Wandering Lark

by Laura J Underwood

  Turlough tugged his beard in a gesture of agitation, winding the long end around his hands like a garrote.

  The clop of horse hooves on the packed dirt of the road broke him out from under his dark cloud of thoughts. Lorymer was returning.

  And about time, Turlough thought as he leaned out of the carriage box and glowered at the approaching form on horseback. “Well?” he asked impatiently. “Did you learn anything?”

  “They assured me that they had not seen their master since he and the others left nearly a moon ago,” Lorymer said.

  “And you believed them?”

  “They spoke true. I Truth-Tested them and their thoughts were clean of deception.”

  “And they had no suggestions as to where he might have even gone?” Turlough asked.

  “None,” Lorymer said.

  Turlough glowered at the barest hint of a tower visible over the tops of the trees.

  “Then this was, as all else has been, a waste of precious time,” he said.

  “Begging the Lord Magister’s indulgence,” Lorymer said, “but it is possible we might be going about this the wrong way?”

  “What?” Turlough snapped and turned his glare of reproach on Lorymer.

  “We have been following Magister Fenelon to no avail,” Lorymer said. “We know his skill...we know that there are few in Ard-Taebh who are as devious and clever as he. And every turn of the way, he has mocked us. Every lead is a dead end, and we are wasting a lot of valuable time following those leads...”

  “And your point, Lorymer, because I don’t quite follow you,” Turlough said. “Just what are you blethering about?”

  “We keep trying to follow Fenelon,” Lorymer said, “and we are getting no where. So why not change strategies? Why not seek out other paths? Why not go to the source.”

  “I still don’t follow you?”

  “If you were Etienne, and you wanted to keep me off your trail, where would you flee?” Lorymer said. “Where is the one place you know that you would be outside the reach of the Council of Mageborn?”

  For a moment, Turlough could not stop glowering. Had Lorymer totally lost his wits? But then, the realization seeped in like warm sunshine on a cold day. “Why, of course, I would flee back to my homeland.”

  “And would it not make sense as well for Fenelon to have sent the young bard there as well?” Lorymer asked.

  This is why I keep you around, Turlough thought, though he was not willing to voice that aloud. “Why, Lorymer, you may be on to something. Tell me, do we know any of the mageborn who live in Ross-Mhor?”

  “I can find out easily enough when we return to Dun Gealach,” Lorymer said.

  “While you’re at it, perhaps we should also send someone to question the young bard’s family. It may be that they can also shed some light on the matter.”

  “As you wish, Lord Magister.”

  “Gate us back to Dun Gealach, then,” Turlough said.

  Lorymer managed a neat bow from the back of his horse. He rode forward of the carriage and began the spell of opening a gate while Turlough leaned back, teepling his fingers and smiled.

  “Clever, Fenelon, very clever,” Turlough muttered.

  He would enjoy seeing the expression on Fenelon’s face when they caught up with him.

  FORTY-TWO

  They didn’t make it all the way across the moor that day. For one thing, the ground was lest trustworthy than either Alaric or Talena liked. More than once, they dismounted to lead their horses across a treacherous bit of bog. Sometimes, they were forced to detour to get around a particularly damp area. Those places became easy enough to spot because they contained no stones at all.

  What puzzled Alaric was the lack of a water source. In his experience, such bogs were caused by moisture from nearby mountains or large lakes. As far as he could tell, there were neither close at hand. They were still far enough from the Blacktooth Mountains for it not to be coming from that source.

  It slowed their travel considerably, and matters were not helped by the spirits and the black stones which seemed more prominent here. Alaric was getting rather annoyed that some of the spirits would move in and out of stones quite suddenly to stand in his path, and if he stopped, they would smile and vanish. Others would circle him slowly, then go to Talena and circle her before fading away. So by the time nightfall came, they were still well out in the open and a good league or more from the mountains.

  “We’ll have to make camp soon,” Talena said and looked around. She selected ground that was high and dry and ringed by seven tall white stones. The whole thing reminded him of a giant barrow. As soon as Alaric climbed the gentle slope and stepped into the area, he was aware of the sensation of being watched. Yet inside this place, he saw none of the spirits who had plagued him on the lower ground.

  “What is this place?” he asked, glancing at the stones and wondering if he should scry them with mage senses.

  “If I am not mistaken, this is what they call the Water Lord’s Grave,” Talena said and kicked at some of the dry ground. “Legend has it that in a time long before the days of darkness ended, this was where the bones of a White One were buried...”

  “There’s no sedge here,” Alaric said, looking at the dirt. Broken bits of white stone polished smooth jutted from the ground. Some of them did look like bones, now that he thought about it. “I would think the grave of a White One associated with Water would have a greener grave.”

  “Nothing grows here,” Talena said. “If the stories they tell are true, the First Water Lord was betrayed by his own avatar. And the stones that stand around this place are supposed to be his brothers and sisters who mourned his death.”

  “How would you know this?”

  “My father told me about it,” she said softly. “He came this way once, remember? Look it’s high and it’s dry, and if we plant fires around the edge, we should be safe, but we’ll have to take turns watching.”

