Rebel Fay

by J. C.

  "Look upon the accused in the full light of day. Human, without doubt. For as little as we know of their kind's… 'undead'… our land and the spirits of our ancestors have never tolerated such before. By both these ancient authorities, the claim against her should be dismissed as superstition."

  Wynn heard dissenting voices, high-pitched in anger, and her attention swung to their source—the Äruin'nas. One of their elders shouted to a nearby elven clan. Wynn could not follow their strange language, though its sound and cadence was akin to Elvish. Clearly they came only to see a human put to death.

  Brot'an returned to his table as Wynn finished translating.

  Leesil smoldered with satisfaction—perhaps surprised and pleased by the strength of Brot'an's statement. But this was only the beginning. Wynn knew the claim against Magiere could not be dispelled with words.

  Most Aged Father leaned toward Fréth, whispering, and she crouched briefly to listen.

  Fréth shook her head emphatically, and Most Aged Father squirmed in seething frustration. She stepped around her table, but Most Aged Father shouted out before she reached the clearing's center.

  "Twister of truth!"

  The wizened old elf jabbed a bony finger at Brot'an.

  Brot'an dropped his eyes to the table, and Wynn faltered in her translating.

  Murmurs faded among the gathering as Fréth turned in shock to Most Aged Father.

  "She is undead!" he shouted weakly. "I know her kind, as the rest of you do not. My caste witnessed her change with their own eyes. Sgäilsheilleache was present, and who among you would doubt his word?"

  "Do something," Leesil hissed at Brot'an.

  "Be quiet," Wynn warned.

  Brot'an did not look up. Neither did he seem affected by the old elf's words.

  Several elders around the clearing turned to attendants and companions. Some called out to each other, while others sent companions weaving through the crowd to nearby clans. There were too many low voices for Wynn to catch anything that was said, but she noted surprise mixed with concern on many faces.

  Brot'an remained placidly silent, which only made Wynn more nervous by the moment.

  Fréth looked hesitantly at Sgäile, as if waiting for him rather than Brot'an to say something. She backed away as Sgäile stepped out.

  "The accuser…" Sgäile's voice faltered. "The accuser will leave his claim in the hands of his advocate and remain silent until called upon. And as all are aware, the adjudicator is not permitted to witness for either side of a dispute."

  When Brot'an lifted his head, he showed neither reluctance nor satisfaction—only cold poise.

  Sgäile, standing within Most Aged Father's plain sight, was an obvious choice for support. Even Wynn understood that choice, for what she knew of Sgäile, but he had a rigid adherence to his people's customs, as well as the hidden codes of his caste.

  Brot'an's blunt opening had been a goad thrust at Most Aged Father. The old one could not contain himself, and his outburst had served Brot'an. But Wynn realized still more.

  If Most Aged Father's claim was proven true, then he was accountable to the elders for having given Magiere safe passage in the first place. If proven false, the elders might see him as senile and erratic for claims against one under his own protection. And either way, he might be held presumptuous for allowing humans into this land at all. The council grew unsettled by his inappropriate action.

  Wynn turned a suspicious eye on Brot'an.

  The tall and scarred anmaglâhk played a dangerous game with his leader—with Magiere caught between them. Yet who better to stand against the claims of a patriarch of assassins than a master among the Anmaglâhk?

  Wynn slipped her hand around Magieres wrist and squeezed lightly.

  Fréth reclaimed the clearing's center and began in a calm, clear voice.

  "Do not be fooled by this woman's appearance. As Brot'ánduivé says, we know little of the humans' undead. Who among you could swear to know one upon sight? Three days past, I saw her eyes turn black, her teeth and nails like a predator's, and her strength grow beyond any human's. She attacked my caste like a feral beast. Any acceptance by our land or the majay-hì was achieved through trickery. She is dark-begotten and must be destroyed…"

  Fréth pointed around at the ring of clan elders. "… Before one of yours dies at her hands."

  Wynn hesitated to translate those last words. As she did so, Leesil blew a sharp snort through his nose, but Magiere and Chap remained silent.

  Sgäile stepped forward. "The accused's advocate will present first arguments."

