Mark of the Faire: The Kell Stone Prophecy, #3

Chapter One

1268 Autumn

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Aliara woke, struggling to breathe, coughing... moving, crawling, before she knew where she was. The tent. The tent had collapsed. The child in her womb rolled and kicked. Her legs were on fire; she sat up to beat at them with her hands. Catching sight of an opening, she crawled over Rue-Anna and forced her head out, attempting a gulp of fresh air; the night was ablaze around her. Shouting echoed nearby. Horse hooves pounded the ground. She grabbed at her sister and tried to wake her, screaming her name again and again, but it was no use. She must find their men folk for help.

When Aliara stood outside the tent, she realized there would be no help. Their camp was burning, soldiers rode through smashing and cutting everything—the fine plates and cups for the wedding feast; casks of wine; her sister’s wedding gown. Belfen lay motionless several yards away and a young, dark-haired guard stood over his body; he turned to her with a sly grin. When he raised his bow, she fled into the darkness away from camp.

She fell before she felt the sting of the arrow in her left thigh, crashing onto her stomach. Gasping, she caught her breath, stood and ran again. She was an esien, of the realm, kin to the maiden. She could outrun this scrawny folk any other time of life, but heavy with child, her chances were slim.

Another pang caught her in the right shoulder—she screamed but she did not fall. He was getting closer. She had to keep on. She must find a way. Then she remembered the clover and a surge of energy found her as another arrow pierced her hip. This time she fell but gave little time to suffering, darting up again, limping forward toward the patch. She could smell the clover, blooming in the warm night. Not as strong as it would be in later months, but the gemein would be there still.

Finally she felt the clover under her bare feet, struggled through, and fell to her knees. An arrow thumped into the ground just ahead of her. She lay down, exhausted, onto her side.

Help me, she whispered. Please.

She could see him, standing just outside the patch, and she thought she saw his smile in the dim light of the moon. The gemein rose around her as she raised her hand. The guard lifted a firearm and pointed it at her.

Help me, she said.

Aliara watched as a cloud of bees buzzed from the clover and surrounded the folk; he dropped his weapon and shrieked, swatting at his face. He ran, his screams tore at the night all around her as she let herself lie back in the damp flowers and drift out of consciousness.

1280 Autumn

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Leah Hallowsing cowered in the darkness, sobbing once again. She couldn’t be sure how long she’d been lost, but it seemed weeks. She had little food left, and feared she could not fight off the cave rats again. They followed her as she crawled along the cavern floor, feeling her way, sure she’d plunge off a cliff to her death if she dared to walk; they scurried around her, occasionally nipping and pulling at her skirt. Several times now, one landed on her pack and, screaming, she battled him off. The time would come when it would be more than one. At some point, they’d have her pack and she’d have to consign herself to starving alone in the caves of the east, far from home.

She could crawl no more, she decided; she must rest. Every time she tried to sleep her mind brought her images she couldn’t force away. Her father in his closet office, sitting across from her, the shadow of candle flame dancing on his face. You are kin to the apostates, he kept saying. What do you think of that?

And Kirche, smirking. Watching her. She couldn’t stop remembering the day she’d nearly told him about her father, about the journal of Dakenruud, about the kell stone.

I must tell you, she heard herself say over and over again. Something of great importance. Kirche had stared at her, almost as if he knew what she would say. And she stumbled. I... She could no longer remember why she’d thought to tell him the truth—could not recall what had stopped her. Was it the look on his face, the deadness in his eyes? I’m frightened of the caves, she’d told him. It was a lie...then.

In her moments of hope, which were few of late, she’d see Prenalin—the horror in his eyes as he reached for her other hand, just as the one slipped from his grasp. She could still hear his screams. Leah! Leah!

Oh, Pren, she whispered.

They’d gathered their gear in Path, and rode hard northeast with Kirche’s spelunkers, Wivel and Pike. Wivel reminded Leah of the shepherds and cowmen she’d met on school field trips. Thick with strength and tanned, he had the sharp, dark features of a man who lived for physical exertion. And his wife, Pike, as lean and wiry as an acrobat, always a thin straight line of a smile on her lips. They were eager to tour the caverns of the eastern continent and Kirche was only glad to make a quick journey of it.

He’d heard tell of a meeting in the hills between King Welk and the land pirates and deserters of Ruhm who made the place their home. He wanted to get the spelunkers to work, enjoy a bit of cave hunting himself, and then move on, leaving them to search for his kell stone while he and his entourage traveled south to find out what they could of Welk’s planned meeting with the eis.

The caverns of the eastern continent rose like a giant collection of sloping ant hills, rocky and brown, surrounded by forest. They’d lost track of the spelunkers within hours, but nobody worried; they were tasked with the find and would meet Kirche back in Ruhm.

Keep to this path here, Wivel had told them. It circles back around. Don’t go off it or you could find yourselves lost.

