Remnants of Magic (The Sidhe Collection (Urban Fantasy))

by S. Ravynheart

  The human called London mercifully hadn’t jabbered away incessantly, as Willem would have done, had the Scribe been toiling with the human magicraft involved in the operation of the contraption. Lugh had almost come to believe that chanting curses was a necessary element in activating the auto’s enchantments. Perhaps forgoing with the casting of words of power came with greater levels of experience. Lugh cared not enough to inquire. It was sufficient to know that London was proficient with the magicraft involved.

  Once they began navigating the crisscrossed lanes of Kilkenny, Lugh made mental notes of the landmarks that they passed, should he find himself in need of returning to this haven of the earthborns. That is, if they hadn’t taken up stakes and moved on to a safer and less crowded venue. Which they had not, he gathered, when London abruptly halted the vehicle. A strangled gasp tore from her throat. She made a frantic gesture, shoving the wand jammed between the foremost seats into a new position and catapulting the contraption backward. “Stop!” Lugh ordered her, and the human complied at his command. “Be still,” he instructed, and then freed himself from the restraints that she’d insisted he wear while she worked her spells.

  Lugh extracted himself from the auto and stretched to the fullness of his height. At the same moment the dread had struck London, Lugh had felt it as well. The terror stabbed into his soul like nothing else in existence. Only one creature cast such an enchantment. Searching the shadowed eaves at the tops of the buildings, he set his eyes to unfocus. The Glamour of the sluagh manifested in an unconventional manner that furthered their nightmare reputation. One did not see a Glamoured sluagh when looking directly upon it. Only by shifting the eyes slightly to the side, so the sluagh was seen indirectly, did they shimmer into view. The effect was ghostly, to see only when not truly looking. It was thusly that he caught the shadowed shifting of the creature perched inside a darkened alcove in a building some hundred feet farther down the lane.

  The sluagh, with its acute hearing, most certainly heard even the beat of his heart from this distance. Not since Rhiannon visited him with her sluagh pets accompanying her had Lugh seen one of the beasts. They clung to the darkest of the Unseelie Sidhe, and those they claimed became known as the Wild Hunt. Not but a few weeks ago had Willem admitted to Lugh that Rhiannon hadn’t been in the Mounds when it Collapsed. Could she, whom he cherished above almost all other Sidhe, have come to such a place? The scant hope tormented his calm even more desperately than the daggers of dread that laced the sluagh song.

  At this distance, the sluagh troubled him not with its threats. Only when the auto had breached the perimeter of its territory had it threatened them with its scream. And then most likely it had been the human that disturbed it. Even still, Lugh approached no closer. Speaking in the blended Gaelic and elfin dialects the sluagh used, Lugh spoke Rhiannon’s name as the sluagh knew her. “Shadow on the moon. Sidhe magic. Becomes the night. Loves her.” Thus was the manner of sluagh naming conventions, which was to categorize individuals. ‘Shadow on the moon’ identified Rhiannon specifically, as her aspect of magic was the moon. All Sidhe acquired the label ‘Sidhe magic,’ but only the Unseelie with particularly dark magic were tagged with ‘becomes the night.’ ‘Loves her’ meant that the dark Unseelie was claimed by the sluagh as a member of the Wild Hunt, and could command the sluagh with her will.

  Breathlessly, Lugh waited as the sluagh considered him. Even with the indirect way he watched the beast, he could see how it tilted its head and considered his inquiry. At last it hissed its reply, “Pretty darkling. Sidhe magic. Becomes the night. Loves her.”

  Not Rhiannon then, but a ‘darkling.’ A young Sidhe, perhaps. One of the earthborns London had spoken of. If the child commanded sluagh, then they were not so unprotected as he initially feared. Lugh glanced back at London.

  She’d stepped out of the auto, but remained beside it with the door open, as if prepared to dive inside at the least provocation. As if steel and glass could shield her from the sluagh when the rage took them.

  “You mentioned not the sluagh.” He said this without accusation, though he might have conjured that if she withheld such from him knowingly.

  “This didn’t happen last time.” She covered her heart with her hand. “Maybe we should just get away from here. Fast.”

