The Riven Wyrde Saga boxed set

by Graham Austin-King

  “I’ll explain as we go.” She motioned to Tia’s basket impatiently and then led her swiftly back to the trail.

  “We have a quota. An amount of berries we have to provide each week. Sometimes they want us to collect other fruits for them. Once, it was a particular kind of leaf. If a camp hasn't met the quota, they summon us like this.”

  “Wait a minute! You mean there are other camps?”

  “You didn’t think we were the only humans the fae have taken, did you?” Ylsriss spoke more harshly than she’d intended to and the girl flinched back from her.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out like that. Yes, there are at least eight or nine, judging by the numbers at these gatherings. Remember I told you my son is in another camp?”

  “So what happens if we don’t produce enough?” Tia asked. The women were moving along at much faster pace now and she was struggling to keep up.

  “One of us is given to the fae. If it’s a woman, she is given to a satyr. If it’s a man, he is given to a female fae and then, when she’s done with him, to the satyrs for the chase,” Ylsriss said, her tone matter-of-fact.

  “Satyrs?”

  “You called them goat-men, I think.”

  “What would they want with a woman?”

  “What do you think, Tia?” Her look was direct, and Tia’s face reddened and then paled, as she moved from embarrassment to horror.

  “The chase?” she asked, in a soft voice.

  Ylsriss ducked under a broken branch that hung from a tree. “I don’t know all the details, but they are given a full day to run and then the satyrs hunt them. They never survive it. Few women survive their time with the satyrs either.”

  The trail split and they passed further down the hill, away from the camp. The trees became less wild as they travelled. They didn't look as if they had been planted deliberately or pruned, but almost seemed like they had been sculpted, as if the entire forest were a part of some gigantic artwork. The sweeping arch of a bough here seemed to complement, and even mirror, the twisting line of a trunk there. It was a subtle change and one that was easily overlooked at first, but Ylsriss couldn’t fail to notice it now. It marked the shift from the wild woods into the home of the fae.

  The trees seemed to be spread further apart, although there was no evidence of them having been cultivated or tended. The canopy altered too. Instead of the branches growing where they could, fighting for the light, they worked in harmony, the broader limbs of some trees supporting the lighter, weaker branches of others.

  The soft voices of the women, and the chattering and giggles of the children ceased as the lights became visible. They were far paler than the light shed by the moonorbs of the camp and, as they crested the small hill and looked down into the fae city, their glow added a ghostly feel to it.

  Ylsriss heard Tia gasp as the scope of the city became visible and remembered her own reaction at first seeing it.

  “Is that it? Their home?” she asked in a whisper.

  “That’s it,” Ylsriss replied, her voice filled with dread. “Tir Rhu’thin, the home of the fae.”

  The city filled a massive area of the forest. It was unlike any other place Ylsriss had ever seen. Whilst many of the buildings were constructed of stone, some had been fashioned from living trees. They rested in the embrace of the branches, raised high above the earth.

  There was no uniformity in the construction. Some trees cradled fully constructed stone and wooden buildings, while others held simple platforms strewn with pillows and billowing silk curtains. Other buildings seemed to be formed within groups of four or five trees. Somehow, the trees intertwined to create enclosed spaces.

  Ylsriss glanced over at Tia and reached out gently to take her arm. The woman was reacting just as she once had, her feet barely moving as she looked about her in wonder.

  The group huddled together as they approached the yellow-stone wall and passed through the ivy-covered archway that led into the city. Not for the first time, Ylsriss noted the crumbling stones. Despite the newly-built appearance of some of the tree homes, the place had the feel of a ruin that had been brought back to life.

  The city was riddled with small winding paths paved with the yellow-stone slabs, which stretched out through the trees. Ylsriss and the others followed a wide central route that led into the centre of the city.

  Suddenly, the fae were everywhere as if someone had sounded a bell. They perched on tree limbs, stood in doorways and waited by the side of the winding path, watching in silence as the women and children passed.

