“You should have everything you need,” Declan said with a worried crease between his eyes. It was an unnatural expression on him. “There is plenty of food, as well as all of your earnings from the market yesterday. Rhiannon and Tristan know the way to the palace and will take good care of both of you.”
Aidan nodded, a mix of emotions warring on his face, but he said nothing.
“I’m glad we had this chance to finally meet,” Declan said haltingly. “Know that you are always welcome here, whenever you wish. Please, don’t be a stranger.” He hesitated before raising his arms to place his hands on either side of Aidan’s head. Aidan looked startled for a moment. Gwen realized that Declan was attempting the formal farewell that Bran had taught Aidan. Aidan returned the gesture and the two touched foreheads lightly. Declan stepped away with moist eyes.
“Thank you for letting us stay,” Aidan said. Then he smiled, a genuine smile that Gwen was happy to see. “Hopefully we’ll meet again one day.”
Declan’s face broke into a broad smile at Aidan’s words.
“That would please me more than I can say.”
Aidan turned to his horse, tucked his foot into the stirrup, and awkwardly heaved himself into the saddle. Gwen looked sourly at her horse. Aidan made it look relatively easy, but he had the advantage of height. The closest she’d ever been to a horse was a pony ride when she was five. Before she attempted to mount, Declan moved to her side.
“Let me help.” He held his hands in a foothold and Gwen gratefully placed her foot in them. As she pushed off the ground, he lifted his hand until she landed with a thump on her stomach across the saddle. She swung her leg around with her cheeks burning, and Declan laughed good-naturedly.
“I remember, horses are out of fashion in the human world, aren’t they? You have those splendid machines to ride around in now.” Tristan and Rhiannon looked curiously at Gwen as Declan bowed. “Safe travels, Gwen. May you find what you seek.”
“Thank you,” Gwen said, before Tristan kicked his horse to a trot. He moved past Gwen and revealed that the bundle jostling behind him was Bran, curled in a fetal position under a blanket on a thick leather platform.
“Is Bran okay on the horse?”
“He won’t fall off,” Declan said. “He’s tightly secured, and Tristan has a mild cushioning spell on him, so the bouncing won’t bother him. And Morna’s poultice will keep him from worsening until the king sees him.”
Gwen gripped the leather reins with white knuckles and glanced at Aidan. His face was set in grim lines as he stared at his horse's mane. He looked at her.
“Do you know how to start this thing?”
Gwen shook her head, terrified yet on the verge of laughter. How did she find herself in these situations? She kicked the horse gingerly with her heels. The animal leaned down to munch grass and pulled the reins almost out of her hands. She bent forward to avoid losing them.
“I have no idea.”
Laughter behind her from Declan and his wife burst forth a moment before Gwen heard a sharp smack. Her horse’s head whipped up and it jolted forward, almost jerking Gwen from her seat. A wave of cold sweat left her with a precise appreciation of exactly how far away the ground really was. Her horse now in motion, she briefly looked back to see Rhiannon give the rump of Aidan’s horse a flick with the end of her reins. Aidan clutched the saddle when his horse joined Gwen’s in a reluctant trot.
“Farewell!” Declan shouted. “Come back soon!”
Rhiannon trotted beside Gwen and Aidan.
“So you two can’t ride, it looks like.” She glanced curiously at Gwen’s white knuckles and Aidan’s tight jaw. “Little Cuinn looks more comfortable on a horse, and he’s only three.”
“Yeah? Well, I’d like to see little Cuinn drive down the M11 on a bank holiday,” Aidan said. “Give me a car any day.”
Gwen had to agree. The horse’s bouncing gait had her flopping in the saddle with an uncomfortable jolting motion. Her bottom had already grown sore and they hadn’t been riding for more than a few minutes. An idea came to her, and she dug into her core for the necessary power. Her core felt less full than normal, somehow. She concentrated on the hovering spell, and nearly passed out.
“Gwen! What are you doing?” Rhiannon said from behind her.
Gwen clutched the saddle and frantically kept herself from sliding off the horse. A wave of nausea washed over her and she swallowed.
“I don’t know. I tried to hover myself because my butt hurt, and I almost fainted.”
Rhiannon frowned.
