by Caris Roane
She made her way slowly upstairs to her studio and crossed to look out the window. On the other side of the street, Margetta’s spy leaned against the opposing brick wall, puffing away on a cigarette with a pile of butts scattered around her feet.
Night had fallen.
She glanced back at Quinlan. “Didn’t you used to smoke?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I remember you always had a cigarette in your hand. Our friend down there smokes like crazy.”
“Gave it up. My doneuses didn’t like it so they ganged up on me about it.”
She laughed, then took in the absurd shirt and went to her closet. She pulled out the long-sleeved, black ribbed tee she’d chosen earlier from the stockpile the free-clinic kept on hand, and which she knew would fit him, then tossed it his direction. “Can’t have you battling with that on.”
He smiled and shrugged out of his shirt.
Rather than watch him disrobe and endure temptation all over again, Batya went back to the window to stare down at the spy once more. She worked to assimilate all these new, extraordinary things, from Lorelei’s strange DNA, to her immense power, and finally to the horror of the woman’s parentage.
“Monuments should be built in honor of women like Genevieve.”
Quinlan joined her by the window. “I couldn’t agree more.”
“She gave up her life for Lorelei.”
Quinlan sighed heavily.
“What are you thinking?” She looked up at him, his scowl as dark as she’d ever seen it.
“That my life has been very small.”
She snorted. “You’ve served Grochaire for how many centuries, without question? No, your life hasn’t been small, Quinlan, and you lay it down every damn night.”
“It doesn’t feel that way, not with the Invictus still operating in each of the realms. I should have done more, found a way to get rid of them once and for all.”
She thought he expected too much of himself and would have said so, but Davido arrived holding Lorelei’s hand.
“Lorelei thinks she knows where she can go next, a place she’s been trying to find for a long time, where Margetta won’t be able to touch her. Tell them.”
“Ferrenden Peace. I believe it lies on the border between Grochaire Realm and Walvashorr.”
Batya shook her head. “But that’s a place from childhood fables. It doesn’t exist. Tell her, papa.”
Davido shrugged. “I have reason to believe it might and that it’s been hidden behind an impenetrable wall of enthrallment, similar to your own, for a millennia. You can’t even see it on the maps, the enthrallment is that good. Just remember that most myths have some basis in fact, in history.”
Batya’s lips curved. “And did you once visit this fabled place, papa, in a previous millennia, perhaps?”
“Shrewd, very shrewd, daughter, but I’m not saying.”
Everyone tried to find out Davido’s true age, but he’d worked hard to keep it a secret. Batya thought it possible that not even Vojalie knew just how old he was or even half of the things he’d experienced over the course of his long life.
Quinlan, now looking magnificent in the snug tee despite the too-short pants, drew close to Batya and touched the back of her arm. She thought she understood. They both felt it, the need to do this thing. Yet she knew he wished himself anywhere but here and she hated the thought of going back into the Nine Realms.
But here she was with a mastyr touching her supportively, her father’s eyes expectant and glowing, and Lorelei struggling to control her emotions.
“We can get you there,” Batya said.
Had she really spoken the words aloud, committing herself to this path? And what would it mean that she’d be traveling with Quinlan for who knew how long?
Lorelei’s eyes brightened. “You can?”
“We can,” Quinlan added, his voice rumbling around her studio, taking command of the space. “I just wish we had a map.”
Davido snapped his fingers. “I’ll be right back.” He moved on quick troll feet, running from the room and down the stairs. Trolls had active, expressive feet.
Batya waited, her heart thudding in her chest. Was this to be her future, a journey with Quinlan, a vampire she’d been trying to get rid of for two months? He still held the back of her arm, his thumb rubbing up and down, more comforting than seductive, for once.
She might even have thanked him for his support, but Davido’s steps sounded up the stairs once more and he all but ran into the room. He carried his satchel, a worn leather case to which he was profoundly attached and which none of his children had been able to replace despite multiple attempts.
