The Enchanted Quest (7 page)

A furnace blazed in Tania’s head, searing her brain.

Her face felt as though someone had hurled a volley of needles against her raw skin. There was salt water in her mouth. She realized she was lying on a hard surface. Her head pounded, heavy as lead.

Hands gripped her upper arms, dragging her to her feet. Brine ran down her face and neck. Hard fingers closed like a vice on her chin, wrenching her head up.

Gasping, she forced her eyes open. For a few moments all she could see was swimming black and red. Shadows and fire. Forming half-shapes that melted away again and reformed in meaningless blotches.

“A pretty mare, to be sure,” said a voice as the world eddied around her. “She’s no peasant girl, I’ll warrant. Some grieving father will pay a fine ransom for her return.” The fingers dug deeper into her flesh. “Hoy! Waken now, mare!”

The pain helped bring Tania to her senses. The floating shapes settled and she found herself staring into a face stained red by the light of many lanterns. A man’s face. Long and hollow-cheeked and deep-eyed with a black goatee and a fierce hooked nose, all framed by dark curling hair.

An instinct of fury made her snatch at the man’s wrist and drag his hand away from her face. She glared at him, pulling herself free of the men who had brought her to her feet, aware of the clammy darkness of the fog swirling around her.

She swayed, dizzy, hurting.

“A spitfire or I’m much mistaken,” said the man with a cruel smile. “Good. All the better. The fish that turns belly-up is poor sport.” He peered into her face. “Are your brains addled or can you speak?”

She swallowed, her throat tight and leather dry. “I can speak,” she croaked. She coughed again, drawing herself upright. “Why did you attack us?” she demanded. “Where are my friends?”

Ignore the pain. Ignore the way your head feels. This has to be dealt with.

The man stepped aside, and finally Tania was able to make sense of what was happening. She was on the deck of a large galleon. Beyond its high rails the fog blotted out the world. Black sails billowed like thunderclouds. Men stood around her, many holding up lanterns from which poured red light. They were dressed in simple clothes: leather or woolen tunics, leggings of animal skin or dark cloth. Some had bare feet; others wore high boots. Most had crystal swords thrust into their belts; others had daggers and bludgeons.

The man who had first spoken to her wore a long black coat tied at the waist with a red sash. There was a white ruff at his neck and lace at his wrists. Crystal buckles glinted on his boots.

Now Tania could see that Rathina was standing a few feet away, her arms twisted behind her back, held by a huge man. Close at her side Connor was on his knees, held down by two other men; one of them pressed a sword blade to Connor’s neck.

Rathina’s face was full of defiance. “Sister,” she called, “are you well?”

“Sisters, is it?” said the bearded man. He looked sharply at Tania. “You will speak sense to me, mare, or I’ll have the young dog’s head from his shoulders.” He gestured casually toward Connor. “Am I understood in this?”

Connor lifted his head, and Tania saw the fear and helplessness in his eyes.

“I understand,” Tania said, forcing the anger out of her voice. She turned to Rathina. “I’m okay,” she said. “Don’t worry about me. What about you?”

“A few buffets, forsooth, but I bend like the willow and am not easily broken.”

“Connor?”

He nodded but didn’t speak. A sharp crystal blade grazed his throat.

The bearded man’s eyes narrowed. “Whence come you, mare?” he asked. “I know not your accent, and there are alien words in your speech.”

“My name is Tania, not
mare
.” She brought a note of Faerie royalty into her voice, hoping it might give the man something to think about. “And before I tell you anything else, I’d like to know who you are and by whose authority you have attacked us.”

“I am Theodore Welsh,” said the man, and there now seemed to be an intrigued note in his voice. “Commodore in service to Lord Balor.” He said this last name as though he expected Tania to recognize it. “And now give a full account of yourself and your companions and your purpose upon Lord Balor’s waters or you will rue it.” His face tightened. “And speak no riddles, neither, woman. I have heard nonsense enough from the lad and threats aplenty from your ebon-haired sister.”

“A sword in my hand is all I ask of you, Theodore Welsh,” Rathina snarled. “And then bring your men upon me in whatsoever numbers you choose. I’ll spit ’em like sucklings!”

“Be still, woman!” shouted Welsh. “Or I’ll send you home without a tongue in your head. And belike your father will thank me for it as a great kindness upon his house!”

Tania lifted her head and looked directly into Welsh’s eyes, summoning all that she had learned of Faerie dignity and propriety. They had not even reached the shores of Alba and already their quest was in the balance. She needed to gain time to think. “I am Princess Tania Aurealis of the Immortal Realm of Faerie,” she said, speaking loudly enough so that Welsh’s men could hear her. “My sister is Princess Rathina Aurealis, and our companion is Connor Estabrook, a good friend whose death the House of Aurealis would take hard, Master Welsh.” She paused for a moment to let this information sink in. “We are on the business of King Oberon and Queen Titania of Faerie. You would do well to return us to our boat and let us go peacefully on our way.”

