I am not a solitary hunter anymore, said the Wolf as her sentiments moved in him. Because of you, I see that I have found a new pack.
Morigan twisted in his arms and kissed him. They ached for that contact. It had been forever since they were able to touch or taste the heat of the other. Quietly, they slipped away from the company, and the Wolf raced north, following some invisible scent, or even a phantom impression from his bloodmate, and in sands they had arrived at the brook near Thackery’s ruined home. He took her into the water, knelt, and returned the dagger he had kept so long for her. Siogtine, they said, and were overcome by how much significance that word held. They kissed, sniffed, and pawed at each other as animals would. Yet passion was not their intent, and soon the grunting softened to sighs, the grasping to embraces. With how hard their journey had been, how desperate and unsure, they simply wanted to feel flesh to flesh and mind to mind. At times, they held each other so ferociously and spun in the stream so dizzyingly that they could not tell who was who: they were a moving, whirling force. They were one. When lust faded altogether, Morigan washed her handsome Wolf with handfuls of water, anointed him with kisses from her red lips, and then they went to the bank to sprawl on grass and count the flickers of whiteness above, feeling small and yet not insignificant beneath the vastness of the universe.
Will you tell me now? asked the Wolf, at the moment of their greatest relaxation. He meant her dream. The one that had stricken her in Menos, which she had not mentioned to anyone, and that he felt roiling in her.
Tomorrow, she said, and that was good enough for the Wolf.
He buried her in bites and kisses, and they fell asleep listening to the cheeping and howls of Alabion.
V
“Come to haul us off to your mistress, eh? I am not to be chained, and I dare you to try!” roared the Wolf.
So angry was he that a hint of his transformation had begun, distorting his jaw and sharpening his teeth. He and his hunting partner had caught the interlopers skulking through the ferns toward the camp, as quiet as cats in the dusk, but not stealthy enough to escape his and the dead man’s senses. He threw one of the three trespassers down on the ground near the fire, and he almost rolled into the flames—his hood flew off as he tumbled, exposing an angularly attractive man with mussed red hair and a groomed goatee.
“Alastair!” cried Mouse.
“You know him?” Caenith asked, frowning.
“She certainly does.” Alastair spit out a bit of dirt and threw irritated glances to the faces around him; he recognized them all. “The sage, the fire-haired witch, I know everyone at this gathering—except the little whelp. I saved many of you in Menos. Open your mouths and vouch for me, you scoundrels.”
“He’s fine, Caenith,” urged Mouse.
Morigan concurred with some unspoken gesture, for the Wolf looked to her as if she had spoken. Meanwhile, Thackery kept his silence; the last time he’d seen the man—as the Voice in Eod—was nothing but an annoyance. While Alastair straightened himself, the two other prisoners were thrust forward by Vortigern and had their hoods pulled back. Thackery found his voice when the faces were revealed.
“The sword of the queen and the watchmaster of the East! I didn’t recognize you back in Taroch’s Arm, and almost failed a second time today, as unkempt as you are.”
Casually, Galivad scratched his beard. “End-of-the-world sort of storms and weeks spent chasing a highly mobile and elusive old man will ruin one’s refinement.”
“How did you even find us?” asked Thackery.
Alastair tipped his head to Mouse. “Check your boot.”
“My boot,” she said, and squatted to examine her footwear. “I don’t… how would you even? I’ll be fuked!” After much fondling of the leather, she had found what felt like a tiny pin slid into the folded top of her boot. She removed the object, which was a sliver of cold black metal—feliron, presumably. The metal could bind the powers of others as well as keep an enchantment bound to it, such as a spell of seeking.
Mouse threw the sliver into the grass. “I don’t appreciate being tailed.”
“I do need to keep an eye—or witchneedle, as it is—on my most exciting prospects,” countered Alastair. “Besides, I’m better at watching out for you than you seem to be. By the kings, I was gone less than half a day before you burned the hideout down. It was one of my favorites, you know.”
