10
The sky was pale with pre-dawn's sickly light when the Black Triad left the inn.
No one stirred in Westmere. The three moved through what might have been a ghost town. The silence stayed with them across the bridge and up the road, settling heavily around them during the long miles to the swamps.
Ton-Kel knew that caution was not the only factor. She herself was to blame. The argument of the night before still rankled, hanging in an almost visible cloud around their heads. She found it hard to meet Paulo's eyes, or to look at Baraccus unless she had to.
As the sun woke life and color around them and the walking warmed their blood, the coolness between them began to thaw. Paulo made a joke or two and whistled a few snatches of song. Baraccus made him stop, but he did it with a smile, more amused than annoyed by Paulo's lack of stealth.
By the time they stopped for breakfast, they had put several miles between them and the general pall of Westmere, and Ton-Kel wondered if perhaps the fight had been no more than their first tiff, just one of the bumps and bruises that went into building any relationship. She made a point of teasing Paulo about his choice of rations — he'd filled an extra water bottle with ale and stuffed sweetbuns into every crevice of his satchel — and shared the pear he'd snagged for her with both of them, laughing when the juice dribbled over Baraccus's chin and threatened the smooth polish of his breastplate.
It was nearing noon when they reached the swamp. She had expected the land to gradually deteriorate into marsh. Instead the transition was startlingly abrupt; one moment they were following their noses down a deer track, the next, the forest ended and they stood at the banks of the swamp. The stumps and leafless skeletons of drowned trees poked from the surface of a vast pond, supporting massive growths of moss and fern. Skunk cabbage and water lilies fought for space on the water and along the banks, and reeds and rushes grew in clumps almost as far as the eye could see. The air had a hazy quality, as if fog might decide to settle in at any moment but hadn't quite made up its mind.
They stared out over the uninviting landscape in silence. "Well, this isn't good," said Paulo finally.
"What now?" Ton-Kel asked.
Baraccus muttered under his breath and shaded his eyes to look across the swamp. "I see what looks like forest over there. It's either the far shore or an island."
Paulo copied him, frowning. "I can't tell. Are you sure we even need to try? Maybe the boggies are on this side as well."
"Do you see any?"
"No, but I wouldn't know it if I did. What the deuce does a boggie look like, anyway?"
Baraccus didn't reply, but stood staring out over the wetlands, chewing his lip. Finally he said, "Let's see if we can find a path across. If we don't find a way shortly, we'll stop and Ton-Kel can try to make contact on this side."
She stifled an exclamation of impatience and nodded. If they didn't do what they'd come for soon, they would never make it back to Westmere by sunset. Still, Baraccus was probably right; the farther they went into boggie territory, the more likely they were to catch the swamp fairies' attention.
They hadn't gone far along the shore when Paulo paused in mid-step. "Hello, look at this." He bent and pulled a screen of marsh grass away from a log. The top was worn smooth and flat, as if by the passage of many feet. Paulo stepped onto the log and pattered down its length. "There's another after this. It's a path, of sorts. Looks solid enough, at least as far as I can see." He glanced back at Baraccus. "What do you say? It's the best we've found so far."
The Cavalier looked at Ton-Kel, who shrugged. He nodded to Paulo. "Let's give it a try."
Ton-Kel scanned the nearby brush as a new and most unwelcome thought occurred to her. "Do either of you know if there are snakes in Killaloe?"
Baraccus glanced down with a grimace. "Ugh. Probably. I've never heard of a swamp that didn't have snakes. How thick are your boots?"
"Not very. And they only come to my ankles." As he shot her a frown of disgust, she added, "I didn't exactly have time to shop for footwear."
"Well, watch your step."
Paulo raised his hand. "I'll go first. I grew up around swamps. If I see a snake, I'll signal you by screaming and thrashing around with my sword."
Baraccus brightened. "And I shall dispatch it by beating it to death with your body!"
"Ha-ha." The Ranger turned and scurried down the log to its far end, jumping off onto what looked like a thatch of floating weeds, but which held his weight.
