by Ann Hunter
The silhouetted demons moved about in a similar dance until a form began to emerge. They shoved and jostled it until a figure materialized in the room. It wore a similar cloak to Ciatlllait’s. Its face was shrouded by the hood. “You call and I answer.”
The demons continued to dance on the wall. Ciatlllait circled the being. “Our plan is working, Sylas. Soon we will be the king and queen of the Summer Isle.”
“Yesssss,” Sylas hissed.
Ciatlllait stopped before him and yanked back his hood. Sallow, spotted, green skin framed a gaunt face adorned by long, pointed ears. A blaze of orange-red hair stretched down the middle of his scalp from widow’s peak to nape. He regarded Ciatlllait with almond-shaped, glossy black, pupil-less eyes.
Ciatlllait extended a finger and tugged it along the line of Sylas’s clammy, angular jaw.
Sylas lacked lips, but the skin above his teeth peeled back with pleasure, revealing razor-edged teeth.
Ciatlllait pressed herself against him.
Sylas slid his webbed hands down the curve of Ciatlllait’s waist. He dug his nails into her hips. Ciatlllait ran her tongue over his skin and nipped at his earlobe.
“What do you desire, my queen?” Sylas uttered.
“I wish for a way to end Aowyn, the last heir to Aodhagáin’s throne.”
Sylas bent his head to Ciatlllait’s neck. He took in her smell with a growl. “How shall we lure her?”
“A spell.”
“I am listening.”
“We will cast it on Aodhagáin. We will let Aowyn see. It should be a spell to control and slowly kill him.” Ciatlllait purred as her form melded to Sylas. “I will send her to you. You will set your trap.” She pulled Sylas closer until his teeth grazed the curve where her neck met her shoulder. “We will eliminate the girl and her brothers once and for all.”
Ciatlllait’s hand wandered low on Sylas and teased him before pushing him toward the dancing shadows. She took a few steps back and grasped the pedestals of the braziers. Her cloak slid from her bare shoulders. She licked her lips as the orange light washed over her. “Now, the spell. Tell me its name.”
Bealtaine advanced swiftly much to Aowyn’s dismay, and nothing she did or said could sway Aodhagáin to change his mind. On the last night of Aibreán, the eve of Cétamain, when Bealtaine began, Aowyn followed Ciatlllait in secret. If the witch planned something, perhaps Aowyn could stop it. She carried a dagger in her belt. If it came to blows, Aowyn would be ready.
She crept far behind Ciatlllait, keeping close to nook and door. Ciatlllait carried herself with a confident air that would rival the Greek hero Narcissus. Aowyn watched her go into a secluded room and hid close enough to spy. Two braziers hugged a basin of silver liquid. Aowyn’s breath caught when she heard her father’s voice.
“You wanted to see me, my dear?”
Ciatlllait circled the king with her finger pinned to his shoulder. Aodhagáin turned with an intrigued smile.
“Yes, my love,” Ciatlllait said huskily, “I wanted to do something special before we are wed.”
Aodhagáin’s bushy eyebrows lifted. “And what might that be?” He licked his lips with anticipation.
Ciatlllait cozied up to him coquettishly. “I don’t want to be just your greenwood wife at Bealtaine. I want to be your queen.”
Aodhagáin fumbled for words as Ciatlllait purred against him. “Of course you will be my queen.”
Ciatlllait clutched Aodhagáin’s beard and pulled his head to hers. “Prove it.” She sealed her mouth to his.
Aowyn clutched her dagger, enraged. She wanted to rush in and stop it all from happening.
Aodhagáin broke away from the kiss and reeled. He stumbled to and fro until he collapsed. Ciatlllait loomed over him.
Aowyn could stand it no longer and burst into the room. “A queen protects the king!”
Ciatlllait turned calmly, pressing her palms together until her forefingers formed a point.
Aowyn knelt by her father’s side and stared into his face. He gaped at the ceiling vacantly. “Father? Father! It’s me, your Wynnie.”
The stillness of the room, save for the crackling of the flames in the braziers, registered with Aowyn. She turned and glared at Ciatlllait.
