Rebel Fay

Chapter Two

Aoishenis-Ahare-a title, a heritage, and an obligation."Most Aged Father" waited within the massive oak at Crijheaiche-Origin-Heart. As the centermost community of what humans called the elvenTerritories, it was also home to the Anmaglahk, a caste apart from the clans of his people. He had lived so long that even the elders of the twenty-seven clans no longer remembered scant tales of where he came from or why he had led his followers into seclusion in this far corner of the world.

The massive and ancient oak that was his home had lived almost as long as he. A dozen or more men with outstretched arms could not have encompassed its girth. One of the eldest in the forest, the hollowed chamber within its heart-root had been carefully nurtured from the living wood since its earliest days. It sustained him to fulfill future needs for his people's sake. And its long roots reached more deeply and widely than any other in the land.

Wise in the way of trees, Most Aged Father no longer walked among his people. His withered body clung to life by the great forest's efforts that sustained him through the oak. But he was still founder and leader of the Anmaglahk. They in turn were the guardians ofthe an'Croan — (Those) of the Blood, as the people properly called themselves.

Through the oak's deep roots, he reached out with his awareness through branches and leaves to wander and watch within his people's land. Through slivers of "word-wood" taken from his oak and placed against any living tree, he heard and spoke with his Anmaglahk in far lands.

Now he waited beneath the earth in his root chamber. He waited for his most trusted servant, Frethfare-Watcher of the Woods-who lived by her namesake. He sensed her approach as she pressed apart the curtains across the doorway above, at ground level.

"Father?" she called. "May I come down?"

All anmaglahk called him Father, for they were the children of his vision and his strength.

"Come," he answered weakly. "I am awake."

Her step light as a thrush, he still heard her descend the steps molded from the tree's living wood. She entered the earthen chamber around the heart-root and appeared at its opening into his resting place.

The hood of her gray-green cloak was thrown back, revealing long wheat-blond hair. Most of the people possessed hair as straight as corn silk, but Frethfare's tumbled past her narrow shoulders in gentle waves when she did not bind it back. Today it hung loose and tucked behind her peaked ears.

Her large amber eyes were unusually narrow, and her lips thin. An overly slender build gave her the illusion of height, though she was not tall compared to others. She was Covarleasa-Trusted Adviser-and thereby highly honored among the Anmaglahk.

"You are well?" she asked, always concerned for his comfort.

Most Aged Father lifted a frail, bony hand with effort and gestured to the stacked cushions before his bower.

"Yes. Sit."

Frethfare crossed her legs as she settled. "Has there been sign of the human interlopers? Has Sgailsheilleache sent word?"

"No, but they come. Sgailsheilleache will bring Leshil to us."

He had sent Sgailsheilleache-Willow's Shade-to lead a small band of anmaglahk to intercept Leshil before that abomination entered their land unescorted. But there were more important things to discuss.

"You will assist me in presenting Leshil an offer," he continued."One which no other should know."

Frethfare arched her feathery eyebrows. "Of course, Father, but what bargain could you make with such a creature? He is not one of us… and has polluted blood."

When Most Aged Father smiled, responding warmth flooded her eyes. She never saw him as the withered husk he knew himself to be. His dry white hair, too thin for his pale scalp, and the shriveled skin stretched over his long bones never troubled her.

"True enough," he acknowledged. "Leshil has human blood, and any human is not to be trusted. But he comes for his traitor mother-Cuirin'nen'a-and that is the reason I give him safe passage. Cuirin'nen'a couldnot have acted alone in her treachery, and we must find her conspirators. We will promise Leshil anything, even his mother, in exchange for his service. With such an offering, we secure his fidelity for as long as we need it."

Cuirin'nen'a's subversion pained Most Aged Father like an ache in his sunken chest. In the end, it had done her little good. After years of delay, Darmouth was finally dead. His province would rip itself apart, and the other tyrants of the Warlands would be at one another's throats trying to claim the spoils.

Since the birth of the Anmaglahk in forgotten times, their service was revered by the people. Cuirin'nen'a seeded doubt and deception among their caste. It must be rooted out before it spread, even unto the elders of the caste. Or had it already done so? One more name lingered in his mind with that concern.

