Rebel Fay

by J. C.

  It wasn't what she'd planned to say. But if anyone had taken Leesil from her, had parted them for eight years, the sight of him again wouldVe broken her into tears.

  "You are… his?" Nein'a asked, though it wasn't really a question.

  Neither insulting nor as bitterly sad as Brot'an's statement, and yet it intimidated Magiere.

  "Yes. We own a tavern… in the town of Miiska on the Belaskian coast. But he has wanted to find you ever since Sgäile came at him in Bela and hinted that you might still be alive." Magiere found a touch of her own bitterness. "Even after everything you've done to him."

  Nein'a stared directly into her eyes. "And what have I done to him?"

  Magiere's hesitant bitterness became anger again. "You trained him—used him—forced him to murder in your footsteps. He drank himself to sleep every night just to forget the things you taught him to do."

  "And would he have survived in your company without his training?" Nein'a asked.

  "Survival, of course," Magiere hissed. "That is why you trained him. How unselfish!"

  It was cruel, rather than just her usual bluntness. But did Nein'a bear any real love for her son?

  "I know nothing of you," Nein'a returned. "Less even than you know of Léshil, who may yet serve a necessary purpose, and not just to my people alone. Only time will see if that comes to pass, and in part, I hope it does not. He must leave this land and get beyond Most Aged Father's reach. If you care for him, take him from this place."

  She turned away and vanished inside the elm, not even stopping to retrieve the cushion she had dropped.

  Magiere couldn't tell if it was rage or the forest's influence that made her tremble. The pieces of this game were still unclear to her.

  Nein'a had trained Leesil without love—without a conscience. She had birthed him for a "purpose," as the Anmaglâhk called all their missions and dark tasks.

  Chap had suggested that Nein'a and others among the Anmaglâhk wanted to thwart Most Aged Father. Or at least choose their own way to deal with some forgotten adversary their leader feared would return. For their own reasons, they wanted a half-blood for this. Perhaps they needed someone outside of their people as well as their caste. Leesil's mother had secretly trained him against the rules of her order.

  Nein'a didn't love Leesil as a son, though he loved her as his mother.

  Sorrow welled in Magiere as she swatted the ferns aside and strode out through the woods' passage. She would love Leesil enough to make up the difference.

  * * * *

  Leesil glanced up as Brot'an returned with an armload of firewood and small dead branches for kindling.

  "I cannot see what else to try," Wynn was saying.

  "Where's Magiere?" Leesil asked Brot'an.

  "Gathering more wood. She will return shortly."

  Leesil rose to his feet and looked toward the elves' camp. He counted them and made certain all were present. They were, and relief from fear unleashed his anger. About to bark at Brot'an for stupidity, he held his words a moment longer. It didn't make sense that Brot'an would leave Magiere unattended.

  How long had he been distracted by Wynn's experiences with Nein'a? His stomach churned each time he thought of his mother's greeting—or lack of it. He started off to find Magiere.

  "She will return directly," Brot'an said. "Help me start the fire."

  Leesil didn't wish to share even such a simple task with this man. But he crouched down, looking about repeatedly for any sign of Magiere.

  The air grew damp, and the kindling was no better. Brot'an struck flint to a short stub of steel he produced, but it took a while to get decent flames started. Wynn fell to peeling bisselberries and cracking walnuts left beside the tree. Finally, Leesil heard footfalls crunching in the forest mulch. Magiere appeared but carried only three branches.

  "Is that all you found?" Wynn asked.

  Magiere didn't answer. Leesil took the branches and dropped them beside the fire.

  "She's tired," he said, and pointed Magiere toward a large redwood a dozen paces off. "We're going over there to rest. Wynn, stay with Chap. Try to get some sleep."

  "But you will be away from the fire," Wynn argued.

  Leesil expected a challenge from Brot'an, but the man didn't even stand up.

  "We should all rest," Brot'an said. "Find what comfort you can, but stay within my sight."

  Leesil pushed Magiere on. Within sight, indeed. He wasn't about to leave Wynn alone in the scarred elf's company. He only wanted to be out of earshot. When he went to settle against the redwood, Magiere pulled back.

