by Jane M. R.
“What kind of a time frame are we looking at before they arrive?”
“I nary wit. I hast only been warned by the Fae that the window, though short, tis highly vulnerable. Ye mayest turn back if ye wish. I shalt be inconsolable if ye get hurt.”
His declaration warms me. “Nay,” I say in response. I look at Joseara. She’s nodding.
I don’t know where Zadicayn knows to go but we follow him. He takes us back into the trees and we head north.
I’m fighting weariness. After walking for about fifteen minutes, Zadicayn stops and lifts his sleeve up again, pressing the tip of his blade to his skin. I watch this time. He presses hard enough to where a beadlet pops out and visibly jumps about an inch across his arm.
“What are you doing?”
“Me blood tis magnetized.” He jams his sleeve back down and sheaths his knife. “To me amulet, that tis. Tis the same method how ye found me with the Binding.” He points north. “Me blood wants to go that way.”
The moon is bright enough that we can navigate the forest debris carefully enough. After another twenty minutes he nicks his skin again. We adjust our direction a little according to the drop of blood and move onward.
“So Brine… since ye jilted me, ye need to helpeth me find another lass.”
Heat prickles across my shoulders. I’m consciously aware Joseara is listening. “Um. Okay. What kind would you like?”
He muses for a second. “A girl who dost nary smell like rose. The Ball wast so bloated with the smell me thought twas in the castle of King Henry the Eighth who had nary bathed in a year. Flowers wast to mask the stink. That tis all I think upon when I smell flowers now. But then me sense of smell tis still broken.”
I try not to imagine what any size house would smell like if no one ever bathed. I now have a deeper appreciation for my weekly baptisms in cold water. “You are going to have to leave England to get away from girls who smell like rose. The scent of rose signifies the girl is seeking a husband. Unless you marry a gipsy or homeless woman. They don’t follow the same rules as proper society does.”
We come out of the trees and onto a road I recognize as heading toward the river and the Whaerin lumber house. Meadow grass stretches the rest of the way there.
Of course. The Whaerin lumber house. Even before Jaicom sets down his crossbow to check the drop of blood on his arm I know that is where his amulet will be. Joseara does too because she says, “I’ll go forward and make sure there aren’t anyone working late.” Without waiting for us to agree, she slips away from our sides and merges into the tall meadow grass surrounding the lumber house.
“So her family dies and she becomes a thief,” Zadicayn speculates. “Why?”
“It’s a long story. Mostly because if the three families find out she is alive, they will kill her. I actually half wonder if it was the church who killed her family because her family was in support of you.”
“Nary sayest thou. The church wert breaking the amulets, nary the wizards themselves and certainly nary the people in support of the wizards. The church wast trying to save souls while trying to kill the source of evil. They didst nary know we wouldst die upon the amulets break. They just knew they hath to do something because men wert turning evil with greed because they wanted our amulets so badly. Men wert killing the wizard to use the amulet for himself. That tis what the church wast trying to stop. And they think they hast done so, because they know they destroyed twenty amulets, one being a fake, of course, but they didst nary know that.”
“You are getting better at speaking my dialect.”
“I must if I hath any hopes to blend in.”
Which means he intends to merge back into society. “The church knows something is up in Valemorren,” I warn. “They had a random Sunday where they preached against the evils of magic.”
“Mayhapes they realize they hast been fooled with the fake amulet all these years and art trying to flush the three families out?”
“I don’t know. Just… just be careful.” And I mean it. For the first time since I’ve known him, I care about him. This feeling fills my heart to where I want to share it with him, but I don’t want him to mistake that for liking him. So I remain silent and keep selfish this new emotion.
We are close enough to the lumber house to where he indicates we should hunker down in the meadow grass and wait. I gather his blue coat around me to cover everything but my face.
“I couldst get used to rose, I suppose. I want a lass with brown hair.”
“You’re only saying that because my hair is brown.”
“Ye art the first lass I hast seen in three hundred twenty-four years and I hast nary seen any more since. Goeth gently on me.”
“Brown hair. Got it. What else?”
“A lass who shalt promenade in the rain with me.”
“Those girls don’t exist.”
“Ye exist.”
“I’m not supposed to exist. You’re going to have to lower your standards. Joseara doesn’t wear rose. I’m sure she can hunt and I know she has been outside in the rain.”
“She tis a thief.”
I get suddenly defensive over the outlaw. “It’s because she’s a thief that you are even sitting here next to me. She’s the one who stole the last two pieces of the Binding.”
He appears to consider this. “Why dost she keepeth her face covered?”
Scars on the face shouldn’t make an impact on whether or not someone should be loved. I know plenty of people with pretty faces who keep secret darker scars beneath the skin. “She was burned badly in the fire that killed her family.”
He lays back, crossing his boots and reclining on his elbows. He busies his hands with pulling up grass.
