Rebel Fay

by Barb Hendee

  Sgäile stood close enough that she could have counted the white hairs of his feathery eyebrows. His handsome face was lined with tension.

  "All that happened this last day and night," he said quietly in Elvish, "was because you did not heed my words. You remain under my protection, but disobey again and I will do whatever is necessary to assure your safety… no matter that you will dislike my methods. Do you understand?"

  Wynn bit back her retort.

  If his kind had not imprisoned Nein'a, Leesil would never have needed to come here in the first place. She and Chap would not have had to break Most Aged Father's attempt at coercion. But Sgäile's tone was so serious.

  "Yes," she answered stiffly.

  He headed back to his resting place, and Wynn turned and found Leesil standing right behind her.

  "What was that?" he asked.

  "Nothing," she answered. "Just… nothing."

  Leesil grabbed her hand and pulled her along toward where Magiere crouched. "You stay near us. And let's see if we can't tie up that cloak."

  Wynn gripped down on Leesil's fingers, feeling a little less alone.

  Forest scents intoxicated Chap, and still he returned often to look in on Magiere and Leesil and Wynn. The majay-hì shadowed the procession from out in the trees as they all headed toward Crijheäiche. But Chap believed the pack only made the journey because Lily stayed with him.

  The dogs fell behind to sniff, and even to hunt. More than once, one of them chased down the silver yearling who had wandered off. Some ran ahead, but in the end, they always ended up back near the Anmaglâhk and Chap's companions.

  He pressed his nose against Lily and drew in her warm scent. But as they returned again to the procession, he caught brief words in Leesil's memory, spoken in Magiere's hushed voice.

  Marry me.

  Chap paused, ears cocked.

  And Leesil now dwelled in embarrassment upon his fumbled response.

  How strange and surprising that it had happened in this place, in these dangerous times. But when Chap dipped Magiere's thoughts for her memory of that moment, his wonderment vanished.

  He saw through her eyes the dead bark upon the tree she had touched. He heard the name spoken in her mind as she had blacked out.

  Sorhkafâré.

  It was not familiar to Chap at first, until he saw tangled pieces of what Magiere experienced the moment she fell prone.

  He knew the encampment, and remembered that long-ago night in an ancient elf's fearful memories. The two became one.

  Sorhkafâré… Aoishenis-Ahâre… Most Aged Father.

  Magiere had touched a tree. She had seen a vision she did not understand—one of Most Aged Father's oldest memories.

  Chap looked wildly about the forest, wary of every quiver of leaf.

  Nein'a had looked about the clearing in the same way, easing only when the majay-hì appeared peaceful and settled in their surroundings. And Lily had tried desperately to keep Chap from going into Most Aged Father's home.

  Somehow the withered old elf, impossibly long in his years, had been in Nein'a's glade. He had been in the tree Magiere had touched. It was the only thing Chap could reason.

  Magiere had touched a tree… and eaten a piece of its life without knowing it. Chap remembered his delusional vision of her at the head of an army upon the edge of a dying forest.

  He paced quickly through the trees, watching Magiere from a distance as his fear rose.

  He wanted no more of this. He wanted only to be alone a while longer with Lily. But he kept seeing Magiere in his own remembered delusion and the dark shapes of others waiting upon her to enter the trees.

  Lily yipped as a brown hare raced out from under a bed of mammoth coleus.

  Chap did not follow her.

  * * * *

  Welstiel headed south as dusk turned to night. He led their remaining horse packed with their gear while Chane's new familiar loped ahead of them.

  He noted how gaunt Chane appeared. They would need to melt snow later, perhaps use the last crumbles of tea taken from the Móndyalítko, and replenish their bodies' fluids. For the most part Chane looked tolerable, all things considered. Even in his used cloak and scuffed boots, there was still some trace of a young nobleman, tall and arrogant. No one who saw him could doubt his heritage—at least the one that Chane once had in his living days.

  Welstiel feared that he could not claim so much at present. He fastened his tattered cloak more tightly, and tried to smooth his filthy hair.

  He had not dreamed these past days. Why would his patron show him the castle, its inhabitant, and the very room of the orb, only to fall silent? He clung to one hope.

