by Meg Cowley
Yet if Saradon was in Tournai, so were Harper and Dimitrius.
A journey of weeks, just to reach their friend.
Aedon pushed away the feeling of hopelessness as his friends quietly set down their knives, meals forgotten.
“There is no more time.” Aedon rose. “I must speak with the könig at once.”
“CAN YOU NOT SEE WE are at war, elf?” Korrin ground his teeth. “I do not have time for your petty requests. Begone!”
Aedon raised his fist to his chest once more, but the könig had already turned away.
Ragnar stepped forward, between them.
“Cousin.” His voice was quiet and measured, albeit insistent.
Korrin turned and glared at Ragnar.
“It is not for wanton selfishness he requests this of you.” Ragnar glanced sidelong at Aedon, who nodded. Ragnar swallowed and continued. “You know the visions the Vanir showed Harper. Visions of the Dark One’s involvement.”
Korrin’s lips became a thin line, but he did not speak.
“She is somehow key in all of this. There is far more at stake than our kingdom and the fate of the goblins should she fail. We must aid her. She is in the hands of Saradon, Valxiron’s vassal.”
Aedon pushed forward again, unable to contain himself. “It is weeks of travel away, at best, to Tournai, König. Every moment we dally is a moment she is in danger. Saradon knows the threat to him. He keeps her close because she is of his blood, but mostly because she could prove his downfall.
“Imagine if he has no more use for her? He will not hesitate to end her. Look at what he has done to the very King of Pelenor himself! If I can replenish my strength, I can save us weeks of time spent healing and uselessness. Please. I implore you.”
Korrin glanced between Ragnar and Aedon. Finally, he stirred. “I will not deny you.”
Aedon drew up, a grin forming on his face, but Korrin shook his head.
“I also cannot grant it. You must go before the Mother. She alone holds the right to visit the spring, and only she can grant you such a boon.”
Korrin turned back to his jarls, dismissing them. Aedon and his companions shared a troubled glance. How would they be able to approach the hermit dwarf in her halls of stone deep under the mountain?
Jarl Halvar detached himself from the group of jarls, as if he sensed their uncertainty. He glanced them over, filled with seriousness. “Do you truly wish to speak with the Mother?”
Aedon nodded, hardly daring to speak.
Jarl Halvar looked to Ragnar.
“It is the only way forward,” Ragnar said quietly. “Korrin will take Afnirheim, and you do not need us for that. Not with Saradon gone. This is the best chance any of us has to stop him.”
Halvar swallowed and nodded. They knew he thought of the battlefields of Afnirheim. Many of Halvar’s own men–his friends–had not returned home.
“Follow me, elf.”
Five
Cold, pale light illuminated the blanched caverns that stretched off into the darkness. Jarl Halvar crunched across the loose stones, and Aedon followed on silent feet, scanning their surroundings. It was colder than he had imagined, but he did not allow himself to shiver. Too much was at stake.
Halvar halted and turned to him. “You’re to go on alone from here. Only the Mother’s visitors may go beyond this point. Follow the cave. You’ll find her by the water.”
Aedon passed him with a nod and strode toward the faint sound of babbling water in the distant gloom before him. Was it getting lighter? He had lost his bearings at some point. All he knew was they were somewhere under the mountain.
He thought the white-haired, craggy crone was stone herself until she moved, a slow turn of her head, as if she sensed his presence. He saw her milky eyes a moment later. She is ancient. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. Here was a strange being of ageless divinity having some kind of power that he did not understand.
Aedon halted a healthy distance away and executed the same bow he gave to Korrin. “I come before you, Mother, to seek you—”
To his surprise, the crone cackled and beckoned him forward with a hooked finger. “I don’t need your fancy bows, elf.” How she had seen or sensed his precise location, he had no idea, but it only made him more curious. “I know why you have come. Sit.”
Aedon did as he was bidden, perching upon a rock opposite her. She reached out with surprising quickness and grasped his hands in hers. Her callused, wrinkled fingers rubbed over the backs of his hands, his palms, down each finger.
