She found the view on the other side shocking. The sky was graying into dawn. Many of the revelers had departed and the fire was nearly gone. The night must have passed much faster on the other side of the barrier, and that meant she had little time to waste. She watched the group around the fire and decided that Brighid herself must have departed, also.
Finn hadn't moved though. She might almost believe him dead if…
No, she wasn't going to accept that. Lourdes pushed herself off the ground and, trying to keep low enough that the grass might hide her, stepped fully through the barrier. No alarms sounded. The fairies gathered near the fire didn't seem to have noticed her arrival. They weren't even guarding their prisoner, she realized. He wasn't more than a few hundred feet away from her, so she edged around the side of the clearing. His head tugged against the ropes that bound him, and she froze, hoping he hadn't attracted attention.
Be still, she thought at him.
Finn didn't respond, but he did stop moving. He could hear her, even if he didn't answer. That was reassuring.
Lourdes held her breath for a moment, then moved again. She pushed through the grasses and reached a small circle in the wide clearing where the grasses had been pressed down. Finn lay in the middle of that circle. Silver rope crisscrossed his body, holding down each limb, his head, and chest, fixed to the ground by heavy stakes. A line of white powder marked the edge of the circle.
Lourdes picked up a pinch of the powder and sniffed it, but couldn't place the smell. She had no idea what purpose it served. She crawled forward to where Finn lay, coming up behind his back so that his bulk mostly hid her from those remaining at the fire.
She laid one hand on his back, feeling the faint shivers that ran through his body. His breath wasn't blowing out as it had been in the stables, at least. She ran one hand up to the rope that bound his withers. It wasn't a normal rope. It wasn't braided or woven, merely one thick line that Finn wouldn't be able to unravel or unbind, almost like a vine. It felt like silk, yet when she lifted it from his hide, she saw that the hair underneath had been burned away, leaving an angry red line nearly an inch wide.
She bit back a gasp. There must be burns all over his body. The rope had iron in it, or steel. Grimacing at the thought, she set to the rope with the hoof knife and quickly discovered that the little blade had no effect, so she jammed it back under her belt. Keeping behind Finn, she surveyed the ropes that bound him to the ground. It was only one rope, running over and across him like a spider web.
Lourdes hunted for the ends and spotted one knotted about a nearby spike. The direction of the wind changed, carrying the scent of smoke from the dying fire as she fought with the knot. It finally slid free. She rose to a crouch to remove the thing. No one from the fire was looking at Finn, so she decided to risk crossing to that side of him. She had to hurry.
She threw to loose end of the rope over, dashed around toward the horse's feet, unhooked the rope from about another spike, and tossed it back over. It was going to take several passes, so she moved as quickly as she could, keeping an eye on the fire as she did so. Each time the rope pulled away from Finn's hide, it revealed painful-looking burns. She could only hope he would heal as quickly as he had from the burn she'd put on his cheek.
The last loop of the rope was wrapped around his throat. Lourdes crouched before him and passed the rope around. As soon as that last inch of rope slid away from his hide, he started struggling to get off his side. Lourdes coiled the rope, years of training keeping her from leaving such a tool behind.
Get on my back, he said. Now.
He was still half crouched on the ground. Lourdes gazed at the stripes of burned flesh crisscrossing his hide. She didn't want to hurt him, but once he got to his feet, she wouldn't be able to clamber onto his back. He was a very tall horse and she wasn't a tall woman. She slung the coiled rope over her neck and shoulder, sat astride his back, and dug fingers into his mane.
Finn surged to his feet, carrying her with him. Lourdes hung on, torn between a giddy sense of triumph and worry over the burns she must be aggravating. She could tell he was in pain. He'd started to sweat from that slight exertion. She had no idea what toll the rope had taken on him, but that scared her. "Do I need to get down?"
His ears flicked back toward her. He tossed his head, a clear no. Instead he stepped gingerly forward, but as soon as his hoof touched that white line of powder, fire flared up all about them.
Get down, run! He stepped quickly back from the flames. Lourdes hung on as best she could. She could feel Finn quivering underneath her now, evidently as panicked by this as any other horse would be.
