by Shean Pao
“I don’t like catchin’ ’em,” she protested.
“You and your mother need to eat.”
“But they don’t hurt nothin’.”
“So you only want to eat wolves and badgers, then?” His voice held amusement.
“No. They don’t taste good.”
“And how do you know that?”
She offered a shrug. “Everyone knows that.”
He laughed and shook his head.
They worked in silence. Then Issel picked up her doll and smoothed her apron. Worry strained her voice when she said, “I heard Ma and Uncle Navarre arguing ’fore he left last night.”
Barbarus shot a glance at her while he continued to scoot methodically across the gable roofline, but he said nothing.
Issel combed at the doll’s straw hair with her fingers. “Yesterday, when I was supposed to be washing strawberries at the stream, I forgot Cerwina up in the loft.” She grew still, hugging her doll against her.
Barbarus glanced at her, his chest tightening.
“Ma was mad at Uncle Navarre for leavin’ us when Papa died. Uncle Navarre told her the Maker was watchin’ over us while he was away.
“Ma was mad that the Maker was more important to him than we were. She told him ta get out.” Issel leaned forward and whispered, “She said you’ve helped us more than he ever did.”
Barbarus sighed and closed his eyes. He did not want to bring strife to this family, but he’d spent months here already. What if he couldn’t get the essence? What if he had to start over again somewhere else? Turmoil wrenched his heart.
“Uncle Navarre said there’s somethin’ wrong with ye. Ma won’t believe him. Uncle Navarre doesn’t like ye. He says ye have to go.” Issel’s hands worked at the rope, but it slipped through her fingers with a jerk. The bundle of thatch swayed at the end, suspended in midair.
“How can he not like me? I’ve barely met him.”
Issel shrugged. “He says yer not what ye seem. What’s he mean by that, Barbarus? Is he talking ’bout the other you?”
Barbarus’s head snapped toward her, stunned. He paused in the midst of drawing up the next bundle. The rope snagged on a split in the eaves and grew taut.
“I’ve got it,” Issel said, crouching to take little steps.
A stone suddenly struck Barbarus’s shoulder. He sucked a breath, then straightened to peer over the rooftop. Navarre stood below, another stone in his hand, rage on his face.
Issel also rose to her feet, but she was too short to see. “Did someone throw a rock at ye?”
“Issel, climb down the ladder now, please,” Barbarus said. He gestured toward her, though his eyes were fastened on Navarre.
“I told you to leave!” Navarre threw the second stone at Barbarus. It sailed over his head and rolled down the roof. Issel lurched sideways to avoid it and lost her balance.
The thatch shifted, and a section came loose and skidded swiftly over the timbers, carrying Issel with it.
She cried out.
“Issel!” Barbarus lunged for her, but it was too late. She fell to her belly and slid out of reach.
Issel tried to grab Barbarus’s hand, but her fists closed around loose straw instead. She uttered a scream before she went over the lip of the roof.
A second later, Cerwina teetered on the edge, then plummeted.
Chapter Twenty-two
Loss
Stars lit the dark while Anarra stood before the wave pedestal atop her tower. She gazed into the Moon Well for hours, casting wary glances into the water for dangers that might be lurking. But she saw nothing.
With caution, she Threaded the starlight, keeping her ability in check. Fearing that she might encounter Gevauden again, she wove vigilantly and stayed behind her wards. It took a great deal longer this way, pulling slender rivulets of power from the moon and stars instead of tapping directly into their forces.
She also drew upon the energies of the corestones. Using her hands, she coaxed the Moon Well’s water out of the bowl and twisted the liquid into a column of light. It stretched into a thin curtain and then lifted toward the sky.
Her heart pounded while the strands of water from the Moon Well separated and illuminated like fine hairs tipped with teardrop globes. They drifted into the air above her face, then entered her eyes. She gasped, not in pain but in alarm. She lost her sight as the Threads filled her vision.
Pulling back from the bowl, sightless, though not daring to stop, she wove the shape of the minstrel with her hands as if fashioning clay.
