The scene promptly shifted and Lia’s already racing heart skipped. Two crones with faces drawn and pale stumbled toward the infant’s wails. Then clips of pictures flashed: the babe washed and swaddled; the mother’s dead body stripped, her indelible markings rubbed with oils; a flurry within the fog above, as if the misty vapors fought in some eerie battle. Then the vision skipped ahead.
A fresh grave emerged, its soil caressed by the fog. The first crone set fire to a bundle of sage. The smoke billowed over the buried remains. She chanted the same mysterious words over and over, the incantation echoing in Lia’s mind, and then she threw an assortment of fresh herbs over the mound. Lia recognized a few—Ailm needles, dew of the sea, muggons, candlewick—and she stored the others in memory to decipher later.
In a great windy upsurge, the wraiths hovering at the edge of the fog fled. The mother’s soul flew like a silver ribbon from the shades’ desperate clutches. The crone’s burial rites had set the woman’s spirit free.
The second crone remained standing with her eyes closed, soft whispers spilling from thin lips. She cradled the babe in the nook of her bony arm, the swaddling cloth made of the finest blue velvet.
“Her mother’s amber, something to give her in time,” the first crone crackled, settling the sunny stone within the folds of velvet. “Made off with Gorsedd’s mantle, I see. Didn’t know what he was in for with the likes a’her. Not even a king can tame one from the tribes.”
“Best t’keep the babe hidden for a while, away from those soldiers’ prying eyes. King’ll give up soon I ’spect, get back to his posh castle, find and marry some docile wench,” the second crone rattled, shifting the babe forward, and then she stepped to the edge of the grave. “Your mum’s free now, lass, but you’ve a strange fate. You’ve the fog in your lungs, your pores soaked in these mists. Born ’tween two worlds, you’ve drawn peculiar magic from this place, and I fear it’ll call you back someday.”
The babe wailed on, her tiny bawl and image fading, and the quartz grew cool in Lia’s hand.
“I, I guess it’s done.” She closed her fingers over the crystal. “I didn’t learn anymore about the elixir, but I saw Grandma Myrna birthed in the fog border. I’d heard about it before, from the Nion tree guardian. She said Grandma drew her first breaths from the mists.”
She swallowed hard. “Wynn, I watched her mother, our great-grandma, die in labor all alone in that Ailm forest. Two old widows found the crying babe and, well—”
Lia paused, trying to sort out her amazement. She peered at Wynn. He tilted his head and flicked his thumbs against his legs, waiting for her to go on.
“That old dwarf scout, Haegl, the one who met Grandma when she was young, told me the amber stone came from her mother and from her father she inherited a mantle. He said it was stitched with a crest: a long bow, set with an arrow, entwined in ivy, and aimed toward the sky. It didn’t make any sense to me, but it’s all true according to the vision. King Gorsedd was our kin, Wynn. Which makes King Brennus our … cousin.”
Wynn’s eyes rounded. “That’s impossible—the king? Who was Grandma’s mother, certainly not the queen?”
Lia placed the quartz back into its pouch. “Hardly. Her mother was a woman of the mountain tribes. I saw her woad markings. Not sure how the two of them came together, but they did. The widows buried her mother’s body, but kept the amber and the king’s crested mantle with the babe. They used magic rites to free the woman’s spirit from the shades, and afterwards one of the crones mentioned Grandma’s strange fate, being born between two worlds.”
Wynn rubbed his face and drew in his breath. “Incredible, and yet I’ve heard a tale like this.”
Lia’s breath caught. “What tale?”
“I heard this story once in a southland market. I must’ve been about eight years old, wandering around while my father haggled away our harvest, and this old man spun off a tale to a circle of children.
“He told of a newly crowned king sailing the seas, eager to explore the coastlands of his fair kingdom. Far to the north, he found a strange woman with hair of fire and skin painted by the sky. She spent her days gathering the sun’s fallen tears on the seashore, where the icy waters transformed them into honeyed stones.
