The Iron Locket (The Risen King)

by Samantha Warren

  "The lad is right. No sense in standing around." Deklen had emerged from the tunnel, his army being the last to go through. "You and your men stay with me until you get a handle on how faeries fight. It's not quite the same as your weak human battles."

  Arthur tossed him a sidelong glance, mentally warring with himself over whether to take affront at the comment or brush it off. He chose the latter, not wanting to make enemies with his only allies in this strange land. He drew Excalibur from its sheath attached to his saddle. The gems on its hilt shone brightly in the midday sun. He raised the blade high over his head and the noise around him dimmed to mere whispers.

  Turning his horse around to face the throng of bodies behind him, he addressed the armies, hoping his voice would carry enough to be heard by at least half of them. "Down below us lies a fierce battle, one beyond anything many of you have ever seen. Do not fear. For while the enemy may be strong, we have fate on our side, and she will not abandon us. The vile witch Leanansidhe has taken your lands, killed one of your kings. She would enslave you if she could. Fight for your Queens, fight for your freedom. Fight to the death!"

  He pumped his sword on the last word to emphasize his point and his knights roared. A few cheers went out through the rest of the crowd, but most of the faeries simply looked at him with a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

  Arthur's shoulders slumped as his eyes darted over the crowd. He was used to his speeches being met with a resounding rumble of excitement, soldiers cheering and stomping their approval, weapons being drawn as the adrenal began to build. Compared to the armies he was used to, the creatures before him were somber and emotionless. He feared they did not carry the same drive to win that they needed.

  "Humans and their speeches." Eden snorted beside him. She gave him a wry smirk and a shake of the head before kicking her horse hard in the flanks. As it plunged over the edge of the precipice, the telltale shnink of a blade being drawn echoed back to him, followed by a battle cry. That was all the faeries needed.

  Following her lead, cries ululated around the valley, far surpassing the rumble he had hoped for. He and his knights followed Eden down into the valley, not so much by choice but because the mere surge of bodies behind them forced them forward. They reached the edge of battle much quicker than Arthur anticipated. As he plunged into the fray, he sent up a quick prayer, hoping that some god somewhere would hear him.

  *~*~*

  The

  Faery Hunter

  *~*~*

  *~*~*

  TEN

  *~*~*

  Aiofe Callaghan knelt beside the bubbling stream, pressing her lips tightly together and squinting her emerald eyes in concentration. Her fingers traced deftly across the rough bark of a fallen log as her nostrils flared on her lightly freckled face. Breaths came shallow in her tight chest and her heart beat quickly, sending her blood racing through her veins. A small smile pulled at the corners of her unpainted lips. She loved the hunt. It was the only time she really felt alive.

  She took a step forward, careful to place her booted foot in a spot she had already examined, setting her heel down first and angling her foot to avoid shifting a small rock in her path. The area looked undisturbed aside from a few deer tracks in the mud in the bank, but Aiofe had been hunting for most of her life and knew what to look for. She pressed her lips together as her eyes darted over the tracks. There, in the largest of the prints lay a fragment of a leaf. She took another step forward and leaned over, examining the brown scrap. There was not a speck of mud on it.

  Her smile grew to a smirk as she reached over to pick it up. She held the leaf gently between her thumb and forefinger, looking up the riverbank in the direction it pointed. "Gotcha," she whispered almost imperceptibly as she started to rise.

  "Not quite." The voice came from behind her, harsh and forced from a throat not used to speaking in human tongues. She spun around, reaching for the long knife in her belt, but she was too slow and her stance was less than ideal. The creature lunged at her, his crooked, twig-like fingers wrapping around her neck. She tumbled to the ground, her back sinking into the mud, erasing all evidence of the deer path.

  The beast on top of her was light, but impossibly strong. She gasped for air as she slashed at his woody skin. He snarled, dripping sticky sap onto her face from his jagged teeth. Crumbled leaves fell around them as they tussled, his hair having grown brittle in the autumn weather.

  "You stupid human. For too long have you hunted my kind." The creature spat in her face, a gob of sap splattering across her forehead to meld with the dirt in her red hair.