She started at his head, using memory to craft the youthful face she recalled from when he had first come to her. The aquiline set of his features filled with mirth, the pleasure of music creasing laugh lines at his eyes, a thin nose rising to high brows. His lips she turned upward and full. Dark blond hair framed a handsome face and fell past his shoulders. She wove it with love.
It took hours to shape him as he should be. She crafted agile fingers to strum the chords of his lute, drawing music like a lover’s sigh. Slender hips with strong legs to dance, and his throat with gifted vocal cords, taunting the heavens with the purity of their sound.
Dawn breathed a faint pink dusting on the horizon, and a breeze stirred cold against her brow. She pulled back. When Anarra could see again, she gazed upon her creation.
The minstrel stood before her, naked and perfect, shaped of stars and sea and wind and the magic of the Aes Sidhe. His flesh was not the color of a man’s but appeared as if the blue of the ocean had taken on human form. She wondered at her Making, then gazed into his eyes. They stared, white-blind and empty of a soul. No heart beat within him, no thoughts thrummed, no air filled his lungs with song. The body was an empty shell.
She smiled. Tonight the minstrel’s life force would fill the vessel, and he would be forever free of the fear of death.
* * *
“Do not fear,” Anarra murmured, running a hand over the minstrel’s tangled gray hair. She knelt beside him where he had sunk to the floor upon seeing the body she had created.
“Please, milady, do not do this.” He wept into his hands, shaking. His feeble voice sounded muffled behind his fingers. It had been difficult for him to climb the many stairs to the top of the tower, even with her help.
“You have nothing to fear, minstrel. It is a good likeness, do you not agree? It will never age.” She stroked his cheek, coaxing him to sleep.
“Poor man,” she murmured as he closed his eyes. “Soon all your fears will vanish. You’ll see.”
Anarra swept her palms the length of the minstrel’s prone form, over and over, tugging out his spirit with her fingertips. It came reluctantly.
When his last breath stilled, the minstrel’s soul eased into her cupped palms as a glowing orb.
She stood, anticipation making her heart pound, and lifted her hands to the parted mouth of the empty vessel. The glow rose, moving toward the opening, and then paused, hovering above her fingers.
Suddenly his soul shot upward, into the darkness.
“No!” She reached to catch it, aghast, but the light slipped through her fingers. “What are you doing?” Her voice hitched, filled with agony as she spun in a circle, searching for him.
She swept up her hands, raising the walls of the dome, trying to trap the minstrel’s soul inside the chamber. But his light had already fled into the darkness beyond.
Anarra sank to the floor of the Star Tower with her palms pressed to her mouth. Grief welled up from deep within, a place long forgotten, unused. It surfaced in a torrent of despair, washing over her in crashing waves.
“Why? Why did you—you didn’t have to die! I do not understand.” She raised her eyes to the stars shining behind the translucent dome overhead.
Then misery pressed her head down, and a terrible emptiness coursed through her. For a long time, she sat dry as a reed. A heaviness of sorrow weighed on her chest, crushing her.
Finally she realized the truth: He didn’t want to live.
The realization pierced her like a brand. It hurt worse than any fear or loss. It tore her very substance, stabbing deep into who she thought she was.
Anarra turned to the corpse of her minstrel. She sank beside him and drew his head into her lap.
Cold fear coursed through her, tangled in the pit of her stomach. He didn’t want to be chained to me forever. He would rather die than sing for me even one last time.
How could she not have seen it? He had begged her to release him. He’d begged.
Clouds passed overhead, shrouding starlight. Her hands moved to her eyes while memories of his sorrow filled her like an empty well. She let herself see what she had so long denied.
For hours, Anarra sat as still as a stone, her face a mask, comprehending what she had done. Imprisoning a man who only wanted the love of his family again. Keeping him here for her own selfish pleasure in his songs.
You can’t own a voice. He was nothing more than your slave. How different are you from Rash’na’Kul?
