Arrow of the Mist
They sat upon a flat stone, and Wynn said, “Lee, I know two things real well: farming and sword fighting, neither of which seem to do much good here. I know we have no choice, so how about telling me more about this elixir.”
Lia wiped her mouth and handed back his water skin. “It has thirteen parts. Three are herbs, of which I know two for sure. Two are trees, and I know them both. Another part is golden bough, and another part is the enemy—the Straif. Then it gets confusing.” Wynn’s brow started to furrow. “It calls for alicorn, which I haven’t figured out yet. By the light of a sentry stone—don’t know this either—brewed in the blood of Brume by a mother, a maiden, and a crone.”
Wynn sighed before an impish smirk crossed his lips. “I know one. You, you’re the blushing maiden.”
Lia opened her mouth and smacked his arm. Then she realized he had a point. She drew up her leather pouch and released her stone, handing it to Wynn. “I’ve been wondering more about this, too. The quartz grows warm in my hand, and in my dreams it burns into a blaze of light.”
“Hmm, I don’t feel anything.” He placed the crystal back into her hand. “Grandma figured out how to wield the amber. Maybe it’s your turn with that stone. Maybe you’ve found your own talisman.”
Lia beamed at his insight. A talisman, rooted from her garden by her loyal hound. “Well, there’s a verse in the Grimoire that reads,”
There is an art to the gathering of stones,
A respect and care in retrieving earth’s bones—
“No more riddles!” Wynn put his hands over his ears before he turned serious. “Listen, it’s been four days since we left Granda and Kelven, and I can only hope they’ve made it back all right. If we hurry, we should make the valley floor by dusk.”
Of course they returned safe, Lia assured herself. If anyone could get Granda home in one piece, it was Kelven. Tending to her granda, cajoling a horse, plunging through haunted fog, none of it seemed too much for Kelven to manage. Then a woeful pang shot through Lia at the thought of Ma’s reaction when Kelven arrived with Granda ailing and news that Lia and Wynn were still in Brume. And all while she tended to Da.
Da, Lia thought, and she swallowed down her tears. It’d been a sennight—one full week—since the day of his attack. Ebrill had told her that the meadow’s herbs would cool the poison-induced fever and diminish the pain. They were the best magic she could offer and Lia was grateful. Everyday the herbs added to Da and Granda’s lives was another day closer to the cure. The Straif’s poison will not win. We will find what is needed and defeat this bane!
“Let’s get moving.” Lia mounted Merrie and continued down the trail.
The rain subsided as the curtain of gray tore into shreds, and the first eager star winked its greeting. They drove the horses down the mountain in silence and by dusk’s sherbet glow, Lia made out the terrain below. A tiny groan slid from her mouth.
Her eyes roved over the bog sprawling across the valley floor. Numerous streams wound their way around islands of peat moss, and Lia questioned how the horses would traverse it. To the south, the bog edged the fae grove; to the west, stretched the barren flat; and to the east, a forest stood like a wall of green backed by a foggy horizon.
“Hopefully, we can skirt the base of this mountain,” Wynn said. “The horses’ll get stuck walking through this fen.”
When the trail ended, it was difficult to find dry ground. Merrie reared her head and neighed, her feet plunging in and out of the muck. Nolan fared a little better with his greater height and friskier nature.
“I see a place ahead where we can camp,” Wynn called out, leading the way.
They tucked themselves into the cove before the final arrows of daylight vanished. There was enough scraggy brush growing through the rocks to build up a small fire, and though it didn’t give off much heat, Lia was able to boil water for a quick soup.
They finished every drop of the meal, and Lia exchanged the pot for the kettle. “That was the last of the salt pork and we’ve only a handful of vegetables left. We can use the remaining cheese and fruit tomorrow; then we’ll have to scavenge.” She rummaged through her knapsack. “But, I’ve herbs. I can make you any kind of tea you want and I’ve just enough honey to sweeten two more mugs.”
“I don’t think I’ll need any more foot-of-bear. You wouldn’t happen to have something called maiden’s magnet or maybe greatest swordsman?” Wynn asked wryly.
