by Karlik, Mary
The brisk bite of the water sent flesh bumps rippling across her skin as she splayed her wings and floated on her back. When she reached the center of the pond, she ducked under. The water massaged her head as it made its way through her mass of curls to her scalp. Her wings struggled to float, but she held them down and kept her body submerged. It wasn’t the first time she’d been underwater, to be sure. But never had she felt such peace below the surface of the world.
Had a wee bit of the magic made it past her bracelet after all?
When her lungs begged for air, she floated to the top and popped her head above the water. As she swiped her face dry, a flash of movement in the trees caught her eye. It could have been the fox.
But somehow she knew it wasn’t.
Chapter Two
No. Not her. Not today.
Layla touched the protection bracelet, but it was useless. She had learned long ago that her tormentor didn’t need to use magic to dish her cruelty.
“Well looky, looky who I found muddying our pond.” Her cousin Kenna flew from the trees toward the bank, wielding a long branch like an oversized divining rod. She poked it into Layla’s things as if she were afraid of what she’d find. “You know this pond is for fey.”
“I’m fey, just as you.” But honestly, even Layla didn’t believe the words she spoke.
“As me? Then, come on, give us a demonstration. Show me your magic.” Kenna snagged Layla’s dress with the tip of the branch and pulled it from beneath the sword.
“What happened to the fête? Bored tormenting small children?” Keeping her eyes trained on the dress, Layla moved through the water toward her cousin. She went from neck deep, to waist deep, to knee deep. When she was knee deep, laughter from the forest cracked through the air and across the water, swathing her in shame.
The mesh of two species that she’d hidden beneath her clothes was now exposed—legs too long for her torso, wings attached too high on her back.
Kenna waved the branch above her head with Layla’s dress dangling from the end like a signal flag. “Come out, come out, my friends. Time to clean up the trash in our water.”
Kenna’s mukkers flew from the trees toward the shore.
Hiding as much of her body as she could with her hands, Layla eyed her weapons. If she could reach them, she’d end this. Not that she’d harm the fairies, but if she got close enough for the metal to sicken them, she could make her escape.
But the fairies formed a circle around her and no matter in which direction she flew, they blocked her—trapped, with no choice but to hover, naked, in the center of their circle.
Oh, how she wished she had magic. Magic to cover herself. Magic to send them far away. But she didn’t and they gawked at her imperfections. Her only defense was her pride, so she set her jaw and held her head high, determined they would not see the crushing humiliation their stares brought.
Freya, no stranger to cruel barbs despite what her wide-eyed expression suggested, flew above her, and pointed to the scar that stretched from her right wing to her spine. “How can you even fly?”
When Layla was a wee bairn, a muscle had been reconfigured to enable her deformed wing to work. It had taken forever to learn to fly. Her mother had been told it was doubtful that she ever would, but Layla had never been good at meeting others’ expectations. Once she learned, she found she was wicked fast, but short on stamina.
Layla spun to face Freya. “Give way and I’ll show you how I can fly.”
The lass squealed with her knees drawn up and her hands in front of her face as if for protection.
Kenna shook her head and asked the question in Layla’s own mind. “What are you afraid of, Freya? She won’t harm you.” But Kenna took it one step farther. “She’s a mutant without magic.”
Fergus scooped a handful of mud from the bank and slung it at Layla. “Cover yourself, freak.”
It stung as it splattered across her upper body. Globs of pebbles held together by the sludge from the shore spanked her bare skin as the others joined in. She twirled to avoid the attack, but the pelts came from every direction, knocking the breath from her. Her pulse raced and her chest went into deep rasping spasms as her lungs worked to draw air. But that didn’t stop her assailants—not until she was coated in rust-colored muck.
When at last the torture ended, she lunged for her dress, still throbbing from the attack. But her wet wings slowed her and Kenna flew the branch out of reach.
Layla swiped for it again. “Give me my dress.”
