Gwen hurried around the cottage, past lavenders and heathers carefully trimmed for winter. The garden behind the house was tiny but surrounded by bare-branched trees and brilliant green hedges that provided ample privacy. Gwen tucked herself in the back corner behind a holly bush out of sight of the cottage’s windows and held out her arm.
A portal tore open and presented the same snowy vision of her mother’s forest as had the previous portal. Gwen squeezed through the opening, which she had purposefully made as small as possible so that it would have less trouble closing. As it was, the portal stayed bewilderingly open after she passed through.
The forest was still bitingly cold, and Gwen regretted not changing her damp shoes before venturing through once again. Icicles weighed down tree branches, and the occasional brown leaf was trapped in an icy embrace. Nothing broke the monotony of cold white except a dead mouse lying at the base of a tree, too frozen to be an appetizing morsel for an owl.
She turned back to look at the portal from this side. It was a fraction smaller than before but was closing too slowly for Gwen to see the motion.
Gwen ran her fingers around the edge of the opening. Only the faintest sensation tingled her fingers, like cool water trickling over the tips. She tried to pull the edges shut again, with every combination of spell and magic she could muster. Admittedly, there wasn’t much to muster. Not for the first time, she wished that she’d had the same sort of magical schooling that their Breenan friend Bran had enjoyed, instead of the wild guessing and conjecturing that she and Aidan currently employed.
The portal stubbornly refused to close any more quickly than before. Gwen stepped back and looked around. She needed to speak to someone who knew about portals, someone with magic. She could look for Isolde, but she shrank from that idea. Meeting Isolde rarely ended well.
Loniel was a better choice. If anyone knew more about portals than he did, she would be surprised. But how to contact him?
“Hello?” she called out, feeling foolish. Loniel spent his days wandering Isolde’s forest realm with his pack of revelers and had no fixed abode. The only times that Gwen had met him were when he had found her. Gwen cast her mind around for magical ways of contact, but she knew so little. She had no tracker ring for Loniel, no physical link that would connect them.
Loniel was different, though. He was old, far older than any human or Breenan, and he was connected to the forest in ways that Gwen didn’t understand. She thought of the night she and Aidan had met him, when he had led them to his bonfire…
Gwen rustled in the undergrowth and extracted a few damp branches. She banged the snow off and broke the branches into manageable pieces, then lay them in a rough pile. With her hand over the wood, she brought out the magic from her core.
The next moment, a fire burned merrily in the silent woods. Gwen sat back on her heels and enjoyed the warmth for a minute. Then she brought out some more magic through her hands, which glowed with a dazzling white light. She shaped a spell in her mind, cobbled together from modified summoning and naming spells that she and Aidan had been playing with this autumn. With Loniel’s face firmly recollected, she sent her magic into the fire.
“Loniel, if you can hear me, there’s something wrong with the portals,” she said clearly into the silent woods. “They don’t close anymore. I—thought you should know.” She sighed and released her magic. It retreated to her core and left the woods dark and forbidding. The fire burned, unchanged, and Gwen’s shoulders slumped in disappointment.
With a crack, the flames vanished.
Gwen jumped, then held her hand over the blackened wood. The branches were cold. Heartened by the response to her spell, Gwen stood and looked for her way out of the Otherworld.
Her portal was smaller, but still large enough for Gwen to squeeze through. She took one last look at the snowy Otherworld then turned toward the cottage. The portal shrank slowly, so slowly, until at last it winked out of existence.
***
The tail of Crevan’s horse flicked off the accumulating snowflakes. Bran sniffed and rubbed his nose.
“I swear this is the coldest winter we’ve had in years. I don’t know why we’re bothering to patrol—no one in their right mind is out in this weather.”
The other two riders in their patrol, a man and a woman, both nodded in agreement, but Crevan shook his head.
“What about those not in their right minds? Or creatures who don’t feel the cold like we do? Or―”
“All right, all right, I hear you.” Bran shrugged deeper into the thick fur collar of his cape. “You’re always so responsible. Could you admit for one moment that you’d rather be back in your bed?”