  “Are we expecting more raveners?” Alaric asked.

  “Nope,” Talena said. “But there are many other things on this moor besides raveners...” She glanced around nervously.

  “Such as?” Alaric asked.

  “Just...things,” Talena said. “Father would never tell me more, but he said fire was a good way to keep them at bay.”

  “And make us a beacon,” Alaric muttered, and wondered if those words were his or Ronan’s. Then again, he had tried all day to speak to the bard’s spirit, but it was as though Ronan was sulking. Little hints of his presence rose from time to time, but he remained in the peripheral of Alaric’s awareness. Sort of like he was before I became aware of him, Alaric thought.

  Why are you hiding, Ronan?

  Ronan said nothing to the contrary.

  “I said, do you want first watch or not?” Talena asked impatiently.

  “Oh, uh...doesn’t matter.”

  “Well it does to me,” she said. “I prefer first watch so I can retire when I get really tired.”

  Alaric nodded. He was in no mood to argue. Still, it bothered him that she was being evasive.

  “Look, if you can tell me what we might expect, I may be able to ward the place well enough so we can both sleep,” he said.

  Talena frowned. “I don’t know...I only know that my father told of keeping watch fires going all around because he saw things moving out in the dark. Things he could not identify.”

  “Did he at least describe them?”

  Talena shook her head. “Look, we’re wasting time,” she said. “The gloaming will be on us before we know it. So if you’re going to make those magic fires, go ahead. I’m going to look in the packs and see what the farmers gave us to eat.”

  “Eating sounds promising,” Vagner’s voice whispered to Alaric.

  He looked at the demon. Not now...

  “Spoil sport,” Vagner groused.

  Alaric shook his head. Talena was already hauling out hobbles and attaching them to Kessa. The bay mare looked longingly towards Vagner.


  “I think she really likes me,” the demon said. “I certainly like her...”

  For dinner? Alaric suggested and pretended to remove Vagner’s tack. It vanished as Alaric glanced over his shoulder to make sure Talena had not seen. He quickly humped the real remains of his pack so it looked like there was tack under the bedroll and left the demon horse there as he headed for the edges of their camp. Though now that she knew what he was, he wondered why he felt impelled to hide what Vagner was...until Ronan’s words came back to mind. The bard still did not want Talena to know that Vagner was a demon.

  Oh, well, he thought, and taking a deep breath, he sought a moment of inner calm. Starting at a cardinal point to the north, Alaric drew essence from the air and fed it into his spell. He muttered the words and marked the glyphs with his fingers that would make the spell remain in place, and then walked around to ring the area just inside the stones with fire. For a Water Lord’s grave, the flames certainly caught well enough.

  By the time he finished, it was getting fairly dark. Talena had set up a small feast on a blanket. It looked better than the moldy cheese and bread he had shared with her the night before. Why the farmers had gifted her with this fare, he could not say, but he took the portion she offered, sitting on the opposite side of the blanket.

  At length, he picked up his harp and tested the strings. Might as well get some practice in, he thought. He started playing a few simple tunes, merry but mellow, as Ronan would say.

  But of course, that started him wondering why the bard was still being so quiet. He longed to ask Vagner what he had done to step between them, for the demon seemed unhurt by attacking one who was also his master.

  Talena clapped when he stopped one of the songs. “I like that one,” she said. “Play something from your own land now, please?”

  Alaric looked at her. The request seemed genuine. “All right,” he said and started to sing an old ballad

  “Was early in the morning light

  I saw her by the lea

  A maiden shrouded all in white

  A child upon her knee...

  She sat there in the morning light

  And cooed to the small lad

  And when I drew my dressier nigh

  I saw that the child was dead...”

  He stopped. Talena was looking out past the circle of fire and stones, and the gleam in her eyes was not encouraging. Alaric stopped playing and turned around to see what had her attention.

  Something moved just outside the stones. The shape was too vague to tell just what, but inside him, he felt a cold thrum.

  “Horns,” Alaric muttered.

  What is that?

  Vagner bristled, his mane and tail stiffening as his head lifted and his ears twitched. He pawed the ground, and Alaric felt as though he was challenging whatever was out there. Kessa stumbled a bit in her hobbles as she backed away

  Talena reached for her sword. But just as she was drawing steel, a wretched roar filled the air. The dark shape rose, and Alaric swore it looked like the shadow of a dragon against the sky. Na’Sgailean, Alaric thought, and within him, he could feel Ronan’s spirit retreating even deeper. The sound was nearly deafening. Alaric almost dropped his harp as he clapped hands to his ears. Around the outside of the circle, he swore he heard the clash of steel and the screams of men in battle.

  Then as suddenly as it came, the sounds died, and the dark shape disappeared. He and Talena traded looks.

  “We both watch,” she said.

  Alaric nodded. It was going to be a long night if things like that were going to bother them.

  Alaric had not intended to fall asleep. It just sort of happened. All he did was close his eyes...

  ...And then he started to dream.

  He was standing just outside this same circle of stones, except that there were no stones. There were people, men and women...or so they seemed. As his gaze roved in secret, he realized they were very different.

