Gwen dug into her core and brought out the magic she needed to hover Bran. It was a struggle, this time—the magical warmth oozed sluggishly out of her core. She attempted to drape Bran’s arm around her neck to appear more natural, but he flopped back to his bed of air, a deadweight. Gwen dithered for a moment, arranging his limbs into a fetal position to reduce his apparent size. Unable to do more, she parted the willow branches and they passed through. She desperately hoped that no one would see them circumnavigate the town.
Luckily, the town borders remained as deserted as before, with all inhabitants at the market. The town was larger than it looked. Gwen began to sweat, nervous about losing Aidan and the weight of hovering Bran heavy on her body. She was completely alone now, without even Bran’s company. Her legs stumbled into a jog, and Bran floated eerily before her.
Finally, too late for Gwen’s taste, she spotted a party of three men leading two horses. Aidan’s loping stride was recognizable among them. Gwen’s heart hammered from exertion and from a release of pent-up panic that had threatened to escape ever since she had left Aidan. She slowed and let the group move farther along the road to avoid detection.
Once the party rounded the top of a small hillock and disappeared from view, Gwen pounced on her chance. She jogged with Bran’s unconscious body toward the road and along its packed-dirt surface. Her panic emerged again when Aidan was out of sight. She puffed and gasped her way up the hill, determined not to lose the trail. When she reached the crest, she slowed and crept forward.
Aidan and the others were halfway across the next grassy valley already, the dull thud of their horses’ hooves barely discernable. Gwen huffed out through her teeth, exasperated. How was she supposed to follow Aidan covertly when there was no cover for her to hide behind? Was the entire trip going to be a mix of waiting and panicked running?
When the group was halfway up the next mound, Gwen decided to risk her descent. She tried to be quiet as she crept down the road, although they were far enough away that she doubted they could hear her. As soon as Aidan and the others were out of sight over the hill, she raced across the valley.
After an hour of this pace, Gwen’s endurance had almost reached its limit. The backpack pulled on her shoulders unbearably and made each step a fight against gravity. Her core flickered, unused to sustained magic. She gritted her teeth during her climb up yet another hillock. The landscape contained more trees now, small stands of spreading maples, their green leaves touched by yellow and red with the beginnings of a beautiful fall display. Gwen was too tired and annoyed to enjoy the picturesque vista. She looked at Bran. His skin glowed brighter than before, a green light exacerbating his already unhealthy pallor. She swallowed and pushed up the hill with greater determination.
The hill was crowned with three massive maples, whose trunks formed a tight wooden triangle. Gwen stole toward the trunks and lowered Bran into place behind one. She peered out from another, and breathed a sigh of relief. Declan had passed the reins of his horse to a small boy who had materialized nearby, and waved Aidan toward the door of a large cottage. The dwelling sat snugly in the arms of a woodland that blanketed the surrounding hills. Its wooden face with white trim glowed in the warmth of the afternoon sun that slanted across a meadow of swaying golden grass. Behind it was an impressively large outbuilding with a row of half-doors inhabited by horses munching hay. Even through her sweaty weariness, Gwen felt a twinge of pleasure at the scene. It looked so cozy and welcoming.
To the left of the door a group of children played at a game Gwen didn’t recognize, that involved sticks and two balls the size of fists. At Declan’s call, which Gwen could faintly hear on the breeze, the children stopped their play and clustered around him. Declan dispensed kisses and hair ruffles, and his booming laugh echoed in the meadow. Aidan stood to one side, awkward and out of place. Even from Gwen’s perch on the hill, Aidan’s discomfort was evident on his face. The man accompanying them, Tiernan, waved to Declan and trotted his horse in the direction of a line of smoke within the woodland.
Declan gestured to Aidan and said something inaudible. The children looked at Aidan with interest, and a couple of the braver ones moved to Aidan and gestured to his flute. Aidan held it out for inspection and the children touched it gingerly.