“Blame the Broker, not me,” huffed Mouse.
“All very interesting stories to hear, I’m sure,” said Galivad, and sauntered over to the fire to smell one of the hares that roasted there. He seemed completely nonplussed by this circle of rough strangers. “However, we have more dire matters to discuss. As you are no doubt aware, my companion and I were sent at the behest of the queen to find and question the crimson witch; yourself, good Sage; and that exceptionally large man with whom you ran off. Mostly him, until we learned that you were alive. It was around then, after the unfortunate fishy incident in Taroch’s Arm and a chat with the woman responsible for it, that we began to realize that the men we chased might not be foes and were, in fact, acting covertly on a mission of rescue. This Voice has confirmed your motives, and I no longer see either of you to be terrorists.”
“You could have come to the queen, Sage,” said Rowena. “The Silver Watch could have helped you.”
Swiftly, Thackery managed to interject himself over what was to be a growling response from Caenith. “We were pressed by the need for speed and secrecy. Any arrangements with the king’s army would have been hindrances for both. Particularly when there are spies within the palace.”
“Yes,” said Galivad, frowning. “I had thought the same, myself. Espionage is the only way Menos would have learned of the crimson witch so quickly. I am glad that we have come to this accord with one another, but still I must ask what it is that you know that has Eod and Menos making war.”
The blond rogue was pointing at Morigan; she sat and gazed at the flames, and then motioned for the others to rest, as well. Now was the time to tell the company of her vision in Menos. For the sky had rained fire and ice, and she knew why. Perhaps she should unburden herself of her other visions as well: of a Black Queen, a black star, the Immortal Kings and their love and hate, and her uncanny connections to the very folk around her. When all was quiet and the company was pale with anticipation, she spoke.
“Fate has chosen me to witness terrible things. I shall not ask why, for my dark destiny has come with many blessings.” Caenith had settled in behind her, and she pulled his strong embrace tighter. “The war between Eod and Menos is not what we should worry ourselves over. Magnus’s war with his brother is what will shape Geadhain. If you look to the lands apart from these woods—protected by the Sisters’ magik or their own resilience—you can see that the shadow of their war has reached far, indeed. I saw their conflict. A clash of ice and fire, beautiful and horrifying. I saw Magnus fall to his brother.”
Many about the campfire winced as their spirits were wounded by the news. They did not shed tears, for grief could not be found in the cold river of shock that ran through their hearts. Night layered them in shadows, their faces growing darker and darker, and no one spoke for many sands.
At length, Morigan continued to the stony crowd. “This is not the end of my dark foresight. Nor should we grieve a king who I do not know is yet dead. We have more enemies to consider, the true threat in the south. For Brutus has made pacts with ancient powers: a beast of pure fire, like a snake—if a snake could be the size of a mountain—and a bodiless menace that seeks to call herself queen. She is more dangerous than Brutus or his pet, this spirit that defines wickedness. I can see the truth of the world when I wander the other realms, and what I have seen of her is hunger. For life, love, light, everything that makes Geadhain green and pure. So much hate and anger…she could be pitied in her obvious despair if she wasn’t so merciless. She wants it all, and she will break the kings and the order of nature to have it. She has already taken Brutus,
and I admit I do not know the fate of Magnus after his fall.”
“Who is this dread queen?” whispered Mouse.
Morigan shivered out a shrug. “I don’t know. Something old. Something that comes before the memories of men or any who could recall such a monster.”
Not all memories would be so foggy, mused Thackery. Beguilingly, the woods called him, and he drifted away from the conversation and into its muddled darkness. Deep inside, he wondered if the Sisters Three watched from a cauldron or whatever scrying surfaces those ancient witches used. He marveled at the synchronicity of fates all drawn to their realm, remembering the suggestion born by Lila that he was to seek their wisdom should the worst befall Eod. How ridiculous the idea had appeared back then. Yet, the worst had come, and here he was. Led by Morigan, joined by a man who knew these woods, for he had once ruled them. He had even brought them to the shelter of Alabion without realizing the obvious lure. Was he even a person or simply another pawn in this game of destiny?
