The Waking Magic (Winter's Blight Book 3)

by M. C. Aquila

  That’s why I’m going to fix this. That’s why I’m going to find a way to break the bargain, like Cecil said. That’s why I’ve got to learn everything I can about magic and how to use it.

  As they walked away from the woods, a few of the militiamen had their weapons trained on a section of trees across the way, toward the road where they had come in from the fairgrounds. There was rustling coming from the area, and James stopped, imagining the spiders swarming after them. But the militia lowered their weapons as Cai burst through the line of trees. He was covered in blood, his hand pressed to his side.

  “Deirdre needs help. Now.” Iain’s voice rang out before he appeared after Cai. He was also bloodied, but that sight did not shock James as much as what he noticed next. Iain was carrying Deirdre in his arms, and she was lifelessly still.

  “Iain, what happened—?” James ran over as his brother, with the help of another man, set Deirdre down gently on the ground. But it didn’t seem like his brother even heard him.

  Mum rushed over, instantly kneeling beside Deirdre and checking her vitals. Mum snapped her fingers at the militiamen standing around and demanded, “Someone stop gawking and bring me a medical kit. She’s been shot cleanly, and I need to wrap her ankle. It’s swollen—a fracture, I think.”

  One of the men retrieved a small medical kit from his pack; Mum pulled out and secured a clean bandage around the wound on Deirdre’s shoulder. “I’ll need something to clean her face so I can see the damage.”

  “Use this.” Iain produced the handkerchief Deirdre had given him. After staring at it a second in confusion, Mum poured some water over it and began to gently wipe the blood away.

  James sank to the ground a few feet away from his friend, unable to do anything but stare. Alvey came up beside him, her nose to the air quivering like a rabbit’s, her mouth pinched.

  “She’s lost blood,” Mum said. “But I don’t know how to treat faeries.”

  “Aye, she has lost blood.” Alvey’s words came out quick and monotone. “’Tis as if something has drained her of blood, and I smell metals and iron on her. ’Tis as if something has drained her very life force. But what human power could have done this? How could they possess—?”

  “Alvey.” Iain’s firm voice jolted her out of her shock. “She needs your help. We need a solution, and I know you can think of one.”

  Alvey straightened in her chair. “Aye, I can. When faeries were ill in my realm, the healers used faery fruit. It can even lure reviving magic to those who overtaxed themselves. Hopefully, it shall revive her as well as restore her energy and her blood more rapidly.”

  Instantly Cai staggered forward and ordered, “Iain, fetch Seelie fruit from the forest. The Water Garden faeries… they’re probably still all over the grounds. They’ve always been a bit stupid when it comes to danger. They will know where the fruit is and lend you some.”

  James balked. “But Iain… He shouldn’t go alone. I can go with him.”

  “What do you mean?” Mum asked. “Those faeries aren’t dangerous, are they? It is only faery fruit.”

  “Your brother will be fine.” Cai thrust a pouch toward James, and it jingled when he took it from him. “Take these bells; they need to go on trees around this clearing. Just place them where you can reach.”

  James did not argue.

  The brothers stepped aside with Cai, following him to the edge of the woods. Cai’s steps and breathing were becoming more and more labored, and he clutched his left side hard.

  After James gave Iain the last petal of Alvey’s glowing flower, the twin to the one James used earlier to find Alvey, Cai turned to Iain and said, “They’ll ask something of you as gratitude, I’d imagine. And because they’re faeries… you never know what they’ll ask.”

  “Fine,” Iain said, shouldering his pack. “I’ll be ready for anything.”

  The brothers looked at each other a moment before Iain went to pull him into a hug and probably ruffle his hair like he was still a child. James halted him by holding out a hand to shake instead. His brother hesitated a moment, his face twitching, before clasping his hand and giving it a firm shake.

  “Good luck, Iain,” James said, stepping back. “Just remember that Seelie fruit looks like a golden apple. Oh, and, uh, don’t forget to have the faeries swear on the petal’s light. That’s important.”

  “Thanks.” Iain offered him a weak smile. “And she’ll be fine, James. She’s strong.”