Gwen wanted to know what was going on. She looked at Bran with a moment’s indecision, then laid the pack at his back. Unburdened, Gwen stretched briefly in pleasure before peeking out of the trees once again. The group at the cottage was busy inspecting Aidan, so she took her chance. She ran in a crouch to a lone maple halfway between Bran and the cottage. The tall grasses helped to conceal her, but if anyone looked directly at her she knew she’d be seen.
Once at the tree, she pressed her back against its trunk and gasped for breath. Her heart pounded and her head swam. No shouts of alarm followed her dash, and she tightened her jaw to conquer her fear before she poked her head out from the tree trunk.
“Where’s your mother?” Declan’s voice was clear and resonant. Gwen hunched lower in the grass and watched the little group.
“She’s picking berries by the river with the older girls,” a young boy with blond hair replied. “We’re having them after supper.”
“Excellent. And the others?”
“Tristan and the others will be back from their hunt soon.”
Declan pushed the boy toward the cottage door.
“Fetch our honored guest a drink, my boy.” He waved at two of the other children. “Come, bring us benches. And put his bundle inside—he’s carried it far enough.”
The children scampered to do their father’s bidding. They relieved a bewildered Aidan of his bundle of market goods and dragged solid wooden benches from inside the cottage to form a semicircle. Declan gestured at Aidan to sit and poured golden liquid into a metal goblet from the pitcher carried by the blond boy.
“Drink, my new friend Aidan. To your health, and to the dexterity of your fingers. May they be ever nimble.”
Aidan raised his glass to mirror Declan and sipped at the liquid. He watched Declan warily. Declan gulped from his goblet.
“Oh, I’ve been waiting for this moment. We’ve been too long on the road.”
“What were you doing?” Aidan asked.
Declan leaned back on his hands. One of his children shuffled toward him on the ground to lay a head on his knee, and he brushed her hair absentmindedly.
“Border patrols. The troubles in the west are making the borderlands unstable. I’m a marshal for the king, so I must do my rounds. But there’s nothing like coming home.” He ruffled the little girl’s hair and she giggled. “Is there, my little acorn?”
Aidan’s lips tightened and he looked lost. He collected himself before anyone but Gwen noticed and picked up his flute.
“I promised I’d play for you. Shall I play something now?”
“If you’re rested, by all means,” Declan said. He looked surprised at Aidan’s alacrity. “I would never object.”
Aidan stood and moved to the opening of the semicircle. The children sitting on benches or against Declan stopped their chatter and watched Aidan intently. Aidan took a deep breath and half-closed his eyes. His flute at his lips, he began to play.
He didn’t play the jigs from the market this time. A low, sad melody emerged from the silver instrument. It reached into Gwen’s heart and brought out feelings of loss and longing—for what, she didn’t know.
Gwen glanced at Declan, who appeared wholly absorbed by the music with his eyes closed and his chin raised. A couple of the younger children fidgeted, but the older ones watched Aidan raptly.
After a minute, quiet footfalls announced the arrival of the hunters, three young men and a young woman about Gwen’s age who carried the swinging carcass of a deer between them. They laid it down gently at the threshold of the cottage and moved quietly to the group. A minute later, an older woman accompanied by a gaggle of girls emerged from around the left side of the cottage, all of them carrying
woven baskets of purple-black berries. The girls looked curiously at Aidan, but they moved quietly to the benches and arranged themselves to listen. Aidan didn’t appear to notice, absorbed in the music.
When the breeze carried the last note away, Aidan finally looked up. He seemed surprised by his growing audience. Declan began to clap and his family soon joined him.
“Well done! I haven’t heard its like in many years. You have a tremendous gift, my friend.”
Aidan bowed his head slightly for an answer. The older woman, who Gwen presumed was Declan’s wife, looked sharply from Aidan to Declan.
“Another one of your by-blows, is he?” she said to Declan. Her head jerked toward Aidan.
Aidan froze. Declan shook his head.
“No, of course not.” He glanced at Aidan and frowned. “I don’t think so.”
Aidan said nothing, but he stood tense with the wide eyes of a hunted deer. Declan rose slowly. He walked over to Aidan. Aidan looked ready to bolt.
“Let me see your mark,” Declan said quietly to Aidan.