“Or what? You don’t have enough magic to stop me.” Kenna cocked her head and her lips snaked into a sneer. “You want your dress, then go after it.” She thrust the branch into the water like a spear.
Mud and gravel dripped from Layla’s naked body as she watched green magic dance along the wood, driving her dress to the bottom of the pond. She dove after it and found her dress rippling in the water like a sea creature desperate to escape the branch that had nailed it into the basin of the pond. Layla pulled on the stake, but was too buoyant move it. Even with her wings held tight against her body, she floated toward the top as she tried to work the branch free.
When she ran out of air, she shot to the surface to refill her lungs. Someone yelled, “Go home, freak,” as she gulped a deep breath, dove back to her dress, and tugged again. The branch didn’t move, but this time her knee scraped against a granite ledge and sparked an idea. She wedged her calves beneath the ledge and grasped the base of the branch with both hands. She pumped her wings for extra power and twisted and pulled until at last the spear released its catch.
Once her dress was free, she wiggled into it, but hesitated before resurfacing. This was a moment of respite from their torture. Underwater she couldn’t hear their cruel laughter or see their leers. But her lungs’ need for air was stronger than her desire for peace and she floated to the top. As soon as her head broke the surface, insults were slung at her.
“Freak.”
“Half-caste.”
And then Kenna started to chant the word as ugly as the two species that had been meshed together to create her. “Fuman.”
As the group joined Kenna’s chant, they grew louder and more vicious, driving the word deep into Layla’s soul. Tears stung the backs of her eyes and a tremor of sobs threatened to erupt as she surveyed the fey suspended in the air. Their faces were distorted into expressions as vile the word they spat. And then her heart squeezed so tightly she couldn’t breathe. To the right of Kenna, just behind Freya, and almost hidden behind Robbie was Isla.
And peeking from behind Isla was Esme.
“Esme?” The word slid from her lips with all the weight of the hurt she felt in her soul.
The chanting stopped when Layla spoke her sister’s name. The line of fairies parted like a curtain, with Esme center stage.
Esme turned her head away from Layla as she flew back from the others.
Layla studied her sister in the midst of cruel faces. Hurt, confusion, and disbelief churned in her chest, battering the blood borne bond between sisters. “Are you really a part of this?”
Esme bit her lip and remained silent.
Kenna flipped her left wingtip at Layla. “She’s one of us now.”
Robbie flew to Esme’s side. “Tell us, Es. What of your sister?”
She looked at Robbie and back at Layla. Her eyes held uncertainty, and for half a breath, Layla thought her sister might be sorry for what they were doing. Then, cruel words shot from her lips straight to Layla’s soul.
“She’s a—a fuman.”
Layla’s heart recoiled deep as it shattered into a million pieces. Anguish shot to every corner of her essence. Her world slipped away. She was drowning in her sister’s betrayal. The one she’d spent her life caring for, loving, and protecting was now her tormenter. “Congratulations, Esme. You’ve found your way.” Hurt bound her chest so tightly she barely got the words out.
Fighting tears and unable to look at her sister, Layla shifted her gaze
to her boots and weapons scattered along the beach. “I’ll get my things and leave the pond to you.”
But Kenna wouldn’t let her pass. Her cousin blocked every move Layla made toward the shore. When Layla stopped, Kenna did too.
Her cousin hovered in front of her wearing a smug expression that said she’d won. And she had. She’d turned Esme against the half-caste member of the family. Kenna glowed with victory.
And that glow dug deep into Layla, turning the agony of Esme’s rejection into rage.
Layla knocked her cousin sideways as she shot past her. In a single pass she seized the hilts of her sword and sgian-dubh. All the pain and anger she had held inside erupted from her with a banshee’s wail as she charged Kenna, her knife and sword at the ready.
Kenna screamed and fled to the trees.
Layla followed, out of her head with grief and fury. The tip of her sword grazed the bottom of Kenna’s shoe.
Her cousin squealed and flew to the next tree. “Esme, call back your pet!”
“Layla, stop!”
