“I don’t know. I must have dropped it.”
Munro turned to Huck. “Did you find a knife?”
“Lisle had a knife,” he said. “She came at me when I went inside the flat.”
“Did it have blood on it?” Munro asked.
Huck thought back. “No,” he said, watching Demi. “The blade was clean.”
“So she washed it,” Demi said impatiently.
“In the two minutes between when the fae took you and my arrival?” Huck didn’t want to disbelieve her, but her story didn’t fit.
“What’s your primary element?” Munro asked, suddenly switching tack.
“What?”
“You’ve had your abilities unlocked for what, five years? You must know, especially if your talents are defined enough to craft a ward able to keep Flùranach out.”
“I didn’t make those. My grandmother gave them to me. The lore has been in our family for centuries.”
“What is Jago’s primary element? Surely you have some idea.”
“No,” Demi said firmly. “I’ve seen no trace of magic about him.” She raised her chin. “He’s just a baby.”
The pair maintained eye contact for so long, Huck would have thought they were having a telepathic conversation. Demi looked defiant, and Munro appeared as though he was struggling to reach into her mind and yank out the truth. Finally, he nodded. “All right,” he said. “Time for us to return to the Hall.”
Huck wanted to touch Demi’s hand, to offer her reassurance, but she held her arms tightly around her body. “We’re going to do everything we can to get you out. We’re negotiating with Konstanze to arrange a fair trial at the Halls of Mist.” He stood. “Try not to worry. Do you need anything?”
Demi shook her head. “Tell Jago I love him.”
“Definitely.” Huck smiled and tried to look confident.
“Let’s go,” Munro said and headed for the exit.
“Thank you,” Demi said softly as they departed. The tears in her voice made Huck’s heart clench.
Once outside the door, he turned on Munro. “What the hell was that about?”
“Not here,” Munro said, nodding towards the Watchers near the building’s exit.
Frustration and anger bit at Huck. No matter his reasons, Munro didn’t have to be such an ass, did he? “Fine,” he said.
Before they left, Munro stopped and spoke with the guard. “Would you provide her with some blankets? She’s cold.”
“Yes, my lord druid,” the Watcher said quietly.
“Thank you,” Munro responded with a polite nod. Then to Huck he said, “We’ve wasted too much time. Let’s go.”
∞
Douglas watched Rory work with a wooden ring and stylus. Guilt weighed on him. He should have been here practicing and studying over the past few months. No way would Prince Tràth want to move to the Halls of Mist, though, and Douglas didn’t like being away from his bonded faerie. Not that he
couldn’t
leave Tràth alone. He just thought he
shouldn’t.
And, if he was honest with himself, he liked the rock-star lifestyle he and the prince enjoyed. They ate when they wanted, slept when, where, and with whom they pleased. They travelled, had an entourage, and what parties they went to! Tràth introduced him to a type of smoke that didn’t make him sick the way alcohol did. The herb heightened Douglas’ senses, making every experience more vivid. And the women. Douglas usually stayed quiet around women, but his bond with Tràth changed everything. The prince had enough confidence for both of them and shared his secret through their new link.
Faeries had a different attitude towards sex. These perfect, gorgeous people would walk around naked with no shame, approach anyone they pleased, and suggest things he’d never had the nerve to consider before. Douglas figured he’d spent more time with his clothes off than on these past six months. He’s seen and done things he never would have imagined. No amount of exposure to internet porn could prepare a person for what happened when an ordinary orgy went magical, not that he’d been invited to orgies before.
The thing that amazed Douglas, and perhaps the only thing keeping him from feeling overly guilty, was somehow it helped Tràth. Maybe the benefit came from the smoke, or perhaps the constant distraction did the trick. The prince’s lapses and struggles with the temporal magic that haunted him, and by virtue of their bond plagued Douglas as well, had lessened over the past months. Tràth seemed stronger, more solid somehow. If the medicine he needed was drugs, sex, good food, travel, and wild parties, who was Douglas to complain?
Perhaps the distractions helped Douglas too. Although he’d not been attacked by that blood faerie like Munro, Douglas had trusted Cridhe. His life before meeting Cridhe had been a hollow mess. Never good at much of anything, he hadn’t felt needed or important. When the faerie unlocked Douglas’ magic, suddenly the world made sense. Cridhe’s betrayal devastated him, but meeting Tràth erased the pain. When the pair bonded, a better, smarter, more confident, deeply magical part of Douglas was unleashed.
Douglas fought self-reproach as Rory and Aaron worked together on a cross-section of an enormous oak. As water druids, the three of them had more affinity with wood than stone. With a stroke of his stylus, Rory’s magic sculpted a rune into the wooden surface. The glyph wasn’t one Douglas knew. He should stay here more, be more helpful. With a bit of convincing, Tràth might come with him sometimes. Despite not recognising the marks, Douglas easily read Rory’s intent.
Portal
.
“How can a slab of wood make an entrance?” Douglas asked. “Don’t we need to make something gate-shaped?”
Aaron rolled his eyes. “Is the Source Stone portal-shaped?”
“Prat,” Douglas muttered.
Rory ignored them and ran his hand over the rough-hewn surface, muttering something unintelligible. After a few moments, he said, “He’s right.”
“What?” Aaron and Douglas said at once.
“There’s something missing. Maybe the problem
is
the shape. The rune responds, but I can’t break through.”
Douglas considered the little he understood about runes. He’d not studied much beyond being shown the Killbourne Wall. That rune grouping had led Munro to understand where druids came from. They knew druids were great sorcerers in ancient times. One interpretation said they’d created the entire faerie realm, but Douglas had trouble imagining it. Of course, he hadn’t made
anything
in a long time. His thoughts kept returning to that one artefact. “We sweated into wood,” he murmured.
