“Then that is the path our Fae in the human world must take.”
Again the Loremaster nodded. “If the monster had not forced our hand at the time of the Sundering, if we had not had to act before we were ready, our shaping of events would have led them surely to the right course of action. As it was, the corrections we attempted from time to time worked—”
“Mostly.” Aine's eyes narrowed. “Our interference caused a great deal of pain to those whose goodwill we needed.” Most Fae—and certainly most Loremasters—would have no objection to using humans as bait for exiled Fae. But Aine, more than any of them, had come to know the Fae and humans of the expatriate Demesne of Purgatory.
“Those Fae and their humans repaid us by rejecting our plan and using brute magickal force on the Pattern.” There was no anger in Dúlánc's voice, not anymore; this was an old argument, and a fruitless one. “Their interference turned us onto an unknowable path.”
“And here we find ourselves.” Aine glanced up at the sole round window in the row of slits; the moon was not yet visible, but the glow in the night sky heralded its coming. Her coming, if Cuinn's tale was to be believed. “Am I to send them a message?”
“Yes.” Dúlánc turned his head to follow the direction of her gaze. “And then we must prepare to hold the portal with all our strength. That much we know.”
Aine reached for her writing implements; spreading the parchment on the clear stone in front of her, and channeling a few drops of water onto the inkstone, she touched quill to stone, then looked up. "What am I to tell them?"
Dúlánc was silent for the space of a few breaths, his tabhse looking around at the brilliant strands of silver-blue wire embedded in the stone of the floor, the strands holding the souls and the bodies of over a thousand Loremasters, who had given up everything else they were in order to form the last line of defense against the ancient enemy of their race. “We dare not direct them, even to the slight extent that we know what they will do. If we tell them what to do, they will fall from the narrow way, and we—and they—will lose everything.”
“It has ever been thus.” Actually, the reply that came first to Aine's mind came in Cuinn's remembered voice. No shit, Sherlock, what was your first clue? It had never been clear to Aine whether the injunction against giving directions to the Fae of Purgatory had its roots in the innate nature of the magickal construct designed to bring two worlds and the monster seeking to destroy them into alignment at the perfect time, or in the essence of Fae stubbornness. Probably both. “Then what shall I write?”
“They do not need to be reminded of what they must do—they need to be reminded of who they are. Or, in some cases, who they have become, since they left us.”
Impossible to keep Cuinn's words from her lips any longer. “Could you possibly be any more cryptic? I do have all night, after all.”
Dúlánc laughed. “We miss having you among us, chara. Very well; listen closely.”
Taking her lower lip between her teeth, Aine wrote, in flowing d'aos'Faein script:
Osclór, Nartú
Tobar, Soladán
Nidantór, Breathea
Glanadorh, Coromór, Farthor
Scian-omprór, Nachangalte
Crangaol, Síofra
Gastiór, Laoc, Caomhnór
Fánadh, Ngarradh
"Make haste, sister." Dúlánc's voice was even softer than it had been, as she finished writing and blew gently on the parchment; he was fading from view as he spoke. The magickal lights went out, one by one, as he vanished, leaving only the light of the full moon flooding the chamber, nearly centered in the round window.
Aine wondered if her cohorts could hear the hammering of her heart, disembodied as they all were. Leaving quill and stone on the crystal floor, she stood and channeled her mageblade. The sword of pure truesilver, the price of a Demesne's worth, appeared in her hand; bound to her, and to her protection, it was about to be tested as no sword had ever been.
She bent and placed the blade flat on the floor, and stepped onto it. The metal was cold and hot at once under her bare feet, surely too slender for her purpose. But she had no choice. Writing directly through the Pattern no longer worked; this was their last chance to send a message to the exile Demesne, and the only way to be sure their missive survived the hammer-winds and passed through the Pattern was for a Loremaster to channel an equal force to drive it through.
Without being driven through it herself.
The moon cleared the window-rim, burning white surrounded by the blackness of the night. Aine wondered that the full moon had ever seemed benign to her. Does she hate us, for her captivity?
A breeze caught at the hem of her robe, playful, teasing. A gust darted up under her gown, then tugged. Tugged harder. Wind circled her, no longer teasing, wrapping robe and nightgown around her legs.
I would have done better naked. Aine clutched the parchment and stared at the floor, waiting. Waiting for the crystal to fall away, for the floor to be full of stars.
A blast of wind rocked her, forcing her to step off the sword-blade. She snatched her foot back and planted it firmly on the hilt of the sword, before she was even aware of the chill of the stone.