“For you I have just the thing,” Lia said. “How about a nice decoction of ass’s foot?”
Wynn gave her a half smile and stretched close to the fire. “All right, you got me there.” With a yawn, he tightened his cloak, and was soon asleep.
Lia brushed the day’s travel from her hair until her scalp tingled and sparks flew from the long tresses. She leaned against the mountainside and scanned the peat bog shimmering under the starry sky, wondering at the vastness of Brume. Three of its borders with Nemetona were clear: Dunley Meadow, the Sea of Morgandy, and the Bryns. But what of the northern region? What lay in and beyond the icy mountains?
She peered into the fire, the flames licking at the shadows, and she drifted to sleep.
Thorny stalks slither up a charred stump, plunging into the dark waters that fill it. The Straif! Deeper and deeper the pythonic stems snake in, tunneling through deadened roots to their well-worn path. Numerous tendrils poke up through the hillside soil, bright sunlight shining on their razor spines. It seeks! Green hills stretch below, speckled with crystal towers. In Rockberg! Wisps of hearth smoke waft from the village rooftops. Run! Get away! But her warnings are like whispers on the breeze, answered only by barbs of sinister laughter stabbing inside her head …
Lia awoke from her fate-dream with tangled hair and a kinked neck. Another foretelling, and this time the monstrous Straif lurked on the fringes of Rockberg. They had to hurry, had to get back before—
“Ruddy fiend!” Wynn’s voice jerked Lia upright.
Her eyes rounded as Wynn plunged his sword deep into a squirming blob of mud. Loud gurgling uttered from the badger-sized glob, the oozing anomaly flailing a pair of spindly arms before it finally went still.
“Ba … Ballybog,” Lia shrieked, scrambling from the ground.
Another ballybog lurched forth, attaching itself to Nolan’s back leg. Like a pulsing clot, the bog goblin clung on and emitted hideous slurping noises. Nolan squealed and reared, and tried to scale the mountainside.
“Grab his reins,” Wynn shouted.
Lia leapt forward and grasped the ropes. She tried to pull Nolan from his frenzied climbing, but the horse was too panicked. Her shoulders burned from her efforts and she struggled to maintain her footing. Wynn jabbed his blade through the ballybog’s side. Its arms flayed and green slime drizzled from its body before it dropped from Nolan’s leg.
A third ballybog rose from the marsh and careened against the hillside, landing at Lia’s feet. She kicked furiously at it, but the creature reared up, revealing red eyes and gnashing teeth. It lunged at her, as if on springs, and she ducked just in time. She clawed at the mountainside to get away, but a cold weight landed on her back and pointed teeth pierced into her skin. Her mouth opened in a silent gasp.
She fell backward as Wynn skewered the monster. He flung the creature back into the mire and reached for Lia.
“We’ve gotta move!” Wynn scooped her up like a rag doll and lifted her onto Merrie. He gave the mare a slap on the rump, and Lia gripped the reins with waning strength.
Merrie had somehow escaped attack, though her neck trembled and shone with sweat as she trampled across the wetland. Fear drove both horses to dash across the marsh, their pace swift until the outlying moor gave way to blankets of grass and heather. Though her eyes blurred with pain, Lia spotted the open crown of a Saille tree beneath the dawning sky.
“The … willow,” she muttered.
They neared the tree and came upon a brook. A measure of relief filled Lia at the sight of clean water. She slid from Merrie’
s back, knelt down, and drew up her cloak and tunic, exposing her back.
Wynn sucked in his breath. “Ooh, Lee—”
“It’s too wet for a fire … and we need to … treat the wounds properly.” She hissed in pain while Wynn scrubbed at the bloody ooze. When he finished, she took a deep breath and stumbled away.
“Where are you going?” Wynn yelled.
“Just wait … need it to heal.” Lia discarded her cloak, remaining clad only in her pale green tunic, tanned breeches, and leather boots. She cinched her belt tighter around her waist and, gritting her teeth, reached up and twisted her hair into a closely fastened bun.
She crept toward the Saille tree, hearing the familiar buzz of worker bees flying through the leaves. She knew their hive was full of honeycomb, ready for the impending winter. As long as she took only a small portion of their food, it would not jeopardize them. But they would still guard their stores.
