by Jocelyn Fox
The girl walked forward, past the ring of stones. My pendant flared. Gray raised her chin slightly, as though something should have happened. As the girl walked, her arms stayed by her sides, hands hanging limp. She wore dark pants and a pale shirt patterned with black. Even at a distance I could discern the blank expression on her face—which should have been beautiful, or at the very least pretty; but I only shivered at the lack of life. She didn’t blink and her steps were perfectly measured. It was like watching a perfectly animated replica of a girl, without the essential spark. Nausea gathered in the hollow of my stomach. When the girl neared, I realized what I had thought was a sort of pattern on her shirt…it was a pattern, but it was made of dried blood.
Vell made a strangled sound that I’d never heard any living thing make before. I glanced at her and saw her white-knuckling a fistful of Beryk’s fur, her eyes wide. The wolf braced against her, every line of his body plainly resisting the urge to run.
“Something’s wrong,” I said to no-one in particular. I reached for the Sword’s power and my own taebramh, both at once, and as I did Chael hurtled past us, blade flashing as he shouted a bone-chilling battle cry, Rialla bounding at his side.
“No!” Vell screamed as Chael raised his sword over his head with both hands and Rialla prepared to leap.
The girl stopped, turned just her head toward Chael, and held up one flat-palmed hand. An invisible force slammed into the ulfdrengr and the silver-and-black wolf. The impact of their bodies against the ground was audible.
The night air sang with the sound of blades drawn from sheaths. Luca was somehow on his feet, and Gray held her slender blade at the ready. The girl walked toward us, hands at her sides again, the blankness of her eyes terrifying. Chael regained his feet, roared another battle cry—it was the most I’d heard him speak since we’d rescued him—and lunged again.
This time the girl flicked her wrist. Chael’s leap turned into a spinning tumble. Luca took two quick steps over to him, hauled him up and restrained him. Chael fought him, struggling to escape, snarling animal sounds of rage. Rialla gained her feet, shook her head once, hard, and again attacked.
The dead-eyed girl didn’t even look at the wolf as she pressed her hand into a slow downward motion. In horror I saw Rialla pinned to the ground, the grass flattening around her until a high whine of pain escaped her.
“Enough,” I said, raising the Caedbranr, my war-markings flaring as I summoned my own taebramh to my fingertips.
“Stop, no, please,” sobbed Vell. I didn’t know whether she was talking to the girl or to me. The girl’s hand fell to her side again. Rialla panted and raised her head. I lowered the Sword but my war-markings blazed emerald beneath my shirtsleeve; I was keeping my own weapon ready.
Murtagh and Merrick were by Luca’s side, but the big ulfdrengr shook his head. As painful as it had to be for him, Luca wouldn’t let the two Sidhe restrain Chael. He held Chael in a rough bear-hug until the smaller man exhausted himself. The girl stood silently and stared at Chael with lifeless eyes.
“Why do you want to kill me?” she asked in a flat chilling voice, her words so perfectly enunciated that they sounded alien.
Chael met the girl’s gaze, panting, his eye-patch gone in the struggle, baring a staring milky eye surrounded by a mass of angry red scars. His voice, when he spoke, was hoarse but powerful. “Because you killed my pack-brothers….and you tortured me.”
A low keening sob escaped Vell, even though she clamped her teeth down on the sound. The girl turned her head toward Vell and gazed unblinkingly at her. “And why do you want to save me?”
Vell took two hitching waterlogged breaths. Tears cut wet trails down her face. Her words were almost a whisper. “Because you are my sister.”
Gray raised her eyebrows and slid a glance at me in the deafening silence. “Exciting, indeed.”
Chapter 32
The girl looked at Vell for a moment. She turned her head back to Chael, still with his blade in his hand, panting and watching her with hate-filled eyes.
“I did not torture you,” she said to him, no inflection in her voice. Her unblinking eyes turned back to Vell, her head swiveling with perfectly even motion. “And I am not your sister.”
