Aidan sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. Then he stopped and turned to Gwen.
“Gwen. You have to stop taking responsibility for everything bad that’s happened in Isolde’s realm. You didn’t know what would happen, and taking the locket was the right thing to do. It’s Isolde’s fault that the realm fell apart. She was the one who built a house of cards that came tumbling down when the locket was gone.” He looked to the sky, as if asking for patience. “But if we’re to save Bran, and help the realm, we have to be able to fend for ourselves. We didn’t have a lot of food to begin with. Can we agree on not giving any more away, please?”
Gwen felt mutinous, but she didn’t have any words to respond to Aidan. There was a hole in his logic, she knew it, but at the moment she couldn’t find it. Aidan looked at her face, sighed again, and turned to start walking.
“Come on. Let’s keep moving.”
***
The road crept by, hour after long hour. Gwen was thankful for her shorts in the bright sun—the late summer heat mirrored the human world’s weather more so than Isolde’s realm did. Rolling hills were interspersed with small groves of trees and bisected by muddy rivers that meandered slowly through dry grasses. Occasionally, the road branched off and a minor tributary wound between hills and out of sight. Always, the fork in the road was marked by a single tree with a creeping vine wound around its trunk. Sometimes it was an oak festooned with clumps of mistletoe, other times it was a gnarled cherry smothered by clematis, but the combination of tree and creeping plant did not vary. During one of Bran’s brief periods of wakefulness, Gwen asked him about it.
“It’s a signpost,” he said sleepily. “There’s a village down the road, the village of Stillwater. There are lots of people living in father’s realm.”
“Could have fooled me.” Aidan gazed around at the empty valley in which they stood. “I thought we were the last ones standing.”
“The village folk often don’t like being in the thick of things, but there are plenty of them. We’ll pass through Leafly soon—it’s on the main road. Home is only a day away after that.” Bran coughed his customary rainbow sparks. When he had recovered, he closed his eyes and said no more.
Gwen exchanged glances with Aidan.
“A whole day?” she said. “This is silly. Don’t Breenan have any other way to get around other than by walking?”
“Yeah, I wish we could make a portal back to the real world and catch the bus,” Aidan said.
“Wouldn’t that be nice? If we actually knew where we were going, that is. And had money. And if our patient didn’t shoot sparks.”
“Three tickets to the Wintertree realm, please, driver. And don’t mind the combustible lunatic here—he’s harmless, really.”
Gwen giggled, then looked at Bran and sighed. Aidan coughed and she glanced at him sharply. His face was pale.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m all right.”
“No, it’s hovering Bran, isn’t it? Here, let me take a turn.”
Aidan didn’t protest. She passed him the backpack and he gently lowered Bran to the ground while Gwen reached into her core and drew on the fuzzy borrowed memory to lift Bran’s body in the air. Bran didn’t stir. The weight of the hovering magic fell on Gwen’s shoulders like a heavy coat.
An hour later, the hills opened up to a wide valley with a large river that flowed steadily through the center. The road ran alongside its banks and met a cluster of low buildings in the middle of the valley. It was a much bigger settlement than the previous village they had encountered—it was still tiny by modern human standards, but Gwen estimated that at least a hundred low dwellings surrounded a large central area. The open square bustled with figures.
“At last, civilization in the Otherworld,” Aidan said. He peered more closely. “Is it market day?”
“The square seems really busy.” Gwen squinted into the distance. “Yes, that’s exactly what’s going on.”
“Perhaps we can gather some supplies.” Aidan looked thoughtful. Gwen frowned.
“But we don’t have any money. I don’t even know what they use for money here.”
“Bran said they don’t have money—they trade things. I wonder—if I went down there and played my flute…”
“You mean you want to busk? Put out your proverbial hat and see what people give you?” It sounded crazy, but the more Gwen thought about it, the more it made sense. “Isolde and company certainly put a high value on music. It could be worth a shot. We should ask Bran, though—make sure you aren’t breaking the law or something.” She moved to Bran and shook his shoulder gently. “Bran, wake up.” He murmured groggily without opening his eyes. “Bran, we need to ask you a question. If Aidan played his flute in the Leafly market, would people give him things for playing?”
