Blood of Centaurs: Book 12 of The Witch Fairy Series (5 page)

Dagda still hopes to bring diplomacy to the conversation.  “Bayard, we have known each other a very long time.  Do you believe violence is truly warranted amongst old friends?”

Bayard is taking way too long to decide on an answer to Dagda’s question.  So, I take matters into my
own hands, as I usually do.  I imagine the long lances pointed at me as snakes and they are suddenly squirming in the hands of the Centaurs.  They drop them instantly and jump back, horrified by the four snakes slithering here and there on the floor.

In unison, Kallen and Dagda whisper out of the side of their mouths.  “Not helping.”  It’s like they’ve practiced it because they are in perfect harmony.

Fine.  I make the snakes disappear.  Now, I have four angry Centaurs who want to rip me to pieces.  Let them try.

“Father, I know from experience this girl has greater power than your sentries.  It will be, shall we say, less embarrassing for them to step back to their places.”

One of the guards gives him a fierce look.  “I am not afraid a Fairy girl,” he growls.

“You have been warned,” Kallen says evenly.  “It is not wise to push my wife.”  I hear the pride in his voice as he refers to me as his wife.

“This is stupid,” I grumble.  Pulling magic, I surround the offending Centaur with it.  He finds he is suddenly unable to move in any direction.  I take his voice away because I don’t care to hear the creative things Centaurs come up with when they’re angry.  Turning my gaze to Bayard again, I say, “I didn’t mean any disrespect.  I am simply eager to get to the heart of the matter between you and the Sasquatch.  But you must understand, I am not here to act as your savior.”  Kallen takes my hand in his and smiles at me.

“Your fate has been written in the stars for millennia.  You cannot change this by refusing to see it,” Bayard pushes.

I take several deep breaths trying to calm my annoyance.  But before I can say anything, Dagda says, “Xandra has joined our envoy as a courtesy.  She, as will the rest of us, will do as much as we can to bring about the peace you seek.  For now, I believe it prudent that omens and foresight be tabled.  We do not want to end up at war ourselves.”  The steal in Dagda’s voice and the threat makes the Centaurs bristle. 

“You claim to come as a friend yet you spew threats?” Pholos demands.

“The girl is young,” Garren tells him.  “She has yet to learn how wise Centaurs are in this regard.  It will simply take time to educate her.”  He is a major suck up.  I want to reach around Tana and slap him upside the head.  From the way Kallen is squeezing my fingers, he wants to do more than slap the older Fairy.  Maybe later when there are fewer witnesses.  For now, we’ll just have to ignore him.

Turning to Kallen, I ask, “Why do things like this always happen to me?”

Trying to keep the amusement from his face, my dear husband says, “My love, do you really expect me to answer?”

No, I
suppose not.  I don’t really need to dig that deep into my psyche to figure it out on my own.  Rising from my seat, I say, “Bayard, your sentries made the first move in regards to violence.  So, please understand that if I must use force against your Centaurs in retaliation, I will not be able to serve as mediator.  There will be too much bad blood between us.  Sometimes I say and do things that are brash and occasionally rude.  I will attempt to show you deference in regards to your position and as my elder, but not if it means compromising my own beliefs.  I’m afraid you must decide now if you can handle that or not.”

The old Centaur studies me for several long minutes. 
Waving his Centaurs back, Bayard says with a gasping sound that might be a chuckle, “The girl is right.  If she is the bringer of peace, we must let her do so in her own way.  Our way has not been successful.”  He looks around the room at the Centaurs who are standing with their arms crossed over their chests, ready to argue with him.  “The girl will not be threatened again.”  There is some grumbling, but I believe his point has been made.  He may be King only in name, but he is still King, I guess.

To me, Bayard says, “We will speak no more of what is written in the stars.  You need not believe it for it to be
true.”  To Dagda, he says, “Old friend, let us continue on in the peace we have known these many centuries.”

Dagda nods once.  “I would like nothing more.”

Liar.  He’s still annoyed but doesn’t want to show it.  I know this because invisible bugs are bounding across my skin.  The next few days are going to suck.

Wanting to move things along now that v
iolence is off the table, I release the Centaur sentry from my magic and ask, “Why are we here before the Sasquatch?  What do you want to say to us that you don’t want them to hear?”

“You are wise beyond your years,” Bayard says.  “
Yes, there are words to be spoken before the Sasquatch arrive.”

Scowling, Kallen asks,
“Is it wise to meet behind closed doors?  The Sasquatch will surely hear of it.  They are a proud yet paranoid race and will consider it an affront.”

“I agree,” Dagda adds.  “We are here to be neutral observers.” 

“Bah,” Bayard says with a wave of his liver-spotted hand.  “The Sasquatch are always taking offense to something.”

With a tight smile, Dagda says, “Then is it wise to give them more options?”