“I will never forget the face of the woman who killed my kin,” snarled Chael, spitting on the ground. Vell stared at the girl, her lips white. Her golden eyes searched the girl’s face. I watched them, taebramh still tingling in the tips of my fingers, waiting to be unleashed.
“They do look as sisters,” Gray murmured at my side.
I grudgingly nodded. The girl’s coloring mirrored Vell: raven-dark hair, pale skin. The girl’s face had yet to take on the adult sharpness of Vell’s high cheekbones, but I could see the countors, hidden beneath her still-childish cheeks.
“Tell me,” gritted out Vell. Her sorrow and anguish kindled into a hard sort of rage. “Tell me what you did with her.” She nocked an arrow to her bow in one fluid motion. “Tell me or by the White Wolf I’ll loose this arrow.”
The girl tilted her head to one side. The motion came across as rehearsed, studied. As though the creature had watched children and memorized their movements, but couldn’t quite replicate them. “I would prefer you not damage this body.”
Vell growled and stepped forward, the point of the arrow aimed directly at the base of the girl’s throat. “Then you had better explain what you are.”
“I am the Evermage,” replied the girl simply. “The girl-that-was, her spirit is gone.”
“You killed her?” The bowstring tightened as Vell drew back the arrow.
“I released her.” The Evermage gazed with its soulless eyes at Chael. “Her spirit was broken. She desired to live no longer.”
“She was pack-cursed,” said Chael in a low voice. “She would not have lived if I had found her again.”
Vell clenched her jaw. She stared at the Evermage and remained silent, swallowing hard.
“Tell us how you came to take her body,” Luca said. One of the faehal snorted and pawed at the ground as we waited for the Evermage to speak, the air thick with tension.
“I was imprisoned,” said the Evermage, “and my old body was failing. This one—” she held her arms out, turned her hands over as if for inspection, “is young and strong. Her will to live was gone. She offered me the gift of her body while she slid a blade beneath my old skin.”
Vell stared at the Evermage, disgust and disbelief warring on her face. “So you are a wearer of bodies, Evermage. You are no better than the enemy.”
A strange light kindled in the Evermage’s eyes. When it spoke, scarlet sparks drifted from its mouth with its words, filling the stone-ringed meadow with the singed scent of burning flesh. “I am not in league with him.”
“Why?” I asked, stepping forward. “How do we know that?”
The Evermage smiled, a ghastly sight. One of its pale hands motioned to Chael. “Because I did not kill him, and I did not attack you.” It tilted its head again, that childish copycat motion. “Though it would be interesting to match power with you, child of Gwyneth.”
The Caedbranr hummed and suddenly I felt its power lash out, crackling through the night air and hitting the Evermage in the chest. I heard one or more of the Sidhe gasp; it might even have been Gray. It was just a small little whip of blue fire, but the Evermage stumbled back, expressionless, and then regained its footing. I felt the Caedbranr pacing between my ribs and wondered if its wolf-form would make an appearance tonight.
The Evermage straightened, rolled back its shoulders and bent its elbows as if testing its body. “Point taken, Ancient One.” It bowed from the waist, dark hair falling over its shoulders.
“Why are you here?” I asked, sheathing the Sword before it could throw any more temper tantrums.
“To fight,” said the Evermage.
“With us or against us?” I pressed. The scarlet sparks and the singed-flesh smell didn’t alleviate the goosebumps racing up my arms. There was s
omething indelibly alien about the Evermage, and it merely smiled again.
“Are you here to fight with us?” I asked again.
“I am here to test the balance of the scales,” the Evermage replied in its flat emotionless voice.
“That’s not particularly reassuring.” I resisted the urge to unsheathe the Sword again.
“I am not here for your reassurance. I merely wished to make my presence known. I did not anticipate the furor it would cause.”
“You’ve never met the kin of one of your meat-suits before?” Vell asked, voice shaking with anger and threaded with a hot sorrow.
The Evermage fixed her with its stare. “I was formed like you, once. And over the ages I have inhabited many bodies. It is an honor for your sister.”