The pain left her numb, forced her to accept what she was and the things she had been trying to hide from herself.
I am Aes Sidhe, the uncaring deity of nothing.
Grief tore at her heart, left her gasping, and finally released a torrent of tears. The agony in her chest and throat felt unending and raw. She choked on her sobs, feeling broken—a shattered remnant of her once prideful self.
She had nothing left, and without realizing it, she moaned the name of someone else she had lost: Odhran.
Her tears became bitter, filled with the bile of self-condemnation. She closed her eyes and curled up beside the minstrel’s corpse to weep.
Chapter Twenty-three
Creation
Anarra was barely conscious of lowering the wards to let Odhran into the Star Tower. Slipping between consciousness and sleep, she dreamed that he had come to her, but when she woke, she was alone in the dark.
She slept again, tears driving her to escape from reality. When she heard pounding rain against the dome overhead, the distant drone began to wake her. With a shock of awareness, she knew Odhran was in her tower.
Anarra had never let Odhran enter this room before, but now her minstrel lay dead, and she had faced her demons. She wanted to confess all her terrible deeds to him.
By the time Odhran came up the stairs and entered the Star Chamber, Anarra was sitting up, stroking the brow of her minstrel. Her face was stricken, her eyes swollen and wet with fresh tears, but he didn’t see her. He was staring at the magnificent statue beside her. Even in the dim light of the storm it appeared to be a glass mold holding a fluid shape of the ocean.
“Anarra, what has happened?” Odhran veered toward the crafted body. As he drew closer, she heard him suck in a breath. “What is this?” he asked.
His fingers trailed over the lifeless statue, sending tracks of luminous, opalescent glow over its skin. “Why would you make such a thing?” he whispered. “This is not allowed.” He stepped back, still facing the body, his voice rising in anger. “This is an abomination, Anarra. You are not the Maker. You have no right to create flesh and take souls. It is forbidden!”
She remained silent, thinking he would come to her then, but instead he crossed to the center of the chamber.
“You have a Moon Well!”
Anarra lowered her head, shuddered, and kissed the brow of the dead minstrel. She knew she couldn’t speak. Her throat was constricted with grief.
“When I left you that day, I didn’t want to believe the words you spoke, that you were Aes Sidhe. Then to learn that you trafficked with a Nepha Lord, Anarra.” Condemnation rang in his tone.
“I remembered things discussed by the Elders of the Tuatha Dé Danann. Terrible events they fear will come to pass, seen in the mirrors of the world.
“They argue amongst themselves. Some insist they should help the mortals, and others feel they should not interfere. Neither side takes action; their arguments leave both immobile. I wanted to return to Tir na nÓg, to tell them about you, but I feared that they would come here intending hurt. I didn’t believe that you were a part of what they saw. Now I know.”
He strode toward her, anger in his step. She lifted her head and tried to gaze at him, though her eyes were nearly swollen shut. Could he not see her anguish and self-loathing? She willed him to comprehend her horror. She wanted his understanding, his forgiveness, but how? She had performed terrible crimes. Now he would take her back to the Tuatha Dé Danann. Perhaps they would end her existence. She didn’t care. She just wanted the pain to stop.
What he did surprised her—and brought a new wave of tears.
“By the Maker,” he said when he saw her face. He shook his head and sank to his knees beside her.
“Anarra, my Anarra,” he whispered, drawing her into his arms as she began to sob against him. “It will be all right.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Leaving
Barbarus felt time shudder to a halt as Issel slid down the roof. His heart had wrapped around his lungs and started to squeeze. He couldn’t breathe; he needed to move. He needed to move now!
Had Barbarus been human, he would not have reached Issel. Leaping, he sank the claws of one hand into the timber of the roof beneath the thatch and grabbed her wrist with the other, yanking her to a stop in midair.
Peering over the edge, he met Issel’s terrified gaze as he gripped her arm. His own eyes must have mirrored her fear.
Sudden warmth surged beneath his shirt, within the vial that lay against his skin. He blinked in surprise.
