Arrow of the Mist

  Lia’s gut flinched and her muscles tensed. The scratchy voice of the crone tore the webs in her head. “Rites? Boy’s in place?”

  The crone cackled. “’Tis why yer here, lass, so we’s can bind ye, and the boy’s life’ll make a right fine sacrifice.”

  “No!” Euphoria battled with the horror of their plan. She shook her head, trying to free herself from the woman’s spell, and nearly tumbled over dizzy.

  “Hush now, hag.” The beautiful woman’s voice missed its honeyed sound. “Lia child, you are one of us; we knew you the second you stepped foot into Brume. Special magic runs in your blood, passed down from your grandmother. An extraordinary power she claimed with her very first breath, her first seconds of life, drawn from the enchanted fog. She perished from her own desperate need, but now you’ve come, so much stronger—”

  “Enough!” Lia threw up her hands like a wall. With a strength of will she’d never known, she pushed away the woman’s power. The final vestiges of the spell unraveled, and Lia’s thoughts broke free. However, the truths about Grandma Myrna remained engraved on her mind.

  The woman’s lips clamped shut and a troubled expression marred her exquisite face. All three guardians appeared transfixed, as if carefully weighing their options.

  Lia’s feet remained tied, entwined within the roots of the tree. She inhaled its pungent scent, felt the beating of its pulse vibrating in her soul. A sudden wash of energy poured through her, the sacred Nion offering a glimpse of its mystery, a taste of its magic.

  It promised her unbounded power and immortality, an existence rooted in earth’s wisdom, eternally nurtured by sea and sky, a blissful life without end. But, it came at too high a price. Her body, her soul, would meld with the tree, her entire being forever merged within its embrace. Wynn’s life, the memory of home and family, Kelven, all would be lost to her as she became bound to the Great Nion.

  Lia smiled at the young girl now plaiting her sun-kissed hair. She reminded her of the undine faery preening her locks in the soapsuds. And the memory sparked an idea. “I have a gift for you, something very special.”

  “What nonsense is this?” the crone shrieked, wringing her skeletal hands.

  “Ooooh! I love gifts.” The young girl clapped her hands.

  “It’s in my bag, on my horse. Shall I whistle for her?” Lia slowly turned her feet and realized the Nion tree had already honored her choice and set her free.

  “Yes, yes! Bring your mare,” the girl squealed.

  The raven-haired woman stood mute, her face etched in anger.

  Merrie perked up to the sound of Lia’s whistle, as if waking from a deep slumber. She shook her mane and trotted toward her mistress. Nolan didn’t seem to notice, his muzzle hanging in a stupor. Jokur and Wynn stood at the cliff’s edge, waiting. Wynn’s face was turned toward the Nion, but Lia knew the grassy knoll and tree branches obscured his view of her. Hold on, Wynn, just a little longer!

  Merrie nuzzled Lia with her velveteen nose. Lia breathed in the horse’s familiar smell, the musk filling her with memories of home, of Da. She opened her bag and brought out a brick imbued with golden swirls and the scent of elf leaf. Then she witnessed a rare scene. All three guardians, steeped in ancient magic, appeared baffled.

  “What do we need with some pretty block of … stone?” The crone’s voice had weakened.

  The girl stared at it wide-eyed. “’Tis too dark for citrine, and look at all those swirls. Oh please, what is it?”

  The woman remained quiet, her eyes turned to a dark sea. The air chilled, a salty breeze stirred, and time ran thin. Lia had silenced the woman’s voice, had paused her next move, but unlike the Nion tree, the woman would not part with Lia so easily.

  “This comes from a magnificent recipe my ma created. It’s truly a wonder.” Lia leapt toward the cauldron, holding her breath against the fumes, and threw the block of soap into the brew. Within seconds, a mass of foam formed and bubbles spewed over the edges of the pot.

  “Grab the ladle!” the crone rattled.

  “Oh no, oh no, oh no!” The young girl jumped up and down.

  Lia quickly mounted Merrie while the woman stood with her arms raised to the skies.

