by Emma Hamm
“I wouldn’t be able to keep it clean.”
“And how would you fight?”
She frowned and leaned back against the banister. “You’ve been watching me.”
“I have not.”
“You cannot lie, so what are you omitting? You would never know that I was training to fight.”
“A raven has many paths to fly across. If I saw you training with that fiendish little dwarf, that was merely by mistake. A traveler sees much, but does not watch others specifically to gain knowledge.”
“You’ve been practicing that for centuries, haven’t you?”
He chuckled. “I have.”
Sorcha gestured towards the stairs leading from the balcony. They ended at another protrusion, this one far more precarious than the first. The dwarves had yet to add railings or safety to it. Still, she was quite certain it would hold their combined weight.
Like the gentleman he pretended to be, Bran gestured for her to go first. Pulverized stone coated her fingers as she glided them down the railing. Settling on the very edge of the rock, she let her legs dangle high above the ground.
Bran sat down next to her. “Your mind is troubled.”
“Is that why you took human form? Bran, I’m touched.”
“What happened?” He nudged her shoulder with his. “Regardless of the fact that I dislike rules, nor do I follow any form of law, I still prefer to know what others are doing. And I find myself growing fond of you.”
She blushed. “Eamonn is still battling Fionn for control over the Seelie throne.”
“And is this a bad thing?”
“His people have had enough dying. They deserve at least some kind of break.”
“It hasn’t been that long of a war.”
“It’s been five years!” Sorcha exclaimed. “How much longer should it go?”
“Faerie wars last centuries. We fight, that’s part of living in the Otherworld.”
“Don’t you ever tire of that?” Sorcha could hear the exhaustion in her own voice.
And she was tired. She didn’t want to see the horrified expression on the dwarves faces. Oona had aged greatly. Cian resorted to kindness just to make people feel better. It was unnatural for any of these creatures to undergo such stress.
Bran watched her, his raven eye spinning. “You want to care for them.”
“Don’t you?”
“No. Faeries look out for themselves, and if they can’t, then they are not training the next generation to be hardy.”
“What if you didn’t have to be hardy anymore?” Sorcha turned towards him and grasped his hands in hers. “What if you lived in a land where war was nothing more than memory? Where food and water was abundant, and people worked for their own living. No more slaves. No more lesser Fae.”
“It would be a utopia.”
“It would. It would be a beautiful place to live, and one that was inclusive and kind to all who lived there.”
He tapped her nose with a claw tipped finger. “That is not the Fae way.”
“Why can’t you change?”
“We have changed much in the many centuries since our people began. But we are not human, Sorcha. You continue to give us human traits, and forget that faeries are more beast than man. We want to fight. We want to argue and meddle. These are parts of us you have to accept if you want to remain here.”
“Why are you so intelligent?” she asked. “Every time I ask a question, you not only have an answer but find a way to make me look like a fool.”
“You are not a fool. You are an extremely kind hearted woman who wants to save the world. It’s admirable.”
“He’s forcing them to fight.” She looked down at the ground. It was so far away and obscured by the shadows of night that she could almost imagine it wasn’t there at all.
“Forcing?”
“I don’t know how. Cait, the dwarf you called fiendish, told me that the dwarves no longer wish for war. They did not make the choice for battle and they are tired. I don’t know how he’s convincing them to continue if this is true but…” She shrugged. “How could it not be true? Faeries cannot lie.”
Bran leaned back on one hand and stroked his chin. “You think Eamonn is coercing them or forcing them?”
“I hope neither.”
“And yet, you are still talking about it.”
“Something isn’t right.”
“Do you think it will make everything better for these dwarves to no longer fight? Do you think without an army, Eamonn will stand a chance against Fionn?”
“I don’t know.” She looked over at him, her shoulders slumped in defeat. “Do you?”
“Fionn is unpredictable. He sees the world in black and white, right and wrong, the classic definition of Seelie Fae. It’s why he’s made a relatively good king.”
“Good?” Sorcha’s jaw dropped open. “How is enslaving his own people and perpetuating class structure considered a good king?”
“It’s always worked for the Seelie before.”
“You cannot honestly believe that.”
Bran held his hands up. “I believe nothing. I think the Seelie race in general is a waste of breathing space. Even your lover, whom I consider a friend, would better the world by not being here.”
“What are you getting at, Bran?”
“Eamonn and Fionn are two very different men. One favors the old ways, which certainly puts a grouping of faeries at a disadvantage. But, the others brings a large amount of change. That can be just as dangerous as not changing at all.”
“You’re speaking in riddles.”
“That’s what faeries are good at.”
She rolled her eyes and looked towards the sky for guidance. He was right, in a way. There were so many ways this could go wrong. But could she stand by and watch others die?
No. She couldn’t. It went against every fiber of her being to allow a war as senseless as this one to go any further.
“I know Eamonn will make a good king.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I will be at his side.”
