“Hold, hold! Allow a hero to explain himself!”
“A hero!” said Corbin, he snorted, scandalized.
“More a hero than you, babe-prodding lout!”
Brand put up his hands to stop his friends before things got out of control.
“Dando, please explain yourself without baiting us further, or things might not go well.”
Briefly, Dando explained that he had come upon one of his own kind stealing a babe for his own purposes, and who had planned to cast the child into the river at this very spot, with one tiny foot weighted. Telyn gasped in outrage at this, while the boys glowered.
“So you helped out a changeling,” said Brand.
“No, I saved a child from the Berrywine,” he said. “Perhaps I misunderstood your kind, but I was under the impression you protect your own young.”
“Of course we do,” hissed Telyn. Corbin had the child in his arms now and the two of them were trying to quiet it. Corbin offered it a bit of cheese from his pockets, but the baby only squeezed that to mush and cried harder.
“Why did you return the child to us?”
“Recall what I once told you, man-child. Friendship must be earned, not given.”
“So,” said Corbin, ticking off points on his fingers as he spoke, “you steal a child and return it, insult us all profusely, and expect us to be grateful? Are we such moon-calves? Why don’t you light my boots on fire and then offer to extinguish the flames? Surely, that would make us close confidants!”
“You do me a disservice, fat one.”
“Fat one!” exclaimed Corbin in annoyance.
“Shush, let him speak,” interrupted Brand.
“Yes,” said Dando huffily. “I want you to know, I have taken no offense at your rude remarks. I, of course, did not steal the infant. I rescued it from where it had been abandoned in the woods.”
“I see. And who did steal it then?”
“Why, the changeling who lies even now nestled in its mother’s loving arms, of course.”
“So, you deny that you are a changeling?”
Dando shrugged. “I deny that I can take the form of a human, infant or otherwise. There is another of my kind, a less civilized fellow, who has usurped this child’s cradle.”
Now that they knew it was a true babe, they carried it back toward Froghollow to look for something to feed it. Dando followed them, staying safely up in the trees, of course.
“No gratitude? None at all?” he demanded.
“Dando, we are warily grateful,” explained Corbin, “But you must understand we don’t know your motives yet. Why did you return the child? If it was to gain our trust, then perhaps you simply stole it with this scheme in mind.”
“Diabolical, but I can prove my good faith.”
He explained who the babe was, where he had gotten it, and exactly what they would find in the crib eating the child’s lunch.
“Okay, we will investigate,” Brand told him, “I can see you are trying hard to earn our friendship. Might I ask why?”
“Because, you and I have great futures ahead of us.”
“You and I?” Brand smiled. He found it hard to think that any two creatures had less in common.
“Yes, just so,” said Dando seriously. “Right now, neither of us appears to be important to anyone. We are just going through our daily routines in life. We are not notables. But, some know the truth. Like those that burned you out of house and home.”
Brand frowned and blinked. He really didn’t know what to make of what the manling was saying, but he couldn’t deny that someone out there thought he was important.
“And so, I think that two individuals like us, two who are rising stars, so to speak,” said Dando, beginning to strut back and forth upon a high branch as he spoke. Brand was reminded of proud rooster at dawn. “Such folk might be in a position to help each other. Such folk may well find common cause.”
“Okay, so why are we so important?” asked Brand.
Dando smiled at them all with a very broad smile. “I believe that will become evident in time.” With that, he tipped his hat and bid them farewell. He bounded off into the woods. Just as he was about to vanish from sight, he caused a brilliant blue flash that lit up the forest. Then he was gone.
They walked back to Froghollow. Corbin muttered distrustfully of magical midgets and eyed every branch on every tree as they went. Arriving at the smoking remains of the farm, Aunt Suzenna did indeed make a fuss over the baby. They soon began packing up what they could in the cart, having decided to head to Riverton to return the child and find lodging. There was little left for them at Froghollow. They couldn’t reasonably hope to begin rebuilding until spring.