"Haven't you heard," a quiet voice said, "horses are afraid of fire?" Brighid stood just outside the flames, a smirk on her perfect, inhuman face.
Apparently Brighid wanted to gloat over her triumph. It amazed Lourdes that someone who had such power would be so childish. She didn't bother to answer.
"Did you think I would just let him go?" Brighid asked as if her last question hadn't been ignored. "For all his limitations, he's valuable. The only child of the snow. I couldn't force his cooperation before, but now that you're here, I suspect he'll do what I want."
Lourdes clenched her jaw. The woman had the upper hand. She'd given Brighid that. Brighid had taunted her at the hotel, provoked her to go to Finn's home early. The fairy woman had let Lourdes see her, let her follow. Now she knew why. She was the hostage, not Finn.
The fairy woman turned her too-perfect face to gaze at him. "Now what will you promise me, Finn, to have this human safe out of here?"
Lourdes felt a coldness welling in her stomach. She'd only made the situation worse. Don't promise her anything, she insisted silently. The flames were growing higher, and she was beginning to feel the heat. Run, she thought at Finn. Run.
He backed up, but his haunches touched the back edge of the ring and he faltered back to the center. Fire, the single word came back. Fire. Fire.
"What will you offer me?" Brighid repeated.
The fairy woman's attention was fixed on Finn and not her, so Lourdes tugged loose the shawl she'd wrapped around her body and flung that over Finn's head. Run, she told him again.
And eyes covered, he ran. He burst through the wall of flame. Lourdes pressed her face to his neck, but could still feel the heat, smell the burning of hair.
Then they were through. His hooves pounded the ground. She tore the shawl free. Once able to see he began to run in earnest, heading directly toward the narrow path into the woods. His breath was already coming in great ragged grunts. What had the effort cost him?
They hit the edge of the trees, and Lourdes plastered herself to the horse's back. Branches snapped and popped against her. She yelped when something tore out a lock of her hair. Then came a sound that made her flesh crawl--the baying of hounds.
She glanced back, but the trees obscured everything. The hounds had to be with the hunters she'd seen in the clearing. Now she knew why Finn was running so hard. He must have known; the hunters were going to hunt them.
They passed through one of the strange thresholds, and suddenly there was full daylight about them. Finn didn't pause. He sounded terrible, blowing hard with each step. He had to be close to collapse. He ran on.
Then they were in the woods Lourdes had walked through before. She thought they might be safe there until she heard the baying of the hounds only a moment later. They had followed thought that threshold as well. Finn faltered, but caught his footing and kept on.
Lourdes cast a glance behind her, and saw perhaps a dozen of the hunters behind them. Their antlered mounts had lost ground, behind Finn's pace, but Lourdes didn't know how long he could keep going. Without warning they crossed yet another threshold into the place with the grassy meadows where she'd prayed for Saint Anne's guidance. There was a moment of relative silence before the baying of the hounds proved that they'd crossed the threshold as well.
"We can't just keep running forever," she yelled at Finn.
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Run, was all he said in return. It was a horse's answer, to run from danger.
An idea came to her. The coiled rope was still bunched about her shoulder. Brighid hadn't touched the thing, had she? That was why she'd needed the human child. The rope had to be as dangerous to her as it was to Finn.
Lourdes would rather do this on horseback, but without a saddle she would have difficulty doing much more than hanging on. On the ground she would only have one shot, so she'd best get it right. "I'm going to come off your back," she warned Finn, not leaving him time to protest.
She pitched to the left and slid from his back, landing in the grass on her side with a thump that was going to leave bruises. She rolled a few feet, ending up on her stomach. She pushed herself up to her knees, listening for the approaching pursuers. She tugged the rope from her shoulder just as the first sounds of the hounds hit her ears.
The hounds. Diantres! Lourdes shuddered. She had to hope they had Finn's scent, not hers. Or that this rope was as dangerous to them as it had been to Finn. Keeping her head down, she threw a loop knot in the end, then another, and pulled the rope through to make a large loop. The silver rope wasn't stiff enough for a lariat, but it would have to do.