Baraccus stood aside and gestured for Ton-Kel to precede him. " After you."
She cast him a sideways look. "What? Scared of a little slip?"
"If one of us is going to, I have a better chance of catching you than you do of catching me." He smiled. "Of course, if you prefer to take your chances…."
"No thank you." She gingerly stepped onto the log and followed Paulo's lead, scowling suspiciously down at the slick footing.
The strange trail of half-submerged logs, tufts of grass, semi-solid hillocks, and the occasional rock, led them slowly across the wasteland of stagnant water and muck. Ton-Kel kept her eyes on her footing, risking only an occasional quick glance at the wetlands around her. Aside from her two companions, she could hear signs of other life all around: birdcalls, splashes and plops as things came and went through the mire, the humming of insects. A muskrat cut a "v" across a patch of open water as the three skirted it. Farther on, a pair of ducks shot into the air from a patch of reeds, wings whistling. If anything other than the natural life of the marshlands observed the Triad's passing, it gave no sign.
The trail reached an abandoned beaver dam, overgrown with weeds and bushes. The more solid footing sped their passage, and they soon reached the wooded shore.
Baraccus called a halt and they sat side by side on a fallen log, looking back the way they'd come and passing the ale back and forth.
Ton-Kel wondered what they were supposed to look for. Were the boggies only active at certain times? Were they everywhere, or only at certain areas of the swamp? She reviewed everything the Sobaka woman had told her, everything she remembered of Nayir's conversation.
The boggies might not even be aware the Triad was there. Or they might be watching from somewhere nearby. Galen had said the boggies took their shape from the muck of the swamp, hadn't he? Were little boggie eyes staring up at her from the mud around her feet, unnoticed? She eyed the moist soil with apprehension.
As if prodded by the same thoughts, Baraccus rose, brushing absent-mindedly at his trousers. "Come on, let's move."
Paulo rose with a sigh. "What are we looking for?"
"I don't know. We'll know when we find it."
"Or they find us."
"As you say."
The Ranger shrugged and took the lead once more, scouting ahead and staying close to the banks, his wiry form fading in and out of the shadows as the trees dappled him with sporadic sunlight. Ton-Kel felt reassured by Baraccus's silent presence at her back as she picked her way over fallen bracken and leafy brush. The wood was eerily quiet.
Ahead, Paulo's head and shoulders bobbed into sight; he waved wildly. She caught her breath, fumbling in her pouch for the leather case that held her fireball; behind her, she heard the whisper of Baraccus's sword leaving the sheath. "Go," he hissed at her.
She broke into a run — or at least a rapid trot, dodging grasping branches and clinging brambles. Her own passage seemed inordinately loud. She was certain she was alerting every ear within miles. Fortunately, she hadn't far to go; Paulo stood just on the other side of the rotting carcass of a tree that had been ripped from the ground by some storm, staring down at something near the tangle of roots that jutted up into the dank air. Baraccus passed her and vaulted over the tree. She followed quickly.
"What is it?" asked the Cavalier.
Paulo pointed. "I think I've found what happened to the last Red Triad."
She looked down and recoiled before she
could stop herself. Near the foot of the tree that had been pulled from the moist soil, the shriveled corpse of a man jutted partway from the ground. Dirt had settled along the rim of his nasal helm, and tiny plants had taken root there. One arm and shoulder were trapped beneath the earth, but the other still clutched a sword hilt in one bony hand. The red wrapping on the pommel was visible through the tattered flesh. The blade was partly buried, but the metal that showed gleamed softly in the light, unmarked by time and weather. A second skull lay nearby, though the rest of the body it belonged to was not in evidence.
Paulo reached for one of the protruding roots and pulled loose a few ragged threads of red cloth. "They died here," he said quietly. "Why?"
Baraccus bent and gently extracted the sword from the hand of the dead Cavalier. He tugged and it slipped free of the earth, gleaming softly in the diffuse light. "The Red Sword of Might," he murmured with narrow-eyed appreciation. "No wonder the Reds were anxious to find what happened to their Triad."