“Did you float Bran all the way from the Velvet Woods?”
“Yeah,” Gwen said. Her vision stopped tunneling, but her core pulsed uncomfortably.
“You can’t work that kind of magic on yourself, not without a huge power drain. And you can’t use a power-hungry spell for so long without consequences. Notice how Tristan’s making the horse carry Bran? You have to know your limits or you’ll get yourself into trouble.”
Gwen nodded contritely. She shivered at the thought of ending up in Bran’s predicament. Rhiannon shook her head.
“No more magic for you for a day or so, or you’ll end up like Bran. You two are a menace to yourselves, without proper training.”
Rhiannon’s chastisement made Gwen feel like a foolish child. She changed the topic.
“Rhiannon? How far is it to the castle?”
Rhiannon laughed. It briefly softened her sharp features and reminded her slightly of Aidan.
“Are you tired of riding already? It’s another few hours yet, sorry to say. Better get comfortable.” She must have noticed Gwen’s woebegone face, because she relented. “Try squeezing your knees into the horse. It will give you more stability. Don’t worry about directing her—she’ll follow ours. She’s lazy, but not stupid.”
Aidan spoke then, his voice distant as if in deep thought.
“Bran said he was my cousin. What’s the relation?”
“His mother is our father’s half-sister through their father. He and Aunt Evelyn are both from the old realm of Silverwood, before Faolan annexed it a few years ago. Faolan married Aunt Evelyn, long ago now—she shared a mother with King Landon. Landon died years ago, from a tusk to the thigh, I think it was. During a hunt.” Rhiannon glanced forward to Bran, hovering insensible in front of Tristan. “Bran and his brothers used to visit sometimes. Aunt Evelyn was lovely, I remember. She died a few years back, and the visits dried up. We’ve met up with Bran at the castle sometimes, though. He can be maddening, but good fun.”
“That sounds about right,” Aidan said to Gwen. “I suppose that explains why my mark says I’m from Landon’s tribe. I wondered.”
“Breenan politics sound as confusing as human ones,” Gwen said. “My realm is simpler than your realm. You’re going to have to get a history book for yours.”
“If they had books, that is.”
“What’s a book?” Rhiannon asked.
“Exactly,” Aidan said.
“It’s a—” Gwen had a hard time putting a definition of a book into words. “It’s a bundle of papers that have words on them, writing, so you can record things for the future.”
“Ah,” Rhiannon nodded in understanding. “Like a memory garden.”
It was Gwen’s turn to look puzzled. Rhiannon tossed her braid over her shoulder as she thought how to explain.
“It’s a garden where the plants tell a story. The story may change from day to day or year to year, but don’t all stories change a little in the telling? The essence is the same. Morna’s herb garden tells the story of the family—how she and Father met, who the children are, when they were born or arrived or left, what their temperaments are like. I have my own ivy plant in the garden, trained to record that I arrived in the Wintertree realm when I was eight.”
Tristan fell back to join the conversation.
“Remember when you forced that vine behind the cottage into the shape of your name and that boy from the village? You were so in lo
ve.” Tristan drew out the vowels of this last sentence for a sing-song effect.
Rhiannon didn’t blush or look embarrassed, the way Gwen was sure she would have. Instead, she said calmly, “Watch it, dear brother. I know too much about you—I’m sure our new brother and his friend would be interested to know.”
Tristan threw back his head and laughed, lighter yet eerily similar to Declan’s booming chuckle.
“Do your worst, Rhiannon. I have nothing to hide.”
“You’re not from this realm?” Aidan asked Rhiannon.
“No. I was born in the Longshore realm, where my mother and I lived in a small fishing village. Father visited us when he was nearby. She died when I was eight—there was a storm at sea and many drowned that day—and Father brought me to the cottage, where I’ve lived ever since.” She said all this in a matter-of-fact way. Gwen didn’t think she had ever met someone quite so collected and self-assured. She was a little intimidated by Rhiannon, if she were completely honest with herself. Rhiannon nodded at her brother. “Tristan’s the first-born son of Father and Morna, and his mother’s favorite.”
Tristan shrugged.
“Who can blame her? I’d be my favorite, too.” He dodged, laughing, when Rhiannon threw a ball of green flames in his direction. It narrowly missed his shoulder. “Don’t be sore, Rhiannon. You know you’re one of Father’s favorites.”
