“Late for supper again,” the older one muttered, his hair darker than Simith’s. His brother, though she wasn’t sure how she knew that. “I told you we didn’t have time to go chasing hawks.”
“Then you shouldn’t have challenged me to it, Cirrus.”
“Mama will keep you aground for a month.”
“Maybe. You know how it goes; the last to arrive is the first blamed.”
His brother smirked. “Take the blame, and I’ll help you sneak the cabbage off your board for the week.”
“A bargain.” Simith grinned and they shook hands. Gazing ahead, he frowned. “Is that smoke coming from our hamlet?”
Jessa shivered with cold as the dream faded. Other voices replaced those of the young pixies. They argued in strained whispers.
“Three hours. We said we’d call an ambulance if there’d been no change in three hours, and she’s just as bad as when we brought her back here.” Katie’s angry words moved from one side of the room to the other. Jessa groggily opened her eyes to see her friend pacing along the foot end of the bed.
A moment of disorientation followed before Jessa remembered Katie finding her by the trees. She recalled stumbling back to Relle’s house together and falling into the bed of the same guest room from before. Then dreams.
“If magic is involved, taking her to the hospital is the worst thing we could do.” Relle hovered by the doorway, arms crossed over her chest. She looked like herself again, her Fae features hidden beneath the human mask. “When Granny wakes up, she’ll be able to tell us for sure.”
Katie rounded on her, gaze flashing with impressive ire despite the swollen side of her face. “We shouldn’t have let her go alone with that winged guy. What if he did something to her?”
“He didn’t,” Jessa said, voice croaking like she’d been in a coma. She was tempted to close her eyes and sleep on, but the drugging fatigue made her nervous. She pulled herself up to a sitting position, keeping the blankets around her shoulders. Did they have the air-conditioning blasting?
“How are you feeling, honey?” Katie hustled to the side of the bed and sat next to her. “Still cold?”
“Freezing.”
“You might have the flu.” She put a palm on her brow. “Or one coming on. There’s no fever yet.”
“That’s because it’s not the flu,” Relle said. “I can tell the difference between a regular virus and something caused by magic.”
Katie ignored her. “You’re sure nothing happened with the pixie? Maybe just a weird vibe?” She snorted at herself. “The things I never expected to hear myself ask.”
“He’d already left when it happened.” Jessa rubbed her face, her eyes sandy with exhaustion. Katie looked rough around the edges as well, her face pale, the makeup around her eyes smudged as though she’d wiped away tears. “Are you doing okay?”
“Not really.” She gave a watery smile. “Getting abducted by fairy-trolls and punched in the face wasn’t exactly what I’d planned for my birthday.”
Relle stirred by the doorway, her posture that of one who wanted to approach but wasn’t sure she’d be welcomed. “Katie,” she said softly. “I’m really sorry for what happened.”
“I already said it wasn’t your fault,” Katie replied, irritated. She took out her phone. “I’m calling an ambulance now. We can’t risk Jessa in her condition. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind an x-ray myself.”
Relle was there instantly, snatching the phone from her fingers. “You can’t do that.”
Katie gave her a dark look that could’ve melted stone. “Yes, I can.”
“We have to wait for Granny.”
The metallic squeak of a wheelchair startled everyone. Ionia appeared in the doorway; a fierce scowl firmly affixed despite the weariness hollowing her cheeks. She surveyed the occupants of the room with a dark gaze that made Jessa’s insides feel exposed. Even the human glamour couldn’t conceal her otherworldly aspect.
“Granddaughter,” she said. “Where is the pixie?”
Relle withered slightly under her scrutiny. “I let him go.”
“Did you.” Her mouth tightened. “So you have chosen our deaths over his.”
“He promised he wouldn’t tell the fairies—”
“Be silent.” Her voice was so dangerously soft, Jessa clamped her own mouth shut. “We will know soon enough the gravity of your foolish trust. Why are these two still here?”
“Jessa’s sick.” Relle shifted to one side as Ionia wheeled into the room.