“Let me guess,” Ciatlllait said, “you want to know what I’ve done. I’ve done nothing.”
“Lies,” Aowyn seethed.
Ciatlllait shook her head and tsked. “He is simply so elated that we are to be wed. Try as you might, my dear, there are some needs you cannot fulfill.” Ciatlllait paused. Her sly smile crept to the corner of her mouth. “That’s what gets you, isn’t it? You know you cannot win this war. You know he has needs only a woman can fulfill. And it is I who will be queen tomorrow night. I, the usurper. Ooooh,” Ciatlllait winced playfully, “yes.” She sucked in a breath between her teeth. “That’s what gets under your skin.”
Aowyn yelled and charged at Ciatlllait, taking her down in one fell swoop. She pressed the edge of the dagger to Ciatlllait’s neck. “I know your game and I will not give ground.”
Ciatlllait choked as the dagger pressed into her skin.
“We are a family united, you hag,” Aowyn continued, “and we will snuff you out like a candle.”
Ciatlllait shuddered beneath Aowyn.
Aowyn pinned Ciatlllait’s arms to the floor with her knees. “Where is he?”
“I do not know who you speak of,” Ciatlllait whimpered.
“Where is the one who gave you your power?”
“Please,” Ciatlllait implored, “spare me.”
Aowyn dug the dagger into Ciatlllait just enough to draw a drop of blood. “Tell me!”
Ciatlllait gurgled. “In the bogloch to the east.”
Aodhagáin groaned in the background. Aowyn looked behind her then back to Ciatlllait. She grabbed the golden locks near the woman’s forehead and yanked so hard that when she released, Ciatlllait’s head hit the floor. She moved to the doorway. She wanted to help the king, but she knew she must make haste. I am sorry, Father.
The bogloch was an awful place. Gnats buzzed around Aowyn. Her skin prickled with warmth and dampness from the heat the peat bogged in. She constantly had to brush back her hair as it grew increasingly frizzy. The water reeked with stagnation. At last she came to a clearing of flat, green earth. Fireflies glowed around her. Reeds and willows swayed. A canopy of mangroves blocked out the light. “I summon thee, Sylas Mortas!”
The water around the landing gurgled. Bubbles grew frothily larger and larger until a green being in ragged brown trousers emerged. He crouched on the shore. Brackish water dripped off of his amphibious skin. A line of orange-red hair, much brighter than Aowyn’s, ran down the middle of his spotted head not unlike moss on the north side of a tree. Aowyn gaped at his long yellow nails as he crept toward her. She stepped back. The creature took on his full height. He towered as tall as Aodhagáin.
“You call and I answer,” he said.
“I have heard tales of you. Stories of your power.”
Sylas rolled his hand. “Get to it, Aowyn, daughter of Aodhagáin.”
Aowyn gasped. “You know my name?”
Sylas bowed politely. “Who does not know your name, Princess?”
Aowyn squared her shoulders. “Right. I seek your aid.”
“Tell me everything.” Sylas blinked his two sets of translucent eyelids.
“A witch has cursed my brothers.”
“A witch? Tell me of this witch.” His voice lilted.
Aowyn’s hands closed into fists. “My mother’s handmaiden, Ciatlllait, has struck against my family using spells and dark magic.”
“Ah, yes,” Sylas said, “I have heard tell of this witch. Stories say she is secretly the ban sídhe, Crwys, possessing that poor, innocent girl.”
“Poor and innocent she is not.” Aowyn ground her teeth. “I would do anything to stop her and set our world right.”
Sylas’s mouth curled, revealing his piranha-esque teeth. “Anything?�
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“Anything to end that woman. She said you gave her her powers.”
Sylas pointed to his bare, chiseled chest. “I?”
Aowyn’s eyes narrowed.
Sylas chuckled. “I am but a miserable creature who can grant wishes. How would a woman gain power from…” his voice went up an octave, “me?”
“Will you help me or not?”
Sylas’s smile widened. “Yessssss…”
Aowyn took a deep breath. “What must I do?”
“Magic comes with a price, Princess. Are you prepared to pay it?”
“If you end Ciatlllait and change back my brothers.”
“I believe we can come to agreeable terms, Your Highness.”