  "Let's just sit in the open," she said and dropped down, waiting for him.

  The forest grew darker with scant daylight, but she didn't seem to care. So he crouched and dropped to his haunches beside her.

  "This isn't what you expected, is it?" she whispered. "You thought she'd be grateful to see you after all this time—no matter what happened when you escaped from Venjetz."

  Is that what made her so quiet and withdrawn—worry for him? No, there was something more. He could sense it.

  "No, not what I expected," he answered. "Nothing we do turns out as we plan. It's like my childhood never happened, and she doesn't even know me."

  Magiere's face grew tense and thoughtful, and she seemed reluctant to look at him. She had exposed her dhampir nature. The elves' reactions would cut her deeply, and she'd become the focus of their hatred more than he. He didn't care what she was. She was still Magiere. But was he what or who she would really want?

  A thing—a tool—a weapon. She deserved more than that. Even his own mother rejected him as anything more.

  "You're my blood, Leesil," Magiere whispered, "my family… all that I need."

  Leesil's mind went blank, caught between her words and the fear of losing her. He looked at the black locks of hair hanging around her pale face.

  "Marry me," she whispered, quick and sharp.

  Leesil braced a hand upon the ground between his legs. He grew almost faint as the weight of the day and everything that had happened vanished and left him light-headed.

  In this place, surrounded by so little hope and so many threats for the future…

  He couldn't think straight, her two words echoing over and over in his emptied mind.

  "No," he blurted out.

  Magiere lifted her head, her eyes round with shock.

  "Yes, I mean… no," he fumbled. "I mean…"

  Any other time he'd made an ass of himself, she'd turned livid, ready to club him for his stupidity. But Magiere just sat there in startled pain.

  As if he'd struck her.

  Leesil grabbed Magiere's face and pressed his mouth hard to hers. She wrestled free, nearly shoving him over. Confusion mixed with a hint of her old ire.

  "Yes," he said quickly. "I mean yes… but no, not here and not now."

  Oh, how he had botched things again. But Magiere's brows softened quickly.

  "Can't you see?" he rushed on, and grabbed both her hands, holding them tightly. "I don't want it like this, not among enemies. Not until we're home again with Karlin and Caleb and maybe Aunt Bieja. That's where it should happen. Where it can be the right day—a celebration. The finest day of our lives."

  Two tears slid down Magiere's face. "A celebration?"

  "With dancing," he added.

  She slipped her arms around his neck, clutching him so hard he couldn't breathe.

  Chap stayed with Wynn, eyeing Brot'an, though he knew Leesil would not move out of sight. He tried to understand Nein'a's unexpected behavior.

  Unlike Leesil, Chap had never anticipated an open welcome. The Nein'a that he remembered was cunning and cautious. So much so that Chap had always had difficulty in dipping even one memory from her thoughts. Brot'an and even Eillean were much the same. All three were adept at keeping their minds clear of triggered memories that would interfere with their focus upon what must be done. But Nein'a should be doing everything in her power to help free herself. Her refu
sal to leave perplexed Chap.

  Wynn scooted closer to the fire and tried to stuff her small hands up her tunic's opposing sleeves. Brot'an appeared to be rearranging his own attire beneath his gray-green cloak. Chap heard clinking metal and wondered what the elf was doing.

  He would not trust Brot'an, but his estimation of the man grew less certain. Brot'an served his own agenda, but he had placed himself between Magiere and his caste. He had also managed to keep Leesil under control, without letting their past conflict boil into the open.

  Brot'an glanced across the low flames at Wynn and stripped off his heavy cloak. The sleeves of his green tunic were pulled down, but Chap caught no signs of weapons on his wrists. Brot'an stepped around the fire and draped his cloak over the small sage. Wynn jumped slightly.

  "Sleep," he told her, and he slid down to sit against the tree behind the sage.

  "Thank you," Wynn said, formally polite. "I left Chane's… my cloak back in Crijheäiche. Will you not be cold?"

  "Sleep," he repeated.

  Wynn lay back and, after a moment, closed her eyes.

  Chap dropped his head to his paws, still watching Brot'an.