There was incredulous silence for a moment and then laughter rang through the ship. Theodore Welsh grinned at her.

“A pretty fancy, maid,” he scoffed. “But when I was a babe, my nanny told me that the Faerie folk were winged and very tiny indeed—and that they wore clothes made from leaves and petals.”

“Then your nanny was mistaken, I’d say,” replied Tania, trying to ignore the mockery of the sailors that surrounded them.

“Come, tell a more worthy tale,” said Welsh. “Whence come you?” He looked her up and down. “Ha! I’d vow your father knows none of your errantry. What was it that brought you here? A wager? A game of truth or dare? A mishappenstance? Ill fortune and a capricious wind?”

“My sister is telling you the truth,” called Rathina. “Are you so witless that you do not recognize royalty?”

Theodore Welsh drew his sword and took a step toward her, his face thunderous, the blade pointing at her throat. “By the howling of the Shee, if you speak one more word, woman, I’ll give you a blow you’ll not recover from!”

“Rathina—hush!” Tania said urgently.

Her sister glowered but said nothing more.

Welsh lowered his sword, turning slowly to look hard into Tania’s face. The laughter of the sailors had stopped, and they were watchful now.

“Set her feet to the fire, commodore,” called a rough voice. “That’ll squeeze the truth out of her.”

Welsh smiled as though the suggestion appealed to him. “I’ll not be lied to nor mocked, maid,” he said, his voice grinding as he brought his face close to hers. “Tell me the truth or I’ll have you dance Lord Balor’s hornpipe.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Tania said quietly, holding his gaze.

“It’s a merriment you’ll not likely survive,” he said. “A spar-strung rope looped tight about your neck and burning coals beneath your dangling feet. Then I’ll have the truth from you, wench.”

“You idiot! She
is
telling you the truth!” shouted Connor.

“Kill him!” Welsh called abruptly.

The sword was taken from Connor’s neck and the sword arm lifted high. Connor shrank away from the coming blow, his eyes screwed shut.

“No!” Tania shouted. “I’ll prove it to you! I’ll prove we’re from Faerie.” An idea had come to her—but it would only work if she could get closer to Connor and Rathina.

“Hold!” Welsh held up his arm. The sailor became still, his sword ready to swing down at a word. The commodore stared at Tania. “If you can give me clear assurance that you come from out of the mythic east, then your worth to me will increase a hundredfold,” he said, his expression curious now but his voice still doubtful. “Lord Balor has sought for years beyond count for some proof that Immortal beings dwell beyond the eastern horizon where no one dare go.” His gaze pierced her. “Do you tell me you are Immortal?”

Tania wasn’t sure how to answer that. As half-Faerie, she had never really understood whether she was Immortal or not—and with the breaking of the covenant made between the King and the Divine Harper she could not be sure that anyone in Faerie still had that gift.

“How could I possibly prove that to you?” she replied cautiously.

“A sword through your heart might work the trick,” said Welsh. “Dead, you be Mortal—alive, then ’tis likely otherwise!”

“No, that would only prove I’m not invulnerable,” Tania said coolly. “I never said I was. Even a person with the gift of Immortality could be killed with a sword.”

“A fair answer,” said Welsh. “So—show me your proofs, and if all is as you say, then you will be most welcome guests in the fortress of Dorcha Tur. And if not—then the dungeons will keep you till your better sense prevails.”

“Fine,” said Tania. “But I’ll need to be with Rathina and Connor. We have to be in physical contact with one another if the thing is going to work.”

Theodore Welsh stepped back. “Heed me, maid,” he said as she walked past him and across the deck toward Rathina and Connor. “Your boat is sunk, and I have men at my command who can shoot an arrow into a garfish at fifty yards. If you have thoughts of leaping overboard, dismiss them from your mind unless you wish to be food for crabs and urchins.”

“That’s not what I intend to do,” Tania said. “Just let me hold hands with them, and I’ll show you something that I’ll bet you’ve never seen before.”

“Release them, but keep a wary eye,” Welsh called to his men.

Rathina stepped forward, rubbing her wrists now that she was free of the big man’s grip. Connor was allowed to stand up, but there was still a drawn sword close by.

“What’s the plan?” Connor asked under his breath.

Tania reached out her two hands to them. “Just hold on tight and you’ll see,” she said.

“Ahh!” Understanding dawned in Rathina’s eyes. “Yes, sweet sister! Proof, indeed!”

Tania turned, standing between Connor and Rathina, holding them both by the hand. A faint smile crept up one side of Connor’s face. Tania could sense that he’d caught on to her plan as well.

