“I guess they do more than dance, after all,” Aidan said faintly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bran said. “I’d much rather hunt than dance.”
Gwen thought about what the arrow meant. Isolde and her court needed to eat, and presumably they hunted whatever game lived in this forest. But Isolde ruled over a realm. Surely there were more people living in it than resided in her castle? Gwen hadn’t thought about it before, and now wondered about the extent of her mother’s influence.
“Look at this.” Aidan bent to pick up a woven basket, its once-bright stripes of color now dull and moldering after clearly spending many weeks lying forgotten among the brush. They continued to walk amid more and more signs of habitation—notches blazed into trees, a cluster of bright leaves carefully gathered and then discarded to dry on a fallen tree trunk, a footprint in a splotch of mud.
Aidan’s hushed voice breathed in her ear.
“I think we’d better prepare for an encounter with a local sooner rather than later.”
A rustling ahead alerted Gwen to another presence.
“Shhh!” She threw her arm out and the back of her hand thumped against Aidan’s chest. He paused immediately.
“What did you hear?” He looked around with the jerky motions of a hunted animal. Bran looked around with less intensity. Gwen tilted her head to the side, straining to catch the noise again.
“A crunching sound. Up ahead.” She froze when she heard a voice, low but clear, murmuring in the distance. She and Aidan looked at each other and Gwen’s heart pounded. Her earlier eagerness to explore the Otherworld evaporated, and fears emerged like a roaring beast. They had been in terror of their lives on their last trip. The constant threat of exposure as half-humans had hung over them, carried around like a strangling noose of fear. It was easy to forget in the calm reality of the human world. But now, faced with real Breenan once more, Gwen’s memories of last May returned as sharp and alarming as when she had first experienced them. She looked at Aidan, her terror echoed in his face, his round eyes mirroring her own. Aidan swallowed audibly.
“We did want to find someone, to ask directions.”
Gwen tried to take a deep breath, but found there was no room for it next to the fear lodged in her chest.
“I guess we did. Okay, we keep it simple, ask them what direction to go in to find the Wintertree realm, and then skedaddle. Good?” Aidan nodded. Gwen said, “Okay, let’s do this. Carefully.”
Bran frowned.
“Don’t be so worried. It’ll only be a band of villagers. Unless…” He left his sentence dangling.
“Unless what?” Gwen said, her heart pounding faster.
“Unless they’re bandits. But I doubt it.” Bran slumped against Aidan’s side. “I need to rest for a moment. Only a moment.” A small wisp of blue smoke puffed out of his left ear.
“Perhaps we should park Bran here.” Aidan pointed to the shady cover of a nearby bush. “Until we find out what’s happening. All right, Bran?”
“Yeah.” Bran crawled his way to the bush. Gwen grabbed some fallen pine branches and carefully propped them against the bush to conceal Bran.
“Good idea,” Aidan said.
With Bran taken care of, Gwen and Aidan paced forward, slowly and stealthily. The murmuring stopped, but occasional rustles and crunches continued. The path cut a meandering line through the undergrowth. Gwen slid around a tall tree trunk and looked forward.
At first, she saw nothing. More forest stretched out, endless tree trunks and green moss into the distance until the horizon was lost in brown woods. Aidan sidled up beside her, gazed for a moment, and then gasped. Gwen looked closer, puzzled.
The mounds she had taken for particularly thick undergrowth, piles of dry bracken, or dense ivy climbing up trees, were something else entirely. In front of her was a vast interconnected construct—house wasn’t really the right word, although Gwen thought warren might be close—covered in an array of branches and leaves and evergreen needles until it blended into the forest. Most of the structure sprawled in a network of mounded heaps, but sections plunged below the ground and tunneled through hummocks of earth. There were even some parts that climbed up nearby trees, covered in a thick layer of glossy ivy vines. Small slits here and there among the branches acted as windows, and she saw one hole in a little hill carefully outlined by uncut stones.