  “I hope so.”

  And when she does wake up, I hope we’re still friends.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Iain trekked through the rainy grounds, searching for a pool of clean water where a Water Garden faery would appear. He did not have to travel far, but he stayed clear of areas where the Iron Guard had driven through, where puddles could be tainted with motor oil or iron, knowing faeries would avoid it.

  Once he’d found a clear puddle, Iain knelt down and placed the softly glowing, warm petal on the surface, where it floated. Almost instantly he heard strange, tinkling giggles that sounded like wind chimes in a breeze.

  Iain stood and squinted up at the trees as lights like will-o’-wisps danced about. Then beings with little, fragile bodies made of white petals, with tiny yellow faces, materialized.

  “Er, hello,” Iain said. “My friend is badly hurt, and she needs faery fruit. Swear you’ll help me on the petal’s light.”

  The faeries seemed both independent and connected to each other, bobbing about in a similar pattern through the air, before two of them alighted on Iain’s shoulders, and a third hovered right in front of his face. He tried not to go cross-eyed as he looked at her, his mouth parting.

  “By the petal’s light, we shall give you what you ask,” the little creature said and sped off.

  The faery was quick, but Iain kept pace with her, focusing on her light instead of where she was leading him. It was only when the faery abruptly halted, hovering in place in a secluded field at the forest’s edge, that he smelled Pan.

  He was where the faery cultists had been, where the half-eaten faery fruit still littered the ground. The scent was cloying and intense.

  Iain covered his nose and mouth in the crook of his elbow, doubling over. But he straightened back up instantly, furiously wiping his mouth.

  “Is this not what you asked for?” a faery asked coyly. “Is this not what you truly wanted? You have tasted Fae fruit before.”

  “Enough,” Iain spat. “My friend is hurting. She’s a Seelie faery, and she needs Seelie fruit. Not this. And I won’t leave until I get it!”

  Quick as a flash, one of the faeries on his shoulder flitted off and returned again, holding a piece of fruit by the stem. It was an apple with a crisp golden skin, and it glowed in the pale, misty light. But the faery held the fruit just out of his reach as he grabbed for it.

  “This isn’t a game!” Iain ground out.

  The little creatures let out a shrill cry in unison. At first Iain thought he had been too forceful with them, until two giant spiders skittered out of the woods beside him. The faeries fluttered in the air, fleeing. The faery carrying the fruit was slowed by the weight and lagged behind.

  Iain just drew his axe as one of the spiders scurried up the trunk of a tree and leaped at the abandoned faery, catching it in a web shot out from its spindly legs.

  The faery dropped the fruit, crying out as it plummeted to the ground, wrapped in web. The eager spider skittered to it, its glistening fangs dripping as they lowered to devour the trapped faery.

  Iain ran forward and kicked at the spider’s hard, heavy abdomen. The solid blow sent the spider flailing on its back.

  Reaching down and grabbing the faery, he tore the sticky webbing off it, careful not to hurt the delicate body. The faery shook herself and fluttered away like a startled bird from his hand, swooped down, and took the fruit with it.

  “You’ll be bringing that back!” Iain shouted after it.

  The spider flipped back over onto its l
egs, the other one flanking it.

  Remembering what Cai had taught him, Iain focused on where the spiders were, how he held the weapon, and where he ought to aim. Then he stepped forward, grounding his stance, and swung down with the axe fluidly. He sliced one in half at the abdomen.

  The other spider jumped at him just as he killed the first. He whirled around, cleanly chopping through the fangs and into the head as it leaped midair. The spider fell to the ground on its back with its legs curled, dead.

  One by one, the faeries returned. Lastly, the one with the fruit hovered by him, eyeing him. “You have saved us. So we shall give you the fruit of faerie orchards fair if you answer our question.”

  “I’ll answer anything you ask,” Iain said, not wasting any time.

  “Who is she to you, the faery girl you are desperate to save?”

  “Deirdre?” Iain blinked. “She’s my friend. I told you that.”

