“They are different,” she said at last, sitting back. “At the other circle I couldn’t read them but I was closer to it than this. This is almost like reading a different language.”
“Nothing?” Devin pressed. “Nothing at all?” He looked over to Obair, sharing a worried look as the druid drew closer.
She shook her head. “Not really. There are a few things that are close. Characters that sort of remind me of others but they’re really not that similar. It could just be coincidence.”
“What about this?” Devin asked, pointing at a small hole in the stone. “I thought it was just a chip in the stone to start with but look, it’s too regular.”
Ylsriss leaned forward to peer at it, running her hands over the stone around it. “I don’t know. I can make out glyphs around it but…” She shrugged.
“Does it matter?” Joran asked?
Devin cocked his head, frowning at him, but Obair got there first.
“I’d say it matters!” he snapped. “What do you think we travelled all this way for? If Ylsriss can’t work these glyphs then this has all been for nothing!”
“Easy…” Devin told the old man, pushing his arm down from where he’d stabbed it at the air in front of the Bjornman.
Joran was unruffled though. “Except that Ylsriss didn’t work the glyphs at the other circle, did she?” He looked to Devin. “Don’t you remember? She couldn’t find anything close to an activation sequence, you did it all yourself.”
“That’s true, isn’t it?” Obair mused. “Can you remember how you did it?”
Devin flushed as the faces turned to him and looked down at the ground. “It was the same way I felt the moon,” he spoke slowly, dredging through a memory that was jumbled and confused. “The same as when Ylsriss and Joran came through—”
“Wait, what about Aervern?” Joran stopped him. “I thought we were going to wait for her to power the glyphs?”
Devin glanced around the clearing and looked back to the Bjornmen. “I don’t see her, do you? Face it,” he said as Joran’s face fell, “this is about fighting the fae, about shutting them out of our world. How much did you think we could really trust her?”
He stopped then, ignoring Joran’s response and reaching for the stone. There was a feel to this, a sensation of movement, though he himself never took a step. He closed his eyes and grasped the stone.
For long minutes nothing happened. Obair exchanged worried looks with the others and tried to ignore the muttered conversation of the scouts at the edges of the clearing.
“Look!” Ylsriss hissed urgently, pointing at the stone. Where Devin gripped at the stone, a faint covering of frost was forming.
“Is it…” Obair began, but stopped himself. Devin’s eyes were blank, staring into nothing as he frowned in concentration. The frost grew thicker, climbing over his fingernails as the skin on his hands grew paler and took on a blueish tinge.
“Is there no way we can help him?” Joran asked. “This nearly killed him the last time.”
Ylsriss shook her head. “I don’t even know what he’s doing. Though…” She paused, looking at Devin again. “Maybe it’s not that complicated.”
She reached out, grasping the hand that hung loose at his side. The cold was instant and immediate, sucking the heat from her body so swiftly that it robbed the strength from her gasp. She stiffened, throwing her head back as the shiver took hold, shaking her in tremors so strong it was a wonder she stayed upright.
“Ylsriss!” Joran gasped, reaching for her other hand.
“Don’t!” Obair stopped him. “For all we know she’s not helping him at all. Don’t blunder in.”
Joran glared at him for a moment, and then peered at the stone. “Look.” He pointed. “The frost is lessening. It’s doing something.” He met Obair’s eyes with a defiant look. “By this time at the cottage there were lines growing on his face and his hair colour had gone.”
Obair grunted. It was true, the frost did seem lessened, though both wore painful grimaces.
“This I can help with better than you, I think,” Tristan rumbled. His hand looked huge as he reached for Ylsriss’s small one but the effect was no less pronounced and he gasped and stiffened. Joran watched him for a second and reached out, followed by Gavin.