Beryk growled. Vell sheathed her arrow jerkily and crossed her arms over her chest.
Turning its attention back to me, the Evermage said, “When last I spoke to a Bearer, I was known as Arcana. You may call me so.” A spark floated from between Arcana’s lips, suspended in the darkness, glowing like a misbegotten firefly.
I swallowed. “Very well…Arcana.” I turned to Chael. “Will you be able to restrain yourself?”
He glared at Arcana for a full minute before responding. “I cannot make any promises if it turns against us.”
“If it turns against us,” Vell said, “I will slice its throat myself.”
“Finnead? What say you?” Inwardly I grimaced. I was sounding more and more like a bad Shakespeare impression every day.
“Its power will be….useful.” He regarded the Evermage with an inscrutable expression, his sapphire eyes drowning-deep.
“Gray?”
“It has been watching us for days and no harm was done,” said Gray. “And its body can still be felled by a blade.”
“It’s not its body I’m worried about,” I said under my breath.
Arcana heard me and smiled.
“Understand this,” I told it. “If you betray us, if you raise your power against one of this company again, I will burn you to ash.” The Sword hummed stridently in its sheath, sealing my words.
The Evermage bowed again. “A Bearer’s word.” And then without another glance at any of the gathered Sidhe or ulfdrengr, Arcana turned her back on us and walked away, disappearing spectrally into the shadows of the forest.
When the Evermage could no longer be distinguished from the blackness of the night, the tension holding us all in our places released. Murtagh, Merrick and Sage ranged out to create a loose circle, facing the forest, their eyes watchful. They clearly intended to ensure no more strange creatures passed into the circle of stones without forewarning. Gray went to her other rider, Tristan, and spoke in a low voice. I turned to Finnead.
“Tell me what happened,” I said urgently. The memory of ashes in the ether lurked just out of conscious thought in my mind. I could feel it there, like a vulture circling a dead thing. “How did you find the tear in the veil? How did Luca get shot? Who shot him?”
A faint smile touched Finnead’s lips. “Impatient as ever, Tess.”
It was the first time he’d said my name in a long while, I realized. But I pushed down the secret little thrill of hearing my name on his lips. “We don’t have much time.”
Finnead nodded. “I know.” One hand touched the hilt of the Brighbranr. “Even though I am no longer the Vaelanbrigh, I still feel Mab, at a distance. The edge draws nearer and nearer.”
I am here to test the balance of the scales. The Evermage’s words echoed sinuously in my mind. “Tell me what happened.”
“I knew Vell would protect you. We went the opposite direction, when we realized the dragon was searching.”
“You tried to distract it.”
He shrugged noncommittally. “Perhaps. It wasn’t quite a successful strategy. But when it doubled back, it did see us. Or scented us. One of the two.”
“How did you find the tear in the veil?”
“The Brighbranr led me to it. I can still sense them, though not as clearly as…before. There are a few minor gates still open in Mab’s territory, but they are all guarded, and closed by the guards after we come back through.” Finnead took a step closer to me, speaking in a low voice. “This was the first time I’ve seen a tear like that, Tess.”
“You can’t make your own gates?”
“A gate is carefully structured. It’s made so that if need be, a pull of one thread and the whole gate slams closed. It’s a protective measure, in case we were ever…discovered.”
“In case someone or something tried to come through that had no business being in Faeortalam.”
“Exactly.”
I frowned. “But the garrelnost…there has to be an open gate, or a tear somewhere. How else would it have gotten through from Faeortalam into the Hill Country?”
“Mab sent me to verify the security of all her gates. Three, to be exact. She needed to be sure of the loyalty of the guards as well. We were trying to solve that problem, though she was more concerned with what might be coming into her realm rather than what might be escaping into the mortal world. And then I received message to escort the fendhionne.”
“Molly,” I corrected automatically.