“It was all very poetic, as you can tell, and the story went on about how the woman wove magic threads around the king’s heart, enchanting him under a love spell. For weeks, he languished under her charm, until she vanished into the misty mountains. And though he married another, and produced an heir, every year from then on he took to the sea to scour the shores for her, until years later the waters took mercy and claimed his tormented soul for good.”
Lia sat in disbelief. A common bard recited the story of her great-grandparents. Living so far north and having little interest anyway, she’d only heard the most common tales of Nemetona’s monarchy. Perhaps she’d listen more carefully to bards.
“Brennus’s father, King Arlan, still reigned when you heard this, right?” she asked.
Wynn nodded.
“I’m surprised that storyteller wasn’t hammered on the spot for spinning a yarn about the king’s mother’s rival.”
“I guess even a king can’t watch all of the people all of the time,” Wynn said. “Never would have thought we’d be tied to royals. Or to those mountain tribes for that matter. Strange combination.”
Lia’s mind clicked with another revelation. “That verse makes sense now, ‘Parents gone but never forgot, for they leave a legacy of honeyed drops floating nobly, upon a rich velvet sea.’ It’s about her mother’s amber and her father’s velvet mantle.” Then her brow furrowed. “I wonder if Granda knows the truth about our royal lineage.”
“Maybe, but I doubt anyone else does, including our mothers. I mean if you were Grandma, would you want to risk having yourself and your children subject to certain death? Even a whiff of that sort of knowledge would invite bloodshed from the ruling class. They’d rather see someone perish before sharing any power, especially with kin from some legendary mistress.”
“Hmm.” Lia nodded in agreement. “Pretty absurd we’re related to that fool Brennus. Guess it’s something to laugh about when we’re old, huh? I want nothing to do with those pompous dolts anyway.”
“I agree,” Wynn said. “Let’s say we get moving, get to that grove so we can cross the river at first light.”
Wynn doused the fire, the blaze hissing its farewell, and they mounted their horses. They followed Gypsum up the gorse-covered hills, keeping with her swift pace. An hour later, Lia spotted the Coll grove. Toothy leaves became clearer as they neared the trees. The foliage adorned slender branches shooting up from the base of each tree, giving some of the Colls a bush-like appearance. The rush of the Seren River was a welcome lullaby to Lia’s ears. A couple of precious hours remained before dawn.
“Here’s good,” Wynn said. “It’ll take those dwarfs the rest of the night and most of tomorrow to make it here on foot, and by then we’ll be far from their reach.”
They slid off their horses and settled at the edge of the grove. Merrie and Nolan nudged close to their unicorn friend. Lia propped up her knapsack as a pillow and stretched out her sore, exhausted body. With her hair warm across her neck, she buried her face in her ma’s woolen cloak and breathed the faint scent of home.
Whether from pure exhaustion, magic from the stone, or the unicorn-inspired trout, Lia slept oceans deep. Her dreams carried her far into the northern horizon, soaring above the snowy peaks where she had a bird’s eye view of Brume. A crystalline lake, like a perfect mirror, nestled within the heart of two peaks. Like a great ewer, the lake poured out the sparkling Seren River, and it cascaded down the mountains like a bride’s veil.
Lia swooped down for a closer look and followed the banks of the life-giving waters. The river poured swift down the mountainside, curving through the hills and wooded valley, dividing the eastern boundaries from the rest of the land.
She soared across the landscape an
d saw the Coll grove nestled against the riverbank. Farther downstream grew the oaks and beeches, and farther still the waterway twisted west, splitting into streams that fed the fae woods. A giant tree grew on the bank at the river’s final twist. The glorious yew, or Idho, reached its evergreen branches wildly toward the sky. Its pale brown trunk framed an immense hollow. Lia tried to get a closer look, but she felt a soft nudge, then something warm and wet against her cheek.
Lia opened her eyes to her mare’s nose. “Merrie, silly horse.”
“Wynn, I had the most remarkable dream—” Her words froze on the air when she realized her cousin was gone.
Lia blinked the sleep from her eyes. The gorse shrubs shone gold in the dawning light with no sign of her cousin or his horse among them. She called out for him several times without result.