I keep my head up, the tall grass hiding all but my shoulders, keeping an eye on the lumber house. Joseara is taking a long time. I hope someone didn’t catch her. As much as I find a kindred spirit in the thief, I’m not going in to rescue her. Then again, I hope she’s not disposing of someone whom she caught in there. I can’t stomach the thought of her killing innocent people just because they might be in our way. “Wizards helped build the Tower of Babel, huh? And the Trojan Horse?”
“Yea.”
“Why?”
“Rememberest when I toldeth thee that Fae allowed the wizards to use the magic to help humanity? Throughout history, if someone needeth help with something they would commission us. With a fee, of course. Twas how we earned money.”
“Oh. What other kinds of things did wizards help with? Please don’t tell me Moses was a wizard and that is why he parted the Red Sea.”
A smile breaks on his face. “Nay. But me father helped during the War of the Roses betwixt the Houses of York and Landcaster.”
I slap my forehead. “Is that why King Henry the Seventh won the Battle of Bosworth?”
“Nay. Ye see, the Fae warned the wizards to nary take part in religious nor political campaigns because we art nary supposed to take sides on any matters. So on the fifteenth of August fourteen forty-five, Henry Tudor from the House of Landcaster inquired upon me father to speaketh a spell that wouldst enable Henry to win the encroaching battle. Me father warned him he would remain impartial to the conflict. Henry insisted, so me father took Henry’s sword, and when he brought it back he telleth Henry that the sword had been impregnated with Henry’s own strength. Upon the morrow, Richard the Third from the House of York besought me father the same thing. So me father took his sword and brought it back to him with the same declaration that it had been impregnated with Richard’s own strength. Which, what that really translates into, wast me father did nothing to the swords and taketh their money as payment.”
“That’s just maybe a little crooked, don’t you think?”
He smiles and spreads his fist full of plucked grass across his thighs. “Me father did sayest he wouldst remain impartial, and he did sayest the swords wert impregnated with their own strengths, which is altogether true, so he nary lied. Tis upon their own faults
they thought to believe magic wast involved.”
I’m still watching the lumber house when a dark shape coalesces head of us. It continues forward through the grass. After a few moments, Joseara appears near me.
“Sorry it took me so long. I unlocked the doors and decided to snoop around to see if I could find the amulet. I found a safe in Aklen’s office with three key holes.”
Zadicayn sits up. “That hast to be where tis!”
Joseara is nodding vigorously. “So I took it upon myself to open it. And… it’s there.”
Zadicayn gasps. “Didst ye touch it?”
“No, no I didn’t touch it. I’ve heard the stories. I did see a chainmail glove with it, though. Likely for the families to move it around.”
“Why? What happens when you touch it?”
“If anyone besides me touches it with bare skin, twill still invite the Faewraith to enter this realm and they shalt eat thee.” He looks critically at me. “Ye sayeth once ye saw a Faewraith before?”
“You did?” Joseara questions.
“Yes.”
He nods once. “Someone toucheth it and a Faewraith wast summoned. Me hopes it wast nary Jaicom.”
Me too.
Joseara looks at me, eyes full of questions peeking out of her black cloth mask. “I’ll tell you everything some other time,” I say.
Zadicayn rises to his feet. I follow, tripping over the hem of his long coat. Joseara proceeds first and I follow. I’m five steps forward when I notice Zadicayn is not beside me. I stop and look back. He is standing in the same spot, holding the crossbow on his shoulder.
“Zadicayn?”
His eyes are down. It’s like he’s frozen. I’ve seen this before. He had a couple of these the first few days after the vault. It’s the posture he takes on when stress strangles him and he has to fight not to run from the room so I don’t know he’s crying.
I walk back to him. He’s breathing heavily. His grip on the crossbow is too tight.
“Zadicayn?”
He doesn’t respond. Does he know I’m right here? His eyes are shut tight as if concentrating on breathing. He didn’t want me touching him earlier, but I try again right here, because he is still broken and I know the one sure thing to fix him is the one thing he won’t ask for anymore.
I touch his arm. When he doesn’t react I know something bigger is fighting in his head and so I put my entire arm across his back, and bring the other one around for an embrace, pulling him into me. Only at that time does he crack, gasping as if he had been underwater.
“I canst nary do it!” He backs out of my embrace and drops to one knee in the dirt, dropping his crossbow and hiding his face in his hand. “I canst nary do it, Brine!” I drop on the ground next to him. He doesn’t fight when I tuck him under my arm again. “They shalt wit me amulet tis missing. And then they… and then they shalt lock me back in that v-vault. I canst nary dost that again! I shalt die! And if I die, the Faewraith shalt come and kill everyone else –”
I suck him against me, pulling his head onto my shoulder where he grips me hard. I can feel his jaw on my shoulder grinding teeth.
“Or the ground could open up and swallow this whole town,” I say. “We don’t know anything, Zadicayn. One thing for sure, you have to have your amulet back. This is something we will have to deal with one step at a time. And I doubt they will automatically blame you. Joseara here, has been doing a fine job robbing half the businesses in town and even the Whaerin’s own vault in their house. There is no way they are going to blame you. How can they? You’ve been locked away for three hundred twenty-four years. They’ve probably even forgotten you are the reason the amulet is still alive. To them, the amulet just works. People forget what they can’t see. As far as they are concerned, they still have the two pieces of the Binding to reassure them. What do you think about that?”