Brot'an'duive-Dog in the Dark-friend of the fallen Eillean, one of their greatest.

Eillean had stood for Frethfare when she had first come as a girl, barely past her name taking, to beg admittance to the Anmaglahk. It seemed impossible that Eillean could be in question, but she had borne Cuirin'nen'a, a treacherous daughter, and lost her life in retrieving that wayward offspring. In turn, Cuirin'nen'a hadborne a half-blood son.

Between these two women of their caste-faithful Eillean and deceitful Cuirin'nen'a-which way did Brot'an'duive lean?

Frethfare showed open surprise and pursed her thin lips. "Promise him anything, Father? Very well, but why depend on the half-blood? We have our own to uncover subversion-"

Most Aged Father raised one finger ending in a yellowed nail. "For our people… and their survival in fearful times to come, we must follow this path. Upon Leshil's arrival, escort him to me. Reveal nothing of what I have said. You are my hand outside of this oak… now I must rest."

Frethfare stood with a daughter's affection in her eyes. "I will bring food and tea later."

As she stepped to the opening of his heart-root chamber, she looked back at him. A gentle bow of her head accompanied the whispered litany of her caste.

"In silence and in shadows, Father."

He lowered his eyelids in place of bowing a head too heavy for his weariness.

"In silence and in shadows," he answered.

Most Aged Father slipped his awareness into the oak. He watched Freth-fare step out through the curtained doorway and into the daily life of Crij-heaiche.

A true daughter of his own blood would not have filled him with greater pride.

But he valued his caste and the clans of his people more. It was why he had brought them to this land so long ago. Here they remained safe, shutting out the humans with their flawed blood, ignorant minds, and weak spirits.

Most Aged Father took a heavy breath to smother ancient fear.

Yet the fear still coursed through him.

Lost were the track of years, decades, and centuries, but not the sharpest memories of a war that had swallowed his world. Nor memories of an unseen adversary called by many names. It had whispered in the dark to its puppets and minions, the perverted, the weak-willed, and those hungry for power without caring for its price. And in death and defeat, it merely slumbered.

It would return.

He knew this, believed in it with a horrified faith. He felt it like a worm burrowing its twisted way through the earth's depths. It had only to waken and show itself, in whatever ways it would, to wage a renewed assault.

This time, it would not have the human horde as one of its engines of war. Despite any ill-conceived deception by Cuirin'nen'a andher confederates, he would see to it. He would remove all instruments of this Ancient Enemy and leave it raging helplessly in hiding. His wisdom, his will, and his Anmaglahk would shield their people.

Most Aged Father drifted into sleep-but, as always, a fitful one. Among all other dreams, one had come each night for centuries.

Broken corpses lay strewn across a bloodied land as far as he could see. Numb in heart and mind, he stood unmoving until the sight was slowly swallowed by dusk. Only then he turned away, stained spear dragging in his grip and his quiver empty.

Somewhere in the growing dark, he thought he heard something struggling to get up.

Wynn flinched each time Leesil mimicked anyElvish word she pronounced.

He would never become conversant by the time they reached the elves-if they reached the elves-but he insisted that she teach him. And she had agreed.A bad decision, upon reflection.

At least it passed the time, as they climbed ever downward through the mountain toward an uncertain destination. Chap had convinced them to follow him, and as they walked, Wynn suffered through the attempt to assist Leesil with his Elvish. What started as distraction from doubts and fears became a lesson in futility rather than language.

"Soob!" Leesil said again.

Wynn cringed.

"No." She tried not to sigh. "The ending is like the V in your language, but the lips close on its termination, like a B."

"So which is it?" Leesil snapped. "B or V?"

"Just"-Wynn started to snap-" listen carefully… suv'."

"That's not yourElvish word for your bisselberries," Leesil sniped.

Wynn gritted her teeth. "It is a general reference for any type of berry."

She carried his pack slung over her good shoulder. He paused ahead of her without turning and shifted the lashings holding the chest of skulls to his back, trying to resettle his burden.

