7
That particular variety of Lore fruit, which looked like an oversized, bright pink avocado, needed both of Vaughn's small hands to hold safely. He planned on making a meal of it while once again visiting the controversial Eire village, this time of his own volition.
He stepped out of his fae-bridge onto a familiar business rooftop near the center of the small community. It was late into an evening when he arrived; each streetlamp fought back the deep night and illuminated a pelting hailstorm coming down. Tucking the fruit close to him, the leprechaun bent over to shield it from being bruised and scowled up at the black sky with narrowed eyes.
While cursing the annoying weather, Vaughn created another portal to a nearby location that would offer shelter. He reentered the Verden realm a short distance away, within a rarely-used mercantile storage building. It sat on the southwest outskirts of the village, back in a field far behind a string of small shops.
Vaughn wrinkled his button nose at the musty smell of the interior; he set the fruit down on a shelving unit and pulled open one of the large double doors. The exterior hooded lamp above the doors was lit, giving the leprechaun a short-range view of the ice storm just beyond.
The hailstorm created a constant thrum upon the field of wild grass, the old gravel lane that led back to the building, and the shingled roof above. It created a mixture of rapid drumbeats that Vaughn found oddly soothing. He absently retrieved his food while he thought of the reasons that brought him back to that curious little community. Primarily, his guilt over placing innocent Jane McCarthy in harm's way created an urge to offer some sort of recompense. Also was the curiosity about the allowed glimpses from Oriana's thoughts, of other gifted humans in the area and their role in events to come.
Chewing a large bite of the succulent fruit as he leaned against the open door, Vaughn's sharp sight caught a glimpse of movement out above the unused field. It was a form in flight, a different shade of black against the inky night. It was erratically heading in his direction, more than likely to take refuge from the pounding hail. Standing in darkness that the door frame provided, the leprechaun knew he couldn't be seen - at least not yet - and waited a moment to see what manner of creature came his way.
Vaughn quickly recognized the shape as it came closer. Lumpy silhouette, bat-like wings, long and spindly arms; it was a gremlin. Or better yet, he thought, a fluttering obscenity. The leprechaun was told that the morpher Fergal had sinister designs for the village, and then he sees a low-caste harbinger of foul intent in the same place. It could be no coincidence. Vaughn wanted some answers; if the profane beast could form coherent sentences, perhaps he'd get some. Setting the fruit back on the nearby shelf, he took a few steps back into the deeper shadows of the building, and waited.
The dark, grotesque form of the gremlin had just come into the electric light's glow when it suddenly locked in place, still some feet off the ground. Vaughn had just begun to wonder what was happening when he noticed another mystery. In a short span all around the ugly creature, the hail stones were also suspended in air, halted from their descent and hanging motionless. The storm all around the small pocket of cessation continued unabated, except for the ice pellets that came into contact with the small bubble of immobility. A dome was just beginning to be formed by the hail when the bubble suddenly, silently, popped.
Instantly after the gremlin - and hail - was released from the strange confines, a blur of other creatures shot into view. They drove directly into the surprised low-caste, ramming it to the ground. While a momentary struggle ensued, Vaughn recognized the ambushers as harpies by their feathered wings and haunting screeches.
More harpies began to land while the gremlin was held to the ground with its limbs outstretched under unyielding talons. Having never seen harpies attacking with such concise tactics, the cautious leprechaun stayed to the shadows and simply stared.
Vaughn had only a moment to note the peculiar appearances of the harpies before him when yet another creature landed near the head of the pinned gremlin. It was a large white barn owl that suddenly changed form into that of a small, chubby fae with short sheep horns curving back over his white hair.
Hands on hips, the stout fae - a morpher, Vaughn obviously assumed - stood over the gremlin. "Now would be yer chance," he spoke down to it, "ta speak what ye know, it would, lest me pretties be takin' exception ta yer misguided loyalties."
"You belong in guts of dragon," the goblin croaked with a gravelly voice. "Rot before it shits you out."