She stood up and cast quick glance after Finn. He'd kept running, but even as she watched he slowed. Then he turned about, likely seeking her. Keep running, she thought at him. Draw them toward the rising sun.
He galloped back toward her some distance, but then spun toward the sunrise just as the pursuing riders appeared on the edge of the meadow. Lourdes ducked down again. If Saint Anne was with her…
The mounted host angled in the direction of the sun, following Finn. That only gave her seconds before they came within her reach. Something hurtled past Lourdes in the grasses with a rumbling growl, setting her flesh to crawling. She didn't dare take her eyes off the approaching riders. If one of those large deer collided with her, no amount of magic rope would protect her. She saw the rider she wanted at the head of the crowd, red hair streaming wildly. Yes, that had to be Brighid.
Lourdes waited, pulse pounding, as they approached. Five hundred feet, then one hundred, and she rose to her full height. Spinning the rope over her head, she gauged the distance and let the loop fly. The rope found its mark, settling about Brighid's body. Lourdes jerked it tight. She had only a split-second to enjoy the look of horror on Brighid's face. Then the rope went taut, jerking Lourdes off her feet. She clenched her jaw and dug her heels into the soft earth. There was a jolt, and then the line went slack.
One of the large deer thundered by, too close for comfort. Not wanting to be trampled, Lourdes shoved herself to her feet. She began coiling the rope as she neared her captive. About fifteen feet away she found Brighid in the tall grasses, the rope tight about her chest, pinning her arms to her side. Lourdes gripped the rope, unsure how much effect it had on the fairy woman. She hoped it was enough to keep Brighid from starting another fire in these grasses or she was going to regret this poorly planned effort.
If everything worked in her favor, this might give her grounds to bargain. If the rope kept the fairy woman captive, then she had a valuable hostage. She kept her distance from Brighid as she eyed the inhuman riders. They were already turning back to seek their leader.
"Call them off," Lourdes said quietly. Brighid turned her head to glare at her, but an instant later Lourdes heard the sound of horns blowing. Someone realized Brighid was a hostage. Lourdes took several deep breaths, trying to calm her nerves. The hounds slipped between the grasses on either side, but she couldn't see them, only the movement of the grass. Perhaps they were ghosts.
The hunters stopped a distance from where she stood. One, a man with a handsome face as white as snow and hair the color of corn, gazed down from the back of his antlered mount. He regarded Lourdes narrowly. "What do you demand?"
Lourdes swallowed. She had no idea what to ask for. She knew what she wanted. She wanted herself and Finn safely away from this place, back home, and to remain safe from Brighid in the future. But if fairies were bound by the exact wording of their promises, then she had to have the words worked out perfectly. And there was no time to figure the precise words she needed.
A cold wind touched the back of her neck, reached her hands on the silver rope. Tiny flakes of ice glittered in the sunlight, fluttering past on the wind like dust made of diamonds. Snow swirled past her, winter come upon them suddenly. Movement in the grasses told her the unseen hounds were slinking away from her. They began to whine. Lourdes didn't dare take her eyes off the fairy man before her for fear he would take advantage of her indecision.
Sharp yips heralded the approach of small white dogs. No, they were foxes, Lourdes realized with a start--foxes all in white with tiny, pointed ears and bushy white tails. They clustered about her feet, taking positions between her and the inhuman members of the hunt. They were joined by the black squirrel, who assumed a position at the hem of Lourdes' grass-stained skirt. It chittered and angrily shook a fist at the fairy woman tied up on the ground.
They had come to aid her. Lourdes let out a shaky laugh.
The cowed whining of the unseen hounds ceased, and all went silent. Lourdes shivered as the cold spread through her body. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a figure approaching on her left. It resolved into a creature much like those others about Lourdes, a woman, slim and pale, her frost-white hair wild about her. She wore a dress that looked to be made of tattered gray-green moss, and her face seemed too perfect, distant and cold. She looked young, but that meant nothing. Despite the cold, her feet were bare.