Crevan grinned briefly, and the resemblance between the two brothers emerged.
“I won’t deny that. And my little Ella took her first steps last week, before we left. I want to see how she’s coming along.”
“Wait, look.” Bran pointed to their right. At some distance away, a flash of bright color spilled through the trees. Bran slipped off his horse without delay, threw the reins carelessly over the saddle, and darted toward the light.
“Bran!” Crevan called out in exasperation. “This isn’t a pleasure hunt. You’re on patrol now, and you must follow the directions of the patrol leader. Me, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“I’ve never been very good at following directions,” Bran said, his feet carrying him forward.
“Don’t I know it. Don’t make me make you get back here.”
“Honestly, Crevan, what’s the point of patrolling if we don’t explore strange things on our path? Relax your protocol for one moment and come have a look.”
With that, Bran disappeared behind a large holly bush and out of sight. Crevan threw himself off his horse with a scowl and tossed his reins to his companions.
“We won’t be long. Mind the horses.”
Before long, Crevan caught up to Bran, who had stopped before the bright patch in the dim gray twilight of a winter’s afternoon. Bran was uncharacteristically silent.
“What is it?” Crevan said at last. Bran turned to him with shining eyes.
“I think it’s a portal. A way into the human world.”
They both turned back and gazed at the portal. It was an opening wider than the width of their shoulders. The edges were ragged, and strips of the fabric between worlds lay shredded around the opening. Beyond lay a quiet woodland glade, bright and free of snow. The air from the portal wafted across their faces, still cool but much warmer than their side. Bran’s brow furrowed.
“I don’t know why it’s still open. When Gwen opened a portal, it always closed after a few moments.”
“Perhaps whoever made this one was much more powerful.” Crevan gingerly lifted a torn strip of material and examined it. “Do all portals look this rough?”
“No,” said Bran. He looked thoughtful. “They’re usually much tidier.”
Crevan stared at the portal for a few moments. Bran grinned.
“Go on, you know you want to.”
“Want to what?”
“Go through. Step into the human world.”
“And get stuck on the other side? No, thank you. How would you like to explain to Ella why she has no father?”
“It must be terrible being you. Look!” Bran waved his hand through the portal. “Everything is fine.”
“No, nothing is fine. Portals should not be appearing in the forest.” Crevan waved Bran in the direction of their horses. “I’m cutting this patrol short. Father needs to know.”
***
Once they were in the stables after a few hours’ ride, the building warm and smelling of horse and hay, Crevan swung off his mount and beckoned to a stable hand.
“Where I can find the king?”
“I believe he’s in the great hall,” the stable hand said. He took the reins of Crevan’s horse and Crevan waved to Bran.
“Come on, Bran. We need to report to Father.”
“You don’t need me
for that. You’re the patrol leader.”
Crevan shook his head in exasperation.
“You should learn what happens in the kingdom, even if you don’t care. It affects you, whether you realize it or not.” He turned and strode toward the inside doors, carved with rearing horses. “Hurry up.”
Bran trotted after his eldest brother. A frown of annoyance flashed only briefly on his face before his eyes brightened with interest.
“Why do you think there’s a portal in the woods? Why is it such a big deal?”
“Use your brain, Bran. All the portals were closed hundreds of years ago. To have them start opening again—there must have been a huge act of magic to allow it.”
“But I used the locket to open a portal.”
“That was a small piece of localized magic, and from what you said, the portal closed again almost immediately. This portal that we found was open and stayed that way. Who knows how long it has been there?” Crevan reached out his hands and pushed the double doors open wide. “Let’s see what Father thinks.”
Faolan sat facing them against a wall of translucent windows that ran from floor to cavernous ceiling. The light that filtered through the glass glinted on copper and gray strands of his hair. His chair was carved with an ornate likeness of a deciduous tree, barren of leaves, and was strewn with silver fox furs to stave off the chill of winter. Despite the cold, Faolan wore only a shirt and a fur-trimmed leather vest over his lean figure. In his hands was a pine branch wrapped with sprigs of holly and mistletoe.