Ton-Kel knew without touching it that he was right. She had not recognized the sword Rowan had carried for what it was because she had been focused on the battle itself. Standing so close, there was no mistaking the energy radiating from the weapon in Baraccus's hands. "What should we do with it?" she asked.
He sighed, eyeing the sword hungrily. "Return it to Sir Ulrik and the Red Triad, of course. It's a fine blade, but no good to me. I only wish we'd be lucky enough to get the Black sword."
"Well, it didn't do these people a lot of good," said Paulo.
Ton-Kel lowered her voice. "If the boggies did this…."
"Galen did say they were immune to everything but fire and steel." Baraccus shifted his gaze to the dead Cavalier at his feet. "But why would they attack a Triad?"
She raised her eyes from the grisly tableau to scan the woods around her. "That could be why," she said softly, and pointed. Two huge, blackened stumps framed the roots of the dead tree, as if all three had once stood together. Though the stumps were covered in moss and sprouted new growth, the charred wood was still easy to distinguish.
"Burned," Paulo murmured. "You think the Mystic — or someone — used a fireball?"
He and Baraccus turned to look at Ton-Kel. She sighed. "Well, I can take a hint." Reluctantly, she tucked the leather case back into her pouch. "Should we dig them up and take them back to Westmere, do you think? Or just finish the burial here."
"Hold on." Paulo hopped up onto the fallen tree and trotted down to peer over the roots. "We could put them in there." He climbed onto the roots and leaned over the hole.
Baraccus called, "Don't put your weight—"
With a sharp crack of wood and a yelp, Paulo toppled out of sight. Ton-Kel hopped over the tree and hurried around it, stopping by the roots to peer down. "Paulo, are you hurt?"
At the bottom of the hole, he stood up, dusting himself, and looked up at her with a rueful grin. "Only my pride. I—" Suddenly his face blanched and he doubled over. "Oh, God," he choked, folding to his knees. His voice rose in a shriek of pain. "Help me!"
Baraccus appeared beside her and, with a curse, grabbed a root to swing down after him. Ton-Kel reached to help him and then she felt it: the dark energy singing along her nerves, spilling from the hole like a poisonous vapor. She grabbed her Cavalier's arm. "No! Pocket magic! Get back!"
He paled and threw himself away from the edge, dragging her with him. "Bloody—" He turned and called down. "Paulo, get up! You have to get out of there, now!"
But the Ranger lay curled on his side, one hand stretched out in a mute plea. Only the movement of his chest showed that he still lived. Ton-Kel tightened her grip on Baraccus's arm. "Rope — do we have any rope?"
He shook off her grasp, shrugged his pack from his shoulders, yanked open the top, and pulled a coil of thin rope from inside. "Never go anywhere without it." As he looped and knotted one end, he cast her a sideways glance. "I don't suppose you've ever done any stock work?"
"You mean farm animals? No. Why?"
He sighed. "Never mind." He leaned as far over the hole as he dared and flung the loop down at Paulo, cursed, reeled it in, and tried again. And again.
Ton-Kel cast a quick glance at the sky, mentally cursing her Ranger's carelessness. They couldn't afford the delay; they still hadn't found the boggies, and it was a long journey back to Westmere. Already the sun was past its zenith. How much longer before they ran out of time?
And how could she concern herself with such a thing when Paulo's life was in deadly danger? She shook her head, furious with herself, and concentrated on Baraccus's efforts, glaring as if she could direct the rope to its goal by the power of her thoughts.
Finally, the loop dropped over Paulo's outstretched hand. Baraccus carefully worked it down the arm, then pulled tight. "All right, grab hold," he said. "Let's get him out."
Ton-Kel seized the rope and took a few quick steps back behind her Cavalier, praying it would work, that the knot would hold, that Paulo would be all right. As Baraccus began hauling, hand-over-hand, she added her muscle to the effort.
For a moment, the ease of it surprised her. Then it was like pulling a house. "How could such a little guy be so heavy?" she groaned.
