Rebel Fay

by Barb Hendee

  Brief and broken murmurs sifted through the crowd. Magiere remained tall and straight, with crossed arms, and tried not to meet anyone's eyes.

  Brot'an held both his arms wide. "Her vocation was to destroy the undead. And why would one so-claimed undead"—he turned toward Most Aged Father—"hunt its own kind?"

  "Hearsay!" Fréth shouted. "And conjecture. Your opening statements are concluded. Keep to the presentation of what is verifiable… or be done!"

  Sgäile cut in before Brot'an could reply. "Objection upheld. What was heard by the witness from another is not direct testimony unless the original speaker is not present."

  "A valid point," Brot'an replied. "Then let us hear it directly… I call Léshil as witness."

  "He is not one of us," Fréth shouted. "He is not an'Cróan and may not speak before the council."

  Brot'an paced back to his table. He ripped aside the shimmering cloth, and lifted what hid there into plain sight.

  It was a smooth branch, glistening bare of bark.

  "Once again, you presume to speak for the ancestors," Brot'an called to Fréth. "And yet here is a branch from Roise Chârmune. How is he not one of us… if he was given this?" He pointed the glistening branch at Sgäile. "I call upon the ajudicator to confirm."

  Sgäile nodded slowly. "In my presence… the ancestors gave it freely to Léshil."

  "They gave it to him directly?" Brot'an asked. "He did not procure it with their implied blessing?"

  The hiss of whispered voices surrounded the clearing. Magiere looked down at Wynn in confusion, but the sage only translated the words and shook her head, looking about with uncertain worry on her round face.

  "Yes," Sgäile finally answered. "They appeared to Léshil and one gave him the branch of Roise Chârmune."

  Brot'an and Sgäile were the only ones who didn't look stunned. Murmurs among the elders and clans grew until the noise drowned Sgäile's shouts for silence. Across the field, Fréth stood silent. She looked back at Most Aged Father, but the old man only stared at Leesil. Even his spite was masked in surprise.

  Leesil scowled with his eyes on the ground.

  Magiere was so lost. If Leesil had the branch, why had Brot'an waited to reveal it like this? It seemed one more trick he played on his patriarch, perhaps to keep Fréth and the old man off balance. Magiere wished she could risk asking Leesil questions in the middle of all this.

  "Not enough," Fréth called, though it lacked her usual sharp conviction. "Even among our own, only those who've taken their full place as one of us can speak before the elders when in council."

  "Another true point," Brot'an answered, and Fréth looked wary, as if she'd stepped into a trap. "Blood is not enough. A name is needed to be an'Cróan… to be recognized as one of us."

  "Léshil does not have…" Fréth began, but the last of her words had no voice and were only marked by the movement of her lips.

  "He does," Brot'an answered, and turned upon Leesil. "Speak your true name for all to hear and recognize your rights."

  Magiere looked at Leesil.

  "It doesn't mean anything," he whispered to her. "Whatever it takes to get you out of here… I don't care what they believe."

  "The witness will refrain from speaking," Sgäile called loudly. "Except as directed by the council, an advocate, or the adjudicator."

  Magiere wanted to grab Leesil and make him tell her what had happened.

  Leesil took a long breath. "Leshi… Le… shi-air…" He sighed in frustration. "I can't pronounce it."

  Sgäile frowned, the tan lines of his face creasing, and he shouted out,

  "Léshiârelaohk! And it was not chosen by him… it was given by the ancestors themselves."

  All sound in the clearing faded instantly. Then a low thrum of voices grew and erupted into a deafening chaos.

  Magiere spotted Gleann leaning forward upon his small stool. He was silent, staring down to the field at Leesil. But unlike the shocked disbelief or outrage of others, his expression was eager—and even excited.

  Leanâlhâm stood behind him with confusion on her young face. She touched Gleann on the shoulder, whispering in his ear. He reached up and patted her hand with a satisfied smile but said nothing in return.

  Whatever the name meant either it wasn't clear or the meaning had raised disturbing questions among the council. Or maybe it was that Leesil had acquired any name at all. Magiere looked to Wynn for help.