Faolan glanced up from his examination of the branch. The frown of concentration on his stern face turned to one of questioning at the sight of his two sons.
“You’re early. What news?”
“Bran discovered a portal to the human world near the Fairweather bridge crossing, on the borders of the Longshore realm.”
Faolan sat up straight. He stared at Bran.
“You’re certain it was a portal?”
“They’re not like anything else, are they?” Bran said. “Rather hard to miss. It looked just like the one I made, but with ragged edges.”
“And it wouldn’t close,” said Crevan. He and Faolan exchanged a meaningful look.
“I fail to see how this is bad news,” Bran said. “A portal to the human world! Open all the time! Finally, Queen Kiera’s foolishness put to rights. I can’t wait to explore.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” said Faolan sharply. “I allow you plenty of lenience, but I must insist on this. It’s far too dangerous.”
“The human world isn’t so bad,” said Bran. “I was fine last time.”
“And what if the portal closed suddenly and you were trapped there forevermore? If you won’t listen to the pleadings of your father, then obey the command of your king. Stay away from the portal, Bran.”
Bran sighed but said, “All right. No portal.”
“Good.” Faolan turned to Crevan. “This is not the first report I’ve received, but it confirms my theory that the disturbances the patrols report are indeed portals.” He held out the pine branch to Crevan, who took it. When Crevan interpreted the twists of foliage that contained the message in Breenan plant-writing, his face settled in grim lines.
“So many,” he said. “What could have caused it?”
Faolan shook his head.
“I have wild theories, nothing more.”
“But what does it mean?” Bran said. “What’s happening?”
Faolan gazed at his youngest son.
“The fabric of the world is tearing itself apart. What will be the result, I do not know. Nor do I know how to reverse the damage.”
Bran looked at his father, one of the most powerful Breenan in the nine realms. The worry on Faolan’s face made Bran shiver.
***
Tristan, Aidan’s Breenan half-brother, knocked firmly on the door of a small thatched cottage. Evergreen ivy crawled upon the wooden walls in a welcoming pattern, and Tristan smiled.
The door creaked open and his sister Rhiannon looked out. Her unbound blond hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders but did nothing to soften Rhiannon’s sharp gaze.
“You’re dressed for patrol. What’s going on?”
“And hello to you, too,” Tristan said. “I’m very well, thank you. And yourself?”
“Come in, come in. I thought you and I had no need for formalities.”
“You’re practically a stranger since you moved out of father’s house,” said Tristan. He stepped over the threshold. A large blond man sat at a small table made of an oiled slab of driftwood atop sturdy oak legs. He nodded to Tristan with a friendly smile.
“Tristan, good morning.”
“Morning, Angus. Still eating breakfast, at this hour?”
“Help yourself, please.” Angus waved at a plate of eggs and seaweed-flecked biscuits. Tristan plucked a biscuit off the plate.
“What do you mean, a stranger?” said Rhiannon. “I’ve seen you practically every day since I married Angus. You’re as sticky as fish scales.”
“I like to watch your transformation from feared hunter of the woods to novice biscuit maker of the domestic sphere.” Tristan looked at the remaining half of his biscuit. “The seaweed was an interesting choice.”
“It’s how my mother used to make them.” Rhiannon narrowed her eyes. “And if that was an invitation to come hunting with you, name your day. We’ll see then who’s lost their edge.”
“I’d love to, but I’m here to tell you to prepare yourself. The king has called for emergency patrols, starting now.”
“What for?” Angus asked. Rhiannon pursed her lips but walked to the bedroom door without speaking.
“The instructions were rather thin on details, but we are looking for ‘disturbances in the air.’ It said we would know them when we see them.”
“That’s it?” Angus frowned. “How will you find something that you don’t know anything about?”