She tossed her knapsack and quiver of bolts over her shoulder, grabbed her crossbow and set a bolt in the catch, and then began scouring the area. Dawn brightened into morning by the time she spotted numerous hoof prints in the soil. Nolan’s shod hoofs were an easy giveaway, but there were a number like Gypsum’s—bigger and more circular, a cross between a horse’s and a large stag’s.
Too many for one unicorn alone, she thought, and plenty to entice Wynn’s steed.
“Loyal friend,” she murmured, patting Merrie on the neck. Then she galloped her up the hills.
The trail of hoof marks held to the riverbank, which made tracking simple. She paid little attention to the silver waters rushing beside her, glad none of the hoof prints led into the them. The sun rose higher in the sky, and she loosened her cloak and slowed Merrie’s pace.
Where have they gone? They can’t have gotten far in my short hours of sleep.
She’d figured it had been a simple chase: Nolan gone wild over the enchanted stampede, Wynn galloping his incited horse a ways to let him run off steam, but soon gaining back control.
So, why hasn’t Wynn turned him round yet? She pushed her hair behind her ears. Just a little farther. He has to be near.
She trotted Merrie up the steepening hills and caught sight of a dense Tinne grove. The scarlet berries hung heavy amid the evergreens. And the track marks disappeared into the grove.
“Wynn!” She raced into the cluster of trees, only to stop as Merrie reared back from the prickly leaves. The mare snorted and beat her hoofs, and Lia slid down and pulled her into a small clearing where she could leave her. After forcing her tangled hair into a bodkin, Lia continued to search the thicket on foot.
“Wynn, can you hear me?”
Lia fought through the vast coppice for hours, the many scrambled hoof prints leading everywhere and nowhere. She cried his name repeatedly without result. The Tinne branches snagged at her cloak, their sharp fingers scratching against cloth and skin.
“Please, answer me!” Her voice turned hoarse and tears of frustration welled up.
The grove seemed to grow around her, a never-ending labyrinth that mocked her plight. With blurred eyes, she flailed desperately through the confusing maze of trees. The sun neared its zenith in the dull slate sky, and besides her ragged breaths, Lia heard only the rush of the river. She struggled to the edge of the waters, trudged up and down the bank, finding no sign of her cousin.
A sprinkling of rain made its way to the ground, muddling the already confused pattern of prints. Soon, the persistent drizzle soaked her, and she scrambled through the trees until she lost all sense of direction.
Her cries for Wynn, and her whistles for Merrie vanished on the bitter air. Even the sounds of the river rapids faded to silence. She was utterly lost. Her mind and body limped until she collapsed on all fours. She folded her legs underneath her and wept.
Wynn had disappeared in the quiet of night while she slept like a babe, another of her family victimized by Brume. First Grandma, then Da, then Granda, and now Wynn, all of them fallen to this insatiable land.
Hot tears stained her face. She reached a trembling hand up to one of the Tinnes and drew down a cluster of berries. Her eyes roved over the smooth beads the color of blood, and her hand warmed to their touch.
They’re warm!
She stared at her palm and chided herself. In all her panic, she’d forgotten to do the one thing that might help her find Wynn: connect with the trees. This was their grove after all, their clustered haven where they ruled as kings under bright thorny crowns.
She scooted closer to the shrub tree and placed her hand on its smooth bark. Its leaves, which had slashed at her flesh before, now tickled her hand. She breathed deeply and reached her thoughts outward. Fiery prods pierced her mind.
No, please! Let me go …
She pried her hand from the trunk and tried to disconnect her mind from the tree, but it held her thoughts firm. Then a strange chant droned in her head, “Surrender your crown, surrender your crown.”
What crown? Oh, help me!
She ground her teeth against the stabbing assault, grasped her head in misery, all while searching her memory for anything that might save her. Nothing came forth. And the pain increased, as if a band of barbs wrapped around her mind.