Wynn did not like that vessel constantly before her eyes.

"Everything in Elvish," she continued, "has its root word to be transformed to noun, verb, adjective, adverb-and so on. But there are general terms for things of like kind."

"So, 'eat a berry' is…" Leesil mumbled, trying to remember. "La-hong-ah-jah-va… soob?"

Wynn clenched her teeth. "Only if the berry is eating you!"

"Leesil, please," Magiere growled behind Wynn. "Enough! You're not going to learn it like this. Just leave the talking to Wynn, if… when we find the elves."

He glanced over his shoulder with the cold lamp crystal held high like a torch. Its light turned his glower into a misshapen mask that would frighten small children. Wynn did not care.

They had traveled downward for more than a day, perhaps two. And yet they had stopped only three times. She was cold and hungry all the way.

Leesil sidestepped a twisted angle in the passage, and a jagged outcrop caught his shoulder.

"Valhachkasej'a!" he barked.

Wynn stiffened, then grabbed the shoulder flap of his hauberk and jerked him about.

"Do not ever say that around an elf!" she snapped at him. "Or is profanity the only thing you can pronounce correctly?"

Leesil blinked. "It's something my mother said. You've heard me use it before."

"Your mother?" Wynn's voice rose to a squeak.

The last thing they needed was Leesil's ignorant expletives offending someone, especially one of those bloodthirsty Anmaglahk.

"Smuan'thij arthane!" Wynn snapped at him. She pushed past as Leesil wrinkled his brow in confusion.

Chap waited out in front and stared at her with his ears ridged in surprise. He cocked his head, glanced at Leesil, then huffed once in apparent agreement with her outburst.

Wynn was too miffed to even feel embarrassed that Chap understood exactly what she had called Leesil… though it hadn't been half as offensive as his own utterance.

"Time for another rest," Magiere said.

"No," Leesil said, his expression cold and pitiless. "We keep moving."

She ignored him and unstrapped her pack to drop it with the saddlebags she carried.

In their early days, Wynn had never seen such a look on Leesil's face. Lately she had seen it too often. Hardness overwhelmed him from within whenever he was pushed any way he did not want to go. And he did not wish to stop this journey for anything.

Chap padded back up the tunnel and plopped down. Clearly outvoted, Leesil sighed and lowered the chest off his back.

Wynn dropped too quickly in exhaustion and got a sharp pain for it in the seat of her pants. She let Leesil's pack slide off her shoulder in a heap as

Magiere dug out what remained of their rations. The last of the bisselberries were nearly gone, and they had discovered no more such gifts along the way. Magiere held a few crumbling biscuits and a handful of venison jerky strips.

"That cannot be all of it," Wynn said.

Magiere uncorked a water flask and dropped down beside her. "We'll find more once we're out of this mountain."

Wynn divided the biscuits and tossed a jerky strip toChap. He caught it with a clack of his jaws. Leesil muttered to himself as he inspected the chest's rigging. Wynn turned her eyes from the grisly vessel.

"What was that Elvish you just said?" Magiere whispered.

"It was… nothing," Wynn whispered back. "I was tired and irritated."

"Yes, I got that." Magiere rolled her eyes and bit into half of a dry biscuit, still waiting for a better answer.

Wynn dropped her head, voice hushed even more. "It means something like… 'thoughts of stone'."

Magiere coughed up crumbs and covered her mouth."Rock-head? You called him a rock-head?"

A flush of shame heated Wynn's cheeks, but the look on Magiere's face cooled it with surprise. She knew Magiere well enough to gauge her dark moods and acidic nature. The tall woman was often caustic even at her friendliest. But this expression was almost something new.

Was Magiere trying not to grin?

"I'll remember that one," Magiere whispered back.

"I heard that," Leesil growled.

He sat on the chest with his back turned to them, like some monstrous guardian statue perched the wrong way upon a castle parapet.

Wynn quietly ate her half biscuit and two berries. She pulled a tin cup out of Magiere's pack and poured some water for Chap. When she set the water flask down, it teetered on the tunnel's uneven surface, and she made a grab for it. She tried to settle it more firmly, but something grated beneath its bottom.