  “That is true, but it is merely part of a longer answer.”

  “But…” Iain looked around helplessly; he would rather fight more spiders. “I’ve only just met her, and… I know we’ve been through a lot, but…”

  The faery dangled the golden fruit above him, just out of his grasp. Then they asked in a single chiming voice, both soft and penetrating: “Who is she to you?”

  After taking a deep, steadying breath, Iain began. “When I first met her, I just saw a naive girl. And I didn’t want to admit I cared, but I was worried Neo-London would knock her down and she’d get hurt. But I was wrong. I haven’t known her long, but she’s got one of the strongest, brightest spirits.

  “At first I was wary of her magic. But when I realized she couldn’t control it, that she was innocent, I wanted to protect her. She didn’t trust me at the start, but once she did… she forgave me, and she’s never looked back. And I’m grateful to be counted as her friend.

  “She’s started to communicate with her magic, and seeing her connect to that part of herself, to come into her own… She’s amazing.” He took a steadying breath. “Deirdre inspires me, yeah? I want to be someone she can depend on. I want to see her reach the Summer Court and find her parents and keep growing into the person she’s becoming. And I want to be there for her, no matter what happens now.”

  “So you intend to be her champion?” the faeries asked in a chorus. Their voices were stronger now, louder, like ancient church bells rather than tinkling chimes.

  “If that means that I’ll defend her, then yeah.”

  Iain paused, looking up at the faeries hovering around him. They were waiting for something; one of them had its delicate petal arms crossed.

  After clearing his throat, he admitted, “And I rather fancy her. A lot.”

  It was only then that the faeries lowered the fruit into his open palm.

  When Iain returned, he was breathless, flushed, and soaked with rain and spattered with spider guts. But the fruit was still clutched in his hand.

  He passed Cai, propped up against a tree. James was kneeling watchfully on the ground beside Deirdre, Alvey in her chair next to him, and Mum was waiting. As he approached, Mum stood and held out her hand for the fruit. He gave it to her eagerly, glad to hand it to someone else.

  Mum instructed him to go sit behind Deirdre, to help her sit up and prop her head up if she was too weak to do so herself. Iain did as she asked without hesitation. Deirdre stirred, groaning, but did not open her eyes as they helped her upright.

  When Alvey instructed them to slice the fruit open and detach a segment to coax Deirdre to eat, Iain could no longer ignore his discomfort.

  “It won’t—” He inhaled sharply. “I know the fruit won’t make her sick. She’s a Seelie faery. But will it alter her mind?”

  Mum shook her head as she began to carve the fruit open with a knife provided from one of the boys’ backpacks. “I have seen a few times what fruit like it does to humans. It is like a poison, like a drug.”

  “Of course it shan’t make her ill,” Alvey said. “But, indeed, it does alter the mind and spirit.”

  “It doesn’t feel right to do this if she’s not conscious or aware of what’s happening,” Iain said.

  “This fruit, ’twas made for faerie kind to nourish and sustain them, to grow and tend their energy and magic,” Alvey explained slowly, her voice unusually gentle and patient. “Do not fret. She shan’t imbibe it unless she wants to. That is how the rules work for all faeries. You could coax her all you wanted, but a faery will not take Seelie faery fruit or water unless the faery permits it.”

  Iain nodded.

  When the Seelie fruit was cut open, it was clear just how different it was from Pan. It looked like the most crunchy, ripe apple from the outside, but inside it was golden and soft as velvet.

  Mum took a small slice of it and held it up to Deirdre’s unmoving mouth. A few shimmering drops of the juice landed on her bottom lip.

  “Deirdre, sweetheart,” Mum said. “You need to eat this. It will help you get better. And it will make the pain go away.”

  Slowly her mouth moved, and she smacked her dry lips together. Her hands only twitched at first, but then reached up, grabbing Mum’s hands as she brought the fruit to her mouth. Deirdre chewed it, her eyes fluttering under her lids.

  “Give her more!” James leaped up from his seat. “She’s getting stronger.”

