Haven 3 Shadow Magic (Haven Series 3)

by Larson, B. V.

  “Do not come near me again,” Tomkin said.

  “Why ever not?”

  “Because I will remove thy head and thy limbs,” said Tomkin in utter sincerity. “I will toast them over a peat fire and chew the meat from thy bones.”

  “Barbarian!” huffed Piskin, but he retreated a yard or more.

  Tomkin turned away and headed toward the River Folk and their fire. He glanced over his shoulder several times as he went, but he saw no more of Piskin.

  * * *

  “Brand! Wake up, Brand! Look, it’s wonderful!” said Telyn. Her hands shook him. Brand groaned aloud and opened one bleary eye. Instead of bright sunlight, he found himself bathed in a cool green gloom. He sat up blinking in astonishment.

  Vines as thick as tree trunks plunged up from the ground, growing before his eyes. Trees and bushes rippled and thrust upward, reaching for the morning sun. Stone blocks heaved and were shouldered aside by living green spears. A tangle of tea roses battled a sapling tree, each climbing the other like bundles of twisting snakes. Even the grass rustled and groaned. At the edge of the wall, dancing with his staff upraised, Myrrdin coaxed each of the drooping shoots they had planted the night before into explosive growth.

  The walls now completely surrounded them, but still Myrrdin worked. Sweat sprouted from his brow despite the chill morning air. He ran back to the center of the gatehouse and stood upon the cracked fountain. Spring water bubbled up into the bowl of the fountain and trickled away through the mossy cracks. He held his staff overhead with both hands. At his feet the moss rippled and grew up over his boots. Tiny purple flowers sprouted around the buckles and laces.

  The walls continued to grow. Brand watched in amazement as the stone ruins of the gatehouse were overcome by towering walls of dense vegetation. As the plants surged ever taller they turned inward, bowing to form a dome. Rustling leaves knitted themselves together. Vines grew crosswise now, binding together the curving tree trunks like the poles of a river raft. As the vines thickened, they sprouted sharp thorns as long as daggers.

  “And so we lose sight of the sun again,” said Gudrin.

  Brand looked at the others. Modi gaped upward and frowned. Telyn clapped her hands and laughed. Corbin sought for fruit amongst the brush near the entrance. Already he had an armload of what looked like peaches.

  “Peaches in winter!” cried Brand. Corbin walked up to him with a grin and tossed him one. Brand caught it and bit into it. It was delicious. Both of them grinned at one another and the miracle that grew around them.

  “So what if they can fly?” cried Corbin, gesturing at the dome overhead that now closed itself completely. They were enclosed in a cool green gloom. The plants continued to rustle and twist.

  “So what?” echoed Brand. He laughed aloud and ate the rest of his peach. Corbin handed him a second.

  “It’s good to have you back again,” Corbin said.

  Brand looked at him. He nodded and sighed. “You too,” he said.

  Corbin nodded and ate yet another peach. He moved around to the others, handing out fruit. It was good to have clean, fresh food in this place. Everyone’s spirits ran high.

  Finally, when it seemed that the wall of greenery would swallow them whole, Myrrdin stopped his magic. He lowered his staff and stepped back. He turned to them, disheveled and bathed in sweat from his labors. His grin was wide and his eyes alight. “I’ve done it!” he cried. “I’ve not conjured such a thing since the dead kingdoms lived!”

  “It’s beautiful!” gasped Telyn. She rushed up to the leafy walls and ran her hands over the woven vines and thorns. She plucked a flower from a bed of ferns and held it out to Brand. He took it, smiling. Just to look at her radiant face seemed to lift more of his burden from his shoulders.

  Myrrdin was eyeing them while he brewed a pot of tea over the breakfast fire. “It seems clear that you have two seconds, Brand,” he said. “Such a thing isn’t unprecedented.”

  “Will it last, Myrrdin?” asked Telyn. “Is it truly alive? Will it fade soon?”

  “It is a living wall,” said Myrrdin. “The best that I could make it. The wall will live, yes. A very long time I should think. Especially if it is cared for and provided sufficient water.”

  “Brand!” said Telyn, whirling on him. “If we survive this, we should make this all part of the Haven! People should live here again and see this wonder!”