She felt the tunnel floor beneath the flask, and something soft shifted beneath her fingertips. When she took hold with a pinch, it felt light as a feather. She lifted it up into the light…

It was a feather.

Mottled gray, it was longer than her outstretched hand, with downy frills at its base. It seemed familiar, and that was unsettling, for she could not think why.

Where had she seen it before?

Chap's rumble startled her. He glared intently at the feather and then lifted his muzzle high to gaze about overhead. Wynn cast her own gaze upward and saw nothing but the uneven tunnel roof.

"There's a quill in the making," Magiere said, and reclined on the cold stone. "All you need now are ink and paper. Get some rest while you can."

She rolled onto her side, eyes open, watching Leesil perched upon the chest.

Wynn lay back as well with Leesil's pack as a pillow. She rolled over to face away from him and Magiere. Chap lay with his head on his paws, but he was not trying to sleep either. He studied the feather in her hand, but without the talking hide, she could not ask him why.

Cuirin'nen'a… Nein'a… Mother…

Memories flickered through Leesil's thoughts as he followed the others down the passage. He hadn't slept during their last pause, even after the crystal waned and went out. How long did he sit in the dark before waking the others to move on? It had been hard to meet Magiere's eyes when he finally shook her by the shoulder.

She might see him for what he really was. It hadn't been long since he'd realized it himself.

Guilt for long ago abandoning his parents didn't drive him anymore. Nor was it just sorrow in returning the remains of his father to his mother. Longing was still part of it, remembering a mother's gentle touch and firm lilting voice, and how these made his first life bearable for a while. But it had taken the memories that Chap stole from Brot'an in Darmouth's family crypt to make Leesil face much of the truth.

Darmouth had used him. And Brot'an had wielded him like the bone knife Leesil gouged deep into Darmouth's throat. If that moment had been the end of it, he might have put those bloody events behind him. He'd done it before.

But he began to see the pattern of his life, to understand the reason for his existence.

His life had been engraved by the scheme of a grandmother he never knew-Eillean. Even his own father must have had a hand in it, for Gavril had gone along with Nein'as insistence. Leesil couldn't escape what he was-what his mother had made him.

A weapon.

He wanted to look her in the eyes and know the reasons for all she'd done to him, everything she'd trained him to be.

Wynn stumbled along in front of him. Beyond her, Magiere now led the way with the renewed crystal in hand. Somewhere farther on, Chap tried to sniff their way out, for the trail of berries had ended far behind them.Too far to turn back with no food left. Leesil hoped they had made the right decision following Chap.

The tunnel forked again.

Chap shifted anxiously between the mouths of the two passages. He sniffed the stone floor, staring down each in turn. The dog stood silent for so long that Leesil came out of his own dark thoughts, and then Chap trotted off down the right fork without looking back.

"I hope he knows what he's doing," Magiere muttered.

They moved on, and time dragged in this place without day or night. Leesil's shoulders ached from the chest's ropes biting into them. He'd sunk into himself once more when Chap suddenly stopped.

"What now?" Leesil asked, and peered around a too-silent Wynn.

Magiere felt cold inside standing behind Chap in tense silence. But it wasn't from the tunnel's chill. She resisted looking back at Leesil. He'd driven them hard with his desperation, but he drove himself even harder.

Their food was gone, and they'd been on half rations for longer than she could reckon. Their situation was dire, and they all knew it.

Chap lowered his head with a growl.

Magiere dropped her pack to the tunnel floor. She reached over her right shoulder and gripped the falchion's hilt where she'd strapped it to her back.

"What is it?" Leesil demanded in a hushed voice.

Chap let out a whine, then snorted as if some scent in the air had clogged his nose.

"Chap?" she whispered.

His ears pricked up, and he whined again, but it sounded more disgruntled than alarmed.

A light scratching carried up the tunnel from below.

"We are not alone," Wynn whispered.

Magiere drew her falchion, holding the crystal out with her other hand.