Finnead continued, his words coming fast and low. It felt as though we were hurtling toward the edge of a cliff. Like we were on the bridge again over the Darinwel, flames licking at our heels. “I never found the tear in the veil. Until now. There has to be more than one, this didn’t have the feel of a concerted effort. It was done…casually. As though it was nothing.”
A shiver skittered down my spine. The Sword hummed with interest. “Could you cut through the veil, with the Brighbranr?”
“If need demanded, perhaps. It would most likely kill me, now that I don’t have the other two to draw upon. It takes a great deal of raw power, and a suitable weapon.”
“A suitable weapon. What does that mean, a suitable weapon?”
Gray cleared her throat as she appeared at my side. Tactful, for a Sidhe. Finnead and I both looked at her and we must have looked impatient, because she put up her hands and grinned and said, “Just wanted to tell you that I am sending my riders to pack our supplies. From what I gather, we need to get to Brightvale.”
“Thanks,” I said. She didn’t move. At this point I didn’t much care. I needed to pull all the pieces together. The solution hovered just out of my reach. I could taste it in the back of my throat. “What meets the definition of a suitable weapon?”
“Blood-baptized,” replied Finnead.
“With the blood of the Queen,” I said.
“Or the blood of a Queen,” Gray said suddenly, her emerald eyes grim.
“Either way,” I allowed, barreling forward, “I thought Malravenar wanted to close the Gates. Sever the ties between the mortal world and Faeortalam.”
“This tear led directly into your world, Tess. Into a war-torn country.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Who shot Luca? Did you see them?”
Finnead glanced at Gray, and then kept his eyes firmly on my face. “We didn’t see who shot Luca. But we met the one who saved us.” He reached out, took my wrist and pressed something into my hand.
Time slowed as I turned over my hand and opened my fingers. Sitting in the middle of my palm, folded and frayed, speckled with dust and a few drops of dried blood, was a desert-colored piece of fabric. A nametape for a military uniform.
It said, in block embroidered letters: O’CONNOR.
Chapter 33
The shadows blurred and the world spun around me. I stared down at the nametape, hearing my heartbeat thud in my throat, my breath rushing in my lungs. I felt my lips moving, linking words together into one fluid sound: “LiamohmygodLiam.”
“Tess. Tess.” Finnead’s urgent voice broke through the roaring in my ears. I swallowed and tore my eyes away from Liam’s nametape.
“He’s fine, he’s alive. He’s not hurt,” Finnead said. “The blood is from Luca and…”
“And the men his team killed to save us,” said Luca.
“Shit.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “They carved a hole right through into…into a place where more death and destruction wouldn’t be noticed.” I stared down at the nametape again and then closed my fingers over it, the fabric rough against my skin. I’d seen the dust on Finnead’s boots when Liam had come home from his first deployment. They called it moondust, it was so fine and white. I felt bile rising in the back of my throat and pushed it down. The Sword was humming, low and urgent, its voice vibrating through my spine, echoing between my ribs. Then everything clicked into place.
The blood of the Queen…the blood of a Queen…
At least this is the rumor in the barracks from those who have served in the Western Reaches, that he means to sever the bonds between Faeortalam and Sionntalam.
Without a way to the mortal world, without a Bearer…none would be able to destroy Malravenar. He would hold our world in thrall.
“He knows I’m here, doesn’t he,” I said slowly. “Malravenar knows that the Sword has been bound to a new Bearer.”
“We felt it,” said Gray. “We knew, without quite knowing, if you understand.”
I nodded and chewed on my lower lip, rolling my theory one last time around the privacy of my mind. The Sword flared as it caught my thoughts, a burst of power so hot that Finnead winced and Gray flinched back half a step. I reached out with a silvery net of my taebramh and captured the Caedbranr’s power, pulling it back into me. It was like flexing a muscle. I looked at Gray, then at Luca, and let my gaze settle on Finnead. “Malravenar doesn’t mean to sever the bond between Sionntalam and Faeortalam.” I took a breath. “He means to open it.”
Finnead raked his fingers through his hair. My words hung in the warm darkness.