“Oh, charming,” came a voice from the palanquin. The tiny piper atop the palanquin fell silent and a slim hand lifted the curtain away. A woman, white of hair and gown, looked out. “Where are you taking her, servant of Underlight?”
“She is an envoy to the Queen of Stone, Lady of Nightwell,” called William, his eyes on the bearers, not the woman.
“Ah,” said the woman, with undisguised disappointment. A pale hand gestured languidly. “Come to me, mortal child. Let me look at you.”
Branwyn looked questioningly at William, who shrugged. Mutual curiosity winning out, she moved closer to the palanquin.
White of hair and white of gown: the description lingered in Branwyn's mind like the refrain of the piper's song. Her skin barely blushed with life, but the woman had shockingly blue eyes. Her hair was cropped close to her head, except for a topknot and two locks hanging in front of her ears. Her satin gown was simple and form-fitting in the bodice, with an extremely full skirt pooled around her curled legs. It reminded Branwyn of a basic wedding dress. She wore a large silver ring set with a shimmering black gem on her left middle finger. It seemed to leave a trail in the air as she waved her hand again. “Closer, please.”
Branwyn obligingly crossed the last few yards to stand beside the palanquin, passing right beside one of the bearers. He was huge, with rippling muscles and shining skin and features so gorgeously chiseled that Branwyn thought sculpting them would be cheating her way to fame and fortune. While the four weren’t identical, she thought they might be brothers. She could smell the earthy scent of their sweat and she smiled at the one closest, the smile she always shared with others of unusual haircolors. His eyes didn’t flicker from their fixed-ahead position.
Branwyn’s smile faded and she transferred her attention to their lady. “Hello.”
“You have a striking coloration, child. Most uncommon among mortals.” The woman reached out to touch her hair and Branwyn could feel the cold of her hand as the white fingers stroked her ponytail.
She just barely resisted jerking her head away. but she did say bluntly, “It’s dye.”
“Oh, but that’s even better,” said the woman. She withdrew her hand, her sapphire eyes glowing with enthusiasm. “Your willingness to change what you were born with to suit your true nature—also unusual among mortals. So many are obsessed with letting their birth define them.” Her small nose wrinkled with distaste at the thought. “Will you tell me what you are called?”
“That’s true,” Branwyn conceded. “My name is...” she caught herself, remembering more of her Gran-gran’s stories. “Uh, I’m called Branwyn.”
The lady in white smiled. “And I am the Lady Rime, of Nightwell.” She clasped her hands together. “This is lovely. I do like mortals.”
Branwyn hesitated, then went ahead and asked, “Are your bearers mortal?”
“Not anymore,” said the woman in white, looking fondly at the two in front. “I’ve colored them to suit my tastes.” When she saw Branwyn glance up at the tiny piper caged above her, she asked, “Did you like the music? I’m very fond of song myself. I find it opens so many doors.” Her smile became radiant. “If you bring music, everybody is always pleased to see you.”
“That does seem to work for my stepfather. As long as he doesn’t want paying,” Branwyn said absently, trying to decide if the piper was a mechanical creation of some sort. When it wasn’t playing, it didn’t seem to be moving at all, even to breathe. But it looked very much like a tiny man.
“Oh, I always make sure they pay the piper. Or rather me, since the piper is mine.” Lady Rime returned her brilliant gaze to Branwyn. “When you have finished your duties as an envoy, I would very much like for you to visit me. My bearers would enjoy getting to know you, too.”
Branwyn glanced again at the lead bearers, who showed no sign of hearing the conversation. “Uh, I’ll keep that in mind.” She took a step backwards. “Thank you for the invitation,” she added, remembering Tarn’s admonition to be polite. “I should probably go back to my envoy work. You know how it is. Busy, busy.”
The Lady Rime looked at her with the same fond, pleased glance she’d turned on her bearers. “Of course. I look forward to seeing you again. We’ll have fun.”