Beyond the light's reach, a pair of shimmers appeared in the dark. They bobbed up and down as the soft sound of claws on stone came nearer. The paired shimmers rose slightly from the floor. The dark shape of a small creature formed around them.

No larger than a house cat, its body was elongated like a weasel or ferret. A stubby tail, darker than its bark-colored fur, twitched erratically as it sat up on its hindquarters.

Around its eyes and down its pug muzzle spread a black mask of fur. Wide ears perked up with small tufts of white hairs on their points. Its strangest features were its tiny forepaws. Less like paws and more like small hands, they ended in stubby little fingers with short claws.

"Oh no!" Wynn breathed out.

Magiere had to look back. The astonishment on Wynn's features melted to loathing.

Chap shifted to the tunnel's side opposite the little beast.

"What is that?" Magiere asked.

"Tashgalh!" Wynn said. "And Leesil can swear at it all he wants!"

"Is it poisonous or something?" Magiere asked.

Wynn wrinkled her nose. "No, it's not-"

Chap growled, but he didn't close on the creature. He snapped his jaws threateningly and it dashed straight up the tunnel's side wall to the ceiling.

Magiere shoved Wynn back and held out her blade at the animal.

It clung there as if standing upside down on the tunnel's craggy roof. With one quick hiss at Chap, it turned its attention back toward Magiere. It began to coo at her, like a dove, and swayed slightly as its head bobbed with excitement.

Magiere carefully aimed the cold lamp crystal for a better look, and its black, glassy eyes followed the movement.

"Oh no, not on your mangy little life!" Wynn yelled, and ducked around Magiere to snatch the crystal. Then she scooped up a loose stone and threw it at the creature. "That is mine!"

Chap scurried back as the stone went wide, bouncing from one tunnel wall to the other.

The tashgalh hopped sideways across the ceiling, trying to regain sight of the crystal. Wynn pulled the glowing stone behind her back with a groan.

"We will never get rid of the little beast."

"What is it?" Magiere demanded.

"Its name means finder of lost things," Wynn answered. "A rather polite wording. They are nothing but incorrigible little thieves. It will follow us and dig through our belongings the moment we are asleep… now that it has seen something pretty that it fancies."

Chap jumped at the tashgalh, his barks filling the tunnel with echoes.

"You see?" Wynn shouted over the noise. "Chap knows the trouble they make."

"Quiet down, Chap," Leesil yelled.

The tashgalh darted back and forth across the ceiling, trying to stay out of reach but maintain sight of its coveted item. Chap kept barking as he lunged up one wall or the other. The little creature screeched at him, then raced along an arc down the tunnel wall and back the way it had come.

"How many of these things could be in the tunnels?" Leesil demanded. "And how do you know this animal? Magiere, will you shut that dog up!"

Magiere shot him an angry glance. When she turned to do as he'd asked, all she saw of Chap was his swishing tail as he took off after the fleeing animal.

"They do not live in caves," Wynn said. "They live in…"

Wynn spun about, staring wide-eyed down the tunnel. Before Magiere could demand a better answer, Wynn took off in a headlong rush after Chap.

"Wait! What are you doing?" Magiere called.

"They do not live in caves," Wynn shouted back. "They live in forests."

Magiere grabbed up her pack and slung it over one shoulder, preparing to run Wynn down before the sage added to her injuries in some stumbling fall.

"Forests?" Leesil repeated.

Magiere stared down the tunnel. The bobbing light of Wynn's crystal grew smaller as her voice echoed back up the passage.

"Elven forests!"

Chap raced after the tashgalh. The dark tunnel made it almost impossible to see his quarry, and he followed mostly by sound. The instant he had seen the little creature, he knew what its presence meant, but he had no way to tell the others. All he could do was terrify it enough to flee for its life.

The tashgalh went silent, and Chap skidded to a stop, listening. Then he heard its paws scraping on stone ahead.

He had seenits like twice when he was a pup in the elven lands. Majay-hi did not hunt tashgalh, for the little pests were a clever breed and easier prey was available. He could smell its fear of him, knew it wondered why he came after it, but this pursuit could not be helped. He knew it would run for the familiar safety of the forest.

