Faeborne: A Novel of the Otherworld

by Johnson, Jenna Elizabeth

  The fast pace of the melody as the pipes and flute trilled along her nerves set Seren’s heart racing. Her feet, unable to stay still, tapped and jigged along to the glorious sound. She pranced across the barn floor, pulling the young girls and Rori around the small bonfire with her. Laughing at her merriment, they followed without resistance, picking up their skirts and kicking aside their shoes as she had done.

  The Solstice was a time for celebration, and in the Weald, the Fahndi would host a great party on this night with music, dancing, storytelling and feasting. Oh, what wonderful meals they prepared! All the fruits, nuts, grains and vegetables the Weald had to offer. Seren could almost smell the delicate sweetness of bog potato tubers roasting among the hot coals, or the tantalizing aroma of dried corn kernels popping over the fire. There would be winter fruit salad, vegetable soup, hearty bread and plenty of berry wine and mead. Seren couldn’t enjoy those things now, for she was no longer in the Weald, no longer part of a Fahndi clan, but she could still enjoy the spirit of the Solstice with her new friends.

  The pure magic of the music coursed through Seren’s blood, making her light-headed and happy. She was certain the glass or two of mead between dances also contributed to the muddling of her thoughts, or else she would have noticed the tall man lingering in the great doorway of the barn sooner. When she finally did spot him, it was as if her focus suddenly sharpened, honing in on him as the lights, scents and sounds of the party blurred away.

  Brennon Roarke stood out like a beacon to her, even though he remained mostly draped within the night’s deep shadows. Everything about him in that moment sharpened. It was as if he were composed entirely of color while the rest of the world was a simple charcoal sketch. His dark hair, only a few shades away from true black, stood apart from the night and his clear, grey eyes shone with the intelligence, honor and steadfastness Seren had come to expect in this man. His pale skin appeared golden against the firelight, and the forest green cloak he wore over his clothes complimented his complexion well. But that strange darkness, the one she had managed to chase away the evening of his terrible nightmares, had returned. Immediately, Seren’s Fahndi glamour swelled in her chest. This time, however, she did nothing to tamp it down. Her magic sensed something she could not, and she was far too intoxicated with the enchantment created by the bodhran, tin whistle and flute to act rationally.

  Without pausing to consider her actions, Seren took a deep breath and strode forward. She was being propelled purely by instinct, and that instinct told her to heal the one who needed it the most. At that moment, that person was Brenn. She crossed the barn floor in ten rapid steps and came to stand just in front of him, their bodies mere inches apart.

  The Faelorehn man was clearly startled by her boldness, for he blinked down at her with wide eyes.

  “Come along, Brennon Roarke, and share a dance with me,” she stated rather boldly.

  On a normal night, when music and mead were not involved, she would never even dare to think to be so forward with him. She had come to care about him, yes, had come to count him as a friend. But to ask him to dance? To have him standing so close to her when she was most vulnerable? In the Fahndi culture, asking another to dance was tantamount to offering courtship. Because the music stripped one of all his or her reticence, a dance together meant tearing down all barriers between two people’s souls.

  Seren was drugged by the music, and her glamour was driving her more than her common sense. She needed to make Brenn better, whatever was plaguing his spirit needed to be eradicated. And a dance would allow her to touch him, to lay her hands on his skin and send her magic deep into his soul. She reached up and took his hand, drawing him in from the darkness. If her mind had been completely clear, she would have been a bit surprised at how easily he followed her. But she was too focused on pulling him closer to the warm fire and closer to the sweet, swaying sound of the music.

  The musicians had transitioned to a new song, this one smoother and slower. A tune that warmed Seren’s blood to near boiling point. Vaguely, she took note of other instruments joining in with the whistle, flute and drum as she and Brenn began moving together. He must have shed his cloak and jacket at some point, because as her fingers traveled up his forearms she felt no cloth there. Seren shivered. His skin was much too cold. She had to warm him. Acting on instinct once again, she moved in closer, pressing her body against his but never taking her fingers from his arms. She thought she heard him give a small gasp, but she became distracted once again by the beautiful, clear notes of a fiddle and the low, reverberating beat of a drum thrumming through her blood.