“Don’t drop me!” Issel cried. She started kicking.
“Little bird,” he said calmly, “you don’t think I’d let you fall, do you?” He forced a smile of reassurance while his heart jerked in his chest like a bucking horse. “Don’t squirm.” He spoke soothing words as he pulled her up. “You could fly if you wanted, but let’s save that for another day.”
As soon as she was safe, Issel grabbed hold of him and clung, sobbing. He sat for a moment, unsure of what to do, then he rested his hands across her back. He felt the thin bones of her shoulder through the fabric of her dress. You are so small, little bird. Small like me. He thought of her clubfoot. Hurt like me.
“Issel!” Maleen cried out.
Barbarus glanced down past Issel to where Maleen stood at the entrance to the shed. She stared at them, her fists pressed against her mouth. Terror still filled her gaze, thinly coated with relief. She must have seen it all.
Straw still fluttered down from the edge of the roof where they crouched. Again he felt warmth beneath his shirt. Barbarus nodded to Issel’s mother as he clutched the tiny vial. It felt hot against his palm.
“What happened?” Navarre yelled, running around the side of the house to join his sister-in-law. His eyes widened with horror, then lifted to meet Barbarus’s gaze. His neck flushed red with anger, and the cords of his muscles bunched in his shoulders.
Barbarus knew that Maleen had not seen Navarre throw the rocks. He met the man’s angry gaze with an even stare. Now that he had the essence of love, he wanted to rip Navarre apart. He clung to Issel more tightly, afraid he would act on his rage.
Maleen lowered her hands to her breast and hurried toward the ladder that led up to the roof. She paused to pick up Issel’s doll from the ground, half buried in straw.
Navarre followed her, his mouth curled into something ugly.
Barbarus drew Issel away from him, holding her shoulders, and smiled encouragingly at her. “Best climb down, Issel. Your mother wants to hold you.”
She started to obey, but he pulled her back into a hug. “Issel, I love you,” he whispered, perhaps too softly for her to hear.
She returned his hug. When he released her, she limped carefully to the ladder and climbed down. Barbarus watched her, then let his smile fade.
The pain around his lungs had eased, replaced with sadness at the realization that he needed to leave. His task was complete, and his freedom might be close at han
d. He had to return the vial to his master.
He heard Navarre yell angrily from below, “What was Issel doing up there with him?”
“Don’t, Navarre!”
Reality rushed back into Barbarus’s senses, along with a cloud of nausea. These last four months had passed like a dream. He wasn’t a farmhand, working for his keep at a widow’s house. He was a slave, locked to the will of his master.
But soon, maybe, he would be free. He had not allowed himself to think past that hope. It frightened him, that yawning blackness where his destiny stood like a hunched man in shadows.
“He doesn’t belong here!” Navarre’s voice sounded closer.
Barbarus heard Navarre’s heavy step on the ladder and scurried to the far side of the roof. He scrambled over the edge with ease. His claws sank into the wood, and he quickly leaped to the ground.
He ran around the chicken hutch, across the farm, and into the field toward the woods. He glanced back to see Navarre on the roof, fists clenched, searching for him.
Barbarus entered the forest and vanished from their lives.
Chapter Twenty-five
A Good Life
Barbarus paused to catch his breath, leaning against a young paper birch growing out of a hillock. He peeled off great ribbons of its bark, wishing he could just as easily strip away the pain inside of him.
He forced himself to limp onward, finding every step that took him farther from the farm hurt him more. There had not been any time even to say good-bye. Barbarus felt he was leaving a separate life behind. A good life.
But now he had the essence of love. Its heat still warmed his skin. It was the last ingredient the Willow Woman needed to make her spell. Maybe he would finally be free. He headed toward the White Tower with hope in his heart.
Barbarus started down the incline, and suddenly his master’s creature leaped in front of him—the large one he’d seen created at the mountain pool. Barbarus hissed a breath and threw himself to the left, sliding in the loose dirt and leaves. He crouched, curling his palms, claws ready.