The fear in her sister’s voice made its way through the madness in her mind. Layla lowered her weapons and flew close to Kenna’s face. “You. You aren’t worth my trouble.” She backed out of the trees and landed on the grassy beach.
Esme’s wings shuttered as she moved to the granite ledge on the far side of the pond, away from Layla. “You could have killed her.”
“You know I wouldn’t have.” Layla pulled on her boots. “Remember who you are, Esme. Is this who you want to become?”
Kenna landed near Layla. “The Council will hear about this.”
Layla ignored her cousin and settled her weapons on her body.
Kenna moved closer and her skin grayed from nearness of Layla’s metal weapons. “You attacked me. We all saw it.”
“A half-caste fey with no magic?” Layla widened her eyes, but was fairly sure her cousin missed that she was being mocked. “You compliment me, Kenna.”
“You aren’t allowed here.” Kenna looked as if she might stomp her foot. “You swam in our water. You poisoned it.”
“There’s no law that says I can’t swim here. It’s only stupid prejudice that says so.” She stared at her sister and back at Kenna. “The only person poisoning anything is you.”
Kenna tipped her chin to Esme. “Choose. Us or your half-caste sister.”
Esme fluttered above the water and glared at Kenna, then Layla, and back at Kenna.
Layla could almost see the tug of war in her sister’s mind. Esme had argued that she was grown up and deserved the freedom to make her own decisions. Now, she had a big one to make. Layla’s muscles tensed as she prayed Esme would make the right choice.
Robbie flew next to Esme and took her hand. “Stay with me.”
Esme pulled away and faced Isla. “Let’s go back to the fête.”
Layla relaxed a bit. It was no victory, but at least her sister hadn’t chosen to remain with Kenna.
Robbie smirked at Esme. “Your loss, lass.”
Esme pierced the lad with cold, hard eyes. “One I’m grateful for, to be sure.” Then she flew next to Layla. Her face was so taut with anger her lips barely opened enough for her to speak. “I didn’t throw mud at you, but I didn’t stop it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what they did. I’m sorry for what I said.”
Layla reached out to her sister. “It’s okay.”
Esme backed away. “You’re smothering me.” Her face softened. “We’ll talk tomorrow.” And then, she turned and flew with Isla away from the pond.
Layla held her breath as she watched her sister leave. Esme was grown, or almost, and things had to change. And they would talk tomorrow.
But today, she couldn’t deny the emptiness she felt to the core of her half-caste soul.
Without so much as a casual glance over her wing at the fairies who had tortured her, Layla left the pond and flew north, up the side of the glen. As the trees grew thicker and the air seemed thinner, she shifted human size and ran through the forest, relishing the feel of her feet connecting with the ground and the symphony they created as dried leaves were crushed beneath her footfall. As the hill steepened and the alder trees gave way to pines and critheann trees, she slowed her pace to maneuver between rocks, over bracken, and under low-hanging branches.
When she reached her special place, she stopped and inhaled, drawing in deeply the scent of pine. “I should have skipped the pond and come here straight away.”
Among the thick evergreens, Layla didn’t worry about dragons, or the village, or her lack of magic. This was where she connected to the earth. This was her quiet place. Here in St. George’s forest was where she restored her essence, her brìgh, her soul.
She stood in the center of four critheann trees, touched each of their smooth white trunks, and stretched her neck up to see their quivering leaves. “How are you doing today, Ladies of the Forest?”
The leaves rustled in the wind like a whisper from the gods, welcoming her. She leaned against one of the trees and allowed the warmth from the wood to seep into her body and soothe her battered soul. The heaviness she’d felt in her chest eased as she released the shards of her sister’s words from her heart.
Esme was right; she was smothering her and she had a serious dragon phobia. But how was she to know the dragon hadn’t been real? The glamour had made it look real enough. Whose idea had it been to reenact the darkest day of fey history, anyway? Her parents hadn’t been the only ones killed. Hundreds of fey had perished in the jaws of the dragon Fauth.