The words vibrated through her with enough power to weaken her knees, if she had been standing. Sorcha sucked in a breath. She had meant it. He would be a better king because she would never let him be anything else.
“Good,” Bran said. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”
“What?”
“These lands have been without a Queen for too long. Faeries are volatile creatures. We have a lot of emotions, but rarely show them until they are overpowering. It’s why we love with all our being and why we fight wars until everyone is dead.
“A King encourages faeries to be who they are. He teaches the younglings to protect themselves, tells the old to pass on traditions. His role is important, for his is judge, jury, and justice.
“The Queen is different. She is the gentle soul that passes through the lands, healing injuries, and breathing life into wombs. She is the softness in a world that is as hard as steel. Without that gentle mother, our people quickly descend into chaos.”
Sorcha exhaled. “There’s nothing I can do to help. I will not lie with Fionn, and Eamonn has not yet been successful at taking back the throne.”
“I think you’re doing all the right things.”
“And Eamonn?”
Bran chuckled and rose to his feet. “He’s doing his best. It’s been a long time since he’s been home. There’s an adjustment period.”
“Is there any way I can help him?” Sorcha looked up at the dark man standing before her. “Is there any way I can help his people?”
Bran hesitated for a brief second, and in that moment she knew. There was something he wasn’t telling her. Something that could stop all this madness.
“What do you know?” she asked. “What is it that you have discovered?”
“Do you trust that Eamonn will be a good king?”
“Without doubt.”
“And you believe that Fionn will not come an
d find him with an army?”
“There are more secrets in these castle walls than you know. An army would have a difficult time finding us.”
Bran licked his lips, fingers twitching as she shifted side to side. “I shouldn’t tell you.”
“I thought you liked to manipulate the story.” She toyed with his natural desire to meddle. It was a cruel trick, but one she thought necessary.
He blew out a breath. “It’s the sword.”
“Which sword?”
“The Sword of Light, midwife, what else could it be?”
“Nuada Silverhand’s sword?” She gaped at him. “What does that have to do with this?”
“It’s how he’s controlling the army. That sword controls anything that it points at. Eamonn is ordering the army to fight for him, and if he gets the chance, he’s likely ordering Fionn’s army to kneel.”
“Then why hasn’t he stopped everyone in their tracks? He could have avoided all this entirely if he simply ordered the men to return home.”
Bran shrugged. “That’s not the Seelie way. Honor demands that he defeat them without the help of magic. It’s likely that Eamonn is ordering the dwarves to fight, but giving both armies a fair fight.”
Sorcha’s mind raced. Her hands shook as she realized what Eamonn had done. “Cait was right,” she whispered. “They really don’t wish to fight.”
If he was forcing the dwarves to become his army, then what else was he capable of? It was no wonder that he carried so much guilt on his shoulders. He had done the unthinkable and took the choice away from his own people.
“How do I stop it?” she asked.
“Destroy the sword.”
“I suppose you meant that to sound easy. Destroy the sword of Nuada? Just how do I do that?”
“I’m sure your little friends will help,” Bran said. He winked at her with a roguish grin. “The druids always knew how to destroy faerie objects.”
“Bran.”
“I’m not telling you anymore. You said to meddle with the story, and now I have. You’re a smart woman. I have full confidence you’ll figure this out.”
A rush of wind swirled around his body. Clothing fell to the ground and dissolved. Feathers sprouted from his skin as his form shrank into that of a raven with one human eye. Bran cocked his head to the side, croaked at her, then spread his wings and flew away.
“Destroy the sword of Nuada,” she grumbled. “That’s the only way to stop this?”
Warm air surrounded her. Hundreds of hands pressed against her shoulders and legs, no longer strange or discomforting. They were her family, her past, and her future. The druids would assist if they could. They wanted the war to end just as much as the faeries.
Sorcha wished she knew why.
The Wisdom Of Ethniu
Sorcha sat at the head table with Eamonn and marveled over the changes the dwarves had wrought in such a short time. The banquet hall was far more than the ruin it had once been. They even repaired the stained-glass windows, although she was not certain how.
Simple chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Candles stuck to their metal rings, melted and glowing merrily. They lit the entire space with ease. Wall sconces glimmered at the edges of her vision, giving light to even the darkest of shadows.
The tables were sturdier now that the dwarves had built them to last. There were a few extras, though many of the dwarves no longer ate in the hall.
Hundreds of dwarves had arrived in swarms. They refused to swear fealty to Fionn, and as such, left their mountain abodes to seek shelter from the coming winter. Each family chose where they wished to live, and the rest gathered by trade.
It was quiet and peaceful among the dwarves.
Sorcha wished it was in her life as well.
She clutched the spoon in her hand so tightly she worried the metal might bend. He hadn’t said a word to her since their late night when he returned from battle.
Eamonn made himself scarce. He fought, trained with the dwarves, ate dinner, and then disappeared during the nights. She did not know where he went.
“Eamonn,” she began.
