Mistweavers 01 - Enchanted No More

by Robin D. Owens

  “You didn’t go into the interdimension.” His tone was so even she couldn’t tell what he was feeling.

  “I don’t desert my friends during battle,” she said.

  His breath hissed in. He turned his back on her. “You mean like I did long ago? I think you should have a different liaison.”

  “Wait, wait.” She stumbled to him, put her arms around him and her cheek against his back. His trench coat smelled of leather and Aric and shadleech. “I didn’t mean that as a slam against you.” She tightened her hold as his muscles flexed beneath her. “It’s just me. I go with my instincts and that’s to protect those I…care for. I don’t think in battle.”

  “Not like your brother Stewart, then.”

  “No. I’m not a trained soldier. Not something I want to be.” Though she’d always done better in games than in real life. Crap. Deal with that failure and move on. She was a virtual warrior. Didn’t seem much from there carried over to here. Too damn bad. “I don’t want anyone else as a liaison.”

  “Good,” said the Earth King, the ancient dwarf, who rose from the ground, sword in hand. He leaned on it. His nostrils widened and he sniffed and clapped his hands, and said a spell. The ground trembled outward in a wave. “Magic enough to muddle any watching humans’ senses.”

  He nodded to Aric and Jenni. “Very good outcome all around.”

  She wanted to glare at him, but averted her eyes so he couldn’t snag her into a trance. Words spewed from her. “This was a setup.”

  The Earth King’s wide lips curved into a rubbery smile that didn’t match the granite of his dark eyes. “We wanted you to know that our man Aric can and would protect you.”

  “You also wanted to see me in action.”

  A dip of the king’s head. “That, also. You did…relatively…well. And your conclusions regarding the elements in this area?”

  “This location is balanced.” Jenni wanted to close her eyes to study the distance, but didn’t dare have less than all her senses alert. “Within about half a mile, in a circular pattern.”

  “Half dome,” the king corrected. “The balancing also affects the earth in a half sphere beneath us.”

  She should have felt that—had felt that—but hadn’t paid attention. She nodded.

  “But the air does not hold the same amount of magic.”

  “No,” she said.

  “I do not sense any remaining minor bubbles?” the king asked.

  “No,” she said again.

  “All is well, then. We will have one of our halfling scientists assigned to the human team to study the recent changes here.”

  Neither Jenni nor Aric replied. She wasn’t quite sure what her lover was feeling. He’d shut down his emotions. A good thing to do around the Eight. Something she needed to practice sooner than later…if she continued to work with them.

  “Thank you, Princess Mistweaver Emberdrake, for your insight.” The king turned to Aric and inclined his head. “Well done, Aric.”

  “Thank you, sire,” Aric said.

  “Any comments?” asked the dwarf.

  Aric said, “The shadleeches weren’t Kondrian’s. They didn’t have his smell—a rather sweetish odor.”

  “Stale bubblegum,” Jenni said and both males stared at her. She lifted her chin. “Well, it’s true. He—and his shadleeches—smell like old bubblegum.” She sensed that both of them were too proud to ask what bubblegum was and suppressed any hint of a smile.

  Aric continued, “The shadleeches were also fat. I believe they were relatively local creatures that were drawn here by the magic of the bubble event.”

  “Yes,” the king said. He glanced idly around the panorama. “No sign of Kondrian. We believe that he has returned to his estate in eastern Europe. Until he heals.” He scanned Jenni and Aric. “He will no doubt be well enough to attend the last bubble event, even if he has to decimate his peasants for energy.”

  Jenni wondered what the dwarf meant by peasants. But the Dark one didn’t seem like the most modern being, either.

  “Best be on your way,” the king said. He gestured to the tree they’d exited before. “We’ll see you at the ceremony when the bubble arises.” He stared at Jenni. “Be sure to notify us immediately if you sense the event occurring in an untimely fashion.”

  Then he was gone.

  Jenni and Aric walked back toward the tree, and she noted their footprints in the snow, wondered what humans would make of those. What would she have thought a couple of weeks ago?

  She looked at the skinny pine, the tracks, the walk. Despite most of her life and her time with Aric, she wouldn’t have thought of the Lightfolk first. She’d have thought someone went to lean against the tree for a photo.