  The little sage wrinkled her nose and then whispered, "Something about 'grief and… maybe 'tear'? I cannot fully decipher. Its construction seems older than even the dialect spoken here."

  Brot'an stood erect with the branch gripped at his side, ardent and determined pride in his eyes as he looked upon Leesil. Clearly he knew what the name meant and it pleased him. This worried Magiere most of all.

  He raised the branch, turning before the crowd, until the gathering's noise settled enough for him to be heard.

  "Tell us of what happened on hallowed ground," Brot'an said to Leesil.

  Fréth offered no further objection.

  Leesil recounted briefly, and Brot'an translated for the gathering.

  Not all of it made sense to Magiere. Leesil was reluctant and spoke simply, like the times she caught him in some foolishness and forced him to confess. By her guess, he wasn't telling everything. But he offered enough to bring all voices to full silence as the elders and others listened in rapt attention.

  "And what is the use of your weapons?" Brot'an asked. "How does this use relate to the accused?"

  Leesil spoke more forcefully this time, expanding upon Osha's earlier answers. He even told of their first encounter with Sgäile in Bela, and of Chap's own part in their efforts to hunt undead. The crowd listened with interest.

  "Now the people may question the truth of these words," Brot'an said. "Do the elders question the naming of… Léshiârelaohk?"

  His gaze slipped to Fréth and Most Aged Father. Neither said a word, though Fréth seethed visibly in frustration.

  "The ancestors granted Léshiârelaohk's request." Brot'an lifted the branch once more. "Magiere, come forward. You may bring your translator."

  She tried not to hesitate as she stepped out, and Wynn came with her, a little more cautious.

  "If the accused is truly undead," Brot'an called out, "no tricks or arcane practice will serve her. This branch, gifted by the ancestors from Roise Châr-mune, is their bond to our land by which no enemy of the life here could walk our forest."

  He held the branch out to Magiere.

  She stood frozen. Inside, she trembled—not just from the affliction the forest had pressed upon her. What if the branch did something to mark her as an undead after all? Or worse, what if it drained of all remaining life at her touch?

  Magiere couldn't breathe. She reached out and grasped the branch in her bare hand.

  It felt smooth but not slick or wet, as it appeared to be. At first it was cool, even cold, then it warmed gently in her grip. It felt alive, and her panic sharpened.

  For some reason, her eyes met and held Sgäile's. She waited for the wooden symbol to wither or to burn her… or something.

  Nothing happened.

  "If she were undead," Brot'an called out, "this could not happen. Not one sign of rejection. No strike against her flesh by the ancestors through the very emblem of our land and bloodline of old."

  Magiere began to breathe again. Brot'an walked an arc around her and around the clearing as he spoke.

  "She is unusual, yes, perhaps as suited to her calling. In battle, she appears fierce… even predatory, as some have said, and I have seen this myself more than once. But the ancestors have not marked her as a threat to us. Whatever issues some might take with her, the current claim is false."

  Brot'an waved Magiere and Wynn back to the oak table.

  "I rest for now," he said, "and yield to the address of the accuser's advocate."

  Magiere approached the table, watching Leesil. He reached out and grasped her pal
e hand. She quickly dropped the branch on the table and turned to look across the field.

  Fréth remained by her table, locked in uncertainty, but Most Aged Father didn't look shaken a bit by Brot'an's presentation. Magiere quivered inside, wondering what the old man would try next.

  Wynn leaned in close between Magiere and Leesil, translating quietly for them.

  Fréth strode to the clearing's center, wasting no time as she addressed the gathering in a clear, light voice.

  "The accused's advocate has not addressed all possibilities. This human does not merely 'appear' fierce in battle. Her body takes on more literal attributes… by which she turned upon the living around her. We accept the testimonies presented so far without challenge, but even her companions do not fully understand her nature."

  Wynn detected the slight falterings in Fréthfâre's voice.

  Not uncertainty, but more like a speech too quickly memorized, repetitious and glib. Wynn studied Most Aged Father, wondering if Fréth served as his advocate or just his mouthpiece.

  Fréth strode back to her table and flicked a summoning hand at the crowd behind her. Én'nish pushed into view through a cluster of Anmaglâhk and came downslope with something cupped in her hands. Fréth took it and proceeded across the clearing. As she approached Brot'an's table, Wynn saw a sacred white flower in Fréth's hand. The same as the one that Sgäile had warned her not to touch.

