by Leah Cutter
Denise carefully let go of Sebastian’s hand and set his arm down, resting it by his side. Then she reached up and closed his eyelids, hiding his sightless eyes.
“Now what?” Dale asked Racanta.
She looked off into the distance. “I can’t fly with both of you. I’m not strong enough to do that. But I will escort you to the temple. And try not to get injured along the way.”
Denise nodded. She’d been told by her children how tough the fairies were. How they would fight on after being injured. It would be shocking to suddenly be so vulnerable.
“This way,” Racanta said grimly, marching off toward the south.
Denise almost pitied any dwarf that they might run across. Racanta was sure to show no mercy.
Nora began to weave her trap.
She didn’t have to worry about baiting it. Sooner or later, Brett would come to bother her again.
The “bait” for the trap would be the very center. The unhinged chink that she left deliberately open.
She used the small hand-loom that Dale had made for her out of white birch. It was nine inches square, with thirty finishing nails precisely tapped into each side. She picked up the finely spun black alpaca. It slid through her fingers. However, the small hairs got everywhere. They reminded her of glitter that way, only it was like the anti-glitter in color and sparkliness: instead of spreading light, the small hairs were like worms of dark magic.
Nora tried to keep the bad images from her head and focus only on the task at hand. She strung an outer ring by looping the yarn around every other nail. Then she created a secondary and tertiary circle by looping the yarn around every second and third nail.
Fairy and dwarf magic was always done in threes, though human magic didn’t have to follow such parameters. Nora found herself falling into those patterns frequently, though.
After she created the outer rings, Nora tied them together with “eye” knots, meant to act as a warning system if anything touched her trap. The symmetry of her design pleased her and she hummed, pausing to wipe her sticky fingers clean of the alpaca every now and again.
The next series of circles was smaller, woven between the larger circles. She wove them like an old fashioned spirograph, looping the thread up and down. Nora tied them together with half-loop ears, again to warn her if anyone touched her trap.
Nora continued weaving concentric circles. She kept trying to think of mandalas and circles of power, though she found herself thinking of webs far too often. She decided the black thread was to blame—it reminded her too much of spiders.
She looped thread around the next series without tying knots. The twisted thread was supposed to remind her of the curving delicate loops of a sand painting.
She twisted slipknots into yarn. The loose thread would tighten around any who tried to go through.
Finally, she reached the last two sets of inner circles. She had to use her knitting needles to pull the next to the last circles apart from the others. The black alpaca was just so clingy! She switched to her smallest crochet hook to loop the yarn around the circle.
Here, she tied a series of knots. They were difficult to see, the black against the black. However, it looked like a series of vertebra strung together. They, too, would expand and hold anyone trying to slip through the center.
The last circles she tied together loosely. Again she added long knots, stretching them out, trying to make the hole in the center deeper, so it would take time to pass through.
Nora had to hold herself back from making three final knots to tie the center together. She knew what she’d woven would be a good defensive design. She saw it in her mind’s eye—she could spread something like this between two trees in the backyard of the house. Nothing would be able to come through it without her knowing. Hell, it might even stop an injured fairy or dwarf.
Exhausted, Nora sank back against the back of her chair. Her eyes felt as if sand had blown into them. She blinked, trying to clear them.
It must have been working so hard on the trap that left her eyes still bleary, still seeing remnants of the web around the edges of her sight.
Nora stretched her arms up, trying to uncramp her fingers. God, she was tired.
But she wasn’t finished yet.
Nora carefully plucked the finished trap from her hand-loom, one corner at a time. Again, if she was going to make this a defensive piece, she’d have to weave the edges in, make sure all those tiny holes from the nails were filled.
She didn’t have time for that, though.
Instead, Nora used the tiny holes in the trap to hang it from the wall just above her bed. She used straight pins to attach it to the wall, like a weird black hide, the skin of an exotic creature.
She shook her head when she stepped back. It was just her imagination that the thing formed a hole in her wall, like a black tunnel to a nightmarish land.
No. She was in control. Not it. It was her trap.
It would not trap her.
Nora yawned abruptly and flipped off the lamp over her desk. No calls had come through. Who the hell knew what her mom and Dale were up to?
No matter. She was going to take care of the problem and kill the Old One, so she could get back to properly defending her family.
Nora lay down on the bed. The black web hung to her left about even with her belly. She wasn’t sure she was going to be able to sleep with that darkness lurking above her.
However, once she closed her eyes, the night took her immediately into sleep, so fast that she only had a few moments dread of what the morning would bring.
Chapter 8
Edeline flew at the front of the pack of fairies, just behind Thirza. Her side still ached from where Percy had gouged it with his claws. He flew at the very back of the group, his wing still injured from when he’d so foolishly turned his back on her.
Every once in a while, anger boiled up in Edeline. Why on earth had he thought that he’d be qualified to be king? How dared he challenge her for the position of ruler? Didn’t he understand that it was her position?