“I have the most beautiful and the most visionary of wives.” He lifted the side flap, pulling out an oversized, yellowed map. “She said I’d need this. It’s very old and covers Grochaire and Walvashorr Realms, just the two. What do you think of that?”
“Vojalie has always amazed me.”
* * * * * * * * *
Quinlan released Batya’s arm and reached for the parchment-like paper. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this one.”
“Probably not. I had to search the storeroom of my library. It took me a full day before I found it, Vojalie having been exceedingly specific about which one to bring with me.”
Quinlan’s biceps flexed as he carefully unfolded the ancient document. He made his way to Batya’s worktable, situated midway between the east wall and the foot of her bed.
Glancing over his shoulder at her, he waved a hand at the table. “Is the surface clean? I know you do a lot of your art here.”
Batya frowned at him slightly, though he wasn’t sure why. “Yes. Very clean.”
“What is it? Did I offend you by asking?”
She shook her head. “No. It’s just that, I’ve never seen you like this before. So … engaged.”
He felt torn. He might have asked what she meant, but the map carried a vibration and he wanted to find out if he could actually locate the fabled Ferrenden Peace.
He had several hundred maps of Grochaire, made throughout the ages. He’d followed many of them through his realm over the centuries, climbing down hillsides that weren’t supposed to be here or there. He’d found an old copper mine and later had it refitted and made safe.
Of course, other dark memories surfaced, that even as a child he would leave his house for days at a just to escape his father’s brutality. But the hours he spent exploring Grochaire had helped make him the man he was today.
He loved maps and he loved his land.
He spread it out and asked Batya if she had something that might hold down each of the corners.
She returned with four pewter dragons, making quick work of securing the map to the table.
He leaned over it, smoothing his hands slowly across Grochaire as though bringing forth his physical memory of the contours of the land. He began at the ocean in the west, Maris Sol, to the sloping plain in the center and the Mountains of Ashur that bordered the access point to Walvashorr Realm.
A strange vibration met his palm when he covered the northeast area of Grochaire, which then ceased when he moved to the Walvashorr side. He repeated the process. His heart hammered in his chest because he knew that a section of Grochaire, his home realm, had been kept hidden from him his entire life.
“What is it?” Batya asked.
But Lorelei responded. “The enthrallment is there, at the point where Mastyr Quinlan slows the movement of his hand. I can feel it.”
“I, as well,” Davido added.
They all drew close, heads bent over the table, staring down at the map. Each pressed fingers over the area above the access point. Batya gasped. “The vibration is so strong.”
“Yes, that’s Ferrenden Peace and I know that Margetta wouldn’t be able to reach me there. I would be safe, for once, behind that level of enthrallment.”
Quinlan glanced at Lorelei, who now stood next to him. Her entire being radiated something he couldn�
�t place at first, then finally realized that the woman felt hopeful, something she must not have experienced for a very long time. For that reason alone, he knew he had to accept this challenge. If only he could actually see the location on the map.
Batya stood opposite him, her long fingers continuing to drift over the hidden space. He glanced up at her. “You have similar enthrallment powers. What do you suggest? Is there a way we can break through and look at the terrain here?”
Davido drew close. “I think I know how it might be done.”
Still leaning over the table, unwilling to move away from the map even a couple of inches, Quinlan shifted his gaze to the left and met the troll’s glowing eyes. “How? Tell me. Whatever is it, I’ll do it.”
“Good.” He even smiled. “I’ve always liked your spirit Quinlan. Always. Just thought you had too broad an eye for the ladies.”
Quinlan’s lips quirked.
At the same time, he picked up Batya’s hand and laid it over Quinlan’s. “This is the way. You touched my daughter’s arm earlier, and I felt her power increase, not just doubling as might be expected, but a real flare of her fae ability. Didn’t you feel it, either of you?”
Batya shook her head. “I was comforted, but I didn’t notice a shift in my power.”
Davido frowned, the three ridges of his forehead rippling slightly. “Odd. Well, perhaps it was because of your enthrallment shield.”
