***
Crystalia smiled broadly as she looked at her palm. More than the cold snap of the wind made her cheeks bloom red. “He has stopped again. See?”
Sele’s eyes looked from the darkened horizon to glance at the sexton. The woman nodded knowingly. “Good. It wouldn’t be beneficial if he slipped through the Fold before you could be reunited.”
Blushing, Crystalia smiled more deeply. The girl liked this woman. Sele treated Crystalia as someone so special that at times Crystalia did not realize the woman was talking to her. Sele spoke openly of the Snowy Maiden, and Folds, and Centaurs as if they were flesh and blood. The woman’s mere words helped Crystalia begin to believe, truly believe, that everything that had happened was real, not some long Winter-night’s dream.
“Are we far?” Crystalia still could not bring herself to pronounce the name of the place. For too many years the school marms had cracked the girls over the knuckles for even implying a place such as a Fold could exist.
“Aye, the horses can smell it. Can you, Ornery?”
The odd boy sat on the other side of the wagon’s bench, with Miss Emmert between them. From stolen glances, Crystalia could barely make out any of his features. Ornery was buried in his overcoat, scarf, and hat. She could not blame the boy though for his bulky attire. Sele had draped Crystalia in enough wool that the girl feared that might start to bleat. Crystalia had pulled short of complaining, though.
At the least, the blankets hid what she wore underneath. The dress Sele had given her was for a far shorter and thinner girl. Crystalia had to leave the back ties undone to get the thing on. But the silk was beautiful and the lace was finer than any she had ever seen. Crystalia was sure it was worth a pretty penny. Sele had seemed so proud that the Snowy Maiden wore it that Crystalia could not hurt the woman’s feelings. The girl only hoped to find something more fitting before she met Traven.
The wagon hit a bump, and Crystalia nearly flew from her seat. Sele pulled the reins in. “Whoa.” Slowly, the wagon came to a halt, and the horses pawed at the ground. Their heads jerked up and down, making the bells on their halters jingle a merry tune. Sele stood up and closed her eyes.
“Open.”
A sight as none Crystalia had ever seen bloomed before her.
A room, filled with honeysuckle light appeared. The walls were coated in green moss, and balls of fire floated at the edge of the room. Crystalia could barely breathe, but the horses just casually pulled the wagon inside the room. Looking behind her, the frozen wasteland disappeared, to be replaced by the back wall. Warmth snuck into her blankets, making them suddenly far too heavy. Crystalia dropped a few off her lap before she saw their welcoming party.
Faeries! Of every color, size and shape. They flew and danced and tumbled towards them. What a grand sight! Viola would be so very jealous when she heard of this. It was perfect. The only sight that would make the scene even more special was if Traven stepped out of the shadows.
For a moment, Crystalia caught sight of a figure down the hallway and thought it her beloved, but what strode out of the darkness gave her a start. Pulling back, Crystalia found herself hiding behind Sele.
The woman patted her knee. “That’s just old Twig. She wouldn’t harm a soul.” Sele’s voice lowered and concern etched her features. “She’s not the one we need worry about.”
Crystalia could not see how that was true. The creature was something out of a nightmare. It looked fashioned from sticks and branches. Its entire body was no more than kindling. Worse, its knees bent back the wrong way, and its hands had more fingers than Crystalia could count. The girl could not believe Sele spoke of the creature so warmly.
“Twig. I’m surprised to see you here!” Sele said as she pushed the boy along so that they might climb off the wagon. The boy seemed as awestruck at the wondrous sights as Crystalia did.
“No more than I, you.” Twig’s voice sounded like a thousand leaves rustling in the wind. “You’re unannounced. Emerald will be most displeased.”
Sele laughed but without much humor. “When is she not?”
A voice rang down the hallway, carrying ahead of its speaker. “I heard that!” It was as if tiny bells exploded all at once.
Almost immediately a Faery, no larger or more beautiful than the rest, buzzed into the room. Her dress was the color of a dragonfly in heat. There was an air about her that marked her as one to be reckoned with. Instantly, the Faery reminded Crystalia of Sister Agnes. The old nun had barely stood taller than her young pupils, but she could make even the Abbott cringe with a single look.