“Hmm,” she hummed. “You’re a curious elf indeed. What a life you’ve had.” She muttered to herself in snatches of dwarvish Aedon did not understand. Impatience jittered in him.
He opened his mouth, though he had not planned what he would say, but before he could utter a sound, she cut him off.
“I told you. I know why you have come.” She sounded mildly irritated, and her eyes narrowed, as if glaring at him, though he was almost certain she was physically blind.
She smiled, but there was something within her that glinted. Whether with a hint of mischief or malice, he could not tell. It unsettled him, and Aedon shifted on the rough stone.
“I will give you what you seek...for a price.”
“Name it,” Aedon replied without hesitation. He was not sure what riches or jewels she could want in a dark cave deep under the mountains, but if he could take what he needed from the caves, he would give her whatever she sought.
Her smile widened. “I will have a vision from you, elf.”
Aedon’s brows furrowed. “I beg your pardon?”
“I will let you draw wellness from the spring for the price of one vision.” Her eyebrow raised, waiting for his answer.
A vision? Of me? What could she possibly want to see of me?
Aedon thought for a long moment, but as confusing as her proposition seemed–how could a vision of his own life compare to the gift she would bestow upon him in return–he could find no disadvantages.
“I accept.”
The Mother cackled and clapped her rough palms together. “Excellent.” She heaved herself up from her rocky seat, her bones creaking and clicking. Even standing, she was tiny, hunched over in her withering age. Aedon stood, too, towering over her.
“Follow me.” With a walking stick to aid her, she hobbled off. “Now, elf!” Her voice held a bite of impatience when he didn’t move.
Aedon rushed after her.
Deep into the mountain she led him, into the dark bowels where no light, save the one he had conjured, lit the way. The caves narrowed and delved farther down, until they had to scrape between walls that were too close and duck under ceilings that reached for them with tongues of stone. Everywhere they passed, water dripped upon them, cold and unpleasant, though it seemed not to bother the dwarf.
The air was so cold it burned Aedon’s lungs. It did not bother him, though, for he could feel the magic somewhere before him, building with an unmistakable hum. They were close.
A light grew ahead, the ambient magic of the place slipping between a tall, narrow crack.
The Mother halted. “In there. Go on.” She turned her baleful gaze upon him.
“Thank you, Mother,” Aedon murmured, his attention fixated upon the fissure and the otherworldly glow beyond it.
As he squeezed through the narrow gap, it seemed to suddenly bathe him in its ambience. The magic warmed him, sending tingles of pleasure through his body. He breathed deeply, and despite the cool air, the depths of the airless cave, it somehow seemed fresh, rich, and sweet.
Aedon sent his faelight up into the jagged heights. The cave rose before him, and between cracks he could not follow, the spring poured forth and disappeared once more into stone and darkness. He cupped his hands and knelt before the running water, which had glowing motes dancing through it, and brought the cold liquid to his mouth, taking long draughts.
The water turned his belly ice cold, but warmth spread a moment later as the magic travelled through him. He
drank more and more, until his belly ached with fullness and his body thrummed with building power. Aedon closed his eyes in relief as the magic wound through him, chasing away the aches, pains, and fatigue that had dogged him for days.
He stayed, bathing in the warm energy surrounding him, until he brimmed with power once more. It filled him with his customary restlessness. He scrambled to his feet, only the memory of tiredness upon him now.
With a mutter of thanks to the Wellspring, he clambered back through the tight opening, but the Mother was gone. She had not gone far, however, and awaited him at the edge of her caves, silently leading him back to the spot where they had met.
Once more, the pale, clear light of day filtered down into the cave from a crevice far above them. It was cold and bare compared to the warmth of Aedon’s faelight, which he extinguished with a swirl of his hand. He waited silently, trepidation building. Now it was time for the Mother to take her price, but what would it be?