And so she, Prenalin, and Kirche hiked in the dim light of the upper level near their campsite, up natural steps and down, in and out of pure rock, sometimes stopping to peer up at slits of sunlight highlighting enormous boulders resting uneasily against one another above their heads.

It happened so quickly, the slip, the tiny misstep that had Leah clinging to the rock, kicking her feet in search of some-thing beneath them to support her. Prenalin reached out and grabbed at her fingers just as she lost her grip. They stared at each other, frozen in time. All sound was muted but for her breath in her ears. Her hand pulled from his grasp like thick sap from a tree and though it seemed to take hours, she knew she only glimpsed his face and it was gone—she slid into the darkness, tumbled deep into the rock, tripping, falling, until the ground leveled beneath her. Prenalin’s voice echoed far away, calling her name.

Pren, she screamed.

He was no more than muffled noise and moving away, falling deeper into silence. She tried to climb out. For what seemed days she tried, until her fingertips and palms were bloodied and raw. She cried out; no one answered but herself.

At some point, she couldn’t know how much time had passed, she feared they’d give up on her. It was then she began to move, determined to find a way out. And in her head, her own words did little to comfort her. I’m frightened of caves.

Frightened. Leah pressed her hands against the sides of her head, forcing the sight of Prenalin’s fear away. It wasn’t true, she wanted to say. It was a lie. I’m not afraid. They must be searching for her, she promised herself. Prenalin wouldn’t leave her to die in the dark.

Chapter Two

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Dunham had assured Welk he had better sit on the throne. True, he’d thought as much himself; but now he felt silly, like he was playing at king. A heavy gold, jewel-encrusted crown sat atop his head, the purple velvet robe he wore pulled at his shoulders. He wanted to stand and readjust it, but that wouldn’t be kingly. It wouldn’t even be fitting for common folk. He winced, just as the representative of the ice realm began his approach followed by five others. They looked more comfortable in their refinements. And they glided across the stone floor effortlessly, with cold smiles on their faces.

Luma, High Advisor to the Queen of the Eis, Chamberlain called out as Luma, pale as death, dressed in white robes, moved forward and bowed before him.

They were rather attached to formality, these eis. Prim, proper, always perfect in their dress and manner. Their smiles always barely there, as if their kindness wasn’t meant to be taken too seriously. The eis were legendary for their strength, their resistance to wounds and an ability to heal. Even without the kell stone, while they could be killed, their skill with the bow and sword were formidable; their greatest weakness was in number.

In The Book of Katze, Welk had read as much as he’d time for about the history of the beast folk and their kell stone—a stone from which they drew not only strength and greater powers both physical and mental, but also those traits that exist, not in the beasts of the southern hemisphere of Kell, but in the folk. Katz surmised that the kell which influenced their evolution here in the north did not exist in the southern lands. Indeed, there are no eis, nor angels in the south, according to the explorers who managed to slip through Ruhm’s grasp and travel to the Ruud to tell their stories. Nor any brownies, trolls, felidae, or other manner of creatures. Similar creatures that exist in the south do not appear sentient—a condition the folk who left the south and settled in the Great West long ago wished to have revisited on the beast in the north.

Without their stone above ground in the north, the beast folk had not only grown weaker and fewer in number as the generations passed, but they fell away from their Rad—the beast governmental body. According to Katz, the kell stone forced the Rad, a council the angels and the eis wanted no part of. Only the beast lord, always a felid, could free them from it. Without the kell stone, the beast folk may one day be no more than legend.

Rise, Luma, Welk said. You may speak.

Welk smiled inwardly as he watched Luma compose his face for his memorized speech.

Lara of Eidolon, Daughter of the Snow, Queen of the Eis, wishes to make known her dissatisfaction with the folk of the Ruud and their kings’ refusal to remove their kin from her lands. Be warned that had not a most advantageous event occurred for your sake, Welk, King of Michelruud, this emissary would be a declaration of war. But fear not, you have one reprieve. Fenn of the Wasteland, child of prophecy, marked by the faire in infancy has been captured and is held for you now. If you will lead your kin out of our lands, you will have him.

Welk leaned forward, surprised. He expected a general plea, perhaps a threat, especially after the way the usurper queen’s previous emissaries were summarily dismissed by his ailing father. But this? They have captured Fenn Foster and wish to ransom him?

I must ponder this news, he said to Luma. Please rest and join us in our mid-day meal. He held out his hand toward the set tables, the nobles all standing about watching, waiting, the wine stewards ready to pour. And as if on cue, fat chef came in from the kitchen leading a parade of tray-laden servers and the smell of roasted pig and duck wafted through the air. Surely, even eis could not resist a roasted pig.

Luma and his party bowed before the king. I thank you for the invitation, he said, but our queen is eager for your response.