"He's caught on something," Baraccus replied through clenched teeth. "Let me—" Suddenly they both staggered backward as the rope went slack. "Hell and damnation!"
She regained her balance and peered around him to look into the hole. Paulo lay propped against the side, slowly sagging away from the wall. His arm had slipped free of the rope. "Can you drop the loop over his whole body from here?"
"Maybe." Baraccus fumbled with the dirt-encrusted knot, cursing. "If this doesn't work, I have to go in after him. There's no other choice."
Ton-Kel found herself staring at the mound of dead tree beside them. "Wait. Leverage. Loop the rope over the roots, then pull him up that way."
Baraccus looked back at her, obviously wondering what she was blathering about. She made an impatient noise and pointed. "Look, the rope would be pulling him straight up instead of sideways. He wouldn't catch on anything."
Baraccus looked at the roots and his brow cleared. "Ah. You're right. Should have thought of that." He worked the loop open again and lowered it into the hole, looking for all the world like a fisherman.
Either his aim was improving or some benevolent spirit took pity on them; the loop settled easily around Paulo's head. Muttering under his breath, Baraccus jiggled the line, twisting it this way and that until he'd worked it down around Paulo's upper body. He pulled it tight, tossed the rope over the roots, and moved back, pushing Ton-Kel with him. "Ready?" he said. "Pull!"
They leaned into it with everything they had, like rowers in a galley. She prayed the roots would hold. Every time Baraccus let go, Paulo's dead weight hung in her hands, the coarse rope rubbing blisters into her palms. "Come on," Baraccus chanted as he pulled back, "come on," and she echoed him silently, as if it would help. It had to work this time. Had to.
"Hold," said Baraccus.
She looked up to see Paulo's limp form dangling above the hole. "We did it," she panted.
"Just let me anchor it—" Baraccus shifted his grip just long enough to loop the rope around the sturdiest roots, then he bent, grabbed a long branch, and used it to pull the Ranger within reach. "Let go," he called.
Ton-Kel released her grip with a gasp of relief, and Paulo flopped into the dirt. Baraccus set to work prying the rope from around him.
She dropped to her knees beside them. "Is he breathing?" she asked. "Is he all right?"
"Yes. I don't know," he replied tersely, fighting with the stubborn knot. "You're the Mystic — you tell me."
She bit back a sharp retort and felt her Ranger's neck for a pulse. It was thin and fast, and his skin was cold to the touch. Beneath the smears of dirt on his face, he was deathly white, like a drowned man. She brushed his tangled hair awa
y from his face, picking leaves and twigs from it, and suddenly froze, her eyes fixed on Paulo's ears. "Baraccus."
He looked up from the stubborn knot, following her pointing fingers. "Sweet Christ," he breathed. "Elf. He's Tainted." He looked at Ton-Kel, stricken. "Is there anything you can do for him?"
She shook her head, pulling her lips tight to keep them steady. "Only a Greater Fey can remove a taint. You know that as well as I do. The best I can do is keep it from hurting him any further." She groped for her pouch and pulled out her bowl and brush, trying to feel anything but hopeless.
A few moments later, Paulo groaned and opened his eyes, blinking up at her. "I'm alive," he said as if in wonder.
Her smile felt stiff on her lips. "How do you feel?"
"Surprised. Pleased, mind you, but surprised." A slow smile lit his face. "Thanks, Mystic mine. I owe you one." He sat up and looked around. "And the sun's getting through. Better and better. I can finally see where we're going."
Ton-Kel exchanged looks with Baraccus. "You can see farther?" Baraccus asked carefully.
Paulo shot him a peculiar look. "Well, now that the shadows are gone—" He paused. "Wait, that's not right. We're in heavy forest…." He looked around, then back at them, at Baraccus's guarded expression, the pity Ton-Kel knew was in her own eyes. "What aren't you telling me?"
Against her will, Ton-Kel's gaze flicked to his ears and away. He raised his hands and his fingers found the new, graceful tapering, ending in sharply pointed tips. "No."