It was the Lady of the Snow. This creature of ice could be none other than Finn's mother. But Lourdes had seen her before, in her dreams…only she'd mistaken this inhuman creature for an angel. She'd followed her suggestions, first to follow her mare to New York, and then to follow Finn through the hole in the world to this strange place. This fairy woman had been directing her actions all along. The Lady of the Snow gazed at Lourdes, her too-perfect face impassive.
Brighid regarded both of them with angry eyes, but said nothing.
"Your minion holds my queen hostage," the fairy man said to the newcomer. "I wish to know what you demand in exchange…"
The Lady of the Snow turned her gaze on him and waved one hand negligently. He and his companions disappeared, the suddenness of it making Lourdes start. The deer and the hounds were gone as well, leaving only Brighid sitting on the ground in the rope's grasp. Lourdes tightened her grip on the rope. Her fingers were going numb. The dew on the grasses had turned to hoarfrost.
The Lady of the Snow looked back to Lourdes and in a voice that whispered like the ice in the air and asked, "Are you my minion?"
If she agreed, would the Lady deal with Brighid in her stead? Lourdes glanced at the squirrel at her feet. Would she be turned into a squirrel if she agreed? Or worse? She'd started to shiver, the cold touching her to her very spine now.
"Yes," Lourdes whispered, hoping she wasn't making a fatal mistake.
The Lady nodded, then knelt down on one knee in the grass, facing Brighid. "Does it hurt?" she asked in a cold tone. "Does it burn?"
Brighid bared her teeth, but didn't speak, and Lourdes guessed the rope prevented her from doing so, just as it had Finn.
"Captured by a mere human," the Lady said with a shake of her head, "with your own tool. Foolish to underestimate them. The world is theirs now."
Lourdes licked her lips, unsure what part she was supposed to play here. She'd come to rescue Finn from Brighid, but now she didn't even know where he was. Lourdes waited until the Lady turned her head in her direction, and asked, "What do I do, Lady? Where is he?"
The Lady rose to her feet, glanced at Lourdes, and waved one arm as if calling something to her. In the distance Lourdes could make out a black bird winging toward them through the trees. It flew haphazardly, almost as if it were wounded. The fairy held out her arms to it, and it flew directly into them.
But it wasn't a b
ird after all. The fairy unbundled it from her arms, unfolding the bird to reveal that it was actually Lourdes' embroidered shawl. Lourdes stared, unable to say anything. She'd thought it lost forever in the woods. The fairy continued to unfold and unfold until it was the size of a blanket, baffling Lourdes' eyes. "When you shake it out," the fairy said, handing it to her, "it will return to its old size."
Lourdes clutched the worn cotton in her hands. It felt as warm as cashmere, and the chill in her fingers eased. She looked down at the fabric, then recalled it was impolite to take a gift for granted. "Thank you."
The Lady reached out and touched the rope. Lourdes could hear the fairy woman's flesh sizzle, but the Lady didn't flinch. She stretched her other hand out in the direction of the sunrise. "Go to him. I will take care of this one."
The Lady could deal with Brighid with her blessings. Lourdes dropped the rope and started in that direction, eyes scanning the ground for any sign of Finn. After a moment, a sound reached her ears, a groan from a dozen feet ahead of her. She found Finn there, collapsed in the grass.
She stood over him, too horrified to speak. He wasn't a horse any longer. He lay partially on his side, and the burns from the rope that had covered his hide had translated into red and blistered skin over much of his arms and legs. A line of red crossed his throat, and other burns marred his chest. He groaned again.
Lourdes dropped to her knees at his side. "What can I do?"
His eyes met hers. He whispered, but she couldn't hear, so she had to lean down next to his mouth to catch his words. That rope about his throat must have done more than superficial damage.
"Offer me something," he whispered in a gravelly voice.
She sat back. He meant for her to make an offering to him, like Imogen did in front of that statue. There was a significance to that which was likely pagan, and she wasn't sure what the consequences were for her soul. Even so, hadn't she already offered herself to the Lady as her minion? Surely the damage was already done.
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