“I don’t know,” she admitted, swallowing hard and reaching for the water. “Maybe they left for some reason? For that matter, we don’t know for certain that we’re even alone here. We’ve not explored all of it.”
“I have,” he said, chuckling as her eyes widened. “Well, I have to do something while you’re wrapped up in those books all day long.” Another laugh, this one short and uncomfortable, escaped him. “As for being alone, I’m not entirely sure that we are.”
“What do you mean? The satyr?” She set her food down, no longer hungry.
“No,” he replied. “At least, I don’t think so. I’ve had an intense feeling of being watched a few times now.”
“Oh, we all get that from time to time.” Her laugh sounded as false to her as she was sure it did to him.
“Maybe you're right. I'll admit I had the same thought to start with. It happened too often for me to just brush it off though, so I started being careful. Setting traps. Nothing harmful,” he added quickly, seeing her expression. “I just wanted to prove to myself that I wasn’t going mad. I wanted to know, one way or the other, if there was anything out there. So I scattered some leaves behind me in a few places, put down some dust. Things like that.”
“And?”
“And nothing. The wind usually fouled them anyway.” He held up a finger as she sniggered. “Until today.”
“What happened?”
“I’d scattered some bits of wood across the road behind me, but I was pretty sure that whoever was following me was avoiding those easily. So this time, I made it obvious. I spread leaves across the road, totally covered it, leaving just a narrow path through the middle. Then I left some really clumsy piles of dirt. Anyone would have seen it, hunter or not. It was obvious that it was put there as a trap of some kind. Anyway, they avoided that easily enough but what they didn’t see was that the dirt I’d covered in leaves was wet. I got a clear footprint.”
Ylsriss was silent for a moment, thinking. “A foot though, right? Not a hoof?”
“Yes, definitely a foot. A bare foot, though.”
“So, what do we do? Do you think it’s a human?” Ylsriss asked, drawing idly in the ring of liquid her earthenware cup had left on the wooden table.
“How would I tell?” Joran shrugged. “I think your first question is a better one, anyway. What do we do? I think it’s time we moved on from here, Ylsriss.”
Ylsriss sat back in her chair. The suggestion shocked her and, from the look on Joran’s face, the panic rising within her was visible on her own. “Not yet, Joran.” She spoke quietly, as if confessing something dreadful.
“Why not?” he asked. “There’s nothing here, Ylsriss. We were only supposed to be staying here a day or two to rest up. We’ve been here too long. We have meat now. We have food to take with us. What if that satyr comes back? What happened to finding Effan?”
“I haven’t given up,” she said, glaring at him. “It’s just…”
“Just what?”
“I don’t know. I feel like I’m right on the edge of something. Of discovering something huge.” She shook her head, unable to find the words.
“Like what? I mean, it’s amazing that you found out how to power the runeplates and moonorbs, but is it really that important?” he asked.
“It’s not that. The book hints at it, at there being some purpose for this city.” She pushed her chair back and made her way over to the runeplate to make tea from the leaves he'd gathered. It wasn’t quite the same as nettle, but it was close enough.
“This city had a design. There are channels of power running under the streets. They ran all over the city, taking the energy from the capture plates to neighbourhoods. But then there are others. There are stronger power channels that make those first ones look tiny, and they all head in the same direction, to the same place.” Her eyes were bright with excitement.
“Where do they lead?” he asked.
“You don’t have to pretend to be interested for my sake, Joran,” she said.
“I’m not,” he said, with a sigh. “I still think it’s a mistake to stay. I think we should move on. But if you’re set on this, then let’s find whatever it is as soon as we can and then we can go.”
He looked tired, older somehow, she noticed. “Are you sure?”
“No.” The years seemed to fall away from him as he laughed and he looked like the young man from the camps again. “No, I’m not sure at all, but if that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll end up doing anyway. Why fight it?”
“Am I that bad?” She wasn't sure whether to be amused or upset.
“You’re... tenacious,” he said.
“You said that very carefully, Joran.” She folded her arms and fixed him with a look.
***
Joran wandered the streets in silence. The morning was bright, or as bright as the twilight ever got, with only the smallest clouds in the sky. Birds whistled to each other as he walked and he smiled at the faint noise.
He drifted without direction or purpose, letting his feet take him wherever they would. Ylsriss would have been into a dozen buildings by now, poking around and sticking her nose into things. He preferred to let the city offer its marvels up to him itself. It had become a game he played with himself, wandering aimlessly until the city provided him with a reason to follow a particular path.
His feet took him through now familiar streets, past some of his failed attempts to prove the existence of his watcher. He crossed a twig-covered patch of ground and stepped to the right to avoid the piles of leaves he’d left. He made it halfway down the path, then stopped.
He glanced at the leaves and then up at the roofline. The feeling of being watched had hit him like a wave in strong surf, breaking over him and threatening to drag him under. He could feel the eyes boring into him. It was more than that, though. The passage through the leaves had been on the left when he’d made it. He was being toyed with. He shrugged his bow off his shoulder and nocked a bone-tipped arrow, chiding himself under his breath for not fashioning some tipped with iron, as he’d intended to. Seconds stretched to minutes as he stood, eyes sweeping the street.