  The Móndyalítko had been clear in their directions. It was possible that Welsteil's patron felt no further assistance was needed. Yes, that must be the case.

  Barren rocks and patches of snow and ice vanished as his thoughts drifted into the future.

  He wore a white silk shirt and charcoal wool tunic. He was clean and well possessed, living alone on a manor estate in isolation, perhaps somewhere on the northern peninsula of Belaski, still within reach of its capital of Bela or the shipyards of Gueshk. The manor's entire first floor was given over to a library and study, with one whole room for the practice of his arcane artificing. He could create ever more useful objects and never need to touch a mortal again. For somewhere in the cellars below, safely tucked into hiding, was the orb—his orb.

  The horse tossed its head, jerking the reins in Welstiel's hand, as the animal's hoof slipped on a patch of snow-crusted stones. It righted itself, and Welstiel looked up the barren mountainside at his companion.

  Chane never wavered from his desire to seek out the sages. Why—to study histories and fill his head with mountains of broken pieces culled from the past? Ridiculous.

  Welstiel shook his head. Only the present was useful. Let broken days of the Forgotten History remain forgotten, once he acquired what he needed. A solitary existence with no distractions.

  But still…

  "Have you ever tried your hand at artificing?" he asked, his own voice startling in the night's silence.

  Chane lifted his eyes from his trudging steps. Conjury—by ritual, spell, or artificing—always stirred Chane's interest.

  "Small things," he answered. "Only temporary or passive items for my rituals. Nothing like… your ring or feeding cup. I once created a small orb to blind interlopers. I conjured the essence of Light—a manifestation of elemental Fire—and trapped it within a prepared globe of frosted glass. When tripped, its light erupted, and it was spent."

  Welstiel hesitated. "You developed notable skill for one who had no instructor. I wonder how you would fare with a more studied guide to teach you."

  Chane stopped walking, forcing Welstiel to pause.

  "Have you fed without telling me?" Chane asked.

  "No, why?"

  "You are different tonight… more aware."

  Welstiel ignored this bit of nonsense. A series of loud barks sounded from ahead.

  Chane dropped to the ground and folded his long legs.

  Welstiel struggled to be silent and wait as his companion closed his eyes.

  Chane would reach out to connect—spirit to spirit, thought to thought—with the wild dog he had enslaved. He would learn through the dumb beast's senses what it had found. Far more efficient than racing after the animal and wasting remaining energies before knowing if it was worth the expenditure.

  Welstiel stood tense, fighting for patience.

  The castle could be just ahead. The end of his repugnant existence might be that close.

  Chapter Sixteen

  N ight wore on as Magiere traveled beside Leesil and kept Wynn close. She cautiously allowed her dhampir nature to rise just enough to widen her vision. It accomplished little with the moon hidden from sight.

  Leesil said no more about his mother. Wynn was near physical exhaustion, so her bursts of babbling were few. All the Anmaglâhk, especially Sgäile, were
withdrawn and driven by their purpose. Only in one place in the world did people accept Magiere for who, rather than what, she was—Miiska. But home was far away.

  She tried to shut out the vision she'd had in Nein a's clearing, the marks her hands left on the tree, and whatever lay ahead in Crijheâiche. She tried to focus on Leesil.

  Leesil was the imaginative one, not she. After facing Nein'a's coldhearted-ness, all Magiere wished was to make him feel wanted—and to let him know he would at least have her for the rest of his days. He reminded her that there was a place for them in this world, where others waited to stand up with them on the day they swore their oath. Annoying as Leesil was at times, he was right.

  His words painted a picture in her mind of celebration with Karlin, Caleb, little Rose, and perhaps Aunt Bieja. Magiere imagined Leesil with his hair tied back and wearing a clean white shirt—one he hadn't mended and patched beyond its time.

  Yes, she wanted this too.

  The surrounding forest began to look familiar, and Magiere caught the soft glow of lanterns among the trees. They passed an enormous oak swollen into a dwelling.

  "We're close," she said.

  "Oh, for a bath and clean clothes," Wynn grumbled.

  Fréth traveled just ahead of Leesil, but she slowed and dropped to the rear near Én'nish.

  Magiere found this odd. Then she saw someone running toward them between the domicile trees, flashing in and out of pools of lantern light or the seeping glow from under a curtained doorway.