“Emerald.” Sele’s voice held no affection like it had with Twig.
“Do I know you?” the Faery asked, flying up into Sele’s face.
“Not directly, but you might know who my companions are. This…” motioning to Crystalia, “is the Snowy Maiden.”
“Where’s your proof?” Emerald spat out.
Sele nodded to Crystalia who raised both hands and showed the Faery her palms. Emerald flitted over and came at her so fast, Crystalia feared the Faery meant to bite her. But Emerald just hovered for a moment then raced back to Sele.
“She has tattoos. That is no —”
“You know as well as I do that is a spirit sexton. It is attached to the Hero that passed through your Fold but a day ago.”
“That cretin? I tried to kill him once, but the fool is too stupid to die with honor.”
Crystalia’s ears burned and she sought to chastise the Faery for such talk, but Sele held Crystalia’s wrist and gave it a firm squeeze.
“We shall see, Emerald. I present you with The Way.” Sele indicated Ornery, but he looked behind him. Smiling encouragement, Sele nudged the boy forward. The Faery gave him the same once over as Crystalia.
“Centaur? Not much to look at.” Emerald sneered.
“He’s only past seventeen cycle of the sun and still unsettled.”
That gave the Faery pause, and she took a much slower tour around the boy. “His father?”
“Dimitri.”
“The True?” Emerald asked.
Sele nodded. “Yes.”
Emerald flew back from Sele’s. “Then that would make you Seleen the Beautiful?”
***
Ornery was confused when Miss Emmert did not correct the Faery. She had always immediately amended statements such as those and clarified that she was only his caretaker. It was quite clear that Emerald was mistaken. His caretaker was not anybody “the Beautiful.”
But Miss Emmert nodded. “Yes.”
“Umph.” The Faery snorted and buzzed around Miss Emmert’s ample waist. “Is this rumpled body a glamour?”
Miss Emmert’s back straightened, and the boy could see the veins in her neck throb. No one dared mention his caretaker’s weight. At least, not to her face. Shockingly, Miss Emmert answered the Faery’s rude question. “No. I could not risk my magick being sniffed out. This is my true form.”
“Dear gods, woman. What happened to that legendary figure? Waist so small that Dimitri could wrap his hands full around? Calves so sculpted that men swooned at the mere sight?” Miss Emmert stood stiff as the Faery taunted her. “Looks more like you could snuff a man out just by sitting on him.”
“It was necessary for Ornery’s protection.”
“You couldn’t think of a better disguise than this? What has the world come to?” The Faery laughed bitterly.
Ornery wondered what game Miss Emmert was playing at. Why hadn’t she just told the truth? He wanted to blurt out his questions, but in the past few days he had learned to watch his mouth and use his mind. Ornery was certain Miss Emmert would explain everything when they were alone.
“Sadly, yes. There was a bounty of over five thousand gold coins on our head. Dead or alive.”
The Faery shrugged. “Mine’s higher... As much as I would love to toss you back out onto the tundra, I am obliged to house you.”
“We will only be staying to freshen up. Then I must get this one to her He
ro.”
“I wish you luck then.”
Miss Emmert’s eyes narrowed and suspicion crept back into her voice. “Why?”
“They rejected my hospitality and headed on their own into the Catacombs.”
Anger flared in Miss Emmert’s eyes. “You let them leave without a map and a warden?”
“They stole away in the night! What was I to do?”
“Far more than you did! How dare you risk The Man’s life so recklessly? I shall —”
“He had the Giant’s Bride with him. She means to sacrifice herself on Winter’s altar.” The Faery’s words caused Miss Emmert’s fury to stutter to a halt. Once Emerald seemed certain that she had Miss Emmert’s attention, the Faery continued. “Neither of them would listen to reason. Again I ask, what was I to do? Give them the means to end this world?”
Ornery did not like to see Miss Emmert look so unsettled. Her cheeks were blotched pink, and her breath heaved in her chest. His caretaker was most upset.