Very well, Welk said. He leaned back on the throne, put an elbow on the rest to his right and let his fingers scratch and play at his chin.

The boy is marked by the faire, he thought. And yet, the usurper queen would give him up. She does not fear his strength; but then why would she? The boy would have no interest in the eis; at least, not yet.

But this development would work out well for Welk. He was to leave for the hill country on the morrow. He would meet with the land pirates and representatives of those pilgrims from Ruhm and parts beyond, organize, make a stand for their rights to live on land the eis claimed, but of which they refused to take possession.

He chuckled and Luma, in his periphery, took in a deep, insulted breath. Yes, Welk thought, the usurper queen must want war. There could be no other explanation for her deigning to send emissaries to request anything, even the clearing of folk from her land. She and her angel consorts deemed the folk inferior, scum to be removed if possible, and if not, ignored. She wanted war. But without the kell stone, did the angels and the eis have enough power for it?

Welk sat upright and looked to Luma. She knows, he thought. She knows the prophecy. She expects Fenn Foster to find the stone—to wield it, destroy the Ruud, kill the kings. The king.

Here Welk laughed and Luma’s left eye twitched. Could the usurper queen know of his efforts to unite the kingdoms of the Ruud under his throne? Thus making himself the one and only king—the only target of the prophecy? Nonsense. There is no real prophecy, he reminded himself.

Tell your queen I will come for him, he said to the troubled Luma.

Perhaps she wants war. Or perhaps she wishes to take Welk as a better ransom. Could she be that ignorant of the tenuous relationships among Michelruud, Aaronland, and Damon Wall? Ricker and Arnot would let her have him—tell her to deal with the folk in the hill country herself, dirty her own, delicate eisen hands. No matter.

And the folk? Luma said, lifting his chin, no doubt wishing Welk was not above him on the throne so that he could look down his long, eis nose at him.

Does the queen of the eis not understand that the winter folk are not from the Ruud? I’m sure she has been informed that these folk have no connection with us.

They are folk. They are not eis nor angel. They are more your concern than hers.

Very well. I will come for the lad and on my way I will see what I can do about your folk problem.

Luma waited for more. But there was no more. Welk waved a hand in dismissal and the eis and his entourage bowed again and backed away before turning to leave.

Dunham, you will have to send for Sorgood, Welk said with a smile. We must pull him from the port and let him know that he is to travel to the ice realm. He should be giddy.

Dunham raised an eyebrow.

It will be the last I ask of him, before I discharge him from the guard.

Chapter Three

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Her footsteps on the spiral stair woke Fenn in the dim light of the tower. The fires were no more than embers now and he saw only shadow as she scuttled across the floor; there was a rustling to her steps, as if she wore a gown and it brushed the floor as she passed. Groggy, he rubbed at his eyes and lifted his head, but she was not on her blanket by the fire on the other side of the room. He knew she must be hidden in one of the other alcoves; but, why?

The girl was there that first morning when Fenn woke to find himself in the top room of a tower, at the back of what he assumed was the ice palace. Though the room was large and round, eight thick stone walls jutted out from the exterior, forming cubbies, three with fireplaces, one with a heavy wooden door, and the other four with windows closed off by thin boards latched with rusty hooks. Only two fires were lit, those on opposite sides of the room—his, and the girl’s. He’d nodded, that first day, but she ignored him and he’d gone on to explore on his own.

The locked door faced south and he could see from the window next to it, there was a landing outside it, and a wooden stair circling the tower to the room below. In the center of the room was a spiral stair. Pushing through a thin wooden door at the top, he found himself on a roof with a three-foot stone wall. Stacks of firewood blocked one portion and next to them were buckets, one for food, the other ice. There was a rack over his fire, where he could warm up the bits of meat and vegetables the angels left for them. He had a cup in which he could melt the ice for water.

The eisen was pale, as he’d heard they were, her hair the color of honey and her eyes the dark, angry blue of the wild burr petals that strangled out the white lilies Father Treacher tried to grow in his garden. She wore a hooded, full-length robe the color of straw, but at its bottom rim, a silky, gossamer gown slipped out occasionally and snagged on the stone floor. She said little and seemed to sneer at him when he struggled to chew the tough eleshag, or when he shivered at the icy wind whipping at him from the barely covered windows.

When she cried out in pain, Fenn sat upright, startled. She was still hidden in an alcove, away from her fire. She whimpered and cried again, though this time it was muffled, as if she were trying to hide her torment from him.

Are you all right? he said.

She sucked in a deep breath and Fenn scrambled to his feet.

No, she said. Don’t come near me.

What happened? Are you hurt?

Here she let out a shrill scream and moaned.

Fenn took a few steps toward the shadows. What can I do?

Nothing, she shouted. Go away. Back to your fire.

He nodded and crept to the embers in his own cubby where he sat and wrapped his arms around his knees, wincing at her cries.