No fire meant no smoker to calm the bees. Without the distraction of smoke, Lia would have to depend solely on her skills. Before getting closer to the hive, she wielded her knife and cut down a long stem. The wood tingled against her skin, filling her with its essence. Less grand than the Nion, but no less profound, the lissome Saille emanated within her mind a cascade of healing rain, its cool waters washing away some of her distress. The worst of her pain ebbed, and she gazed in awe at the tree.
“Many thanks,” she whispered. She folded one of its leaves into her mouth, and then wound the flexuous withy lasso-like under her belt.
The honeybees seemed unconcerned by her presence, so far. Lia inched toward the outer lining of the hive. A few bees eyed her, their tiny heads following her movements. Guard bees, she knew. They would alert the others of danger.
“Greetings, sweet sisters,” she said, chewing on the bitter leaf.
Koun came to mind, her hound beside her whenever she tended her bee skeps back home. Oddly, the numerous honeybees buzzing in and out of the double-decker hives never bothered him. Lia always thought her strange dog was part bee. She wished he was here with her now.
She reached up and cut a piece of honeycomb from the edge of the hive. Numerous bees buzzed around the stolen treasure. Several hit her chest in warning. She backed away and placed the chunk of comb into an empty pouch tied to her belt. With the honey unexposed, and with her timely retreat, she escaped from being followed or stung.
Bee-charmer, that’s what Granda called her, someone who had the skill to enter a hive without provoking attack. It had taken years of practice and an undying interest in the traits of bees. Even then, she’d had her fair share of stings. Such was the life of a bee-charmer.
Lia was shivering by the time she made it back to Wynn. “Let’s … move ahead. I don’t want to expose their honey … so close to the hive.”
“Put this on. What were you thinking?” Wynn wrapped her cloak around her shoulders.
Her shivers calmed. “Had to leave it. Cloak’s too dark and furry, like a predator.”
Wynn helped her up onto Merrie and she grabbed the reins to keep from swooning. Though Wynn had scrubbed her puncture wounds clean, they ran deep and began oozing again. Nolan didn’t fare any better. Lia spotted the wounds on his fleshy hindquarter, and even with the blood and slime washed away, they continued to seep down his leg. She knew if his wounds festered, he’d be doomed.
The moor sprawled before them toward the wooded horizon. The mountain relaxed into rolling hills, dotted with hawthorn and oak trees. Sporadic rays of mid-morning sun shone through the haze, helping to allay the chill seeping into Lia’s bones.
Wynn led them up a hill to a fruit-filled hawthorn, or Huath tree, and dismounted Nolan. “Ground’s dry enough here, I think. I can make a small fire for you to brew herbs.”
Lia folded another pain-relieving Saille leaf into her mouth and chewed it with vigor. “No need for a fire. We can use the honey on the wounds for now.”
She clenched her teeth, desperately hoping the bog goblins hadn’t plagued them with some incurable poison. She should have known in this enchanted land to watch for trickster creatures roaming the bog. The old tales were full of ballybogs, marsh naiads, and will-o’the-wisps, clever fiends wreaking havoc on their quarry. With any luck, there’d be no further travel through perilous fens.
She eased off Merrie and opened her pouch. She broke off a piece of the honeycomb and handed it to Wynn, eyeing the punctures in his hand. “Squeeze some on your wounds, then do the same on my back. Be sure to smear it on real thick.”
Wynn did as she asked, securing his handiwork with strips of nettle cloth before doing the same on Nolan’s leg. The horse snorted, but held still while Wynn tied the cloth around his trembling thigh. Afterward, Nolan licked the remaining sweetness from his master’s hand.
“We can rest a bit. The sun’s barely up—” Wynn started to say.
“We have to keep moving.” Lia swallowed her second helping of honeycomb, a measure of strength seeping back into her body. “I had another fate-dream last night, Wynn.”
Wynn peered at her. “What about?”
“I dreamed the Straif neared the edge of Rockberg. It’s no longer keeping to the Bryns.”
“You’re sure it wasn’t just—never mind. I trust your visions.”