“What is the bargain?”
Sylas raised his webbed hand and moved it in an arc through the air. “In one-thousand moons…”
Aowyn’s jaw dropped. “That’s nearly three years!”
Sylas blinked at her. “These things take time, Princess. I cannot simply magic it all away.”
Aowyn sighed.
Sylas continued, “In one-thousand moons, I will change your brothers back on one condition.”
“Name it.”
Sylas leveled his gaze on her. Aowyn felt as though his stare would bore through the very core of her.
“You cannot breathe a word of it.”
Aowyn’s brow knit. “That’s it? That’s too simple.”
“Ah, yes, simple. It is the simple things that are the most difficult.”
Aowyn tingled. The creature kept something from her. “What happens if I speak of our agreement?”
The skin above Sylas’s jagged teeth rippled. “Your brothers die.”
Aowyn gulped.
Sylas extended his clammy hand. “Do we have a deal?”
Aowyn’s hand reached forward hesitantly. She chewed her lower lip. How hard could it be?
Sylas gripped her skin, sealing the deal with a hiss.
Aowyn took in a sharp breath.
Sylas backed away to the water. “Our deal is binding as soon as you leave the bogloch.”
Aowyn watched the creature sink beneath the water that bubbled around him and then faded as if they had never been there to begin with.
THIS MEANS WAR
Tall, dark-haired, handsome Bannock Blacksteed stood before his father proudly, almost too much so. There wasn’t a maiden he couldn’t rescue or a cause he could not save. He had muscles in all the right places. Firstborn of Lord Regent Rab, Vicomte of Blackthorn, across the sea from the Summer Isle, Bannock the Bold was the stuff of legend. His young brother, Xander, stood beside him.
Bannock had seen his twenty-second summer, but Xander had only recently celebrated his sixteenth nameday. Baby fat still awkwardly clung to Xander in places while the rest of him was chiseled. He had seen plenty of sword play in training yards with Bannock, but had not been battle hardened or a war hero like his elder brother. Xander’s jaw flexed. He waited for his father to speak.
“I’m sending you away.”
Xander glanced at Bannock to see his older brother filled with bridled excitement.
“I want you to take half of my army to the Summer Isle and claim it in the name of the Blacksteeds.”
“Yes, Father.” Bannock’s voice was deep and rich and eager.
“Aodhagáin, King of the Isle, has recently suffered the grievous loss of his beloved queen. Word has traveled that he is so forlorn that he hardly leaves his castle. Such a pity.”
The two young men said nothing.
Rab tilted forward in his chair. “He is weak and vulnerable now. Crush him.”
Xander tapped the heels of his boots together like a good soldier.
Bannock pounded his burly chest. “It will be my honor.”
Rab waved for his servant and ordered ships, men, and all necessary equipment for Bannock. “You must arrive in time for their Bealtaine celebration. They will be at their weakest. Everyone will be distracted with festivities. Attack from the north end of the Isle. They have the fewest guards there. The Summer Isle has not seen war in many generations. The enemy is well-trained, but our men far outnumber them. Your job is simple.” Rab motioned toward his eldest son. “You may go.”
Bannock went ahead of Xander and strode out of the room. Rab grabbed Xander’s elbow and pulled him aside. His expression went dark. “I’m sending you with him. Stay out of the way.”
Xander’s brow knit. “Why must I stay out of the way? This is my chance to prove myself to you.”
Rab’s jaw set. “Things never go as planned when you try to prove yourself, Xander. You always get in the way. You killed your own mother coming into the world.”
Xander winced. It was not the first time he had heard such an admonition. He was the accident. The failure. Bannock could do no wrong, and Xander could do nothing right. “Yes, Father.”
Xander breathed a sigh once outside and relaxed. Bannock cozied up with his betrothed. She, a pretty girl of seventeen, was a ward of the Blacksteeds and bound to Bannock. If anything happened to Bannock, Xander would be obligated to take his place as groom by law of the land. Xander ducked around a corner to spy on his older brother and the girl.
“What did he say?” she asked.