  Ylsriss no longer needed to hush Tia or hurry her along. The young woman pressed close to her for protection. The fae did not move but their faces were filled with animosity and derision.

  The group followed the broken paving stones into a central square. At its centre was a garden of sorts, although it was little more than a wide circle of grass with a huge willow tree in the middle. Fae clustered around the tree, their musical voices falling silent as the women approached. The crowd parted and the creature at its centre strode forth.

  Tia gave a barely audible mewl of terror as the figure walked slowly towards them. A man’s head and torso extended out of the lower body of a massive stag. The creature had a thick beard and hair that hung down to its shoulders, and a pair of huge antlers sprouted from its head.

  It extended one arm and invited them closer with a sweeping gesture. Tia moved in with the crowd and then sank to her knees in the grass, following the lead of the others. They waited in silence. She noticed that the children were silent and still. They didn't need to be hushed. She edged closed to Ylsriss and whispered,“What is that thing?”

  “That’s Aelthen. Their leader or king, or something. Be still!” Ylsriss hissed.

  Others began to file in, first groups of women and children, and then smaller groups of men, until the garden could hardly contain them and the square groaned with the numbers.

  “You, who have been summoned, will bear witness.” The creature’s voice was deep and powerful, reaching the furthest edges of the crowd with ease.

  “You all know your tasks and the consequences of not performing them well.” He turned and beckoned into the crowd of fae. A tall female emerged from it and dragged a man out towards the creature. He looked spent. Not just tired, but drained, as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks, although he showed no signs of gauntness or weight loss. It was as if the very essence of him had been leached away, leaving little more than the husk.

  Aelthen’s burning amber eyes swept across the crowd as if searching. Finally, they settled on Joran and a faint smile touched the creature’s lips. “You will take him. Prepare him. Tomorrow, he will be quarry for the chase.”

  Joran stood and nodded respectfully, before stepping forward to the female, who dropped the man at his feet. A sneer of contempt tainted her beautiful but alien face.

  With that, Aelthen turned away. Ylsriss pulled Tia to her feet and herded her back with the others. They filed through the streets, passing through the ivy gates and heading back into the forest in silence.

  Chapter Nine

  Ylsriss walked on in silence. Tia had already tried to speak to her several times but she’d ignored her. Her attention was on the man who staggered along beside Joran, leaning heavily on his arm. Despite Joran's smaller stature, he managed to support him easily. It took some time for it to sink in, but Ylsriss was slowly becoming aware of a resemblance. The man was older, certainly, but he had the same facial structure as Joran, the same set to his eyes and cheeks. She thought of the way Aelthen had smiled at him and she wondered. By the time they had made their way back into the camp, she was certain they were related.

  She sent Tia off with some of the other women to retrieve the berries they’d harvested that morning and then hurried to Joran’s small hut. She tapped on the door frame and waited until the thin curtain was pulled back. Joran looked calm as he peered out at her.

  “Ylsriss,” he said, “I’m a little busy righ
t now.”

  “You know him, don’t you?” Her question was deliberately blunt.

  “Know him? I don’t think so. How could I?”

  She ignored his protest and pushed past him into the hut. It was smaller than her own and designed to house only two or three people. The man lay on the bunk closest to the window, his eyes closed and his face pointed towards the dim light filtering through the white cloth that Joran had hung where glass panes would be in another life.

  She studied his face and turned to Joran, who looked at her with an expression of mild confusion. She knew his emotions were probably dulled. On the face of someone so affected by the fae it was equivalent to looking at her as if she'd gone mad.

  “How can you not see it, Joran? This man looks just like you!”

  “You’re being ridiculous, Ylsriss. Besides, what does it matter?”

  “Where were you taken?” she asked, as a thought occurred to her. Just how far did the Touch go? What if it were challenged, pushed?

  “It was a long time ago,” he replied, looking slightly uncomfortable. Ylsriss felt a surge of triumph. Any display of emotion was a mark of success.