Branwyn beat a retreat back to William and his troop as the piper atop the palanquin picked up his lonely song again. The bearers carried their burden down the road, the curtains once again shielding the lady within from view. The troop of changelings waited until the palanquin was out of sight before moving out to the center of the road again.
“Is it just me, or was that an extremely creepy encounter?” Branwyn asked William.
“I suggest you don’t accept her invitation,” William said seriously. “Unless you want to lose yourself in pleasure beyond reason.”
A wave of profound alienation swept over Branwyn. She was in a place where that was being presented as sensible advice, in the shadow of giant statues and endless bridges and magical waterfalls and unicorns. Even her tolerance for adventure was being tested by the strange journey, and for a moment, she felt a long way from home. “Okay, now you’re being creepy, too. Don’t do that.”
William shrugged again. “That seemed like a mild exchange to me,” he said. Branwyn blinked, then realized he was responding to her initial description of Rime as creepy. “A different faerie Lord might have been more dangerous, but the March of Nightwell draws on the Court of Stone just as Underlight does. She gained no advantage from waylaying you, even if her Duke and mine are rivals.”
“She isn’t actually expecting me to visit her, is she?”
“I can’t begin to guess at the workings of Lady Rime’s mind. But you didn’t obligate yourself to visit her, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Good,” said Branwyn, relieved.
William glanced at her one more time, then nodded to himself and called out for the troop to start moving again. Branwyn fell into step in the middle of the group. After a moment, she found herself whistling the piper's song. When William turned back to look at her, she stopped, considered, then switched to one of her stepfather's favorite songs instead. After the first verse, the troop of faeries joined in on the chorus.
Huh. She hadn't expected that from the reserved changelings. The Lady Rime was right. Music did get you into unexpected places.
-nine-
“So how do we know when to stop for the day?” Branwyn asked William as he stalked along beside her. “I mean, ‘day’ seems like a place, not a time, here.”
He looked her over. “Are you tired?”
Branwyn flexed her feet. “A little. Not as much as I would expect, given how long it feels like we’ve been walking and when we started.”
“Ah, well, let’s see where the road takes us in the next few bends. It could be we’ll need to camp quite soon.” He moved to the head of the troop to confer with the changeling in the lead.
A few moments later, he jogged back. “Night is coming. We’ll stop here.”
Branwyn looked around. “Right in the middle of the road?”
He gave her a scornful look. “Of course not.” Kneeling down, he placed his palm on the cobbled surface. A mild electric shock passed through Branwyn, and then the ground trembled. As she stumbled and tried to catch her balance against the earthquake, William stood up, swaying like a tree.
“You see,” he said, and she did. The road bulged into the forest on the left, the cobbles duplicating themselves to expand the surface with a sound like falling dominoes. After a few moments, a large semi-circle on one side of the road had formed like a bud on a stem. “Just in time, too. Night is coming faster than I expected.”
Branwyn glanced up at the unchanging sky, then scanned the horizons. With a start, she realized that night was literally moving down the road, a vast, dense cloud obscuring the daylight. As the darkness crept down the track, the landscape on both sides changed. The trees of the forest became skeletal, while the fields across the road sprouted mi
sshapen hillocks oozing eerie, faint glows.
Branwyn took a step backwards, glancing questioningly at William. Left to her own devices, she’d retreat rather than let that strangeness overtake her.
“It will pass,” he said. “And our campsite will keep us safe from most of what travels the night road. Come.”
“Only most?” Branwyn remembered Tarn talking about just how long the list of dangers in Faerie was.
“Only most.” He turned away.
“You're not going to elaborate, I see.” Branwyn sighed and started after him.
He shrugged one shoulder and said, without turning around, “The most dangerous denizens of the Backworld hear their own names. Use your imagination, if you enjoy being afraid.”
The rest of the faerie troop had already started work converting the circle of paving into a real camp. Two of them were building a fire while several others constructed three pavilion tents. One planted a banner into the paving stones and stood guard next to it.