Aidan stepped backward.
“Why?”
Declan held out his hand in a gesture of peace.
“Please.”
Aidan paused a moment before he released his breath in a sigh and tilted his neck to the right. He reached up and yanked at the neck of his shirt. A tattoo appeared, green leaves stark against the white of his pale skin.
Declan leaned in closely to examine the mark. When he straightened, he looked puzzled and his eyes raked Aidan’s face.
“You are. You are my son.”
Aidan wouldn’t meet Declan’s eyes now. He focused instead on hills in the far distance.
“But your mother—it says nothing about her.” Declan peered at Aidan, trying to make Aidan look his way. “Who is your mother?”
Aidan’s jaw tightened.
“Her name is Deirdre,” he spat out. “If you remember.”
Chapter 8
“Deirdre?” Declan said slowly. “Deirdre. But that would mean…” He looked incredulous, and studied Aidan’s tight face in fascination. “You’re partly human.”
Aidan turned his gaze to Declan, but only glared at him by way of an answer. Declan’s family behind him gasped and broke out into excited chatter. The older ones on the benches peered furtively from their perches, and the younger ones actually crawled to the side to get a closer look at their strange new brother, born of another world.
Declan’s eyes glistened brightly. He grasped Aidan’s forearms with two large hands and gazed at him.
“My son! The son I never knew. I don’t know how you came to be here, but I’m so glad you’ve arrived at last.” Declan beamed at Aidan with wet eyes and spontaneously wrapped him in a crushing bear hug. Aidan stayed stiff and unresponsive in his father’s arms, although he made no attempt to escape. Gwen wondered if it were even possible to wriggle free of Declan’s muscly arms.
When Declan finally released him, Aidan stepped back to create some distance between them.
“How did you get through?” Aidan asked, his voice strained. “Why did you come to my world?” Gwen noted the attempt at separation, Aidan’s rejection of the Otherworld. She wondered if Declan noticed.
Declan shook his head, clearly trying to understand Aidan’s perspective. He looked bewildered, but answered Aidan readily enough.
“A good friend of mine knew how to get through the portals. He never told me how. His name was Finn—I haven’t seen him for ten years or more. It was just a lark, going to the human world. It was so different from anything I knew. I stopped going after—after Deirdre, in fact. I never knew…” He looked misty again and Aidan stiffened as if in fear of another embrace. Declan refrained, perhaps sensing that the first one had not been well-received. He asked instead, “How did you come here?”
“I know how to get through the portals too,” Aidan said. He didn’t elaborate, but said only, “My Breenan friend is sick. We’re taking him to his father to be healed.”
“What? Where is your sick friend?” Declan looked around before he asked, “And who is ‘we?’”
Gwen guessed that this was her cue to emerge. Declan looked safe enough. She hoped they had judged his character well. She rose from the tall grasses and picked her way toward the benches. Aidan saw her first and his whole face blossomed with relief and happiness at the sight of her. She could hardly stop herself smiling in return, despite the circumstances. Declan looked puzzled at his reaction until he whirled around in the direction of Aidan’s gaze. His family followed and their mouths dropped open. Gwen was suddenly too aware of her grubby arms and unusual shorts. She tossed her hair back and feigned a confidence she didn’t feel.
“Hello,” she said to the waiting group. “My name is Gwen.”
Aidan moved swiftly to her side, grabbing her hand and giving it a firm squeeze.
“Where is he?” he asked quietly.
“Oh, right.” Gwen turned and pulled the necessary magic out of her core. She had just enough strength left to reach Bran’s immobile body and the backpack behind the maples and float them toward her. She leaned against Aidan. “Ugh, I’ve been doing that all afternoon. I’m exhausted.” The overwhelming urge to cough shook her body. Aidan looked at her in concern.
“You’re too pale. Here, I’ve got him.” The pull on her core lightened considerably when Aidan took over the hovering. She let go with a sigh of relief. Bran’s inert body floated their way until he lay in front of them. Gwen noted unhappily that his skin still glowed and his breaths were short.