  “Ha! Next, you’ll be planning to raise these old walls again!” said Gudrin.

  “And why not?” asked Telyn. “The old pact is finished, anything is possible. Who knows what new provisions the next pact will hold?”

  Telyn turned a sly glance to Brand then, and gave him a sidelong smile. Brand stiffened, suddenly wondering if she had overheard some of last night’s talk with the Wee Folk.

  “Um,” said Brand. He cleared his throat. “I have some news in that area.”

  Everyone turned to him.

  “I spoke with Tomkin and another of his kind, Piskin. We came to an agreement of sorts.”

  “What!” shouted Gudrin. “You’ve been negotiating with the enemy without our knowledge? First, I hear that the walls of Castle Rabing are being raised again, and now this!”

  “I – I didn’t plan it that way,” said Brand. He looked to Myrrdin from support, but he seemed more interested in his tea than the conversation. “They just came to me and wanted to talk.”

  “I see,” said Modi coming forward for the first time. “Now that the Kindred have given over the axe to the River Folk, no one is concerned with their fate. Their opinions amount to nothing.”

  “No, no,” said Brand, “it’s nothing like that. They just woke me up and we decided that it would be in both our interests if neither the axe nor Lavatis fell into Herla’s hands.”

  The two Battleaxe Folk grumbled something to one another and crossed their arms.

  “Continue,” said Gudrin.

  “That was it, really. That’s all I committed to, mutual defense in this place.”

  Nodding, the two Kindred stumped toward the entrance. The grille that covered the entrance was now all but buried in a mass of fern fronds and woven thickly with thorny vines. They stopped there and began a heated discussion of their own, in their own tongue.

  Corbin and Telyn came close to Brand. Corbin put a hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear. “It seems that the Battleaxe Folk aren’t pleased. Perhaps events haven’t proceeded quite according to their plans.”

  “But what did they want?” asked Brand. “They gave us the axe to defend the Haven and eventually to come and aid them at Snowdon, I suppose.”

  “Perhaps you weren’t supposed to negotiate a new peace with the Wee Folk and set about refortifying Rabing Castle along the way,” replied Corbin.

  “Yes,” said Telyn in his other ear, “and perhaps they realize that you left out much of last night’s conversation.”

  Brand looked at her, startled. If she knew that, then perhaps they did as well, hence their distrust. “But I wasn’t trying to hold out information on them, I just wanted to make things seem innocent, which they were,” sputtered Brand.

  Their conversation was interrupted by a squeak and a sudden thrashing about in the thorny wall Myrrdin had created. They broke apart and lifted their weapons, approaching the living wall with caution. There they found Tomkin, arguing with a thorn. It was determined to hold on to his deerskin tunic.

  “Ah, another spy!” said Modi. Brand smiled, thinking of his own words last night. Modi reached up and released the struggling manling with his powerful hands. He was careful, but even so, Brand noted a trickle of blood running down into his sleeve. Brand’s respect for the wall rose a few notches, it seemed to work like a living guardian to prevent intruders.

  Tomkin hopped down into the green gloom that enclosed them all and rearranged his torn clothing. “Never in all my days have I struggled with such a beastly growth,” he complained. He hopped close to Myrrdin. “Thy doing, I suppose, cheating witch?”


  Myrrdin ignored him. He seemed to be busy now with his staff, whittling and trimming it. Brand blinked in surprise. The staff seemed to have grown, at least a foot. Several leaves sprouted from it now as well. He resolved to question Myrrdin about it later.

  “What have you to report?” he asked Tomkin.

  “Report?” sniffed Tomkin. “Humph. I bring thee tidings from the Wee Folk.”

  “Very well,” growled Modi, “Speak! Can we expect an army of little bounders to help us?”

  “Hardly!” snorted Tomkin. He laughed aloud. “Clearly, thy misunderstanding of my folk runs deep. No, our army consists of many scouts and envoys. Even now they approach every power in reach of here for help.”

  “Ha!” shouted Modi. “Spies and foppish liars!”

  “Tell us of what’s happening!” urged Brand. “Where is Herla? Did the wisp you sent out get through to Riverton?”