  Brot'an picked up a parchment to take the field, but a rustle among the crowd made him halt and turn. Wynn looked back as someone pushed through and descended the slope behind Brot'an's table.

  Medium height and slight of build, even for an elf, he wore a cloak of dull yellow over a russet shirt. When he pulled back the hood, steel-gray hair stuck out in an unkempt mass.

  Gleann of the Coilehkrotall approached Brot'an with an owlish smile. "I see I am late, but my barge only just arrived."

  Magiere's wide eyes mirrored Wynn's own surprise.

  "It is pleasing to see you once more," he said to them in Belaskian, then returned to Elvish. "Brot'an'duivé, have you not stopped growing yet? How you do not knock yourself senseless on the forest's low branches is beyond me. Hmm… now, where am I sitting?"

  Gleann gazed about but his eyes settled at the clearing's far end.

  "Aoishenis-Ahâre, well met," he said and raised a hand. "And still alive, I see. Sgäilsheilleache—or adjudicator, is it—where am I sitting?"

  His entrance brought the proceedings to a standstill, though Magiere looked relieved. Brot'an's mild frown did not hide his subtle amusement. Wynn was about to point out the other Coilehkrotall when Sgäile hurried over.

  "Grandfather, why are you here?"

  "Do not be dull-witted," Gleann answered. "I represent our clan. Hui'u-vâghas could not attend, but one of ours should hear and judge this claim."

  Sgäile was openly distressed. It occurred to Wynn that Gleann had arrived a little too quickly compared to her own long journey down the river, and apparently he had more than a passing acquaintance with Brot'an. Why would a wry humored old healer have anything to do with a master assassin?

  Across the clearing, Most Aged Father—who never replied to Gleann—looked both offended and anxious as he gestured Fréth to his side.

  "Can we continue?" Fréth called out.

  Sgäile rushed Gleann upslope to their clan. Brot'an waited politely until the elder was settled before addressing the gathering.

  "I call no witnesses at present. Rather, I begin with a test, as it will require time."

  Even Most Aged Father grew attentive.

  "In the burial ground of our ancestors," Brot'an continued, "reserved for those first in this land, rests the ancient ash tree that began all things here—Roise Chârmune, the Seed of Sanctuary. Those who come of age seek it out and take the true name they bear for life. Most all here have done this… have felt the strength of hallowed ground beneath their feet… felt the presence of our ancestors close upon them. But Magiere is human and not allowed to attempt what I propose."

  He let his pause hang until all curious eyes were cast his way.

  "A proxy must go in her place to Roise Chârmune—and the ancestors—to plead for a branch."

  A rumble spread quickly around the clearing. Brot'an raised his hand but had to shout over the crowd.

  "What greater counsel is there than that of our first blood? No one can approach the Seed of Sanctuary without just cause, and a branch would only be given if the cause served our people. That would settle any claim against this human woman."

  Wynn translated as fast as she could. Leesil stepped out before she even finished. Both she and Magiere tried to grab him before he could unwittingly commit some breach of custom, but he slipped out of their reach.

  "I'll go," he demanded. "I'll do it."

 
; "Leesil, no!" Magiere hissed, but he ignored her.

  Most Aged Father crackled something at Fréth, and she called out, "Léshil does not know the way—and should not. He is not pure of blood, and he is not an'Cróan."

  The crowd's rumbling grew uneven.

  Brot'an's voice hammered the gathering into silence. "Do you now speak for the ancestors as well? Do you wish to raise claim concerning Léshil at this time?"

  Fréth hesitated for a long moment. "He will not survive," she said finally. "He will not be allowed in, as he is not one of us."

  "That is a decision for the ancestors, not you," Brot'an replied. "But if Léshil returns, and the accused takes hold of the branch without harm, then neither of them could be a threat to us. Or would you, Fréthfâre, care to tell how some 'human trick' could fool the spirits of our first blood?"

  Leesil stood too far off for Wynn to tell him what was said. He looked about, at a loss, and Brot'an did not translate his words.

  "What's happening?" Magiere whispered.

  Wynn told her and then grabbed Magiere before she went after Leesil. "Do not say anything!"

