by Terry Spear
"What about your men?"
"If they made it, they will see where we went and follow my lead. If they didn't make it, they have nothing to worry about."
"Don't you care about them?" she asked, reaching up for the first finger holds she could make as she started the daunting climb.
"Yes. The first mate was truly my best friend, and I pray he made it to somewhere along the beach. I'm hoping he's just on the other side of these mountains. I had a crew of ten. I hope the same for all of them. Some had families, but all of the sailors were men I grew up with," the captain said, coming up from down below her.
"Why don't you climb next to me?"
"If you fall, I will attempt to stop you."
"And then I could take you with me."
"Hopefully not."
"You don't think we'll make it this way, do you?"
"I think we have as good a chance to make it this way as we do any other way."
Which was not saying much.
After that, she got quiet, the climb much more wearying than she thought it would be. Her arms ached and her hands and feet were bleeding from the sharp rocks. And she was really trying to concentrate on her hand and foot holds as she made the climb. Worse, she'd found that some of the areas didn't have finger holds she could reach to use to climb up and she ended up having to move sideways instead, which took extra valuable time and energy. Half the day had already slipped away and it would be night before long. They would never make it if they had to climb in the dark. And she couldn't hold onto the cliffs all night long either.
She'd slipped so many times, nearly giving her a heart attack, and probably the captain, too, and when she looked up she realized she hadn't even made it halfway. They weren't going to make it. At least she wasn't.
"You know we're not going to reach the ridge line before it gets dark, don't you?" she asked, pausing to consider her next move.
"Yes, which is why we'll need to move over to the left a bit, up and to the left again. There's a cave, maybe ten feet above us, twenty feet over."
She glanced down at him. "You're not serious."
"I thought we might make it to the top of the rocky ridge before nightfall, but we won't. We have to chance staying in the cave."
"What if something's living in the cave?"
"I have my sword and daggers."
"Great." She didn't mean to sound ungrateful, but she didn't have anything to fight with and she'd never trained to fight anything anyway. She couldn't even imagine killing anything. Well, maybe if it was trying to eat her.
For a half hour, she climbed in the direction the captain said to move, but before she reached the cave, he said, "Hold!"
She clung to the rocks, staring up at where the cave was, maybe five feet above her.
"I'm going to maneuver around you and check it out first. Don't move. Don't let go. Just hold tight."
Easy for him to say. She was already shivering as the air was cooling with the lowering of the sun and it was getting ready to sink into the sea. The winds had picked up considerably, but at least her borrowed clothes had dried during the climb. She was determined to hold on forever, but her tired muscles were telling her otherwise.
She swore that the captain wasn't even breathing hard when he moved past her, telling her again to hold on tight, as if he worried about her now because he wasn't going to be there if she fell. Like he could really stop her fall if she slipped.
She didn't think she could hold on much longer as he continued to move slowly up the cliff face. She was barely breathing when he reached the ledge, then peered in.
"Anything?" she asked. Though she doubted he could see anything until he was able to use some fae light and he'd have to have his hands free for that. Then again, if something was occupying the cave, he could probably smell it.
"In a minute."
He climbed up onto the ledge and she saw his glowing light before he disappeared.
It seemed as though he'd been gone forever. Despite his advice, she began to move up closer to the ledge. If he found nothing, then she wanted to be able to climb onto the ledge as soon as possible.
But then she heard some kind of squeal and she paused. "Captain Baldur?"
Something went sailing off the cliffs about three feet from her, startling her, nearly making her fall as she feared being struck by the creature. She stared down at it as it hit the beach. A green scaly lizard like creature with a long sweeping tail, still moving back and forth, it's wickedly long snout opening—revealing jagged teeth—and shutting, as he lay on the beach. It must have been five feet long if not longer.
She looked up at the cliff ledge. "Captain?"
A loud hiss, and then another squeal, sent shivers up her spine.
The second of the beasts went flying through the sky, missing her by two feet this time. How many more of them were there? At least the captain seemed to be able to fight them off sufficiently. At least, those two.
She again glanced down at the beach. The first one was no longer moving. The other appeared to be in its death throes.
She didn't call to him again, afraid he might be busy killing more, and he couldn't be distracted for the moment.
He peered over the edge and said, "It's all clear now."
Guarded relief filled her and she began the climb up again. He stretched out to reach her, then at the last, grasped her wrist and pulled her the rest of the way to the ledge.
She collapsed on the gray rock slab and saw his bloody arm. "You're injured."
"Slightly. The cliff dwellers have wicked teeth, but aren't poisonous, thank the gods."
"Is it safe now?"
"Only if no others seek shelter in this cave." He helped her to stand, and then held her arm as they moved into the cave, but she was limping so badly, he lifted her and carried her the rest of the way while she used fae light to illuminate it.
She stared at the big beds of dried grass, the mossy gray stone walls dripping with water, and the gray stone floor. "Were they nesting?"