Crystal vanished. All that was beneath her now was the Pattern, wire-blades as thin as a thought, capable of slicing soul from soul. And all that was between her and such a fate was the sword on which she balanced, barefoot and buffeted by a captive hurricane.
She had to act now, swiftly, while the way was open, and before she could fall again. She braced herself against winds pushing her this way and that, whirling, their voice a low ragged howl shaking the walls of the confined space, and held the parchment out in front of her. The gale caught it like a sail, tried to wrest it from her.
I have a tempest of my own.
Closing her eyes, she channeled Air. Living magick and elemental answered her summons, welled up from within her and flowed through her and trembled in her outstretched hands. The wind rocked her, battered her—but she was finding its rhythm now, balancing on the sword as if it were an unbroken riding-eagle.
And when the wind blasted upward, she was ready; she spread her hands atop the parchment, palms down, and released her own whirlwind.
The winds fought briefly over the precious sheet, but Aine poured magick into her captive gale, and the Loremasters' message vanished through the deadly lacework.
The wind roared, like a living thing. Perhaps it was. It had been conjured to hunt, and it had been cheated; nothing in the tower looked or smelled or tasted like prey, save the red-haired Loremaster in her lilac robes, balanced precariously on her mageblade.
It was easier with her eyes closed; her body knew what to do, when to push back, when to lean away. She wished she could close her ears, to distance herself from the insane howling of the gale, but she could not spare the concentration for the channeling.
Surely it's nearly over—
The wind blasted Aine from behind, a stooping gryphon complete with a paralyzing roar. Caught off guard, she fell forward.
And landed on her knees, on cold crystal, in a chamber gone silent and still.
She huddled on the stone, gasping for breath, exultant. She had done her part; the Loremasters' message had gone to the human world. It was sealed away now, on the far side of the portal.
Perhaps forever.
Glossary
The following is a glossary of the Faen words and phrases found in Hard as Stone, Gale Force, Deep Plunge, Firestorm, Blowing Smoke, Mantled in Mist, Undertow, and Stone Cold. The reader should be advised that, as in the Celtic languages descended from it, spelling in Faen is as highly eccentric as the one doing the spelling.
(A few quick pronunciation rules — bearing in mind that most Fae detest rules—single vowels are generally ‘pure’, as in ah, ey, ee, oh, oo for a, e, i, o, u. An accent over a vowel means that vowel is held a little longer than its unaccented cousins. “ao” is generally “ee”, but otherwise diphthongs are pretty much wh
at you’d expect. Consonants are a pain. “ch” is hard, as in the modern Scottish “loch”. “S”, if preceded by “i” or “a”, is usually “sh”. “F” is usually silent, unless it’s the first letter in a word, and if the word starts with “fh”, then the “f” and the “h” are both silent. “Th” is likewise usually silent, as is “dh”, although if “dh” is at the beginning of a word, it tries to choke on itself and ends up sounding something like a “strangled” French “r”. Oh, and “mh” is “v”, “bh” is “w”, “c” is always hard, and don’t forget to roll your “r”s!)
a’bhei’lár lit. “to be the center”; an extremely charismatic person
ach but
adhmacomh wood-bodied. An insult.
adhmam admit, confess
a’gár’doltas vendetta (lit. “smiling-murder”)
agean ocean
agla fear(n.)
állacht beautiful. Can be used to describe persons of any gender.
m’állacht my beauty. Fiachra’s pillow-name for Peri.
amad’n fool, idiot
anam soul
m’anam my soul. Fae endearment.
n’anamacha their souls
aon-arc unicorn
asiomú ‘reversal-vengeance’. The act of making oneself crave whatever is being done to one as a punishment, thereby turning one’s punisher into one’s procurer.
asling dream
át spot
át mil (pl. átenna milis) sweet spot
atráth postponement. As close as Faen gets to a word for ‘truce.’
batagar arrow
beag little, slight
blas taste (v. imp.)
bod penis (vulgar)
bod-snadhm dick-knot. An unpleasant situation.
bodlag limp dick (much greater insult than a human might suppose)
bragan toy (see phrase)
briste broken
buchal alann beautiful boy
cac excrement
ca’fuil? Where?
callte hidden
carn pile
ceangal (1) chains
ceangal (2) Royal soul-bonding ceremony in the Realm (common alt. spelling ceangail)
cein fa? Why?
céle general way of referring to two people
le céle together (alt. form le chéle)
a céle one another, each other
chara friend
cho’halan so beautiful
chort-gruag “bark-hair”. Derogatory way of referring to a dark-haired Fae
Clo’che living Stone
cnasaigh heal (v. imp.)
coladh sleep
comart’ symbol
comhrac-scátha mirror-foe; a magickal duplicate of the bearer whose only purpose is to fight to death or dismissal
cónai live
co’salach lit. “dirty feet”. Implies feet growing in the dirt, like tree roots.
crann tree
a’chrann a tree
craobód twig-dick. Insult, occasionally lethal.
crocnath completion
m’crocnath my completion. One of Cuinn’s pillow-names for Rian
croí heart
Croí na Dóthan Heart of Flame, the signet of the Royal house of the Demesne of Fire
Cruan’ba The Drowner. Name given to the Marfach by the Fae of the Demesne of Water.