  White velvet petals shaped like leaves gathered the sunlight that struck them and returned it in a soft glow. The base and stem of the flower were a dark green, close to black.

  "We saw some of those on our way here," Leesil whispered.

  Fréth held it up for the clan elders to see.

  "Anasgiah—the Life Shield. Prepared by a healer in tea or food, it sustains the dying, so they might yet be saved from death. It is vibrant with life itself, and feeds the life of those who need it most."

  Anxiety grew in Wynn's stomach. By all she had heard, the ancestors were thought to weigh and render judgment according to an'Cróan needs. This flower was an inert thing, void of such intelligent consideration—whatever its use might be in these proceedings.

  "The accused will come out," Fréth ordered.

  Magiere approached in an echo of Fréth's own self-confidence. Wynn trotted after, uncertain if protocol allowed it, but no one stopped her.

  Without warning, Fréth slapped the white petals across Magiere's face.

  Wynn gasped as Leesil tried to rush out. Brot'an pulled him back and then walked up behind Magiere.

  "What is the meaning of this?" Brot'an demanded, as Sgäile moved quickly to join them.

  Wynn grabbed hold of Magiere's arm, fearful of what she might do in return.

  Magiere barely flinched, but her dark eyes locked on Fréth's amber ones. Then she began to shake uncontrollably. Fréth watched her with a startled satisfaction.

  Wynn wrapped her arm around Magiere's waist. Fréth raised the flower for all to see.

  The white petals darkened. First to dull yellow, and then ashen tan as they withered. The flower died in Fréth's hand, and crumpled petals fell away to float to the ground.

  Rumbling grew among the gathering. The shrill voices of the Äruin'nas shouted above all.

  "Only an undead could cause this!" Fréth cried. "Anasgiah's potency is such that an undead does not have to consume the petals to consume what it offers. For that is what an undead truly feeds upon—life!"

  In horror, Wynn craned her head around up at Brot'an.

  His face was tight and hard, but he was caught as unaware as anyone else by this trick Fréth played. At the field's far end, Most Aged Father watched with ardent eyes, and the barest smile stretched his shriveled mouth.

  Wynn tried to force calm as she held on to Magiere, but she found none. Fréth could know little more of the undead than anyone present. She could not have known how the flower would react to Magiere. This was Most Aged Father's doing.

  The old one's test challenged Brot'an's—perhaps even canceled it out.

  Brot'an motioned Magiere and Wynn to return to his table. Wynn walked Magiere back, steadying her until she grabbed the table's edge. Sgäile had to shout for silence again, but one of the Äruin'nas elders rose to his feet, screaming back at Sgäile in his strange tongue.

  "Do not throw another demand upon these proceedings!" Sgäile replied. "No vote has been called. You will hold for deliberation."

  The short old one spit one more vicious utterance. Sgäile did not answer, and stood waiting until the Aruin'nas elder settled cross-legged upon the depression's edge.

  Fréth stalked back to her table as the crowd's rumble settled. She removed three stilettos and a shining garrote wire from her sleeves and belt and dropped them all upon the table.

  Most Aged Father did not look at her. His ardent satisfaction remained focused across the clearing upon Magiere.

  "Brot'ân'duivé sought the ancestors' judgment," Fréth cried out. "I do so as well. But words and tests will not settle this. I disarm and call for trial by combat. Let the ancestors guide my limbs in the old ways. Let them decide who speaks the truth."

  The gathering's murmurs rose into a cacophony. Most Aged Father sat back in his chair, milky eyes glittering.

  "Confer!" Brot'an shouted.

  Sgäile nodded in discomfort and barely contained his distaste as he looked at Fréth.

  Brot'an turned to Magiere as Wynn hurried to catch up in translating. She faltered and staggered as Chap shoved in beside her.

  "What's happening?" Leesil asked.

  "Old ways," Brot'an sighed. "All but forgotten. When a dispute cannot be settled through deliberation, trial by combat may be called, though it has never been sought in my lifetime. And it must be sanctioned by the elders. The victor must put the opponent down, or the opponent must verbally yield. It is believed that the ancestors support the victor's truth."