“I’m not sore. You were due for one of your daily fireballs, that’s all. Someone has to keep your ego in line.”
Gwen let out a surprised laugh before she clamped her mouth shut. She didn’t want to offend Tristan at the very start of their journey. Luckily, Tristan laughed as well.
“Thanks, Rhiannon. Now our beautiful new companion thinks I’m arrogant.” He gave Gwen a winning smile. Rhiannon rolled her eyes.
“You did that on your own, dear brother.”
Tristan and Rhiannon bantered back and forth while Gwen’s focus centered inescapably on her increasingly sore bottom. After several minutes, she tentatively spoke.
“Can I walk for a minute? My butt feels like it’s on fire.”
Rhiannon looked at her pityingly, but slowed her horse.
“For a bit. We should keep up the pace as much as possible, for Bran’s sake.”
“Of course. Just for a minute, I promise.” Gwen looked guiltily at Bran, but her bottom screamed at her. She swung her leg over the horse’s backside and slid awkwardly to the ground. The stirrup dug into her stomach on the way down.
Aidan joined her on the ground a moment later, and they led their horses as quickly as Gwen could hobble. Tristan and Rhiannon’s horses walked leisurely at their side, the two siblings at ease in the saddle.
Rhiannon pulled up to the backside of Aidan’s horse, which carried his backpack. She reached out and traced the brand lettering on the backpack’s cover.
“What’s this?” She leaned in for a closer view. Aidan looked back to see what she referred to.
“It’s the writing Gwen mentioned. That’s what goes into books, to tell stories. That’s how we record information.”
“How strange. Tristan, come look at this.” Tristan glanced over briefly, but his interest was minimal. Rhiannon asked, “What does it say?”
“It’s a name, of the people who made the backpack. We don’t use flowers to write at home.”
Rhiannon stared at them with interest. Gwen felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny.
“Will you teach me something in ‘writing?’ How do I write my name?”
Aidan grinned at Gwen.
“Sure. We’ll need to stop for a minute first, if Bran is all right. Find some dirt to draw in.”
Rhiannon wrinkled her nose daintily. Aidan looked amused.
“I assume you don’t have paper on you, so dirt will have to do. It’s not something we commonly do, so you can stop feeding your internal stereotypes of inferior humans.”
Rhiannon looked affronted.
“I was doing no such thing.”
“Looks like our new brother has a chip on his shoulder,” Tristan said from his perch on his horse. “Although, I bet you wouldn’t swear on the sacred mountain that you weren’t thinking it, Rhiannon.”
Rhiannon glowered at Tristan but didn’t answer. To keep the peace, Gwen bent down and traced Rhiannon’s name in the dust of the road with her finger. Rhiannon swung down from her horse for a better view.
“See? Rhi—an—non.” She pointed at each letter when she sounded it aloud. “Each letter has a different sound. When you put them together, they spell out your name.”
Rhiannon studied the channels in the dirt. She squatted to trace them in the air above each letter.
“How strange,” she said, half to herself. She shook her head and straightened. “Fascinating. Clumsy and inefficient, but fascinating.”
“Inefficient?” Gwen and Aidan exchanged raised eyebrows. “It works pretty well for us.”
“I suppose. But with plants, so much can be said by how a leaf curls, or the precise angle of a branch. There is no ‘sound’ of ‘letters.’ One can simply look at the pattern, and everything is known.” Rhiannon pointed at Gwen’s tattoo. “Take your mark, for example. This area of the pattern, here,” she touched a region with three overlapping leaves. “It signifies that you belong to the realm of the Velvet Woods. The way the third leaf folds indicates the location of the realm, and the top leaf with a vine curling over, just so, is Isolde’s signature. See, here it is repeated in the region that explains your parentage.”
Gwen craned her neck to see the areas that Rhiannon’s finger traced. Sure enough, a pattern of three leaves lay just below her collarbone, and the leaf and vine of Isolde repeated itself on her shoulder. Aidan shook his head.
“Perhaps you can say more, but it’s ridiculously complicated. It must take forever to learn.”
Rhiannon shrugged.