Another scent filled his nose over theanimals musky fear and the passage's stale odor.

Pine… and wet earth… and warm, humid air.

Somewhere behind him, clumsy feet kicked rocks down the passage in haste. The tashgalh raced away ahead of him. Chap chased onward, and the scent of the forest grew stronger.

He could see the animal's stiff tail and pumping rear legs. And then light beyond it. An opening appeared, curtained by branches, but not enough to blot out the light of the sun.

The tashgalh jumped as it reached the passage's end, grabbing a tree limb. As the branch recoiled upward under the creature's weight, it swung out of sight.

Chap slowed to a halt just shy of the exit and stared at wet green pine needles glistening in sunlight.

It was still winter, but in the elven Territories, the snow touched only the higher ranges.

He waited there, almost not believing that he had found his way through. For a moment he could not bring himself to step out into the world.

Chap breathed deep and filled his head with all the subtle scents of his days as a pup among his siblings. He was home onceagain, or at least the place where he had chosen to be born in flesh.

Wynn came scrambling up behind him. Her round eyes and olive-skinned face filled with relief at the sight of branches overhanging the opening.

"Oh, Chap," she said.

He stepped out with the young sage close upon his tail. Somewhere above in the trees, the tashgalh squawked derisively.

Morning had broken, with the sun just cresting the eastern horizon. But the trees still obscured the view down the mountainside. Chap pushed his way through the foliage dotting the small plateau onto which they emerged. When the last branch dragged across his back, he stood upon a rocky slope still partway up the mountain.

"We're on the eastern side of the Broken Range," Leesil whispered.

He and Magiere had finally caught up, but Chap did not turn his eyes from the vision spread out before him.

Down the sparsely forested ridge and stretching as far as he could see lay a vast forestland. Not as in Belaskia or Stravina, with spots of open plains and fields, nor the dank and dull green of Droevinka's moss-strewn fir and spruce trees.

It was vivid glowing green of multiple hues, even though winter was upon it and it lay nearly at the northernmost end of the continent. Multiple rivers flowed away from the range through the heart of a vast land, each a shimmering blue ribbon across a verdant fabric that rolled here and there with the hills beneath its surface.

The forest stretched as far as Chap could see. Somewhere beyond it to the northeast were the eastern ocean and the gulf bay no foreign ship had ever berthed in. He did not remember how large the elvenTerritories truly were. But then he had not seen much of them as a pup before he was taken away.

"It seems to go on forever," Wynn said.

At the mountain's base, stepped slopes dropped gradually, and the sparse growth of the plateau built quickly to warm, bright foliage that reached for uncountable leagues.

Magiere stepped up beside Chap, but of them all, she appeared the least touched by the sight.

"Yes, so large it looks closer than it is," she said. "We're out of food, and we still have to make it down this mountain."

Chap looked up at her pale features marred by exhaustion. Where Wynn's showed relief and overwhelmed awe, in Magiere's face he saw some hint of fallen resignation. Then he glanced at Leesil, whose amber eyes sparked in the sunlight but were chill with determination.

A human, a dhampir, and a half-blood.He had brought them into a place where the word "unwelcome" was but a polite term for what awaited them.

Wynn's lips had parted to speak when a high-pitched chirp sounded above them. Chap looked up, but the sky was empty except for dark billowing clouds trapped upon the mountain peaks. The sound trailed into a string of slurred notes, erratic but strangely lyrical, and then it faded in the light breeze.

Wynn fished in her coat pocket. She pulled out the feather she had found. In the sunlight, it was mottled white.

"Where did you get that?" Leesil asked, as he had not seen the feather until now.

"I found it at our last stop in the tunnels."

Leesil took his pack off her shoulder and dug through it until he pulled out the small arrow. The trimmed feathers on its notched end matched the one in Wynn's hand.

Magiere only glanced at the feathers and then down the slope. "We need to get moving."

Chap turned along the plateau to find them a path. He barked for the others to follow him. For a moment, Wynn looked up into the empty sky then back toward the mountain's passage, hidden behind the trees. The feather was still in her hand.