Now that Gwen could see the warren in full, a more unsettling sight emerged. She clutched Aidan’s arm convulsively. Standing behind hanging boughs and sturdy trunks and even perched in the trees were dozens of people. They silently watched Gwen and Aidan through listless eyes. An old woman leaned against the trunk of a tall fir tree, a mother with a baby standing behind her. All three were dressed in tunics that melted seamlessly into the greens and browns of the forest. All had the same indifferent and unresponsive expression on their faces, even the baby. Gwen shivered. They looked at her, but it was as if nothing Gwen did could really matter to them.
“Hello?” Aidan’s voice disturbed the stillness of the Breenan silence and made Gwen jump. “Sorry to bother you. We’re passing though, on the way to the Wintertree realm. Is this the right direction?”
The silence continued for a long uninterrupted moment. Sweat prickled on Gwen’s scalp. Finally, a woman stepped forward to face them in the middle of the path. She was old, with deep lines etched in the tanned skin of her face. Gwen was reminded of the grain in weathered wood. Her silvery hair, tied back in a long braid, was tinged with a warmth that melded into the surrounding autumn leaves. Her tunic was similar to the other women’s, a simple mid-length garment with a strip of leather gathering the waist. Her age had bent her over slightly, but she had about her an air of gravitas despite her posture.
“Greetings, travelers.” Her voice was deep with age but surprisingly clear. “Not many pass through these woods of late. Not since the troubles began.”
Gwen was relieved that they hadn’t yet been skewered by an arrow.
“What troubles? We aren’t from around here,” Gwen said hastily as the woman gazed at her dispassionately.
“We have always been a prosperous realm. Enemies do not cross our borders, and the land is generous. We have always had all we needed, until the troubles began.
“One moon before the longest day, game in these woods began to fail. The deer fled, and flowers blossomed without bearing fruit. The wolf and the lion stalked the forest once more, and when they found no suitable prey they hunted us, the forest people. Many folk left the woods, their homes, in search of better groves where the deer run and fruits grace the trees. Enemies of our realm raid within the forest’s borders, stealing whatever they can carry. Our clan,” here she gestured calmly to the camouflaged Breenan. “Have stayed clear of the invaders, gleaning what we can to survive.”
Gwen listened with growing discomfort. One month before the summer solstice was when she and Aidan and Ellie had traveled into the Otherworld. Was that a coincidence? Had they somehow upset the balance in Isolde’s realm?
“What of the queen? Doesn’t she protect you from invaders? This is still Queen Isolde’s realm, right?”
The old woman’s eyes narrowed.
“The queen has failed us. When she accepted her role as ruler, she swore to protect her people, and ensure the land was pleasant and fruitful. In exchange, we feed her court and abide by her laws. But we are not protected, and there is little enough food for our own survival, let alone provisions for the queen. She has failed us.” The woman repeated this last sentence with a heavy finality.
Gwen looked around the warren, and noticed the many unpatched holes in its walls. It had been kept up earlier in the year—a patch of drying branches in the wall had clearly been green in the spring—but nothing had been maintained since. A number of large hooks dangled from swaying ropes attached to branches above. Gwen guessed from their sharp points that they were intended to hang meat, but they swung empty.
“I’m sorry,” Gwen said. �
��I hope things get better for you. Soon.” She felt the inadequacy of her comment keenly.
The woman nodded once in answer. Aidan glanced at Gwen and said, “Is the queen’s castle very far from here?”
Gwen slipped her hand into his, grateful for his understanding. Worry crept insidiously into her mind. What had happened to Isolde? And did it have something to do with Gwen? The sinking feeling in her stomach told her it did.
The old woman pointed back the way they had come.
“Fifty paces, take the trail east. It will lead you to the castle.”
Gwen looked over her shoulder as they left. The old woman stared after them, her face expressionless. The rest of her clan were eerie in their unnatural stillness. Gwen shivered and followed Aidan.
***
“Well, that wasn’t weird at all,” Gwen said as Aidan peeked at Bran, asleep in the bush. She sighed when Bran’s head flopped bonelessly against his shoulder. “I wish he’d just get better.”
“I suppose that explains the lack of enchantments. Whatever these ‘troubles’ are caused by, they seem to affect everything in these woods. Even autumn’s come early here.”