“We’ve been given tracking tools to sense the disturbances.”
“The king must be worried if he’s calling for extra patrols. Rhiannon wasn’t due to leave for another week.”
“No, I’ve never heard of an emergency patrol.” Tristan shrugged.
Rhiannon appeared, dressed in clothes for riding and with her hair in a tight braid. A soft leather bag was slung over her shoulder.
“Out you go. I’ll be right behind you.” Rhiannon made a shooing motion with her hands. Tristan grinned widely.
“Ah, young love. Say goodbye to your man—make sure he misses you while you’re gone. Goodbye, Angus.”
“Safe travels, Tristan,” said Angus.
Tristan ducked out of the cottage and waited by the horses until Rhiannon emerged, her cheeks pink and her braid slightly askew. She swung into the saddle of her waiting horse.
“Come on, Tristan. Let’s see what all the fuss is about.”
***
Loniel appeared in the silence of the wintry woods, as quiet as the falling snow. He ran a hand over the rough bark of a nearby tree, the peppered silver fur of his cape sliding off to reveal his patchwork green-sleeved arm. His golden eyes raked over the spectacle before him, and his eyebrows contracted.
A portal was open before him. It was not in one of the ancient ways, the places where portals used to open and close before Loniel shut them all permanently, hundreds of years ago. Nor was it the clearly-wrought, ephemeral portal of a half-blood, open for seconds at the most. Loniel ran his hands along the ragged edge of the irregular hole. This portal was like none Loniel had ever seen before, large and unkempt. It appeared as mangled as though a huge beast had mauled its way across the worlds.
Loniel’s fingers glowed as he touched the portal. With blues and reds, sparks and shimmers, Loniel attempted spell after spell to close the gap. The portal remained unchanged. He gazed at the hole in consideration for a long moment. Then he ducked through and entered the human world.
The light of a chill winter’s sun winked at Loniel off the m
etal slide of a playground. The portal itself was partially obscured by large laurels in the garden adjacent to the park. Loniel gave only a cursory glance at his surroundings before he turned to examine the portal from the human side.
A quiet whine interrupted Loniel’s thoughts. He tensed and grew still. Another whine floated through the opening from the Otherworld. Loniel peered through the hole, and his eyes narrowed. Two wolves slunk his way, their magnificent cinnamon-tinted coats contrasting sharply with the gleaming snow. The leader saw Loniel, and its jaw opened in a grin filled with sharp fangs.
The joyful laugh of a young child traveled clearly from the playground. Loniel’s head twitched briefly to look at the little boy on the slide, dressed for school but enjoying the park on his way. The ears of the two wolves twitched in response, and the leader stepped forward.
Loniel turned without warning, his face transfigured in a snarl that ripped from his throat. He launched himself through the portal and landed before the two wolves. Brilliant green light shone from his outstretched hands, too bright to look at. The wolves backed away and fled into the forest.
Loniel pressed his hands to the cold earth and a wild hedge of boxwood covered the portal. He glanced once at his work, then paced quietly into the snowy trees.
***
Isolde sat on her throne in the ballroom, the chair carved with woodland animals and a multitude of vines. Only one dance, and she was already flushed and sweaty. She patted her black hair into place, the white strands at her temple swept back in an elegant chignon. She beckoned to a nearby servant.
“Bank the fire,” she said to him. “It’s clearly too warm in here.”
The servant’s brow creased in confusion, but he bowed and left to do her bidding. Isolde rested her arms on the armrests and gazed around the ballroom with an expression of contentment. The hall glittered with candles that glistened through forever-frozen icicles hanging from chandeliers. Huge garlands of ivy, frosted with snow, draped gracefully around the room. The dancers were stunning in her mandated color scheme. Silks of the purest white, clear diamonds, and snowy feathers swung in glittering arcs around the room in elegant formations that resembled frost blooming on a window. Isolde smiled serenely at the spectacle.
Breenan Series Box Set Page 48