The other harpies huddled closer with evident ire on their exotic faces. One of them - unexpectedly attractive with silken red hair and crimson wings - leaned in and released a focused, damaging scream down at the gremlin. The piercing sound lasted less than a second before the morpher placed a calming hand on her shoulder, but it was enough to convey her message. Vaughn had flinched at the audial attack even though he only caught its echo; her gift of the siren must have been potent.
The miserable gremlin fared much worse from the impulsive assault, as it was aimed at him in close proximity. It laid there, arms lax in its captors' grip and large head lolled to the side. One of its deep-set eyes bulged half out from the socket, and black blood trickled freely from its hooked nose and long ears. The wretched low-caste panted from the debilitating pain while its fingers involuntarily twitched.
"Sorry I am for yer discomfort, I tell ye true," the morpher said softly to his captive, "but provokin' me chaith álainn will have ye earnin' it, it will. If you'll just be tellin' us a certain thing or two, we be sendin' ye on yer way to the elements quick; me word on that. But now, if ye dally about and go tryin' to mislead us... ah, don't be havin' me explain the other option. If only for yer sake I'd be askin' that."
'Did he just call his harpies 'chaith álainn' - his 'beautiful cast' of servants?' Vaughn's thought was tinted with bemusement. 'True, a few of them have some unusual... features...' He lost his line of thought when he studied them in more detail. The lamp above them cast harsh shadows which detracted from his scrutiny, but the hailstorm had lessened considerably since their arrival which allowed a clearer view.
The two harpies closest to him - the ones who held the gremlin's ankles - were like none of that low-caste he'd ever seen before. Granted, one had the unfortunate ears common to the race and the other had dull and molting wings, but in most other respects they were quite alluring. He wondered where in the elements they came from.
The goblin's chest heaved with labored breath from enduring the pain of its injuries. It meanwhile glared up at the morpher with malevolent defiance from its one good eye but made no sound, save for its raspy panting.
The plump, curly-haired fae squatted down next to his captive. "I'll only be askin' once more, I will" he said with a gentle, compassionate tone. The morpher placed a hand on the coarse skin of the goblin's shoulder; almost immediately, the bulging eye eased back into its socket and the multiple trickles of dark blood dried up. "I'd be doin' ye this service out of fairness alone, I tell ye true." He retracted his hand and then spoke in a firmer tone. "Now be tellin' us where we might be findin' yer kin; you'll otherwise be thinkin' that first scream you took was but a wee tickle compared to what ye might get."
Vaughn waited anxiously during the pause after the morpher's demand. He already knew the immediate outcome; gremlins were too loyal for their own good. What the leprechaun waited for was the reactions of the morpher and his servants after the gremlin denied them the information.
Shaking his head in regret, the morpher stood and looked over to a shapely, beige-colored harpy with blue highlights on her wings and in her long wavy hair. "Desdemona," he called to her with a dejected sigh, "rend him."
Given the warning, Vaughn had time to cover his ears before that harpy began. She stood astride over the gremlin - a male, he'd learned - with one clawed, avian foot on either side of his hips, mostly blocking the leprechaun's view. Three short, intense screeches were aimed directly down onto the prone creatu
re. Even muted, the passion of the quick vocal attacks made Vaughn flinch.
The harpy Desdemona stepped away from the gremlin and next to the morpher. The others who held the tortured creature down struggled to keep him in place; he bellowed through gritted teeth as he bucked and writhed from the grave damage done to him. In separate locations on his torso - stomach, chest, and shoulder - the tough flesh was open in long, ugly gashes. Black blood pumped from them, pooling around and under his convulsing body.
Over the groans and throaty growls of anguish from the stubborn gremlin, Desdemona said in an even tone to the morpher, "At your leisure, guide Gideon."
"What say ye now, I'd ask," Gideon inquired, looking down at the horribly wounded gremlin. He waited through a few grunts and whimpers from his victim. "Saddens me, it does, to see ye in such a torn state. For yer loyalty alone - even to a vile master, says I - you'll feel little more pain. But," he went on while he leaned down and touched the gremlin once more, "you'll not be allowed escape by banishment." In short time, the grievous wounds were mostly mended by the morpher's adept skill with the healing gift.
