Rebel Fay

by Barb Hendee

  "No more," Sgäile said quickly to the dog. "No more fighting… let him pass."

  Brot'an betrayed subtle surprise at Sgäile's words. "It seems there are some things you have not told me."

  Sgäile sighed but didn't answer.

  "It's all right, Chap," Magiere said.

  Leesil's uncertainty grew. Brot'an might have pacified further conflict for the moment. But it was still Brot'an, the one who'd used him. Leesil would never sink to a hint of gratitude, but he let Magiere step forward to follow Brot'an.

  Leesil looked back into the glade. Nein'a watched him, but he no longer saw anything recognizable in her cold eyes.

  * * * *

  An abomination in his land.

  Most Aged Father—who had once been Sorhkafâré—quaked in his bower.

  This pallid woman with blood-stained hair had fooled even Fréthfâre.

  In that long night, running beside Snähacróe and the others, he had heard the cries behind him. Each dawn that followed, fewer remained in his company.

  There had been humans and dwarves as well as his own kind. The dwarves had been the first to fall. Unable to keep the pace with their short legs and heavy bodies, fewer and fewer of those stout people were present at dawn when his meager forces fell prostrate upon the ground. They foraged for water and food by day, slept what little they could in shifts, and before dusk each night they fled inland toward Aonnis Lhoin'n.

  Not long past each dusk, they heard the shouts and running feet of abominations closing upon them. Each night they were closer, as he and his forces grew more weary and worn with flight. More than once he glanced back to see dozens of sparking eyes, perhaps a hundred, in the dark.

  Then humans and elves began to fall behind as well, and no one could turn back for them. Along their harried passage, they found desolate and shattered towns and villages. And more than once, pale figures erupted from the dark ahead of them. They slogged their way through, but more of his fleeing band were always gone when they halted at the next dawn.

  Most Aged Father could not shake the memories from his mind.

  Cuirin'nên'a and her hidden dissidents no longer mattered. Long ago, he had brought his people here to safety. Now this woman—this abomination—appeared among them. A human-spawned thing. The Ancient Enemy stirred sooner than he had feared. It was the only explanation he saw to account for this new tool of bloodshed and devastation. One that could breach his people's land, the only haven that had saved them in those long lost days.

  Most Aged Father lifted his wrinkled hand from the bower's wood, but his fingers would not stop shaking.

  Chapter Fourteen

  F réthfâre ran from the glade with her heart pounding. She fled far into the forest before daring to find a place in which to speak with Most Aged Father. How could she tell him what had happened, what she had seen? Where would she even begin? An undead entered their land and walked freely among the people—and was now protected by Brot'ân'duivé.

  She glanced up at the sun caught on the edge of drifting dark clouds. Within moments, the morning light faded. The forest darkened around her. An omen.

  She dropped to her knees beneath a tall elm's branches and pressed the smooth word-wood to its bark. Her reluctance to report such disturbing events fell before her need for Most Aged Father's guidance.

  "Father…"

  I am here, daughter.

  His voice in her thoughts brought some relief. "I do not know where to begin… I have failed—"

  I know all. I was there as you faced this horror. Destroy it! Tell Brot'ân'duivé my wishes, and dispatch the smaller human woman as well. You and Sgailsheil-leache first restrain Léshil. Disable him if need be, but he is not to be permanently harmed.

  Perhaps Most Aged Father had not seen everything.

  "Brot'ân'duivé protects this undead woman," Fréthfâre answered, "and allowed Léshil to speak with Cuirin'nên'a. Even with Én'nish's assistance and those with her, I do not think we could overcome the Greimasg'âh if he refuses. And Léshil and this woman would side with Brot'ân'duivé."

  The tree was silent for a long moment, and then…

  Give Brot'ân'duivé my instructions. He will obey.

  For the first time, Fréthfâre doubted Most Aged Father's wisdom. Perhaps he had not seen Brot'ân'duivé's face as the elder Anmaglâhk stopped Sgâil-sheilleache from going after the wild woman.

  "Father, the situation is untenable. Osha is untried and in service to Sgäil-sheilleache's guardianship. I do not believe they would submit even to Brot'ân'duivé in conflict with that purpose. And the Greimasg'äh is…"

  She faltered at casting aspersions upon one of her caste's eldest.