  “How can you not remember? It was your home.” Her tone was blunt, as she deliberately goaded him.

  “I was young. You don’t think about things like that when you’re young.”

  “Like what? Where you live? Of course you do,” she scoffed. “How old were you when you were taken?”

  “I must have been about eight or nine, I suppose,” Joran muttered, his face creased in concentration.

  “Are you sure? Tell me your mother’s name,” she demanded.

  “My mother’s name? What?”

  “It’s simple enough, Joran. Tell me her name.”

  “What are you doing, Ylsriss? What’s all this about?”

  “This shouldn’t be this hard, Joran. This isn’t normal. Tell me her name.” Her voice was harsh, ordering him.

  His usual pliant look fell away, as his confusion slowly gave way to frustration and then panic. “I… I can’t.”

  He trembled as the emotions came flooding back into him, and his face was etched with pain and fear. She took him into her arms then, as his tears began to fall and he uttered a cry of anguish. “How can I not remember her name? I can’t even picture her.”

  “It’s this place, Joran. It’s them. They’re doing something to you. To all of us,” she said, brushing his hair from his face as he clung to her.

  He cried for a time and then pushed her away gently. He coughed and rubbed his face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

  “Don’t be silly,” she said. “Do you still think it’s strange you can’t picture her?”

  “What? Of course I do. She’s my mother, for crying out loud!”

  “Good!” Ylsriss snapped. “Now, look at him!” She stabbed a finger towards the man on the bunk, who was snoring softly.

  “Lord of the New Days, Malik!” Joran gasped. “How could you know?”

  “It’s like looking at a man next to a mirror, Joran. It’s as plain as day.”

  “So why didn’t I know? How could I forget my own brother?”

  Ylsriss sat him down on the edge of the other bunk. “I meant what I said, Joran. They're doing something to us.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, it’s subtle, but people just don’t behave as they should,” Ylsriss explained, trying to put something she had only really made guesses at into words. “Like Tia. She was only taken about a week ago, I’d guess. Look at her though, she’s happy and smiling, and taking joy from the magic and sights here.”

  “Isn’t that a good thing? Life here is hard enough,” Joran said, with a frown.

  “Yes, but it’s not how she should be acting. She should be screaming, terrified, looking to see if there is a way to escape.” Ylsriss paced as she spoke. “We’re all so passive. Why is that?”

  “It’s not like we have anywhere to go, Ylsriss. We don’t have any way we could resist them or fight back. We’re slaves!”

  “You’re right, we are,” she agreed, “but I think we’re almost slaves of our own making. Do you know it took Tia more than an hour to notice that there aren’t any guards here?” She caught the shocked look on his face. “You hadn’t even realised, had you?”

  He shook his head. “It’s not that I didn’t know. It just… this sounds ridiculous, but it just didn’t seem important, for some reason.”

  “It’s the Touch,” insisted Ylsriss. “It’s more than just something that makes us compliant. It’s slow, subtle, but in the end we almost worship them.”

  Joran nodded, his face thoughtful. “The Touch?”

  “It’s as good a name as any for it.” Her speech became faster, excitement building in her. “You fought this thing off . Perhaps the others could too.”

  “And then what?”

  She stopped at that. “I have no idea. Something. Anything!”

  “We’d need to find out what causes it first,” Joran mused, his face more animated than she could ever remember. “Is it the food? No, we grow most of it ourselves. The water, maybe? Like a medicine a hedge woman gives you to make you sleep?”

  “It’s not the water,” a soft voice came from the corner. Malik sounded exhausted but his eyes were wide open and his words were clear.

  “You’re awake!” Joran knelt at his side.

  “Obviously,” Malik replied, dryly. “It’s not the water though. Speaking of which, I’m as dry as bone here.”

  Ylsriss filled a cup from the bucket by the runeplate. “Here,” she said.

