by Vanessa Skye
“I…” I sigh. He’s right. My argument for peace gets thinner with every set of remains collected and burned. I have been defending Talentless fae relentlessly, but even I am beginning to waver. How can I argue for peace when so much death is being doled out? “I…I am not defending what happened here. There is no excuse for it. No matter how Talentless have been mistreated, it doesn’t justify what they’re doing. But…apart from the one skirmish, months ago, we haven’t witnessed a single Talentless carrying out these raids. And no matter how quickly we arrive, there are never any bodies of the enemy left behind.”
“I—”
“And look at this destruction.” I wave at the surroundings as Nuadha glowers. “How are simple Talentless doing this without losing anyone?” I ask, my voice rising. “It makes no sense. We rarely find any deceased Talentless, and when we do, it’s in communities who have repelled attacks. I have seen how fae fight. They’re not easy to defeat. So how are Talentless doing it?”
“Many of the bodies we find are burned. They could be the Talentless for all we know. Or they take their dead with them,” he says with a shrug.
I groan in frustration. “Think about that. Creatures dole out indiscriminate death then pause to take the dead bodies with them? That makes no sense. I know you don’t agree with me, but there is more going on here.” It feels…wrong. The whole thing is just wrong.
The sunlight bounces off a metallic glint and catches my eye, and I walk toward it. Something…gold…trampled in the mud. Given Talentless’ tendency to strip the bodies of anything valuable, something shiny is out of place, especially gold.
I fish it out, wipe off the mud, and gasp.
Nuadha looks up and heads over. “What is it?”
Wide-eyed, I open my palm. “I’m not sure…but I think it’s some kind of…bullet casing.”
“You’re talking nonsense. What is a bullet casing?”
“Baird, is this what I think it is?” I shout as he makes his way over.
“What is a bullet casing?” Nuadha asks again, taking it from me and examining the brass cylinder. He turns it over a few times then hands it to Baird.
“I think you are right, Alys. A bullet is a lead projectile fired from a weapon used by humans,” Baird says to the king. “This brass casing allows it to be fired at high velocities from something called a gun then this part is discarded in the process.”
“Humans?” Nuadha stares at Baird as if he just grew a second head. “Impossible! Humans cannot come to Tír na nÓg. They cannot tear the veil.”
Baird hands the casing back to me.
This time, I notice letters and numbers etched in a semi circle on the bottom end of the casing. “I’m no detective, but I’ve seen enough cop shows to be pretty sure what this is.” I look at the bodies of the fae about to be burned by our soldiers. “Wait!” I yell and hurry toward the funeral pyre before they set it ablaze, forcing myself to look closely at the bodies, even though I have no idea what I am looking for. “What kind of wounds are these?” I ask as Nuadha and Baird approach.
“Blade wounds. You can see many of these fae have had their throats slit,” Nuadha says, pointing to various injuries. “And some have been stabbed or run through by swords.”
None of the wounds look like bullet holes to me. They are long slashes and cuts, but some of the stab wounds look messy, almost as if they were stabbed several times in the same place.
“Is this normal?” I ask, pointing to the overlaid wounds.
Nuadha shakes his head. “No. But the Talentless are untrained.”
“Right,” I say, frowning. “Untrained. Yet they can kill fae who are not only prepared for them but highly trained and also have magic. How?”
“Sheer numbers. They must be overwhelming them,” Nuadha replies. “It is the only explanation. I know you are opposed to—”
Clenching my fists, I turn on him. “Why can’t you even consider another possibility here?”
“Gah!” Nuadha growls. “And why can’t you believe the evidence before your stubborn eyes, Alys?”
“Where are their clothes?”
Nuadha snaps his mouth shut, and I can see his jaw muscles working overtime, but he doesn’t say a word, pointing to a pile of bloodied fabric near the bodies instead.
I sift through the pile, trying hard not to touch too much of the clotted bodily fluids, until I find what I’m looking for.
