by Jan Delima
A rolling series of twerps announced the approach of a winter wren, the piercing sound more amplified in their closed space. Cormack jumped at the unexpected noise, then frowned when Ms. Hafwen swooped over his head and landed on Elen’s shoulder. She had the impact of a falcon hunting its prey; a miniature harpy, if there ever was one.
Elen straightened her spine and lifted her chin; if she was to stand before him with a bird on her shoulder, she might as well do it with confidence. When otherworldly tingles touched her cheek, she was relieved; Cormack was to be one of the trusted few to know her tutor’s true form. She felt slight tugs of her hair as Ms. Hafwen shifted and then stood in all her dragonfly-winged glory.
“A pixie,” he whispered in reverence.
Of course he would know what form of Fae she was, when even Elen had mistaken her for a faery upon their first meeting. “Ms. Hafwen, this is Cormack.” She tilted her head slightly so as not to squish her tutor. “Cormack, Ms. Hafwen.”
A look of panic crossed his features, or perhaps indecision. Abruptly, he unsheathed his sword, placed it point down and hilt forward—and then kneeled.
* * *
Wasn’t there a vow he was supposed to say? Siân, his eldest sister, had recited it often enough. Cormack kept his gaze lowered to the hay-strewn floor and tried to remember the blessed thing. Something about trust, honor and kept secrets . . .
“I will honor your trust by keeping the secret of your existence safe from . . .” He paused, scrounging his brain. Safe from what? Mortals? Guardians? Humans? He went with, “Harm.” He hoped it was close enough.
The pixie twittered. “Was that supposed to be some sort of fealty?” Like a wren, her voice carried strong and sharp. Was she connected to her animal, he wondered, as they were to the instincts of their wolves? Comparable traits made him believe so, and for a tiny creature to emit such a mighty sound gave witness to the many marvels of nature. “Lucky for you, young man, I am not royalty. You will keep our secret safe from all, but harm was a noble attempt. I choose who knows of my existence, do you understand?”
He understood that the Fae enacted vengeance in creative ways, if the stories were to be believed. And that she must be ancient to consider him young, since he was more than four hundred years old. “I won’t betray you.”
“Do not disappoint me! Now, you may stand in my presence, or sit, or do whatever suits your comfort.” Ms. Hafwen added, “Within respectable reason, of course. I am not a monarch. There are quite enough of them already in the Faery High Courts. I am, however, an advisor at both the Summer and Winter Courts, and now Elen’s tutor.”
He chose to stand, sheathing his sword after straightening to his full height. “I’ve never seen your kind.”
“Well, now you have. So there’s no need for you to look all gobsmacked over it.” The pixie rearranged herself within the curtain of Elen’s hair, poking out a regal head with dark curls tucked under a golden coronet.
Gobsmacked? He wasn’t sure what that meant but cleared his expression just to be safe. The crown challenged her claim about not being royalty. For all he knew, court advisors held prestigious positions among the Fae, and by her bearing alone, he suspected they did. “My sister told me stories, but I never thought they were real.”
Siân could have filled a library with tales about the Otherworld, or Annwfn in the language of their ancestors. There were many names for the Land of Faery, where the fair folk lived and the Fae reigned over seasonal courts. A place where winged creatures sipped nectar from flowers—and others craved a darker sustenance. The Irish Celts called it Tír na nÓg.
His sisters should have been here to witness this. The futile wish strengthened his resolve. He’d survived the loss of his family, but if something were to happen to Elen . . .
Never. It was a thought too painful to finish, let alone endure its reality.
“Another disbeliever,” the pixie scolded. “And from a man who carries the blood of wolves in his veins. Well, that’s no surprise, I suppose, not with all the preposterous tales the humans have woven about our kind. We are real, but the last gateway between this world and the Land of Faery was destroyed a long time ago. A new one has formed, but it is still very young. Travel will be limited for many years to come . . .” She paused and then amended, “Many centuries to come in your moon phase. Time passes at a gentler pace at home.”