"I'm sorry, Paulo," she said. "There was nothing I could do."
He jumped to his feet, looking around with wide, frightened eyes. "No. I can't be—" He looked at them almost pleadingly, spreading his hands. "I don't feel any different. I'm the same person — I know I am." He turned and walked away, staring around in disbelief.
Baraccus and Ton-Kel rose, watching him, following as he circled around the fallen tree. "A Fey spell," he said to them, to himself, to no one, still arguing with what had happened, "it takes a major Fey spell to leave pocket magic—"
"Paulo." She approached him, laid her hands on his shoulders. "It happened. We may never know—"
He shrugged off her hands and pushed past Baraccus, staring out at the swamp, fists clenched. She sighed. "Paulo, don't do this to yourself. We'll find a way—"
An ominous sound, like a wind blowing through dark hollows, swept around her; she could not detect its source. "Go 'way," moaned a strange, deep voice from somewhere behind her. "You not belong, humans."
All other concerns fled. The hair along the back of her neck rose as the muscles locked in place. She did not look around. Could not bring herself to. She cast a beseeching look at Baraccus. He turned to face whatever was there, but from the way his eyes swept back and forth, he could not see the source. "We come in peace," he called. "We wish only to speak with you, to learn of what has brought strife between you and the humans who live nearby."
Again that dark, hollow moaning filled the air. Along the banks of the swamp, the reeds and marsh grass begin to sway, though there was no wind. The branches waved over their heads, dripping water and bits of moss down onto them.
Ton-Kel drew closer to her two companions as they looked around in alarm. Beneath the spectral moaning, she could detect words, like the whisper of wind blowing through the reeds. She picked out individual phrases from the wall of sound, and her stomach clenched with fear.
"Go 'way!"
"Human bad."
"Bad mans. No friend to boggie."
"Human come, boggie kill. Boggie kill."
Baraccus raised his voice over the noise. "We are not your enemies. We come to bring an end to the trouble. But we do not know what it is. We were told you could help us." He gestured frantically to Ton-Kel with one hand.
For a moment, she could not imagine what he expected of her. Then, with a start, she remembered her plan.
Hastily, she unslung the lute case strapped to her back, the only thing she carried besides her Mystic's pouch and a water bottle. She snapped it open and pulled the lute free, dropping the case heedlessly on the ground. She brushed the strings lightly, listening to the rich, silvery notes float over the muggy air and cut through the formless chanting like the scent of a rose through mulch. Thank the good God the thing stayed in tune!
The moaning and muttering softened, though the threatening undertone did not diminish. Ton-Kel prayed for time, that her plan would work. She had just seen graphic evidence of what would happen if it failed.
She cleared her throat, wishing for even a moment to warm her voice up. Aside from romantic references to lips like roses, the flowers of spring, and lovers trysting in green meadows, there were few songs in her repertoire that had much to say about plants. During the long march that morning, she'd rewritten the lyrics to two songs that at least mentioned trees in passing. Hopefully, the boggies would appreciate the effort.
She gulped for breath, sent a silent prayer skyward, and strummed the opening chords.
The cedar grows green, and the oak, it grows tall
But my weeping willow is fairest of all
My friends and my refuge, to wild woods I roam
But willow, sweet willow, is my only home
Her voice was as strong and clear as ever, despite her fear. She wished she were playing by herself somewhere; the lute's sweet tone was a delight. It coaxed her to forget her circumstances and abandon herself to exploring the purity of its sound, discovering its wonders without danger. She wondered at Nayir for so casually leaving it in her care; if she owned such an instrument, she would never let it out of her sight.
When sorrows lie heavy on my weary heart
When friends all have left me and lovers depart
I cleave to the willow and sleep on the loam
For willow, sweet willow, is my only home
"What's doooin'?"
The deep voice startled her; her fingers stumbled to a halt on the strings.
A…something stood in the water a few feet away. She had not seen it approach; from the men's reaction, neither had they. She stared at it in frozen fascination.