“Do you think it had something to do with us?” Gwen asked, trying to be casual. She chewed her tongue and watched leaves drift to the ground, unseasonably early.
“Oh, I don’t think…” Aidan’s voice trailed off, his reassurance turned thoughtful. “Hmm. The timing is right. But how could we have done anything?”
“I don’t know. It just seems like a strange coincidence. And not many humans—or half-humans—go through the portals.”
Aidan shrugged and took away the branch that covered Bran.
“Let’s go find your—Isolde, and get some answers.”
Before Gwen could reply, a twig cracked to her right. She jumped and twirled on the spot, all her senses on overdrive.
Three children stood before her. They were clad in brown tunics similar to the villagers, but their bare feet were filthy and blistered and their cheeks were smeared with dust and tear tracks. The eldest, a girl about seven, held a sleeping toddler in her arms. A young boy stood behind her as if to shield himself from Gwen and Aidan. He sniffled quietly as the girl looked steadily at them.
Gwen’s breath caught. Where had they come from? Were they children of the village? But if so, why were they so unkempt? The children at the warren had been listless, yet clean and cared for. These children had been on their own for days.
“Please, do you have any food to share?” The girl’s voice was calm and measured, as if she had asked the question many times before. Gwen gulped and shot a glance at Aidan, whose wide, horrified eyes gave her an answer.
“Of course.” Gwen set down her pack and unclipped the clasp to rummage through its contents. She pulled out a package of buns and shrugged helplessly at Aidan. He swung his own pack down and drew out some chunks of cheese. They offered it to the children, whose eyes locked on the food. The boy’s little hands reached forward almost involuntarily. The girl was slightly more restrained, but took the buns quickly as if afraid that Gwen would snatch them back.
“Are you on your own? Where are your parents?” Gwen asked the girl, who kept steady eyes on Gwen’s face as she ate. The girl swallowed before she answered.
“They’re dead,” she said. Gwen’s heart clenched at her matter-of-fact tone. “Invaders came and killed people in our village who didn’t give them food and furs. Our father didn’t give in,” here she lifted her chin a little, proudly. “And they killed him for it. Mother too. We ran away from the borderlands like mother told us. Perhaps when the troubles are over, we can go back. If the troubles are ever over.”
The girl dusted off her hand tidily as she finished her portion. The little boy looked at her with a bun gripped in his dirty fist. The girl shifted the toddler’s weight in her arms and gave him the bag of buns to carry.
“Thank you for the food. We need to go now. Our father’s sister lives in a village beside the great river. We need to find her.” The girl edged past them to continue down the path, the boy close on her heels.
Gwen said nothing as they left. She didn’t know what to say. Her heart ached with the thought of the children wandering the forest on their own, but she couldn’t think of anything else to do. Gwen and Aidan were useless enough in the forest, especially without Bran helping. She hoped fervently that the children found their aunt soon.
Aidan put an arm around her shoulder.
“Come on. There’s nothing more we can do for them. They grew up in the forest. They’ll find their way.”
“I hope so.” Gwen was unconvinced by Aidan’s reassurances.
“We need to keep moving.” Aidan jerked his head at the motionless Bran, and Gwen nodded. They had to keep on task. Bran’s life might depend on it. Wordlessly, Gwen and Aidan went to either side of Bran and hauled him up by his arms.
“Oy,” Bran said weakly. “I was enjoying myself.” He coughed and purple sparks flew out of his mouth. They hadn’t seen purple before. Were the colors random, or was purple a sign of progression of the illness?
“Time to go, lazybones,” Aidan replied, hefting Bran’s arm over his shoulder. “We can’t have you relaxing while the rest of us work.”
Gwen followed Aidan and Bran down the trail, lost in her thoughts. Aidan counted under his breath.
“Forty-six, forty-seven,” Aidan paced forward and stopped. “Fifty.”
There was a gap in the bushes between two conifers where a small path opened up in the undergrowth. Gwen went ahead to look.
“Hey, it gets wider over here.”