  Seren took a long, deep breath, wondering why Brennon’s scent was so near. The reason became clear when she opened her eyes to find the side of her face pressed against his chest. And still, she didn’t pull away in embarrassment or horror. Instead, she let her glamour flow free through her palms and fingers, encouraging it to seep into his skin and burn away the demons that possessed him.

  Eventually, the strong muscles beneath her fingertips lost their tension and began to warm. The man dancing with her relaxed, as well. No longer were his steps stiff and uncertain, but smooth and natural like her own. And just as quickly as it had flared up, her glamour began to recede back into her. The music started to lose some of its edge as well, the euphoria burning away like vapor under the hot sun.

  Seren felt suddenly tired, and her feet shuffled to a stop. She pulled her head away from Brenn’s chest and blinked, gazing around them. Treasa still played the tin whistle as her son continued to pound the bodhran. Eoghan and Finghin had joined the band, one of them shaking a tambourine and the other playing a second flute. Rori and the two girls had given up the barn floor to Seren and Brenn. They were now perched high up on a pile of hay bales, watching the merriment and eating some of the pies she had brought from the house. All of the horses had been put into their stalls, and the repaired cart had been rolled into the space beneath the hay loft.

  Seren gave her head a little shake. How much time had passed since the music fever took over her senses?

  The sudden tightening of strong fingers on her elbows reminded Seren she was pressed up against Brennon. Sucking in a quick breath, she turned her head to look up at him. For the past several minutes, she’d been so lost in the hypnotic rhythm of the music and the effort it took to heal whatever ailment plagued him, that she hadn’t noticed just how close together they’d become.

  Seren’s eyes met Brenn’s, and her heart kicked up its pace. Whatever she had done with her glamour had worked. No longer did she gaze into eyes filmed over with shadows, but eyes smoldering with heat. She wondered, for one insane moment, if the music had had the same effect on Brenn as it did on her. Seren ran her tongue over her dry bottom lip and Brennon’s nostrils flared, his fingers tightening even more. The tension was quickly returning to his body. He started to lean forward, his handsome face taking on an expression filled with purpose. His fingers abruptly loosened on Seren’s elbows and traveled up her arms to press flat against her shoulder blades. Brenn was drawing her closer, if that was even possible, and for one dizzying second, Seren realized he was going to kiss her.

  Panic swelled up inside of her and she gasped, pulling away quickly. Brenn, despite the almost feral look on his face and the strength in his grip, let go of her.

  “I-I’m s-sorry,” she whispered, nervously tucking her hair behind her ears as heat rose to her face. “I’m a bit out of breath from dancing.”

  She tried to give him a comforting smile, but she feared it faltered pathetically.

  If Seren thought Brenn’s prolonged silence odd, she didn’t say so. Instead, she moved away from him, his overwhelming presence suddenly unbearable. She turned and gave the family of travelers a quick curtsy.

  “Thank you so much. For the music tonight,” she faltered. “I think I’ll head back up to the house now. I’m quite exhausted, or else I’d stay longer.”

  Without waiting for a reply, or looking at anyone else
, Seren headed for the exit. She plunged out into the crisp darkness of the winter evening, resisting the urge to run. Only once she was beyond the rectangle of firelight pouring from the barn door did Seren pick up her pace. She had been so eager to leave the party that she’d forgotten her cloak, and the frozen air bit at her overheated skin. Her breath puffed out before her and patches of broken clouds above allowed a little moonlight to spill through, dimly lighting her way.

  As Seren walked, she tried to convince herself the reason she fled the party was because she’d drained all her energy while dancing. And that really wasn’t much of a stretch. She was exhausted. In fact, she hoped to make it up the hill and into her bed before collapsing into a weary heap. But if she was being completely honest with herself, she knew her excuse was only a cover for the root of the matter. The real reason she’d left so abruptly was because of what she’d experienced while in Brenn’s arms. A deep yearning coupled with a dangerous wash of emotion she wasn’t ready to acknowledge. She had no doubt her flood of glamour had eased the dark magic surrounding Brenn tonight, but it had also brought forth another sensation she’d never felt so strongly until that evening: desire.