Zadicayn’s breathing softens against my neck and his jaw slackens. “I thinketh,” he says with a deep intake of air, “that rosemary smells better on ye.” He pulls back, reaching for his crossbow. “But ye nary touch me again lest ye betrothed has me head.”
“Because you laying on me back in the graveyard is different?”
He stands with the crossbow without responding. I join him, looking over at Joseara who has her back to us as if highly interested in the stone walls of the giant lumber house. Zadicayn takes the next step forward.
The door to the lumber house is ajar, a fat padlock hanging open on the one side.
“When we leave,” Joseara says, “I will lock up the safe and close this padlock so no one can suspect anything until they open the safe.”
“I art glad ye brought her along.” Zadicayn looks at me. “I art glad I besought ye to come along.”
Me too. I follow after Joseara whose first to step into the building.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
ZADICAYN
It’s dark, save for the pool of moonlight drowning us from the open sky lights in the roof far above our heads. My eyes latch on to the hulks of metal and wood latched together in some contraption to rival a trebuchet. These contraptions are scattered all over the inside of this building.
“What art these things?” I ask, pointing at all of them just in case Brine doesn’t see them.
“This is a lumber house. Trees are cut and put in the river where they float downstream and are collected here. These machines are used to shave them smooth and plane them down.”
“Fascinating.” I would love to see how they work because I can’t imagine any such thing that would make manual labor almost obsolete.
An old memory alerts my ears and I look around for the source of the sound. Brine stiffens next to me.
“Ye hear it?”
“Yes.”
A ticking… like a handful of glass beads roving around the dark corners of the building.
“Faewraith?” Brine sounds like she barely has the breath to ask the question.
“Yea. Tis.”
Brine pushes out a forced, nervous laugh. “Sneaking out of my window after curfew not tied into a dress to climb a fence into a graveyard and then break into the Whaerin lumber house to steal something does not work on my conscience. But the mere thought of having my head crushed in the jaws of a Faewraith does.”
“Ye shalt be a’right,” I reassure, looking all around but I don’t see anything, though the sound is in constant revolution around me, as if the Faewraith are circling me invisible.
“Why can’t I see them?”
“They art still in the Fae Realm, but they hath been alerted to me amulet’s influx of magic which shall only strengthen the closer I get to it. Ye can hear them, which means they hath come through the first three of five layers. The next layer shalt be sight. Ye shall see them, but they shan’t be able to touch ye. I dost nary wit at what point they become physical in this realm, since I hath never had the pleasure to call them to this realm meself, so it shall be best to stay with me so I can protect ye. Unless ye can find a stone box with a heavy lid to hide in. They hath jaws that crush through wood, smash through skulls.”
It was unfair for me to ask for her help. But I know no one else and, frankly, I would likely die if I tried to reunite with my amulet by myself. Still, I’ll remind her of her choice. “Ye still hath the choice to nary flirt with danger. Ye can leave if ye choose.”
“If for whatever reason you don’t get to the amulet and you die, I’m dead anyway because, according to you, the Faewraith will eat the rest of humanity because we won’t have your protection anymore.” I hear her own hesitation in her tone. “Though I’ll be able to move and run better if I’m not wearing this.” She takes off my coat and hands it back. I replace it about myself and try to ignore the gagging smell of honeysuckle rubbed off into my color.
“Joseara, can ye fire a crossbow?”
“If you show me.”
I put the nose of the crossbow on the stone floor and pull back the string with both hands until it locks into place. I lift it
again, placing a short bolt in the groove. “Shooting at the throat tis best. Couldst ye stand above the stairs and fire upon them?”
“I can. I might be a little slow on the reload.”
“Everyone tis slow on the reload.” I hand the crossbow over with a handful of bolts.
“The safe is in that office.” She points to the last office on the second level on the far side. “I left the door to it open. The safe is open, too.”
“I see it.”
She scampers up the stairs and gets into position, looking down at us expectantly. That constant chirping of glass on glass sound is only heightening Brine’s panic. I can see it in the way her spine is straight and her shoulders stiff.
“Ye dost nary be afraid, Brine.”
She blinks and shakes herself out of her stupor, walking forward to the hulking war machine. There is a wooden box next to it where hangs a chain over the side and other long things with handles within. She rummages around, selecting the short piece of chain in one hand and a long metal rod in the other to be her weapons of mass destruction. She joins my side again.
“I counteth three of them, based on the sounds. Joseara, dost nary shoot as soon as you see them. Ye shall tarry until I tell ye.”
“Dost nary?”
“It means, ‘don’t’,” Brine translates. “Don’t shoot until he tells you to.”
“Okay.”
“Ye art going to see them when they first appeareth, but they art nary physical. One mighten even fly at thee, but ye must tarry until I tell ye to shoot.”