REALM'S END (BOOK OF FEY 1) (21 page)

Briok tried, but didn’t reach Gwenth before she landed hard. He saw the blood seeping out onto the ground and realized Gwenth’s right arm seemed to hang funny as well. Turning her as carefully as he could he saw that her blouse was ripped through, claws had made a great gash under her arm. Briok blanched, as he felt his breakfast rising in his throat.

At her throat Dembys was pulsating. Briok felt the pull of the crystal and nervously put out his finger to touch the stone.

“She is very bad Briok. I can see she wants to go away, and be with her mother.”

Briok hurriedly pulled his finger away, as if it had been burned by fire. Briok quickly tore his coat off. Bending down he retrieved the Rowan branch, and using material from his coat strung it between his wings, then he carefully lifted Gwenth’s mangled body into his arms as gently as he could. He felt her gasp as he pulled her to his chest, and though he was not allowed to fly, he willed that his wings would work. Nothing happened. Briok bent his will again, pushing away the spell over him. He tried to raise his wings. Pain raced through his body, but he refused to bow to it. Briok pushed harder against the spell, till he heard an audible snap and suddenly he was free, his wings sprung up unharmed and he pushed off the ground and flew towards the cottage. Gwenth lay still in his arms.

Briok flew low over the hills, staying as close to the land as he dared. He hoped that with the impending storm that the folk of this land were all in their homes and away from the windows, but whether it would bring trouble, or not, he would not let this girl die who had defended him, though it had very nearly meant her own death.

Briok looked up at the sky and saw that the rain was almost upon him and from the feel of the wind pressing under his wings; the storm would be a gully washer. Briok pushed on. Though he wasn’t flying against the wind; the gales coming up under his wings were far too strong. He staggered under the constant buffeting as he tried to control his flight. He feared that the coming rain would only make fighting the strong gales that much harder. “Dembys if you can help please do,” he yelled over the screaming wind.

Suddenly the wind seemed to fall away, and he felt as if he was being carried on a wind of sweet sound rather than being abused by the gale. He could see the storm was still raging, but it was if a bubble surrounded the three of them. Briok almost cried he could feel his eyes filling up with water; he was so relieved to know that Dembys was able to help him. “Faster Dembys we have to save her. I too feel her slipping farther away.” On and on they flew through the storm, faster and faster toward the cottage.

Suddenly in his mind Briok could hear Dembys clear ringing voice. “Sing to her, sing the lullaby your mother taught you as a child, it is an old healing song and may keep her in this world.”

Briok’s mind went blank. What lullaby? He racked his memory and suddenly the sound of his mother singing to him as he slept rose up in his memory and he began to hum the song as it unfolded in his mind’s eye. He could feel power in the song. He began to sing the words and as he flew onward he felt the magic rising up within the bubble. He could feel Gwenth responding to the magic. She seemed to breathe easier and so he sang louder.

“Hang on we’re almost there, don’t stop singing no matter what, or I think we’ll lose her.”

Briok saw the cottage come into view and realized that Dembys was not slowing down to land at all. Bracing himself, he bent to shield Gwenth’s body with as much of his own as he could. He tucked his head as he realized she was going to ram through the closed door. Briok wanted to yell out, but he stopped himself and kept singing the lullaby.

At the last possible second Meredith opened the door. Dembys message had reached her and so they all tumbled through the door as the bubble gave way, spilling them out onto the wooden floor. Briok held Gwenth close and let his body soak up the bumpy landing, protecting Gwenth as he could.

Meredith snapped her fingers and stopped Briok’s sliding body from crashing into the stone fireplace.

Meredith ran towards Briok and Gwenth.

Briok stayed focused, not missing a single note of the song. He hoped Dembys would help Meredith understand.

Hectain knelt beside the young Fey and began to loosen his grip on Gwenth. “It’s ok lad, Dembys told us what happened, as you flew home. Now let us have her so we can help her.”