  Fréth made no reply to Brot'an's final barb. Stranger still, Most Aged Father watched the elders around the clearing with concern.

  "A guide must be chosen for Léshil," Brot'an added. "Someone acceptable to the people by their elders."

  Osha stepped forward. "I will take him."

  "No!" Sgäile shouted, too loudly. "I am adjudicator… I am the impartial here… I will guide Léshil."

  Soft murmurs grew slowly, but no voice lifted in dissent. Wynn caught a flicker of surprise on Brot'an's face before he regained stoic composure.

  "Sgäilsheilleache, it shall be. As Most Aged Father said, no one would doubt his word. I ask for adjournment until he and Léshil return—or for three days as the limit."

  All around, elders rose amid their clans in implied consent. The gathering broke into smaller clusters, talking among themselves in a low-voiced cacophony that filled the depression between the encircling oaks. Across the clearing, Fréth and Most Aged Father were lost in conspiratorial whispers.

  As Leesil returned, Magiere grabbed his arm. "What did you do?"

  "You do not know what is involved," Wynn added.

  Leesil didn't answer either of them.

  "Sgäilsheilleache will lead you," Brot'an said in Belaskian. "I do not know why, but he is a better choice than I had hoped for."

  "Hope?" Magiere snapped. "You hoped? That's all you've got?"

  "No one will doubt his word," Brot'an assured her.

  Wynn tried to calm Magiere and then noticed Sgäile.

  Anmaglâhk were difficult to read—except the plain-faced Osha—and Brot'an and Urhkar were the hardest of all she had met. Wynn could not take her eyes off Sgäile.

  Osha approached him with open worry, but Sgäile did not react. He seemed weary, and flinched when Osha touched his shoulder. Sgäile turned his head, watching an oblivious Leesil.

  Fear passed across Sgäile's narrow features.

  Magiere pulled away from Wynn, closing on Brot'an like a wolf.

  "What have you gotten Leesil into?"

  "How could you blindly agree to this?" Magiere ranted.

  She paced the open space of their domicile elm, watching Leesil shove the last of the grapes and a blanket into a canvas pack.

  "You don't know the forest," she went on. "You don't know what you're facing!"

  When Leesil looked up, Magiere went numb at his familiar expression. Cold and hard desperation suggested he would try anything without a thought for the danger.

  "I'll face an ash tree," he said flatly. "What's so dangerous about that?"

  "Didn't you hear Wynn? Ancestors… spirits! You don't know what that means." Magiere ran a hand down her face. "I can't believe I trusted Brot'an."

  "Did you think this would be settled through persuasive oration?" Wynn asked. "The elders must see that you are not what Most Aged Father claims. I do not understand it, but if this branch provides disproof of the claim, then we will use it."

  Magiere turned angrily on the sage, but her voice failed.

  For the first time, she understood how Leesil felt in Venjetz. While she'd moved freely about, he'd remained trapped inside Byrd's Inn. But the thought of two or three more days in this tree, with him far beyond her reach, was almost more than she could bear.

  Chap lay dejected on the floor, staring toward the curtained doorway.

  "And you," she snapped at the dog. "Don't you have anything to say?"

  He lifted his muzzle to her and then returned to his strange vigil. Magiere looked to Wynn for any response the dog offered, but the sage just shook her head with a shrug.

  "Brot'an is doing better than I expected," Leesil said. "If I bring back this branch, it looks like that will settle it. Hopefully there'll be no following trial. Fréth and her withered master will have nothing left to counter."

  He got up and grabbed Magiere's hand.

  "This is my fault for bringing you here. It's a sick twist that Brot'an is the one to give me a way to fix this, but I'll take it anyway. It's time I woke up and did something. Please, just wish me luck."

  He was desperate for her support. All Magiere could do was hang on to his fingers.

  "I do," she answered, her voice breaking. "But I can't stand that you're doing this alone. I should be with you, not Sgäile."

  As if called, Sgäile stuck his head through the doorway curtain. "Léshil, are you prepared? We should begin."