“Ready?” Tania said. “Move with me on three. One. Two. Three.”

She sidestepped. But even as her foot was moving, she heard Connor’s voice.

“Good-bye, commodore! Good-bye, you sucker!” Someone gave a shout, and she felt Connor’s hand wrenched out of hers.

Then the ship was gone and there was only dark air beneath her feet.

Tania knifed down into water that was so cold it tore the breath out of her lungs. She floundered, her head under the surface, her dress billowing up around her. She could still feel Rathina’s hand in hers, the nails digging into her skin.

She kicked out, her lungs already hurting. Her face burst up into dark air. She sucked in a lungful of air and sank again, swallowing water. Panicking, she lost her grip on her sister. She struggled upward again. She was aware of her dress tenting up. It helped keep her afloat, but it made it hard to swim, great wet swaths of cloth rising like the mantle of a jellyfish all around her. Tania knew the thick material would soon become waterlogged and heavy. But at least they were not also wearing their cloaks—that added weight might have sent them both to the bottom.

She heard splashing and coughing close by.

“Rathina?”

“Yes. Is Connor with you?”

“No!” Tania cried, staring desperately around. The fog was gone and the stars were pinpoints in a black void far above the fretful waves. His hand had been ripped out of hers just as she was passing between the worlds. He must still be on the black ship. “I lost him.”

“Tania!” Rathina’s voice was shocked.

“I couldn’t help it.” Tania coughed, spitting out water. “We have to go back for him. I have to get back!”

“No, that were madness!” Rathina gasped.

Now that the water was out of her eyes, Tania could see her sister only a few feet away, her dress doming up on the surging sea.

“We can’t just leave him there,” Tania said.

“If you returned, how would you scale the sides of the ship?” called Rathina. “How would you save him? And what if you entered Faerie where the ship now lies? ’Twould be the death of you, for sure!” She fought down her dress and swam closer.

Tania had not thought of that. What would happen to her if she materialized in Faerie in exactly the same space as some other object? The image of herself emerging halfway through the hull of the ship was a terrifying one.

Tania kicked hard and turned, looking for land across the rise and fall of the bitter, oily waves. “We should get ashore,” she called. “Try to find him then . . .”

“Indeed we should,” said Rathina, “and with utmost dispatch, Tania—ere our strength fades. Spirits of grace but I’d fare better without the encumbrance of this dress!”

Tania knew exactly what she meant—and the sea was deathly cold. They would need all their strength and endurance to survive.

A fluke of icy water splashed in her face; Rathina was swimming toward the low-lying dark spit of land, her arms cutting through the water, her feet kicking froth. Tania leaned forward, squashing down the plump of her dress, working to swim with her.

Soon they were swimming side-by-side—and in the distance Tania could see a mass of lights. A town! A seaside town lit by electricity!

She swam on with renewed energy.

“I’d shed this dress,” she heard Rathina say, panting, “but I’d not make my entrance . . . in the Mortal World . . . dressed in nought . . . but my shift. . . . ”

Tania’s dress was now dragging at her, too, slowing her down, trying to drown her.

But the light-strewn shore was coming closer with every stroke. The long waves were higher now, crested with white foam, pressing inward, lifting them and throwing them forward. They would make it before their strength gave out.

Tania felt something hard under her foot. A rock. She pressed down, hoping for a firm hold, but her foot slipped away and her head went under for a moment. She came up spluttering and spitting brine.

Now the swell and roll of the sea began to work against them. There were white breakers all around, and Tania’s ears were filled with the smash of waves crashing onto a shoreline of great shining black rocks.

We’ll never get ashore. We’re going to die here.

She heard Rathina shouting in fury as she fought against a beating wave. Black water leaped sky-ward, resembling a snow-capped mountain. For a few moments her sister vanished into the turbulent night.

“Rathina!”

But as the wave broke and churned, Tania felt herself caught in its undertow. Her knee struck rock. She gasped with the pain, and her mouth filled with water. Her dress pulled at her, trying to keep her head under the surface. Trying to drown her.

Feet slipping on rock.

Fingers on a hard slimy surface.

Torn away.

Battling to keep afloat.

The crash and batter of surf.

And then a sloping surface that came punching up into her stomach from the depths. Foam all around her. Coughing and choking. She managed to keep a grip on the rock. Managed to find a toehold.

The waves were smashing and sucking, her clothes clinging to her body. Panting for breath, blinded by foam, she crawled over the rock with the ocean hissing in her ears.

She was ashore, on her hands and knees.

Rathina!

She heard breathless laughter from close by. The wild laughter of someone who has stood between the jaws of death and leaped clear.

Tania got to her knees. Rathina was lying on her back not two yards away, with her arms spread out and her feet in the foam. Her face was veiled by black ribbons of hair, her chest rising and falling as she gasped.