  He maneuvered his small body so he was sitting on her chest with his feet beside her head. She could hear his legs creaking as he elongated his toes, digging them into the dirt like roots, giving him even more purchase against her. She stabbed at his arms, back, and legs, trying desperately to dislodge him, but his grip on her throat tightened. The bones in her neck ground together and she feared they would snap. Her face felt swollen and hot with blood unable to escape through crushed veins and her attacks grew weak as black spots formed along the edge of her vision.

  "You..." She tried to speak, but she couldn't get the words out without the much needed air that was trapped in her lungs. She tried once more to throw him off, mustering all her strength to bring up her right knee into his back. He grunted and jerked forward, but his toes just dug into the dirt further as his fingers wrapped tighter around her already bruised neck.

  "I? I what?" He leaned back slightly and loosened his grip just a bit, letting her have a delicious breath of air. She gulped it in like a horse gulps water after a hard run.

  The words crawled painfully out of her throat, barely audible. "You're dead." She gritted her teeth until they creaked and swung her arm up, aiming for his head. He reacted quickly and began to move, causing the knife to hit his hard, knobby shoulder. The blade deflected violently, leaving a slimy streak in the wood, and her momentum sent it straight into the soft wood just below his ear.

  The creature squealed and reared back, releasing his grip on her painfully throbbing throat. She sat up as quickly as her body would allow. The movement dislodged the wooden creature and his feet ripped from the ground with several sickening cracks, raining chunks of a dirt down around her as he toppled backward. His squeals turned into howls while she pulled herself to the fallen tree and used it to prop herself up.

  She fumbled at her side, cursing herself for not releasing the catch on her holster before entering the woods. Her eyes darted between the sidearm and her prey, who had righted himself. Her lip curled and her stomach lurched as he locked eyes with her and smiled viciously, his knobby fingers wrapping around the hilt of her knife. The blade came loose with a loud slurp and sap poured down the creature's neck and over his bare chest. He stalked toward her, limping noticeably on broken toes.

  Aiofe gave up on the gun and used the log behind her to rise. She clambered over it, the rough bark scratching her already battered hands. She was almost to the other side, almost had a chance, when her head jerked backward, sending her sprawling to the ground. The creature had his spindly fingers tangled tightly through her copper hair, using the braid she always wore pinned around the crown of her head when she hunted as leverage.

  She reached up with both hands and dug at his skin, peeling away layers of thin bark and leaving herself with painful splinters under her nails. She grunted and attempted to twist her body around, swinging her feet violently, hoping against all hope that they would connect with something, anything that would help her free herself before it was too late.

  He jerked her head back, smashing it against the log. She was stunned momentarily as black dots and white stars waltzed in front of her eyes. Through the myriad of fuzzy dancers, she watched the creature, her frazzled mind trying to decipher his movements. He had her knife in his free hand. It was shining with a dark, thick liquid that dripped slowly to the ground. He raised it above her head, aiming the point carefully for her eye.
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  She closed them both, not wanting to know the exact moment of her death. Instead, she prayed. To God, to Jesus, to Gaea, to Avalon, to any being out there who would listen. A loud crack interrupted her prayers. Her eyes shot open in time to see a big ax being ripped from the creature's skull. The head was split in two down to its chin. It tottered for a moment, as if trying to regain its balance, then it toppled to the side. Her body was pulled with it, the thing's fingers still tangled in her hair.

  She pressed her lips together, listening as the crunch of leaves grew closer, refusing to look up until a pair of scuffed and muddied work boots stopped in front of her. She glanced up briefly, seeing the grizzled white beard and rough, leathery skin atop a camouflage hunter's jacket. Her defiant frown turned to a dejected pout and she lowered her eyes again. The man knelt down beside her, his carpenter's pants splattered with thick, dark sap, the creature's blood.

  "Dammit, Aiofe," he grumbled as he pried at the fingers in her hair.

  She bit down on her tongue, suppressing her cries as he jerked her head from side to side, cracking the wood and tearing out strands of hair with it.

