Haven 5 Blood Magic BOOK (11 page)

Tomkin countered that humans were less fun than a sack of dried fish, and suggested that Corbin smelled similar in nature.

* * *

As they camped, Telyn and Brand talked in hushed whispers. They huddled closely together, as the night was chill and they were in love. Brand felt remorse for the merlings, but steeled himself with memories of them killing his friends and clansmen at the battle of the Dead Kingdoms. In truth, the last time they had warred, these creatures had aligned themselves with the enemy.

Telyn made that point as well while they talked.

“But it’s not so much the fact that I killed a few merling warriors that bothers me,” said Brand. “I have responsibilities now. When I act, the story will be told far and wide. The merlings will use the story of an unprovoked attack to stoke up fires of hatred for the River Folk.”

“I know, but what’s done is done,” said Telyn. Her hand soothed his furrowed brow, but his frown stayed in place. “Perhaps their fear will be greater than their anger.”

Brand sighed. It was difficult, bearing such responsibility and being unable to control one’s own emotions at the same time. He looked at Telyn, and wondered what he might do if any real harm ever befell her. He had a feeling he would lose his mind, as he had never done before. Terrible things would happen on such a day.

“What are you brooding about now?” she asked, concerned.

“Nothing.”

“Let’s talk about something more pleasant, then. I want to plan our wedding.”

“Here? In the Deepwood?”

“Why not?”

He smirked at her, and played along. She talked about a wondrous affair, beneath the long evening shadows on the night of the summer solstice. They would have a huge gathering, and they would not rush it as Jak and Lanet had. They would gather everyone in the Haven to Riverton common and fete them all. They were rich enough, after all, from the dragon’s hoard.

They discussed the event at length, and soon their talk turned into kissing. Later, when Brand fell asleep beside the fire and beside his love, he reflected that she had performed her task well. His mood had indeed improved.

Chapter Nine

The Shining Lady

Mari slept amongst the silver grasses. All around her lounged a dozen elf maidens, wisps and nymphs. They murmured and giggled occasionally, but let her rest. None drew her to dance. None tormented her, or plied her with strong drink. They knew she carried Puck’s child, and as a son of Oberon, he might not be pleased if they hurt this maid who carried his unborn child.

When finally she awoke from her exhausted state, her hazy mind could hardly credit what she saw.

Piskin, his arms crossed, stood upon her swollen belly, gazing down at her with a stern expression. She pushed her heavy body up into a sitting position and swatted at him. He hopped away without concern and crouched next to her.

She looked around, but the silver-haired elf maidens and dancing wisps were gone. She felt a pang of sorrow to have missed them. It was strange to think they were related to the child in her belly. Cousins, she supposed they were.

“No birth?” Piskin asked.

“What?” she said sleepily.

“I did not bring you here to nap upon a hill in twilight, maid,” he snapped.

“Ah, the baby. No, it didn’t come yet. I suppose it was a false alarm.”

Piskin glared and bounded around her in a full circuit. “False indeed. That is the operative word, here. You played me. Why?”

Mari looked at him warily. There was no one else about. No one to report back to Puck any terrible crime that might stain the silvery grasses.

“You were the one that told me what my pain meant. I’ve never been in such a state before, I don’t know what to expect. If anyone was fooled, it was you who fooled yourself.”

Piskin halted, rubbing his chin with his single hand. He sniffed. “Very well. You may be right, or mayhaps you are a good liar. It matters little which. Since we are here, and the child is not, we have a quick march ahead of us. We will travel in this land, not the Deepwood. Perhaps the journey will go more quickly for the lack of beastly trees and thickets. Come now, up on your feet, lazy girl.”

Mari didn’t move.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“To meet Puck, of course, my darling.”

She eyed him with obvious distrust. “This is Puck’s world. Simply bring him here. I’ll wait. He can’t fear to come to this spot.”