Her blood was just as royal as his. No one but him cared that she was smaller than the rest of the royals. One of the servants had called her a “throwback” when he’d thought she couldn’t hear him. She hadn’t understood at first. Only after actually listening to Sebastian did she realize that her tiny body and round figure resembled the fairies of the old world. It was only since coming to the New World that the fairies had grown tall and lanky.
Would the older fairies shrink back down once they were living outside in the woods again? No, they’d all live in the underground cave Edeline had discovered in the new kingdom. Only the younger fairies would dare to live among the trees.
Though Edeline did find that after “roughing it” for a couple weeks that she longed for her comfortable bed.
As they passed the stand of white birch—the death trees, as Edeline thought of them—she suddenly found the pain in her side growing much worse. Percy shrieked, falling suddenly, unable to fly. One of the warriors caught him before he impaled himself on a limb.
“What is this?” Edeline asked, stopping the group, landing in the nearest pines. She found herself suddenly short of breath. She pressed her hand against her side. The wounds had started bleeding again—wounds that had already scabbed over.
“We can’t stay here,” Edeline told Thirza when she came over. “There’s some ill magic in the air.” While on the one hand, Percy might die of his wounds if they did stay, on the other hand, so might she.
Thirza nodded grimly. “I wonder if it’s the Old One. Has he set his territory against us?”
“Possibly,” Edeline said. She forced herself up, spreading her wings. “We need to leave.”
She struggled to fly. But damn it, she wasn’t about to ask for help. She would make it back to safe territory on her own. Even if she did wobble, and wasn’t able to fly in a straight line.
As soon as they crossed over the death pines, Edeline found she cou
ld breathe easily again. The pain lessened.
The fairies landed in a group of tall pines nearby. Edeline rested on an upper branch while Percy and a few of the others hugged tree trunks. The sweet smell of the woods soothed Edeline further.
“We can’t go back,” Edeline announced to the group.
“The ones who are uninjured could,” Thirza said. She looked very unhappy with Edeline’s decision. She remained floating in the air, hovering using magic and not her wings, so she could face Edeline directly.
Edeline shook her head. “It’s too dangerous. The magic may have merely started with those who were injured. What if it spreads? What if it starts to take out those who are healthy as well?”
“We need to go back,” Thirza said. She glared at Edeline. “We need to tell the court that we have a new home.”
Edeline really didn’t want to let the warrior go. If she was honest with herself, she was afraid that Thirza might not return.
“Besides, those that are still in the old kingdom might also be suffering, and might not realize why. We need to bring them here, where it’s safe,” Thirza continued.
Edeline knew the warrior was probably right. It still galled her to admit it. How did she extract a promise of return, however?
“I agree,” Edeline finally said as the growing silence among the fairies turned cold and sullen. “Some need to return. Floyd, Amaranth, and Emery, you are all uninjured, yes?”
The two warriors and the royal nodded.
“Then you shall be our ambassadors, returning to the Greater Oregon Fairy Kingdom and inviting them to…to…” Edeline paused. What was the name of her new kingdom? Not Edelville. That made it sound like a small country village. Not the grand kingdom she had planned. “My kingdom,” she finally settled on.
Naming the place would have to come later.
“Why do I have to go?” Floyd whined.
“Because you represent the royals in my new kingdom,” Edeline told him. “Don’t you want to be recognized as an ambassador?”
“Fine,” Floyd said. “But I expect more land in return.”
“We can’t possibly be dividing up estates until after we understand the full territory,” Edeline countered hotly. Before Floyd could object again, Edeline added, “But your claim will be taken into consideration.”
Floyd glared at Edeline, but he didn’t push his luck further. Because Edeline might have just bitten him, then sent him along anyway.
Cornelius flew on tired wings. He didn’t know how many flew behind him. A hundred? Two hundred? Had perhaps as many as five hundred escaped?
Cornelius couldn’t count, now. He knew whatever number the total came to would break his heart.
The sun lay low to the west, though it remained hidden behind a thick bank of gray clouds. Coastal pines grew spiky and green beneath him, with occasional circles of human homes crudely cut into them. Wind blew hard from the ocean on his left, almost enough to push Cornelius from his course.
He stayed true though, heading due north, to the staging area that Sebastian had suggested, hell, just that morning. Though it hadn’t been the only time he’d talked of it.
Where was the priest? Did he still live? What of Racanta and the other warriors?
How many had survived the foul magic in the air? At first, when Cornelius had seen fairies who were barely injured fall, he’d believed it was something the dwarves had done.
Then he saw dwarves fall as well.
Something else drained them, sapped both groups of fighters. Whatever it was still tugged on him now, even this high in the air, this far away from the kingdom.
Sebastian had been right—it had turned into their tomb. They would never go back.
Up ahead lay a new kingdom, one that the younger fairies would establish. And Cornelius would help them as long as he could.
Until his poor old heart finally broke and he took that long trip across the dark river.
Distant, shrill whistles sounded through the air. Dale stopped when Racanta did, his mom beside him. Denise wheezed and clutched her side as they paused.
Dale didn’t ask his mom how she was doing. She’d just lie and say she was fine.