  When she realized Brenn had been drawing her near to kiss her, she had wanted it. Badly. Only problem was, her glamour, and the euphoria from the music, had mostly burned off by then. She’d come to her senses just in time for the wild, timid doe inside of her to panic and withdraw. But why had she panicked? Why not give in to the desire burning in her heart? Oh, she knew why. In that moment, as Brennon had moved in, the look on his face was purely predatory. It was something she hadn’t seen in his eyes since the day he shot her thinking she was an ordinary deer. His intensity had exhilarated her and that fresh, flaring feeling of excitement had frightened her the way a flicker of flame might unnerve a wild animal.

  Cursing under her breath, Seren began climbing the low hill, her legs as heavy as lead by the time she reached the top. Her head was spinning, both with nausea and her own tumultuous emotions. She could not let this happen again. It wasn’t safe for her or Brenn. And what about Rori? She bit her lip and forced back the prickle of tears. She could not let anything happen because when it was all said and done, she would have to leave Ardun. It was best to maintain the friendship she already shared with Brenn and not let it grow into anything more.

  To her great relief, Seren made it into the house without collapsing. All was dark inside save for a few orange coals glowing in the hearth. A mournful meow from nearby gave her a start. She cast a glare at the large cat hiding under the table near the bookshelf.

  “Nola,” she hissed, “you frightened me!”

  Two glowing eyes became half-moons as the cat’s eyelids drooped. The only answer Seren got from the animal was a low, rumbling purr.

  Her heartbeat slowing, Seren turned to head upstairs but caught sight of the two brown parcels sitting atop the desk across the room. Brenn’s and Rori’s Solstice gifts. Biting her cheek, Seren hurried over and picked the packages up, delivering them to their perspective rooms before seeking her own.

  Weariness once again threatened to overwhelm her, but Seren pressed on, pushing her door open and placing her hands against the door frame to brace herself. Her head was spinning now, and black spots danced before her eyes. Apparently, she had overextended herself while using her magic once again.

  Please, please just let me be tired, she pleaded with the unseen gods. Please don’t let me fall ill again.

  Once fully inside the room, Seren gave in to her exhaustion and fell to her knees. It seemed to take her forever to crawl to the bed and pull herself up onto the mattress. Before the swell of unconsciousness completely engulfed her, she managed to throw the quilt over herself, and in a handful of seconds, she was fast asleep.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Fortitude

  Rori sat upon the wall of hay bales with his new friends, clapping his hands to the rhythm of the music and thinking about what had transpired only half an hour ago. He wished more than ever he could have seen everything, because hearing it, smelling it, feeling it wasn’t enough. He pictured Seren twirling around and laughing, the center of all the light and life in the barn. And then, he pictured his uncle Brennon walking in and seeing them. He had felt it the moment his uncle arrived, as if a pocket of cold winter air had spilled through the barn opening. His uncle always felt cold, but this time he’d felt even icier than usual. Rori had frowned at the sensation. Uncle Brenn only got colder when the nightmares plagued him.

  But then, he’d heard Seren’s lovely voice, asking his uncle to dance. A bright smile spread across the boy’s face as he envisioned his uncle, and then Seren to the best of his ability, moving across the floor like his mother and father used to do on Solstice Night. The music had picked up again, and some of the travelers had begun clapping. And then something extraordinary happened. A warm light started growing, a luminous burst of white spreading across the dark fabric of his blindness, a spark so bright it overshadowed the dull yellow of the bonfire. The light flared and engulfed the coldness that was his uncle, and Rori wanted to cry out in shocked delight. The radiant light burned bright, melting away the black frost tangled around his uncle’s spirit. That cool, sheltered manner of his cracked a little as the warmth of that brightness washed over him. Like hot water poured over cold fingers, making them move and flex better. Bringing back their warmth and color. Relaxing, Rori had followed the movement of that luminosity for the next several minutes, tears forming in his eyes as the layers of ice slowly thawed from his uncle’s soul. Of course, he couldn’t actually see anything, but it was how he pictured what he felt in his heart.