  "Brot'ân'duivé is a stranger among us. Forgive my doubts, but would it not be better to lead this undead back to Crijheâiche? With those of our caste waiting, we could take her easily, especially if Léshil is to remain unharmed."

  Again the tree went silent.

  Yes… your wise counsel gives me great pride. Bring them to Crijheäiche.

  Fréth breathed easily again. "In silence and in shadows."

  * * * *

  The morning sun slipped behind thick clouds, and the promise of a fine day vanished. The sky turned gray, and the air grew chill.

  Brot'ân'duivé knew what Fréthfâre would tell Most Aged Father—what she had seen and what he had done—but it could not be helped. He needed Léshil, or all the frail plans of Cuirin'nên'a and the long lost Eillean would lead to nothing.

  In the crypt of Darmouth, it was clear how much this tainted woman, Magiere, meant to Léshil. Perhaps dangerously more than the half-blood understood. Brot'ân'duivé could not allow her to be harmed, or Léshil would suffer and be lost from the purpose that awaited him. Brot'ân'duivé stayed close to Léshil and Magiere and made certain that Én'nish and her companions remained far off.

  It had been eight years since Brot'ân'duivé had seen Cuirin'nên'a, not since the night she had been banished into permanent isolation by Most Aged Father. There was too much risk in meeting with Cuirin'nên'a—for her, for himself, and for the few who supported all that Eillean had begun long ago. But the sight of Cuirin'nên'a's face with its hints of Eillean had put him off balance.

  Though he had never spoken of it, perhaps the daughter suspected how much he had loved the mother. He had sacrificed so much to keep his promise to Eillean. He had sacrificed Eillean herself. Soon he would sacrifice yet more.

  Léshil had good reason to hate him. But Brot'ân'duivé had no choice in bringing Cuirin'nên'a back for judgment. One of them had to remain free of Most Aged Father's confirmed suspicions, and Cuirin'nên'a had already fallen from their leader's goodwill. It remained imperative that Brot'ân'duivé not fall with her. She understood this.

  He had manipulated Léshil into finishing his own mission and assassinating Darmouth. Again, he had seen no other option. What he did, he did for his people rather than the goals of Most Aged Father.

  Sgäilsheilleache and Osha returned with walnuts and berries. Sgâilsheil-leache looked ill and would not raise his eyes to anyone. Brot'ân'duivé pitied him. Sworn guardianship or not, Sgäilsheilleache would not rest easy in Magiere's presence—nor would Fréthfâre.

  Neither would Brot'ân'duivé.

  He reached out and took walnuts and berries with both hands. "Both of you stay with Én'nish and the others. Fréthfâre will return soon."

  Sgäilsheilleache finally looked up. Before he objected, Brot'ân'duivé gave his assurance.

  "I will serve your guardianship as if it were my own. Take your ease for a time. When we return to Crijheâiche, Most Aged Father will advise us wisely."

  These last words stuck in his throat, but the pretense was necessary.

  Sgäilsheilleache glanced toward Magiere, and a hint of revulsion resurfaced. He nodded and turned away with young Osha following.

  Brot'ân'duivé stepped off through the trees toward the separate gathering of Sgäilsheilleache's charges. He had not met th
e small one called Wynn, who now sat against a large cedar, bare of branches at its base. She had torn a strip of cloth from some garment to make a bandage for the shallow slash on Léshil's forearm. Beside her was the majay-hì, Chap, who Sgäilsheilleache and Léshil had both spoken to in the clearing—a strange moment.

  Majay-hì and human stared off through the forest, and Brot'ân'duivé caught a glimpse of the pack among the trees. Now and then, a white female ranged closer.

  The fact that the pack and a clhuassas had aided a human in finding

  Cuirin'nên'a was perplexing. Against their long-standing protection of this land from outsiders, they found nothing to fear from this little one called Wynn.

  Brot'ân'duivé did not believe in portents, yet it was a strange sign. The doubts he had harbored over the years for Eillean's plan lessened a little more. The touched creatures of his people's land appeared to find Most Aged Father's ways unacceptable.