Piskin looked annoyed. “Now, now, what kind of attitude is that? Didn’t your family teach you it is impossible to understand the fickle motivations of the Shining Folk? He will receive you at his home, which isn’t too far off. Let’s be going.”

Mari crossed her arms. “This is nonsense, and I’m tired. I’m not going anywhere. You run off and fetch him.”

Piskin’s lipless mouth formed a thin, angry line. “I had wanted to spare you this,” he said with the air of one releasing a great burden. “But you have forced me to be brutally honest. It is high time you came to understand your place in the world. Do you think Puck is one to wait hand and foot upon the likes of
you?
Puck has sent for you, but you must not tax his patience. He is a lord among his folk, after all. To get into his good graces we must humbly do as he has bid. You must hope he will be merciful when we arrive at his home. Pray that you do not offend him, and cause him to turn you out into the cold with his family and servants looking on.”

Mari felt a pang of uncertainty. Could Piskin be describing the situation accurately? Could she be such a burden, so unwanted and embarrassing, that Puck, only out of pity, had summoned her? The thought was monstrous, and made her feel cold.

Piskin’s nose tilted toward the ever-starry sky. “Now come, girl. You have rested enough for a dozen maids. You have to get your gross body up and moving.”

She looked around her, far from trusting Piskin. But what else could she do? She was in his world now. If he abandoned her, she wasn’t sure she could even get back.

She was sure of one thing: Puck had made very little effort on her behalf. Perhaps, he had scorned her just as Piskin said.

Tears dribbled down her cheeks as she struggled to her feet and followed the strutting little man down the side of the mound into a strange, blue-lit world.

* * *

During the night, Brand and his friends were visited by a creature they’d not met for a long time.

The Shining Lady, floating in her clothes of spun silver moonlight, came from the nearby ruins in a rare departure from a familiar haunt. At first, Brand was the only one awakened by the ghost.

He had met her once, one lonely night on the Riverton Commons, the last night he could have accounted himself just a normal river-boy of the Haven, living life with few cares. That night, had it not been for Telyn’s ward, he might have been lost.

The fire had burnt low to embers. The red glow of it died further when the Shining Lady cast her shadow upon it, pooling darkness everywhere around her so that her own shining light was all the greater. Only Brand awoke. Corbin had been on watch, but now slumped down in death-like slumber.

Brand’s eyes opened. He’d been deep in a dream. He’d dreamt of the silver grasses of the Twilight Lands. There had been trees there, huge trees, living things that grew as tall as mountains.

He blinked. Something was here. Something was not right. He sat up, and for once didn’t reach for his axe. Every day, every night, his first waking thought had been only of the axe. He always reached for it first, before yawning, even before looking to Telyn’s softly sleeping face.

But not this dark night. Tonight, his eyes sought and found the Shining Lady who floated nearby at the edge of the wood. She was, just as the first time he’d seen her, the loveliest female imaginable. Her face was perfect, her body shapely. She was clad only in swirls of spun light. Her silver-white skin shone like the moon on a clear summer’s eve. Her only flaw was her feet, he knew, which were not feet at all but claws with talons like those of an eagle. Somehow, this single flaw wasn’t worthy of note.

He gazed at her, his will fading to oblivion. She did not, however, approach him. He stared at her, and he felt the longing all men felt when they gazed upon her, knowing in their hearts they gazed upon death itself, but not caring. His heart pounded, blood rushing in his temples. He rose to his feet. He would follow her.

He stood, but did not take his first step on that path. Something held him back. He did not look down; he could not bear to take his eyes from the Shining Lady. But he felt something, and realized distantly, vaguely, that his fist was wrapped up in a tangle of straps. He commanded his fingers to loosen, to drop this burden, but they disobeyed him.

And so, without ever looking down, he lifted the burden. He slung the pack with his axe in it over his shoulder without a glance or a care. Then he stepped after the Lady into the trees.