"Mulish as the other we caught, I tell ye true," Gideon said to himself as much as to the gremlin. "I'd wager it'll be the same for the others. A pity, says I." He turned to the red harpy who had first lashed out in defense of him. "Fiamma, I believe you'd be havin' claim to this one. Make it quick, if ye please."
While the red harpy crouched over the struggling gremlin with the talons of one foot raised high to strike, Gideon turned away to address two others of his 'beautiful cast'. "Hemera, Lenore, I'd be hopin' you'd be takin' your turn to watch over lil' Jane's abode for a time, I would."
One of the two harpies was about to reply when an inarticulate bellow came from behind the morpher. They both glanced over his shoulder to see Fiamma ripping the heart from the gremlin's chest.
"Little Jane?" Vaughn unintentionally whispered to himself, barely audible to his own ears. He didn't have to guess if who the morpher mentioned was the Jane McCarthy he knew; coincidences were becoming a thing of the past in these parts.
His thoughts were suddenly interrupted when he saw a few of the harpies turn their heads quickly in his direction.
When Hemera and Lenore spun toward to the open door of the building, Gideon barely had the chance to register surprise before a flurry of feathered movement happened in front of him. The other harpies noticed their sisters' reactions and moved swiftly to stand between their high-borne leader and the possible threat from inside the building.
Vaughn cursed himself and then realized what a volatile situation he could be in if the morpher's excitable servants misread his intentions. And he thought it best to act quickly before the situation escalated away from his favor.
Vaughn stepped slowly into the wide doorway where the lamp's light illuminated him. "A thousand pardons for the intrusion, good morpher," he offered with a smile, "I'd be havin' no aims ta disturb yer festivities. Truth be told, I was here first. And enjoyin' the show, I was; yer lasses surely be knowin' their business."
"Agreed, sir... leprechaun, is it? Me ladies be a skillful sort in many endeavors, I tell ye true. If ye will, let's not be testin' me words on that, for all our sakes."
"On the contrary; seen their work, I have. Count me as impressed. I was just enjoyin' me dinner out of the weather, I was," Vaughn peered up, noticing the hailstorm had moved on, "when ye and your 'chaith álainn' be showin' up in pursuit o' that," he glanced down at the small pile of ash, "eh, former gremlin. And then, Gideon - I'll be callin' ye that if we're ta be on fair terms - ye mentioned a name; a human girl's name, if I be havin' it right. The sharp ears around ye caught me slip of the tongue, I admit, but now here we are. I'd be makin' the best of our meet if I'm able."
Gideon's soft eyes narrowed with caution and suspicion. The harpies around him sensed the tension and bristled, ready for more aggression if need be. "Some would be thinkin' that eavesdroppin' be unsavory, they would. But if it be as ye say, then it can pass, says I. Now I'd be havin' yer name, if ye please, as well as why yer so keen on some girl. Normally more cordial, I am, but belief comes hard in the Verden of late, it does."
Vaughn nodded his agreement. He saw Gideon as a decent sort, thrust into affairs that fae schemes had created beyond his wishes. He also gave off the signs of being a novice in violent situations, but was well-served with able servants who took confrontation in stride. The normally derisive and outspoken leprechaun thought it in his best interests to keep his sharp tongue in check. He could easily escape, although there was a firm belief that he and the morpher were in accord on currently vital subjects.
Before Vaughn could answer, a stunning white-haired harpy stepped near to the morpher, taller than him but with a deferential posture. Her words were for him, but she kept her eyes on the newcomer fae. "Good sir Gideon, with no disrespect to the leprechaun, should we not be off? Our task might be lengthy in Verden terms, so we should not dally with the inconsequential."
"Ah, but it might be of consequence after all, says I. Only a moment we'll tarry, fair Galatea; I'll be waitin' for the good leprechaun's words beforehand, I will."
"Very well," Vaughn kept a steady gaze on the morpher and his white harpy, "ye want answers, and ye'll have 'em. Ye hope fer faith in me words, then so be it. Vaughn o' the Altered Aspect be me name and title, given in respect to me talent with dream-craftin'. As fer the lass... if it be the home o' Jane McCarthy ye'd be lookin' after, then I'd be countin' that as one less thing ta worry after. I'll most likely not be considered a friend o' hers, but fer me own reasons I feel an obligation to her safety, I do. Holdin' these words ta be honest and true, ye have me oath on 'em."