He sighed as he let the bowstring relax. His arm had begun to cramp and it was shaking from the tension. The feeling of being watched had eased, anyway. Three careful steps took him out of the leaves, searching the rooftops for any sign of movement, and then he ran. He fled without thought, sprinting through the streets like a panicked child or a small animal. He took corners at random, speeding through streets he’d never even stepped into before until, finally, he collapsed gasping against a doorway.
“Either it’s playing with me or I’m going mad,” he muttered to himself, as he drank deeply from the small waterskin he carried. He stood and forced himself onwards, eyes and ears alert for any noise or movement.
He crossed the bridge he’d come to with Ylsriss just the other week and stopped beside the gardens. Although they were overgrown, it was still just possible to make out their design. They must have been an impressive sight at one point. The flower beds were still visible, though most of the plants had either spilled out and grown into the pathways, or been smothered by weeds. He made his way down the short flight of stone steps and into the gardens, forcing himself to relax as he walked.
The pillars were massive. Made from roughly hewn stone set on end, they had been arranged in a rough circle. They were a grey stone, contrasting with the pale yellow rock from which the rest of the city was constructed. His fingers traced the surface of the first one as he circled it, wondering at the sheer size of it. It must have taken more than a hundred men to even move it. How they had been transported here was anybody’s guess.
There were nine stones in total, each angled slightly so that its broadest side faced the centre. Twelve steps took him into the middle of the circle. He didn’t see the stone until he was almost upon it. The grass had grown tall and obscured it. Joran stopped as his foot touched it and he knelt immediately. It was actuall
y a stone plate, wider than his outstretched arms, and every inch of it was covered in tiny, precise glyphs carved deep into the surface. Four stone posts thrust down into the grass at points surrounding the plate, overlapping so they pinned it to the ground.
“The manling’s folly.” The voice carried a note of sadness, but Joran was so shocked to hear someone else speak, he didn’t notice. He spun towards its owner awkwardly from his crouched position and his leg slipped out from under him, tipping him onto his backside.
The fae regarded him evenly for a heartbeat and then began to laugh, a musical sound that held nothing of malice, but which was filled with simple amusement and delight.
Joran scrambled backwards and got to his feet, fumbling with his bow. The fae didn't move, but watched him with mischief dancing in her amber eyes. “Do you see a deer or some other game, little hunter?”
“What do you want with me? I won’t go back,” Joran managed. The words of the fae tongue felt awkward in his mouth and he spoke haltingly, conscious of how clumsy his phrasing was. The creature wasn’t acting as he’d known them. He felt panicked and off balance.
“With you?” the fae asked, mulling the question over, as she leaned against one of the tall stones. “Nothing. Unless you are suggesting something?” Her look was direct and she laughed again as the blush spread over his cheeks. “Put away your weapon, manling. I mean you no harm and your arrow offers me no real hurt anyway.” She smiled at him, radiating calm as she spoke.
“Stop it!” he grated, as he felt the edges of her influence working on him.
“I apologise. I had forgotten the tales of how sensitive your kind is. It’s been a very long time since any of you dwelt in our realm,” she said.
He felt her presence withdraw, the feather-light touch being pulled away. “What do you mean, since my kind dwelt here?”
“It was an age past, by your reckoning. Enough that even I would regard it as long ago.” Her voice held something he almost couldn’t identify. It sounded so odd coming from the voice of a fae that he couldn’t place it until she finished speaking. It was gentle regret.
He looked at her, expecting more, until she caught his expression and sighed. “Your kind seem much unchanged, manling. Still asking for every little thing to be explained when there is no need. You are the first manling I have encountered in our realm. I believed all your kind had fled.”
“I don’t understand,” Joran admitted.
“This is not unexpected.” She gave him a small smile.
Joran shook his head and fought down a laugh. She was nothing like any of the other fae he’d ever met. There was no condescension, no sense of his being worthless when compared to her. She was curious, he could tell that much, but it was only curiosity – just a desire to know. He found himself relaxing and knew there was no hint of the Touch about it.
“What’s your name?” he asked, without thinking about it.
“I am named Aervern. Do you yet have your name?” she replied, eyeing him up and down as if unsure of his age.
“My name is Joran,” he replied, defensive in spite of himself.
She sat on the grass and patted the ground beside her, motioning for him to join her. He looked around for a moment, although he had no idea what he was looking for, and then sat.
“Will you tell me how you came to be here, young Joran?” Aervern asked. She was cross-legged in the grass, and her tunic was pulled tight against her body. Joran swallowed hard and made a conscious effort to look at her face.
“I escaped the camps near Tir Rhu’thin with a friend, a woman. We’ve been on the run since then. We spotted this place a few weeks ago and we’ve been here ever since.” His speech slowed as he drew to the end of his sentence, and he became aware of what he was saying. His face went pale, and he gasped and he jerked back away from her, his eyes filled with horror.
“I am sorry, Joran.” She appeared as horrified as he did. “Please, you must know that it was not my intent. For us, this is just another part of speech. We use this the same way you would use a smile or raise your eyebrows. Or even touching another.” She reached out and stroked his arm as she spoke, and he moved away from her.