“Everyone manages it.” She looked forward to Bran. “Come on, we’d better move. We’ve stopped long enough.”
Aidan helped Gwen back into her saddle before he climbed into his own. Tristan nudged his horse into a brisk trot. Gwen felt her bottom complain instantly.
“How steady do you two feel?” Tristan asked with a grin. Gwen grew wary at the mischief in his eyes.
“Not bad,” Aidan replied, heedless of the warning signs.
“Then hold on,” Tristan said, and he kicked his mount. The horse leaped forward, and Rhiannon kicked her own horse to follow. It was enough to awaken Gwen’s and Aidan’s own animals. Gwen clutched at the mane of her horse as it surged underneath her, its powerful legs pushing forward in a rolling canter. She let out an involuntary shriek of surprise and tightened her knees so forcefully that she was amazed the horse didn’t complain.
Hooves thundered on the hard-packed earth. Rhiannon’s hair in its long blond braid tossed and thumped on her back. Bran’s platform swayed smoothly, cushioned by the spell. Tristan turned around in his saddle and laughed when he saw Gwen’s wide eyes.
“Isn’t this living?” he shouted.
***
At mid-day, they crested a small hill. Below them lay a valley, one half forested and the other carpeted by golden meadows. In the center of the valley, where trees met grass, a castle stood sentinel.
Unlike Isolde’s solitary palace nestled deep within brooding trees, this castle was surrounded by a town, the largest Gwen had seen in the Otherworld. The castle was constructed of wood instead of stone, and rose a few storeys above the surrounding dwellings. The town had no discernable roads—instead it presented a jumble of rooftops liberally interspersed with crowns of trees and climbing vines.
When they drew closer to the city gates, Tristan and Rhiannon swung down gracefully from their horses and continued to walk on foot. Gwen and Aidan dismounted, if not smoothly, than with more ease than previously. Tristan turned to Gwen.
“Once we’ve passed Bran off to the king, you’re headed east to the Longshore realm?”
“Yes. That’s where
Isle Caengal is, right?” Gwen’s heart gave an uncomfortable jolt when she recalled the people of Isolde’s realm, the starving children and the refugees on the road. At least they had almost delivered Bran to his father. Then he would be in safe hands, and they could continue on to find a cure for the realm. It sounded simple, in theory. Plans always did.
“So they say. Never been, myself.”
“I’ve seen it,” Rhiannon said, her voice hushed. “It’s only an hour’s walk from the village where I was born. No one ever makes land there, though. They say the island is guarded by an enormous sea serpent.”
Gwen and Aidan exchanged skeptical looks and Tristan laughed.
“A sea serpent? Really, Rhiannon. They’re all extinct by now. I’d love to see one—could you imagine?”
Aidan raise his eyebrows in disbelief.
“You mean sea serpents actually existed here? At some point?”
“Yes, of course. They turned on each other once they’d hunted all the selkies. The last one died three hundred years ago, I heard.”
“You can laugh,” Rhiannon said darkly. “There are plenty who swear they’ve seen it. And there must be a reason why no one ever visits the island.” She turned to Gwen. “You really have to go there to find some ‘cure’ for the Velvet Woods?” Rhiannon snorted. “You like impossible quests, I see. First Bran, now this.”
Gwen had nothing to say in response. Her shoulders sagged. Rhiannon had a point—everyone said that Bran was incurable, and that no one ever visited this island where a magic spell might or might not be, that might or might not fix the realm.
Aidan put an arm around her shoulder as they approached the gate.
“We’ll figure it out,” he whispered in her ear. “We’ve made it this far, haven’t we? We’ve only almost died twice on this trip. That’s good odds for us.”
Gwen chuckled weakly despite herself. She leaned her head briefly against Aidan, acknowledging his touch. She straightened when two guards approached their party, and Aidan’s arm slipped off her shoulders.
Tristan greeted the guards.
“Good day, gentlemen. We have an urgent need to see the king. He will want to receive us—we have his son, Prince Bran.” Tristan waved at Bran, wrapped tightly in his blanket cocoon. The guards leaned forward to inspect the unconscious prince. They both leaped back when they recognized Bran’s face, and pointed sharp spears at the four.
Breenan Series Box Set Page 34