Briok opened his eyes and saw the three sisters all trying to gently free Gwenth, but Briok held her tight within his fierce grasp. He blushed as he realized how tightly he had a hold of Gwenth. He opened his hands freeing the girl from his grip into their waiting magic.

The sisters lifted Gwenth’s torn body never touching her and instantly they disappeared with her into the sleeping room. Briok sat resting with his back against the fireplace and enjoyed the heat as it crept through his clothes, warming and soothing his tired and sore muscles. He did not stop singing; though nearby he saw the baby lay asleep bundled in her cradle.  The child slept on as the lullaby fell almost by rote now, soothingly from his parted lips. His voice rose up, the song ringing throughout the cottage. Even as the sisters worked their own magic upon Gwenth they could feel the deeper magic of the song embracing the girl and they understood that it was this magic that was holding the girl steady as they worked to heal her.

“This was caused by no ordinary bear,” Hectain stated, as they magically undressed the girl and surveyed the large bleeding gash. “I smell a very old magic upon her wounds. I think if she hadn’t had the feathered cape on she would’ve been killed, the magic’s that strong.”

Meredith let her mind reach out, and touch the girl’s injury. She felt the magic too, though it was a more ancient magic than she had ever known. “I see what you are saying sister, but where would such magic come from?”

“I wonder if it came across the same way the children came.” Reval said.

The sisters continued to work quietly on the girl, while they considered Reval’s remark.

Meredith looked at Reval with more than a little awe, “Sister, I do believe you have the gift of foresight.”

Reval smiled for she had known that for some time, and it was nice to have her sisters finally recognize it.

“Sisters I think we should use the song, it’s clearly based on the same kind of magic as the injury. It may be strong enough to help the girl.”

Meredith and Hectain quietly looked at Reval. Silently they nodded their heads in agreement. There would be time to question Reval later, but for now the information felt right. It was a known fact among people of the magical kingdoms that, like worked on like best, or so it did in most cases. The magic the boy was releasing into the cottage was a stronger strain than anything they had access to in the world. They could feel its strength rolling over the girl like a wave of deep peace. Already they could see the terrible bloody gash had stopped bleeding and it seemed the wound looked less inflamed as well.

“I think the boy very well could save her by himself.”

Meredith looked at Hectain and back at the wound. “You may be right sister, but I’m afraid the boy doesn’t know how to stop the magic from draining him to do it, and what’s worse I’m sure he would willingly give up his life to save the girl. We must not let that happen. Let’s begin.”

The three sisters took positions around the bed and clasped hands tied their energy to one another’s in the process. Meredith nodded to Reval and Reval began to raise their energy, guiding it to blend in with the boy’s so as to be able to direct it better.  The sisters began to hum the tune behind the song the boy was singing out. They continued this as they built up their energy, letting it rise up higher and higher, and as they did they began to understand the words the boy sung. One by one they joined their voices to his. Though only the one candle was standing lit on the bedside table, the room began to brighten. The women could feel the song’s magic as it settled deep within each of them. Time passed, and Meredith looked up, she realized then they had all slipped back into their crow forms, and yet they sung out in the old language of Fey with their very human voices.

Hectain from where she stood could see the torn skin coming closer and closer together. She could feel the magic penetrating her own body and mind, and she could see she was willingly giving over some measure of herself to the magic as well. She watched as an energetic bit of herself melded with the old magic and became one with it. Though she knew that part would never again be hers, she felt it was right to give it. Looking deeply into the magic she saw that it was in fact a speck of love from her heart.

Across the bed Reval also saw Hectain’s heart open and spin off a piece. Reval watched as the piece of love joined to the old magic. She sighed, even as she sung on, she understood then that the old magic worked because of love. She wondered if her sisters knew. She looked from sister to sister’s face and saw that they both had given love away to this old form of magic, they were blending deeply with it and while something about that worried her, she would not be left behind again, so she too tore away a small piece of her heart and sent it freely to the old magic.  As her magic joined with the others, the room exploded in light and suddenly the sisters all saw the rift in time,  like a ragged tear through space. Their energy swirled around the torn edges of Gwenth’s wound, while simultaneously they watched the world the boy came from spinning out of control, caught as it were in the rift.