  He sipped the lukewarm water slowly at first, then drained the cup in three large gulps before handing it back for more. The water seemed to help and, after another cupful, he was able to push himself upright.

  “It’s not the water. It's not the food. It's something about the fae themselves,” he explained, taking a nutcake from Ylsriss and picking at it.

  “How though?” Ylsriss asked, intrigued.

  “I don’t know. It gets worse the closer you are to them, the more time you spend with them. I could feel myself becoming lost, losing all sense of who I was.” His face clouded and he shook his head in disgust.

  “I can see it all now, as if I'm looking at myself from the outside, seeing how I acted, what I became.” He looked up at them, anger in his eyes. “They make us into something no better than dogs. No, worse than that, we’re like toys to them, something to entertain them in their idle moments. I was filled with adoration for Byrlian, the female I was given to. I worshipped her.”

  “You loved her?” Joran asked.

  “No...yes…” Malik shook his head. “It’s more than that. I literally worshipped her, like she was some kind of goddess. I would have cut off my own arm for her if she'd asked, or even if it would have made her favour me with a smile. The things she made me do, though. You can’t know how cruel they can be. The games she played with me...”

  “So it was deliberate, then,” Ylsriss mused.

  Joran looked at her, “What was?”

  “It’s not a coincidence that you were picked to prepare him, Joran. Aelthen knew exactly who you both were. They’re still playing their game with you now.”

  Malik nodded with a sigh. “You’re probably right. Joran would never have noticed if you hadn’t brought him out of it, whatever it is, but I would have known. They delight in this type of thing.”

  “I still don’t remember it all,” Joran muttered. “It’s like half of my memories have gone. I know you’re my brother, but I can’t remember our family or where we’re from. I don’t even know when we were taken or how.”

  “You’d soon forget it all again, anyway,” Malik said, quietly.

  Joran paced the three steps to the doorway and back. “We can’t just let them do this, though. We have to do something. You could run early. You could go now!”

  Malik's lips twisted into a small, tired smile. “I can’t, Joran. They'd just come for you.”r />
  “I don’t care about me. It’s not about me,” Joran cried, waving his arms.

  “And what about Ylsriss or the others in this camp? What about the children here? Do you think they’d stop with just you? No. If I am not there as expected, they will come for all of you. I won’t let that happen.”

  “You can’t go early,” Ylsriss said. “But that doesn’t mean you have to be unprepared.”

  “What do you mean?” Malik propped himself against the wall, his eyes now bright and interested.

  “Well, they'll expect you to be tired, with no food or water. Easy prey.” A nasty smile crept across Ylsriss's face. “What if you were none of those things?”

  “I don’t get you.”

  “Well, you have to be at the Whitestone. They're expecting you.” She spoke slowly, still forming the plan in her mind as she was explaining it. “We don’t though. We could meet you with provisions. We could all run!”

  “No.” Malik was adamant. “They’d find us and kill us all.”

  “What do you think is going to happen to us all in the end, anyway?” Joran demanded. “What do you think is going to happen to Ylsriss?”

  “You don’t know that. Life is hard here, but at least it’s life,” Malik protested. “What you’re suggesting is a life of running. It would probably end with Joran and I just being killed, but you, Ylsriss, you must know how it would end for you. Alone in the woods, chased down by a horde of satyrs. You’d be passed around among them until it killed you.”

  They fell silent at that. Ylsriss sought Joran’s eyes. They were bright and clear, filled with determination. It was more than that, though. They were filled with life, with a fire that hadn’t been there before.

  A thought came to her. “Fine. If you won’t let us run with you, at least let us help you when you do run,” she said.

  “How are you going to do that?” Malik asked, with a scowl.

  “They expect you to arrive rested, but with no supplies. That’s how you’re supposed to run, isn’t it?”

  Malik nodded and motioned for her to continue.

  “What if we left early and put some supplies out for you? Nothing too heavy. Just some water and food. It could make all the difference.”