"Two males. They make beds of straw and then live in these caves."
"You knew how to fight them," she said, as he set her on one of the beds.
"I'll make a fire from some of the other bedding. And yes, we've been shipwrecked here before. We had to kill their kind then also. They attacked us on the beach that time. They're good eating. Taste like fowl."
"So you've been here before. And did the same thing? Climbed the cliffs to reach the hawk fae shores?"
"Yes. Our ships have a much easier time of it when they pick us up on the hawk fae beaches. It's too dangerous along the coast of No Man's Land. At night, these things come out to attack anything on the beach, which was what happened when we shipwrecked. There were five of them and caught us off-guard. We hadn't thought anything bad lived along the beach, just in the forests and beyond. They killed one of my men before we could react. We killed all of them then."
"I'm sorry. They'll come up here tonight though, won't they?"
"They feed at night. They come into the caves during the day to sleep. But with a fire going, they shouldn't bother us."
"Because you've done this before." She hoped he'd say yes. She couldn’t imagine getting any sleep if she had to worry the beasts would enter the cave in the middle of the night.
"Yes."
"But then that means we'll have to leave when it's getting light out, but they'll also be returning to the caves."
"They're sensitive to light, fae, sunlight, firelight. We should be able to leave when it's light out and they'll stay well away from the cave."
"They eat meat, I take it."
"Yes."
"What about your wound?"
"It's nothing."
"Let me see."
He joined her on the bedding and she pulled his sleeve back. The wound was bleeding where the lizard's teeth had sunk into his flesh. She tore off a little bit of one of her tunic, and tied the makeshift bandage around his arm.
She looked up to
see him watching her, his expression almost incredible. Why? Because he had every intention of turning her over to the king of the griffin fae?
"On the other side, will these things exist also?"
"Some, yes. We will have to do the same thing as we did here. Climb down to a cave before it gets dark, rid it of its occupants, if any, then sleep until it gets light. The good news is that on the other side, the rocks are covered in grasses, which is where they get their bedding, and soft emerald moss."
"Wouldn't it be more slippery then?"
"In some places, yes. But mostly, it's easier to climb. Less hard on our hands. And your feet. I would have given you my boots, but they're too big for you." He took her hands in his and turned them palms up. "You're hands are so soft, they've been cut badly. I hadn't considered that."
"They didn't used to be. Not when I worked like everyone else until I was stolen away."
"You should never have worked as a field hand, princess." He tore off the bottom of his tunic and stripped it into two pieces of fabric. Gently, he bandaged one of her hands and then the other. "Now your feet."
"It was better than being a prisoner."
His gaze caught her eyes and she was surprised to see his questioning look. She wasn't expecting him to be so gentle or caring. Protective and heroic, only as far as she was a prize to return to his king. But that was all.
He finished bandaging her feet. "They will heal some tonight and the climbing tomorrow will not be as rough on your hands and feet." He touched her forehead. "Your fever seems to have abated. Get some rest. We still have a ways to go."
"We can't stay on the beach tomorrow night because of the lizards," she said, settling down. "We'll have to go inland. We can't wait for one of your ships to rescue you."
He smiled a little at her.
"What?"
"The lizards are a favorite food of the hawk fae coastal dwellers. The reptiles have learned to stay clear of the beaches on that side or they become hunted."
"Why not hunt them on the rocks and in the caves on the hawk fae side?"
"They hunt them inside the caves during the day. Which is why I say some of them might be on that side. We only found one over there the last time."
She sighed and closed her eyes. "Wake me as soon as it's light then, but not before."
He curled up next to her and wrapped his arms around her. "For warmth," he said, so matter of fact, she almost believed him.
"I wouldn't try to escape you."
He only smiled.
Chapter 11
Feeling a little more secure with his daggers still sheathed in his boots and his sword at his side, Brett couldn't believe it when the phantom fae didn't remove them. Not that he thought he could fight a whole hoard of fae, but he still felt a little better, believing that the fae didn't intend to fight him if they didn't disarm him.
Instead, the man escorted him through a dark and dreary castle where shadowy forms moved in and out of rooms before he could really see what or who they were. Other phantom fae? No wonder that's why they were called such.
He was trying to remember the exact path he had taken from the front door to wherever he was going so he could plan his escape as soon as he could, when he was escorted into a room with one window, the furnishings sparse: a bed with black curtains around it, a table and two chairs, and a cabinet, he figured was like at Ena's keep—a wardrobe closet. It appeared that castles in the fae world didn't have walk-in closets.
The man left him in there and shut the door. He didn't hear a bolt click and was about to try the doorknob when he heard a whisper coming from behind the bed curtains. He turned around, then stood stock still. He had thought this was his room, his place of confinement. He was in someone else's room? Was it another prisoner?
"Hello?" he said, his voice betraying a slight nervousness.
"Come here," the raspy voice said.
The voice sounded old, weary, and like the person was ill, but it had a command to it.