“Does she not have aspirin and a bed in her own house?”
“Sick by magic.”
Her sharp gaze turned to Jessa. She rolled to the bedside, forcing Katie to jump out of the way or let the wheels squash her toes.
“Spell or curse?” Ionia directed her words at Relle as she assessed Jessa from head to foot.
“Neither, I think.”
“You think? Have you fallen behind on your studies because of,” she flicked a glance at Katie, “distractions?”
“No, Granny.” Relle sighed. “Magic is behind the ailment, but it’s not like anything you’ve ever shown me before.”
“I’m fine, really,” Jessa said, hoping it was true. “It’s been a crazy night. I probably just, uh, fainted.” That didn’t make her sound fine at all. She subdued another shiver.
Ionia tracked the movement. “You’re cold?”
“A little.”
“She been saying she’s freezing,” Katie supplied helpfully, ignoring Jessa’s glower.
Ionia took Jessa’s chin in between her fingers and stared into her eyes. Her dark gaze dragged Jessa under, black obsidian jewels as hypnotic as a sky without stars. Jessa tried to pull away, but the grip on her face firmed. “Hold still, child.” Her voice came slow and strange, drifting across an endless void. “Let me see your secrets.”
The room faded, replaced with the wide-open landscape of her dreams, only she wasn’t asleep this time. She knew she wasn’t. A separate part of her still saw Ionia’s eyes peering into hers, as though she’d covered half her sight with a hand.
It was just as before; the long stretch of heather fields, the blanket of clouds, but this time, black smoke billowed from the thatched houses. Screams rode the winds and trolls swarmed the ground. Fire arrows snapped from their bows and pixies fell to the earth, burning.
Two figures landed atop a smoldering roof: Simith and his brother. They tore through the straw of the roof, crying out “Mother! Father!”. Voices called back. Flames moved across the straw, swallowing the roof they stood on. Below, trolls chopped at the door, struggling against barricades behind it.
A hole formed in the roof. From within, a dark-haired man handed up an injured woman. She had an arrow in her side and a gash on her head. She was barely conscious. Both boys gasped as they lifted her out.
“Why is this happening?” Cirrus cried while Simith stared, white-faced with shock. His brother held the woman close. “We’re no enemy of the trolls.”
“Doesn’t matter now,” their father said. “Hurry, I’ve got your baby cousins here, too.”
Another pixie landed on the roof as Simith’s father passed up two toddlers to him. They clung to him, silent with terror.
“We flee for Hollow Hill,” the new pixie said. She clenched a bow in her hands; her expression ferocious beneath soot-stained blonde hair. Her eyes softened only briefly when she looked on Cirrus. “Late as always, love. For once, I’m dreadfully glad.”
“Rimthea,” Cirrus breathed her name. “Why are you still here? Fly for safety.”
“Not without you.”
A crash came from inside the cottage. The trolls streamed inside.
“Father!” Cirrus pushed his mother into Rimthea’s hands. He grasped his father’s arms and dragged him through the hole. Fire arrows followed. “Look out,” he shouted, shielding his father’s back with his own.
Jessa tried to look away. She didn’t want to see Simith’s face as he watched his brother die, as he look
ed on helplessly while fire and blade consumed his favorite person in all the world. She wrenched herself away, toppling onto her side and nearly falling off the bed.
“What is going on?” Katie hollered while Jessa grasped her head, squeezing fistfuls of hair until her scalp tingled. Weight pressed down on the mattress, and then Katie was there, pulling her close. “She’s shaking. What did you just do?”
“Well, you were right,” Ionia told Relle as though Katie weren’t glaring at her murderously. “There is magic at work here, though I’ve never seen it behave this way.”
Jessa gulped in the air, trying to calm her thudding heart, her head spinning with awful images. “How can magic be making me sick?”
“Your dreams,” she said, “they have been strange, yes? Like the one we saw now?”
She nodded, gathering herself enough to sit up.
“They’re not dreams,” Ionia said. “They’re memories.”