  Tomkin grinned, showing his sharp white teeth. “Herla circles these very walls, just beyond thy senses. Every puff of white mist hides the shadows of a dozen Huntsmen. We’ve tried to lure them off, but we have not the craft to fool Osang, which rules any illusion or image we can conjure up. Six of the Wee Folk lie trampled in the mud around this place, having tried to fool him.”

  “What of the Wee Folk that are loyal to him?” asked Corbin.

  Tomkin looked disgusted. “He trusts none of them. He has leashed them like dogs. They bound about on long leads before his coursers, those that haven’t deserted him.”

  “That’s good then!” said Corbin. Tomkin glared at him. “I only mean that they can’t spy on us if they are bound.”

  Tomkin nodded, but kept a slitted eye on Corbin. “The wisp made it to North End and Riverton. The word from that way is that a flotilla of River Folk are even now poling their way through the swamp to our aid.”

  The River Folk cheered at this. Modi looked sour.

  “The wisp, however, was captured upon her return to the swamp. Old Hob caught her like a firefly in June while she slept on a leaf, exhausted from her trip.”

  Brand drew his lips tight. “Poor thing,” said Telyn.

  Tomkin grinned at Brand. “Already, thy reputation grows, Axeman. Thou art now the man who turned Old Hob’s lantern yellow, rather than its ancient green! Every kind of folk whispers of it and laughs, as Old Hob has few friends.”

  “What news of Snowdon do you have, manling?” demanded Modi.

  “Thy folk too, have benefited,” said Tomkin, clearly displeased, “but for those tidings, I shall require a boon.”

  Modi roared with disgust, and Brand believed for a moment that Tomkin had forfeited his life. Sensing conflict, the axe twitched and lifted the flap of the knapsack of its own accord.

  “Speak, manling!” boomed Modi. “Thy boon is thy continued life!”

  Tomkin smiled and bounded away. In a thrice he crouched upon the broken fountain. “My boon only grows with threats!” he cried.

  Enraged, Modi stumped after him. Tomkin loosed long ringing laughter as he bounded about the gatehouse, easily evading the warrior. Modi stooped to grab up a rock and hurled it. Tomkin dodged offhandedly.

  Brand ran forward, feeling the axe’s excitement grow. He grabbed Modi’s arm as he went to hurl another chunk of masonry. “We must cooperate!” he shouted.

  Modi moved to shake him off, but Brand held fast to his arm with both of his. Modi roared and threw him backward. Brand lost his feet and fell. Tomkin’s laughter rang in his ears.

  Brand leapt back to his feet and reached back for the axe. The haft of it came easily into his hand. Vitality surged through him. Tomkin’s laugh became shrill and tinged with insanity. Brand opened his mouth and loosed a battle cry that burned his throat and made his lips run with spittle and blood.

  Modi, transformed before him from an ally to a savage enemy. Brand realized then and there with perfect clarity that Modi had always desired the axe, that he coveted it, that he had never meant anything less than to take it. It was a filthy thief that stood before him, a liar and traitor who had posed as a friend just to come close to his beloved Ambros.

  Brand lifted Ambros high, planning to will the Jewel to flash and blind the thief. Then he would rush in and end it.

  Then the world turned green. He himself was blinded. He blinked and staggered back, wondering what trick had overcome him. He heard heavy tread before him and he struck blindly before him. He chopped into something hard. There was a grunt and a clattering sound. Then a new set of lights went off in his head.

  He crumpled into the grass and broken stone. As he lost consciousness, he willed the axe to flash. He thought it did so, but it might have just been Modi’s heavy boot, slamming into his head.

  He knew no more.

  Chapter Nine

  Story of the Jewels

  “It’s obvious,” said a heavy voice. “A stripling river-boy can’t be our champion.”

  Brand’s eyes fluttered open. Overhead, the green of the living wall filled his vision.

  “Ah, the champion awakens,” said Modi, for now Brand knew it to be his voice. Modi’s huge features came into view. He stood over him, grinning. One of his eyes was closed. He put a gloved finger to the closed one. “You only blinded one of my eyes. I was ready for the sole trick you’ve learned,” he said with a rumbling laugh.

  Brand tried to rise. He winced and grabbed his head. Lights flashed and played inside his skull.

  “Never,” said Corbin, “has there been any doubt that you are the superior warrior, Modi. That was never the question. The question has always been one of control.”

