Rebel Fay

Chapter Fifteen

Leesil sat quietly with Magiere's head upon his leg. He expected rain to come, but the sky never broke open, so he saw no need to disturb Magiere and move to better cover.

Past what he guessed was noon beneath the dark clouds, Osha approached Brot'an. The young elf's gaze drifted to Wynn sleeping soundly in Brot'an's cloak.

"It is time," Brot'an called to Leesil.

At the sound of his voice, Magiere's eyes opened. She hadn't slept either and only rested.

Leesil's leg had gone numb beneath her head. He struggled to his feet, pulling Magiere up as his leg tingled with returning feeling. When Brot'an went to gather the others, Leesil left Magiere with Wynn and snuck off toward the barrier woods. Halfway there, he heard steps behind him, and turned to see Sgaile following.

"I won't be long," he said. "Unless you're fool enough to try to stop me."

"Then I will go as well," Sgaile answered. "Or you will not go at all."

Leesil was too weary to argue. He had no idea how soon another chance might come to see his mother. So he turned toward the passage through the woods with Sgaile close on his heels.

They emerged in the clearing, and Nein'a was outside her tree waiting. Leesil glanced back at Sgaile.

"Go," the man said with a sigh. "I will wait here."

Leesil had thought long on his mother while Magiere rested in his lap. Eight years in this glade, seeming so easy to leave and yet not, would drive anyone to odd ways. If he'd been thinking more clearly at their earlier meeting, he might have realized this. Stepping close before her and looking up into her calm yet disquieted face, he couldn't think of much to say besides the obvious.

"I can't free you by staying here. I'm going back to Crijheaiche to find a way to make your people listen." He lowered his voice. "Then you are leaving with me and Magiere."

She reached out and gripped his wrist. The action held no affection, and he almost pulled away.

"Forget me and leave this forest," she whispered, and then her tone grew soft, more like the lyrical voice he remembered from youth. "Please… my son."

All of Leesil's resentment melted in his mother's sudden warmth.

"You may trust Sgailsheilleache's guardianship," she whispered. "But in all other things, trust only Brot'an'duive."

He jerked free of her grasp. "I will be back… and you should trust only me."

"Leshil," Sgaile called, sounding strained. "Come."

Leesil turned away from his mother.

By midafternoon, Wynn worried about keeping the pace Sgaile set. She still wore Brot'an's hopelessly oversized cloak over her baggy elven clothing, and the combined raiment was heavy and cumbersome. But she was still too cold to remove the cloak.

The few times she took her eyes from the others around her, the forest shifted in unsettling ways. With the sun hidden behind thick clouds,all the world was caught within a lingering dusk. Her spirits low, she struggled to keep up-but not only because she was exhausted and worried.

She felt cut off and alone.

Leesil and Magiere were silent except for brief glances and touches they exchanged. Wynn thought she saw Leesil smile briefly, just once, at Magiere.

Chap ranged in and out of their procession, sometimes coming back to Wynn's side. Not once did he speak into her head, and after only a short distance, he ran off into the trees once again. Even Osha rarely looked at her or Magiere. Brot'an was considerate in his actions but otherwise as distant as the rest of the Anmaglahk.

Wynn had no one to turn to for a soft word or a look of comfort, and thoughts of Chap and her encounter with his kin returned often. This forest proved a terrible place that fed her loneliness.

Sgaile's demeanor worried her most. He had changed since witnessing Magiere's savage side. Wynn always found him daunting-occasionally frightening-but she had been certain he would protect her or Leesil or Magiere. Now his amber eyes were glazed, and any concern he showed was mechanical. Twice, he seemed about to speak to her, but then looked away.

He also appeared determined to rush them back to Crijheaiche as quickly as possible.

Somewhere behind Wynn, a strange chirp floated through the forest. She tried to slow and listen, but the procession's pace was too quick. She was left to wonder if it was the same kind of bird she had heard on their first journey in Crijheaiche.

Wynn had had enough of silence. All right, so she had brought much of this on herself. Or rather Chap had gotten her into it by running off without telling anyone. But compared to the encounter with the Fay, she should feel lucky to be alive.