Tania crawled over to her and knelt, pulling the thick strands of Rathina’s hair off her face. Their eyes met, and Tania threw her arms around her sister and held her while the sea churned below them.

Tania clambered over the huge rocks. A concrete wall cut across the night—high but not too high to scale. And beyond the wall? She had no idea. A town, she assumed—the town whose lights she had seen from the sea.

Rathina was at her side, laboring over the knuckled boulders. Despite the burden of their saturated clothing they managed to climb the wall without too much trouble.

Tania stood on top of the wall, her arms around her body, shivering in the chilly night, the wet folds of her dress glued to her back and legs. Directly ahead of them was a curving white path that circled an area of bare earth. Beyond that she could see a patch of mowed grass and a soccer field. Beyond those a large white building blazing with lights—and behind the building a town.

A soccer field. How strange and how ordinary. How . . .
Mortal.

“Do you know this place, Tania?” asked Rathina, her shoulders hunched to her ears as she peered into the distance.

“No—I’ve never been to Ireland.” She frowned. “I’m assuming this
is
Ireland, of course.” They were definitely back in the Mortal World but
where
in the Mortal World? She stepped down off the wall and held her arm out to her sister, her heart aching that she had to return to Faerie so quickly. “Take my hand; we have to get back and find out what happened to Connor.”

Rathina stood at her side and they laced fingers.

Tania concentrated and took the forward side step—into a lightless world. They found themselves standing on a sandy beach, under the Faerie stars.

Tania could hear the waves roaring and crashing at her back. She could faintly see the swelling ocean, and she was aware of a rugged coastline stretching bleakly in either direction.

There were no buildings. No glimmer of earthly light. No trace of living beings.

There was a cold, biting wind.

“So, sister?” Rathina muttered. “Whither now?”

“Welsh mentioned a fortress. . . .” Tania racked her memory. “Dorcha Tur, he called it. They’ll take Connor there.”

“And how do we find this place?” asked Rathina. Tania frowned at her: Rathina’s voice was uncharacteristically flat and lifeless. “We walk till we come to a village . . . or a farmhouse . . . or
whatever
,” she said. “Then we ask.”

Rathina looked at her. “ ’Tis madness to wander the night thus. And what if the folk we encounter are as hospitable as Master Welsh? With a sword in my hand I’ll face up to any brigand or marauder, but we are weaponless on a strange shore and I would fain seek a place to spend a warm night before we essay an assault on a fortress.” She paused. “I feel sore in need of rest, Tania. I am weary to the bone—more weary than I can well explain.”

Tania nodded. “I know; I can feel it, too. I think part of it is the Gildensleep: It’s draining us all the time. I could crash out right this moment if someone put a bed in front of me.”

“Then why not . . .
crash out
?” Rathina suggested. “Take us back to the Mortal World, Tania. We have no foes there, nothing to fear. Let us seek a warm fire and a downy bed for the night. Do they not have inns? Do they not welcome wretched travelers?”

“Wretched travelers with credit cards, maybe,” Tania said. She stared into the night till her eyes ached. “What about Connor?” she muttered.

“He is a resourceful and keen-witted lad,” Rathina said reassuringly. “We’d be of little help to him tonight, weak as we are. We will fare better in the morning, and if he is not dead, I have faith that we will find him!”

Tania gave Rathina a horrified look.
“Dead?”

“I do not say he
is
dead, and I do not think it,” Rathina said calmly. “On the morrow we shall return to Alba and seek Dorcha Tur by the light of the sun. And we shall effect such a daring rescue that the heads of his guards will spin like tops while we leap away from them o’er the hills to Tirnanog!”

Tania smiled wearily. “Yes,” she said. “You’re right. Of course you are. We should go back. Money’s going to be a problem—but I’m sure someone will take pity on us.”

Tania took Rathina’s cold hand once more and sidestepped them back into the Mortal World.

Here the sea sounded less fierce and somehow the stars seemed to be farther away—smaller, dimmer, less radiant. Less bewitching.

They headed out across the cropped grass toward the big white building. Tania hoped it might be a hotel. They would have a telephone. Surely she would be able to convince the people to let her phone home—reverse the charges, whatever. Then she could speak to her mother and find out how her dad was doing. And her mum could give the people her credit card number so the two of them could have a meal and a room for the night.

Yes. That was a plan. That was a good plan.

They had crossed the green and were skirting the soccer field prior to crossing the road to the hotel, when a man appeared in front of them, stepping out from the darkness.

“Well, now,” he said with a broad white smile. “Is it two selkies I see, come dripping from the ocean?” The smile widened. “It’s lucky for you that I chose this place to kick my heels tonight, for you could’ve come ashore anywhere from Dun Laoghaire to Bray Head, and then I’d have had the devil of a job tracking you down!”