The trees in the orchard they ran through were almost as tall as the ones that grew up above the fairy kingdom. Though no fruit remained from the fall harvest, it had been recent enough that he still smelled the sweet scent of the apples. Sparse grass grew below the trees, pale and dry.
“What was that?” Dale finally asked quietly after they’d paused for a few moments.
Racanta looked over her shoulder. “A signal.”Though she didn’t add the word, “Duh,” to the end of her phrase, Dale still heard it clearly.
“What did the signal mean?” Dale asked. “Was it from the fairies? Or the dwarves?”
Racanta grimaced. “The dwarves. If I had to guess, they’re rallying for the next attack.”
“I’m sorry,” Dale said automatically. He felt bad that the warrior hadn’t been able to fight all day, but had instead escorted them across the kingdom.
Racanta shrugged. “I will join my comrades soon,” she said. “We’re almost to the temple. Come.”
She turned and raced forward again. Dale sighed and started jogging. He really hated this. “How you doing?” he called over his shoulder.
“I’ll survive,” his mom said grimly.
He bet she hated this as well.
Just past the edge of the trees lay an open grassy area. It looked like a great place for picnics. The sun hung low in the western sky. How long had they been down here? Did time pass more quickly in the fairy kingdom than it did up above?
On the far side of the field stood a tall, golden tower. The temple, Dale presumed.
Racanta stopped just before she stepped out onto the soft grass. She lifted her head, sniffing the air.
“I don’t smell anything too foul,” she said, scanning the dome. “Still don’t want to leave cover.”
Dale looked up. He didn’t see anything above them but a clear sky. “Do dwarves fly?” he asked softly.
“Of course not,” Racanta said.
“Then they’re not likely to attack from above, right?” Dale said.
Racanta glared at him. “Still don’t like it. Too quiet.” But she turned and started running across the open meadow.
Dale reached back and took his mom’s hand before turning and running as well. He didn’t like the way Denise wheezed. Hopefully, this wasn’t putting too much strain on her heart.
“My doctor did say I needed more aerobic exercise,” Mom muttered.
Dale grinned and nodded. Maybe they’d both have to take up jogging. Or something.
The tower loomed. It wasn’t close to an edge of the dome. Still, Dale had to believe that Sebastian hadn’t led them astray, that there was an escape route from there to the outside world.
Was the fairy magic dying? The temple didn’t sparkle in the sunlight. A low fieldstone wall surrounded the complex. Behind the golden temple lay a collection of plain wooden buildings, similar to the warrior barracks near the palace.
Did the priests sleep there? Were there any left? Or had they all gone to fight? And die?
The door to the temple stood open, but Racanta ignored it, leading them around to the side.
“Where are we going?” Dale called out. Damn it! He’d thought Sebastian had said the temple.
Racanta didn’t pause until she was standing in the doorway of a hall that connected the tower to the other buildings. “Sebastian said to ask the murals,” she told him. “Those are back here.”
“Ah,” Dale said. He looked over his shoulder once more at the golden building. It had lost its luster and grown dull, like brass. Was that because the head priest had died?
The hallway they stepped into felt cool, as if they’d just walked into a cave. The air was humid. The scent reminded Dale of his favorite stew, with tender beef, carrots, and tomato sauce. It surprised him how different this place felt than outside,
as the hallway had open windows running along both sides, from ceiling to waist.
“This way,” Racanta said impatiently. She was already at the end of the hall, heading into the next room.
The hallway itself was made out of aged wood, well-constructed. Dale approved. He only had to duck his head a little—the fairies tended to build high ceilings so they could fly easily through the rooms.
The next room was dark in comparison. A huge fire burned in the hearth to the left. Half a dozen plain wooden benches were scattered around edges of the room. Cobblestones covered the floor.
Strange. This room was round, like the temple. The ceiling went up forever, ending in darkness far above him. However, from the outside, Dale had only seen a single tower.
Racanta stopped in the middle of the room, looking around. Dale went and stood beside the fairy.
“What do you see?” he asked.
She waved her hand. More light filled the area.
Dale gasped. Murals covered all the walls, except for the fireplace. But they weren’t like paintings. Instead, they had only outlines of the fairies—faint silver shimmering around their wings and bodies.
They looked different than the fairies Dale had met: shorter, fatter, and with less pronounced ridges up and down their foreheads. They wore flowing skirts and robes. Many of the women just wore paint from the waist up, their tiny breasts pointed and proudly exposed.
“What are the murals about?” Denise asked Racanta.
The fairy pointed to one picture where a tall figure knelt on one knee and handed a female fairy a basket of golden flowers. “That’s Plionius and the first Queen, Georgina.” She turned and indicated to the murals beside the hearth. “That’s the great priest Comalinka. He’s blessing the boats that carry the fairy souls to the underworld, where they await rebirth.”
Dale gasped. As Racanta spoke, the murals began to move. Plionius lifted up the basket, then set it back down again, and lifted it up again, like a slow-motion animation. The priest Comalinka moved his hands in graceful patterns, a sprinkling of fairy dust floating from them onto the waiting boats.