She quick-stepped up behind Osha, trying to think of something to ask.Something useful-or not.Anything to break the silence for just one breath. She tugged on his cloak as she stumbled over the hem of her own.

Osha glanced over his shoulder with a frown.

"What is… Greimasg'ah?" she asked quietly. "A grasp-something? I heard the others use it to refer to Brot'an, and once for Urhkar.Some title or rank?"

Timid Osha looked ahead at Sgaile yet again. But Sgaile pressed on behind Brot'an's lead and did not appear to hear.

"Oh for goodness' sake, Osha!" Wynn snapped in a harsh whisper. "I am not trying to get some great secret out of you!"

Sgaile glanced back once.

"Shadow-grip… gripper… keeper…" Osha said with difficulty, as the word seemed troublesome for his limited Belaskian. "Masters beyond our caste ways, beyond what our teachers know and teach us. Many say Greimas-g'ah grip shadows, pull them in to… to hide them. No one see them until they want. It is great honor if Greimasg'ah accepts you for… to teach you. I am not lucky for this."

When Wynn looked ahead at Brot'an's back, she caught Magiere listening to Osha’s words.

"There were… once five," Osha added. "Now are four… when we lose Leshil's great-mother."

For an instant, Wynn thought he meant Nein'a. "You mean 'grandmother'… Eillean?"

Osha nodded and went silent. Wynn was back to struggling to keep up.

"Halt for rest," Brot'an called.

Wynn expected Sgaile might argue, but he crouched by an evergreen, poised for the moment they resumed. She was grateful for any reason to pause and braced a hand on a silver birch to steadyherself.

A shadow crossed Wynn, and she looked up.

Sgaile stood close enough that she could have counted the white hairs of his feathery eyebrows. His handsome face was lined with tension.

"All thathappened this last day and night," he said quietly in Elvish, "was because you did not heed my words. You remain under my protection, but disobey again and I will do whatever is necessary to assure your safety… no matter that you will dislike my methods. Do you understand?"

Wynn bit back her retort.

If his kind had not imprisoned Nein'a, Leesil would never have needed to come here in the first place. She and Chap would not have had to break Most Aged Father's attempt at coercion. But Sgaile's tone was so serious.

"Yes," she answered stiffly.

He headed back to his resting place, and Wynn turned and found Leesil standing right behind her.

"What was that?" he asked.

"Nothing," she answered."Just… nothing."

Leesil grabbed her hand and pulled her along toward where Magiere crouched. "You stay near us. And let's see if we can't tie up that cloak."

Wynn gripped down on Leesil's fingers, feeling a little less alone.

Forestscents intoxicated Chap, and still he returned often to look in on Magiere and Leesil and Wynn. The majay-hi shadowed the procession from out in the trees as they all headed toward Crijheaiche. But Chap believed the pack only made the journey because Lily stayed with him.

The dogs fell behind to sniff, and even to hunt. More than once, one of them chased down the silver yearling who had wandered off. Some ran ahead, but in the end, they always ended up back near the Anmaglahk and Chap's companions.

He pressed his nose against Lily and drew in her warm scent. But as they returned again to the procession, he caught brief words in Leesil's memory, spoken in Magiere's hushed voice.

Marry me.

Chap paused, ears cocked.

And Leesil now dwelled in embarrassment upon his fumbled response.

How strange and surprising that it had happened in this place, in these dangerous times. But when Chap dipped Magiere's thoughts for her memory of that moment, his wonderment vanished.

He saw through her eyes the dead bark upon the tree she had touched. He heard the name spoken in her mind as she had blacked out.

Sorhkafare.

It was not familiar toChap at first, until he saw tangled pieces of what Magiere experienced the moment she fell prone.

He knew the encampment, and remembered that long-ago night in an ancient elf's fearful memories. The two became one.

Sorhkafare… Aoishenis-Ahare… Most Aged Father.

Magiere had touched a tree. She had seen a vision she did not understand-one of Most Aged Father's oldest memories.

Chap looked wildly about the forest, wary of every quiver of leaf.