  Leesil leaned in and kissed Magiere, quick and soft. "I'll be back in a couple days at most, and everything will be all right."

  He let go and headed for the door. Chap got up to follow, but Leesil stopped him.

  "No, you stay with Magiere and Wynn. We can't leave them alone among the elves."

  Chap barked sharply twice in denial, and Magiere knew exactly how he felt. But the dog turned his eyes on her and then Wynn. He whined and flopped back down. There was nothing else to say, and Magiere sank to the floor beside Chap.

  The curtain fell into place as Leesil left, cutting him off from her too abruptly.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Leesil spoke little with Sgäile as they jogged through the forest. They headed northwest for the morning, but by early afternoon, Leesil grew less certain of their course. The sky clouded over. With only hazy light and no sun, the forest changed in small degrees.

  There were fewer flowers and more wet moss. Patches of it clung to tree trunks and branches overhead. The trees were older and gnarled, with bark darkened by moisture thickening in the air. For a while, a drizzle pattered against the leaves.

  Sgäile cast off whatever weight crushed him upon volunteering for this task. He returned to his earlier self from their first journey to Crijheâiche. Perhaps, like Leesil, Sgäile was relieved to have anything to do besides wait in frustration for others to do something.

  The forest grew ancient as they traveled, its trees taller and thicker and wider, blocking out most of the sky. In the lingering false dusk beneath their leaves and needles, the forest seemed aware it had a pair of trespassers.

  Leesil grew less aware of where he was—as if here the forest's manipulations pressed harder upon his wits. He often turned his head to look behind and couldn't recognize anything that he must have just passed.

  Sgäile's shoulder brushed through a spider's web, glistening with dew. An eight-legged shadow scurried down the back of his cloak.

  Leesil slapped it off, but when he looked down, there was nothing scurrying across the mulch into hiding. He wondered about their final destination as daylight faded even more.

  Sgäile slowed and looked about. "If we keep on, we will reach the grounds well past midnight. Or we can camp and continue at dawn."

  Sleeping in this dank and dark forest was less than enticing.

  "Let's take rest and food," Leesil said. "Then move on."

  Sgäile nodded and swung the small pack off his shoulder. "I h
ave water, flatbread, and a little walnut oil."

  "I have grapes."

  They sat on a rotting log, sharing out what they'd brought. Leesil fidgeted as the damp soaked through his breeches. Sgäile removed a leather lid from a small clay pot, tore off a bit of flatbread, and dipped it in. He set the vessel between them, and Leesil did the same.

  "This is good," he said, and held out the grapes. "I wanted to… to thank you for doing this, for trying to help Magiere."

  "I care nothing for helping Magiere." Sgäile paused, shaking his head. "Pardon, I did not mean to sound… I do this for my caste. Brot'ân'duivé on one side and Fréthfâre on the other—this is not good. I serve my duty as adjudicator in the hope of bringing this gathering to a close, so my caste will be as one again."

  Leesil kept quiet. If Sgäile really believed that ending Magiere's hearing—regardless of the outcome—would seal the rifts in his caste, he was blinder in his devotion than Leesil had first thought.

  "We should focus on our task," Sgäile said, and once again his expression grew uneasy.

  "Why the worry?" Leesil asked. "What's at this place with the special tree?"

  Sgäile scowled at the casual reference. "The first of our people were buried there long ago. All an'Cróan are descended from them. We go there alone to seek guidance in choosing our name for life, when we come of age."

  "How old is that?"

  "When parents and child agree it is time."

  "You did this? So you had some other name before Sgäile?"

  "Sgäilsheilleache," he corrected. "It means 'In Willow Shade, or Shadow.' "

  "And that's what your ancestors said you should call yourself?"

  "We do not see or hear the ancestors," Sgäile answered. "It is something I saw… in the presence of Roise Chârmune."

  "So there was a willow somewhere nearby?"

  "No. It was… something far off, far from this land… in the shade of a willow."

  "Then what—some kind of vision? And that's all you saw… just a willow tree?"

  Sgäile let out a sharp sigh.

  Leesil knew he was somewhere close to the mark. Superstitious nonsense—and here these elves thought themselves so much better than humans.