Lia warmed at his faith in her. “There’s something else, too. Since the Nion tree, I’ve been feeling, well, I can sense the trees. It just happened with that willow—the Saille tree. And back at the Fearns my mind reached all the way through one, far down into its roots, and even out into the stream.”
Wynn’s brow rose and Lia added, “That’s when I heard Grandma Mryna. She told me to find her at the headless Eadha where the black waters roil.”
His eyes rounded. “Grandma?”
“They took her life, Wynn. I saw her image in the river on our way to the Nion, and then she came again in that stream last night. Somehow she’s reaching out through Brume’s waters.”
“How could her soul … ? I thought …” Wynn shook his head and let out a long sigh. “I don’t know what to think anymore, Lee. Everyday our journey becomes more twisted. We’ve gotten ourselves deep in this shadow-land.”
Lia knew they had to go deeper, still.
Wynn started to turn away, but then rummaged in his cloak and pulled out a worn scroll. “You dropped this at the stream, must’ve fallen from your tunic when I was washing your wounds.”
“Oh, I found it hidden inside Granda’s cane after he fell. It’s a page torn from Grandma’s book. I know it by heart now, but you go ahead and read it. Maybe you can make some sense of it.”
Wynn unfolded the parchment and read out the script,
A child of imposing grace will shine for all the land;
From moon to moon she will race, as armies take their stand.
Across the kingdom her foe will chase,
As her soul strives to stay free,
And in the end her freedom resides
Within the great hallowed tree.
“Armies? Hallowed tree?” Wynn blew out his breath, rolled the page back up, and handed it to her. “Another impossible riddle.”
Yeah, she thought, I’m beginning to grow weary of them myself.
Before Lia mounted Merrie, she eyed the Huath tree. Ma used the tart red haws to make jams. Lia and Granda gathered the flowering tops and berries for blends to help the aged. Curious, Lia reached up and touched the shiny green leaves, and immediately felt the rush.
A warm sensation ran through her body, as if a springtime sun caressed her insides. Her thoughts whirled with ribbons and lace, the scent of flowers, and velvety grass beneath her feet. Kelven appeared in her mind with his soft hazel eyes and easy smile. He beckoned to her, reaching out his arms until he folded them around her. He nuzzled her hair and ran his hand through its length. Then he tilted her head back and his lips came down upon hers, warm, gentle, sending ripples of pleasure though her body… .
“Lee?” Wynn asked.
Lia let g
o of the leaves and stepped away from the Huath tree.
Wynn cocked his head. “You look all flushed.”
“I … it’s nothing.” She averted her eyes and mounted Merrie, and then trotted her down the hill.
The crisp air cooled Lia’s burning face. She racked her mind until she finally remembered the verse in Grandma’s book under the sketch of a hawthorn tree:
Lovely Huath with flowers of cream,
Place of enchanted wedding dreams;
Lovely whitethorn where maidens blush bright
Under springtime love and all its delight.
Well, no wonder, she thought. She’d be sure to recall the lore of the next tree before she connected with it. Such a profound mark the Great Nion had left. Its brief embrace bestowed a mighty gift. Even without touching them, Lia sensed a subtle animation from the trees dotting the hillside.
If Granda Luis could see me now. A spring of tears tumbled down her cheeks. Hold strong Granda, just a little longer.
They made haste across the valley to the woodland, which served as a home to many. A herd of roe deer charged across the hills into the dense forest, a pair of red fox eyed them before slinking away, and birds warbled and chirped amid the trees.
They traversed the bracken and scrub growing beneath oak and beech trees. The multitude of trees emanated an array of energies, and Lia had to subdue the sensations rushing through her all at once. She breathed deeply and focused her mind’s eye on the trees closest to her.
The kingly oaks and queenly beeches seemed to carry on a marriage. The exposed beech roots dipped down at the base of the oaks, their woody arms entwined in a loving embrace. The trees exuded harmony, like a family working together. As in the Fearn grove, countless tree fae watched them. Their golden bodies dipped in and out like rivulets of sap through the autumnal trees, and though Lia reveled in the unity of the forest, she couldn’t ignore the mounting pain on her back.