The Riven Wyrde Saga boxed set

by Graham Austin-King

  “Yes, mistress.” Miriam gave a half bow.

  Aervern shook her head. “No! I will not be your mistress. I will not keep you, human. You will be a guest with me, not a possession.”

  Miriam blinked. The words were such a foreign concept to her that she almost asked the fae to repeat herself. No, better to be still for now. To watch and learn. Long experience had taught her that one did not question the fae. This was far more likely to be another game than anything else. Daring to hope for anything more would only lead to crushing disappointment and the laughter of this creature as she watched it unfold.

  “Seat yourself,” the fae prompted as she sank down onto a collection of pillows.

  Miriam lowered herself awkwardly down to the cushions with a grimace. Her hips and thighs still protested the march she'd endured tethered to Ileriel’s wrist.

  “I confess I am unsure just what to do with you. I expect there is much we can learn from each other and much we should speak of.” Aervern began. “The returner named you, 'Wyrde Reaver',” Aervern said. Her words were halfway between statement and question, with an odd intonation, and Miriam sat in silence as she waited to see if she would say more. Eventually she gave a small nod.

  “I would know the tale.” Aervern said formally, placing a strange emphasis on the words.

  “I don’t remember a lot of it, Blessed One,” Miriam hedged.

  Aervern laughed, genuinely amused. “Do not call me that. I am no more blessed than you.”

  Miriam looked at her, careful not to meet her eyes for too long. “In what manner should I address you, mistress?”

  “The name I was gifted is Aervern. You may use that.” The fae favoured her with a smile as she looked at her curiously. “'Wyrde Reaver' is an awkward title. Do you not have another name?”

  “Miriam.” The word came too hard to her lips, little more than a whisper as it passed them. She tried again. It was easier the second time. “My name is Miriam.”

  “A serviceable enough name, I suppose,” Aervern said with a snort. Her nose wrinkled as if she smelled something she’d rather not. “And will you tell me your tale Mir’ Rhiam?” she asked. “Of how you came to be with the Returned and how you pierced the Wyrde? In exchange I offer you wine and meat and shelter.”

  She let the odd inflection pass. “I will tell you what I remember, Blessed…” she stopped herself at a sharp look from Aervern that was softened with a small smile. “…Aervern,” she finished with a sheepish look.

  “Compose your thoughts. A tale such as this should not be recounted unprepared. I shall arrange for your refreshment.” She stood in a fluid motion and made her way over to an archway, clapping her hands loudly as she approached. The satyr that appeared was nothing like those Miriam was used to. His features were the same as the others but his demeanour was one of servility rather than that of a barely-restrained hunter. Aervern spoke to him, giving swift instructions in a low voice before she returned to the cushions and looked at Miriam expectantly.

  “It’s hard to remember too much, it was all such a long time ago. I do remember that I was injured,” Miriam began haltingly. “I’d been wounded, an arrow in my leg, and the wound had turned sour. I remember being lost in the woods, feverish, and waking in the night to the sound of flutes. There was something about a ring of stones…” The words came slowly at first as she struggled to remember things that felt more like the tatters of a dream than anything else. Aervern proved to be almost the perfect audience, however. Quiet and attentive yet willing to prompt if Miriam faltered, and she found herself telling the whole story. Of how she’d first been brought to the cold and barren place that held the fae, and then later, onward to this twilight world.

  “And what of the Wyrde?” Aervern asked Miriam after a time as she sipped at the wine the satyr had brought. “How did you ever learn to pierce it? How did you learn to travel to the Land of Our Lady?”

  Miriam looked at her, the interruption throwing her train of thought for a moment. “I didn’t. I mean, I don’t know that I did anything myself. They took me with them whenever they needed to cross but I never did anything. It seemed like just my being with her was enough at the time. Now, of course, I am not needed at all. I think Ileriel only brought me here because it amused her.”