  Jokur and Wynn aimed their attention skyward at the massive black clouds converging overhead. The winds gusted forth, claps of thunder banged, and Lia struggled to keep steady. She swung around her crossbow and set a bolt in place on the stock. She kicked Merrie into a charging gallop and kept her eyes on the giant. Jokur took notice of the charging pair, exposing the target. Her aim was true, the sharp bolt landing firmly within the black depths of one eye.

  A deafening rumble poured out of the rock giant’s mouth. He threw Wynn’s sword aside and grabbed at the black ooze on his face. Stumbling blindly, he teetered on the cliff’s edge, his feet struggling for purchase until he fell into the abyss below. Lia closed her eyes against the cloud of debris stirred by the deluge of crashing rocks.

  When the dust dissipated in a downpour of rain, she realized Wynn had vanished too.

  “Nooo!” Lia’s voice echoed across the waters below.

  She jumped off Merrie and flew to the precipice, peering downward into the wall of fog. From the depths of mist, a pair of hands emerged followed by a clump of yellow hair. Lia let out a sigh of relief, and helped pull Wynn up over the edge.

  “Just some … weakling girl … huh? Let ’em all … see you now,” he rasped.

  Lia gripped under his shoulder, taking note of the new gashes across his arms and spots of blood soaking through his tunic. “Are you all right? Can you ride?”

  “Yeah.” He coughed, leaning against her. “Good thing those bindings fell from my wrists, all of a sudden too, like vines shriveling in the sun.” Nolan ambled close, snorting, and Wynn struggled to mount him. “Horse was in some kind of daze. Guess all the racket woke him up.”

  Lia scurried off and returned with his blade. “You’ll be wanting this back.”

  The winds died as quickly as they had been conjured, and the horses cantered from the edge of the cliff. Lia tried to veer her eyes from the Nion tree, to muffle the echo of the crone’s cackle, and to ignore the silence of the spellbinding woman. But she was compelled to see it one more time before they fled. She ventured a glance toward the base of the Nion and found the cauldron sitting cold and the guardians missing from their posts. They had gone back into the tree, defeated.

  The thirteen-part elixir spun through Lia’s mind, and a mix of hope and dread filled her. For now, she kept the newfound quest to herself. Wynn needed his wounds cleaned and a good night’s sleep before hearing they weren’t headed home.

  They galloped their horses as fast as Wynn’s battered body could stand, slowing down only when the Nion became a silhouette behind them. They progressed across the plateau in search of a place to camp. The terrain grew unfamiliar and the clouds thickened in the twilight sky, spitting down just enough rain to hinder their sight.

  “There, just ahead,” Lia said, catching sight of a dense grove. A swollen brook meandered through a thicket of Fearn trees, and they found a secluded place near the water’s edge. Lia breathed easier within the copse, its canopy of green providing a welcome roof.

  Wynn groaned as he slid off his horse, and Lia bade him sit still while she set up camp. The trees clustered together in a shelter of umber-brown trunks and dangling catkins. She collected pieces of the alder wood for kindling, the white inner bark turning blood red with each cut from her knife. Then she heard the flutes.

  She jerked her head around, but Wynn seemed undisturbed. Her hand tingled against the Fearn wood, and a subtle sensation trickled up her arm. A breeze wafted through the grove and more soft tones danced on the air.

  Pandean pipes, she thought. The melody danced through the shield of trees like a chorus to the running stream. Lia scanned the grove and a hundred pair of eyes peered back at her.

  Ohhh. “Are you fae,” she whispered, hoping they were friendly, “like those in the meado
w? Or maybe tree sprites?”

  “What?” Wynn grumbled.

  “We’re not alone.”

  Wynn moved for his sword.

  “It’s all right, Wynn. It’s nothing like that,” she said. “They’re fae of some sort.”

  The tingling in Lia’s body intensified and somehow she knew the energy of the trees ran through her. It was similar to her connection with the Nion, though the Fearns exuded their own essence. A stronger sense of the shy creatures filled her. Their playfulness permeated her mind and she relaxed.

  As if she had newly grown antennae, Lia reached out with her thoughts and probed into one of the trees. She didn’t know who was more startled, she or the tree sprites, when she barged into their realm. A frenzy of whispers chattered through her mind while the sprites scrambled about.

  I’m in the tree. My thoughts, my mind’s eye is here with the fae! Like mindspeak, only better. Stronger.