“There were other ways to handle the situation. We will leave in search of them at once.”
“As you wish. But if I’m not wrong, I think you have a bit of explaining to do to that one.” The Faery indicated to Ornery. “And I have several gifts awaiting this one. Once you are done, have Twig fetch me.”
Miss Emmert stood silent for a moment, then nodded. “Can your people take care of the horses?”
Emerald waved off-handedly towards the other Faeries as she led Crystalia away down a side hall.
As soon as he and Miss Emmert were a few yards away, Ornery hissed the question that had been burning his lips. “Why did you say those things to her?”
Miss Emmert would not look him in the eye and she hurried down the large hallway. “Because they are true, Ornery.”
“But… but that would make you my…”
Smiling sadly, his caretaker nodded. “Mother?”
*****
CHAPTER 22
Ma was off tending Aunt Chloe’s sick baby while Pa was out helping raise a barn over in Yalla Town. That left Granny to shepherd the Marlen brood. Of course, that meant they had gotten to roast chestnuts and have sweet bread for dinner. Granny was not much when it came to dinner, but boy, could she stir up a lip-smacking dessert.
Now they all gathered around the hearth, waiting for Granny to awaken from one of her notorious catnaps. Despite her closed eyes, Granny gently rocked back and forth. The oak chair creaked against the pine floor, setting a rhythm your heart could beat to. Granny might as well have been one of those turban-wrapped enchantresses; she held them all in her thrall.
“Does anyone remember the Three Trials of Courage?” Granny asked, her eyes still resting.
The whole group chirped “aye” in unison. Even little Brax, who could barely count to two, let alone remember the three ordeals that The Man Who Did Not Know had to endure.
“’Becca, what is the first?”
Traven was wounded. Why did Granny call on her? His little sister cared nothing for monsters and things that slithered in the night.
“The first is the Craven Creepers?”
Traven nearly shouted for joy as Granny shook her head. ’Becca had gotten it wrong!
“Nay, that is the second Trial. Who might know the first?”
Even though his Granny’s eyes were still shut, Traven raised his hand so high that he feared his shoulder might come out of the socket.
“Traven?”
“It is the Shadow Swords!” Traven announced with pride.
“Aye. And how does one fight this scourge?”
Traven did not have to think on this answer. It was etched upon his mind, as all the exploits of The Man Who Did Not Know had been.
“Darkness.”
Traven jerked awake, his breath caught in his throat. Those shadows that had made him quiver earlier in the Catacombs’ tunnels were no mere tricks of the light. Near panic, the Hero drew his sword, hopping to his feet. The tunnel was at peace. The campfire still shone in the darkness.
“Where is Glacial?” Traven asked the wolf.
Pale sent back a detailed image of the princess relieving herself. The picture was far too graphic for Traven’s liking. “Get her. Now.”
Lauger paced behind Traven and let out a disturbed whinny. Apparently the horse could feel the darkness closing in as well. Still groggy, Traven began kicking dirt over the fire as the shadows swirled, and glints of metal flashed in the darkness. Traven could hear Glacial’s protest, but from the sound of growling and cloth ripping, it appeared Pale was carrying out his orders.
“What is the meaning of this?” Glacial’s biting tone echoed off the tunnel’s walls. “What are you doing to our fire? And the torches? Have you descended into lunacy?”
“Stay away from the walls.”
Traven grabbed the princess by the elbow and drew her towards Lauger as the last of the light was extinguished. They now stood in pitch black. For a moment, Traven doubted his early concerns. Perhaps he was still in the grips of the dream.
“Ow!” Glacial screamed and clutched her arm. “Who did that?”
Traven spun around and madly swiped in the direction of the attack. Lauger danced to the side and kicked at what appeared to be nothing until a wounded grunt erupted from the darkness. Pale’s growl filled the black hallway.
“It is the Shadow Swords.” Traven tried to explain while he fended off his unseen stalkers. “They are awakened and drawn by light. They use your shadow as a slipstream to —”
Pale lunged as another of the Swords attacked. Using wild arcing strokes, Traven narrowly beat the creatures back.