Bran nodded slowly.
“Yeah, I expect so. Go for it.” He rolled over and covered his eyes with his sleeve.
The village grew larger and more imposing the closer they got. Gwen started to sweat. There were a lot of Breenan in this town. The stone dwellings housed many of them, but it was clear that market day had swelled the town’s population considerably.
“What’s the plan?” Gwen asked Aidan. “Are we just going to march in there and start playing? What about Bran?”
Aidan looked at Bran, whose hair waved in the slight breeze as he lay on his invisible bed, limp and lifeless.
“You’d better stay out of town with Bran,” Aidan said. “We’ll find somewhere safe for you to hide. I’ll play, trade for some supplies, and we’ll skirt the town on the way out.”
“That sounds too easy. I don’t like you going in on your own.” Gwen worried her bottom lip as she stared at Bran, then sighed. “But I don’t want to be quarantined if anyone spots Bran.”
Aidan scanned the riverbank on their approach to the town. Gwen’s hands clenched into fists at the sound of shouts and the murmur of a crowd.
“There.” Aidan pointed. “A nice cluster of willows. You can hide inside one of them. Try not to have a traumatic flashback.”
Gwen laughed in surprise. Aidan referred to the painful marking ceremony where they had received their tattoos and knowledge of their heritage. A large part of it had taken place under the sweeping branches of willow trees such as these.
“I’ll do my best.”
Aidan rummaged in the backpack to pull out his worn black case. He opened it and assembled his flute, then clutched it in tight hands and stood. Gwen’s breath caught when it hit her that Aidan was leaving. She threw her arms around him.
“Be careful, okay? If anything—anything—seems strange or goes wrong, come right back. We can survive another day on chips if we have to.”
“One bag between three? I hardly think so.” He squeezed her to show he was joking. “I’ll be careful, I promise.”
Gwen released his body, but clutched his face between her hands to give him a final kiss.
“You’d better be.”
He gave her a lopsided grin and paced with long strides toward the town. Gwen sighed at his retreating form and glanced around. There was nobody to see where she went—everyone must be at the market. Determined not to press her luck, she jogged toward the willows with Bran hovering beside her.
The space within the willow’s branches was empty, and the yellowing leaves trapped heat to create a humid room that glowed with a golden light. Gwen lowered Bran carefully and sat beside him, relieved that they were safe for the moment.
Less than a minute had passed before Gwen’s anxieties returned. She and Bran were safe, yes, but what about Aidan? What was happening out there? Was he successfully playing for an adoring audience, or had a different scenario played out? Gwen’s mind flashed her a grim series of images—Aidan captured, Aidan shot with an arrow, Aidan’s tattoo and half-human status exposed…
Gwen looked at Bran. He was peacefully sleeping, with no sign of waking up any time soon. The willow was as safe a hiding place as she could find. Bran would be
fine here. She just wanted to check on Aidan, make sure he was okay. She would come right back.
Her mind made up, Gwen tucked the pack against Bran’s back. She hoped that if Bran woke up, he would take the presence of the pack as an indication that they would return. Unencumbered by either the pack or Bran for the first time in a long while, Gwen peeked out of the willow to check that the coast was clear. She stole through the swaying fronds and sauntered casually toward the town.
It wasn’t difficult to locate the market—the road led directly to the market’s noises. Hardly anyone stood at their front doors to see her pass. One or two older Breenan sat on chairs beside dark doorways or empty alleys and stared at her as she strolled by, but none spoke to her and she passed them in silence, sweating. She felt distinctly out of place in her shorts, and vowed to stay in the shadows and leave as soon as she saw that Aidan was safe.