  Magiere lay upon the ground away from the cedar's far side, looking weary and spent from her sudden fury. Léshil now crouched beside her.

  Brot'ân'duivé knelt at Magiere's feet and began splitting the walnut shells with a stiletto.

  "Do not strain Sgäilsheilleache further," he said plainly to Léshil. "Your actions thus far have placed him in a difficult position. Fréthfâre will now seek any reason to execute Magiere."

  Léshil stared at him. Wynn shifted around the cedar's side, followed by Chap, to listen in.

  Magiere did not move. "Wynn, what were you thinking? Running off like that?"

  The little human frowned. "How else would we get around Most Aged Father's coercion? Or should we just let him dangle Nein'a in front of Leesil?"

  Chap nosed Wynn with a growl, and she put a hand on his head.

  "I am sorry, Magiere," Wynn continued but without a hint of regret. "Chap was leaving with the majay-hì, and I… knew where he was going. There was no time to tell you."

  Brot'ân'duivé remained silently attentive.

  Most Aged Father tried to bend Léshil to his will—but for what? Aside from the custom to never spill the blood of their own, the only reason the patriarch had for keeping Cuirin'nên'a alive was to learn of any others who aided her. The purpose for Léshil's safe passage became quite clear.

  Brot'ân'duivé turned to Léshil. "You cannot free your mother… not without Most Aged Father's consent. He holds sway over the place of her confinement. If you still wish to free her, then you must return to Crijheâiche and bargain for it."

  Magiere rolled up onto one elbow with a frown.

  "What do you care?" Léshil spit out. "She's here because you dragged her back!"

  "If I had not," Brot'ân'duivé replied, "then another of my caste would have done so… or worse."

  "I thought elves didn't kill their own," Magiere said.

  "Their own… are not always a matter of blood or even race," Brot'ân'duivé returned. "I was Eillean's confidant and friend. Yes, true. So who better to assure Cuirin'nên'a was returned unharmed?"

  He turned back to Léshil. "You know our word… trú?"

  "It means 'traitor,' " Léshil answered coldly.

  "Simplistically, yes. It also means outcast, outlawed, beyond the protection of a society. Our law against spilling the blood of our own is based in custom and tradition, not words or decrees as written down by humans."

  "How convenient," Magiere said. "So much easier to twist."

  Brot'ân'duivé ignored her and kept his attention on Léshil. "There are those who consider a traitor beyond the shield of custom and society—and not one of their own. As did Grôyt'ashia when he tried to take your life for interfering with my mission in Venjètz."

  It was only half of the truth, but it served his purpose.

  "And what about Léshil… Leesil?" Wynn asked. "What happens to him for killing one of yours? It was self-defense."

  The young one eyed Brot'ân'duivé with a studied interest that left him wary.

  "I will bear witness in Léshil's favor," he answered. "I know the truth of it, should it come to that."

  "Truth?" Leesil spit. "In your mouth? Have any more sick jokes?"

  "That, and the safe passage of humans in our land, is why the elders gather in Crijheâiche. Now Fréthfâre will give them something of greater concern to my people."

  Brot'ân'duivé turned his eyes upon Magiere.

  Magiere hurt for Leesil, despite her own pain. For all the trouble Wynn had caused, finding Nein'a had done little good.

  She had lost control in front of their enemies, revealing her nature. They didn't truly understand what she was—but an explanation wouldn't gain her much. The child of a vampire would be viewed as little better than an un-dead.

  Even worse, after all of Leesil's efforts, the loss and bloodshed, Nein'a wouldn't even speak to him.

  Magiere avoided looking at the trees. Every time she did, they conjured images of the blotched dead marks her own touch had left on the birch. The ones no one else seemed to have noticed. Her vision of undead slaughtering an encampment still plagued her.

  Elves, short and stout dwarves, and humans had fought side by side as allies, though it didn't seem possible. Certainly not in any part of her world. Wynn spoke at times of elves near her homeland who were far different from those here.

  If it were real—if it had happened—then where and when? And how and why had she seen it upon touching the birch?

  Wynn shivered in the cooling air and clutched at Chap for warmth. Even Leesil huddled up as if chilled.