  Leanâlhâm's yellow shirt stood out in the dark. She smiled and ran straight for Sgäile with her light brown ponytail swishing. Sgäile pulled her against his chest, and Leanâlhâm's eyes wandered about the group until they found Wynn.

  "I am so glad you are found," she said with the relief of a lifelong friend. "Urhkarasiférin said you were lost in the forest, but I knew Sgäilsheilleache would find you."

  Wynn smiled briefly over her exhaustion.

  Magiere waited for Leanâlhâm's rush of questions. But when the girl tried to go to Wynn, Sgäile's arm tightened. He held her back, turning slightly away. Magiere knew it wasn't Wynn who he kept the girl from—it was herself.

  Sgäile spoke harshly in Elvish to Leanâlhâm, and the girl's mouth dropped open with a flash of hurt in her eyes.

  "Bârtva'na!" Sgäile half-shouted, cutting off her rising protest.

  Magiere understood the word from the little Elvish that she'd heard Wynn translate. Sgäile commanded the girl to stop and obey. Leanâlhâm stared at him with open resentment.

  "He ordered her back to their quarters," Wynn said quietly. "She is not to speak with us."

  "What?" Leesil asked. "Why?"

  It wasn't right for Sgäile to deny the girl so harshly. He didn't want his little cousin anywhere near the unnatural thing discovered among them. But for all the man's fear, he couldn't possibly believe Magiere would harm Leanâlhâm. She'd given her word to watch over the girl whenever possible.

  Sgäile's distress ran more deeply than Magiere had guessed.

  She glanced carefully about at the other Anmaglâhk. Most remained expressionless, except for Én'nish's venomous glare and Fréth's smoldering silence. But Brot'an now peered about the trees with a strange uncertainty.

  Magiere wanted no more confrontations with Sgäile, and hopefully Leanâlhâm would do as he asked.

  Leanâlhâm backed away, her features fading in the deeper black beneath a tree in the darkness.

  "Shiuvâlh!" Sgäile snapped.

  That word Magiere didn't know, but his tone made her tense. A shadow appeared behind Leanâlhâm, followed by another to the right. Magiere whirled around to find more closing on the left and from behind.

  "Leesil…" she hissed in warning.

  He turned, watching dark figures move in the night.

  Osha stepped closer to Wynn. Sgäile pulled a stiletto, as did Fréth. Brot'an turned about more slowly, the puzzlement in his steady gaze becoming cold displeasure. The first shadow stepped into plain sight.

  Urhkar stood calm and passive. Another anmaglâhk came in behind him, and another from beyond Sgäile, and then another. All but the elder anmaglâhk held shortbows drawn with arrows notched, their gleaming heads resting over bow handles of silver-white metal.

  Magiere found herself ringed in on all sides with Leesil and Wynn by at least twenty Anmaglâhk. No wonder Sgäile pushed them all so hard, knowing what waited upon their arrival.

  "You split-tongue son of…" Leesil started, his gaze on Sgäile.

  Magiere grabbed Leesil's wrist and squeezed hard in warning as she glanced back at Wynn. A wrinkle of the sage's brow hinted at something more beneath her fright—a tinge of anger in the once-timid sage. Magiere saw no course of action that wouldn't end in all of their deaths.

  Fréth and Sgäile faced inward toward Magiere. Sgäile kept his blade low, but Fréth did not.

  "What are you doing?" Leesil demanded.

  Brot'an gave Urhkar a slow shake of his head, but the other elder returned no reply.

  "All of you pull back and allow us through," Brot'an called out.

  Not one anmaglâhk retreated, and Fréth came straight at Magiere and Leesil.

  "You will come with us."

  Magiere heard Leesil's foot slip back, and the grinding of sod as he anchored it and shifted his weight. Six Anmaglâhk stepped in with bows raised. Two were aimed straight at Wynn.

  "No!" Magiere whispered. "Too many for a fight."

  And then Brot'an sidled into the path of the bows aimed at Wynn.

  "She is correct," he said plainly. "We must wait to find another way to resolve this."

  Leesil turned his head side to side, his eyes moving even quicker as he studied the spread of all those surrounding them. None of the elves lowered their weapons.

  "Go!" Fréth ordered.