Holding it up so Baird and Nuadha can see—a crumpled, torn tunic with a perfect round hole surrounded by red and brown blood—I poke my finger through it and ask, “How do you explain this?”
“It’s an arrow wound,” Nuadha replies.
I’ve seen enough arrow wounds to know the sharp pointed edges of the metal head slices and leaves a wound looking like a slightly rounded stab wound. “I thought they were slits, not round holes.”
“Aiden surmised it’s a smoother, more cylindrical arrow, possibly nothing more than a stick sharpened to a point, which makes sense as the Talentless cannot purchase weaponry.”
I look around at the carnage. “Do you see examples of those arrows here?”
“No.” Nuadha frowns. “What exactly are you getting at, faeling?”
Baird sighs. “I know what you are getting at, Alys, but that is impossible. Humans cannot travel to Tír na nÓg. Besides, what purpose would they have here?”
“What about human weapons?” I ask. “We know some fae have been on Earth. What if they brought back weapons? The fae who tried to kill me used one, and it wasn’t his first time.”
“Possible,” Baird says, conceding the point. “Guns would certainly turn the tide in the Talentless’ favor. But, if that is the case, surely we would find more than the single casing, and bullets as well.”
“Yeah.” I look back over at the bodies. “But most of the bodies and homes we find are burned. They could be covering their tracks, melting the bullets with fire, and taking the casings with them. They missed this one, but they were in a hurry. Some of these bodies are still warm.”
Nuadha snorts. “Your theories are pure fantasy! Humans cannot come to Tír na nÓg. This trinket is likely nothing more than a keepsake collected during illegal travel to Earth. Such things are known to happen, human artifacts are highly sought-after by some fae. And this chatter gets us nowhere. We must return to Chathair Mhór and prepare for war. Aiden already travels ahead with his men to secure safe accommodations for us along the way.” He turns on his heel, ending all conversation with me. “Friend Baird, I must ask you to travel with a contingent of fae directly back to Chathair Mhór to assist in the preparation of the troops there.”
“Where will we be engaging the Talentless?” he asks, and my heart sinks.
“The battleground is unclear. If we do not get credible information about the Talentless location soon, we will devise a plan to draw them out.”
Nuadha flicks a glance at me, and I know without asking that I won’t like whatever he has planned.
Baird nods, gives me a swift hug, and gallops into the distance with ten fae following him.
***
Without Baird and Aiden, the conversation between Nuadha and myself is stilted and awkward, and it’s not long before we stop trying altogether.
Every time I look up, I catch Nuadha studying me with a look of annoyance on his perfect features. But instead of speaking, he looks away.
Another hour of irritating sighs from King McGrumpypants, and I snap.
“What? What is it? Do I have something on my face?” I ask, pushing some loose strands of hair off my forehead.
“It’s nothing,” He gives me a small smile. “I just...I swear I can see you growing more beautiful with each passing moment.” He purses his lips together and looks away as if he regrets saying the kind words out loud.
“Oh.” My heart melts a little, and I feel guilty for barking at him. “Thank you.”
The silence stretches on again, and unable to take any more, I nudge Mandrake to a canter and put a litt
le distance between us.
I hear a snort behind me, and as I turn, I see the king spur his mount to follow.
You can beat his horse, yes?
Now it’s Mandrake’s turn to snort. He turns on the speed, and everything merges into nothing but a blur of icy white, stone gray, and earthen brown.
Soon, we leave the army far behind us.
I hear Nuadha’s laugh before it fades as we rapidly pull ahead. It’s the first time I’ve heard such absolute glee come from his lips.
A few minutes later, I check behind me. I can no longer see him. For a moment, I wonder if he’s given up then I smirk. Of course, he hasn’t given up.
I take what feels like the first deep breath of the day and enjoy the beautiful countryside, which is, for once, free of death and destruction. The towering wood filled with mostly bare trees covered in twisted branches ladened with icicles and snow remind me of the dead forests back on Earth. But unlike those forests, I know these trees will bud and bloom in a month or so.