  He should rest with Wynn and keep her warm. This day had been no better for her than the others. In some ways, far worse. The Fay knew of her gift—or curse—of sensing when they manifested nearby.

  A soft blur of white appeared near the edge of a far cedar. Lily poked her head around and whined.

  Chap stifled his eagerness to go to her, not wanting to leave Wynn and Magiere alone and subject to so many threats. When he turned from Lily with a sigh, he found Brot'an watching him, and wrinkled his jowls at the man.

  "Go," Brot'an said.

  Leesil kept watch from an open space between the trees. Magiere lay with her head upon his thigh, her eyes closed. Still, Chap would not leave.

  He glanced at the group of Anmaglâhk gathered at another fire off through the forest. They huddled about the flames as Fréthfâre stood over them, but he could not hear their voices clearly.

  "Enough!" Sgäile said too loudly and stood up.

  Chap heard no more, though it appeared Sgäile defended whatever Fréthfâre had said to all there. Én'nish turned away where she sat, and the conversation ended.

  Lily came up beside Chap, surprising him with a lick on his ear. He didn't look at her but kept his eyes on the gathering of enemies.

  "No one will disturb your companions," Brot'an said.

  The words broke Chap's concentration as he tried to catch any memories in the minds of the Anmaglâhk. He rumbled softly.

  He did not care for so many having discovered how truly aware he was. First Sgäile—and now Brot'an spoke to him in full sentences, as if knowing he understood.

  "We should all take what time is left to be with our own kind," Brot'an added.

  The tall elf leaned his head back against the tree and stared into the fire's small dancing flames.

  Chap got up slowly as Lily headed off. He shivered, but not from cold.

  Though he was uncertain why, his thoughts slipped back to the phantasm he had suffered in the forests of Droevinka—Magiere's homeland. He had seen her, mad and feral, standing in the dark at the head of an army. Among the twisted creatures of the living walked those of the undead. He shook the memory off—it was a lie induced by sorcery.

  Chap loped after Lily until she paused and circled around in a mulch-filled hollow between three close fir trees.

  Her fur was warm and soft against him. He pressed into her as they turned about each other. There was relief in her gentle presence. For a little while, he was not so alone. He had kin of flesh, kin of living spirit, if not those who had betrayed him and taken his memories. And when he finally lay quiet beside her, it was with memory and not words that they spoke in whispers.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Leesil sat quietly with Magiere's head upon his leg. He expected rain to come, but the sky never broke open, so he saw no need to disturb Magiere and move to better cover.

  Past what he guessed was noon beneath the dark clouds, Osha approached Brot'an. The young elf's gaze drifted to Wynn sleeping soundly in Brot'an's cloak.

  "It is time," Brot'an called to Leesil.

  At the sound of his voice, Magiere's eyes opened. She hadn't slept either and only rested.

  Leesil's leg had gone numb beneath her head. He struggled to his feet, pulling Magiere up as his leg tingled with returning feeling. When Brot'an went to gather the others, Leesil left Magiere with Wynn and snuck off toward the barrier woods. Halfway there, he heard steps behind him, and turned to see Sgäile following.

  "I won't be long," he said. "Unless you're fool enough to try to stop me."

  "Then I will go as well," Sgäile answered. "Or you will not go at all."

  Leesil was too weary to argue. He had no idea how soon another chance might come to see his mother. So he turned toward the passage through the woods with Sgäile close on his heels.

  They emerged in the clearing, and Nein'a was outside her tree waiting. Leesil glanced back at Sgäile.

  "Go," the man said with a sigh. "I will wait here."

  Leesil had thought long on his mother while Magiere rested in his lap. Eight years in this glade, seeming so easy to leave and yet not, would drive anyone to odd ways. If he'd been thinking more clearly at their earlier meeting, he might have realized this. Stepping close before her and looking up into her calm yet disquieted face, he couldn't think of much to say besides the obvious.

  "I can't free you by staying here. I'm going back to Crijheâiche to find a way to make your people listen." He lowered his voice. "Then you are leaving with me and Magiere."

  She reached out and gripped his wrist. The action held no affection, and he almost pulled away.