  Such was the effect of sluagh song, and why they served as powerful deterrents to invasion. Even more so when they attacked, as few could survive long against those teeth and claws. Although the sluagh rarely did so without direction from one of the Wild Hunt, unless the nest were in peril.

  Lugh risked another step forward. If needs be, he would wrestle through the enchantments and fight off the sluagh beast barehanded, but he could not turn back now. Not when he hadn’t seen a single living Sidhe since the Collapse.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Seelie.”

  Lugh jerked around, searching for the speaker whom he’d not seen so near him just the moment before. A Glamour shimmered in the shadow of a doorway. It vanished like mist torn upon a breeze, leaving behind a single, unarmed wood elf. The man was lean and several inches shorter than Lugh. Although Lugh knew the elf not, London gasped, “Kev?”

  The wood elf ignored her, approaching Lugh with something akin to disbelief burning in his eyes. “You are Seelie Sidhe, are you not?”

  “I am most assuredly,” Lugh informed him.

  A brilliant smile lit upon the elf’s face and he launched himself at Lugh, embracing him like a lost brother. “Thank the All-Mother! We feared not even one Seelie made it out of the Mounds! Blessed Danu be praised!” The elf clapped his hands against Lugh’s back with joy as he could not contain.

  Lugh returned the embrace, laughing with the same joy as that which bubbled over within the wood elf. “So it is true then? There are Sidhe here? Children, even? To imagine such a thing, Sidhe youths. I feared it was nothing but a ploy. Take me to them.”

  “Before you go charging in to see the Unseelie, there are some things you should know about them.” The wood elf cast a distrusting glare at London. “And about your companion, if you’ll have it.”

  “Lugh,” The plea in London’s whimper was unmistakable.

  The wood elf blocked her from Lugh, intentionally positioning himself to exclude her. The grip of his hand upon Lugh’s arm was a desperate cry for attention in its own right. “We should speak in private and away from here. By your leave, my lord.”

  He would have his answers about the Sidhe before any other concern. Forestalling the elf, Lugh fetched the axe from the auto.

  Even as he returned to London, a shine of tears glazed her eyes. Such fear of abandonment. Conditioning her to trust him after such poor training as she’d thus far received would require a devotion of time, and he could spare little for it just now. More so than he usually would have lavished this early in her indoctrination, Lugh cooed over her with such affection as he could conjure. “Be not afraid. I shall be safe and shall return as soon as I am able.” He caressed her cheek, as he would a child or a pet. “Do you trust me?”

  She nodded, although the stricken pallor remained.

  Reassurance colored his promise. “Your need is not acute and I shall return before it becomes so. Return to Dublin. I shall seek you out soon. Trust that this is so.” With a gentle coaxing, he urged her into the auto. Neither with the sluagh, nor the Unseelie, would she be safe, and he wouldn’t abandon her in this place with her fate so precarious. “Go now. I shall see you safely away. Fare thee well, London.”

  She obeyed him against the fear and reluctance, and this was an excellent sign. The woman held promise. Someone he could mold to his purposes. The vampire had begun the training well, even if the Unseelie had squandered her potential. If she could endure but this short time without him, he might well find use for her.

  Chapter Five

  Not having spent much time on the surface in the centuries of late, Lugh had no idea so great a community of elves yet thrived upon the surface after the Sidhe an
d the majority of the fey retreated to the Mounds. This entire community lay within a border of Glamour, shielding them from the outside world. Much of Ireland now lacked the beloved oak groves of the fey and the druids. Within this haven of the wood elves, the forest yet flourished as untamed and magical as ever it had been. The trees surged to an unnatural height. The wood elves, as a race, bore the magic of the grove, with the power to coax the greenery to grow as they willed it.

  The entire village dwelt within the canopy. Great bridges of twining branches united each tree to the next. The greater of these could hold three full-grown elves walking side by side without crowding them or taxing the great limbs that supported them. Ropes of twisted ivy supported upon thinner upturned twigs formed the handrails. Other walkways, all sculpted out of the living flesh of the oaks, circled the great trunks. Only the very young, breeding women of an awkward gravity, and the dignified made constant use of such sure footing. Most of the graceful elves ran along the free branches, leaping and climbing with the ease of squirrels with fearless familiarity of every leaf and twig.