The din from the market square grew louder and louder on the deserted street until she emerged through a stone archway between two closely spaced houses. A melange of bodies and colors and smells dazzled her momentarily and she stopped to absorb the scene. There were no carts or stalls. Instead, woven blankets of greens and deep blues and vivid reds lay strewn over half of the marketplace ground. Spread on the blankets were goods for trade, large gourds and strange leaves and roots that Gwen didn’t recognize. Some blankets held stoppered clay bottles, others were scattered with carved wooden utensils, and one even had a few daggers and other metal instruments. The Breenan crowd in the marketplace stepped lightly around the blankets to inspect goods and chat among themselves. The warm autumn air swirled throughout, scented with the earthy soil of root vegetables and the fragrance of unfamiliar herbs. Occasionally, one of the Breenan presiding over a blanket would exchange goods with their neighbor. It seemed simple enough to Gwen. Confusing to implement, but simple in theory. She wondered uneasily how Aidan would “trade” his music for food.
Thinking of Aidan brought her back to the dangers of the marketplace. It was so busy that no one had yet spared her a glance, but it wouldn’t be long before she was noticed. She backed into the shadows of the nearest house and her eyes darted around frantically. Where was Aidan?
She heard him before she saw him. A melody soared high above her, achingly sweet and utterly different from the noises of the chattering crowd. The Breenan looked around with interest, and those who spotted Aidan pointed him out to their neighbors. Gwen followed the fingers with her eyes to find Aidan, his copper hair flaming in the sun and the silver flute glinting brightly. He stood, highlighted by the sun, on the outer edge of the marketplace where the blankets were less frequent.
Gwen’s heart nearly beat out of her chest in fear and admiration. What it must have taken Aidan to bring flute to lips, to draw attention in such a dramatic way, all eyes fixed on him? Gwen couldn’t think of anything worse, but Aidan looked calm and relaxed. He swayed slightly to his own melody with his eyes half-closed.
The haunting music drifted through the listening crowd for only a short while. Aidan didn’t let the last note linger before he launched into a lively tune that made Gwen want to move her feet to the music. She kept still, but the Breenan crowd nearest Aidan had no such qualms. They quickly cleared a small area by folding blankets and rolling gourds out of the way. Immediately, eight Breenan lifted their feet and swung each other around in a Breenan-style jig. Gwen didn’t hide her smile when she imagined Aidan’s inner reaction to the Breenan, whom he insisted danced all the time. They certainly weren’t proving him wrong today.
When the jig ended, the crowd cheered. Aidan gave a theatrical bow with no attempt to keep the grin off his face. Gwen shook her head, laughing. Aidan was enjoying every minute of this. He didn’t let the cheering finish before he brought the flute to his lips and began another infectious tune. While the Breenan danced, filling the impromptu dance floor with their wild leaps, a small pile grew beside the swaying Aidan. Gwen watched, fascinated, as a Breenan woman placed a short stack of flatbreads next to a woven basket of berries and a striped yellow squash.
“It’s working,” Gwen whispered out loud. She shook her head in disbelief at their stroke of good luck. Good luck, and Aidan’s skill and courage.
After the tune ended, the crowd clapped and Aidan gave another bow, then he waved to indicate that the music was done. The Breenan looked disappointed, but moved blankets back and continued with their market day as if nothing unusual had happened.
Aidan’s pile of traded goods was too large for him to carry on his own. Gwen edged her way around the circumference of the marketplace to join him without being noticed. By the time she was within shouting distance, Aidan had already tucked his flute under his arm and bent to gather his spoils.
Gwen froze when a Breenan man walked toward Aidan and stopped behind him. Who was this? Had their luck come to an end? She strained her ears to listen as the man spoke to the unaware Aidan with a booming voice.
“Musician. You have great talent.”
Aidan whirled around to face the speaker. The man was tall, with wide shoulders and the beginnings of a gut, although he looked strong and fit. His hair was as copper as Aidan’s own, which wasn’t unusual—half the Breenan here had matching locks. He was dressed well in a finely woven shirt and a short cape, better than the majority of the market-goers. Gwen wondered if he were a local leader or noble. Aside from Isolde’s social hierarchy of queen-courtier-forest people, she realized that she knew nothing about the strata of Breenan society in the Otherworld.
But if this man had any power, he probably wasn’t a good person to be noticed by.
“Thank you.” Aidan looked the man up and down with wariness.
“Where did you learn your music? I confess, I have not heard the tunes before.”