  Aervern fell silent then, a deep frown on her face. “I think that is enough for now. I would ask something of you, however. Though I have no intention of keeping you as Ileriel did, it would be curious if I did not make some use of you. I would have you act as cup-bearer at the coming feast. An easy enough task, and one which will send the correct message to the Returned. If you will consent?” She waited for Miriam’s bemused nod before she spoke again. "Take rest. I will have Gannkis take you to a room. I do not imagine that your journey was an easy one. You have some days until the feast, which you may use as you will. Gannkis will provide sustenance as you require it, you need only ask. I would not suggest you leave my dwelling unescorted, however. You are more of a curiosity in this place than you know.” She gave a complex short bow, touching her forehead with one hand, and then left Miriam with the odd little satyr.

  “If you’ll follow me, human?” the creature waved her onward and led her through an archway and into the marble-clad building. The interior was well lit, with numerous windows and polished mirrors positioned to make the most of the natural light. Gannkis led her up a sloped corridor that ran in a spiral until they reached her rooms. A wooden bed, fashioned from a single piece of timber and carved with intricate vines, filled a large portion of the room. Against one wall an odd wooden bowl sat resting upon what appeared to be a tree stump that looked to have sprouted from the wooden floor itself. The window looked out into the courtyard, half obscured by thick leaves that hung from the branches that reached to stroke the window in the breeze.

  Miriam sank down onto the bed as the satyr turned to leave. Her hands curled, resting inside each other, as she looked unseeing at the polished stone wall. The world had moved beneath her and, somehow, she was lost without having really taken a step. Eventually she sank down onto the silks and slept. A true sleep, without a touch on her mind or dreams. Perhaps her first in years.

  The house seemed different when she woke. The light was little changed and she lay in a tangle of silks as she tried to decide what time of day it might be. It was empty, she decided. A house has a certain feel to it when there is someone else there, something entirely different when it is empty. She stood slowly with no need to hide the aches and pains that vanity normally demanded. With little other option she threw on the tired black robe and decided to explore.

  The house seemed huge and rambling with its gently sloping floors that turned in a lazy spiral taking the place of stairs. It wasn’t really even a house, not in the conventional sense anyway. The majority of the structure was stone but one turn in a corridor revealed thick bark making up a section of the wall. At some point a tree must have formed the core of the building and had long since been enveloped. Perhaps there was a message to take from that. For all the veneration the fae seemed to have for nature they were quick to discard it when it no longer suited their needs.

  Miriam wandered slowly, giving no real thought to her destination. To say the house was odd would not have even touched the edges of it. There was an entire room filled with tiny bells, strung on strands of thread that ran from floor to ceiling and wall to wall. Another room seemed empty aside from a wide band of blue silk than ran from the floor to where it hung suspended by a polished rail strung near the ceiling.

  Miriam shook her head and headed in the other direction, down towards the courtyard. She was intercepted before she ever got close. The manservant satyr proved impossibly light on his feet, his cloven hooves seemed to make no sound at all on the polished wooden floors.

  “Are you in need of sustenance, human? I was about to wake you.” The words were polite enough but the eyes were as hard and angry as Caerl’s had ever been. Caerl? Lords and Ladies where had that thought
ever come from? She hadn’t thought of him in years. But then, had her mind been hers to wonder with? She realised Gannkis was still stood looking expectantly at her and she coughed to cover her embarrassment. “Not at the moment, Gannkis, thank you.”

  The satyr gave a curt nod and turned to go. “Aervern mentioned you could show me the city?” She called out, stopping him. He paused and looked back at her, his unblinking amber eyes almost making her falter mid-sentence. “If it’s not too much trouble that is?” she finished weakly.

  “Such was the mistress’s instruction.” Gannkis replied, his words as flat and expressionless as his eyes.

  “If you’re too busy…” she trailed off. He was so hard to read. It wasn’t quite hostility but closer to some kind of resentment, though even that wasn’t the right word.

  He shrugged. “It is of no moment, human. We shall leave now if you have no wish to break your fast.”