  Eventually the fact that there were Lightfolk would leak. The “meld” of technology and magic would ensure that. So would interacting with humans, but the Eight weren’t ready yet. She’d bet Aric’s meeting with the humans after the bubble incident had faded from their minds.

  At the tree, she turned around, gave Yellowstone a last look. She’d have liked a blue-gold day, but what she had was gray…and the scent of sulphur…the hint of fire energies around them. Once she stepped into the tree she would be away from mountains and headed—in a few steps—to the west coast, California and the Pacific Ocean. She hadn’t seen an ocean in fifteen years, but soon the sound of surf would be dominant, not the smell of sulphur. Not the light of days living in Denver, the Queen City of the Plains.

  “Let’s go,” Aric prompted. He tugged at her hand and she wasn’t quite sure when he’d taken it, holding hands with him seemed so natural.

  They walked into the spruce again and into the greenhome—the sense of interconnected plant beings all around them, throbbing with life in various rhythms. This spruce was younger, its sap faster than a larger pine yards away. The nearby brush was quick. There was the sense that roots knew spring was only a couple of months away.

  Aric’s arm came around her waist and he urged her into the green-black and they crossed into light—brownish-green light and the squeal of delight hit Jenni’s ears.

  When her vision sharpened, she saw that they’d entered a large space and the table was dressed for tea and visitors.

  “Aric!” cried Leafswirl, and then moved with the grace that gave her her name.

  She was much smaller and much greener than Aric. Her hair was the spring green of new needles of the coastal redwood that she lived in. The dryad—appearing younger than her son—hugged him tightly, then stepped back, with a delighted smile. “My son. My one son. You are such a beautiful male.”

  Aric’s skin turned a deeper copper and Leafswirl patted his cheek and spun away. Jenni’s gaze followed her and it seemed as if her surroundings exploded into sight. Leafswirl liked pastel floral patterns, and they were everywhere—on the tablecloth and the china set. Even the round walls of the room were papered in pale yellow with pansy clumps. Jenni blinked and blinked again.

  “I have tea prepared!” Leafswirl sang.

  “I’ve never known dryads not to have tea prepared.” Aric glanced at a regulator-style clock. “Early for midmorning tea. Late breakfast?”

  “Brunch. I’m sure you can have a little nibble. There are eggs and potatoes.” Dryads survived mostly on the nutrients their trees shared with them, with the occasional vegetarian meal. “I have cookies.” She gestured and a multitiered tray appeared. There were cucumber sandwiches, maybe the red stuff was even sun-dried tomatoes and—

  “Hummus. Cracked pepper,” Leafswirl said.

  Yes. They were in California. Jenni took a deep breath and it smelled of redwood with a hint of sea spray. The ocean was within forty miles. “Thank you for inviting me into your lovely home, and for tea.”

  “You’re quite welcome.” Leafswirl did another spin, this one in place, and Jenni thought the circular room expanded a few feet in circumference.

  “I could eat some of your basted eggs and toast,” Aric said, putting Jenni’s bag out of the
way under an occasional table. He sat on a small stool that turned into a chair and enlarged under his muscular butt, opened up a dome that held exactly what he wanted and dished four eggs out onto his plate, emptying the serving dish.

  “That sounds wonderful,” Jenni said, sliding her backpack off and stowing it with her tapestry bag. She sat on another stool and became enfolded in a cushy armchair of a dusty blue with pink cabbage roses. Leafswirl giggled and took her own seat, which transformed into a curvy café chair with a pink seat cushion.

  Jenni got an English muffin from the toast rack and put it on her plate, lifted the dome where Aric had taken the eggs and there were more, of course.

  The three of them spoke of light topics—Leafswirl gave another rundown of Aric’s sisters and nieces—and ate. Jenni complimented the tea and food lavishly and often, which dryads seemed to need. Jenni’s father had been of the opinion that the Treefolk had come late to hospitality and hostessing and wanted to make up for lost time. At the end of the meal, the utensils and the crumbs on the tablecloth disappeared. The table itself moved to a side of the room, where a china lamp sprouted upon it to give mellow light. Leafswirl put a finger to her lips and gestured to the right and above them. Wooden steps extruded from the wall and spiraled upward.