Gwen tightened her fists, awaiting Aidan’s answer.
“I found a human in another realm, and learned everything I could from him.” Aidan delivered his lie without hesitation. “It seemed a shame not to take the opportunity.”
The man nodded, respect written on his face.
“Indeed. That is a worthy point of view. I wonder—musician, would you be willing to play for my family tonight? You will be well-fed with a warm bed. My dwelling is not far to the northeast. You would be most welcome.”
Aidan pretended to consider the offer, but eventually shook his head with a show of regret.
“I’m sorry, I have to be moving on. Thank you for your offer.”
“Well, if you change your mind in the next while, let me know,” the man said, disappointment clear on his face. “I would dearly like to hear more. I am particularly fond of music.”
Another well-dressed Breenan strode up to the man as he turned to go.
“Our negotiations are complete, my Lord Declan. Shall we depart?”
Aidan froze at the mention of his father’s name. Gwen’s heart skipped a beat. Had the other man said “Declan?” How common was that name here? The Declan before her was the right age to be Aidan’s father, and their coloration was similar. Gwen studied Declan’s face. Now that she looked, there were striking similarities between Aidan and this Declan. She leaned back against the wall of the nearest house, stunned. Could they really have found Aidan’s father? A thought hit her—if Declan was anything like Gwen’s mother, then Gwen needed to start worrying.
Declan sighed and glanced at Aidan, who stared at him in confusion.
“Yes, I’m ready to depart.” He addressed Aidan. “Unless you have changed your mind?”
Aidan’s eyes darted around the marketplace, obviously at a loss of what to do. Gwen sympathized completely. This was his chance to meet the man who had been an enigma his whole life. Despite the troubles after meeting Isolde, and the realization that Isolde was not who Gwen had hoped her to be, she still wouldn’t give up their meeting for the world.
During Aidan’s frantic searching, his eyes met Gwen’s. They opened wide with relief. Gwen nodded, trying to convey her approval of Aidan going with D
eclan, but she also put her finger to her lips. Until they knew more about Declan, there was no reason to tell him about Gwen and Bran. He had to prove that he was on their side first. Aidan paused with indecision before he turned to Declan, who waited for his answer.
“On further thought, I’d be honored to join your family tonight,” Aidan said slowly and formally.
Declan’s face broke open in a wide smile, and Gwen shook her head in amazement at the resemblance to Aidan.
“Excellent! We’ll leave at once.” He gestured to the man with him. “Here, Tiernan, help the musician with his goods.” Declan removed his cape with a flourish and laid it on the ground next to Aidan, and Tiernan bent to move the food and other offerings into the cape. When he and Aidan had finished packing the cape and Aidan had slung the package over his back, Declan said, “My home is in the Wintertree realm proper. I presume you are on foot?”
Aidan nodded mutely. He’d been tongue-tied ever since finding out Declan’s name, but his eyes hardly left his father’s face. When they flicked to Gwen, she backed away. That was her cue. She needed to collect Bran and make her way to the northern edge of this town. Following Aidan was her only option—she cursed herself for not having a tracker ring for him. How could she be so stupid? She had just assumed they would never be parted.
Once she had carefully sidled her way back to the archway, she fairly flew down the road toward the willow. Except for the few elderly Breenan who didn’t look in any condition to follow her, no one saw her run by. She raced across the meadow and ducked into the willow, panting.
“Bran! Bran, we’ve got to move. Aidan found his father, but we need to follow him so we don’t lose him.” She picked up the backpack and clipped Bran’s head in her haste. “Oh Bran! I’m so sorry.” She swung the pack over her shoulders and bent down to Bran, then frowned. She’d hit him with enough force to wake him up, even if he had slept through her voice. He lay still, his sleep undisturbed, but an unhealthy sheen of sweat and a glow of greenish light emanated from his skin. He looked much worse than before. Gwen’s lips tightened. Was this foolishness, to have let Aidan go with Declan? Did they really have time to spare? At least they were still traveling in the right direction. Gwen’s only hope now was that Declan would prove more sympathetic than her own mother had been, and would help them with Bran.
Breenan Series Box Set Page 31