Glacial’s voice was shaky, but her question was sound. “But in darkness, don’t they have the advantage?”
Traven had no easy answer for her doubt. In the tale, he had never questioned the logic of using darkness as a tool. It had sounded so eerie and valiant that Traven had never thought what it might be like to fight a well-armed enemy in the blackest of tunnels. The one thing the Hero did know was that he could not defend the princess and repel the evil.
“Get upon Lauger,” Traven urged Glacial. She protested, but Traven picked her up by the waist and nearly threw her upon the horse. “Grab hold of his neck and grip with your calves.”
No attack seemed to be coming from their rear, so Traven slapped his mount on the rump. “Yah! Vellaey!”
Lauger was reluctant to leave his master, but he charged down the tunnel, obeying the command to run until safe harbor was found. Traven had no idea if such a place existed in these damned Catacombs, but he knew Lauger would search until death stopped him.
Turning back to the fight at hand, Traven felt doubt sweep through him like a stiff wind. At least with the light, you cut down upon the Shadow Sword’s maneuverability. Granted, that meant they were always at your back, but at least you knew where the attack was headed. Now, they could be anywhere.
Pale’s bark startled Traven. Somehow in the darkness, he found the wolf’s gaze. With the light gone, the wolf’s eyes had adjusted. Suddenly, Traven’s own vision was taken over by Pale. Even though the Hero’s eyes had not sensed it, the tunnel was seeped with diffused light.
Detail returned to the once-barren darkness. Traven could now see that they fought a dozen of the hidden Swords. The creatures that bore the pointed weapons were hideous and nearly beyond description. The Shadow’s faces were a mash of features shoved onto a concave palette. Arms stuck out at precarious angles as drool dripped down their naked bodies.
Despite their enemy’s grotesque appearance, a flood of relief filled Traven. What he could see, the Hero could fight. What Traven could fight, he could vanquish. With a rush of new courage, Traven put the Swords on the defensive for once. Every ounce of training he’d received upon Mount shrine flowed through Traven — he thrust and parried with precision. Pale’s teeth gnashed on the bones of the creatures. It was the Sword’s turn to scream in pain.
Despite the duo’s prowess, Traven realized the battle had
by no means swung in their favor. For every Sword they pushed back, another joined the fray. With each passing moment, more and more of the foul creatures combined their strength with their brethren. Even Pale sent a feeling of unease. They were but two against a sea of Swords.
There was more to this tale, Traven realized, trying to force his mind back into the dream. Granny had told it to him all those years ago, but there was a part of the Trials he always forgot. It had never seemed very important or brave when he was a child. How the Hero wished he had slept but a few more moments. The dream might have reminded him of a clue to fight these Swords. Traven caught an edge of steel across his arm, and blood dripped down his sleeve.
What had he forgotten?
Frantic, the Hero dredged his memory. If he did not remember, they were doomed. Traven could recall his grandmother asking what the second weapon that could be used again the Swords was, but the Hero could not force an answer from his subconscious.
“Speed.” Traven heard Brax’s pip-squeak voice in his mind.
By far the smallest of the children, Traven’s little brother could relate to a Hero that had to flee from a larger and more numerous enemy. Brax did it every day out in the schoolyard.
“Run!” Traven shouted at Pale.
The wolf hesitated for a moment, but then followed Traven’s retreating form. Without the shadows to draw the Swords along, the creatures had to give chase using their own legs.
With any luck, the Swords were slow afoot. Their grotesque arms swung side to side as the creatures lumbered after them. Using Pale’s vision, Traven charged down the tunnel. Each look back over his shoulder showed that the Swords were falling farther and farther behind.
Down the long corridors they ran, trying to put as much distance between themselves and the corrupted Swords. Panting, Traven slowed. Pale sniffed the air and searched the hallways to find that none were in pursuit. The Swords must have given up the chase, but where were Lauger and Glacial? With the head start the horse had, they might be leagues from here.
7 Folds of Winter Page 29