  For one thing, they were all very tall. And for another...well, the one who stood to the south was a male whose body seemed entirely composed of flames. North was a woman, and she was as translucent as air, though he could see an outline of her well-formed sylph-like figure. To the east stood a woman whose ample figure was composed of earthy skin tones, and whose hair and eyes were moss green. She made him think of a forest floor.

  There were two others as well. A man whose perfect features were carved out of stone and a woman whose skin alternated between patches of sky-blue and wisps of clouds.

  To his immediate side stood a woman taller than the rest who was as white as snow. She looked very familiar as he gazed upon her eldritch beauty, and around her neck, he saw a torc with the head and tail of a dragon...

  A dragon? he thought.

  As if she heard his thought, she turned and glanced down at him, and smiled. Then her features hardened, and she turned back towards the center of the mound.

  There in the middle stood a young girl with watery blue eyes and pale blond hair. But there was something about her that was not quite human as well, and Alaric tasted the bitterness of cloves manifesting from her. Then he saw that her hands were actually like webbed claws and that the prehensile tail wound about one of her legs was actually her own...

  Demon! he thought

  She glanced at him now and narrowed her eyes in an accusing manner.

  The white woman spoke now, and her voice chimed through the air. Alaric felt a multitude of languages flow through his head. Some he understood, and some he did not, but all said the same thing, he was sure.

  “You have betrayed the Lord of Water,” the white woman said. “You have betrayed my son. Henceforth, you are banished from all lands. You power will be drained from you, and you will return to the realm of your ancestors. There, you will face the justice of your own kin...”

  “No!” the demon girl cried. “I will not be punished for his death!”

  She suddenly unwound her tail and sprang at Alaric. He felt himself shifting into a position of defense that felt natural to him. His back arched almost like that of a cat, and he extended his hands and saw claws.

  The sight terrified him. He screamed inside, and that distraction cost him dearly. Before he could defend himself, the she-demon was on him. Alaric screamed as her claws raked his chest and laid open a line of wounds.

  Her weight bore him to the ground and she struck his face over and over shouting, “Wake up, Lark, wake up!”

  Alaric threw up his arms and opened his eyes. Talena was leaning over him, one hand drawn back as though about to strike.

  “I’m awake!” he gasped.

  She withdrew, stepping back. “That must have been some dream,” she said. “You were screaming like someone was butchering you...”

  “They were,” he said and sat up, touching his chest. It burned faintly as though his skin were remembering the pain too well. He rubbed it and looked out at the dark beyond his circle of light.

  Just what in the name of Cernunnos was that dream about?

  Talena had not meant to fall asleep. Whatever that thing was, she feared it would return, and secretly, she was cursing Lark for insisting they go across this wretched moor. On the other hand, she was cursing Desura as well. I would not be here if you had not told the Patriarch that this heretic was not a heretic, she thought.

  But she was seriously tired. The long day of trekking back and forth just to avoid the bogs had taken much effort. Having Lark fall asleep as he did and start screaming should have given her enough adrenalin to stay awake for the next five nights. Funny thing about adrenalin...it wore off, and one was always more exhausted than before. So try as she did, she could not stop when she closed her eyes...

  And dreamed.

  She saw herself standing on this spot, but instead of a circle of stones, there were a circle of figures, men and women both. They stared at the place where Talena stood and pointed fingers at her.

  “Betrayer,” one of them whispered. “You stole m
y son’s life...”

  The speaker was a woman, tall and white skinned. Her long hair flowed about her as though alive, and her eyes were like crystals, clear and sharp. The others...she could not say who or what they were, for though some had human shape, they also seemed to be elemental in nature.

  “You killed my son and threw the balance off center. Now the darkness will rise and the Shadow Lords will reign, all because of you...”

  “No, not me!” Talena protested, but no words came out of her mouth.

  “The Balance is off center now. The Darkening will soon come. My sister will escape and spread her shadow across the land.”

  “It wasn’t me!” Talena cried.

  But the crystal-eyed woman did not seem to hear. She threw her arms up into the air. Talena felt winds suddenly tearing at her. Sharp stone cut into her flesh. Dirt flew into her face and flayed her skin, while fire rose and encircled her with a wall...

  “Talena...”

  She flailed at the elements to no avail. They were shredding her body and she started to scream.

  “Talena!”

  The sharp call barely broke through the muddle of pain and terror. But the hand that slapped her across the cheek did. She rocked back and hit the ground and opened her eyes.

  Lark was standing over her, looking worried.

  “Sorry. This time, you were screaming...”

  She looked down at her skin. Her hands showed no sign of the lacerations left by the attack of the elements. Her clothes were still whole. Cautiously, she sat up.

  “Are you all right?” Lark asked, kneeling beside her.

  She nodded, still pulling at her clothes, unable to believe that she had not been wounded. “I...I think so.”

  “You were dreaming,” he said. “Of what?”

  She looked up at him. “She said it was my fault...”

  “She?” Lark repeated.

  “The White One. It was the White One...she said I killed her son, but I didn’t. How could I have been the one who slew him...I never even met the White One before...”