“What exactly is the night here?” Branwyn asked instead, following William. “It isn’t a time, it isn’t a place, it’s a…?”
“A traveler,” William supplied. “If our need was urgent, we could travel through the night and it would pass faster. But there are things that travel in the night that are best avoided if possible.”
Fascinated, Branwyn asked, “Where is it going?”
William raised his eyebrows, taken aback by the question “I’ve never asked. It’s the night.”
“Oh.” She frowned, remembering what he'd said before about the sky looking back at her.
Bowing, William said, “The lads have your pavilion finished. You’re welcome to rest there until we’ve finished preparing dinner.”
Branwyn started to decline the offer, more interested in watching the moving darkness. But the weight on her back reminded her of something she’d been planning on doing once they took their break. So she nodded to William and went into the silver and green pavilion he’d indicated.
It was already furnished with matching pillows, quilts, and a low table, none of which she’d seen the faerie troop carrying. She wasn’t sure any of them had been carrying the pavilion, either. But William had just caused the road itself to bud off a campsite for them so they could rest through the traveling night, so it wasn’t really first on her mind to wonder about.
It’s magic! That was such an annoying answer. It was an answer that required faith; it was an answer that suggested there were no rules. Branwyn didn’t have a problem with breaking rules, but she did like to know when she was doing it.
She set the backpack down on the table and thoughtfully attempted to reach through the curtain into the substrate of the Backworld. Her fingers closed over cool metal and she withdrew a silvery rod.
After regarding it for a moment, she put it down on the table beside her backpack and stared off into space. Then she pulled out the small chest Tarn had given her and flipped the lid open. There were the two balls, glass and polished mud. She tapped her finger on the polished mud ball, then reached again into the substrate.
This time, she pulled out an orb, swirled grey and green like the pavilion silks. She weighed it in one hand, then picked up the mud ball in the other. It was not the same; the one she’d conjured was probably actually stone.
It would be easier, she thought, if she could just say, “Soapstone,” and get soapstone. But while that seemed possible for the faeries, she was still a beginner and it seemed to be a lot more complicated than just wishing.
And, she reminded herself, it wasn’t even the end goal. Shaping the substance of Faerie was a neat party trick, but it wasn’t useful in the normal world. It wasn’t useful like Corbin and Zachariah’s magic, and useful was what she was after. Learning to shape Faerie was like learning to draw perspective, or so she’d gathered from Tarn.
She flicked the stone ball, then turned her attention back to the mud sphere. No matter what Tarn had suggested, she didn’t believe that he was sending a bit of dirt to his Queen, even if it had been shined up. He used the glass orbs to carry messages, so it seemed to fit his style to encase a more solid gift inside a more solid sphere. He’d even said it was fragile.
She remembered how the Geometric Sight had been useful in the gallery, and activated it. Right away, she saw that the ball of dirt was one of the few real objects in sight, and the only one she hadn’t brought with her from home.
The dense lines radiating from the mud ball dwarfed the ones coming from her own supplies. They formed a complicated web that didn’t respond when Branwyn poked it with her finger. Of course; she could only see the Geometry, not interact with it directly.
She brought the dorodango closer to her face, studying it. There was something familiar about the complexity of the web. It reminded her of something she’d seen before somewhere. That it was a spell, she had no doubt, but she wasn’t sure where she could have seen a spell embedded in an object like this. Most of the magic she’d seen had been charms stored on people. This was like the precursor to a charm, like the knots she’d seen Corbin crafting when he constructed her charms.
This was tightly woven—and strange. She brought it even closer, until her eyes were crossing, then closed one eye to try to see what was bothering her. The knot wasn’t embedded in a node, but it was attached to something all the same.
It was something within the dorodango, she decided. There was magic spun about the orange-swirled orb, but most of the lines originated within it. She could just make out a shape, simply because the lines were so dense.