While the others prepared to leave, Brand wandered off into the forest to rest against the great oak tree that had been cut open by Ambros the Golden the night before. He plucked at the fallen leaves there, deep in thought. He found disturbing truth in Dando’s words. It seemed clear to him now that the Dark Ones wanted to slay him. Why else would they have come here in numbers? Nowhere else in the Haven had they attacked in such force, although rumors abounded of changelings and fairy rings that had led away young folk. It did seem to him that he had indeed somehow brought a great curse to his clan and to all the River Haven. What had Oberon said? That he was both a great potential ally and enemy at the same time. He couldn’t understand how this could be, but that mattered little. If the Dark Ones believed it, then they would keep coming until he was dead—or worse.
Gudrin came out among the trees with him and sat upon an old weathered stump. She took out her bearhead pipe and puffed on it. “Your thoughts are troubled, boy.”
Brand nodded. “I think I must leave Stone Island. I can’t understand it, but somehow my presence is threatening all the River Haven.”
“And why do you think this?”
“The dark bard followed me first. Oberon and Dando both hinted that Herla has some dark purpose for pursuing me. The attack last night was too much. That was far more than sour milk and the like. Tylag says that no attacks of such ferocity have occurred anywhere else on the island yet. What if the Wild Hunt had arrived? Would we all have perished, impaled on their boarspears?”
“Where will you go?”
“I don’t know,” said Brand, but even as he said it, he was stricken with a thought. “No, I do know. I will accompany you to find Myrrdin and beg him to help reinstate the Pact. That is, if you and Modi will have me.”
Gudrin took a moment to tap out her pipe and refill it. She relit it and took a puff. Blue smoke wound up like a transparent snake into the sky. “We’d be honored to have you, but what of your family and friends?”
“I will go alone,” said Brand. “It was me that Voynod came after each time he appeared. Oberon has indirectly confirmed this. I’m the source of the trouble, my friends are blameless. I wouldn’t want to lead them into danger, that is the whole reason I’m leaving.”
Gudrin nodded sagely. “Don’t you think you should ask them about that?”
Brand frowned, then heard a twig snap behind him. He turned and saw that Corbin was perhaps a score of yards away, listening and trying to sneak closer. He was about to yell at him for eavesdropping when he felt a tap at his shoulder. Telyn was there, she had been hiding behind the oak’s trunk.
“How long have you been there?” he asked in exasperation.
She laughed. In spite of his displeasure, he had to grin a bit at her. It was good to see her laugh.
“If Corbin hadn’t come crashing nearer, you might have written your will right here and caused me to burst out laughing.”
Brand made a half-hearted grab for her, but she danced away.
Brand looked to Gudrin, and her eyes were shining with amusement. “I feel like a fool,” he said, sitting back down. “But I must do it, I must leave the island. And I won’t be going back to Rabing Isle, either.”
“Then you will take us along,” said Corbin. He took this moment to come forward and joi
n them. “We are all in this together, Brand. It was my brother who was killed.”
“But I am the source of the trouble. Why follow the source? Why not stay home and be safe with your families?” argued Brand. “Telyn, you could answer the muster. Corbin, your family needs you to help rebuild Froghollow. If you follow me, you are placing in danger two of the people that I most want to protect by leaving!”
“I believe it’s true that the dark ones last night were out to destroy clan Rabing, and have come primarily for Brand,” said Gudrin, and all their eyes swung to her. “But this will not be the case for long. The Pact is broken, and the old dark times of the past have returned. It will not take long for the ancient ones to recall their ancient ways. Changelings will again appear in cradles. Crops and livestock will again be hexed, the fairy rings will abduct the young and the trusting. Worse things, too, such as the Shining Lady and the Wild Hunt will come.”
“But why me?” asked Brand in exasperation.
“I’m not sure on this point. I do know that Myrrdin has always thought very highly of your clan. I know too, that among his captains of old, some of his greatest champions were known by the name Rabing.”
“You mean our ancestors were important?” asked Corbin.