  "That is not all she wants," Wynn said. "She goads Magiere into revealing her nature. Fréth wants them all to see Magiere transform, and if she cannot defeat Fréth without calling upon her inner nature…"

  Either way, Magiere could lose, and she was still shaking.

  Magiere's eyes shifted back and forth. "I might… might control it long enough… still win…"

  "No," Leesil snapped. "You're not going out there!"

  Magiere was barely able to speak between shudders, and Wynn knew she could not hold her dhampir half inside if a fight ensued. In Nein'a's clearing, Magiere had lost herself in this same shaken state.

  "Most Aged Father told Fréth to do this," Wynn said. "She reported everything she saw in Nein'a's clearing, but only he would know how the flower would affect Magiere."

  Brot'an turned hard eyes on Wynn, likely wondering how she knew this, but she gave him no chance to question her as she rushed on.

  "He knows Magiere may not be able to hold back. The instant she succumbs, she will be finished. This has nothing to do with Fréth putting the outcome in the hands of her ancestors."

  Magiere leaned back, half-sitting on the table's edge, and closed her arms tightly about herself. All Leesil could do was stand before her, holding her steady by the shoulders.

  "A vote must still be taken," Brot'an said.

  He pushed off the table and headed toward Sgäile. Fréth joined them. An unknown anmaglâhk came out as well and handed Sgäile two small baskets.

  "Let us hope the vote fails," Wynn whispered as Leesil turned to watch.

  * * * *

  "A vote on challenge is called!" Sgäile shouted.

  It started slowly at first. Wynn saw stones being tossed by the elders. Black or white, they tumbled downslope or arched directly to the clearings floor. Gleann's black one cleared the slope completely and thumped upon the turf. He gave her a smile, and Wynn understood.

  Black to decline, and white in favor of combat.

  Wynn did not need to look to know what color the Aruin'nas elder threw.

  Brot'an and Fréth followed as Sgäile
gathered and separated the stones into the two baskets. They returned to the clearing's side, where he poured them into two piles. Both appeared equal. He began counting.

  Before he shouted the results, Brot'an already headed back toward Wynn. Chap growled beside her.

  "Trial by combat has been granted," Sgäile called.

  Brot'an began pulling stilettos and blades from his wrist sheaths and boots, slapping them on the oak table.

  "What are you doing?" Wynn asked.

  He ignored her and turned to face the field. "I call the right of proxy, as the accused's advocate."

  Halfway to her own table, Fréth spun about. Even from the distance, Wynn saw her eyes widen.

  "No!" Most Aged Father screeched. "That would prove nothing! The human is an abomination, and you would challenge your own caste for her sake?"

  Wynn grew dizzy, trying to translate amid the noise rising from the onlookers and still follow all that was happening. Nausea surged in her stomach under Chap's leaf-wing voice.

  Too quick a denial! He is eager for this.

  She looked down to find Chap with ears flattened, glaring across the field at Most Aged Father.

  For all the old elf's accusations, and his attempt to deny Brot'an, the An-maglâhk patriarch appeared to quiver with anticipation. Chap spoke again in Wynn's head.

  Brot'an's intercession fuels the old one. He sees opportunity… he wants Brot'an to fight.

  Most Aged Father tried to stand and failed, slumping into his chair. He lifted his frail face to all those around the clearing.

  "Do you see what this thing has wrought? She has poisoned us and driven our own people to violence against each other!"

  Brot'an turned to Sgäile. "By law, this is my right."

  Sgäile was slow to respond. He said something Wynn could not hear over the crowd. But his answer was clearly a confirmation to Brot'an, and he hung his head.

  Wynn did not know Sgäile well, but she knew where his loyalties lay. The last thing he would want was for his own caste to turn upon itself.

  This is no longer just about Magiere , Chap said.

  Wynn saw Most Aged Father's shouted denial for what it was—a calculated misdirection. If Brot'an won, it would shake his own caste's faith in him and might even lead to claims that he sided with enemies of the people. If he lost, though that seemed so unlikely, all that remained was the council's final judgment for what to do with Magiere. Either way, Most Aged Father would have his way in some part.