“What Court do you prefer?” Learning of worlds other than this one gave him something to focus on. Plus, curiosity overrode better judgment. “Winter or Summer?”
“Winter, of course. My animal is a winter wren, after all.” She inhaled, and the delicate sound traveled like a whistle on the wind. “I can smell it coming. Can you? When the snow falls, I will stay in my animal form until spring.”
Practical, he thought, doubting that dragonfly wings carried well in cold temperatures. “Is your home as beautiful as the stories say?”
“It is,” Ms. Hafwen said, “but there are certain things I’ve grown to appreciate here as well. Our kind should never have meddled with the lives of humans, but I understand their temptation now and will admit I have become less critical.”
A delicate snort came from Elen.
“You speak of Ceridwen,” Cormack dared to broach. The Celtic Goddess was the creator of the first Guardians, and the reason they, and their offspring, had the blood of wolves in their veins. He was a third generation descendant; his grandfather had been an Original Guardian, beheaded for mating with a human.
Elen hissed at his blasphemy, “Cormack—”
“He has a right to ask,” Ms. Hafwen interceded. “As do you all. Yes, curious wolf, I speak of Ceri the Crone. She has made her own mistakes, to be sure, but not the worst. At least she is remorseful for hers. She has sent me here to help right one of many wrongs.”
“I hope you’re referring to Pendaran.”
“You may be surprised to hear this,” Ms. Hafwen informed him, “but his mind was not always corrupt, nor was the rest of his brethren. They were quite honorable in the beginning. Ceri had a son with a mortal, as you know.”
“I’m aware of Taliesin’s story,” he said.
“If you are referring to that fable the humans have spun, then you know little.” Ms. Hafwen either sneezed or made an indignant sniff, he wasn’t sure which, but if someone were to thump a flute, it might make a comparable sound. “Ceri was betrayed by her apprentice; that part is true enough. And there was a chase, you can be sure of that, but it was far more earthly than magical. It lasted decades in your time, and as these things are bound to do, resulted in a child who resembled his father. They are not one and the same, as your story is told.”
“According to my mother”—Elen offered her own bit of knowledge—“Taliesin was found in a basket on the banks of a river. She said he was barely born.”
“Merin was there,” Ms. Hafwen confirmed. “She would know the truth of it.”
Hearing Elen speak of her mother made him wonder if they’d been in contact since the battle at Avon, where Merin had betrayed Pendaran to save her children. It was a painful subject for Elen, and for good reason, so he reserved his concern for a private time.
For now he had a pixie eager to impart her knowledge, and with the threat of the Guardians lurking, he was keen to know more about their beginnings. “Will you tell us what really happened?”
“Young man, you warm this teacher’s heart with all your questions, but I can share only some of this sad story. Ceridwen, for reasons that are not mine to divulge, was unable to bring Taliesin into our world and was forced to leave him here. In her grief, she destroyed our oldest gateway, but not before assigning guardians for her son. Forty-eight warriors to be exact. She gifted each of them with the knowledge of transformation sealed by the blood of wolves.”
“A dangerous binding.” Elen’s tone extended sympathy without judgment.
“Ind
eed,” Ms. Hafwen agreed. “I have often wondered if Ceri’s anguish seeped into that initial joining. Fear can make a mother do desperate things, and that binding was as powerful as it was dark. In return, they all vowed to raise and guard Taliesin where she could not. They called themselves Gwarchodwyr, ‘Guardian’ in your mother tongue, and they were noble warriors until power that was not meant to be theirs tainted their human souls.”
Cormack had better words to describe their taint. He took more pleasure than he should by pointing out, “Only nine of those Original Guardians remain.” They formed a self-proclaimed governing body and titled themselves the Council of Ceridwen, led by Pendaran in all his putrid flesh and fur. And they hunted, enslaved or killed any descendant born over the last two thousand years who they deemed as unworthy.
Having been born a Bleidd, he was considered the most unworthy of them all.