“Sit. Drink,” she commanded, scooping a stone chalice into the running water. Aedon took it from her and obediently sipped it. The water was freezing cold and held none of the potent magic of the spring. It sat unpleasantly in his overly full belly.
“More.”
Aedon’s sips became great gulps until the chalice was empty. His attention stayed on the crone’s milky eyes, his gaze unwavering. Moments later, the chalice slipped from his slack fingers to land with a crash upon the floor. The dwarf rushed forward to steady him, her warm hands bracing his shoulders as he swayed and slipped from the living world.
IT WAS UNSEASONABLY warm, and the mild air caressed Aedon’s skin. The smell of life, earth, and dew upon the air, without the taint of smoke or pollution, was a scent he had missed. It ought to have been relaxing, the sun beating down upon him charging him with light and energy.
Instead, cold chills crawled over his skin. He saw none of the green beauty of the woodland clearing, with its smooth meadow of grass and flowers surrounded by impossibly tall trees that reached up to the sky.
She watched him.
It had been a long time since he had been this close to Her. And never voluntarily. She was as deadly and beautiful as ever.
Her cherry-red lips tilted into a half-smile. Coy, half-lidded eyes of amber. Terracotta skin humming with warmth and vibrancy. To the untrained eye, She was a prize worthy of conquest. He knew better. She was a dragon, and he was Her next meal.
“I’m almost surprised you returned.” She took a small step forward, Her slim leg slipping through the gauzy folds of the ethereal dress that draped over Her, barely concealing Her modesty. She raised Her chin and grinned at him, revealing a row of perfectly white, razor-sharp teeth. Upon Her head, a crown of flowers shivered, their petals pulsing open and closed on an invisible breeze. It made Her look much fairer than She was in heart.
“I gave my word, Queen.” Aedon’s reply was as curt as he dared. Had the magic not bound him to his word, he would have stayed as far away from Tir-na-Alathea’s borders as his feet could take him. At least She had fulfilled Her part of the bargain. More than he could have ever dreamed.
The price was worth it, he reminded himself solemnly.
Her laughter tinkled around them, pretty and bright, and a titter chased it through the clearing as Her court watched.
Aedon did not acknowledge them.
“I have waited a long time for this day, thief.” Her grin turned feral as She bared her teeth, anger flashing through Her eyes. “My woods have suffered so at your hands, and they will be repaid.” Magic glittered at Her fingertips, in the air and the trees around them, crescendoing at Her command.
It was not too late. Every instinct within him tugged at him to flee, run, escape somehow. But he clamped down upon the jittering of fear that began to shake through him and knelt before Her upon one knee.
I am ready. As ready as he would ever be. It’s time to stop running.
Aedon swallowed.
AEDON THRASHED AS HE returned to consciousness, shuddering and gasping as though surfacing from deep water.
“Calm. You’re all right, elf.” The voice was reassuring, warm. Not the venomous, brittle tone of Her.
Aedon shook. He ran his hands up his arms, hugging himself, trying to banish the thought of Her.
“It was not what you hoped to see.” The Mother’s voice was neutral, but he could hear an edge of curiosity. Her gnarled hands still clenched his shoulder’s tightly.
“No. What does it mean?” That I will go back there? Willingly? He replayed the vision, trying to find any clue at all. Why would I return? He had less reason than most to venture to the living forest.
“It means you will find yourself in the living forest, elf. That is not something you wish for?”
“No.” Aedon shivered again, unable to banish the chills crawling up his spine at the prospect of it.
“Why?”
“The Queen has as little love for me as I bear for Her,” he replied through gritted teeth.
“Because of the wrong you have done Her.”
How does she know? Aedon wondered. He voiced the question out loud. How much does she know?
The Mother cackled, then clapped him on the shoulder, finally releasing him now that she seemed certain he would not fall. “That much was clear. As much as you run from Her, it seems your fates still intertwine.” She cocked her head at him. “Why, it seems as though you sought Her out. Whyever could it be?”