He lifted a hand to silence her. “All is well.”
“We have not spoken in some time.”
“I have dedicated myself to repairing the castle. There is much work to oversee.”
“And at night?”
“There are secrets within these walls I need to uncover. I will not rest until I am certain this castle is safe for all who live within it.”
“The ancestors have assured me that everyone is safe.” They whispered secrets in her ears when she could not fall asleep. Stories of the old days, recipes for spells and magic. Anything that would keep her mind occupied while she waited for him. “You need not worry.”
“I do not know your ancestors, nor do I know the world they came from. What is not dangerous to druids may prove deadly for the Fae.”
“They would tell me if it was.”
“Would they?” He glanced towards her. “The druids have never been fond of my kind.”
“I am.”
She watched him struggle to find the words to respond to her. He knew she wasn’t lying. She had proven herself time and time again to all the people of this castle. Sorcha was a trustworthy woman who wanted to help them.
He knew that. He understood it as well, but he still held prejudices against the ghosts of her past.
It was a shame he couldn’t trust her.
Sighing, she stirred her soup and slowly nodded. “So, that is the way of it then.”
“Sorcha, I’m not angry with you.”
“No, I suppose you are not. But you are still distant. You have been since I returned here.”
“I don’t know how to change that.”
“Spend time with me.”
Eamonn tossed his cutlery to the table with a loud clatter. “I have so many things I have to do, I’m hardly finding time to sleep. And you want me to find more time to spend it with you? I am only one man, Sorcha. And there is only so much time in the day.”
“Then include me. Give me something to do, so I might report my successes. Then at least we are working together!”
“I—”
The banquet hall doors opened, cutting off Eamonn's exasperated words. Cian made his way through, arms pumping as he raced towards the head table. “My lord! Visitors!”
“Who?” Eamonn stood.
His shoulders squared and his legs spread wide. He crossed his arms over his thick chest, muscles bulging as he pressed them forward. Sorcha shivered as he changed from her lover to the high king who fed off the energy of war.
“I do not know.” Cian gulped. “They are not familiar to me.”
“Let them pass.”
“And if they mean harm?”
“Then let them come.”
She watched Eamonn place a hand against the Sword of Light. It rarely left his person although she had noticed it disappeared while he was assisting the dwarves on their repairs. She simply didn’t know where he left it.
Sorcha reached out and caught the fist resting upon the pommel of the blade. “No violence.”
“If they come here intending to harm, I will not stop.”
“You will. These people may seek shelter, and they do not know you. Your reputation as the man who kills precedes you. Do not give them reason to spread such a rumor any further.”
“They should be afraid of me.”
“Only in battle. When you are in your home, peace must reign.”
She waited until his fingers relaxed and released his hand.
A small troop of faeries entered the room. Their foreheads were overly high, eyes so large they reflected the light, their bodies thin and lithe. Twig like hair smoothed back and hung in dreadlocks down their backs. Moss grew upon their shoulders and arms while leaves covered their bodies where clothing might have been. Flowers bloomed on a few of them. The females, Sorcha assumed.
“Peat faeries,” she said in awe. “I didn’t
know they still existed.”
“They don’t in your world. Humans killed them off, along with the will-o’-the-wisps. Their kinds have warred for centuries.”
“They’re beautiful.”
“They’re dangerous. Too many of their kind have turned Unseelie.”
“That is a personal choice, so you’ve said. It’s not bred into species whether they are Seelie or Unseelie. They make a choice to uphold the honorable ways, or they do not.”
“That does not mean they are trustworthy.”
She glared at him and stood. Turning towards the faeries who hesitated before their table, she forced herself to smile. “Hello, and welcome travelers.”
“Thank you, lady,” one of the flowered faeries said. She stepped forward, large eyes blinking rapidly. “We come seeking shelter.”
“From whom?”
“That of the king. We no longer wish to have our homes trampled by the High Fae and their ilk.”
She had suspected this would happen and was pleased to see she was correct. News had spread fast that the High King had returned and was taking his subjects back one by one. To prove a point, she asked, “How did you find this place?”
“The legends speak of a Stone King who provides shelter for those who seek it. We have journeyed far to understand the truth of this legend.” The woman’s eyes dipped towards the ground. “I see the rumors of his ferocious nature were not exaggerated.”
Sorcha glanced over her shoulder to see Eamonn’s hard expression. He was trying to scare them and succeeding. Rolling her eyes so only he could see, she turned back to the faeries. “He is fierce on the battlefield and unparalleled by any warrior. But he is also a protector of his own.”
“We would like to swear our allegiance to him.”
Again, she looked back at the large man standing behind her. Lowering her voice, she asked, “Is this what you wish?”
Eamonn replied directly to the peat faerie. “Your people have feuded with many. There will be no fighting amongst mine.”
“We have no wish to fight any more than we already have.”
“I will hold you to that. The first person who lifts a finger in anger will be measured by my judgment.”