The Riven Wyrde Saga boxed set

by Graham Austin-King

  “I think any man would like it,” he replied, trying to sound casual.

  The compliment was oblique, but she accepted it anyway, smiling at him as she stretched her legs out. “Do you know how many times I have kissed a manling?”

  He blinked. Where had that come from? “No, how many?”

  “Only once.” She put on a sad face. “I have mated with fae by the score, but it is a cold thing. A thing of purpose only. I have long ceased to find any pleasure in it.”

  He nodded, not sure where this was going.

  “But you, my Joran, with you there is a passion that has been lacking for long years.”

  She let herself down to the grass and lay on her side. “Will you gift me with another kiss, sweet manling?” Her lids were low over her eyes and her voice almost purred. He could feel her using the Touch. It was subtle but it was there. There was a difference, though. This was simply enhancing her seduction, rather than compelling him and he found he didn’t care at all. He followed her down to the grass, her arms reaching for him as her lips sought his and then he was lost to the taste of her lips and the feel of her skin. She tore at his clothing, savage as the most rabid of wolves and as she pulled him to her, wrapping her legs around him. Her nails raked at his back and he was hers.

  ***

  It was days later by the time he fought his way out of the fog of lust that clouded his mind. They had met each day, talking briefly before she pulled him down to her. Each day he had left her in a rush, to hunt and gather some food for Ylsriss and himself. He never thought of food with Aervern, not until afterwards.

  She lay on the grass beside him in a half-doze and stroked his arm lightly. He looked up at the sky. Sunrise couldn’t be more than half an hour away. “Don’t you need to avoid the sun?” he asked.

  “It is not that important,” she replied, with a shrug.

  “But doesn’t it hurt?”

  “No, there is no real pain to speak of,” she replied. She sat up and picked grass from his hair, an unreadable expression on her face. “In times past, it was not uncommon for a fae to do it intentionally. If you wish, I can show you.”

  “Show me what?”

  “It is easier to simply do than to explain. Be patient, manling, the wait will not be long.”

  He nodded and began to pull his clothes back on. Despite having been naked for the last few hours, he now felt terribly exposed. She watched him, making no comment, but she made no attempt to reach for her own clothes.

  “Come. Sit.” She knelt facing him.

  The flirtatiousness had evaporated as easily as the glamour she’d worn the first time he’d come to meet her. He wondered briefly if he had ever seen the real person at all.

  “Will you tell me of your time in Tir Rhu’thin, Joran?”

  He frowned. It was a blunt way to start a conversation and it put him on guard, suspicious of her in a way he hadn't been in days. “What about it?”

  “I will speak plainly with you, Joran. I wish to know about your time in these camps and about the fae you met there. We both have information we seek. I will trade with you fairly if you agree.”

  His nod was slow to come. This all seemed too easy, for some reason.

  “You do not trust me.” It was a statement of fact; her voice was neither accusing or offended.

  “I have not had good dealings with your kind in the past, Aervern.” He worked to keep his voice level and meet her eyes, but their colour alone was enough to unnerve him, despite the time they’d spent together.

  “That is honest and good.” She nodded her approval. “Know this then. If I but chose, I could take this knowledge from you and leave you a hollowed out husk, drifting with the wind. I choose instead to ask.”

  Joran swallowed hard and briefly wondered if there was an easy way to get back to the kissing instead. “A question for a question, then?”

  “This seems fair.” She nodded her acceptance.

  “Where shall I begin?” he asked.

  “The beginning seems a likely place.” She didn’t laugh but her smile was close enough.

  “I don’t remember a lot of it clearly. I was under the Touch for a long time.”

  Her head cocked to one side. “The Touch?”

  He frowned and gave her an odd look. “It’s what we call it when we fall under the influence of the fae. I lost my own will, my own wants and desires. I even forgot my own brother. All that was important to me was pleasing the fae.”

  She nodded in understanding. “I can see how that could be possible. I had just not heard the term before. An apt description, I suppose.”

  “I was taken when I was about ten years old. I have scattered memories of being kept in the pens for a long time and then being moved to the camps at Tir Rhu’thin. They didn’t keep us in the same camp for long. We were moved every six months or so. The last camp, where I was with Ylsriss, was the one I’d been in for the longest stretch of time. I think I was there for about a year before she arrived.”

  He paused for a second. “The fae didn’t talk to us much, not beyond explaining their expectations. Their satyrs set up the chase not long after I arrived, so that those that were disobedient could have the glory of being killed in a hunt.” His lip curled in derision as he spoke and he fell silent, waiting for the backlash.

  “Taken?” She leaned forward, her eyes so intense that he barely noticed she was still naked.

  “I think I was one of the first. I can barely remember it, it's just a hazy memory of being chased and scared...” He trailed off, looking out into the city and staring at nothing.

  “It is my turn. Ask and I will do my best to answer,” she announced, shifting slightly to make herself comfortable.

  “Where are you from?” he asked, after a moment’s thought. “You don’t seem to be like those fae at Tir Rhu’thin.”