Nayir had called them harmless, as if they were no more than talking flowers. Galen had referred to them as "wee folk," members of the lesser Fey. The picture Ton-Kel had formed had been of something small and slightly silly, almost comical.
The boggie facing her stood at least ten feet tall and was nearly as broad, and there was nothing even remotely amusing about it.
The thing looked as if a mad artist had woven it from available plants with little regard for esthetics. Fronds of fern sprouted from its head, and long hanks of moss and weeds dribbled down its roughly man-like body to float on the water around it. A bush sprouted from one shoulder, like a pet perched there.
Her heart hammered in her chest as a second boggie took shape next to the first. "Ya, what's doooin'?" asked the new arrival, its voice equally deep. Blades of grass created a wild halo around its swelling head like the mane of a frenzied lion. It was not much shorter than the first and built like an ogre, its shaggy arms trailing in the water beside what might be its knees, if it had knees. It continued to broaden as she watched, water lilies twining around its body to feed its mass.
Ton-Kel swallowed and glanced at Baraccus and Paulo for help, but they were staring, awe-struck, at the boggies. She returned her attention to the swamp creatures and finally found her voice. "I was singing in honor of those in whose land we find ourselves, to show our goodwill. We would like to talk to you."
The two great beings were silent, watching her. Their eyes were round and empty, mere holes in the fibers of the plants that made up their being. Nor could she read expression on the uncertain mass of their features.
"Sing for boggie," said the first one.
"Sing," the other repeated. Neither moved. She glanced at Baraccus; he gave her a small nod, his eyes fixed on the apparitions. She
swallowed and smiled sweetly.
"Of course. I'm glad my song pleases you." She took a breath and launched into the final verse.
As she played, other forms rose from the swamp or took shape in the shadows between the trees around her. She dared not look.
When the notes of the last verse died away, she played an extra meter and allowed the song to round to a close. Then she bowed as best she could. "My song is my gift to the gentle guardians of the marsh. We are the Black Triad, and we have traveled far to speak with you."
"Sing," said a voice from directly behind her.
Did she imagine it, or was there less menace in the deep tone? She swallowed, and began the only other song she'd prepared, a love song hastily rewritten to praise the flowers rather than the woman to whom they were compared.
When she'd sung the last note, she wound down into a rippling set of diminishing chords and laid her hands over the strings to silence them.
The boggies within her sight swayed back and forth, raising their mossy arms. "Pretty song," said one. "Sing good." The others echoed it, their voices hissing and sighing, again reminding her of wind through rushes. The dark, harsh undertone had vanished.
Behind her, the voice said, "You sing for boggie. Boggie talk. What does Black Triad want from boggie?"
Baraccus turned again to face the voice. For a moment he stood staring, silent. Then he bowed low. "Lord of the Marshes," he said, "I must ask — why did you kill the Red Triad?"
"Triad come. Say boggie kill mens. Bring Fire. Fire bad. Boggie put out."
Paulo, too, had turned to face the boggie who spoke to Baraccus, and Ton-Kel watched his pale eyes widen. Well, if they could do it, she could too. It couldn't be any scarier than the things staring at her from all around. She took a deep breath and slowly turned around.
Baraccus was probably correct; this had to be the Boggie King. The creature towered above them. If she had glimpsed it in passing, she would have taken it for the stump of some ancient forest giant.
A cedar sapling sprouted from its head, and other new growth sprang randomly from its body. Long arms that could have been branches drooped from either side and fingers like twigs picked over the ground as the being sifted absently through the soil.
It had no legs that she could perceive, but, almost alone of the boggies she had seen, it had a face. Lumps and growths defined a chin, cheeks, a nose, and a mouth gaped beneath them like the den of some animal. The bark scored the face like wrinkles of unimaginable age. Two glowing points of emerald green light gleamed from what could have been knots in the wood but weren't.
Baraccus spread his arms. "We, too, were told that you have killed men. But, as you see, we brought no fire. We wish only to know why you act as you have. You said something about 'bad men. 'Do you mean the bandits? Or the Red Triad?"