“Of course,” said Gudrin. “Did you not all hear my tale? You are all descendants of Myrrdin’s original army. Clearly, the Enemy recalls the name Rabing from those days.”
“So my clan is being pursued for something heroic done by our forbearers? Something which we can’t even remember?”
Gudrin nodded. “Recall that for Herla, each year is as a day, until the bloodhound alights. The point is that Brand’s leaving will not return the River Haven to peace. It will only distract the Dark Ones that are charged with hunting him. The only thing that will bring peace will be the recovery of the Pact. Or the forging of a new one.”
“So we should all go, to help you, our friends among the Kindred, to find Myrrdin,” said Corbin. “Too bad Jak is injured. We could use his hand on the skiff’s tiller.”
“Someone must manage Rabing Isle,” said Brand. He stood and faced them all. For the first time he noticed that Modi was there too, off among the trees, listening to their talk. It seemed that everyone was in on this. “Okay, I know when I’m beaten. If I were to try to go alone, you would find some way to stow away or follow in another boat, I know you too well. But I say this! We must all have Tylag’s blessing, for he is the leader of clan Rabing and he may have need of us.”
They all agreed to this and went to consult with Tylag. Tylag was distraught by the loss of his home, but he listened to them seriously. Barlo snorted in disbelief once as they told their tale, but his father silenced him with a scowl.
“So you have decided to leave in search of Myrrdin. I see that I have lost a son, and now must risk another. Where will you go?” asked Tylag.
At this, they were at a loss. Gudrin stepped forward. “I think we will follow the river north into the Deepwood and on toward Snowdon. Last I heard he was in that region.”
“It seems an opportune moment to say that we, the Riverton Council, finally received word from Myrrdin last night,” said Tylag. “News of my son’s death has driven the thought from my head until now.”
“Myrrdin lives?” said Brand. “This is good news indeed.”
“Where is he?” demanded Gudrin.
“A messenger came from the village of North End. Myrrdin wandered out of the High Marshes two nights ago, on the eve of the Harvest Moon, in fact. He had been waylaid, lost his horse, and was on foot. He had not eaten or slept in weeks, but still attempted to gain passage to Riverton. He did intend to reach Stone Island and perform the ceremony, but he was too late. The village hetman convinced him that he would not arrive until the day after the ceremony. Once he realized the truth, the messenger says he collapsed in their arms and had to be borne away to rest.”
“Is he injured?” asked Brand.
Tylag shook his head. “We don’t know.”
“We must go and consult with him,” said Gudrin. “We must leave before dark tonight.”
“I give my blessing to your journey. The River Haven would be better served by learning all there is to be learned from Myrrdin than by a few extra bowmen in the militia,” said Tylag. “May the River guide your boat.”
Brand had one more person to consult: Jak. He went to the wagon, where Jak had been stretched out in the shade. He was still far too injured to help them.
“Hello, Jak,” said Brand, feeling like a runaway, a deserter. Jak needed him to keep up Rabing Isle, now more than ever.
Jak’s eyes opened. “Hello, brother. I feel useless today, of all days.”
Brand knew no easy way, so he simply blurted out his words. “I’m leaving with the Battleaxe Folk to find Myrrdin.”
Jak nodded. “Go then. I only wish I were well enough to go with you.”
“But the Isle, Jak—what will you do?” Brand asked.
“It doesn’t matter. You must try to heal the rift, to mend the Pact. There is no more worthy quest.”
Thus it was decided, and they worked the rest of the day to make their preparations. It seemed to Brand that all the world was soot and ashes and twists of blue smoke. He felt sad and guilty to be leaving his clansmen in such a time of dire need, but in his heart he knew he could better serve them on this mission. In the afternoon they set out on the road to Riverton. There were many hugs, handshakes and tears. Not an eye was dry, with the exception of Modi’s, who only appeared anxious to get moving.