  “Friendly, er, greetings,” Lia imparted.

  She heard more whispers, several giggles, and a few hiccups. Waves of auburn hair and honeyed skin washed through Lia’s mind, and she sensed the sprites’ devotion for the Fearns.

  She focused her thoughts on the sprites, trying to use her mind’s eye to capture sight of one. Rather than flitting about like the geancanach in the meadow, the Fearn tree faeries melded in and out of the rich surrounding wood. Lia focused on one spot within the tree, and her breath caught when a sprite came into view.

  Verdant eyes shone from the faery’s bronze face. Soft moss covered the length of her torso, and long reddish-brown hair cascaded down to her waist. She tilted her head and smiled.

  Lia gasped as a sudden force yanked her away from the fae and pulled her downward, down the tree’s trunk, down, down, until her mind’s eye plunged into the stream. She anchored her mind against the Fearn’s sturdy roots and tried to reclaim her wits.

  A woman’s voice permeated the waters, and though she didn’t understand how, Lia recognized it. “Listen, child. Find me at the headless Eadha, where the black waters roil.”

  “Grandma!” Lia shot out her thoughts in every direction, but only the stream’s gentle gurgling answered her cry. “Please, where are you? Come back. Talk to me!”

  “Lee,” Wynn’s voice cut through all other sound.

  Lia’s mind shot out of the waters, out of the Fearn tree, and back to where she sat near her frantic cousin. “Wynn.”

  “What in spades is going on? It’s like you weren’t here! Your eyes were all glazed over, and when I called out your name, you just stared, like you couldn’t hear me at all.”

  Lia blinked at him. His brow was creased in panic and a few gashes still gleamed from his fall. She pushed her disquiet aside. Now was not the time to alarm Wynn about Grandma. “I’m all right. Everything’s fine. I just got a little … fae-struck is all. I’ll make up a fire and we can both get some food and rest.”

  She shifted her focus to her tasks, and soon had an array of pots simmering over the fire. She concocted a quick wound salve, mumbling out the names of the herbs.

  “Did you just say hurr burr?” Wynn asked, eyes heavy.

  Lia stifled a smile. “I wondered myself about the old names. I mean, who came up with cuckoo’s bread for plantain leaves or bloody butcher for valerian root?”

  He gave her a sideways grin and Lia pushed a steamy mug into his hand. “Here, drink some bear’s foot while I get your soup.”

  Wynn held his bruised side as he chuckled.

  Lia breathed relief when her cousin dozed off. He barely got his food down before he was snoring. Now, the healing powers of sleep claimed his body. He’d need all the strength he could gain for their journey ahead.

  The herbs Ebrill had her gather from the meadow wouldn’t cure Granda or Da, but they were more powerful than any back home. It would buy them time, Lia assured herself. Time they all desperately needed.

  The firelight grew soft and the stream trickled a lullaby through the naked tree roots, but Lia couldn’t sleep. The last few days whirled inside her head. She’d seen and heard too much to sort it all out at once. The thirteen-part elixir ran like mud through her mind. Half of the pieces remained unsolved and one part meant contending with the Straif.

  Grandma Myrna presented another quest. The words of the Nion guardian echoed in Lia’s head, “Sacrificed ’er very soul,” and, “Slave-wraith.” The crone said the shades and their master had stolen Grandma’s life and taken her magic. How? And who was this master?

  Lia recalled the haunting verse from the Grimoire:

  For the call of magic, I do what I must;

  Sacrifice is needed to do what is just.

  The dark master beckons, and his command I do heed;

  Anything I will do for flower, root, and seed.

  And after my life does perish,

  And the magic fades toward its end,

  I know the children will come forth and bring it back again.

  Grandma’s spirit had reached out from Brume’s waters and summoned Lia to an Eadha tree. But what could a headless tree have to do with Grandma’s soul? And what had the Nion woman meant when she said, “Her very first breath, her first seconds of life, drawn from the enchanted fog”?

  Lia struggled to get her mind around all the revelations. Baffled beyond thought, she reached up and grabbed the pouch hanging against her chest. She dropped the crystal into her palm and it cast a spray of rainbows against the firelight. Its prism faces led to several hexagonal points, and like magic wands, the crowns exuded a strange heat in her hand.

