scrying summons came. The scent of spices tickled his nose, and the heat of the lowering sun beat through his cloak.
Despite that warmth, he kept the hood drawn up. He’d . learned to misdirect his true appearance with magic, but it took some effort. Easier to let the shadows aid the softer blur he cast over his features.
It had not been easy, learning to navigate the human world.
His first encounter with a human had left them both shaken. He hadn’t meant to take the woodcutter by surprise, but the man had yelled and charged at Bran with his axe.
Startled, Bran had tried to speak to him, but the woodcutter continued to brandish his weapon, yelling, “Away with you, monster! I swear I’ll hew you limb from limb unless you return to the place you sprang from. Demon!”
Despite the man’s bold words, his eyes had been wide with fright, his skin pale. It seemed more prudent for Bran to withdraw than to try to convince the fellow he meant no harm. Belatedly, he recalled Mara telling him that humans did not dwell within the forest, but at its edges. He had not realized that a Dark Elf was a frightful thing for a human to behold.
His respect for Mara grew even greater as he realized how much of her own fear she’d had to battle upon their first meeting.
After that, Bran had lingered in the forest and worried about how he might pass for human. If he hunched over, he could make himself appear shorter, and draw his hood over his head for concealment—but that would not be enough.
A rune of misdirection, he decided. If he channeled that power, humans would see what they expected within the shadows of his cloak. That should do, though he would have to test it before venturing into the wider world.
He had no supplies except his sword, the small eating knife at his belt, and, of course, his magic. It had been enough to keep him fed and sheltered for the night and day he spent within the Darkwood.
Finally, he had the chance to use his rune when he discovered a huntsman moving stealthily through the forest in search of game. Not quietly enough for Bran’s ears, however.
Humming loudly, so that the bowman wouldn’t shoot him by mistake, Bran circled around the man and emerged behind him on the small trail he followed.
“Hush,” the man said, whirling with a frown. “Do you want to frighten all the deer between here and the coast?”
Bran dipped his head.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
“Who are you?” The man’s hand tightened over his weapon.
“Lost my way,” Bran said, thinking furiously as he replayed the hunter’s words in his mind. “From the coast.”
The man frowned. “That’s some distance. Though not the strangest thing to ever happen in these woods, I’d wager. Turn around and when you see the road, follow it to the left-hand branching. Though Portknowe is at least a day’s walk, if not further.”
He gestured with his bow.
“Thank you.” Bran lifted a hand and pivoted, smiling grimly to himself. It seemed his disguise was a success.
Whether it was his magic or his marriage, he was grateful he could speak and understand the human tongue. Just to be safe, as he made his way through the forest he concocted a story of being from a far-off village and becoming lost in the woods.
As the fearsomely bright blaze of the sun was at last fading, he reached a mid-sized village. There, was able to barter most of his jewelry—all except his azure wedding band, which he would never part with—for the supplies he needed. Including a horse, though the chestnut gelding was no match for Fuin.
A nudge of spell-work kept those he met from questioning his story too closely. He followed the Voidspawn’s trail, able to track it with a spell of sensing once his wellspring regenerated. The creature was moving southward and east, and he pursued, gaining ground.
Until he reached the shore, where the strange, endless waves lapped. The lumberer’s path led directly into the water. Frustrated, Bran rode back and forth along the shoreline. His mount balked when he tried to ride it into the waves, and he quickly abandoned that notion. But how to follow?
It was not until he spied the strange wooden contraption floating against the horizon that he understood there was a way for him to cross the wide waters.
The next day, he reached the town of Portknowe, where the waterborne vessels came and went.
After a few mishaps, he’d learned how to enchant small items into the appearance of coin, and traded some for passage aboard a ship—a strange experience, to journey borne by wood and wave. When he once more stood upon land, the Voidspawn’s trail was faint.
With much effort, he traced the creature to the city of Parnese, where the trail once again faded. He’d been desperately trying to find it again when the scrying from Mara had come.
Now, half of him wanted to turn back to the cool green land of Raine. He wanted nothing more than to take his wife in his arms, inhale the scent of her, and remind himself of everything good in both their worlds.
Bu
t, as ever, duty and honor bound him to a different course. No matter how much his heart might cry otherwise.
Mara would find him, he had no doubt, even as he continued his pursuit of the Voidspawn. It would be easier for her, moving through her own, familiar, world—and their ability to scry with one another would make it that much simpler for her to catch up and find him.
Soon, my love, he thought, sending his love flying northward, across the water.
Soon.
With a deep breath, he strode from the marketplace to the small inn where he’d taken rooms. The sun was setting, and in the blessed dimness of the human world’s twilight, he vowed to turn all his power to tracking the Void, and eliminating it.
Meanwhile, he must content himself with the memory of Mara’s sweetly human face, the light in her eyes, the steadfastness of her spirit.
On the far horizon, the sun of the mortal realm sank slowly in a blaze of crimson and gold. Surely, in all the worlds, light would prevail, and vanquish the darkness of the Void.
He could believe nothing less.
The story continues in Raine…
RAINE
Into the Darkwood
A Dark Elf Fantasy Romance Trilogy
Anthea Sharp
Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