  “My friend Lightleaf is upstairs—sleeping. I want you to see her. She was caught on the edge of the forest when the shadleeches came.” For once Leafswirl was serious. She’d never shown her age, Jenni rarely even saw maturity in her eyes.

  Leafswirl leaned forward, lowered her voice to a whispering of redwood needles. “She survived the shadleeches. And she’s not the only one. The last two incursions…the creatures have been stopped!”

  “Stopped how?” Aric rumbled.

  “That’s what I want to show you!”

  He stood. “Fine, let’s go.”

  “She’s sleeping,” Leafswirl warned again.

  Nodding, Aric crossed to the stairs that widened for his feet. He gestured to Jenni to come, so she rose and followed him. The stairs didn’t creak under their weight, but Jenni was so close to the outer—real?—tree wall that she heard wind soughing outside. As she took each step, she discreetly tried to gauge the elemental magic of the area. A great deal of earth and air, water was good, too, but fire was scarce. Not surprising. Dryads were terrified of fire, and those in California even more. There were few dryads living with humans in the south, but this was now a protected United States national forest.

  The second floor was wider than the first, more magical greenhome than tree. A hallway bisected the space, and Jenni figured that at this moment there was a bedroom on each side. If she and Aric stayed, this level would gain more space or— She glanced up. The stairs continued, looking like pegs until they were needed.

  Greenhome was endlessly charming.

  Leafswirl moved as quietly as an autumn leaf drifting to the ground. Aric’s feet weren’t quite touching the floor, as if there were a pad of air beneath his soles. He was using his elven air nature. Jenni’s footsteps were quiet but she felt as if she clumped along in clogs.

  The arched door on the left opened silently at the touch of Leafswirl’s fingers. Jenni was glad to see that there was a thick rug of green-gray patterned ferns on the floor. They went over to the four-poster bed and stared down at the girl there. She was shorter than Leafswirl, and more slender, though Aric’s mother wasn’t voluptuous by any standard. The young dryad’s hair was streaked red-brown and green, which seemed natural. Her skin was paler than Jenni thought it should be.

  Lightleaf’s nose twitched and her mouth puckered before a slight, fearful whimper came from her.

  “Shh,” Leafswirl comforted, then said softly, “turn over, my dear.” Magic filled the air at her quiet command.

  Stretching and stirring and moaning a little more, Lightleaf rolled over…and a pattern of a dark green spiderweb stretched from under her hair at her temple to angle slightly across her cheek.

  Jenni’s breath caught. Holding her eyelids shut on a long blink, she sensed the mark on Lightleaf’s face was pure magic…and a magic of balanced elemental energies…and permanent.

  Leafswirl stroked the younger dryad’s head, then waved Jenni and Aric back.

  Aric didn’t move. He stared down at Lightleaf with narrowed eyes and considering gaze.

  Jenni touched his elbow and his glance shifted toward hers, slid back to the hurt dryad and he gave a little nod. Jenni wanted to clamp her fingers around his elbow and draw him away and that flare of emotion made her feel stupid. He didn’t seem interested in Lightleaf as a woman, more like a problem. Jenni had no reason to feel he’d be attracted to the dryad, but an atavistic possessiveness flickered.

  When had Jenni come to believe Aric was hers? Stupid. Who knew if their relationship would even survive after the last bubble event, even if they lived.

  She strode to the door, through it, and circled down the stairs, inwardly scolding herself. He was his own man, more now than he had ever been when she’d known him before. He had his own goals. He hadn’t ever lied to her, hadn’t been in love with her as much as she had been with him before. She should remember that, and recall that no matter how much they had changed, he was the Eight’s man.

  Somehow Leafswirl made it down the stairs before Jenni—had she floated down?—and now sat at a smaller table in the middle of the room, set with another teapot and plates with a variety of cookies.

  Jenni needed a cookie.

  She sat and held out her cup so Leafswirl could pour.