“I will never do so,” said Aedon vehemently. I wouldn’t be so foolish.
“Yet you do.”
“It may not come to pass.”
It won’t, he thought rebelliously.
She tsked. “It will. You’ll see.”
Aedon scowled, cheeks flushing. “I don’t reckon how.”
“Our fates have a strange way of delivering unexpected things, elf. If that is the vision the water sent, you can bet on your life that is the vision you were meant to...needed to see. Think on it. Why would you go back there? What would be important enough for you to have to bargain with Her?”
Aedon shifted, his very body denying any truth of it. Then he stilled in a sudden moment of clarity. It could not be.
Seeming to sense it, the Mother cackled again. “What I would give to have some more visions of you, elf.” There was a hungry glint in her white eyes, as well as a silent invitation.
“Perhaps another time,” Aedon murmured, the politest response he could muster. He longed to scream “no” instead, but was not so foolish as to offend the mysterious and powerful dwarf.
Is she really a goddess? He squinted at the dwarf, but she did not give up her secrets so easily.
“Hmmph. Go, elf. You’ve gotten more answers than you came for, and I am tired.” The dwarf shuffled away from him, ignoring him and going about her business to fetch more water from the stream.
“Thank you.” Aedon stood and bowed in the fashion of the dwarves.
She waved a hand but did not turn. Aedon slipped away, racing back to his friends with questions and fears nipping at his heels.
Six
It was good to be clean again, but Harper did not feel it–not truly. Her skin glowed, she had forgotten what it looked like without the grime of battle, yet there was a dark dirt within her, a stain that refused to be scrubbed away.
She rubbed a palm across her forearm thoughtfully, then pulled on the short tunic and leggings that Emyria had left out for her. The soft, woollen material stroked her skin with a soothing caress, and she relished the warmth of it. The tattered, thin dress that she had returned to Tournai wearing had not protected her from the winter cold. Despite the warmth of the bath, she still felt chilled through.
Or maybe that is my soul–as cold as ice.
A soft knock at the door broke her reverie.
“Yes?”
The door opened, and Emyria’s head appeared around it. “If you don’t mind, dear, I took the liberty of preparing you some food. I wasn’t sure when you had last eate
n.”
As if in response, Harper’s stomach grumbled. I’m starving. All sense of time had been lost in the mountain. When did I last eat? She could not remember.
“Thank you.” She folded the soft, drying sheet and left it by the side of the bathing tub, where soiled water drained away in a whirlpool, and followed Emyria to the dining room.
Dimitri was nowhere to be seen. A small selection of sliced meats, breads, cheeses, butter, and honey sat on one end of the table next to a plate.
Emyria vanished without another word. Harper fell upon the food and did not sit back until crumbs were all that remained, and her stomach hurt too much to drink the rich wine Emyria had poured to accompany the smoky cheeses, spiced, tangy meats, and rich, sweet, soft breads.
After that, and overcome with exhaustion that she could no longer keep at bay, she padded to the room she had stayed in last time–now made up with extra coverlets on the bed and a small fire crackling in the hearth–and slipped between the sheets, fully clothed, quickly succumbing to a deep, dreamless slumber.
EMYRIA WAS THERE WHEN she awoke, the slight clatter of the poker on the metal grate of the fire jolting her from sleep.
“Apologies, Miss Harper,” Emyria whispered.
Harper yawned and sat up, her attention catching on the sliver of space between the curtains.
Daylight.
With more energy than she realised she possessed, Harper bounded from the bed and ripped open the heavy, draping curtains. Her eyes instinctively shut against the brightness of the light, but she forced them open, drinking in the feeling of light upon her.
“Are you all right, Miss Harper?” Emyria watched her with a small frown, the poker hanging forgotten in her hand.
“Yes,” Harper said with a sigh of relief. “Just... I cannot remember the last time I felt the sun upon my face, or the wind, or saw the sky.”
Pity flashed across Emyria’s face. “You’re free now, Miss Harper.”