Cu droc! Bad dog!
cugat to you
cúna aid, assistance
dalle blindness; verbal component of an Air mage’s blinding channeling
danamhris Lit. “to be done unto.” One of the darkest words as’Faein for torture.
daoir 1. beloved; 2. expensive
d’aos’Faen Old Faen, the old form of the Fae language. Currently survives only in written form.
dara-láiv lit. “second-hand”. Euphemism for masturbation.
dar’cion brilliantly colored. Conall’s pillow-name for Josh.
dearmad forgotten
deich ten
deich meloi ten thousand
derea end
desúcan fix, repair
dhábh-archann lit. “two-become-one”. Rare Fae euphemism for sex.
dhó-súil fire-eyes. One of Cuinn’s pillow-names for Rian.
dóchais hope (n.) (alt. spelling dócas)
dolmain hollow hill, a place of refuge
domhnacht depths
Domhnacht Rúnda the Secret Depths, Rhoann’s refuge in the Realm
doran stranger, exile
d’orant impossible. Josh’s pillow-name for Conall.
draoctagh magick
m’dhraoctagh my magick. Rhoann’s pillow name for Mac.
Spiraod n’Draoctagh Spirit of Magick. Ancient Fae oath. Or expletive. Sometimes both.
draoi teacher
dre’fiur beloved sister
dre’thair beloved brother
dre’thair dtuismiorí beloved brother of my parents (beloved to the speaker, in this instance, not necessarily to the parents)
dubh black, dark
dúrt me I said
dúsi Wake up (imp.)
ecáil will see
a’ecáil I will see
eiscréid shit
Elirei Prince Royal
fada long (can reference time or distance)
Faen the Fae language.
Laurm Faen I speak Fae.
as’Faein in the Fae language. Laur lom as’Faein—I speak in the Fae language.
Fai’mhal feral Fae, also called Wyld-Fae. Legendary Fae who supposedly survived the Sundering without being sheltered and changed by the Loremasters.
fan wait (imp.)
fiáin wild
fiánn living magick
fiánn sachant! magick forbid (it)!
fior true
fiur-mhac nephew (lit. “sister’s son”; see thair-mhac)
flua wet
fola wounded, injured
folabodan Fae sex toy. Derived from fola, injured, and bod, penis
fola’magairl bloody testicles. A common epithet.
folath bleed
folathóin bloody asses
fonn keen, sharp
fracun whore, Comes from an ancient Fae word meaning “use-value”—in other words, a person whose value is measured solely by what others can get from him or her.
ful-claov blood-sword; a magickal weapon usually formed from the channeler’s own blood
gallaim I promise
galtanas promise (n., archaic)
gan general negative—no, not, without, less
gan derea without end, eternal
gaoirn wolves
g’demin true, real
g’deo forever
geal bright, brilliant
cho’geal as bright
geal’le’mac almost-son, as dear as a son
g’féalaidh may you (pl.) live (see phrases)
g’fua hate (v.)
g’mall slowly
grafain wild love, wild one. Lochlann’s pillow name for Garrett.
gran sun
an’ghran the sun
halan beautiful
haricín hurricane; a form, or style, of Fae swordplay
iasc fish (n.)
iasc’in little fish. Rhoann’s mother’s pet name for him.
impi I beg
inní-cnotálte lit. “knitted-guts.” An intestinal disturbance brought on by nerves.
laba bed
as a’laba! (Get) off the bed!
lae day
laghda debasement, groveling
lámagh hot (v., p.t.)
lán’ghrásta graceful, implying flight.
lanan lover. Tiernan’s pillow name for Kevin, and vice versa
lanh son
laród-scatha mirror-trap. Essentially a magickal ball with no exterior, only a mirrored interior. And the sweet revenge of all of us who failed solid geometry in high school.
lasihoir healer
Lath-Ríoga Half-Royal. A name for Rhoann.
laurha spoken (see phrases)
lobadh decayed, rotten
lofa rotten
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