by Anne Bishop
The tunnel started collapsing near the archway, but she could make out the dark shape of a horse and rider.
Almost there. Almost there. Aiden Aiden Aiden.
She saw the horse gather itself to leap for the firm safe ground ahead. She heard Aiden’s cry, as raw and primal as hers had been. She saw the shine that had been the bridge vanish just as the horse leaped.
The horse’s forelegs landed solidly on the ground of Tir Alainn. But the hind legs ...
One back hoof touched the edge of the world. Slipped as the edge crumbled.
Nothing under those back hooves now. Nothing but mist.
Aiden kicked out of the stirrups, dove for the land in front of him. He hit the edge at his waist, dug his fingers into the ground to find something, anything, to hold on to as the edge crumbled and he slid back into the mist.
The horse flailed for another moment before it fell into the mist, screaming in terror.
Lyrra tumbled out of the saddle in her haste to dismount and reach Aiden. She dropped the mare’s reins and the pack-horse’s rope and ran toward him.
More of the ground beneath Aiden suddenly crumbled. He kept fighting to find a hold in Tir Alainn while the weight of his own body pulled him down, until only his head, shoulders, and arms were visible.
“Lyrra... don’t,” he gasped when she dropped to her knees in front of him and reached out to grab one of his wrists. “You can’t... hold me.”
“I can. I will.”
“You ...” He looked beyond her.
She twisted around.
Two riders cantering toward them. Two Fae males.
“Help us!” she shouted, waving her arms to get their attention. “Help!”
The riders stopped. Stared at Aiden for a moment. Turned around and cantered back the way they’d come.
Lyrra stared at them. They’d seen her and Aiden. They’d seen.
“I love you,” Aiden gasped. “Remember that.”
“I’m not going to lose you.” Lyrra surged to her feet. Ran to the horses. Grabbing the reins and the lead rope, she pulled the horses as close as she dared. She made a hasty knot in the end of the lead rope, hoping it would be enough. There wasn’t time to make a loop.
She saw Aiden slip a little more.
Getting as close as she could, fearing that any moment more of the edge would crumble, she held out the lead rope, dangling it next to his left hand.
“Grab the rope, Aiden. Grab the rope.” When he hesitated, she screamed at him, “If you go over the edge, I’ll leap with you!”
He grabbed the rope with his left hand.
“Hold on,” Lyrra panted. “Hold on.” She forced herself to move quietly toward the nervous horses, her own nerves shrieking to move move move.
She grabbed the mare’s reins. Tied them to the rope. Closed her hands over the knot. “Back up now. Back!”
Aiden’s face was contorted with pain, fear, and the effort to hold the rope as the horses slowly pulled him out of the mist.
His left hand started to slip. Letting go of his tenuous hold of the ground, he grabbed the rope with his right hand. The move turned him on his side.
More of the edge crumbled beneath him.
“Back!” Lyrra cried, pulling with the horses. “Back! Back!”
His chest now rested on solid ground. His hips. His knees.
Lyrra pulled with the horses. Pulled and pulled until Aiden’s feet were an arm’s length from the edge.
He let go of the rope. Rolled onto his belly and crawled a bit farther before he collapsed.
It took her a moment to open her hands and let go of the reins and the rope. Once she did, she ran to him, tears streaming down her face.
“Aiden. Aiden.” She touched his shoulder.
With a moan that was almost a sob, he rolled over.
A hawk screamed.
Looking up, Lyrra saw it dive toward them, then back-wing until it landed on the ground and changed shape.
Falco ran over to them, dropped to his knees beside Aiden.
“What happened?” he said. “Are you hurt, Lyrra? Aiden, can you speak? How bad is it?”
“The— The bridge collapsed,” Lyrra said.
Falco frowned, looked over at the place where the archway had been. “Why were you attempting to use the long bridge when you knew it was unstable?”
Fear changed to anger in a heartbeat. “How could we know it was unstable?” Lyrra snapped.
“We were told,” Falco said, staring at her in confusion. “Something started weakening the bridge about a fortnight ago, and the Clan has been warning guests not to use it to travel to the other Clan territories. The Clan matriarchs mentioned it when I arrived.”