  The elves fashioned their homes within the heart of the trees themselves. The knobby shape to the trunks occasionally opened into windows or doorways, giving glimpses to the circular rooms that honeycombed within the heart of the oaks.

  Kev had teleported them to a balcony that reached out into the space between the trees, so as Lugh gazed either up or down, he could admire the layers of the village crisscrossing between the oaks. Beside him, fairy lights blazed within the great receiving room that swelled within the side of the trunk. A low, round table of the court commanded the center of the circular room. Sculptures, created not from chisel but from the coaxing of magic, decorated the walls and ceiling with depictions of storms that seemed to flow around the room in an artistry of form, not in fear of the raging of the sky, but in celebration of it.

  The wood elves offered Lugh all the hospitality of their village. Rose water in a bowl on the sideboard allowed him to cleanse his hands, a point of civility and politeness in this circumstance. A squire with a velvet green and red tunic dried Lugh’s hands with the same deference as he performed for each of the other members of the grove’s court that gathered to meet with him. The feast, though hastily prepared, nonetheless spread before them upon the center table in great displays of culinary talent. Carved melons and bowls of a hard crusted bread held the variety of fruits, vegetables, meats, cheeses, and such creams and confections as one could desire.

  Without hesitation, Lugh accepted the seat of honor at the backside of the table, which allowed him the best view of the forest outside the two great doorways before him and to his right, so that he could see the rustle of the leaves and play of the sunlight as it danced in the shadows of the canopy. As he was Sidhe, it was no less than expected that they should show him such respect, and would have insulted the tribe mightily had he refused their reverence.

  Only pleasant conversation, sharing the grand history of their village and their pride in the accomplishments of their kinsmen, flowed about the table as the bounty was passed about so that each might prepare their plate with such as they fancied. Having not yet broken his fast after a night of excursion, Lugh found no challenge in honorably loading down his plate with ample portions. The assembled sat cross-legged on cushions around the low table. As they feasted, squires came and went about them as swiftly and efficiently as hummingbirds, filling wine glasses and spiriting away half-empty serving trays to replace them with freshly heaped ones. A pair of musicians in an alcove beside the right-side balcony played upon the lute and harp, just loud enough to be enjoyed, but softly enough as to not hinder the conversation. Introductions were made, and Lugh set himself to recalling the names. Other than the king and his wife, he recalled not having met any of the nobles and courtiers of this grove’s court. Many appeared far too young to recall the days when the Sidhe frequented the surface.

  Ah, how he missed such pleasantries. The smile Lugh shared with his companions was genuine in heartfelt enjoyment of their efforts on his behalf.

  “Your coming at this auspicious moment is a good omen, Champion. That young Kev should find you and bring you forth in our most desperate hour is indeed a blessing.” Mckenna, the king of the wood elf court, toasted Lugh. Although Mckenna was one of the elders, one wouldn’t have known it to gaze upon his pleasantly youthful face. Only a pair of braids drew back his flowing white-blond hair in simple elegance beneath a wreath-crown of ivy and jewels. The layers of gown and robes lent significance to his thin frame. Intricate cording wove like vining knotwork over his satins.

  Lugh cut a glance to Kev, who bent over his plate with such deliberate attention as to purposefully avoid eye contact. The young elf neglected to mention any turmoil for which Lugh, as a Sidhe, might be expected to address. An intentional oversight, no doubt. With all politeness, Lugh returned his attention to King Mckenna. “And just what troubles your people so greatly?”

  “Adara Grove protects the Windward Sweep of the Southern Expanse of the Great Veil.” The magicraft of the Great Veil, woven by the Sidhe, brought an end to the Sidhe-wizard war. The barrier of magic prevented any of the wizard kind from crossing into Ireland. Although fashioned to last as close to forever as Sidhe magic could be hoped to reach, communities of fey had been appointed to watch over sections of the Veil, to ensure than no craft forged by the humans toppled the enchantments.