Obair looked on in silence, after long moments a cold hand reached timidly for his own. Miriam’s worry mirrored his own. They were not so very different, he realised. Both their lives had been taken up by duty and suffering and neither of them had ever been given a choice. He returned her worried smile and, together, they watched on and waited while the scouts held a nervous vigil around them. Miriam nodded as Obair gave her a questioning look. The old man gave her a small smile and reached for Gavin’s hand. Where the others had gasped, Obair barely stiffened. Miriam’s eyes closed but his eyes simply grew blank as his brow furrowed in concentration.
***
The skies grew darker as afternoon headed for evening. Halther and the others gathered wood and set to work building fires around the clearing. If the fae were to make an appearance they wouldn’t remain hidden for lack of light.
One of the scouts settled down beside a fire and set to work rummaging through the packs. He glanced up at the strange look from the others. “We may as well get a hot meal going. We still need to eat and it’s not as if any fae close enough to see us would miss these fires is it?”
Halther shrugged and glanced at the others. “He has a point, I suppose.”
They gathered around one of the fires set close to the ruins of the cottage. Clumps of iron still jutted from the ground. It was unlikely to be of much help but it was better than nothing.
The conversation was hushed and stilted and frequent looks drifted over to the figures clustered around the stone. A small fire had been set beside them where they knelt, but if they drew comfort from it they gave no sign.
It was well after night had truly fallen that Joran gave a long, pained, groan and fell to the earth. After hours of silence from the stones the sound cut through the hushed conversation of those sat around the fire and Halther jerked upright, spilling the bowl he’d cradled on his lap and sending it spinning to the dirt.
Tristan blinked and stood slowly as the scouts rushed over to the seven of them. He shook his head at the barrage of questions, none of which he could understand. After a moment he reached for Ylsriss, grasping her by the shoulder. As if something passed between them she let Devin's hand drop and collapsed into Tristan's arms.
Obair barely noticed as Devin sat back. His hand trailed down the side of the stone until it touched the earth.
“I know,” he managed, his voice so soft it bordered on being a whisper.
Obair sank to the ground beside him, reaching for his shoulders to keep the young man from falling. “Are you okay?”
The look Devin gave him was murderous. “I know. I know what the Wyrde is, what it always was. I know what we will have to do. And you knew all along, didn’t you?”
“I'd guessed at it,” Obair admitted. “Lillith left enough in her diaries to hint at it. It was nothing more than hints, mind you.”
“What are you talking about?” Ylsriss asked. Her voice was weak and she still clung to Tristan but she was awake and alert.
“Somebody has to die,” Devin told her. “The Wyrde is a soul, a human soul holding the fae back. The druids use its power to form the Wyrde. I can rebuild the barrier but to do it one of us has to die.”
Ylsriss reached for the steaming cup Halther offered her, taking a sip and waiting while another was offered to Devin. He smiled his thanks, wrapping both hands around it and seeking to pull the warmth directly into his hands. “It needs a soul, someone Wyrde-touched. It was always one of the druids in the past. The master gave a part of himself to the stones and to the Wyrde as the apprentice took over but it doesn’t need to be. You, Joran, even Obair or I, any one of us could do it.”
Her face was stricken as she looked from him to Obair. “How do
we choose?”
“The choice is already made,” Miriam told her softly. “You’re so young, all of you. You all have long lives to live. Mine was stolen from me by the fae long ago. I've had years of torment but I haven't really lived a life. What years remain to me are mine to use as I see fit and I can’t think of a better way to live, or die.”
Devin’s head shot round, horrified. “Ma… No!”
Her hand reached for him, stroking his cheek. “It’s okay, baby boy. You’ve a whole life ahead of you,” her voice grew thick and almost fierce as she forced the words through the tears that threatened, “and I am just so very proud!”
“Miriam, you don’t need to…” Obair cut off. “I’d planned…”
She shook her head. “I know, Obair. Devin can’t do this alone though. You’ll be needed here. He’ll need someone to guide him.”
He paused at her words, eyes narrowing in thought for just a second as something struck him. He nodded slowly, turning to Devin. “Are you ready?”
“No.” Devin shook his head as he pulled himself to his feet. “No, I’ll never be ready.”