“They didn’t tell us,” Lyrra said. “They didn’t mention it when we arrived yesterday. They didn’t mention it this morning when they came into the common room where Aiden and I were having something to eat.”
“They didn’t—” Falco paled. “Why would they do that?”
“Because they’re Fae,” Aiden said softly, bitterly. He raised one arm to cover his closed eyes—but not before Lyrra saw the single tear escape. “If the Bard disappeared in the mist while using a bridge they’d warned him not to take, who would be inconvenienced? Another with the gift would ascend to become the Lord of Song, and perhaps the next one wouldn’t be so insistent about playing the same wearisome tune about protecting the witches.”
“But they didn’t tell you,” Falco said. “Lyrra just said they didn’t.”
“If we were both lost in the mist, they could claim they’d told us—and there would be no one who could call them liars,” Lyrra whispered.
“But...” Falco sat back on his heels. “But that seems like such a ... human ... thing to do.”
“Is it? If that’s the case, perhaps we’ve become more human than we want to believe.”
Falco winced. Lyrra didn’t blame him. The Fae had held the conceit of being superior to every other living thing for so long, it wasn’t easy to consider that the worst flaws in their nature might be something they had in common with humans.
Aiden tried to sit up. When he started to fall back, groaning, Lyrra and Falco supported his shoulders to help him.
“We have to keep going,” Aiden said.
Red streaks on the side of his torn shirt caught Lyrra’s attention. Blood. “You are hurt!”
“I’m all right. I can travel. We need to travel.”
“First you need to have the Clan healer take a look at your hands,” Falco said, helping Aiden stand up.
His hands? Lyrra gasped when she looked at Aiden’s scratched, abraded hands. “Mother’s mercy, Aiden.”
Aiden looked at Falco. His blue eyes were so filled with bitter despair Lyrra wanted to cry out from the pain of just seeing it.
“Do you really think I’d trust this Clan’s healer with my hands?” Aiden asked. “I could end up crippled from a few scratches.” He turned, stumbled on the first step. Catching his balance, he started walking toward the Clan house in the distance.
Lyrra stared at him, not sure what to do with him or for him. His frustration with the rest of the Fae had been turning bitter for a while now, but she didn’t know what would happen to either of them if he continued down that road. She wouldn’t leave him. She knew that much. Not just because, as a woman, she loved the man, but also because, as the Muse, she believed in what he was trying to do as the Bard.
“Can you get the horses?” Falco asked quietly. When she nodded, he ran to catch up to Aiden.
As Lyrra untied her mare’s reins from the packhorse’s lead rope, she saw the two men stop. Their voices were too low to hear the words, but it was obvious they were arguing about something. Gathering the reins and lead rope, she hurried to catch up to them.
“Don’t be a fool, Aiden,” Falco said heatedly. “Do you think they’ll care if you harm yourself to spite them?”
Harm himself? Lyrra’s heart leaped in her chest.
“I’ll as
k no favors,” Aiden snarled. “Not from them.”
“Then don’t. But you can get back to the Clan house faster and use what you need to clean those wounds if you ride the mare instead of walking.”
Aiden winced as his hands began to ball into fists. His shoulders sagged. Then he smiled ruefully. “If I can lose an argument to the Lord of the Hawks, I suppose I’m really not fit enough for a long walk.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that sharp tongue of yours,” Falco muttered before adding, “Then be sensible and get on the horse.”
Lyrra mounted the mare, wincing when she heard Aiden’s grunt of pain as he mounted behind her. After accepting the packhorse’s lead rope from Falco, she urged the mare into an easy canter.
A moment later, a shadow passed over them. She glanced up, saw the hawk flying just ahead of them. Falco, keeping watch.
When they reached the grounds of the Clan house, Aiden pointed to a fountain. “Over there.”
She slowed the mare to a walk, guiding the animals to the fountain.
Aiden dismounted. He pulled off his shirt and dropped it in the fountain. He sat on the fountain’s edge, pulled the shirt out of the water, and used it to wash the bloody scrapes on his side.
Falco landed near the fountain, gave Lyrra a worried look.