Ton-Kel prayed that the boggies had no way of detecting the fireball in her bag. She took a deep breath and held very still, thanking God that she had put the thing away again.
"All mans look same to boggie," said the Boggie King. "Triad feel like Fey, but look like mans. Red Triad bad, bring fire. Other bad mans make trouble for boggie." He pointed at them with one huge arm/branch. "Black no friend to boggie," he said. "No friend to any but Black. Why you come here?"
Ton-Kel glanced at Baraccus in bewilderment. He shrugged, his expression equally puzzled. Perhaps these creatures had a more limited understanding of language than they seemed to.
The Cavalier tried again. "Our patrons sent us here because there has been trouble for the people of Westmere, the town nearby. When we arrived, we were told that you had begun to kill people." He paused. "The Black Faction is concerned. So are the Red Faction, the Blue Faction, and the Green Faction."
Before he could continue, the boggies around them raised their arms and took up their agitated swaying once more, the air suddenly throbbing with their deep groans. Ton-Kel looked at Baraccus, then at Paulo, whose face was tight with strain. What had they said?
The King's eerie green eyes seemed to focus on Baraccus. They blinked, the light fading and brightening as bark-like lids slid into place and withdrew. His voice rolled over the noise of the other boggies like thunder. "Then why Great Ones not tell you? Why come to boggie, not ask Great Black One?"
Baraccus shook his head. "We don't understand. The Black Faction sent us here. There's no one to ask."
"Great Ones here," the King said. "Red. Blue. Black. All here. Boggie see. Boggie know." He pointed at Ton-Kel. "Magic music thing is from Great One. Great One make. Great One give."
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. She raised the lute and stared at it. Of course. No human-made instrument would produce such a sound, would keep its tone in the middle of a swamp.
"Nayir," she said aloud. She looked up at Paulo and Baraccus. "Nayir is Fey, from the Black Faction." It was suddenly so obvious. How could she have failed to guess before?
Paulo stared at her, eyes round. "Nayir…the Factions each sent one of their own with the Triads?" His face lit up. "A Greater Fey — he can cure me!" Then his smile faltered and he shook his head, utterly bewildered. "I don't understand. Why send us, if the Fey are involved? Which Fey are the trouble?"
"No Fey make trouble," the King repeated. "Witch make trouble."
Ton-Kel stared at him, too stunned to speak. It was Baraccus who asked, "Which what?"
Around them the moaning reached a crescendo and faded, as the boggies listened to the reply. "Bad mans," said the King. "Bad mans come. Bad mans kill little brothers. Trap boggie. Kill boggie."
"Wait," Ton-Kel raised her hand, her head spinning. "Wait. Someone's been killing…why didn't you tell the Green Triad this?"
Again, the agitated howling filled the air; she pressed her hands to her ears, accidentally hitting herself in the forehead with the lute.
The King's voice boomed over the noise. "Great One come with Green Triad. Green friend to boggie. Bring strong magic to help. Witch catch Great One. Great One dead. Witch grow stronger. Many witch. Bad mans."
As the howling sank to a chilling moan, the King continued. "Now they call Names. Boggie answer. Boggie die. Others die. Witches know Names."
"Ton-Kel," Baraccus hissed, "what the hell does he mean?"
She shook her head and swallowed. "I don't…witches are just stories…from the Outer lands. I don't know…. "She raised her voice. "Lord of the Marshes, your words are strange to us. We don't understand. What do you mean when you call something a witch?"
Around them the boggies swayed and moaned, their voices rising and falling like wind, but now it had a doleful sound. The Boggie King's deep voice, too, seemed slower and heavier, as if with grief. "Witch kill the Fey. Eat the flesh. Drink the blood. Take the magic. Make magic like Fey. Many powers."
Ton-Kel's stomach shrank. Her voice sounded choked in her own ears. "You mean…a human who…who kills Fey and…and eats…that they can gain a Fey's powers? Use fairy magic?"