  He led her out through the courtyard and into the streets. The morning was among the brightest she’d seen and rare white clouds scudded along in a light breeze. The streets were quiet and Gannkis led her at a brisk pace in the rough direction of the massive tree she had glimpsed at the city’s centre.

  “Gannkis!” she gasped after only a few minutes. “I can’t go as quickly as you, we’re going to have to slow down.”

  He looked at her then, as if only just now seeing her for the first time. A tiny old lady wrapped in a dark robe hobbling along behind him. He bowed his head slightly, tilting it in acquiescence, and then set off at a slower pace.

  She gawked like a child at the marble-clad buildings and intricately carved statues. It was so beautiful. So wild. So utterly wrong in so many ways. The realities of this world were suddenly as sharp as any razor’s edge and her mind recoiled from both them and the realisation of how much of her life had been lived through a fog. Before Gannkis had led her more than ten minutes from Aervern’s home she was pleading with him to take her back, and she fled back to her room to huddle in a ball with the bedsheets held tight between her fists as she sobbed for a life both lost and stolen.

  As the days passed Aervern seemed content to let her come and go at will. She had done little more than look in on her since the first night. The second trip came at Gannkis's insistence and lasted far longer, allowing them to make their way to the larger streets. This time it was the staring of the satyr that drove her back to the compound, away from eyes as awestruck as her own.

  She was dressed and ready for Gannkis the next day. It had come as a simple realisation as she lay sleepless in the bedsheets. This was her life now. She could either embrace it and take it for her own, or she could hide for as long as Aervern would let her, or until the darkness claimed her.

  “Do you mind if I ask some questions as we go?” Her only response was a grunt and a curt nod. It would do, she needed something to distract her from the eyes she could already feel upon her.

  “Would you tell me about this place? All I know of this world is Tir Rhu’thin. I didn’t even know there were other fae until we travelled here.”

  “This is Tira Scyon, our home for more years than any of the tales I have learnt will tell. From the age of legends, the time of the hunt, and the search for the Land of Our Lady, we have resided here. Here and the surrounds,” he added. “There are those that prefer the wild of the forest to the city.”

  Miriam was silent for a moment as they walked, admiring the statues that seemed to sit at the centre of every crossroad. “The time of the hunt?” she asked finally.

  “Before your kind forged the Wyrde.”

  “I think there is a lot I am missing here, Gannkis,” Miriam admitted.

  “Did they not answer your questions at Tir Rhu’thin then, human?” the satyr asked, genuine curiosity in his eyes.

  “They keep humans as slaves in Tir Rhu’thin,” Miriam said, her voice low. “We’re breeding stock and little more.”

  Gannkis grunted and looked at her as if waiting to see if she would say more. “There is some wisdom in that I suppose.” He gave her a wry smile as she gasped at his words. “Look around you, human, do you see many fae? Little ones at play? No.” He shook his head. “We are a dying breed. More often than not a coupling leads to one of my kind or to a fae’reeth. A fae child is a rare thing indeed, and one that has been in decline for many years.”

  “You seem very different to the satyr I have encountered.”

  “Different?”

  “Calmer, somehow more human I suppose. The satyr at Tir Rhu’thin are almost feral.”

  The satyr snorted and gave a grim smile. “No doubt those at Tir Rhu’thin have not had to adopt the measures we have undertaken here. My kind are creatures of desire, be it for the hunt or for womankind. How well do you think our people and this city would fare were it filled with endless satyr with no hope of release?”

  “I suppose I’d never thought about it,” Miriam managed through her blush. She inwardly laughed at herself, fancy blushing at her age!

  “We are a long-lived people. Eventually urges give way to rage, and rage to destruction. We learnt that lesson long ago. Satyr here are given the choice once they draw close to this point. Either go to the wilds or be gelded.”

  “Gelded!”

  “It is a minor thing, and one that soon heals.” Gannkis shrugged. “There are times when I regret my choice but not many.”

  “What happens to those that go to the wilds?” She asked.

  “None could say. They never return,” he told her with a strange look.