I follow the pristine river I was told leads to the home of the air fae as it weaves through bare trees and huge gray boulders. The city, Uisce ag Titim, resides in a cliff behind a waterfall and is apparently the most beautiful in all of Éire…outside of Chathair Mhór, that is.
Try as I might to relax, I can’t. Thoughts of Nuadha, Talentless, and the coming war invade my mind. I can almost hear the dreadful sounds of battle already.
Frowning, I pull Mandrake to a stop and listen carefully. I can hear battle sounds—metal striking metal, male and female voices shouting, and children crying far off in the distance.
I don’t have to say a word to Mandrake. He heads deep into the forest at a hard gallop before I’ve even formed the thought, and we dodge low-hanging branches as we race through underbrush while the sounds of fighting get closer and more desperate.
As the scene comes into view, I see a one-sided fight between three Talentless—two men and one woman—and six soldiers baring Nuadha’s standard, with the three trying to keep the heavily armed fae away from a small huddled group of children.
What the…“Stop!” I scream, horrified. His men are supposed to be scouting for danger, not harassing innocents.
The soldiers look up, momentarily shocked, only to continue forcing Talentless back by sword point while the three ragged, scrawny Talentless fae try to fend off the sharp blades with pots and pans.
“What the hell do you think you are doing?” I yell as Mandrake halts mere feet from the action and draw my sword and dagger as I slide off his back.
“We caught these Talentless trying to—”
“Trying to what?” I ask. “Escape with nothing but the clothes on their backs and the food in their bellies? Lower you swords!”
They stop their advance but keep their swords aimed straight at Talentless necks.
One of the men sneers. “We don’t take orders from you!”
The Talentless, clearly exhausted, stand over the whimpering children with their arms shaking in an effort to keep their makeshift shields extended.
I step in from of them and face the soldiers. “Lower your swords. These people are no threat to you or Nuadha. They aren’t even armed!”
The soldiers look uneasily at each other and shuffle, uncertain what to do.
I sheathe my sword and form a fireball. “I said, lower your swords.” The words are forced through gritted teeth. A red mist permeates the edges of my vision—all I want to do is kill them. I struggle to control my temper.
Mandrake steps forward and paws at the stony ground, his massive horn glinting in the light of my fire.
The men glower but still refuse to drop their swords.
“Do as she says!” Nuadha roars from behind me. “How dare you raise a sword against Alys.”
I do not turn to look at him but keep a wary eye on the fae instead.
The soldiers immediately drop their weapons and kneel, bowing their heads.
“The next fae to so much as touch their sword near this woman will pay with his life!” Nuadha rides between us and leans close, lowering his voice. “Extinguish your fire, Alys. You are scaring the Talentless.”
“Oh.” I look over my shoulder, and sure enough, every one of them has a look of pure fear as I watch their gazes bouncing back and forth from me to the fireball still rolling in my palm. “Right.” I clench my fist and the orb goes out.
The soldiers glance at each other uneasily then back at the ground.
Nuadha faces his men and raises his voice to the level of take-no-prisoners royal once again. “What is the meaning of this?”
The one who sneered at me earlier gets volunteered as group mouthpiece. “U-Um…we thou-thought—”
“Thought what? That these unarmed families were a threat? Surely no soldier of mine is that imbecilic? The danger I had you scouting for does not include unarmed faelings!”
I step forward. “They thought they might play a game of torture the Talentless, like a good many other fae I’ve seen lately.”
Nuadha shoots a glare that screams shut up.
I snap my mouth closed.
“You may stand,” Nuadha says to the Talentless cowering on their knees in front of him. “Continue safely on your journey.”
They stand, and I study their threadbare clothing, which is barely more than scraps stitched together by frayed ends, engulfing their thin frames and meant to keep the winter chill at bay.
“Do you have any food? Or coin? Any supplies?” I ask, softly.
One of the men dares to make brief eye contact then shakes his head, and they all stare at their rag-covered feet.