When Aidan and Bran rejoined her, Gwen swung Bran’s arm around her shoulder and grabbed his waist. They walked along the path, much slower now that they traveled three abreast. Bran’s footsteps were getting more and more sluggish. Gwen silently willed him to keep going. They had no form of transport here—they needed Bran to stay on his feet. The forest was dim and cool, too cool for Gwen’s shorts, but she had no other clothes.
After twenty minutes of their awkward amble through a particularly thick patch of bushy undergrowth, they rounded a bend in the path. A lone figure walked toward them. Gwen gasped as she recognized him and Aidan stopped short, jolting their procession and waking Bran out of his trance. The man narrowed his eyes and spoke.
“You.” Corann, Isolde’s second-in-command and Ellie’s previous abductor, looked Gwen up and down. His mouth twisted as if he tasted something vastly unpleasant. “What are you doing here? Come to gloat over the destruction you’ve wrought? You weren’t satisfied with leaving us to ruin?”
Gwen was aghast at Corann’s reaction. His eyes were filled with bitter anger, directed at her. What made Corann blame Gwen so vehemently?
“What do you mean? How did I cause this? This, whatever is happening to the forest? What did I do?”
Corann spat on the ground at Gwen’s feet and she sprang back. Aidan and Bran both stepped forward.
“Get away from her,” Aidan snarled. Bran looked like he wanted to say something, but he swayed wildly and Aidan hastily wrapped his arm around Bran’s shoulder to hold him up.
“What’s the matter with him?” Corann asked, but his interest was fleeting. He turned back to Gwen. “You left us unprotected. You took away the source of my queen’s power and left her unable to defend her realm, unable to feed her people, unable to keep the wild beasts from our doors.” Corann clenched his fists and turned away as if he couldn’t stand the sight of her anymore.
“You mean the locket,” Gwen whispered. She saw Bran fidget in front of her and Aidan hiss something indiscernible to him.
“Yes, of course I mean the locket.” Corann swiveled his head to pierce Gwen with venomous eyes. “By taking away our wellspring of creativity, you condemned this realm to a slow, lingering death.” He sucked in his breath and clenched his jaw tightly, looking away again. The muscles in his cheek worked.
Gwen bit her lip in distress. Taking the locket had seemed
like the obvious, easy choice. Saving countless future humans from torturous madness and a slow, lingering death—well, it hadn’t been a choice, really. Gwen knew she would do it again in a heartbeat.
But she hadn’t considered that there might be serious consequences in the Otherworld. And as strange and different as the Breenan were, they were still people. Her people, partly. And it seemed that most of them were innocent of the queen’s transgressions and had no real knowledge of the machinations of the court. Gwen found it difficult to sympathize with Corann after his prominent role in Ellie’s kidnapping in the spring, but her heart ached for the villagers they had met.
“Where is Isolde?” Gwen asked, trying to keep her voice strong.
“What do you care?” Corann’s voice practically dripped with bitterness.
“You know where she is,” Gwen said, and Corann shifted his feet slightly. Gwen glanced at Aidan, still supporting Bran’s drooping form. Aidan shrugged slightly and nodded as if to say, it’s your choice.
“Corann, I need to see her. I need to speak to—my mother.” Even now the word felt foreign and ungainly in her mouth. She squared her shoulders and stared at Corann. He looked at her with narrowed eyes for a moment, then turned with an exasperated sigh.
“Do what you will,” he threw back over his shoulder, and he stepped quickly down a path to their right.
Gwen moved to Bran’s other side.
“I’m fine,” Bran muttered groggily.
“Of course you are,” Gwen said automatically, making sure she had a firm hold around Bran’s waist as they hurried to keep up to Corann. She glanced at Aidan, who looked back at her with a reassuring smile.
“Do you think this is the right move?” she asked.
“Yeah, I do. You need answers, and this way we’ll get them right from the horse’s mouth.”
“S’not very nice,” Bran mumbled. “Calling Gwen’s mother a horse.”
Gwen and Aidan grinned at each other despite everything.
“I forgive you, Aidan,” Gwen said.
Breenan Series Box Set Page 27