“I saw the shield flare and brighten with a red hue,” Lorelei offered.
“That’s it,” Davido said, lifting a finger in emphasis. He shifted back-and-forth sideways on his feet several times, a trollish sign of his excitement over what was happening.
Quinlan met Batya’s gaze and for a split-second, because her hand touched his, all he felt was his need for her, a surprising response in the middle of staring at a map and trying to uncover a millennia-old mystery. But desire was what he felt, a hunger for what came from her neck and what he’d been pursuing for weeks now.
Was there more to his pursuit of her than he understood?
Her breathing hitched and her chest rose and fell.
He blinked, forcing his thoughts and his needs away. He focused instead on their joined hands. Taking her fingers in a light clasp, he lifted them above the map.
“Do your enthrallment thing here.”
She nodded. He felt her focus hard on the map and on their joined hands. He saw the reddish hue light up the shield around the property, just as Lorelei had said, but all he felt from Batya was a soft humming sensation against his skin where their hands met.
But it was Lorelei who directed them. “Shift your hands to the right no more than an inch.” He moved their joined hands slightly.
“There,” Davido cried out. “I can see more of Grochaire. It’s working.”
“How do we sustain it,” Batya asked, “so that we can all see?”
Davido tapped the top of Quinlan’s hand. “I think your devotion to Grochaire might just do the trick. Use your other hand and caress the map, in the same way you’ve been doing, but while you do it have Batya cover that hand as well.”
Quinlan didn’t question the troll’s suggestion. The Nine Realms had thousands of forms of magic, one of the things he loved about his world, one of the mysteries, something that changed with each succeeding generation.
When Batya covered his left hand with her right palm, he felt a cool vibration travel up his wrist, all the way up his arm to his shoulder. He focused on the map and in slow circles pressed his fingers over the newly created area. He could see the land unfolding before his eyes, the symbols for mountains, for streams, for caves, everything. The names stunned him, however, because they could be found in the age-old children’s tales of the Nine Realms: the Great River Caverns of Pickerne, Gem Meadow, the Dead Forest that continued through the Pleach Mountains, and the Snowfields of Rayne. All on this map.
At the same time, he worked their joined hands east, pushing toward Walvashorr in small increments, until at last an entirely new section of map emerged, a bordered space called, of course, Ferrenden Peace.
Davido offered, “Vojalie said that once the location has been revealed, that you should contact Mastyr Seth.”
Quinlan turned toward Davido. “Then you knew Ferrenden Peace would be revealed in this way?” His temper shot up a couple of notches as Davido shrugged. “Anything else, old man? Anything else you’ve got in your satchel or any other words from Vojalie-the-wise? Any more instructions? Should we call on the eastern mastyrs and involve them as well?”
“No need to get snippy, Mastyr Quinlan. I do as I’m bid and part of that means holding back until the moment is ripe.”
Quinlan lost the rest of his patience. He lifted a brow, crossed his arms over his chest and waited.
“Oh, very well. Here is what my beloved wife told me. I’m sure she wouldn’t object, especially if she knew her dearest husband was being threatened by a powerful vampire.”
These taunting words slid right over Quinlan’s thick skin. “Spill, troll, or I’m likely to turn you upside down.”
At that, Davido, rather than being offended, laughed heartily. “I have not been troll-turned in a donkey’s age. Ah well, but I can see your nostrils are flaring now.” He glanced at Batya and Lorelei. “You must each pack several changes of clothing, sturdy footwear, and of course a toothbrush. Vojalie was not certain how long the journey would take.”
Batya’s brows rose. “These are very specific instructions.”
“She also said you weren’t to worry about warm clothing, that what you needed would be amply provided along the way.”
“Warm clothing?” At that, Quinlan turned to the map again and once more caressed the new section. A new reality emerged, “Sweet Goddess, will you look at that.”
“What?” three voices intoned.
“Do you see this section of the mountains?”