His loins burned for her, and his head filled with the finest scents of wild flowers and herbs. She backed away as he approached, never breaking contact with his eyes nor his mind. He followed her into the thick black shadows beneath the trees. The dying red embers of the fire and the soft, deeply sleeping breath of his companions were left behind.

When they were apart from the others, she halted. He took two steps closer, then halted as well. His mouth fell open, but for a long moment no words came forth. Then he managed to speak.

“Fair Lady, why do you torment me this night?” he managed.

She stared at him, with infinite sadness in her face. She was the cold love of death, and he, by merely managing to speak and think, had rejected her. His mind ached to see her sorrow. He had harmed her, he had offended her, he was not worthy of life. He wanted to forsake all he had ever known to be with her. Even thoughts of his true love, Telyn, were not able to penetrate. He had forgotten Telyn, she was a dream that could not quite be recalled on a sunny morning.

But even as he scorned himself for having spoken, for having ruined this beautiful moment, she responded to his question.

“I’ve come to speak with you, Axeman,” she said, and her voice was a sigh of wind passing over stones.

“To speak?” he croaked. His mind was befuddled. Could it be she wanted him to talk? She had looked so sad, so cold, so perfect. He almost stepped forward to embrace her, but something kept him standing fast.

“I must tell you of Oberon.”

Brand sucked air, worked his mouth, but could not for several seconds form an intelligible reply. Then, perhaps to help him, she broke her gaze that held him transfixed. She looked away, into the forest proper.

Suddenly, Brand could hear the forest again. He could hear the peeping frogs and the crickets as they rubbed their legs together in song, calling for a mate even as he had sought this shining apparition. He felt the cool night air on his face, and the driblets of fine rain that must have fallen through the thick canopy of trees to wet his hair.

He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and took a breath. He reached back for his axe, and felt it was there. He took the handle, for strength and guidance. She must not be allowed to possess his mind again.

The axe cleared his head, as he knew it would. But it was a sad thing. It was the cold splash of reality ripping up the finest fantasy. It was the realization that one’s lover cared nothing for thee.

“What—what do you wish to tell me of Oberon, fair Lady?” he asked in a voice that had gained both in strength and purpose.

“He seeks one who must not be sought. He entreats with my lord.”

“Your lord? Is Oberon not the lord of all the Shining Folk?”

Tinkling laughter came to his ears, the sound of light rain on a roof at midnight. “The elves do not rule the Dead. They may consort with us, but we are not their vassals.”

“Who then, is your lord?” asked Brand. He thought about all that he didn’t know of these strange, numberless people. For once, he missed the wisdom and guidance of Myrrdin. The River Folk had much to learn still, and the present was as good a time as any.

“Arawn, Lord of Anwyn, is King of the Dead. It is he to whom I owe my existence.”

Brand shook his head and took a deep breath, striving to think clearly. His eyes had strayed to her face, then her hips, and he had felt the entrancement sneaking over his mind again. Truly, there was something deeply alluring about her. What was it that fascinated men so about the Dead? Was death truly freedom, or was it slavery?

He closed his eyes again, and kept them closed while he spoke. “Why do you warn me of Oberon?”

“Because he does what should not be done. He seeks to reawaken the Kingdoms of the Dead.”

Brand nodded. “What would you have me do, Lady?”

“Seek him out, and defeat him, before he defeats you.”

“And why do you care which side wins?”

There was no answer.

Brand opened his eyes slowly, but even before he did, he knew the truth. The Lady had gone. In the manner of all such ghost and apparitions met in the dark of night, she had simply melted away.

Brand walked back to camp to rouse the others. He had much to ponder.

* * *

In the morning they found the ruins in the Deepwood. It was a fallen circle built of tall blue stones. A forgotten place, a shrine or burial site at best, an altar for the release of foul curses and the summoning of abominations at worst. Most of the stones had long since tumbled upon one another as if a great upheaval had occurred in the distant past.