“What the hell are you on about, kid?” Aaron asked. “Sweated into wood?”
Rory’s face lit up as recognition hit. “A quote from the Killbourne Wall,” he said. “I don’t remember the whole thing though. I only saw the artefact once.”
Douglas nodded. His bond with a temporal faerie gave him excellent recall. Sadly, the talent went unused most of the time. What did he encounter that was honestly worth remembering? The realisation made him cringe. Was he wasting his life? He pushed the worry aside and recited the section:
We bled into stone. We sweated into wood. We wept into water. We sang into air. Those of time formed the web. Those of blood shaped the flesh. Those of the stars cast the thought. Those of spirit invited the soul.
“That’s the section about creating the portal to the Otherworld,” he reminded them. “They also said they had to sacrifice something.”
When we finished the foundation, the clan appointed me as scribe, so I laid the words of power given by each of my brothers and sisters. Each one imparted their most dear wish and sacrificed their self.
“What in the world does that mean?” Aaron asked.
“You know how the runes work,” Rory said, “That was Munro’s interpretation of the author’s intent. When he said
scribe
, he probably meant the person who created the runes. So each of the druids that made the first portal contributed a word of power, perhaps a rune.”
“But what about the part with the sweat and blood?” Douglas asked.
“Maybe it’s like our expression when you put blood, sweat, and tears into something, in other words, working hard. They took more than a year to create their portal,” Aaron said.
Rory shook his head. “I don’t think so. Faeries don’t use figures of speech as much as we do, and runes are never metaphorical.”
“So, what, you want us to sweat on the wood?” Aaron chuckled. Douglas glared at him until he stopped.
“I don’t see why not,” Douglas said.
“Might as well try. Too bad the Halls of Mist are so bloody cold all the time,” Rory said.
“If Huck was here, he could light a fire and get us in a sweat,” Douglas joked.
“Or Tràth,” Aaron muttered under his breath.
Douglas studied the other druid. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Before he could ask, he realised Rory had decided not to wait. He spit into hand and wiped the thick glob onto the wood.
Aaron groaned. “That’s disgusting, mate.”
Rory gave him a sharp glance. “Would you rather I piss on it?”
Before Aaron could muster a retort, a crackling noise silenced them. “What was that?” Douglas asked.
“I don’t know,” Rory told him. He smeared the spit on the surface of the wood. “Something is enhancing the rune. I can feel it.”
Aaron brightened. “Could be the kid came up with a decent idea for once,” he said. “Let’s try each adding runes like they said on the Killbourne Wall.”
Rory handed him the stylus. “Knock yourself out,” he said.
With an anticipatory gleam in his eye, Aaron accepted the stylus. Considering his options, he focused a few moments before sinking the stylus into the wood. He carved another rune Douglas didn’t know, but the meaning emanated.
Connection
. Copying Rory’s movement, he spit onto the surface of the wood and rubbed the saliva in.
Nothing happened, but the intent behind the rune flowed around and mingled with the meaning of the first, altering it minutely. “Strange,” Rory said, then asked Douglas, “You want to give it a go?”
“Sure,” the younger druid replied. Because of his lack of practice with runes, he didn’t have any faith in his abilities. He wished Tràth was here with his extra portion of confidence. He took the wood and stylus from Aaron. If Douglas wrote
portal
and Aaron added
connection
, what could he contribute to the mix? He supposed a portal had to link
to
something. But what? A place, of course. Hijacking a gateway that already existed might be easiest. The lone gate he’d travelled through went to The Isle of Skye, but what was the rune for Skye?
He closed his eyes. When Munro first created runes, he’d said he didn’t know the lines to draw either, so perhaps Douglas just needed to focus. Unbidden, the Gaelic name came to his mind, the same name the fae used for Skye:
Eilean a' Cheò
. He moved his hand and let the thought carry him. The shape didn’t come easily or flow as he might have liked, but he held the determination in his mind, focusing relentlessly on the words. When he opened his eyes, he saw a series of shapes formed an arc over Rory’s inscription. A bead of sweat flowed from Douglas’ forehead and dropped onto the wooden surface. The shimmering perspiration sparked when he touched it.
He glanced up at the other two druids, surprised to find them sitting back, talking quietly to each other. How had they moved without him noticing?
Rory met his eyes. “Welcome back,” he said.
“Back?” Douglas asked, confused.
“You’ve been zoned in on that thing for over an hour,” Aaron said, his tone teasing, but also tinged with respect. “You’re gonna give Munro a run for his money in the rune department if you’re not careful.”
“Really?” Douglas couldn’t believe it. He’d been working on this that long? A slight cramp shot through his right hand, and he flexed his fingers. Maybe the guys weren’t just taking the piss out of him.
“You should work with us more often,” Rory said.
That simple statement meant more to him than Douglas could express. “Yeah,” he said, staring at the wood. “Too bad it doesn’t do anything.” He held the wooden slab out to Rory. When he did, the light shifted and a glimmer appeared over the piece. “Did you see that?” he asked.
“Let me take a look,” Rory said. He took the wood, tilting the slab back and forth. “Reminds me of seeing through water.”
“We are water druids,” Douglas said.
Aaron motioned for Rory to hand him the carving. He examined the wood closely. “Did you guys see green?” he asked. “Green and grey.”
“Yeah,” Douglas said, and Rory nodded. “I thought the colours were part of the distortion.”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “Those look like pine trees to me.” A smile spread across the druid’s face. “Now we’re cooking with gas.”
Rory nodded. “Great work,” he said to Douglas.
“It doesn’t do anything though,” Douglas said. His thoughts raced in spite of his underlying doubts. “I wonder if we need more types of magic. Do you think it would help if Munro added his stone magic and Huck his fire?”
“I’m not sure,” Rory said, scratching the ginger stubble on his chin.