"Not all," said the King. "Sometime witch get nothing. Sometime get many thing. Great Ones know this. Not tell human, so human not hunt Fey to get power."
The concept held her rigid for a moment. Yes, in her secret heart, she had harbored less than charitable thoughts toward the Greater Fey. But there was a vast gulf between mistrust, resentment, and hunting them…killing and eating…. Her gorge rose, and she swallowed.
The two men stared, their faces quickly shifting from shock to revulsion. It was Paulo who asked, "All right, so how do they capture Fey? Even lesser Fey?"
Ton-Kel answered quickly. "Knowing the true name of a Fey gives you power over them. That's why they never give them, why the Old Ones are known by so many." She took a breath. "You can trick some of the lesser Fey into giving their names. At least, it's been done. But I don't know how you could learn the true name of a Greater Fey."
"From one of the lesser Fe
y they caught?" Baraccus glanced uneasily at the swamp creatures. "A boggie?"
The King evidently had no trouble overhearing them. "No boggie," he said, swaying angrily. "Boggie not know Great Ones. Great Ones are Great Ones. Boggie is boggie."
"Well, someone had to tell the witches the Green Fey's name," said Paulo." If not another Fey, who?"
Ton-Kel stared at the ancient marsh spirit, her mind spinning. The thought was too horrible to pursue, but she had to. "The boggies think the Green Triad betrayed their Fey." She closed her eyes and shuddered. "Oh, God, they could be right."
Around them, the boggies soft chanting changed. "Li'l green mans baaad, li'l green mans baaad…."
Paulo stared at her. "No! I don't believe it! Ankh is famous, a great hero—"
She turned to him. "And I saw him under the control of a witch. I just didn't realize what I was seeing." She swallowed. "Lily. Don't you see — it's Lily. Lily is controlling Ankh, and therefore all his powers, all his knowledge." She took a breath. "Lily is the witch."
"But—" Baraccus cut in, equally shaken. "How? Ankh is a powerful Mystic! I've always heard a Mystic can't suggest you to do something that's totally against your nature."
A good question. Ton-Kel groped through her memories for a reason, something that made sense. "A human Mystic can't, but perhaps Fey can, even lesser Fey. And the witches have some Fey abilities — the boggies just said the witches have been…taking… some of the lesser Fey around here. Including boggies. With the power of a true Fey, Lily could turn Ankh into a puppet and he'd be helpless against her. If the witches used Ankh for bait, the Green Fey would have trusted him and walked right into it." She squeezed her eyes shut, thinking aloud. "They would need the true name, and steel. If Ankh knew the one…." Sudden nausea twisted inside, and she opened her eyes.
Paulo finished for her. "Galen's axe could do the rest."
"No," she said automatically. She wouldn't believe it. Couldn't. "Not Galen. Lily's the witch."
"There's more than one, remember?" Baraccus turned to her, gripping her shoulders. "Ton-Kel, think — if it could happen to Ankh, it could happen to you. Galen could be one of the witches, or at least under their control. And he could have suggested you to do exactly what he wants."
"No!" She tried to pull free; his hands shifted to her arms and his grip tightened. Her voice rose. "It's not Galen. He's good and kind and gentle. He's not a witch."
Paulo turned to the boggie. "Can you tell us who they are? What about the Constable, Galen — is he one of the witches?"
"All mans look same to boggie," replied the King.
Paulo blinked. "Oh. Right." He turned to Baraccus and Ton-Kel. "Well, that's a big help."
Baraccus released Ton-Kel. "We've got to go back. We have to warn the other Triads. Before they get taken over, too." He turned and offered a graceful bow to the Boggie King. "Lord of the Marshes, we thank you. We will do all in our power to avenge you."
"Kill witch," said the King. "Kill all. Stop bad magic."
And suddenly the Triad was looking at a huge, old stump, nothing more. Around them, the strange shapes melted into trees, earth, and swamp, and vanished.
Tales from Opa: Three Tales of Tir na n'Og Page 43