It was a thin band, larger than a ring, smaller than a collar. It was, in fact, very much like the silver band she’d seen on Zachariah’s wrist the previous day, right down to the web of magic containing it.
Branwyn stared at it, but before she could decide what she wanted to do, there was a cry from outside, distant and full of pain. The fae started shouting.
Abandoning the orb in its case and pushing her way through the tent flap, Branwyn found the fae troopers with their weapons ready, clustered on the edge of the campsite. She counted, and realized one of them was missing.
“One of the bad ones?” She joined William, who was the only one of the fae who’d left his spear on the ground. Another agonized cry came from the forest and Branwyn flinched.
William’s fist clenched and unclenched. “He was lured outside the circle. I did say it was less safe for us.”
“What has him? You said you had safety in numbers. Can’t you go after him?”
“That’s probably what he wants,” William muttered.
“Who?”
“Our enemy,” William snapped. “Our lord’s enemy.”
Now that the night had fully engulfed them, Branwyn thought it seemed almost ordinary, if your idea of an ordinary night involved a haunted forest and a field full of graves. The moon hadn’t risen, but stars glittered overhead, cold and bright. There was even the distant sound of crickets and the hooting of owls.
Branwyn ducked into her tent and pulled out both her pocketknife and the hammer she’d packed. Then she paced past William and the others, deliberately stepping off the paved campsite into the forest itself as another shriek shattered the night. She looked over her shoulder at the fae. “Well? Let’s go get him. Perhaps it won’t be so bad if I come along.” She summoned up a faint smile, which wasn't easy against the memory of the scream. “I can invoke diplomatic immunity or whatever it is.”
William stared at her. “You’re insane.” Then he kicked his spear into his hand and joined her at the forest’s edge. His men darted after him, flowing around them in a practiced pattern.
The wind sparkled and moaned through the interwoven branches of the forest. Even in leaf, the trees seemed like strange skeletons in the dim starlight, and the darkness writhed and breathed around them. In an ordinary forest, that would just be small animals, Branwyn thought. But in an ordinary forest, her companions’ eyes wouldn’t be glowing like cats’.
&nbs
p; She followed William, watching the ground before her feet rather than the forest, until she ran into his back. He stood stiffly, facing a still-living fallen tree. Soft whimpers came from the other side.
“What’s over there?” she whispered.
He shook his head. “Him. Are you sure you want to do this?”
The changelings' fear was palpable, and contagious. “I thought you said you guys were the ones in danger.”
“He’s unpredictable. And we’ve left the road…”
A familiar voice from beyond the fallen tree called, “Oh, stop whispering like children. It’s not like I can’t hear you.” Branwyn stiffened. The voice was like the shock of a cold shower: she should have expected it, she realized, but she’d had other things on her mind.
She climbed over the fallen tree, pushing wet foliage out of her face. On the other side was a clearing. Silhouetted against one of the ghostly grave-born fires was a figure crouching over something on the ground. “Hello, cupcake. Oh, you’ve brought tools,” said the figure. “Splendid. Hand me that hammer.”
The lump on the ground moaned, and Branwyn unclenched her teeth enough to snap, “No! Stop it!”
“No? How about the pocketknife? Is there a corkscrew? I know a few good tricks with a corkscrew.” Severin looked up at her, his grin a ghastly jack-o-lantern smile. “And you brought the rest of them, too. How considerate.”
Branwyn felt sick. “You can’t have them. And let that one go.”
“After I worked so hard to lure him out here? Not a chance. These guys are quite the challenge, you know. If you go too far—” and then Branwyn rushed him, hoping like hell William’s troopers were still behind her.
She brought the hammer around as she moved, trying to catch him by surprise. But a hand like steel caught her wrist as Severin bent backwards to dodge her blow. Then his foot came up, catching her in the solar plexus and knocking her away. She landed on her shoulder and rolled to her feet, then fell to her knees again and threw up her trail mix.
Infinity Key (Senyaza Series Book 2) Page 12