  “This is a good question. Like a flower’s petals closed tight against the night, it is one with many others enclosed within.” She smiled in approval.

  “As I told you once before, I am from Tira Scyon, far from here. You are right, I have nothing to do with those at Tir Rhu’thin. The return of those at your camps has not gone unnoticed, although we have yet to have contact with them directly. The fall of the Wyrde is a wondrous thing, but one which we must approach with caution. Like young shade-cats, they test their strength, these others that have returned to the Realm of Twilight. It must be seen if they will take a suitable place in the court once they reach out to us, or if they will seek to dominate it. They have a value. There is much they might still know. Things that we have forgotten.”

  Joran shook his head. “I don’t understand most of what you’ve just said,” he admitted.

  She laughed. “As I said, questions within questions.” She stood and arched her back. Joran made no attempt to hide the fact he was admiring her body. He might be on another world but he was still a man.

  The sun was rising, the smallest crescent just visible over the rooftops. “Here is an answer to an earlier question, one you might enjoy.” She reached for him and pulled him to her. “Stay close. It will not last for long.”

  He let her press herself against him, wrapping her arms around him, and they waited as the sun rose. As the first touch of sunlight played over her skin, she hissed and tensed, but then seemed to relax. A thin green mist rose where the sun touched her, coiling and swirling like smoke. Joran watched in silence, fascinated.

  “Try breathing it in,” she whispered.

  He met her eyes, unsure as to whether or not she was serious until she nodded. He breathed in, slowly at first. The smoke tasted of her, of her lips and her skin. He breathed more deeply and then rocked as it hit him. His awareness grew until the city was uncomfortably bright, his hearing enhanced to the point that he heard the ruffle of feathers on the birds that flew overhead. More than this though, his sense of smell magnified, revealing nuances of scent that he had never known existed. He looked at the slight fae in his arms in wonder, sensing her
power and the speed with which it was being leached by the sun.

  “Take more. There are things you should see.” The strain in her voice was clear to him now and he knew that her earlier statement about this being painless had been less than truthful.

  He breathed in again, sucking the mist deep into him. There was an echo of power in the city. As he became aware of it, he wondered how he had never noticed it before. It was almost like a dull throbbing, just beyond the point of hearing. He could feel its tendrils running throughout the streets, and then the larger channels leading in from all sides of the city and converging on the stone circle. Joran turned, tracing the lines of power under the ground until they met, deep below the gardens he stood in, lying sullen and dormant.

  The power left him all at once, leaving him gasping and sagging in her arms as his knees buckled. She knelt and lay him down onto the grass, shifting to the side so she could lie beside him.

  “That was…” Words failed him, but she knew what he meant. She lay watching his face with an indulgent smile.

  “What was it?” he managed, after a while.

  “That was the Gift the Lady grants to us. The Grace passed from me to you. I’m told it is lesser in manlings. You are unused to the Grace it gives and it pales swiftly, but it gives you a glimpse of my world.”

  He pulled himself up and turned. “What about the things in the city and this under here?” he said, waving at the streets surrounding the gardens, and the ground beneath them.

  “The manling’s folly,” she said, with a sad smile. “It is a long and sad story. Perhaps one that is best saved for another time.”

  “No. Please?” He forced himself to sit up.

  “Please? What is it you would give in exchange for this tale then, sweet Joran?” Her eyes sparkled with suppressed mirth.

  “Anything,” he replied simply.

  Her smile fell away and she met his eyes. “You should be more careful with your offers, Joran. Not every fae is as forgiving as I.”

  “Kisses then?” he suggested.

  “Are you so sure of your skill all of a sudden?” She laughed. “Very well. I will tell you the tale but take note that you have put no limit on your kisses. You are not a good bargainer.” She smirked and then began.

  “Our history goes back much farther than most realise. Fae and man once dwelt here together. They were our servants. Slaves, if you will. I will make no apology for this, for it was long before my time. It was simply the way of things.” She stood and began to pace as she spoke, her feet stepping lightly, barely leaving any impressions in the grass.

  “They served us in all things. They hunted for us, made wine for us, entertained us and serviced us. It is troublesome for we fae to beget children. True children, that is. More often than not, a union between fae produces satyrs or fae’reeth.”

  She noticed his expression. “You did not know this, did you? Are the fae at Tir Rhu’thin not taking humans to mate with? Did you never question why? Your face speaks louder than your voice, Joran. Yes, the satyrs and the fae’reeth are fae themselves, after a fashion. I have many brothers and sisters among both.”

  He glanced at the stones, not wanting to rush her, but the memory of that lake of power was fresh in his mind. She caught his glance and grimaced. “Do not hurry me, manling. A tale is something that should be savoured slowly. Like mating, if it is done too quickly then much of the pleasure is lost. There is a lot to be said for drawing out the experience.”

  She paused for a long moment before continuing. “The manlings were gifted in one area above all others. A union between manling and fae would produce a cross-breed, what came to be known as the fae-born. These were simple creatures with short lives and little intelligence. Less than the satyrs, in many ways. They would, however, always produce a pure fae from a union with a fae.” She met his eyes to stress her next words. “Every time.”