  “Shall I tell you your fortune tonight, young son?”

  Rori jumped at the sound of the rough voice, bringing him back to the present. It was Grandmother Peig, calling up to him atop the hay.

  “May I see your palm?”

  Rori swallowed and nodded, climbing down a few levels and then holding out his right hand, hoping it was where she could reach it. He almost leapt out of his skin again when her rough, calloused fingers brushed against his. Warm and papery-thin but rough in some spots, he imagined her hand looked like the gnarled roots of the ancient beech and oak trees growing in Dorcha Forest. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to picture exactly how those trees looked before he’d lost his sight.

  The old woman was humming low in her throat now, the tune similar to the one the musicians were currently playing. The laughter of the other children, the occasional soft clucking of the hens, the breathing of the horses and sheep, the protesting squeaks of the mice as they scurried through the straw ... All of these sounds came to his sensitive ears as Grandmother Peig turned his hand over in hers.

  “Where are Seren and Uncle Brenn?” Rori asked, when she started tracing her fingertips over the lines in his palm.

  Grandmother Peig stopped her humming abruptly, and a smile crept into her voice as she spoke. “The lovely Seren left ten minutes ago, and your uncle followed a few minutes after her. She had the decency to thank us for a festive evening. Master Roarke, however,” her voice lowered, taking on more mischief than earlier, “stared through the door after her and then just strode out, as if none of us existed.”

  Rori furrowed his brow. Grandmother Peig sounded pleased, giddy almost, about his uncle’s behavior. He couldn’t understand it. If he had done such a thing, just left a party without saying farewell, his uncle would’ve chastised him for being so rude.

  “Why do you sound so happy?” he asked Grandmother Peig.

  The woman cackled, her grip tightening on his hand but not growing uncomfortable. She patted him lightly and said, “Someday you’ll understand, my boy.”

  Rori scowled. He hated it when Uncle Brenn said that to him. It must be something adults were required to tell children.

  “Now, back to your palm reading.”

  The old woman began her humming again, and Rori tried not to squirm as her careful fingers tickled his skin.
Eventually, she stopped her low drone and released a deep sigh.

  Rori perked up. “What is it?”

  “I have a piece of advice for you, young man,” she said, rather seriously. “My advice is free, and you may choose to take it or leave it, but I will share it, nonetheless. I have studied the lines of your palm and glanced at the glamour hiding deep within you. You have a good soul, Rori O’Faolain, and your future is difficult to read. But I can tell you this,”

  Grandmother Peig drew in another deep breath and let it out just as slowly as before. “Old vows must be broken in order to form new ones.”

  Rori blinked, his blind eyes seeing only the tiny spot of yellow against black that was the bonfire.

  “What does that mean?” he asked, in a small voice.

  The old woman held his hand a bit longer, then moved her fingers up his forearm. “It means,” she said softly, “whatever you decide to make of it.”

  Her thumb came to rest over the scar below his elbow.

  Instinctively, Rori pulled back, remembering what his uncle had always told him about the ritual on Samhain Eve. No one must ever know, Rori, he had said. And as far as Rori knew, only Seren had been allowed to witness it. But Seren wasn’t just anyone.

  Grandmother Peig let him go then and returned to wherever she had been before. It was only later that evening, when sleep held Rori close in its embrace, that he realized he’d never told the old woman his surname.

  * * *

  It took a few minutes for Brennon to return to reality. By the time he regained enough sense to realize he was standing just inside the doorway of the barn, blinking out into the dark, Seren had already started climbing the trail up to the house. His first instinct was to chase after her and give her that kiss, the one he had fully committed to before she’d pulled free of his embrace. Then his senses came crashing back, making him sway a little on his feet. He shook his head slightly, pressing a hand against his forehead.