  “Another mystery,” she whispered.

  Frustrated and exhausted, she nestled close to the fire and ran her fingers through her hair like Ma used to do until she fell asleep. A dream danced through her head of a royal procession, colored in purples, reds, and gold. A fair-haired king marched at its head, followed by his court. In keeping faith with the people, they emanated everything royalty should be, and nothing like the heartless rulers of Nemetona.

  Lia awoke before dawn and left Wynn to his slumbers while she searched for a way back down to the valley. The grove spanned along the mountain’s edge, shielding her from the world beyond it. After several attempts down different trailheads, she came upon one with ample breadth and smooth ground. Satisfied, she sped back to camp.

  “Wynn, time to wake.” Lia nudged him.

  “Wha … what time is it?” He rubbed his eyes.

  “Sunrise. How do you feel?”

  “Sore. Thirsty. I’ll live.” He rose from his spot and knelt at the edge of the brook, splashing cold water onto his face.

  Lia packed up their things and set Wynn out a hunk of bread with a slab of cheese.

  “Your salve helped, and that bear’s foot really kicked me to sleep.” A half-hearted smile tugged at his lips. He scooped up his fare and mounted Nolan.

  Lia smiled back, though her nerves fluttered in her stomach. “I found a trail earlier this morning. Should take us back down into the valley where we can head … east.”

  “East?” Wynn coughed, spewing breadcrumbs. “But, that’s where that deadly tree is.”

  Lia swallowed hard. “Yes, I know.”

  Wynn veered Nolan closer to Lia. “All right, I’ve had my rest, now it’s time to talk. I thought the remedy was at the Nion, that you’d found it and we might be heading back now. What in billhooks happened back there anyway?”

  Lia took a deep breath. “I know you couldn’t see them, but there were guardians, keepers of the tree: an old crone, a girl, and the most beautiful woman. The woman’s magic was powerful, hypnotic. The three of them brewed a binding potion, a spell to keep me there, and you, well, you were to be the blood sacrifice.”

  Wynn scowled. “Ma was right, this trickster land devours people.”

  Lia’s ma had said much the same: “Brume has an insatiable appetite. Your grandma lost a piece of herself every time she ventured there.”

  “All right, what else?” Wynn said.

  Li
a eyed him warily. “The Nion tree started to, well, merge with me somehow.”

  His brow pinched. “Merge?”

  “I know it sounds strange, but it was quite amazing.” She paused, remembering the tree’s power. “Anyway, the woman also gave me the cure, or at least a recipe for the elixir. It’s in spell form, a riddle to be deciphered, and a piece from the Straif is one part of it—”

  “Oh, ruddy spades!” Wynn’s eyes flashed blue fire and Nolan snorted at his master’s distress. “This place is nothing but riddles, each one more deadly than the last. And now you’re telling me we have to go tangle with that menacing bramble?” His voice tore through the grove, every muscle in his face contorting with anger.

  “It’s the only way!” Hot tears sprung from Lia’s eyes. She knew Wynn had suffered, had a right to be angry, but his words chipped at her resolve and the burden of their plight pressed hard upon her shoulders.

  He dragged his hand across his glowering face and pulled his cloak tight. “Fine. East it is then.”

  Lia nudged Merrie into a walk and they set off down the mountain trail. A drizzle of rain began to fall, matching Lia’s mood. Her hair matted against her face and her mind drowned in worry. Wynn’s right. Nothing about this land has been straightforward. Like the twisting of a vine, a new quest came up at every turn. From Ebrill’s ominous words, “The dark power grows stronger as the enchantment weakens,” to the Luis tree wyrm’s warning, “The guardians are losing power. Darkness devours the veil,” and all the other mysteries she’d pondered during the night, their journey entangled them deeper within its grasp.

  After a long and silent ride, Wynn called out, “There, to the left. Let’s stop for a bit.”

  Lia turned Merrie into a sheltered inlet. They dismounted their horses and Wynn offered Lia his water skin. “You found a decent trail.”

  Lia silently agreed. Sprigs of plant life jutted out of every stone fissure, blanketing the path in green. It was plenty wide for the horses, and the gradual, easterly decline made for an easy ride headed in the right direction.