She glanced at Relle who lifted a hand to her mouth, a dawning expression falling over her face. “But I never lived those things.”
“Obviously. Those experiences belong to the pixie.”
“Simith?” She shook her head. “I don’t understand. I’m not seeing any of it through his eyes.”
“It’s bizarre, for a certainty. You appear to be more of a witness. Perhaps it’s because you’re a creature without magic. I’ve never seen this reaction before.” She shrugged. “But then, I’ve never risked my own life to heal someone else. He might not even realize what he’s done, though I’m sure he will soon.”
Katie threw up her hands. “Can someone spell it out here? How can she be dreaming memories that aren’t hers?”
“The pixie used more than magic to save Jessa’s life,” Ionia said. “He split his own life force in two, giving half of that spark to her. It spared her from death, but magic can misbehave when pushed to its limit like this. There are consequences.”
“What kind of consequences?” Jessa whispered, a deeper chill settling over her.
“It’s simple.” Ionia wheeled away from the bedside, pivoting at the foot end to face them. “You share a single life force. Separation from each other will have grave effects. First, you’ll feel ill. Weakness will follow, worsening as time passes.”
Jessa thought of the scar on her leg, the way it had burned when Simith left.
“So, you’re saying, if we aren’t reunited…”
“You’ll both die.”
Chapter Three
He dreamed.
He thought he did, at least. It felt too real for dreams. Simith stood outside the house he’d seen by Jessa’s gardens, the vibrant scent of her many flowers wafting on the night breeze like the fragrance of spilled perfume. A large window looked in on a dining space within the home. She sat with five others at a table laden with steaming dishes he didn’t recognize.
His brow furrowed, recalling her sharp insistence that her house was empty. It was filled with people now. The scene was a boisterous affair, though the outer wall muffled what they said. The meal held a loving disorder he remembered from his own boyhood. An older female stood, scooping spoonfuls of cooked white grain onto Jessa’s board.
Rice.
The word wandered through his mind. She didn’t like it, whatever rice was, though the elder female proved adept at evading Jessa’s tries to shield her board with her hands. She shook the spoon at Jessa in the same way his own mother once wielded tongs of hateful cabbage in front of his face. Jessa finally slumped back in defeat, laughing in exasperation along with the others.
She loved them, but they always insisted she should appreciate the same things they did. It made her feel like an outsider among them, a puzzle piece that didn’t fit.
Simith rubbed at his temple. Such strange thoughts. He couldn’t possibly know that. A younger female seated beside her leaned close and muttered something behind her hand. Jessa’s smile brightened. The sight of her joy pleased him. Her smile came easily here. He felt his own starting in response.
“Rouse him.”
The harsh order awakened Simith, but not quickly enough to defend against the boot that rammed into his stomach. Curling around the bruised throb in his guts, he managed to discern he was on the ground, grass pressing against brow. When the boot came again, he seized it with both hands, rolling with the kick’s momentum to drag his attacker down. He snatched a dagger from their belt and lunged for their throat. Flix’s startled eyes looked up at him, and he stopped just in time.
“Forgive me,” Flix whispered.
Hands tore Simith away and hauled him up. Helm Capal and another fairy secured him between them, magic in their grip. They torqued his wrist and shook the weapon from his hand. Simith struggled, drawing from his conduit, but strength abandoned his limbs quickly, leaving him winded. He slumped in their hold.
What was this weakness? Capal had bound him to her horse as they rode toward the fairy camp, but he’d struggled to keep his eyes open and passed out at some point along the way. She must have spelled him. He could think of no other reason for the occurrence. The cold was worse as well. He tried not to shiver overtly, though it felt as if the chill had settled into his bones like grave dirt.
“Well,” a male voice spoke. “This is far from the outcome we’d hoped. It gratifies me to see Firo was able to at least tire you before you destroyed him and his soldiers.”
“Yes,” a female voice intoned. “What a pity we must lose such a capable fighter. It’s a shame you aren’t a fairy, Sun Fury.”