On and on through the dark night they sung, the strength of the magic was so great, she was sure that she had seen the Fey world vibrating, spinning to the old song. She noticed the girl’s chest rising and falling and knew on some level the real danger was over. Suddenly Meredith felt tired and then her voice faltered, and she missed the next word. The magic was slacking off, dissipating and with it their strength was failing.

As the last drop of old magic fled the room, the sisters one by one slid down to the floor. They lay like great dark heaps of feathers upon the floor boards, held in place only by their exhaustion. The candle had long since burned out and the room lay in total darkness.

It dawned on Meredith the boy’s voice had grown quiet also. She hoped he was alright. She tried to rise. She needed to check on the baby, but as quickly as the thought came, her chin fell to rest against her chest and her breath rose up, becoming a snore.

Trouble Maker

“I tell you I saw that young boy flying.”

“Now ma, you know I think you’ve been hitting the cider again. I’m not going to let you go and bring up no charge of witch craft against James’ family. That man has had enough trouble,” Aidan MacDermot said.

“What are you saying Aidan? Are you calling me a liar?”

Aidan sat by the fire watching his wife as she crimped a crust on a Shepard pie. He knew his wife was pure meanness through and through, and while he liked to forget that most days, so as to make his life a bit easier, he could see that she had set her cap on getting involved with the witch trials, and he feared for his good neighbors.

Reaching up he took a braided hank of grass from the mantel and stuck it unceremoniously into the flame. He sucked at his pipe pulling the flame gently into the bowl packed tight with his smoking mixture. Sighing loudly, he threw the burning grass into the flame. “Wife I won’t have you making up stories to suit your fancy. Such a tale these days can get a man and his family hung.”

Coira looked up from her pie and caught Aidan’s eye across the room. “I will have you know I’m not making up any story. I saw that boy flying, he had wings, and that new woman opened the cottage door and he flew right in easy as you please.”

Aidan sighed as he watched his wife’s hands steadily working the top crust into place. He wished, not for the first time, that she had died in childbirth, and that the baby had been saved instead. His neighbor had raised a lovely daughter single handed, till he had finally remarried last year. Aidan ran his finger through his rough red locks, if his wife didn’t shut her gob he knew trouble would come. He felt his gorge rising up in his throat. Coira pushed him too hard at times. “I think you better shut up Coira if you know what’s good for ya.” He slammed his clay cup down upon the side table.

Coira who was so use to Aidan’s gentle ways nearly knocked the pie from the table at the loud noise. Reaching out she caught the pie tin with her claw like fingers, saving it in the nick of time, from sliding off onto the floor. “I don’t know what’s come over you old man, but I won’t have you trying to scare me so,” she yelled, as she brusquely carried the pie to the oven. Where it would cook slowly over the tamped down coals, and be ready for tomorrow’s meal. “The way you’re behaving, ain’t natural.  You’d think you were possessed by them witches!”

Aidan stood in a rush of anger and stomped to the door, taking his coat and cap from the hook he opened the door swiftly and turning back he gave Coira a warning look before he slammed out into the yard.

Coira sniffed the air as if whatever was rotten had finally cleared out. She had never minded what Aidan had said in the past, and surely he knew she would continue to do as she saw fit now as well. Someone had to tell the authorities about what she had seen. The judges would be arriving soon to hear the evidence against any who were charged with witch craft. She didn’t want to miss out on being part of that.

Dampening down the fire for the night, Coira took the heated stone from where it sat in the hearth and went into their sleeping room and changed into her gown and cap. She lay down on the pallet; the stone already buried deep under the covers and laid her head down upon her arm, ready to rest. She knew from experience Aidan would eventually return. Right then she made up her mind, to not let his anger be of any bother to her. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Outside the storm had abated and though the night was cold she knew in her bones, it would be a fair day tomorrow. She would walk up to the neighbors and snoop around a bit, if there was even one thing out of place she would take herself straight off to the magistrate.