“Where beings seek power, there will be divisive ways.” Ms. Hafwen’s voice carried the melancholy song of a wren. “I cannot judge, for the Fae are not immune from its lure. The quest for power sullies even our gilded courts.” A hand no larger than a dried pea made a dismissive gesture. “But we’ve wasted enough time discussing the past, when it’s our future that deserves our attention in the present. All that has come must not come again. So be off with you now. I have prepared a lesson for Elen, and she needs to master it before the setting of the sun. Since you’re such a curious wolf, I’m confident you can find the sheets to make your own bed.”
“I can.” Cormack realized he’d just been sufficiently shooed by a pixie. “But if you don’t mind, I’d like to stay and keep watch.”
His gaze lifted to Elen’s and held. Did she have any idea the picture she formed? Standing in a humble barn as hens pecked the floorboards around her feet? Like Ceridwen in that legendary fable; embellished or not, if the Goddess had looked like this in the barn at the end of her chase, it was no surprise a child was conceived.
Like a rare jewel that glimmered more because of her unassuming surroundings, Elen’s hair hung about her shoulders in wild waves with an enchanted creature entangled within. She’d grown more assured over the summer; her gaze still soft, still welcoming—but with less fear now, and more notably, less regret over a gift that was meant to be hers.
Mine, whispered his beast as it rose to make its claim. Bound by the blood of wolves; there was no denying that. In fact, he felt the binding more than others, having lived in the form of his beast for most of his cursed life. He winced as an uncontrolled snarl fell from his lips.
“I do mind,” Ms. Hafwen clipped with finality. “Especially with you about to go all growly on us. You will only serve as a distraction, so you must leave.”
“A run might do you some good,” Elen offered as a gentler rebuke. “I’ll be safe with Ms. Hafwen while you’re gone.”
Pain shot down his spine as his darker half demanded release, forcing an acceptance of the inevitable. “I will check on you in an hour.”
“Cormack,” Elen called just as he turned to leave. “Have you heard news of Taliesin’s whereabouts from Avon? Sophie’s worried where he might have gone, as am I.”
He shook his head. “You were there with us the last time he was seen. He left the day after the battle on Avon’s bridge.” Cormack didn’t blame the poor bastard for wanting to disappear, but he had left Elen’s family to deal with the aftermath of the Guardians’ last assault. In consideration of current company, he kept his opinion to himself. “As far as I know, he hasn’t contacted anyone since.”
Seven
NEWPORT, RHODE ISLAND
AYRES ESTATE
The ocean raged, crashing against the gray rocks of the Rhode Island shoreline, as Taliesin drew closer to the brink of the cliff. The woman who stood on the banks below raised her face to the salted spray and tendrils of her golden hair whipped about her serene profile. She wore casual modern clothes, forced to blend with humans since his last fuckup in Avon. Her jeans tapered into knee-high boots, and a black sweater hugged an undeniable feminine form.
She was on a different shore, in a different country, but Merin belonged near water.
Even here, her melancholy seeped into his bones with more virulence than the frigid Atlantic winds. It didn’t stop him from admiring a Celtic warrior in her element, even if he was the cause of her sadness. A narrow path had been worn into the cliff’s edge, and he followed it to the banks below.
“You are certain that Pendaran isn’t aware of this place?” Merin questioned as he approached.
“You’re safe for the moment.” That was because Pendaran was currently engrossed in pursuits of Elen, but sharing his recent vision would only stir Merin to act, and risk changing the outcome of this evening’s events.
“Then it will do,” she said as any nomad would, “until we move again. The others will arrive in the morning.”
Like her children, Merin protected non-shifting members of her household from the Council. They were called Hen Was, the offspring of the first Guardians, born in their human form and forced to become slaves when they couldn’t summon their wolves. Unlike a Bleidd-born wolf, they’d been allowed to live and serve. The Hen Was in Merin’s ménage had been with her for more than a thousand years. Torn between two worlds, they lived as long as the rest of this afflicted hybrid race. But unable to shift and heal, they wore the scars of their experiences. Humans shunned their mutilations, and Guardians preyed on their disadvantage. When Merin’s betrayal had become known, all twenty-six of them had followed her into hiding.