“Thackery?” Morigan waved for the old man’s attention. “This is not a time for silence. We could use your counsel.”
“Yes. Where were we?” he asked, apprehending that time had escaped him.
During his lapse, the stunned faces had been replaced by shaken fists and animated discussion. Morigan had stood and was pacing about the fire, as bold and in command as a warmaster. Thackery almost wandered into whimsy again, remarking at how much she had grown.
“If there is any light to cling to,” she declared, “it is that Brutus’s army will need to be rebuilt after the battle. I watched most of his forces die in the storm that the brothers made. Brutus’s army is nearly wiped out, I would say. So there is time, at least, to prepare for his coming. I do not advise diplomacy. I have seen the red madness of his twisted mind, and he speaks only in blood now.”
“While Brutus cannot be ignored, the West must guard itself against Menos as well,” advised Thackery. “I shall tell you of what Caenith and I saw in Blackforge.”
From there, the company threw itself wholly into the conspiracies threatening Geadhain. Thackery explained the operations under way north of the Blackforge, which were worrying, given Galivad’s description of the Iron City’s incredible rebound from calamity. There would be no stalling the Iron engine of war; on it would march to Eod, immortals and their blood feuds be damned. Word must reach Queen Lila, then, so that she could entrench her city for battles on two fronts. To this end, Rowena produced a farspeaking stone, which solved many of their concerns over how to communicate the grim news to the West. Quickly then, the sword moved to find privacy and make contact with her mistress. Rowena returned to the others more troubled than when she had left. “Queen Lila knows,” she confessed, and the misery and sighs made their rounds. Already, Her Majesty had been informed of Magnus’s defeat. Lila had sensed it, of course. Rowena had felt a depth of pain in that revelation that could not possibly be conveyed in the short whispers of speech from a magikal stone. She yearned to be with her queenmother and hated that she had to be spans away from a woman who surely needed every compassion. Not all was dark on Eod’s horizon, however, for the king’s hammer, Erik, had made it back from the battlefield through an act of tremendous magik, and he had not stopped for praise of his survival, but immediately started with the city’s repairs from the great storm—which had spared no corner of Geadhain, it seemed—and its subsequent fortifications against the next. Thus, while Eod was imperiled, it would not be caught unaware. Such tidings brought the first rush of relief to the company, and they could pick at the well-done rabbit after that.
In more measured tones, then, and with the pleasantness of food, the company deliberated where they themselves would fall in this web of events. Rowena and Galivad’s orders were clear: they were to head to Blackforge and investigate the extent and power of Menos’s forces there, and then report to Eod with haste. The others around the fire were not as set in their decisions. Although physically present that eve, Kanatuk could not have been more absent from these grand discussions on kings and wars. The stars caught his attention more often than any of the talk; his gaze followed the shining heavenly paths to the North, and Morigan could feel his longing like a tidal pull. His desire to return to a quieter place. He will leave, she realized. And I cannot ask him to stay. The old soul with whom she had communed in the Dreaming was no less afflicted with wanderlust. Macha stayed near to Kanatuk, attracted to his withdrawnness and giving leery stares to the woods. She will go with him, for Alabion is no place for her, and she is terrified of it. He can make them a home in the cold bright reaches of the world where they might never see darkness again, remarked Morigan. Prophecy was spilling from her like water from a broken well: these were not guesses, but probabilities. Next, the silver eyes cast their perception upon the father and daughter playing with a deck of brightly colored cards by the fire. I think you have more caring and honor in you than you know, Mouse. You have discovered family, and that tiny flame inside you—love—will grow grander than you can imagine. You will be fierce and fight for what you have found. You will walk with us, for we are a part of what you cherish now. The bees buzzed to Thackery after that; he was huddled with Queen Lila’s agents and shaking a rabbit bone at them as if they were learning a vital lesson. You, my father from Eod, you will follow me to the end of all this. I wish you would not, for I fear that the journey may claim you. Do not go there, my silver servants, she had to warn her hungry bees. Some mysteries, like the hourglass of a man’s death, are sacred. But I shall not steer another’s fate. All choices are our own, even if the pattern of destiny seems preordained. Come with me, then, and if there is to be a passing, it shall be one bright from the memories we have made in togetherness.