  "We should start a fire," Magiere said. "Brot'an… help me find firewood."

  "I'll go," Leesil demanded, though he kept his eyes down, unwilling to look at Brot'an. "You need rest."

  Brot'an seemed about to object to either option. Magiere shook her head slightly at him, and then tilted it toward Leesil. Brot'an remained silent in puzzlement.

  "Stay here," she told Leesil. "Have Wynn tell you about trying to walk Nein'a out of the clearing. Maybe there's something we've missed."

  She got up and started off, and Brot'an followed. When they were far enough away not to be heard, he spoke up first.

  "What is on your mind?"

  "You saw me change when we fought in the crypt, but you didn't tell your… kind about me?"

  After a pause, he replied, "It was not their concern."

  "Does anyone else know that Leesil killed Darmouth?"

  He stopped walking, forcing her to face him. "I reported my purpose as complete. No questions were asked, so I did not elaborate."

  "Yet you did tell them he killed Grôyt?"

  "A body does require explanation," Brot'an replied passively. "I returned Groyt'ashia to his family and kin. He was Anmaglâhk, and his throat had been slashed open. Only the truth… only another trained in our way, was a believable explanation."

  Magiere hated it when any of these butchers referred to Leesil as one of them.

  "Whatever you want from Leesil, forget it," she warned. "We're leaving, and—one way or another—we're taking Leesil's mother. Your people have put him through enough. He'll live as he chooses, and I'll see to that. Understand?"

  A strange weariness, or maybe sadness, washed over Brot'an's scarred face. "You have mated with Léshil."

  Magiere was so taken aback that she lost her voice for an instant. "Don't try meddling in my life. What's between Leesil and me is none of your con-cern.

  "It is his concern, more than he may know," Brot'an answered. "I understand your intention, but you do not understand all that is involved… because of Léshil's heritage."

  Magiere flinched at this, though she didn't understand all that Brot'an implied. Except perhaps that her connection to Leesil might be one more weight upon him in the coming days. She changed tactics.

  "Then do me one favor," she said.

  "If I am able."

  "I need to speak with Nein'a alone… just for a few moments."

  The wary Brot'an reappeared, and he shook his head.

 
"The others won't see or know," she went on. "I have questions for her before I decide what to do next. And I… I will owe you in return."

  Being indebted to this man was almost more than Magiere could stomach, but she had to know what Leesil risked his future for. If she could go back in time and save her own mother, she would at any price. Magelia was worth the cost—but was Nein'a?

  "Do not think for a moment," Brot'an warned, "that Fréthfire will forget what she saw this day."

  Brot'an's steady gaze made Magiere's persistent quiver all the more unsettling. He headed for the barrier woods, and she followed. When he stopped before the passage through those tangled trees, he held her off a moment longer.

  "Remember your debt the next time I must have Léshil's cooperation for his own sake."

  Magiere nodded, though it made her flush with resentment. She hoped Leesil would remain distracted by Wynn for a little while longer.

  The passage through the woods had grown as dark as dusk beneath the clouded sky. As Magiere pushed aside the tall ferns and stepped into the open clearing, she wasn't certain how she would handle this meeting. She ended up waiting, lost in thought, until Nein'a appeared from around the domicile tree.

  Nein'a carried the saffron cushion left beside the brook and headed toward her home. She stopped at the sight of Magiere, dropped the cushion beside the tree, and stood waiting.

  As Magiere approached, Nein'a studied the two majay-hì still present. One lapped at the brook's water while the other curled upon the moss to wash. The sight seemed to bring the tall elven woman satisfaction.

  "You risk the moment of peace Brot'ân'duivé created, but Sgäilsheilleache will be the one to pay if your absence is discovered."

  Magiere had bargained blindly for this meeting, and now her tongue was tied as she looked upon this apparition of Leesils past. Lovely, deadly Nein'a. Brot'an's hint at Magiere's intimacy with Leesil suddenly left her uncertain in facing Leesil's mother. Magiere wondered—out of all others, why had Leesil chosen her?

  Magiere wore her emotions on her face. She had no wiles and no ways with feminine mystery.