Dismounting, Lyrra approached Aiden. He ignored her and continued to use the shirt to wash his right side. Then he dunked his hands in the fountain, gritting his teeth as he scrubbed as much dirt as he could out of the cuts and scrapes.
Lyrra turned back to the mare, trying not to let her exasperation show. Stubborn, foolish ... man. Did he really think a quick wash in a fountain was going to be sufficient?
Fine, Lyrra thought irritably as she opened one of her saddlebags and took out a linen shift. That’s just fine. If he wants to pretend we’re in the middle of nowhere in the human world instead of at a Clan house and we need to make do with whatever we’ve got, that’s just fine. She drew the small knife out of its sheath in her boot and cut the linen shift into bandages.
Aiden stood up, shivering and definitely unsteady on his feet. He dropped the ruined shirt beside the fountain.
“Are you done?” Lyrra asked tartly. She bit her tongue. Now you’re sounding like one of those wives who starts all the trouble in certain stories.
Aiden just nodded.
She saw nothing but weariness in his face, as if all the emotional fire in him had been quenched. She wrapped his hands, then made a pad to cover the worst of the scrapes on his side, securing it with more strips of linen that she tied around him. When she was done, she studied her makeshift bandages and suppressed a sigh. They would serve until she could find something better.
“You need a shirt,” she said, turning toward the horses. Then she froze for a moment. Almost all his clothing was in his saddlebags. Gone now. Well, there was still the fine garb he wore for special occasions. That was on the packhorse. At least he still had that much—and his instruments. Those would have been a cruder loss than the clothing. Clothes could be replaced, and the only other thing in the saddlebags ...
It hit her like a blow. She absorbed the emotional punch, then pushed it aside.
She reached for the bag that held his fine garb.
“No,” Aiden said. “I won’t wear that. Not here.”
Knowing her emotions were too raw and anything she said would be regretted later, she just glared at him. “You need a shirt.”
“No, I don’t.”
There was a hint of pleading in his voice that almost broke her heart.
“Let’s ride, Lyrra.” Aiden closed his eyes for a moment. “Let’s just ride.”
Where? But she didn’t ask. She mounted the mare and waited for him to mount behind her.
Falco handed her the packhorse’s lead rope. “You’re going to try the other bridge?” he asked worriedly.
“No,” Aiden said. “We’re taking the shining road back to Sylvalan.”
She couldn’t see how that was going to help them, but she didn’t argue. She smiled at Falco, hoping to convey some of her gratitude for his friendship and help. “Blessings of the day to you, Falco,” she said softly.
“And to you, Lyrra. Aiden.” Falco stepped back.
Suddenly aware of the Fae who were watching from the terraces on this side of the Clan house, Lyrra sat up straight in the saddle. “Be careful, Falco,” she whispered.
She guided the horses around the fountain, keeping them to a walk until they were past the grounds of the Clan house and she saw the stones that marked the shining road. She urged the horses to a canter, tried to prepare herself for any reluctance they might have after being terrified on the bridge. But both horses pricked their ears and increased their speed, as if the safety and reassurance they wanted was at the other end of the road.
Maybe it is, Lyrra thought.
She heard Aiden’s soft moan as they reached the shining road. She felt him shudder and press his head against her shoulder.
With her mouth pressed in a grim line, she kept the horses in the center of the shining road.
Not much longer, Aiden, love, she thought. And once they returned to the human world? Then what? She couldn’t answer that. Didn’t want to think about it. Right now, she needed to find some help for Aiden.
When they reached the end of the shining road, Lyrra tried to rein in the mare, but the animal fought the bit, swerving toward a wide game trail. Not in the mood to argue with a horse, Lyrra let the mare canter along the trail and wondered if the animal had any sense of where it was going.
Apparently it did. A few minutes later, they reached the green lawn and gardens behind the manor house. Lyrra caught a glimpse of Keely and Breanna working in the garden before the mare swerved again, heading straight for the stable block.
Seeing them, Clay left the horse he was grooming and walked toward them quickly.
“Easy now,” Clay called. “Go easy now.”