Speak to me, she said, finally.

What about?

Anything. Her voice was weak, trembling. A story.

Fenn’s mind went blank. I don’t know any stories.

Your story then, she whimpered. Who are you?

Fenn Foster, of the wissenry in Path. In the Ruud.

And how do you come to find yourself imprisoned in the tower?

He told her about being awakened by Father Treacher in the early morning, weeks ago, and sent away from the wissenry. He told her about Sadie and Grayson, and about Rogget and Darnit. He told her they went into the beast forest and met Dag Voorspeld, about Kwitcher the elf and the troll on the bridge. He told her how he, Sadie, and Grayson snuck all the kids out of Steingefan and how his mark was discovered and he was sent away from the Ruud, to the ice realm, to see the maiden. He told her of the Wretched and his charm and Forbes Billing’s writ and Clara. And when he woke in the dawn of the next morning, he could not remember how much he had told, and how much he’d only dreamed.

When he sat up, he found logs had been added to his fire and there in his alcove were two eleshag pelts, a loaf of bread, and a bowl of apples and berries. Across the room he saw the girl in her cubby, curled up at her fire, sleeping.

Chapter Four

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Lucas offered Brinkley his extra apple and it was gladly accepted. They sat on the ground while their horses wore their feed bags and waited for the break to be ended. There was much left to do in setting up camp. More tents needed to be staked, fire pits dug—the temperature here in the east, with the spires of the ice palace in the distance, were lower than any of Sorgood’s men were accustomed to, they would need to dig them deep.

They were beyond the hills, through the winter woods, on a brief plain nestled at the opening of Kingdom Pass—a path through the towering foothills of the ice realm which jutted up through the ground as if they ached for the sky. They set up camp so close to the palace, they could be seen by the eis guards in their towers, no doubt.

They got him there in the castle, Phil said to them. Is that it?

That’s the word, Brinkley said. But this meeting here... this ain’t nothing to do with the boy of prophecy.

Too true. I heard the same, Phil said. He took Brinkley’s apple from him and tore a large chunk into his mouth before handing it back.

Lucas smiled. He’d heard the rumors as well. Welk of Michelruud got the folk of the Ruud behind him by taking action to find Fenn. Then he’d ordered the freedom of all those outcast to the waste-lands and demanded King Ricker and King Arnot allow it. What choice did they have? The people were now more with Welk than before.

His idea to stand with the people in the hill country against the nonsensical complaints of the eis would secure him as leader of the Ruud, whether in name or not. But what did it mean for Fenn? That was Lucas’ concern. Did Welk truly intend to retrieve the boy from the usurper queen? If not, Lucas would do it himself.

Ho, there, Brinkley said, standing. What’s this?

Lucas stood and turned, as all the camp did, to see the Hass of Emorah, their purple robes dancing as their horses dashed across the plain, riding in from the north.

What are they doing out here? Phil said. Ain’t it time they went back west?

Lucas, what do you know about it? Brinkley nudged him, apple still in hand.

Why would I know anything? Maybe they want to see how the meeting plays out. There are a lot of folk out here who escaped them, snuck out of Ruhm to live free.

You think they’ll make a try to haul ‘em back?

Welk would never allow that, Phil said. Would he?

Lucas moved away from them, counting the horses—ten. Two laden only with supplies, seven sat with riders, and one, free of any encumbrance. He searched the group, as they neared, for Leah Hallowing and his heart sank when he realized she was not among them. But where could she be? When their horses rode into their burgeoning camp, Lucas was first to greet them, helping with their packs and supplies.

Their Lord Kirche was tired, but showed no sign of a problem. The other, his aide whose name Lucas did not know, was pale and drawn. One of the guards, a frail young man, wiped his nose and rubbed his red eyes as he dismounted and one of the porters, a woman, sobbed as soon as her feet touched ground.

Enough, Kirche said. You. Where is your Master of the Guard?

Lucas bowed. Scouting the woods nearby, sir. There.

When Kirche had stalked off in search of Sorgood, Lucas turned to the women, one wrapped around the other like mother and child.

Can I be of any help? he asked them. Is someone wounded?

We’d like to set up our camp next to yours, the older man said.

Yes, sir. We can spare some soldiers to help.

The man nodded and moved past him through the camp; the two guards followed, leading the horses, but the women remained, as if moving was too painful.

Please, Lucas said to them. What of Hallowsing?

The younger woman sobbed again, burying her face in the older woman’s bosom.

There, there, Gretchen, the woman soothed. She looked to Lucas, her eyes brimming with tears. We lost the dear thing in the caverns.

Lost her?

She winced. Indeed. She slipped, fell into the darkness. We searched for an hour or so. But nothing. Not a sound.

Only an hour?

Gretchen raised her head and whispered, her voice throaty, he wouldn’t let us—