  Silence fell clumsily between them, stumbling over the remnants of the conversation as Miriam followed after him. Gradually she became aware of the eyes upon her. It was a prickling, uncomfortable feeling that made her feel exposed despite the full-length robes she wore. The satyr watched her openly, some peering out from doorways, some gawking at her as she passed by them. The few fae they encountered were little better themselves, though they fell short of actually stopping in the street to stare at her.

  She ignored them as best as she could, examining the city around her. The simple fact of her curiosity was overwhelming. It wasn’t something as obvious as a blind man regaining their sight. It was closer to regaining a sense of smell that had been fading for years. The freedom of her own mind both delighted and disgusted her as each new sight brought home the reality of just how far under Ileriel’s power she had been buried.

  The city was beautiful, but gloomy. The dim light from the sky was barely enough to light their path on the narrower streets, once the tall buildings and trees had blocked their share of it. Gannkis walked her around the city, careful to move at her pace but, despite this, she was soon forced to lean on his arm. The very act of taking help from the creature made her skin crawl despite herself, and she fought hard to keep her expression blank.

  It was a slow process but she eventually began to notice the city itself. It was ancient, but then any city can be ancient. Kavtrin hadn’t been a new settlement. No, it wasn’t just that it was old, it was tired. That was a good word for it, she decided as she nodded to herself. The buildings sagged, some falling from the embrace of tree limbs that had decided to grow in different directions than those they had been bidden. More than one dwelling sported the remains of wellpumps outside its doors. The pipes covered in verdigris and lost to time and neglect.

  Miriam looked ahead to the tree, more to give herself something to focus on than anything else. The haze she had noticed as they’d approached Tira Scyon was more pronounced now, a purple tinged mist that swirled around the leaves. “What is that around the tree, Gannkis?”

  He looked up and smiled at the sight before looking back at her. “The Swarm. It is more impressive once you draw closer. Come.” He waved her onward, leading her through the streets past dark windows and sculpted foliage towards the massive tree.

  The droning grew louder, the sound seeming to split into a harsh fluttering, and then to increase almost to a roar. Gannkis took her hand as she hesitated
, drawing back from the noise, and pulled her the last few yards to the end of the street. The square was almost completely filled with the roots of the tree as they thrust through ancient paving slabs and quested down into the earth. The trunk alone was so vast that it would have taken ten broad men linking arms to reach all the way around it. This was not what made her gasp, however. The purple mist that had seemed to surround the foliage of the tree was now clear. The tree was surrounded by a swirling mass of fae’reeth. The tiny winged creatures moving in an endless pattern, shifting in a slow dance around each other and the tree as their wings formed a wind all its own that buffeted at Miriam as she stood with one hand pressed to her mouth.

  Their numbers were beyond count, and she found herself almost entranced by the swirl of the pattern before she noticed the figure behind the curtain of tiny bodies. It was a fae’reeth, or at least something similar. Rather than flying with the others, though, it hung almost motionless in the air, its wings holding it still but close to the trunk of the tree as it met her gaze and stared back. There was no animosity in the gaze. It held little more than curiosity, and perhaps an invitation.

  “It is… unwise, to remain too long,” Gannkis told her as he tugged her back out of the square. “The tree is the place of the fae’reeth. Even Tauntha would hesitate to outstay her welcome here.”

  She let him lead her away, casting frequent looks back over her shoulder. The sheer number of the fae’reeth had staggered her. There had to have been tens of thousands of them, all as beautiful as they were deadly.

  “I would appreciate it if we could return now, human.” Gannkis said with a faintly pained expression. “The sun will be rising shortly and I have never cared for its touch.”

  His words touched a chord with her and the connections fell into a neat order in her mind. The sun would leach his power just as the light would render any exposed glyph powerless. She looked around again, noting the dark windows, the unlit streets. Since she had come to Tira Scyon she had yet to see a single moon-orb or rune plate, even the wellpumps had all been in ruins. There hadn’t been a glyph in sight.