“I know,” Obair gripped his shoulder. “I’m not either but who knows how much time we have?”
Miriam moved past them both, climbing up onto the stone laying at the centre of the circle. It was only as she lay upon it that Devin realised that this stone had never been resting upon the others, this had always been its purpose. She smiled at him once and lay her head back, closing her eyes.
The moon was clear through the clouds as they began, stepping in concert as they moved through their different rituals. Obair had begun at one side of the circle with Devin facing him from the other. The rituals brought them close together and twisted them apart again. There was an odd symmetry to it as they moved, something that pulled at the edges of Ylsriss’s mind, crying out to be understood yet eluding her. Their steps traced glyphs across the churned mud of the ground, forming sequences that made even the gateway she and Joran had used to escape the Realm of Twilight seem simple. The rituals wound on, moving in spirals around each other in a dance so complex it was unnerving.
Miriam gasped as it began, her face etched with pain as the frost climbed up over her clothes and skin. Fern-shaped fingers of ice reached up over her cheeks as the stones drew on her strength and her body's heat. Though the woman made no sound and barely moved, the agony she suffered was clear. Ylsriss gripped Tristan's hand tight as she watched, biting at her own lip until finally, unable to take it any longer, she turned away.
“Ylsriss!” Gavin grabbed at her arm, finger pointing upwards. “Lords of the Seas, look! Look at the moon!”
“What about it?” she looked from the sky to his face.
“It was full before, look now!”
She followed his finger with a frown. Where the moon had hung full it was fading, drifting into darkness as if a veil were being drawn across it. She looked back to the pair moving through the steps of their rituals. Were they doing this? Was this even possible?
Footsteps turned her head even as Halther’s men snatched up weapons.
“I offer no threat, manlings.” The voice was soft and somehow familiar.
“Aervern?” Joran wondered as she stepped into the circle of light from the fire. “You came!”
She smiled at him as she came closer. “I go where I will, sweetling, did I not once tell you this?”
He shook his head, nonplussed. “I…”
She went to him, reaching out to press a finger to his lips. “I come for reasons of my own, but also this one desired to be here.” She stepped aside with a graceful sweep of the arm.
“Klöss!” Ylsriss ran to him, hurling herself at him as he emerged from the gloom. “What? Why?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” he told her as he stepped back and looked at her. “I had to come as soon as I knew Aervern was coming here. I couldn’t risk not coming.”
“What do you mean?”
“You belong here with me, Ylsriss,” he told her. “If these two succeed there will be no way back here from the world of the fae.”
“You thought?” She shook her head. “You thought I might go back?”
“I know you would,” Klöss told her. “If you could find a way to pass over I know you would.”
He stopped her as she started to speak. “Let me finish, okay? Effan was stolen from us, he was taken. He’s my son and I never even got to hold him but he’s gone from us as surely as if he’d never taken breath. Aervern explained it all to me, the way that time passes differently between our worlds. Our baby could be three summers or more by now. He’s probably walking and speaking.”
“I know all of that, Klöss,” she said, looking away from him. There was an edge to her voice, an angry hurt waiting to lash out.
Klöss smiled, looking past her anger as he moved to meet her gaze. “I can’t lose you, Ylsriss. If these two succeed there will be no coming back. If you were to pass over you’d be trapped there forever and who’s to say you would ever find Effan?”
She frowned, shaking her head. “How would I even get there, Klöss? If there was a way I might have but…” she stopped, looking at Aervern.
“You!”
“I would assist if I could,” the fae told her. “The loss of a youngling is something I would not wish upon anyone, fae or manling. I can well imagine your torment.” She looked at Joran as she spoke and a slight smile curved her lips.
“Wait…how?” he began
Aervern took three swift steps and reached to rest her fingertips on Joran's chest. “We do not place such an importance on these things as you manlings,” she told him. “Yet ties of blood are not unimportant to us. Our child will wish to know its sire. This is not your world, Joran. There is nothing for you here. If these Wyrdeweavers succeed then all that is fae in this realm will be torn free and cast to the Outside. I would have you return with me before the veil is drawn between us.”