  “Ah, and I’m not worthy on that account, is it?” asked Modi. “I think I showed great restraint in not killing the fool.”

  “You goaded him!” shouted Telyn. “You lost your temper first, going after Tomkin with stones! If you’d had the axe, you’d have gone feral and tried to kill us all!”

  Brand struggled to rise again. This time, he made it to his elbow. His first thought was of the axe. He couldn’t see it or feel it. It had been taken from him. His heart despaired. He got to his feet with a groan.

  Everyone stood near, save for Tomkin, who was nowhere in sight. They all stood around him, arguing, except for Myrrdin who huddled by the fire. Brand saw his knapsack there and headed toward it.

  “When it comes time to face Herla,” said Modi behind him, “you will all wish that I were wielding the axe, feral or not.”

  Myrrdin stood and shouted at them. “Enough bickering! We need to get the arms from the south tower stored here in case the Riverton forces arrive before the charm fails us!”

  The others looked at him, and then reluctantly separated. Soon the two Battleaxe Folk headed out of the entrance, talking in their own speech. Corbin and Telyn soon followed.

  Rubbing his head, Brand sat down beside Myrrdin. His eyes were on the knapsack. He thought to see it twitch. Perhaps it could sense the nearness of its master.

  “I’m sorry, Myrrdin,” said Brand. “I lost control again.”

  “But you didn’t kill him,” said Myrrdin.

  Brand blinked. “I thought I was the lucky one.”

  Myrrdin shook his head. “You are the axe’s master. Had you truly wanted to kill Modi, things might have gone differently.”

  “Was it you who caused the green flash?”

  Myrrdin held up his staff as an answer. He had carved it down considerably, to where the green Jewel Vaul could be seen. Still half-covered in fresh wet wood, the Jewel glittered in the cool gloom of the gatehouse.

  “Does the wood always grow over it that way?” asked Brand, fascinated by its beauty.

  “Yes. I first found it in the Vale of Twrog, a troublesome giant that lives in the Deepwood. The Green Jewel stood in the heart of a stout oak tree. The leafy tops of the tree rose a hundred feet or more. Never had I seen such a tree, and in my heart I knew what had been lost lay inside.”

  “You had to cut to the heart of a great oak to find it?” asked Brand, amazed.
“In comparison my efforts seem minor.”

  Myrrdin shook his head. “No less than mine. The Jewels are different, that’s all. Vaul is no less capricious in its own way. For you see, as I cut into the great trunk, I found the bones of Vaul’s former master, embedded in the living wood. I had to cut away many finger bones to pry the Jewel from its former master’s dead grip.”

  “How did you defeat the giant?” asked Brand feeling like a child listening to the wild tales of a drunk oldster by a tavern fire.

  “I didn’t. I made a bargain with Twrog. I fashioned him a club from the stoutest limb of the oak. I told him it was magic, and it would bring him luck, and it did. He helped me take the tree down, in fact.”

  “So you got a Jewel of Power and he got a big magic stick, eh?” asked Brand. “That sounds like a deal one of the Shining Folk would make.”

  Myrrdin didn’t answer that, so Brand hurried on, not wanting to offend him. The wizard was reputedly of Fae blood, after all. “Can all of the Jewels flash to blind people?” he asked.

  “Those of light and fire can, such as the Jewel of Flame,” said Myrrdin, cutting away a bit more wood with deft strokes. About half of Vaul’s green surface was revealed now. Several strips of white wood still enclosed it, however. Brand was reminded of fingerbones, clutching at something beloved. He shivered, wondering if the axe would someday have to be pried from his dead fingers.

  “Tell me of each of the Jewels,” asked Brand. “It seems that I must know what I’m dealing with. I’ve heard nothing but childhood tales.”

  “There is much in those tales,” said Myrrdin. “There are various theories as to the origin of the Jewels, but in all the legends, the Sunstone or the Sun Dragon was split into the nine known colors, which when mixed or shown apart in their pure form represent all the forms of magic. This process works in a similar fashion to the human eye. Everything that can be seen is represented to the eye as a combination of colors and light. Just so, all magic is some mixture of the various varieties of magic of which the Jewels are capable.