She tried to crawl away, only to bump against another tree, and another, the grove’s hold on her unyielding. Then she clawed at her knapsack and flung pouches of herbs to the ground. The sight of them merged into one painful blur. Just when she thought she’d go mad from the pain, a page from Grandma’s Grimoire floated from her memory, clear as if it lay right before her.
On the top of the parchment was a sketch of a holly tree, and below it, a verse:
Tinne tree, evergreen,
King of the waning days;
Wearing humble thorns peacefully,
In his fair and enchanted maze.
“Wearing … humble thorns … peacefully,” she stammered, and some of her pain ebbed away.
Lia sucked in air and focused again on the page for answers. Her mind’s eye skimmed the uses of its bark and leaves, and the warnings for its deadly berries, and stopped at two more verses.
She pressed her hand to her throbbing temples and recited the first one,
Surrender your fight, give up your woe;
For the true path to light, begins with letting go.
The shock from the verse momentarily halted her struggle against the pain, and a wash of relief flooded her mind.
Ahh, thank the glittering stars!
A dull throb remained as the trees kept their invisible hold, but they had released her from the pain as soon as she surrendered to it. Tears of relief streamed down her face.
Surrender everything, she thought, and she let go of the last vestiges of her struggle. She even ceased her despair for Wynn. It was time for trust, to move beyond urgent needs, beyond useless panic, and beyond her shackles of fear. Wynn had vanished, yes, but there was a way to reclaim him. For in the quiet peace where her mind now lingered, she knew that he had not yet perished.
She focused again on the page hovering in her thoughts. The second verse read:
Tinne tree, I cherish thee,
The one-horned beast seeks your sanctuary;
I sacrifice my crown for just one wish:
A bit of alicorn dust willingly relinquished.
Alicorn. Lia hesitated for only a moment, and then she reached up and pulled the silver bodkin free. Her cherished hair rolled down her back, warm, familiar. She grabbed her knife and its razor edge blinked in readiness.
With her blade at neck level, she swallowed all pride and sawed at the thick sections of her hair, hacking off the length of the only sort of crown she owned. The red tresses tumbled down around her. Her hand fell limp, her knife dropped loosely from it, and she bent her shorn head low. “Take my sacrifice, and I ask only that you free my cousin. Free Wynn!”
A soft nudge and the sound of nickering came from behind. “Merrie—?” Lia lifted her eyes and gasped.
A unicorn bowed its head and Lia reached for its mane. She ran her fingers through the silken hair and the beast eyed her
with wells of blue. Lia’s voice came raspy, “Where is he?”
The stunning creature tossed its head and a long golden horn flashed into view. It touched its horn to the top of Lia’s head. Her scalp tingled in response. Then the unicorn turned and slowly rubbed its horn against the smooth bark of the Tinne. With several strokes, a pile of glitter fell from the golden spiral. Lia gazed at the alicorn dust glimmering at the base of the tree and the unicorn backed away. In one final gesture, it bowed before her, and then disappeared into the grove.
“Lee, where are you?”
“Wynn! I’m here.” Lia jumped to her feet. Her cousin crashed through the trees and hugged her so tight she had to gasp for air.
“Thank the fallow fields. I thought my mind was lost for good.” He released her and rambled on, “We’d barely fallen asleep when all of a sudden I heard them. I looked up and saw Gypsum running with a whole pack of unicorns. Unicorns, Lee, I saw their horns and everything. Then I felt crazed and obsessed, and I jumped on Nolan’s back and took chase. I don’t understand how, but I think I was under some kind of trance. I couldn’t stop; all I could think of was catching one of them. My head’s been in a muddle until a second ago. Then all at once it cleared, and I saw you through the trees.”
“I was so scared, Wynn. I thought you were gone forever, and then that unicorn came—”
“Your hair,” he blurted.
Lia grabbed at her short locks. They felt foreign, as if belonging to someone else. Her eyes lowered to the pile of hair, the ends of the strands still curled like a babe’s at the tips. She bit her lip and grasped one of her waist pouches. She bent down to the base of the tree and used her knife to scoop up the pile of glittery substance.