Not that he faulted their loyalty. As one of the few Guardians who’d offered him compassion in his youth, there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for her. Any moments of normalcy, however brief, he owed to Merin. Reopening his New England estate was a minor infraction to the conventions that tangled his cursed reality.
As a Seer, he was hobbled by visions of a future he couldn’t change without hurting the very people he tried to help. If he meddled with the freewill of humans, the results were never good, as his last interference proved under summer’s first moon.
It was a personal hell. To know, to care and to wait helpless in the shadows of his visions while others bore the weight of his existence. Even Guardians and their offspring were bound by that divine code, a treaty cast from the heavens; their souls were human and their fates as precious and precarious as mortals.
And just as easily damned.
“Why did you do it?” Taliesin needed to know. He could predict futures but not thoughts, and Merin’s had always been strong in both respects. “You could have killed Pendaran, but you let him live because I asked you to. Why?”
A soft sigh fell from her lips. “Can we not forget that encounter?”
“No.” He didn’t have the luxury of forgetting.
“You offered your own life, Taliesin.” Her distressed tone provided an odd comfort. “To stop the violence, you were willing to die.”
“So?” After days without sleep, when images of savagery—past, present and future—flooded his mind with ruthless potency, he was still willing. Like his ill-assigned protectors, he wasn’t completely immortal to this world. Or so he bloody well hoped. He’d yet to have his head or vital organs removed to test the theory, however. “Would it matter to you if I did?”
“You insult me with such a question,” she hissed as concern turned to anger. “And yourself for asking it.” Her voice carried the weight of burdens that belonged to him. “I promised to keep you safe, and to foster you as if you were my own blood. What do you think would happen if I allowed you to die for us?”
“You believed my mother would retaliate?”
“Of course!” She turned her sharp gaze on him with undeniable certainty. “I would.”
Ah, it was no wonder why Ceridwen favored this woman, as did he. “Well, I’m fine, as you can see.”
“Our lives are a gift,” she co
ntinued, ignoring his attempt to ease her conscience. “Our wolves, our longevity . . . it was all given to us to protect you. A gift can just as easily be taken away. Then everything I’ve done, all those years I’ve allowed my children to believe I rejected them, all those years I followed Pendaran’s orders . . . it would all be for naught.”
She paused on a broken breath, a rare show of weakness from a warrior who never faltered from her chosen path. “I shunned my sons and tortured my daughter. And now, when I look at them, I only see hatred in their eyes.” She made a quick sweep of her cheeks, shaking her head. “No, my sacrifice has been too great to have it all end with you. And if that’s selfish, then so be it. I’ve earned the right to a bit of selfishness.”
He hadn’t thought his list of regrets could grow any longer. Leave it to Merin to prove him wrong. “Even if you had killed Pendaran, there are other Council members all too eager to take his seat,” he pointed out. “And your children will forgive you.” Merin wasn’t aware of this, but that forgiveness had already begun, now that they knew her actions had been a ruse to keep them away from Pendaran and his Council, along with the many descendants who could shift and followed the Guardians’ creed. “And Elen will learn who ordered that torture.”
There’d been a time when the Guardians, bloodthirsty pricks that they were, had used fear and pain to trigger the change, until all attempts had proved unsuccessful. Even for Elen.
Merin’s head tilted with interest, too sharp to miss his unfiltered comment. “What do you know that you’re not telling me?”
“I’ve told you enough,” he clipped, angry with himself.
“Have you spoken with Pendaran? A meeting has nothing to do with your Sight,” she pressed. “At the very least, you can share that.”
“No.” When she frowned, he elaborated, “I haven’t met with him.”
“Sin,” she chastised. “You told him you would. To put him off will only make him focus more on my children.”