Layla slid down the trunk to the grass and stretched out her legs in front of her. Tomorrow she’d encourage her sister to move to the center of the village. Esme was a young full-blood fey and should take part in clan culture. Her sister deserved more than the isolation that Layla had to offer.
She watched the leaves at the top of the four Ladies shimmer like wind chimes. “How does that sound? I’ll tell Esme as soon as I see her. And there won’t be any hard feelings.”
A distant wind rippled leaves as it moved toward her, bringing a crisp chill to her cheeks. Covering her shoulders with her wings, she scanned the gray clouds that hid the sun. “Aye, maybe a few hard feelings, but forgiveness will come for both of us.”
A second gust rode on the tail of the first. This one was harsher, colder, and carried a faint cry with it.
Layla sat up. Was it a trick of the forest or was it real?
It sounded again. This time it was louder and more desperate. This time it was familiar.
It can’t be. She was returning to the fête.
Again, she heard it and she knew.
Esme was in trouble.
Layla’s pulse surged through her body as she scrambled to her feet and raced through the forest. Weaving wildly between the trees, she pulled her bow from her shoulder and nocked an arrow.
To her left, movement in the canopy of the forest caught her eye. Esme and Isla were fleeing something, but what it was, she could not see. She altered her direction, and a wall of wind hit her so hard and fast she stumbled. Mournful, desperate wails echoed around her as if the souls of the lost and abandoned were held captive in the air. The anguish in their howls drove straight to her essence.
The bracelet hummed on her wrist as it sent protective vibrations into the atmosphere settling the cries. It’s magic in the wind, nothing more. Gulping a deep breath, she plunged harder into the gale.
Esme and Isla scrambled to the high branches above her. Esme cried out, “Layla, run!”
And then, as if a window had closed, a dead calm filled the air and with it came an ominous sensation, as if it were heralding something cold, empty, and evil. Layla stopped and turned in all directions, searching for the source of the presence.
A gray horse broke from a copse of trees. Black fog swirled at the creature’s feet. Mounted on it was a figure wearing a brown monk’s robe with the hood pulled forward so that its face was shadowed.
Wickedness emanated from the man on
the horse as he slowly and deliberately leveled a nocked arrow at Layla’s chest. For two heartbeats she couldn’t breathe.
Then he tipped his bow higher—to the trees.
Layla screamed, “Fly!”
But Esme and Isla didn’t fly. They hovered as if frozen in mid-air.
He released the arrow.
Completely helpless to stop it, Layla held her breath as she tracked it into the sky. It arched above Isla and Esme and Layla blew out a heavy sigh. He’d missed.
But, as quickly as that thought raced across her brain, a net exploded from the tip of the arrow. Layla fey-sized and flew toward them. But it was if she were flying through molasses and everything was happening in agonizing slow motion.
The net spread wide above the fairies. Still, they didn’t try to flee. Esme looked up and shrieked, and as the net fell upon them, Isla curled into a ball and covered her face with her wings.
Layla forced every ounce of her energy into her muscles, but couldn’t reach them before the net tightened around their bodies. From the pit of her stomach she bellowed, “Use your magic.” Then, she realized the net had to be at least partly iron. Their magic was useless.
She neared, almost close enough to touch the net. Her head spun as her mind struggled to reconcile what was happening. Isla remained curled with her face hidden. Esme knelt with her hands wrapped around the ropes of the net. Her face was contorted in terror, her mouth wide open in a silent scream.
Powering forward, Layla lunged for the net just as the hooded man gave the line a jerk. Then he reeled it in, crashing the fairies through the leaves from one branch to the next.
Layla chased them like a helpless kitten after a string. Before she could reach them, the horseman gave a final tug, snapping the net to him. He slung Isla and Esme over his back like a bag of fruit, casually patted the side of his horse’s neck, and cantered back into the trees.
Disbelief rattled through Layla. This cannot be happening. But it was. Esme and Isla had been taken and it was up to her to save them.