  Mum cut more slices, but soon that was not enough as Deirdre began to devour them quicker. Before too long, she was sitting up on her own and did not need Iain to support her weight. She grabbed the whole fruit and bit into it, taking healthy mouthfuls and wiping her chin between bites.

  Then, when it was gone and all that was left was the star-shaped pit at the center, she opened her eyes.

  First she looked to both sides of her, at Alvey and James, then at Mum. Then she twisted around, seeing Iain.

  With a dazed smile, she said, “I didn’t know peaches were in season; I thought they were a summer fruit. Iain, did you travel a long way for it?”

  Then she hugged him weakly, trembling. And he returned the embrace gently, without hesitation.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  They continued away from the ruined festival, away from the battlefield, until the sounds of fear, gunfire, and people fleeing from the spiders disappeared. The fruit enabled Deirdre to hobble on one foot, one arm around Iain’s shoulders and the other around James’s. But after fifteen minutes, the energy from the fruit began to fade fast, and the pain from her damaged foot, even as she kept her weight off it, became more noticeable.

  She focused on each new step and each new obstacle in her path to go over or around—not thinking of anything or anyone else, especially not what had happened to her.

  But as it grew dark and they searched for a campsite, and she teetered in and out of consciousness, making the dark woods around them half a dream, she could no longer ignore the gnawing sense of emptiness inside her.

  At first she tried to excuse it. It had been a horrible day. She was tired. And there was iron in the cuffs and in that horrible machine Alan used. Of course she’d feel strange.

  When they finally stopped, James and Iain making a fire while Kallista pestered a stumbling, wincing Cai to see to his wounds, Deirdre reclined with her head on her backpack. Finally, with nothing to distract her, she had to listen to her body and realize that this was no ordinary pain.

  A wind blew overhead. It was no longer raining, but some leftover drops fell from the leaves above. Gulping, she reached out to the darkness in the dim forest canopy.

  And felt nothing.

  She reached out a hand to the Water Magic in the raindrops. Again, there was no reply.

  No. No, no, no.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she dug her fingers painfully into the ground beneath her, crying out for the Earth Magic there. Please say something. Please!

  The magic itself was still out there, but it was like it was ignoring her. It was like calling out to a friend nearby in a crowd who hears but doesn’t turn her
head and answer.

  Come on! Deirdre ground her teeth, her blood rushing to her head as she twisted the ground hard in her hands. I don’t care what you do! Just do something. Anything! I don’t care if it hurts me! Just don’t…

  Her temper subsided in the silence that followed, and she opened her eyes, looking at the darkness above her. “Don’t ignore me. Please. I’m still here…”

  “Deirdre.” Alvey cleared her throat, wheeling closer to her. “How… how does your leg seem?”

  “Who cares? Who gives a—” Deirdre’s hand flew to her mouth, cutting off a curse as tears rolled down her face.

  Alvey hesitated, twisting her fingers a moment. “Have you… realized?”

  “Is my magic gone?” Deirdre asked, lowering her hand, looking at Alvey. “It feels like… like someone’s taken out my lungs or something. But it’s not possible to lose my magic, right?”

  Alvey pulled a small lever on her chair, lowering the seat and wheeling right in front of Deirdre, reaching out her hands and putting them on her shoulders. “I am afraid… I do not sense any magic in you. It does appear…” She gulped. “’Tis gone.”

  Deirdre burst into sobs, leaning her face in her hands and crying without restraint, crying like she hadn’t since she was a little girl. She didn’t care who saw or heard her or how ugly her cries were—all that mattered was what she’d lost.

  For a while she was aware of nothing but her own tears. Eventually, as they began to subside and her sobs grew weaker, she became dimly aware of someone stiffly hugging her and patting her on the back. She opened her eyes to see Alvey had leaned forward, giving her the most wooden embrace Deirdre had ever experienced.

  Letting out a small, sniffling chuckle, Deirdre gave her a grateful, brief hug in reply, then leaned back, wiping her face. Alvey sat back in her chair and fiddled with the hem of her own skirt.

  “Thanks,” Deirdre managed, her voice a croak through her tears.