  "What were you thinking?" He didn't want a response. She knew her grandfather well enough. They had been hunting together since she was old enough to carry a gun. She had broken the rules going out alone and she had almost paid the ultimate price. Even if he had demanded an answer, she wasn't sure she could. Her entire body had started to shake, the adrenaline rush from the fight now gone, leaving her cold and vulnerable.

  She squeezed her fingers together, trying to hide the fear from the only father figure she had ever known. She forced herself to take deep breaths to regain her composure while blinking quickly to fight back the tears that were threatening to flood the dam years of training had built. The taste of blood in her mouth helped to steady her, even though she knew her tongue would pay her back for the cruel treatment later.

  Her head stopped moving and her grandfather sat back on his haunches. She hazarded a glance and saw his eyes through a teary haze. His hard glare softened a fraction and he sighed. "Come on," he said, leaning over to cup her under the arm. "Let's get you home and cleaned up."

  She let him pull her to her feet and had to close her eyes against the feeling of nausea that threatened to overtake her.

  "Here."

  Aiofe opened one eye halfway. He held her knife out to her. She took it and wiped the blade on her jeans. The sticky sap was starting to harden already and wouldn't come off easily. Sighing inwardly, she shoved it into its sheath, knowing she would have to clean both later on. Her grandfather picked up his ax and propped it on his shoulder. It was an image she had seen often. When she was little, she always thought he looked like the woodsman in the Little Red Riding Hood stories who had saved Red from the Big Bad Wolf.

  A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth at the thought, threatening to dissolve her anger and irritation at the old man who had just saved her life. She forced her face back into a bitter scowl and took a step forward. As soon as she put weight on her foot, her entire leg protested and she swayed dangerously to the side. Her grandfather, always the steady force in her life, slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close.

  "Come on, time to go home."

  She rested her head on his shoulder and let him lead her through the woods to safety.

  *~*~*

  ELEVEN

  *~*~*

  By the time they got back to the house, Aiofe was able to move without her grandfather's support. Her anger at both him and herself grew as they walked, sending her blood racing. She picked up her pace, pulling away from him. He said nothing and slowed, falling back until she could no longer see him through the trees when she glanced behind her.

  She reached the edge of the woods and paused to look at the house. It was small, only two bedrooms, but it had been her home all her life. She looked at the window on the right. The curtain was shut. She always kept it down. Despite her love for the outdoors, she kept her room dark and gloomy. For a brief moment, she imagined her mother standing there, young and beautiful, long copper hair streaming down her back. It had been more than twenty years since the woman's death. All Aiofe had left were brief memories and hazy photographs of a past that barely seemed real.

  Pressing her lips together, she squared her shoulders and stalked up to the house, removing her sidearm from its holster as she walked. The snap was stuck and she had to jerk it free. Grumbling, she pulled the gun out of its protective case and began to brush off the already drying mud.

  She twisted the handle with her free hand and shoved the door open roughly with her shoulder, wincing briefly as it crashed against the wall. She stepped into the small outer room and removed the holster from her waist, tossing it onto a short bench arrayed along one wall next to the stacked washer and dryer as she shoved the gun into the waistline of her jeans.

  Without stopping to take off her grubby attire, she stomped through the swinging door separating the laundry room from the kitchen. Her grandmother was at the sink, a soapy plate in her hand. She frowned as she glanced at the muddy tracks Aiofe left on the spotless tile floor but the corners of her eyes were wrinkled in worry and her face was streaked with tears. The young woman felt a pang of guilt followed by a surge of hunger, but shoved them both aside, letting her anger flow back into the open space. She raised her chin and shot her grandmother a defiant look. The older woman tended to avoid conflict whenever possible and lowered her eyes back to the sink.

  "Chicken is in the fridge." Her short comment sent a fresh wave of guilt washing over Aiofe. She knew her grandmother would go insane if anything happened to her, and she hated making her worry more than she already did.