Pholos climbs off the marble tier again and answers Dagda’s question as he takes his place next to his father.  “We simply want our point of view understood.  You will be welcome to have the same council with the Sasquatch when they arrive.”

“Okay, what do you want us to know?” I ask.  Somebody needs to get to the point soon or I’m going to go insane.

As soon as Pholos plasters the benevolent expression all over his face, I know I’m in for a bug fest.  His first sentence proves how right I am.  “We understand the plight of the Sasquatch and want to be as compassionate as we can.”  The first wave of bugs have arrived.  “But,” I knew there would be a ‘but’. “Just as theirs are, our resources are finite.  We are not able to accommodate the entire Sasquatch population.”

Dagda’s face is perfectly neutral.  “What do you propose?”

Pholos clears his throat.  “We are willing to accept a certain number of refugees.”

“In theory, this is wise,” Garren says carefully.  “But it is destined to be harsh in reality.”

“Are you proposing we take them all in so they can decimate our lands as they did their own?” Pholos demands to know.

“I am not proposing anything in regard to the refugees.  I simply am looking at your proposal from different angles,” Garren tells him.  He’s not always a twit.

Hmm.  I haven’t considered the idea that the Sasquatch may be refugees.  Is their realm really that bad off?  I don’t remember reading that in the information Isla gave me.  I thought their realm would survive for at least several more generations before things became that dire.  I’ll ask Kallen later.  He is much more knowledgeable than I am on the subject.  After all, he’s been studying these things his whole life.

For the first time since we sat down, Tana speaks.  “What do you propose for those not lucky enough to be chosen?” 

I was thinking the exact same thing.  I’m curious to hear the answer the Centaurs come up with.  I grit my teeth in preparation for another lie.  Turns out, honesty comes from Bayard’s mouth.

“Let them decide after we give them a number.”

Dumbfounded, I ask, “You want them to hold a lottery or something and then just leave the rest behind?”

Pholos responds.  “The Sasquatch realm is still habitable.”  But for how long?

Before I can get started on more questions, Dagda rises.  “Bayard, this conversation is best served with the Sasquatch present.  Perhaps you can have someone show us to our shelter.”  It’s not really a question.  It’s more of an ‘I’m not going to participate in behind doors conversations anymore’ statement.  Just more polite.

Pholos opens his mouth to speak but his father holds up a hand.  “No, son.  The King and his family are correct.  Enough has been said.”  Bayard gestures to one of his guards and the
now lance-less Centaur who led us in here steps forward.  “Show them to their shelter.”

Okay, that’s the second time the word
shelter
has been thrown out there.  Did someone forget to tell me something about our accommodations?  I look up at Kallen who is looking way too innocent. The fact that he’s about to laugh tells me I’m in for a treat.  One I won’t like.

We follow the Centaur back through the office areas and then outside.  At a faster pace than he used before, he leads us down the dirt road that runs in front of the Hall of Justice and past a few other barns of lesser importance.  We almost need to trot to keep up.  A fact Dagda is not happy about, but he will not tell the Centaur to slow down.  He doesn’t want to give the Centaur the dominant position in this little parade.

We don’t walk
too far before we come to another, well, barn.  This one is not quite as fancy as the Hall of Justice, but it’s still nice as far as barns go.  The outside is freshly painted white with red trim and it seems pretty solid.  I don’t really know more about barns than that having not grown up on a farm. 

Our Centaur guard opens the massive doors and gestures us inside. 
We find several Fauns busy straightening up.  All male, of course.  Two are making a bed and one is sweeping the wooden floor.  I expect the smell of horses like at the Hall of Justice, but am pleased to find a woodsy smell in the air instead. 

“I will return for you fifteen minutes before the reception is scheduled to begin,” our guide informs us.  “Fauns, out!” he orders and the three Fauns scurry out of the barn.  The Centaur follows them and closes the massive doors behind him. 
We are left in a dark barn with only a few candles to see by.

The candlelight is enough for me to make out the room in general.  There are four large stalls surrounding an open middle area.  Here, there is furniture suitable for those who are not Centaurs.  There is a flowered couch that has seen better days and two wooden rocking chairs that look like they were bought at a garage sale.
  A hundred years ago.  I’m not certain they can still hold the weight of a Faun without crumbling.

The stalls are my real concern, though.  Each is separated from this main area by wooden walls that come up to my chin.  A hinged door is cut in the center of each.  One of the doors is open and I can see into the smaller area.  There is a bed.  Nothing more.  And the bed appears to be made of straw if the little shards sticking out through the sheets are any indication.  I am not a barn animal, I do not sleep on straw in a
stall.

I wheel around to face the rest of my party.  “Whose idea was it to not tell me about this?”

“What’s your problem?” Zac asks.  “I think it’s great.”  He walks into the open stall and tests out the straw mattress.  “It’s not so bad,” he says, projecting his voice over the short wall now separating him from us.