Simith lifted his head. He stood in an enormous tent, many times the size of the ones the legion sheltered in on the field, and far more comfortably appointed. Braziers at each corner brightened and warmed the space, while ornate pillows and furs offered soft places to rest. Set to one side, food filled a table carved into the shape of a leaf; platters of meat and fruit and bread, and crystalline carafes of water and wine.
Seated before him in high-backed chairs of white wood, its cushions upholstered in indigo velvet filigreed in silver, was the triad—the three heads of the noble fairy houses that ruled the Thistle Court. Ladies Caraway and Florian, sisters of the west mountains, and Lord Jarrah, of the eastern glen. They’d dressed in the iron, smoke, and ash-colored tunics of field commanders, but the soft drape of the fabric bespoke silk instead of leather. Embroidered at the collar in scarlet thread, thorned vines traced the length of their shoulders, their gemstone conduits sparkling in the amber glow of the braziers. As did the malice in the smiles they gave him.
“Have you no excuse you might offer for your betrayal?” Lord Jarrah queried, the fine, silver goblet in his gloved hand the same shade as his long, platinum hair. “Nothing to say for yourself?”
Simith steadied his legs and drew himself up. “I resign my commission and withdraw from your legion.”
The sisters laughed. “His audacity would be charming if it weren’t so inconvenient,” Lady Florian observed, her golden eyes, like her sister’s, a match for her golden skin.
"Inconvenient,” Lord Jarrah nodded without mirth. “Yes, you are inconvenient. All of the pixies, in fact. We intended to elevate your race once we obtained dominion. Yet, despite what the trolls did to your homes, despite that at last we are close to victory, all you've done is buzz in our ears about the cessation of the war. You don't deserve to be elevated. You need to be put in your place."
“And so, they shall.” Lady Caraway leaned forward. “There is no withdrawal from our service. With your true name, we own you. You will serve us until you are of no further use.”
Simith said nothing. If they intended to use his true name, they had better make certain of their specificity. They’d never had to compel him before. Their arrogance and lack of practice leant him hope he could find a way around whatever orders they had in mind.
“Quiet, isn’t he?” Lady Florian observed. “Though his eyes say much.”
Lord Jarrah gestured. “Flix Foxglove Fell, come forward.”
Simith
tensed as Flix moved past him, readying himself for a charge if they intended to threaten the boy’s life again, but Jarrah merely handed him a parcel of rolled parchments.
“Distribute these among the Helms. Tell them to be certain to memorize all names listed there by tomorrow night.” He smoothed down the collar of Flix’s leathers. “You will say nothing to anyone of what you have seen and heard here. If you try in any form, take your dagger and put its blade in your heart.”
Flix stood there trembling with the command. Then he turned, casting a horrified look at Simith as he departed.
“What happens tomorrow night?” Simith demanded.
“The troll king has accused you of oath-breaking,” Lady Florian said. “And you intend to defend your honor.”
The pieces fit together in his head. His hands closed into fists. “You want them to gather here to witness the fight so you could surround their army and destroy it. Under a flag of truce.”
“By the time they realize what we’re about, the net will have closed around them.” Lord Jarrah clicked his tongue. “It’s a wonder that a race with such rudimentary tacticians managed to fend off our advances this long.”
“Why do you do this?” The depth of his outrage nearly choked his voice. “Do you not recognize in yourselves the same treachery that inspired you to revolt against the Fae?”
“If our cousins taught us anything, it was to survive,” he said. “The twilight diamonds the trolls hoard in their grotto would ensure we are safe from any threats against us. They know this. It’s why they won’t let us have them, and there’s only one reason they would do that.”
“Because they don’t wish to mine their homes?” Simith suggested dryly.
“Because there’s opportunity in weakness. Even the trolls know it when they see it.”
“You bring ruin to us all with your mad paranoia.” He inclined his chin. “You can use my name to compel me to fight and kill the troll king, but I will resist it. I’ll make certain all those watching know my will has been usurped.”
Wayward Magic (Magic Underground Anthologies Book 2) Page 64