  Letting her shoulders drop slightly, Aiofe walked to the refrigerator, grabbing the empty plate that had been sitting at her spot on the table as she walked by. She pulled the roasted chicken out and set it on the counter. Her grandmother was a master at cooking almost anything. After pulling some cheese, mustard, and sliced tomatoes from the fridge, Aiofe made herself a sandwich using the loaf of bread that her grandmother had baked just that morning.

  The silence in the kitchen was heavy while she worked and she found herself rushing to finish making her lunch. She could feel her grandmother's questioning gaze upon her back and gritted her teeth to avoid making a rude comment that would only make the situation worse. She put the ingredients away quickly and snatched her sandwich just as the door in the laundry room banged open.

  Fresh anger overtook her and she growled. Pulling a bottle of orange soda from the door, she slammed the fridge shut hard enough to jiggle the glass containers inside and stomped out of the room. She raced up the stairs, nearly tripping in her irritated state, grateful when she finally reached the safety and sanctity of her own bedroom. She slammed the door shut, making sure the occupants of the kitchen knew she was long gone and they were free to talk about her to their hearts' content.

  She set the plate down on her desk, along with the bottle of soda. She reached behind her and pulled out the gun. She stared at it a long moment, feeling the cold weight in her hand, examining the mud caked into its hammer. She would have to clean it thoroughly before the day was out or risk further ire from her grandfather.

  She sighed and walked to the door beside her dresser. Her fingers wrapped around the cool handle, a faint memory playing idly through her mind. When Aiofe had been much younger, the room beyond had been a nursery. She could see her mother standing in the doorway, a sad smile on her face as she watched the little red-headed child play with a doll her grandfather had carved from the wood of an elm tree in the yard. It was where the girl had slept until she was six.

  Aiofe saw the tear land on her hand before she realized she had been crying. With a shuddering gasp, she wrenched open the door, stepped through, and pulled it tightly shut behind her. She stumbled over to the claw-footed bath tub and turned on the hot water full blast while biting her tongue. The muscle was puckered along the edges w
ith recent attempts to still her ever present and often inexplicable anger. She forced air in and out through her nose in short spurts. Her chest was clenching too tightly to breathe properly and she gripped at the side of the tub for support. Her eyes blurred until she could no longer see her own hands in front of her and she sank to the floor.

  Curled up in a ball of mud and blood, fear and hate, pain and sadness, she wept, her sobs mingling with the sound of rushing water behind her. As her emotions streamed down her face, Aiofe silently begged her grandparents to burst in and gather her up as they used to, to comfort her and hold her and tell her that everything would be alright. And yet she feared just that.

  She was an adult, twenty-four years old, older than her mother ever was, and she was a better hunter than Caena ever had been. She could not show weakness, she could not show fear. She had to be strong, resilient, able to overcome anything. She could not fail, not ever again.

  Clinging to that thought, that determination, Aiofe pulled herself from the spiraling pit of despair that threatened to drag her down into nothingness. She clawed her way back to reality, dragging herself to a seated position in front of the tub. She slapped at the tears on her face, berating herself for being so weak-minded. She reached for her anger, begging it to return, and wrapped herself up in its familiar warmth. She set her mouth into the scowl that her face was comfortable with and stood up to look into the mirror.

  Her hair was sticking out at all angles, the careful braid a ragged mess. It was full of mud and leaves. Blood streaked down her face from her nose and an open wound on her forehead, mingling with the tear tracks that traced through the filth. She gingerly ran the tips of her fingers over the bruises around her neck. They were already an ugly blackish purple, thick and crude.

  Snarling, Aiofe pulled off her soiled clothing. Her leather jacket had held up surprisingly well. It was a gift from her grandfather on her sixteenth birthday and she had worn it on every hunt since. The same could not be said for the shirt underneath. It was stained an ugly brownish red and sticky with sap. No amount of washing would get it clean. Her jeans were in a similar state, dirty beyond hope and torn in several places. She tossed both pieces of clothing in the trash can by the sink and peeled off her undergarments. Stepping into the bath tub, she pulled the shower curtain around her and let the hot water purge her skin of the horrors of the day, blood and dirt sliding from her skin easily, wishing it would do the same for her soul.