“I will work hard to restrain my instincts around you, sweet manling.” She shot him a devilish look, and eyed him up and down with an exaggerated leer.
She looked so ridiculous that he couldn’t help but laugh. She soon grew serious and his laughter died on his lips.
“I will speak truly to you, Joran. I know nothing of any camps at Tir Rhu’thin. The place is a ruin. It was abandoned more years ago than I can put a number to.” Aervern looked more human than fae at that moment and Joran sat in silence as he wondered what to ask first.
“Aervern, where do you come from?” he asked, finally.
“Tira Scyon,” she replied. “Far to the kielth.”
“The kielth? I don’t know that word, I’m sorry.”
“That way,” she waved vaguely.
“It’s a long way then?” he pushed gently.
“A very long way, yes.” She seemed distracted by something and kept looking over his body and his arms.
“Aervern?” He drew her attention back to his face.
“Yes?”
“What are you doing here? If it’s so far away, I mean?”
She looked affronted and drew away from him. “I travel. I sate my curiosity. I do not feel that I need to explain myself to you, manling.”
He felt his face redden. Though he didn’t understand what he’d done, he’d clearly caused great offence. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“It is no matter, I will forgive you perhaps if…” she stopped, a speculative look on her face.
“If?”
“Are you yet full grown, Joran? You seem short to me. Though all manlings must seem short to us when compared with a fae man.”
Joran coughed. He was blundering through the conversation, as lost as a blind man in the woods. “I suppose I am.”
“Well then, I will begin to forgive you...” she paused, her lips curving into a wicked smile. “I will begin to forgive you in exchange for a kiss.”
“A kiss?” He felt the heat of the blush in his cheeks as it rose to the roots of his hair.
She laughed at his reaction, a delighted chuckle but one without mocking. “Is it really such a terrible thing to ask?” She looked down at herself. “Am I unpleasing to your eye? Or perhaps you are sworn to the She you travel with. I seem to remember your kind has strange ways like that.”
“Yes...I mean no...” he blurted, as she laughed again. “No, you’re not unpleasing. I mean...Oh, Lords of Blood, Sea and Sky!” He moaned before drawing a deep breath, “I think you’re very beautiful, Aervern.”
She grinned at that, her teeth shining white in the predawn light as she moved towards him on her hands and knees, her hips swaying dangerously. “I believe you owe me a kiss, manling.”
He froze as she approached, suddenly realising how a deer must feel as it spots the hunter. Her arms snaked around his neck and she pulled him close. Her lips were soft but insistent, and she tasted of grass, honey and something he couldn’t place. She leaned into the kiss and devoured it, hungry for the pleasure and sensation. When she pulled away, he found his heart pounding.
She smiled at him in satisfaction as she knelt back on her heels. “You show some slight promise there, manling.” She lifted her face up to the light as she squinted up at the sky, then stood in an easy motion, brushing the grass from her leggings.
“I would speak with you some more, Joran. Would you meet with me here again?”
He didn’t need to think about it. “I will, happily, Aervern.”
“Tomorrow then. I will wait for you. There are questions I would have answered. I think you may need to practice some more also.” She gave a wicked chuckle as his face coloured again, and then she disappeared between the stones.
He sat for a time, savouring the fading taste of her on his lips and th
e memory of her hot breath on his skin. The rising sun came swiftly and he roused himself, crouching to collect his bow from beside the tall stone. The glyphs were clear in the face of the stone and he wandered to the centre of the circle, looking down at the circular stone plate and the myriad of tiny carvings in its face. It was untouched by moss or lichen and showed no sign of weathering. Ylsriss would be fascinated by it.
“Shit!” he swore out loud, startling the birds into silence with his outburst. It was daylight; half the day was gone and he’d not done a thing. They would need water to be drawn from one of the three clean wells he’d found and they would need food. Hunting for meat was relatively easy but a man gets sick on a diet of just meat, he knew. He’d taken to foraging in the outer edges of the woods for what nuts and berries he could find. He gathered up his quiver and pack, and set off at a run.
***
She was waiting for him, just as she’d promised she would be. His breath caught as he saw her, leaning back against the tall stone. Her short tunic seemed even shorter than it had been yesterday and her long legs were bare. The wind tossed her pale golden hair as she raised her face to the sky, her lips parted slightly as if she yearned for a kiss.
Her head turned towards him and that same wicked smile curved her lips as she caught sight of him. It seemed as though her form shimmered and then she was reclining on a rich rug strewn with pillows. Her tunic had been replaced by a garment made from the thinnest gossamer that worked more to enhance her raw sexuality than to conceal anything.
Joran gasped and shook his head, refusing to accept what he was seeing. She pouted prettily and the image vanished, revealing her as she had been before, leaning against the stone.
“Didn’t you like it?” she asked, in a throaty voice.
“It’s not real.” Joran said, hoping the tremor in his voice didn’t carry to her.
“What does that matter? I made it for you.” She laughed at his expression and sat down, patting the ground as she had before. “Did you like what you saw, Joran?”
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