Coira blew out the candle. The old man wouldn’t need it. He had night vision like a cat. She burrowed down into the blankets and lay listening to the wind blowing over the heather, till sleep finally took her. She found herself dreaming of flying boys, and of a world where singing could heal illness.

Sometime during the wee hours of morning, she felt Aidan climb heavily onto their shared pallet, and lay down beside her. Forcing herself to breath evenly, she pretended to sleep. Ever since their only child had died within her, she had refused Aidan’s attentions. She didn’t deny him out of hatred, but from fear of bringing about her own death, fear that the deal she had willingly offered the devil when her child lay heavy already dead within her womb, would finally catch up to her, and she would have to pay the price. So she feigned sleep, keeping instead vigil with her fears.

Aidan’s heart was heavy, as he lay still, so as not to waken Coira. He knew that if things went badly tomorrow, Coira would walk proudly to the magistrate and do what she happily saw as her duty. Fear lay heavy on his mind, for he realized that even the small quarrel with her this evening, might be enough in her twisted mind to turn James’ family in for witchcraft. Aidan lay staring at the ceiling, letting his mind wonder over the bitter years. His love had been so good and strong, but after the baby died, Coira seemed to close up and turn away. He had understood of course, and hadn’t pushed her as some men would have, but then he was a different sort of man. He knew what real love felt like, and he had always let his heart lead in matters of love. That trait had been what originally attracted Coira to him, back in their youth.

He could not let her force her way this time. He could not allow her to lash out with her hatred, and hurt a good family, but he couldn’t bring himself to hurt her either. It had always been his fault the child had died there was no doubt in his mind about that. He remembered that terrible night long ago, as he watched the first rays of dawn rising in the east. Aidan still awake heard the first birds begin their morning songs, and then his exhaustion overtook him and he fell into an uneasy slumber.

Coira rose when the sun’s rays made their way into their sleeping room. She dressed quietly, and pulled the door shut behind her, as she stepped out of the sleeping room. Coira’s practiced hands quietly built up the fire and removed the warm pie from the hearth where it had baked slowly throughout the night hours. Cutting two pieces out for Aidan, she set them aside, and then she wrapped the rest of the pie in a clean towel and hurried with her bundle out the door. A still warm pie would be excuse enough to be welcomed into the neighbor’s house. Off she headed over the hill toward the neighbor’s cottage. The valley that lay between them had always been shared by both families, each bringing their herd to feed on the rich valley grasses during the wet winter. Coira marched along the sheep path. She took note of the damages last night’s storm had wrought, and considered it proof enough, from what she could see, that those folks were witches. Coira paid no attention to the birds’ bright singing or the small wild life that made the highlands their home. Her mind stayed fixed upon the task at hand, she wanted proof that the neighbors were witches, some bit of knowledge that Aidan couldn’t dispute. She climbed through the dew covered grasses, wetting her skirt as she went up the long track to the neighbor’s cottage.

Coira almost slithered the last 100 feet to the door. All seemed quiet, too quiet. Most sheep herding families would be up and hard at work at this time of the morning, but not a sound came from inside the cottage. Coira decided it was good idea to sneak around to the side window and peek inside. If they were witches no one would blame her, and if they were not witches no one would ever know. Stealthily, she walked through the high grass to the far end of the cottage, and setting the pie pan down on a log; she slipped quietly up to the shuttered window. Putting her eye against the shutter, Coira looked into the darkened room. She pressed her eye a little closer to the shutter; she was finding it difficult to peer through such a small crack. Oh why did they have to be so fastidious and build their shutters so tight? Suddenly Coira slipped in the wet grass and fell heavily against the shutter banging the wood against the window casing. She froze for an instant and then turning, she fled, making a left at the cottage entrance, taking the road toward town.