  As short-lived as they were shortsighted, humans were a tenacious people. Ever would the wizards pick at the magic, generation after generation, until they eroded a path through it. And such fey as this tribe would watch for a sign and plug up those holes, lest the wizards blow through it like a mighty gale and once more wash over the Emerald Isle.

  King Mckenna continued, “A rabble of Changelings besieged the fortress at Braeden some weeks ago. They smashed the enchantment within. We reclaimed the fortress and patrol the gap. However, with so much of our effort focused on this task, our protection of the Grove and outlying fey community is insufficient.”

  Kev finally spoke. “The Changelings abduct the fey and ship them out of Ireland, betraying them to the wizards. I was one of the few to escape, but not unscathed.” He lifted his shirt and showed the scar of a stab wound in his chest. “And they murdered the Sidhe who had dominion over the Grove.”

  Lugh’s brows knitted. “What Sidhe was this?”

  “One of the earthborn Unseelie known as Rico,” Mckenna answered without any insult that Lugh should not have known this. “He came to us several decades prior. The storms moved to his bidding. We never suffered a drought or flood with his management of the tempests.” Spoken with pride and honor for the young Unseelie. “Providence blessed us with his stewardship and he’s sorely missed.”

  “There’s another matter that may be even more dire than the ripping of the Great Veil, my Lord Lugh,” said Niamh, one of the ladies of the wood elf court. She sat not near him, so was of a station somewhat lower. Nonetheless, she was gilded with silks and gems no less fanciful or beautiful than Mckenna. Her straight, sun-kissed hair hung to the floor behind her, where she’d coiled it lest some servant might slip upon it. Braids with golden tinsel and fancifully colored feathers looped about her head in graceful knotwork configurations. She was fine-boned, even for an elf, though many of the court were surprisingly young. Her golden eyes fixed Lugh’s directly, so that their shine was all the more beautiful in the twinkle of the fairy lights. “Refugees of the Collapse sheltering with us are Fading. Two have gone so far as to become transparent.”

  “The Seelie is no healer, Niamh.” The lad beside her said, covering her thin wrist with a hand as rough as the scabbard by his side. Though less delicate than Niamh, he favored her like a brother.

  “Actually, I am skilled in the healing arts, Lady Niamh,” Lugh assured her. “Combating the Fade is a concern to which I have devoted much attention of late. Please, voice your worries. I would know the burdens of your heart.”

  When he polite
ly nodded encouragement, Niamh licked her lips and continued. “At first, we thought only those exposed to something during the events of the Collapse were affected, but the plague has spread now to those who came to us of late, within the last year or so before the great tragedy.” She lowered her eyes, adding, “This is why I worry for those expending much of themselves and their magic to guard the barrier. We’re searching for a cure, or at least some understanding as to why the plague moves through us like it does, taking one but not another. Though, some fear it is only a matter of time, without the Mounds to empower us, before we all shall Fade utterly.”

  “I believe there is a way to halt the Fade and restore all fey.” Lugh found no profit in sharing the extent of his own condition. The Fade constantly tingled, often painfully so, in his extremities, like frostbite. “In preparing the magicraft necessary, I am collecting relics from the first realm of fey, but my supply is insufficient. Might I chance the hope that your grove has even one such treasure?”

  King Mckenna rubbed his chin. “Such things tend to get misplaced, passed down and passed around, stored and forgotten. I shall send out an inquiry for each household to rummage through their belongings for such as they think might be of the first realm. An enchantment can easily enough be crafted to determine that which is genuine. By the time you’ve restored the enchantment of the Veil, we should have such as to be found prepared for you.”

  Lugh missed not the terms of that agreement. “I shall require the services of your strongest spellweavers, those who have not yet begun to show signs of the Fade. Such an enchantment as the Veil cannot be restored by the magic of one Sidhe alone. Not when so many were required to first weave it.” He left unsaid that had he not suffered the Fade, Lugh would have had enough skill and strength to repair this one tear, but in his current state he couldn’t hope to weave that much magic himself, and he was loathe to reveal the fullness of his weakness. But then again, he was not the only Sidhe they might call upon. “I suggest that we summon one or more of these Unseelie to assist in the efforts.”