Gideon sagged with relief, and the harpies parted respectfully. With Galatea keeping close, the morpher took a step forward with a warm grin on his cherub face. "Sore glad am I to hear it, good elder Vaughn."
He simply nodded at Gideon's response. "A few questions be itchin' at me brain, if ye'd be of a mind fer indulgin' me." When the morpher gave his own amicable nod, Vaughn asked, "Where might ye be findin' these curious low-borne, and how'd ye find yerself in their lead?"
Giving a shrug, Gideon began telling the story, albeit condensed, of how he came to be involved. It began with the glamour-laced queries from the elder dryad Saraid of information on Jane. In hasty fashion, he mentioned his subsequent banishment, Kazimir's assistance, and finally of a message from Oriana. That scroll told of an opportunity for retribution, but in a confrontational capacity.
Gideon told how he sought his warrior 'brother' Kazimir for instruction and guidance before arriving at where and when the scroll requested. The little morpher then gave gushing praise of the harpies who assisted him, providing details of individual skills and commendable acts in the short time of their campaign. Those noteworthy events began with facts, but Gideon kept adding fantastic points until they were tales of absurd fantasy.
Grateful for the kind words, Galatea felt compelled to speak up. "Our guide Gideon has earned our respect as well, despite his ridiculous lies and stories. We are coming to find the laughable creations as good entertainment. While even he will admit that he is no warrior, he is cautious and wise; it has served us well. We are treated better than deserved, are fed well, and gain confidence in our quest with his praise. He tends to us with his strong healing gift, should we require it. We are even promised fine Lore gowns to replace these tunics," she brushed at her drab clothing, "when our work is finished, and without barter or further demand."
"I'm sure he does well by all o' ya, white one." Vaughn didn't mean to sound dismissive, but the trade of flowery compliments was getting on his nerves. "What I'd also be wonderin' about was how ye made that bastard gremlin stop in flight just afore yer birds o' prey tackled 'im. Some varied trick o' the climate gift, or o' the freezing one, mayhap?"
Gideon stammered with modesty as he pulled at his long chin hair, so Galatea spoke in his stead. "This unassuming morpher wields the rare and exc
eptional gift of suspension."
Vaughn's shaggy eyebrows arched high. "Truly, able ta manipulate the flow o' time, are ye? Now that's quite the trick, it is."
"Nay, it's not near as grand as ye make it out, I tell ye true," Gideon replied bashfully. "On occasion - not often - I can only be stoppin' the present in a wee pocket, and only for a few fleetin' moments, no more. Weak I be with the gift, although it may have a use or two. Now," he said with emphasis, wishing to turn the topic away from himself, "one last question of me own before we must be off, I'm sad to say. Did ye truly come to be here by simple happenstance, elder?"
Vaughn shrugged casually. "Some might be sayin' there's no such thing as coincidence. If that be true then I'll just be a pawn, ye see, and that'll not be sittin' too fuckin' well with me. I'd be holdin' no skills as a seer, if that's what ye might be on about. But on that note, I do be havin' skill with the gift o' locatin', ta be sure. Seein' as how ye and yourn already be doin' me a service ta some degree, I'm o' the mind ta point the way ta yer next target. With me helpin' hand now and again, there'll be no need fer further interrogation; it suits ill ta yer nature anyway, sure as shite."
Gideon's light brown eyes lit up with surprised joy. "That would be most agreeable, it would." The two fae shared a momentary comradely silence until they both sensed Galatea staring at them. Gideon cocked his head to the side and softly asked, "Yes?"
The exquisite, white-haired harpy frowned, which somehow made her appearance even more striking. "Please forgive my candor, both of you, but I cannot form the vocabulary to ask with tact. I'd not given it much thought until I was witness to your dialogue..."
"What's yer question, I'd be wonderin' now", Gideon asked in a gently prompting tone.
"I can only wonder... why do you two bright and worthy fae use a manner of speech that makes you sound foolish?"