Garren adds, “I lived in caves in the Dragon realm.  This is luxurious compared to that.”

I cock my head in his direction.  “Saying that doesn’t make the straw any softer.”

Chuckling, Kallen says, “You will not find deluxe accommodations
in this realm.  The Centaurs generally sleep outside under the stars.  They believe it helps them understand the messages from the cosmos better.  Only under harsh weather conditions do they seek shelter at night.  They also do not get a lot of visitors.”  His eyes twinkling, he adds, “For a kiss I’ll make you a real bed.”

I narrow my eyes.  “What will it cost me for walls?”

A lopsided grin forms on his face.  “What are you willing to give?”

“Please, continue on as if we are not here,” Dagda remarks dryly. 

“I second that,” Garren drawls.

A blush rushes to my cheeks and Kallen takes a step back from me.  “Oh, for crying out loud, we are married,” I say. 

Dagda is not impressed.  “When the two of you have adult children, perhaps you will enjoy hearing such things.  I do not.”

Tana’s face becomes a stoic mask.  I think it was the ‘adult children’ thing.  Dagda has an adult child but she does not.  Great, now I feel guilty and embarrassed.

In an attempt to get past the awkwardness in the room, Kallen says, “Do you believe the Sasquatch will embrace the Centaurs’ offer?”

Dagda snorts.  He moves to the ugly sofa and sits down.  Discovering it’s
as uncomfortable as it looks, he creates a new one of brown leather.  “I have always known the Sasquatch to be an ‘all or nothing’ race.  Compromise will not come easy to them.”

Carefully s
itting in one of the rocking chairs across from him, I ask a question I probably should have asked before now.  “Why is the Centaur realm the one they want?  Why haven’t they asked for refuge in the Fairy realm or someplace else?”  My chair makes a cracking sound and I jump out of it. 

Dagda leans forward with his elbows on his knees.  “Numbers,” he says.  “They outnumber the Centaurs
five to one, but the Fairy population is more akin to theirs but we have magic.  There are also the Giants to consider.  They are under treaty to defend the realm alongside Fairies.  The Sasquatch would have no possibility of a power base in our lands.”

Garren adds, “They are similar to the Dragons in this way.  They want to be at the top of the food chain and they do not care who or what is in their way.”

“So, they’re going for total domination?” I ask. 

Pursing his lips, Dagda muses, “I am hopeful they are serious about this treaty.”

“So, the answer to my question is probably yes?” I push.

Tana joins her husband on the leather couch.  Managing a small smile, she says, “Perhaps we should wait to hear what the Sasquatch have to say for themselves instead of participating in conjecture.”  Okay, the small smile did nothing to take the sting off
her rebuff.

Kallen is standing off to the side of
me with his arms crossed over his chest.  He shakes his head in resignation.  He knows I can’t let her statement stand.

“Isn’t it important to discuss possible outcomes so we are better prepared for what may come?” I challenge.

Putting his hand on his wife’s knee, Dagda says, “Yes, it is important to discuss possibilities, as long as we do not draw conclusions based on them.  We must assume both parties are interested in peace unless proven otherwise.”  He’s good when he wants to be.  He managed to pacify both his wife and me with his words.  I hope I can do things like that someday.  It probably won’t happen anytime soon.

Fine, I’ll change the subject.  “Are the Fauns the Centaurs’ slaves?”

Letting out a deep groan, Dagda shakes his head.  “Xandra, one battle at a time.  We are here as neutral parties to a peace negotiation, not to redesign their culture.”

“So, that was a yes, then?”

“Technically, no, they are not slaves,” Kallen says.  “They are paid wages for the work they do.”

This time it’s Tana who snorts.  I’m not sure I heard her do that before.  “Wages they must use to purchase back the food they harvest without help from the Centaurs.”  Is she on my side on this one?  Maybe we can bond over breaking the bonds of oppression. 

“This is not like the Dragons and the Goblins,” Kallen says gently.  Or, should I say, condescendingly.  “The relationship between the Fauns and the Centaurs is truly symbiotic.  Farming is difficult for the Centaurs due to their size and shape.  This is the same for many other tasks necessary to keep a realm healthy.  The Centaurs and Fauns work together to keep things running.”

Suspicious of his words, I ask, “Do the Fauns
own
anything?”

Tana knows what I’m asking.  “No.  Everything in the realm belongs to the Centaurs. 
What little the Fauns earn in wages is used up entirely to purchase the most basic of supplies from the Centaurs and to pay rent for their dwellings. It is subsistence survival at best.  Only the benevolence of the Centaurs allows the Fauns to survive at all.”

Sarcasm, I like it.  “What about females?  What are they allowed to
do?”

Now my biological father groans into his hands
which he has placed over his face.  “This is going to be a long few days,” he grumbles.

Yes, it is.