Declan and his wife hurried to Bran’s side with the rest of their clan following close behind. They ranged around Gwen and Aidan, forming a circle around them. Gwen didn’t like feeling trapped, and she continued to lean against Aidan, comforted by his solid heat and the fact that they were together again.
“Wait,” one of the hunters said, her bright eyes narrowed in a confused frown. “That’s Bran. Prince Bran. Our Prince Bran.”
Declan leaned forward and his wife gently brushed Bran’s fringe off his forehead. Although Bran was now pulsating with green light and a sheet of sweat glistened on his cheeks, he was unmistakeably himself. Declan shook his head in confusion and looked at Aidan.
“Why do you have Prince Bran? And what’s wrong with him? Is it spellpox?”
Aidan hesitated. Gwen rescued him.
“Bran’s our friend. We met him when we first stumbled into the Otherworld. He made it to the human world by himself, but used too much magic while he was…” Gwen paused. It seemed like too much work to explain North America. “He overspent himself, and now he’s sick. We’re taking him to his father to be healed.”
Declan looked grave.
“I’ve never heard of a cure for overuse of magic.” He sighed. “Well, if anyone knows, it will be the king. Bran looks in bad shape, though. How long has he been like this?”
“He got sick yesterday, and he’s been getting worse ever since. I haven’t been able to wake him up since this morning,” Gwen said. She bit her lip. Why did everyone keep saying that there was no hope? Could Bran really be dying? She repeated more forcefully, “We need to get him to his father. Soon.”
“Of course,” Declan said distractedly. “The castle is a half-day’s ride from here. You can leave at first light. Bran will be all right until then—we can make him comfortable. My wife Morna has some remedies that will subdue the sickness, although not cure it.” He gestured at his older sons. “Carry him inside and we’ll clean him up.”
Declan’s children and wife funneled into the house, Bran in the arms of the eldest sons. Gwen and Aidan were left outside with Declan. Declan sighed and rubbed his face.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t have a chance to properly greet you,” he said to Gwen, bowing formally. “You’re a friend of Aidan’s?”
“Yes.”
“I see you also have a mark.” Gwen reached up to her left shoulder self-consciously. Declan asked delicately, “Are you also partl
y human?”
“Yes.” Gwen saw no reason to lie. She glanced at Aidan, whose brooding face was preoccupied. She said to Declan, “Would you like to read it? You might find it interesting.”
Declan looked puzzled, but moved closer to inspect Gwen’s tattoo through the thin strap of her tank top. He frowned, and his eyes opened wide in astonishment.
“Queen Isolde’s daughter? From the realm of the Velvet Woods?”
Gwen blinked in surprise. She hadn’t realized her mother’s realm had a name. She snorted. Of course it would be mysteriously fanciful. How typical of Isolde.
“That’s me. Not a publicly acknowledged daughter, but still. We’re also on another mission.” She decided to throw caution to the wind. Aidan glanced at her, but she carried on. “Isolde’s realm is in trouble, because—well, there are reasons.” She swallowed, not wanting to go into those reasons. “There might be a chance for me to make things right. We’re going to Isle Caengal to find a solution.”
Declan studied her for a moment. What was he looking for? He seemed to find whatever it was, because he said, “If you can restore the Velvet Woods to its former self, the Nine Realms would be indebted to you, Gwen. The troubles are causing turmoil throughout the south.” He nodded as if coming to a decision. “Tomorrow I will give you horses and transport for Prince Bran. I will have two of my children accompany you for protection. Tristan and Rhiannon will do, I think. They will help you take Bran to his father. I wish I could accompany you myself, but I resume border patrol tomorrow.”
Aidan only nodded tightly, so Gwen said, “Thank you. We need all the help we can get around here. Now that Bran’s unconscious, our Breenan knowledge is very limited.”
Declan laughed sadly.
“I’m sorry you never had a chance to know your Breenan side. Both of you.” He glanced at Aidan, who looked away. Declan sighed, and said, “Come in. The sun will set soon. Let us eat and prepare for your journey tomorrow.”
Breenan Series Box Set Page 32