The mare and packhorse slowed to a walk, blowing and sweating.
Clay held his hands out, palms up.
The horses walked right to him, lipped his empty palms.
“Looks like you’ve had a bit of trouble,” Clay said.
“Yes,” Lyrra replied. She felt Aiden shudder, felt that shudder travel from his body into hers.
“Lyrra. Aiden.” Breanna approached from the side, sounding a little breathless as she slowed to a walk to avoid startling the horses. “What’s—? Oh, Mother’s mercy. Come on now. Come on. We’ll get him into the house.”
Clay took the lead rope from Lyrra. “I’ll take care of the packhorse. Breanna, you lead the mare to the house; then let her go to come back to the stables.”
Breanna gripped the reins just under the bit and led the reluctant mare to the house. Nuala and Keely waited at the kitchen door.
Breathing heavily, Aiden dismounted. Nuala and Keely helped him into the house.
Lyrra dismounted, then grabbed the saddle, her legs suddenly feeling as if she had no bone in them. “Clay has a way with horses.”
“A gift from his father, which was the only thing his father ever gave him,” Breanna replied with enough of an edge that Lyrra flinched. “Mother’s tits. That wasn’t a thrust at you.” She released the mare and wrapped an arm around Lyrra’s waist when the horse trotted back to the stables. “Where’s Aiden’s horse?”
Tears filled Lyrra’s eyes, spilled over. “Gone.”
“Here, now.” Breanna led Lyrra to the bench beside the kitchen door. “Sit down and rest. There now. There you go.”
Shaking, Lyrra sank down on the bench.
“Are you hurt?” Breanna asked, resting a hand on Lyrra’s shoulder.
Lyrra shook her head. Her body wasn’t hurt, but her heart... She was certain her heart was sorely bruised.
“I’ll be right back. Just rest.”
Lyrra leaned back against the stone wall and closed her eyes. She heard quiet sounds, murmuring voices in the kitchen. But not Aiden’s. Why
couldn’t she hear Aiden?
She stirred, almost too weary to make the effort. Wouldn’t have tried at all if she didn’t need to find out about Aiden.
She turned toward the kitchen door just as Breanna stepped out carrying two tankards and a plate of bread and cheese.
“Can you walk as far as the tree?” Breanna asked.
“Aiden?”
“Gran is taking care of things. She has the touch for it.” She smiled. “And she figures he’ll stay more docile if he doesn’t feel that he has to act manly for your benefit.”
Lyrra followed Breanna to the bench under the tree.
“Fresh cider?” Lyrra said after taking a sip from one of the tankards.
Breanna made a face. “Let’s just say there was an ... incident ... with Idjit and some of the stored apples. So there’s plenty of fresh cider and apple tarts.”
Lyrra started to smile, picturing Breanna dealing with the small black dog, but as she glanced back at the house, the smile faltered.
“What happened, Lyrra?” Breanna asked softly. “Were you attacked?”
“No.” Not in the way you mean.
“Where’s Aiden’s horse?”
The tears came again. “Gone.”
“Stolen?”
Lyrra shook her head. “It fell off the edge of the world.”
“Mother’s mercy.” Breanna paused. “And everything Aiden was carrying with him was lost with it?”
“His clothes and personal things, yes.”
“What about...” Breanna bit her lip. “I wasn’t trying to pry, and I truly didn’t look, but I noticed the papers when I emptied your saddlebags the other day to have the clothes washed. Those were his songs, weren’t they?”
“Yes.”
Breanna looked so sad, Lyrra wasn’t sure she could stand it.
“His songs are gone?” Breanna asked.
“He still has them. In his h-hands and his heart.” Lyrra gulped, trying to stop the sobs that were swelling in her throat.
Breanna took the tankard and set it at the end of the bench with her own and the plate. She slid over, gathered Lyrra in her arms. “Cry it out. Gran says sometimes tears are the only way to wash out the heart’s wounds.”
Lyrra let grief and the terror she’d felt in Tir Alainn flow through the tears. With her head resting on Breanna’s shoulder, she told the witch about the bridge collapsing and her gut-deep fear when Aiden hung there at the edge of the world.