Bannock looked at their linked hands and then into her hazel eyes. She had done up her dark-blonde hair neatly and tightly under a net of pearls. “I am to go to the Summer Isle and return with a boon for our wedding, dear Glenna.”
The girl’s smile faded. Understanding dawned. “You mean to war?”
“If we are to have lands and jurisdiction, we must take them by force. The Twelve Kingdoms cannot be split further.”
“What if you do not return?”
Bannock’s hands slid down Glenna’s waist and pulled her close. “I forbid you to think of that.” He smirked. Glenna went on tiptoe to kiss him.
Xander turned away. This marriage had been arranged for Bannock. All the good things were arranged for Bannock. If anything should befall him, Xander would need to fulfill a duty to protect the girl and to serve her honorably as husband. However, Xander would not put it past his father to send him to a far-away land to die and ensure Bannock continued to reap the rewards of life. And if Bannock died, Gods forbid, Rab surely would not hesitate to take his place as Glenna’s husband. It would not surprise Xander in the least if Rab had really picked Lady Glenna for himself and not for his sons.
Xander couldn’t help feel a twinge of jealousy while he listened to Bannock and Glenna get a little more than friendly a few feet away. Glenna treated Xander nicely, but surely no passion existed between them. What he’d give for the love Bannock won from everyone he met.
Finally the two lovers hushed to a ragged breathlessness. “I must go.” Bannock stole one last kiss. “We will wed upon my return.”
“I will wait for you,” Glenna murmured.
Xander stood beside Bannock on the deck of their ship. A spring breeze kicked up whitecaps on the water and tussled the young mens’ wavy, black hair. Save for size and age, Bannock and Xander looked like twins.
Bannock took in a deep breath of the salty sea air. He leaned against the rail, watching a bonfire flicker in the distance. The festival of Bealtaine was in full swing. Bannock had sent scouts ahead and awaited their signal to strike. Their small army of two-thousand men stood ready on the shore.
At last the scouts whistled the song of the Blacksteeds. Bannock clapped Xander on the shoulder. “This is it.” He grinned at Xander. “Hold down the fort. This shouldn’t take long.”
“I want to come with you,” Xander said.
Bannock shook his head. “You’re more useful to me on the ship, Xan.”
Xander’s shoulders slumped. Bannock took the last rowboat ashore.
“Alright, men, let’s have some fun!” Bannock crowed and led his army up the beach.
Xander watched them fade into the woods. The ship creaked and groaned, bobbing on the water. Half a skeleton crew bustled about o
n the ship, taking stock of supplies below and running maintenance. Xander didn’t really think he was needed here. He wanted to be beside Bannock, earning half the glory. Bannock had made Xander a good fighter, but Rab never provided Xander with the opportunities Bannock got.
Xander half-heartedly kicked the rail a few times.
The bonfires of the field in the distance flickered when Bannock and his men crashed the festival. Ant-like dots flurried in panic. A ring of fire formed from a toppled wicker man at the center of the celebration. Screams flew on the night wind.
Xander’s fingers tightened on the rail. He closed his eyes for a moment to envision being beside Bannock. He was so lost in the imaginary clang of swords, the grunts of effort, and cries of adrenaline, that he did not notice what was happening on the ship. The sound of bows and blades being drawn opened his eyes. Five swords pointed at his throat. Xander’s heart palpitated. A quarter of Bannock’s own men had returned. They swarmed the deck.
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Little Brother,” one of the men said.
Xander’s sight drifted to a fat man with stiff, salt-and-pepper whiskers. A crooked gold tooth jutted out of his lower gums like a bulldog. Part of his face was concealed behind an eye patch.
“Where’s Bannock?” Xander asked.
“Dead.” The fat man looked at his fellow men with a grin. “I hope.”
Xander kept his breathing steady. “Why do you want him dead?”
“You’re joking.”
Xander blinked.
“Everyone wants that puffed-up bunghole dead.”
“That’s not true,” said Xander.
The fat man leaned in on Xander, his one good eye penetrating him. “No?”
Xander swallowed.
The fat man smirked. “That’s what I thought.”
The fat man nodded to his men. They lowered their swords. “Throw this pup overboard. Let us see if he can outswim the kelpies.”