  Then Aric levitated down and Jenni watched the stairs vanish into the wall until they were just a set of ascending knotholes. He came over and took his stool-chair again, selected a chocolate chip cookie and munched, staring past both women.

  Jenni, irrationally angry at herself and him and even Leafswirl, took a pecan-shortbread cookie and crunched.

  “I like you so much better than that nasty fire djinnfem, Synicess,” Leafswirl said.

  Jenni nearly dropped her cookie. She swallowed hard. Aric had jolted and sat stiffly wary. Sipping some tea, Jenni let the liquid sweep crumbs down her throat. “Ah,” she murmured. “I’m part djinn, too.”

  “Yes,” Leafswirl said serenely, “but you are mostly human. A native child of our beloved mother Earth.”

  “Um-hmm,” Jenni said, taking another cookie, this one without nuts.

  “About Lightleaf…” Aric said, obviously not wanting to touch the topic of Synicess and Jenni.

  “You should remember her, Aric, she’s only a half century younger than you.”

  “Yes, ah, well. What happened?”

  Leafswirl filled his cup, though he hadn’t asked for any tea, topped off her own, lifted the thin china mug to her lips, hiding her smiling mouth but not her twinkling eyes. “Isn’t it obvious? I believe that new tracery on her cheek protected her.”

  CHAPTER 20

  “THE SPIDERWEB?” ARIC ASKED.

  His mother sipped, nodded. “Yes, that magical design. And the new addition to the forest. Spiders.”

  “Spiders?” Jenni and Aric said simultaneously.

  Leafswirl’s eyes got large and her voice hushed. “They are something…different…like the shadleeches, they are not wholly of this world, but are magical, too. But they seem to be good while the shadleeches are evil.” She lifted her hands and wiggled her shoulders as if trying to produce sensible words. “But they are native to earth magic, like we Treefolk.” She glanced around her home. “Not like most of the Lightfolk. And I think they, the spiders, don’t last very long. After they weave their webs, they, uh, pop with a teeny sizzle and go away.”

  Jenni frowned. “What are they living on, then?”

  “I think they are living on the teeny tiny bad things.”

  That made no sense to Jenni. She looked to Aric.

  “Pollutants,” he said.

  “Oh. All to the good, then.”

  “Yes, we think so…and Lightleaf isn’t the only one that this ha
s happened to. Others have survived unharmed…except for that mark. Lightleaf is concerned about the tracery of the web on her skin.”

  “She shouldn’t be,” Aric said. “It’s very attractive, tell her that.” He studied Jenni and the weighing in his eyes had her pausing with a cookie lifted to her mouth.

  Her heart gave a huge thump in her chest. “No. Absolutely not.”

  “It would protect you from the shadleeches.”

  “Who knows that? It protects Treefolk from shadleeches. The spiders or webs or whatever could kill me.”

  “Any regular humans stumble in and get hurt?” Aric asked his mother.

  Her brows knit. “It’s not the best time for tourist season. Gray and rainy this year with occasional clear days. Very humid. But…I think so. Let me talk to my friends.” She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Within a second her mouth was curving at being linked in mental conversation with other dryads.

  Knowing how long they would “talk,” Jenni looked at Aric. “If this appears to be something I…could survive…” She swallowed and lifted her chin. “I’ll only be out in the forest being spider meat if you’re with me.”

  “Done.” His smile was wide, his eyes sly. “You’ll look hot with a spiderweb tatt.”

  She rolled her eyes. She didn’t think so.

  They sat for a while, the sole noises the click of their teacups on saucers, the pouring of tea and the stirring of sugar into their cups. They liked tea the same way and the small commonality touched Jenni beyond reason.

  Aric snared her gaze and said, “We only had that one night in the bedroom in my tree.”

  “Yes.”

  A side of his mouth lifted, then he drank his tea. “When I knew you, I wanted to be around your family more than at home in a tree.” He drank, set down his cup, rolled his shoulders. “I’d had my tree for over two centuries, but it was…empty.” He glanced around the room that was as crammed with stuff—female knick-knacks—as any Jenni had ever seen. “I didn’t know how families lived.” His voice became cool and precise. “I didn’t know how males lived in a home. Not until I met your brothers and your father and your family.”