Chapter Seven
Twrog’s Tree
After losing his club, Twrog was despondent. At the moment, it had seemed like a fine idea to throw it. He did not regret killing the farmer, nor the stinging arrows the River Folk had left in his hide—but he came to regret the loss of his lucky club.
As always when he felt poorly, his thoughts turned to a special, secret spot in the Deepwood only he knew about. This spot was open to the sky, yet surrounded by overgrown thickets of thorny plants. Not even deer liked to enter the region for fear of being pierced by the stabbing needles that every twisted vine seemed to produce. It was a private place for Twrog, a spot where he could gather his thoughts and think at his own pace. Barely thinking about it, he set out for the secret glade. He had not been there in many seasons.
As Twrog strode through the woods, he thought to hear the subtle sounds of pursuit. He glanced back over his shoulder. Something or someone followed him. Probably, the smell of pig’s blood had attracted a scavenger. He still carried three of the pigs he had stolen from the farmer’s pens. He increased his pace through the trees, no longer ambling, but now striding with purpose. His pursuer kept up with him.
Twrog was not frightened. Rather, he was cunning. He wanted to know the nature of the thing that dared shadow him. By speeding up and discovering the pursuit continued, he knew the other was at the very least persistent.
After night had fallen, Twrog found a spot strewn with stones and a fallen tree. He halted his march and decided to cook one of the pigs. The odor of seared pig often drove animals mad. With luck, if it was a bear or a dire wolf, the creature would attack and that would be the end of it.
He labored for minutes with flint and tinder, finally managing to spark a cookfire. This being a large pig, he required a spit of hardwood. He chopped loose a branch of beech with a knife the size of a short sword and whittled the point until it was as sharp as a lance. Poking the pig through end-to-end, he hung it over the fire and turned it now and then. He built the fire up higher, then went to gather wood from the region. Frequently, he flicked his eyes back to the sizzling pig. The smoke and fine smells filled the forest with aromatic clouds. The unguarded pig still remained upon its spit however, unmolested.
Twrog returned to his camp with an armload of wood and stoked the fire into a fine blaze. He nodded and muttered to himself. Whatever his stalker was—it was a patient creature. Most likely, it was not a beast. Few could have suff
ered this long in the presence of fresh meat without having revealed themselves.
After an hour or so of cooking, Twrog ripped loose a meaty haunch. Juices flowed from the rest of the beast into the fire. The fat made the flames sizzle, flare and pop. He opened his mouth, but paused, not placing the meat within. Instead, he turned his head this way and that, and held the haunch high overhead.
“I call to thee,” he said carefully, “I give thee leave to share my fire, whatever yea may be.”
Nothing happened. He set about eating the haunch noisily. He did not know if his invitation had been heard and understood, but he listened closely while not seeming to. At last, as he finished the first haunch and reached for the second, a stealthy rustling met his ears.
Twrog shifted his flapping ears toward the trees behind him. He glanced back to see what it was that approached. There was a faint glimmer. Could it be then one of the Fae? He knew a short moment of concern. If he had invited and elf or one of the shining Dead….
But no. The shine of it, reflecting the unseen moonlight that shone down upon the leaves overhead, proved it was one of the Fae. Seeing the rest of the creature made Twrog snort in amusement. It was no great lord that had stalked him. There was nothing to fear from this one. The creature that emerged was small, with cat-like features and smooth, green skin. It was a lone goblin.
Twrog shook his head bemusedly. He had never sat at camp with a goblin. Had he known…but he had not, and the invitation had been issued and accepted. There was nothing for it. By the rules of honor which almost all creatures in Cymru adhered to, he was bound to tolerate its presence.
The goblin slunk forward, ears twitching. It nosed the air and flicked its eyes everywhere, suspecting duplicity. Twrog continued eating and chuckled to himself. He could not believe his foolishness at having invited a goblin to dine with him.
“Name?” asked Twrog.
The goblin hesitated. No doubt, it considered a dozen lies. “Frakir,” it said at last. The eyes flickered uncomfortably.
“Twrog,” Twrog said.
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