Brett approached the curtain and a bony hand shot out between the curtains. "Open them."
Brett took hold of the soft velvet curtains and parted them and saw an old man lying in the bed, wearing a pale ivory nightshirt, his face tattooed like the other men he'd seen.
"Who are you? Why am I here?" Brett asked.
"You belong here. How is your wound?"
Brett realized it was no longer hurting, but he assumed that was because he'd been too worried about other matters at the time.
"Show me your wound."
Brett lifted his shirt to see and stared at the faint tinge of red coloring his skin, but the scar was completely gone.
"I am Van, and you are my grandson."
Brett felt weak-kneed all at once. "You… you are one of them. One of the phantom fae? How could you be my grandfather?"
"You are one of us. I am dying and I never thought to see my own grandson here. You will do one thing for me, a dying man's request."
"Who were my parents? Are they here now? Where are they?"
"The dragon shifter fae killed them years ago. The one you traveled with? Ena? Her father killed them."
"Why?"
"Back then, the world was different. The dragon fae and the phantom fae did not get along. Years later, we established a tentative peace. If they wish to travel through our lands, they must pay. The dragon shifters often fly overhead and will not pay the toll, declaring that they can go where they please without paying the consequences. They killed many of our people in the distant past."
"Why am I here now? Why not allow me to stay with the wagon train?" Brett asked. Ena hadn't had anything to do with her parents killing his. He knew her. He wanted to protect her.
"You are one of us."
"I don't have any fae abilities," Brett said, stubbornly.
The old man smiled a little.
"Except I guess for the healing ability now."
"I will not live through the night," Van said. "I must have your promise." He began to cough and Brett looked around for water. Nothing.
"Do you want me to call for someone?"
Van shook his head. He reached out his hand. "Take my hand."
Brett did and felt something pressed into it. He looked at it. The ring Ena had given him. "It will make you like the shadows—like us until you truly have the ability. And then it will make you invisible to anyone."
"Why did you receive the ring? I thought it would go to the king." Brett's eyes widened. "You aren't the king, are you?" What if he was a prince and he could marry Ena himself? Then he frowned at the notion. She most likely wouldn't want to marry a… a… well, he still couldn't see himself as anything but human.
"I'm the king's mage."
"Mage? Like in sorcerer? Wizard?"
"Mage," he said.
"So you know spells?"
Van motioned behind the bed. Brett walked around the other side and saw a leather-bound book embossed in silver writing, sitting next to a plain leather bag on a bedside table. "It is yours. Place it in that leather bag and it will seem to disappear. No one else can touch it. Wear the bag and it vanishes. Only you can feel it."
"I'm to be a mage?" He was getting excited about the prospect. What if he had some powers that could help Ena?
"Yes."
How long will it take for me to learn the spells?" Brett asked, sticking the book in the bag, but though the bag felt as though it was light enough to be empty, when he put his hand inside, he felt the book and wondered if no one else could truly feel it. He placed the bag over his shoulder and it felt and looked like it was still there.
"Give me your hands," Van said.
Brett clasped both of Van's cold, bony hands and Brett felt something akin to ants crawling up his arms, his back, his cheeks and forehead. He tried to pull away, but the old man, despite his age and sickly appearance, held on as if he had the strength of ten men.
"Now," the old man said, smiling a little. "You are one of us. But I have something you must d
o before the week is out."
"What is that?" Brett suspected as serious as the man sounded, it was probably bad news.
"I was forced to…" Van's eyes widened, and he clutched at his chest.
"No, wait, who do I call for help?" Brett couldn't believe it. He'd finally found a living relative of his, he wanted to learn all he could from the man who was of the phantom fae, and he was dying?
Van stopped breathing, his eyes staring at the ceiling, and Brett tried everything he knew from his first aid training to bring him back. But none of it seemed to work on the fae.
He stared at his dead grandfather in disbelief. He headed for the door to get help when it opened, and a middle-aged fae female sashayed in, wearing blue-gray gowns. "Has he died?" She acted as though it was expected and she was hoping it was over with.
Brett scowled at the woman, though maybe she was glad his suffering was over. Though she didn't appear that way. Not from the way she was smirking.
"He has."
She called out. "Guards."
Two men came in, wearing all gray. Brett wasn't sure if that's why they looked so phantom like—their clothes blending in with the gray stone walls, or if they truly had faded in and out, more like specters.
"Vanotor has died. Bury him."
"Now?" Brett asked.
"Aye," she said, looking at him like she would kill him if he made any objection.
"I want to go with them and say something over his body."
She twisted her head a little as if she thought he intended some foul play. But then she nodded. "Go. My man will be with you."
He suspected more than one man would be with him.
The first thing Brett was going to do was learn how he could use the magic spells to escape. And then he recalled his grandfather's words. He had to do something important before the end of the week. His grandfather had been forced to do something. But how could Brett do what his grandfather wished of him if he didn't have a clue as to what it was?