  “Our numbers were never great,” she said. “Before we encountered the manlings and took your people to serve us, we were a fading people. Your folk had another gift, however. You were uncommonly gifted with the art of glyphs.

  Joran watched her intently, entranced by her story.

  “We had long been able to imbue simple things with the Grace of our Lady,” she said. “Moonorbs for light, runeplates for heating and cooking, for example, so we could remove the need for us to deal with hateful flame. Creating glyphs for such things is a simple matter and maintaining the power they need to function is no real chore for any fae. You creatures though, you cannot simply accept what is. You have this need, this compulsion, to dig to the root of things, to tear them open and find what it is that makes a thing so. It was this way with glyphs.” Her tone had a reproachful edge that made Joran avoid her eyes.

  “I can recall tales of wonder, stories I was was told as an infant, about things that the manlings created that defied our understanding of glyphs and the limits of their power. Perhaps all would have been well if those limits had been accepted.” She looked at him sadly. “But your people would not accept them. They continued to dig until they unlocked the power of Our Lady herself. At first, it was hailed as a wondrous thing. The manlings could power their own glyphs, without the need for fae to imbue them. This was the beginning of a new age, some said. And so it was.”

  She looked down at the grass, avoiding his eyes as she spoke. “It began with the discovery of the Otherworld, the place Our Lady can take us to if we but know the way. It was an empty, dull place, but it led you to push further, until we reached the Land of Our Lady itself.”

  Aervern spoke the words with such a hushed reverence that Joran was hesitant to speak, but she seemed to notice anyway. “Ask your question,” she said bluntly.

  “I don’t understand. What was this place?”

  “The Otherworld? It is a place between the two worlds, an awful place. Some call it the Outside. As for the Land of Our Lady, it is the world the manlings fled to. For, you see, there were those that rejected the changes that the manlings had brought. The ability to create and power glyphs without the need for our help made your kind question your place. There were those who thought that the manlings no longer accepted the rightful order of things.” She glanced at him but he motioned for her to carry on.

  “The war was short and barbaric. There are things I have been told which are terrible to recall. The manlings fought back as best they could against my kind, but you must know that we are not evenly matched. They were forced to leave their cities and towns, fleeing as the silver banners of the fae moved ever closer. It was here that the manling's greatest feat was accomplished, and their greatest folly. The few that still lived tore open the sky and fled this land, claiming the Land of Our Lady as their own. This was the land you were taken from, the land your kind locked us away from with your Wyrde.”

  She fell silent and gazed into the distance, a worried look on her face. Then, without a word, she gathered her clothes and dressed quickly. Ignoring his calls, she disappeared into the distance.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Well?” Joran asked again.

  “I don’t know!” Ylsriss snapped back at him, as she knelt over the stone. “Sorry. Look, just give me some more time to look at this, okay?”

  “Okay. I’m sorry too. Do you think it’s what you were looking for, though? You said this city had a purpose,” he persisted.

  “I’m not sure. There is an activation sequence here. I can see the start of it. It's as obvious as the ones on the moonorbs.” She pointed out a series of glyphs near the centre of the stone. “But then there are all these other glyphs leading out from it. I have no idea what they do at all.”

  “Is there no mention of any of them in your books?”

  “It’s only one rack of books, Joran.” She stood to face him. “You seem to forget that there is an entire library in there that we can’t read. I’m piecing together the tiny scraps that I can understand, but there are huge sections that I don’t. You’re expecting miracles from me.�
�

  He stepped back from her as she spoke and lifted his hands. “Look, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just excited to see what this is, okay?”

  “Why this?” she asked, as she knelt again, tracing the glyphs with a finger as she tried to read them.

  “What?”

  “Why this thing?” She looked at him again. “I mean it’s impressive, I’ll grant you, but you’ve shown no interest in any of the other glyphs in the city. Why now?”

  He looked away for a long moment. “I...umm...well, I just want to get moving, you know?”

  He was lying about something, that much she could see clearly. What it was, she couldn't tell, and why was an entirely different question. “Fair enough.” She shrugged and knelt down to examine the stone disc again.

  Eventually, she rose to her feet in defeat. “I have no idea,” she admitted. “I can see the start of the activation sequence, but honestly, it could be anything.”

  “So let’s find out,” he suggested.

  “What? You mean just activate it and hope for the best?” Her eyes were wide with the shock that she couldn’t fit into her voice.

  “What’s the worst that can happen?” He shrugged as he spoke.

  “A painful death? A signal calling down an army of fae?” She waved her arms wildly at the stones. “It could do anything, Joran. Anything!”

  “You know you’re not going to walk away from something this big, Ylsriss,” he said, with a knowing smile. “Let’s just try it and see.”

  She muttered to herself as she glared at him. He was right, though. There was no way she could leave without finding out. The glyphs were calling to her, speaking much louder than her common sense. She crouched before she could second-guess herself and examined the first activation sequence. The symbols were laid out in an arrangement that was far larger and more complex than anything she’d seen before. Despite this, she could see where it began. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she whispered, as she reached out for the stone.