Nuadha unclips a leather satchel from his waist and throws it to the man, who catches it deftly. “Enough coin to last you a long while. Pray I never see you carrying a weapon, friend Talentless.” He bobs his head once and folds his hands in front of him.
The man’s eyes widen and he does little more than gasp and sputter for several seconds. “T-thank you, Sire.” He smiles and even attempts an awkward bow before joining the others scurrying away and mumbling in excited whispers about their sudden good fortune.
“And you…” Nuadha says, turning his cold blue gaze on his men. “To say I am disappointed would be a grand understatement. Is there not enough strife across our land? Do we not already have too many fronts on which to fight without adding more? You are stripped of rank and title and will go back to basic training at Chathair Mhór.”
There is a collective gasp from the men.
“Spread the word as you go—I will not tolerate the abuse or persecution of the Talentless. Get out of my sight,” he says, dismissing them with a flick of his wrist. “Pray to Danu I don’t see your faces again for a long, long time.”
The soldiers hurry away, leaving Nuadha and me alone.
“You kept them in your army?” I ask with a scowl. “There should be no place for them there!”
Nuadha’s shoulders sag as he sighs and faces me. “I have precious few men as it is. Cries for protection ring out across Éire. I cannot protect them all and retain a healthy fighting force for war.”
I nod and look away. “I know. I’m sorry. Thank you for defending me, and the Talentless fae. It’s all just stating to get to me…”
“It affects us all, Alys.” He nudges his horse closer. “Tell me. You didn’t hesitate to defend the Talentless, even at your own possible peril.” Nuadha jumps off his black steed. “Why?”
“Why not? Who wouldn’t defend the defenseless?”
He cocks his head to the side. “Most fae when they are outnumbered six to one.”
“I am not most fae.” I turn away and brush a tear from my cheek.
“As I well know, Alys,” Nuadha murmurs and places his hand on my shoulder as I hurriedly wipe the remaining tears from my face. “I saw the look on your face as you were defending the Talentless. It was not meaningless for you. I’m sorry I did not see it before now.”
I feel the heat of his body at my back, but I
can’t face him yet in case the hunger on my face gives me away. “Back…back on Earth, I was in a similar situation almost every day—except I was the talentless one. I was not an impressive fae with fire, just an ugly, strange, human girl with no power, no friends, and no one to protect me from those who persecuted me.”
I hear his sharp intake of breath then nothing but my own quiet, hiccupping sniffles for what feels like forever.
“I would hunt them down for you, Alys, and make them kneel at your feet. Say the word.”
I turn and give him a half-smile. “Thank you. That you offer to even go there for me is enough.”
He wraps his strong arms around me, holding me close, as silent tears streak my face and my shaking slowly subsides. It’s the first time he has willingly held me since he carried me to my room after my battle breakdown.
After a few moments, he raises my chin and places the softest kiss on my lips. “You are fearless,” he whispers.
“Not true. You scare the shit out of me,” I say in a warbling voice.
“Me?” He laughs. “You have nothing to fear from me, fire user, as you have oft demonstrated.”
My hammering hearts disagrees. “It’s not my safety I’m worried about.” The trembling starts again, and I know he can feel it as I rest in his warm embrace.
“Alys, I…” He looks down at me and licks his lips. “Curse Estrild and her prophecies!” He pulls away. “We must reach shelter before nightfall,” he says before jumping back onto his horse in one smooth bound.
With the moment clearly over, I sigh and jump on Mandrake’s back.
“You won’t beat me this time!” he yells, grinning over his shoulder, as he pushes his steed to a gallop.
Even though Mandrake shifts in annoyance underneath me, I make him walk the entire way.
Chapter Twenty
I slide off Mandrake’s back at Uisce ag Titim and leave him in the care of a stable hand.
The man gapes at the unicorn warily before fishing a huge rosy apple out of his pocket and, holding it as far away as possible, uses it to lead my beast to shelter with the other horses.