Nein'a had looked about the clearing in the same way, easing only when the majay-hi appeared peaceful and settled in their surroundings. And Lily had tried desperately to keep Chap from going into Most Aged Father's home.

Somehow the withered old elf, impossibly long in his years, had been in Nein'a's glade. He had been in the tree Magiere had touched. It was the only thing Chap could reason.

Magiere had touched a tree… and eaten a piece of its life without knowing it. Chap remembered his delusional vision of her at the head of an army upon the edge of a dying forest.

He paced quickly through the trees, watching Magiere from a distance as his fear rose.

He wanted no more of this. He wanted only to be alone a while longer with Lily. But he kept seeing Magiere in his own remembered delusion and the dark shapes of others waiting upon her to enter the trees.

Lily yipped as a brown hare raced out from under a bed of mammoth coleus.

Chap did not follow her.

Welstiel headed south as dusk turned to night. He led their remaining horse packed with their gear while Chane's new familiar loped ahead of them.

He noted how gaunt Chane appeared. They would need to melt snow later, perhaps use the last crumbles of tea taken from the Mondyalitko, and replenish their bodies' fluids. For the most part Chane looked tolerable, all things considered. Even in his used cloak and scuffed boots, there was still some trace of a young nobleman, tall and arrogant. No one who saw him could doubt his heritage-at least the one that Chane once had in his living days.

Welstiel feared that he could not claim so much at present. He fastened his tattered cloak more tightly, and tried to smooth his filthy hair.

He had not dreamed these past days. Why would his patron show him the castle, its inhabitant, and the very room of the orb, only to fall silent? He clung to one hope.

The Mondyalitko had been clear in their directions. It was possible that Welsteil's patron felt no further assistance was needed. Yes, that must be the case.

Barren rocks and patches of snow and ice vanished as his thoughts drifted into the future.

He wore a white silk shirt and charcoal wool tunic. He was clean and well possessed, living alone on a manor estate in isolation, perhaps somewhere on the northern peninsula of Belaski, still within reach of its capital of Bela or the shipyards of Gueshk. The manor's entire first floor was given over to a library and study, with one whole room for the practice of his arcane artific-ing. He could create ever more useful objects and never need to touch a mortal again. For somewhere in the cellars below, safely tucked into hiding, was the orb-his orb.

The horse tossed its head, jerking the reins in Welstiel's hand, as the animal's hoof slipped on a patch of snow-crusted stones. It righted itself, and Welstiel looked up the barren mountainside at his companion.

Chane never wavered from his desire to seek out the sages. Why-to study histories and fill his head with mountains of broken pieces culled from the past? Ridiculous.

Welstiel shook his head. Only the present was useful. Let broken days of the Forgotten History remain forgotten, once he acquired what he needed.A solitary existence with no distractions.

But still…

"Have you ever tried your hand at artificing?" heasked, his own voice startling in the night's silence.

Chane lifted his eyes from his trudging steps. Conjury-by ritual, spell, or artificing-always stirred Chane's interest.

"Small things," he answered."Only temporary or passive items for my rituals. Nothinglike… your ring or feeding cup. I once created a small orb to blind interlopers. I conjured the essence of Light-a manifestation of elemental Fire-and trapped it within a prepared globe of frosted glass. When tripped, its light erupted, and it was spent."

Welstiel hesitated. "You developed notable skill for one who had no instructor. I wonder how you would fare with a more studied guide to teach you."

Chane stopped walking, forcing Welstiel to pause.

"Have you fed without telling me?" Chane asked.

"No, why?"

"You are different tonight… more aware."

Welstiel ignored this bit of nonsense. A series of loud barks sounded from ahead.

Chane dropped to the ground and folded his long legs.

Welstiel struggled to be silent and wait as his companion closed his eyes.

Chane would reach out to connect-spirit to spirit, thought to thought-with the wild dog he had enslaved. He would learn through the dumb beast's senses what it had found.Far more efficient than racing after the animal and wasting remaining energies before knowing if it was worth the expenditure.

Welstiel stood tense, fighting for patience.

The castle could be just ahead. The end of his repugnant existence might be that close.