He looked over at Ylsriss and the frown caught up with him as his head whipped back to the fae. “Hold on, what do you mean, ‘its sire?’”
Her smile was all the answer she gave and all the answer he needed.
“We have a child?” he asked.
She nodded, her eyes a mystery. “There is not much time, sweetling. Will you return with me?”
“Joran, you can’t be serious!” Ylsriss blurted as she turned to look at him.
He shrugged with a sad smile. “You left the Realm of Twilight to come home, Ylsriss. I have no home to here to find. You told me that yourself, remember?”
Ylsriss shook her head. “I was angry, Joran. I didn’t mean for you to do this…”
He smiled at her, “But I can make a home there, something to belong to.”
She shook her head again, confusion making her face hard and angry. “What about the touch? You’re making a slave of yourself!”
Aervern shook her head. “The touch is a thing of the highfae, of Aelthen and his kin. I would never do this thing. This smothering and crushing of self, it is a thing only a creature that needs endless assurance of their own superiority would do. I seek Joran as my life-mate. I have no need of a mindless pet.” She bared her teeth slightly in a smile that was stepping closer to being a snarl as she laid a possessive hand on Joran’s arm.
Ylsriss ignored the veiled threat, shaking her head again as she denied everything. “Don’t do this, Joran,” she insisted in a voice thick with tears. “You’ve only been here such a short time. Don’t give up on our world, don't give up on us.”
“Don’t you see, Ylsriss?” he asked gently. “This isn’t our world, it never was. I’m not giving up on it, I’m just choosing something else. The Realm of Twilight will change with Aelthen gone. There will be no camps, no breeding pens. You were there in the ruins of that city, you saw the things that man and fae can do together. We could rebuild that. I want to be a part of that.”
“You’re sure?”
He nodded.
“Well come here,
you dumb ox.” She sniffed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand as he came to her. She wrapped arms around him, holding him fiercely. “I will never forget you.”
Aervern stiffened, looking out over the darkened trees and sniffing at the air. “We must hurry. Our time here grows short.”
Joran frowned and seemed about to speak but stopped as Aervern met his eyes. “Maybe you’re right.”
She led him over to the standing stone, stepping past Obair and Devin as they moved in their dance around Miriam. All three seemed oblivious to their presence, lost in the ritual of the Wyrde.
“Find my son, Joran,” Ylsriss told him. “Find Effan.”
He nodded once into the silence between them. There were no words. There was no need.
Aervern reached for the monolith, gazing into the distance behind them with an odd expression. and then the fae was reaching for him, and they passed out of the world in search of a new one.
***
Rhenkin found himself reaching for his sword as the fae crashed into the line. It was odd, both being removed from the lines but also the manner of the clash. Human armies would smash into each other, meeting blade with shield. The fae were nothing like that and more of them stepped smoothly past the iron blades of Rhenkin’s men than sought to parry the strike.
The fae and satyr were not so much as driving the lines back as they were fracturing them. Units disintegrated and crumbled back in upon themselves, seeking to kill the fae that raged in their midst.
White arrows hissed out of the fae host, driving completely through men and showering others in gore. They passed through bodies without slowing, slamming into other men before coming to a halt. Iron arrows flew back in return, spreading blue fire wherever they struck home. Up and down the line the battle raged and Rhenkin watched on. There was little to do and entirely too much time to think. Reports came and went and Kennick issued small orders for small details in a steady stream.
His eyes were drawn to Aelthen. The huge creature was always where the fighting was thickest, laying about him with a massive broad-bladed spear. Huge roots suddenly burst from the earth as the creature held his hands forth. They whipped out, grasping up men by arm and leg and tearing them slowly in two as they screamed. The line shrank back from the spectacle as the blood spattered across the ranks and, as another hail of white arrows struck, the line simply dissolved.
The Riven Wyrde Saga boxed set Page 122