  "Forget me and leave this forest," she whispered, and then her tone grew soft, more like the lyrical voice he remembered from youth. "Please… my son."

  All of Leesil's resentment melted in his mother's sudden warmth.

  "You may trust Sgäilsheilleache's guardianship," she whispered. "But in all other things, trust only Brot'ân'duivé."

  He jerked free of her grasp. "I will be back… and you should trust only me."

  "Léshil," Sgäile called, sounding strained. "Come."

  Leesil turned away from his mother.

  By midafternoon, Wynn worried about keeping the pace Sgäile set. She still wore Brot'an's hopelessly oversized cloak over her baggy elven clothing, and the combined raiment was heavy and cumbersome. But she was still too cold to remove the cloak.

  The few times she took her eyes from the others around her, the forest shifted in unsettling ways. With the sun hidden behind thick clouds, all the world was caught within a lingering dusk. Her spirits low, she struggled to keep up—but not only because she was exhausted and worried.

  She felt cut off and alone.

  Leesil and Magiere were silent except for brief glances and touches they exchanged. Wynn thought she saw Leesil smile briefly, just once, at Magiere.

  Chap ranged in and out of their procession, sometimes coming back to Wynn's side. Not once did he speak into her head, and after only a short distance, he ran off into the trees once again. Even Osha rarely looked at her or Magiere. Brot'an was considerate in his actions but otherwise as distant as the rest of the Anmaglâhk.

  Wynn had no one to turn to for a soft word or a look of comfort, and thoughts of Chap and her encounter with his kin returned often. This forest proved a terrible place that fed her loneliness.

  Sgäile's demeanor worried her most. He had changed since witnessing Magiere's savage side. Wynn always found him daunting—occasionally frightening—but she had been certain he would protect her or Leesil or Magiere. Now his amber eyes were glazed, and any concern he showed was mechanical. Twice, he seemed about to speak to her, but then looked away.

  He also appeared determined to rush them back to Crijheäiche as quickly as possible.

  Somewhere behind Wynn, a strange chirp
floated through the forest. She tried to slow and listen, but the procession's pace was too quick. She was left to wonder if it was the same kind of bird she had heard on their first journey in Crijheäiche.

  Wynn had had enough of silence. All right, so she had brought much of this on herself. Or rather Chap had gotten her into it by running off without telling anyone. But compared to the encounter with the Fay, she should feel lucky to be alive.

  She quick-stepped up behind Osha, trying to think of something to ask. Something useful—or not. Anything to break the silence for just one breath. She tugged on his cloak as she stumbled over the hem of her own.

  Osha glanced over his shoulder with a frown.

  "What is… Greimasg'äh?" she asked quietly. "A grasp-something? I heard the others use it to refer to Brot'an, and once for Urhkar. Some title or rank?"

  Timid Osha looked ahead at Sgäile yet again. But Sgäile pressed on behind Brot'an's lead and did not appear to hear.

  "Oh for goodness' sake, Osha!" Wynn snapped in a harsh whisper. "I am not trying to get some great secret out of you!"

  Sgäile glanced back once.

  "Shadow-grip… gripper… keeper…" Osha said with difficulty, as the word seemed troublesome for his limited Belaskian. "Masters beyond our caste ways, beyond what our teachers know and teach us. Many say Greimas-g'äh grip shadows, pull them in to… to hide them. No one see them until they want. It is great honor if Greimasg'äh accepts you for… to teach you. I am not lucky for this."

  When Wynn looked ahead at Brot'an's back, she caught Magiere listening to Osha's words.

  "There were… once five," Osha added. "Now are four… when we lose Léshil's great-mother."

  For an instant, Wynn thought he meant Nein'a. "You mean 'grandmother'… Eillean?"

  Osha nodded and went silent. Wynn was back to struggling to keep up.

  "Halt for rest," Brot'an called.

  Wynn expected Sgäile might argue, but he crouched by an evergreen, poised for the moment they resumed. She was grateful for any reason to pause and braced a hand on a silver birch to steady herself.

  A shadow crossed Wynn, and she looked up.

  Sgäile stood close enough that she could have counted the white hairs of his feathery eyebrows. His handsome face was lined with tension.