Morigan watched the lively old man for a while until tears blurred her vision. She was nearly done with her reflections when she spotted the slim shadow of the foxy man wavering through the flames. For the entirety of their council, he had been silent, and it had been quite easy to forget that he was even among them. They had spoken with reckless freedom in front of this man, this Voice, and yet she did not fear for his keeping or selling of their secrets. Curious, her swarm migrated across the flames to feed on this enigma. Yet past her base instincts, he was as elusive as the twists in the fire, and the only thing that they returned to their mistress with was that same sense of amusement that he had exuded when she had met him before. And who are you, trickster? What hand do you have in all of this? For while I can attribute myself for drawing these fates to this fire, you are a shade responsible yourself. What are your secrets? Whom do you serve?
Alastair winked at her, as if he knew what she was thinking, and the startled Morigan pressed against the flesh of her bloodmate.
You are filled with suspicion and a delicate sorrow, my Fawn, said the Wolf. I feel you grieving and questioning the world around you. There is no need for confusion. There is no need to stare into the future if it troubles you.
Morigan tensed. But I know where we have to go.
Alabion, yes. All roads have brought us here, no clearer a path could there be. My past, your past. Thackery’s cottage lies just through the bush not far from here. He led us here like an old dog finds its home. Many fates, all woven on the looms of the Ladies of the Wood. Patterns that have seemed so tangled are really only formed by a master Will. We shall answer their summons, then, these Sisters. We shall see what they say, and if we do not care for their answers, then we shall make our own.
Yes, we shall, Morigan decided.
For she was no more a slave, no more an idle chronicler. She was the Daughter of Fate, and if she could partake in destiny, then she could shape it, too. The Sisters could not be alone in that power. The light of her surety was a golden surge: a tickling wind that passed through and over Caenith.
At last, the animal that Geadhain should fear, praised Caenith. The Queen of Fang and Claw.
There are no queens in Alabion, replied Morigan, smiling.
Tonight,
the first has been crowned.
As the night thickened, and the woods of Alabion pressed over the small campfire with their eerie calls and long shadows, the company sought what fellowship they could. Even though they were so different in purpose and spirit, they scraped up every enjoyment to be found. They banished the darkness with their laughter, for Galivad was a rousing and comical storyteller. Songs came out again, funny ones at first, the sort of tavern slang not appropriate for a child, so it was good that Macha could not understand them—she clapped and smiled anyway. They did not address the hollow gleam in one another’s eyes. They brushed away the dim ache in their stomachs that rabbit and fruits could not fill. They did not dwell on these maladies, which were not sicknesses but a knowing of this fragile moment before the coming uncertainty. When they went to lay their heads, though, these thoughts and others could not be quieted and haunted their minds. For in the morning, paths were to be committed to, and partings were to be made.
After the morning, some of them would never see one another again.
EPILOGUE
“Ooh, settle those feet!” cursed Elemech.
Little Eean was restless today, kicking her mother’s womb and tugging on her cord. Even in her unformed state, Eean must have sensed the spinning of destiny’s threads and was reacting to them. Ealasyd delicately placed the spider she was playing with on a leaf of the nearest bush and went over to her sister, who sat on the rock she so often favored and was squinting into the morning. The youngest sister placed her hands upon Elemech’s stomach, whispered to the life inside and then looked to her elder.
“She should be quiet for a while,” said the girl. “I’ve promised her a story later.”
Feast of Fates (Four Feasts Till Darkness Book 1) Page 63