“Yes?” Three voices again.
“Two hundred years ago, I built a stronghold right here, right at the edge of the hidden section. Some part of me must have known.”
“Did you feel a connection to the place?” Batya asked.
He met her gaze. “Only that I thought it rugged and magnificent.” He glanced down at the map once more. “Holy shit.”
Again, three voices, cried out. “What?”
He met and held Batya’s gaze. “Your paintings, the ones you won’t sell, I think you laid out the entire journey for us.”
* * * * * * * * *
Batya’s flowered canvas satchel rested beside her right foot on the solid wood planks of her gallery floor. She stared at all four paintings and knew Quinlan had called it right. Each subject indicated some aspect of the places they’d have to go through to get to Ferrenden Peace. Traveling through the air, a meadow, a forest, and finally dense snowfields.
In the space of forty-eight hours, she’d gone from artist, gallery owner, and clinic healer to an adventurer trying to save a fellow realm-woman from enslavement, on a journey she’d painted years ago. Incredible.
Very realm.
Lorelei drew close and took Batya’s hand. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
She met her friend’s gaze, then smiled. “This is the right path.”
“And you’re happy about it?”
At that, Batya laughed, pivoting toward Lorelei. “Hell, no, but it’s still the right path.”
Lorelei’s eyes grew bright in the way that Davido’s did quite often. Still holding Batya’s hand, she gave her fingers a squeeze. “Then, thank you.” She swallowed hard and drew in a deep breath. “But there’s something else you should know.”
“Oh, sweet Goddess, there’s more?”
Quinlan, having reached the bottom of the stairs and still barefoot, called out, “Are you two ready?”
“Almost.” Batya stepped back so that he could see them both. “Apparently, Lorelei needs to share one more bit of news with us.”
Quinlan’s brows grew together in a tight,
concerned frown, a familiar look for him. “What now?”
Davido moved up beside Quinlan. “It’s probably about Margetta. Vojalie said we’d get one more surprise. Tell us, child.”
“My mother will be here in a few minutes and she’s bringing a powerful wind with her, as well as a few chosen wraith-pairs.”
Batya turned to stare at her. “But how do you know that? A vision?”
“It’s a mother-daughter thing, part of the reason she wants me under her control. I can, to a small degree, predict her movements.”
Quinlan hurried toward them. “Then we’d better go.”
Davido joined them, leaning up to kiss Batya on the cheek. “Farewell, daughter. We part here. I must return to Vojalie. We have a strict agreement about the first year of a child’s life.”
“I know. I love you, papa.”
“And I you, my most precious, most beloved offspring.”
“Hug Bernice for me.”
“Of course I will.” His gaze moved past her. “But I fear your visitor has arrived.”
Batya glanced at the plate glass window and saw that a red wind flowed down the street. Margetta had arrived in a glow of golden light accompanied by a formidable array of wraith-pairs. She hovered beyond the window ready to attack surrounded by a thin enthrallment shield of her own making, which would in turn keep her Invictus brigade invisible to human eyes. The original mastyr vampire wraith-pairs flanked her.
She would have moved into action, but Davido gripped her elbow gently and pathed, “Give Quinlan a chance. There’s a mystery here with him that you must pursue and don’t be afraid of Grochaire. But above all, remember the breadth of your heritage, that you are both troll and fae.
Before she could say anything more, her father vanished. He rarely did that, which sent a shiver through Batya. Davido had so much power, which he kept hidden from everyone and rarely used. That he could get past her shield as well as the ancient fae still stunned her. She might have asked for his assistance, but Davido had come only to support her. She knew his realm philosophies well, that each must face up to his own challenges.
Batya must deal with the ancient fae, now also known to be part wraith.
The next second, the new plate glass shattered and the high shrieking sound of Invictus wraiths punched through the air. At the same time a severe wind blew into the gallery, through her enthrallment shield, gathering up all the paintings and easels and carrying them past Batya, Quinlan, and Lorelei.