  Uncertainly, Leesil moved up beside Magiere, and they followed Brot'an. They were swept away into the heart of Crijheäiche. Magiere grew more uncertain as they entered a wide clearing encircled by domicile trees.

  Near to each tree's curtained doorway, she saw more of the Anmaglâhk. At the clearing's center rose a massive oak that dwarfed any tree she'd seen since entering these lands.

  "They're taking us to Most Aged Father," Leesil whispered.

  Wynn stayed close to Magiere as they faced Most Aged Father's dwelling. She looked about for any sign of Chap, but he was nowhere in sight. Neither was the pack or Lily. Sgäile pulled the doorway's curtain aside.

  "Down the stairs!" Fréth ordered.

  Wynn looked up anxiously at Brot'an. He nodded once and stepped through the entrance after Sgäile. Leesil went next, then Magiere, and Wynn followed with Fréth close behind her.

  Inside, candle lanterns lit the wide barren chamber. A stairway of living wood along the left wall led down into the earth. Wynn reached the bottom, stepping off the last stair of embedded stone, and found herself in an earth-walled chamber. At its center was a root the size of a small domicile tree.

  Glass lanterns hung from stone-packed earth walls and cast hazy yellow light upon massive roots arching through the ceiling overhead. Wynn was not certain why they were here, but this underground chamber disturbed her. No elf that she knew would choose to live this way.

  "Move!" Fréth ordered and shoved Magiere from behind.

  Magiere stumbled forward awkwardly, pulling her hand back from catching herself on the center root. She wobbled, and Wynn grabbed her arm, feeling the uncontrolled shudders running through Magiere.

  Leesil whirled about, and Fréth raised her blade.

  "You wouldn't even try," he said. "Your sickly master still needs me."

  "Enough," Brot'an warned, but his eyes were turned toward Fréth.

  "And Chap wouldn't let you," Leesil whispered at Fréth.

  Wynn's attention was pulled in too many directions. Magiere quaked in a way Wynn had never seen before. She did not usually frighten this easily—and her fear led to fury, not weakness.


  A flash of gray on the stairs caught Wynn's attention.

  Chap descended, his jaws already open.

  Sgäile tried to reach over the stairs and grab the dog. Leesil slammed his shoulder into Sgäile's back, shoving him aside as Chap lunged off the stairs with a rabid snarl.

  Fréth barely caught sight of the dog before Chap's jaws snapped shut on her wrist. She dropped the stiletto with a startled inhale and jerked her arm free as the blade hit the chamber floor. Chap's snarls rang off the stone-packed walls as he drove Fréth backward.

  Leesil snatched the fallen stiletto before Sgäile could dive for it. All Wynn could do was try to keep Magiere on her feet.

  Fréth scrambled over the bottom stair, braced herself against the wall, and kicked out. Her foot struck Chap's chest, tossing him away. Chap twisted back at her so fast that Fréth gained no ground. He lunged at her, jaws opened wide.

  Brot'an slipped between them, and Chap's teeth closed fast on his forearm. Chap thrashed his head and dragged Brot'an to one knee.

  "Chap, stop it!" Wynn cried out.

  Brot'an did not strike back. He crouched there, rigid and waiting as Chap settled to rumbling stillness.

  "No more!" Brot'an said sharply.

  Leesil held off Sgäile with the stiletto, but his eyes shifted toward Fréth. "There's little I wouldn't pay to kill you. Don't ever touch me or mine again."

  "Chap… you let him go… now!" Wynn commanded.

  Chap unclamped Brot'an's arm with clear reluctance, rumbling as he backed toward Magiere. His gaze remained fixed on the tall elf rising to his feet. Dark stains spread through the gray-green felt of Brot'an's torn sleeve.

  He spotted the blade in Leesil grip, and held out his hand. "Please."

  "Give it to him," Magiere whispered and straightened herself.

  Leesil flipped the stiletto, catching its blade, and slapped the hilt into Brot'an's palm.

  "Fréthfâre…" Brot'an warned, tossing the stiletto to her, "keep your distance—and your conduct."

  "And you too," Wynn said to Chap, though relieved to see him. "Where have you been?"

  Chap ceased rumbling and the leaf-wing rose in Wynn's mind. Watching.