Feast of Fates (Four Feasts Till Darkness Book 1) (87 page)

Or a cabin
, the bees whispered. She knew then how Thackery had found this place, and of the home and its cozy hearth that once lay over yonder. She said a prayer for Bethany and Theadora’s souls, and absently addressed Thackery after they had filled their water skins and were walking back to the encampment.

“This is a lovely place.”

“Yes, it is,” he said, his eyes sparkling.

Morigan gave him an embrace that needed no explanation, and then laughed as Kanatuk elbowed his way in and asked, “What are we all hugging about?” Macha woke up right then, bothered by all the noise, and though she was feverish and gummy-eyed, she was met with tears and smiles that cut through any crabbiness. By the time a freshly lit campfire wriggled a smoky finger in the distance, Macha was back on her feet: scampering and chattering in Old Ghaedic, which most of the companions were hopeless to understand, but overjoyed to hear, nonetheless.

Inevitably, night wrapped its arms over Alabion, and the woods hooted with husky birds that weren’t owls and glowed with hungry stares. But nothing was to be feared about their happy campfire, where a stag had been placed on a spit and roasted with curious piquant herbs, and their faces each strained with unaccustomed grins. Once they were sated, the demand rose for a performance. Stories were told first by Caenith, who knew many more legends than there were hourglasses to spare. When his throat needed water, he ousted his bloodmate into the cold by pushing her to sing. She did so
reluctantly, though the unsteadiness of nerves in her voice was unnoticed by her admirers. For them, the music was as magikal as they remembered, the same tingling experience if without the apparent sorcery and lights. Caenith redeemed himself by recognizing the folk tune she sang and adding his voice to hers. Together, their harmony of light and dark notes, of airiness and heaviness, was a heart-pounding perfection that brought an ovation from the company and a stillness to the beasts lurking outside their campfire’s light. The song felt like an end to the evening, and the company broke apart into hushed conversations.

Sometime later, while reclining against her bloodmate, Morigan sleepily let her eyes wander around the fire. Macha had formed an attachment to the Northman; their languages were similar, if his being a broken form of the other, and they had been communicating throughout the night. The girl had fallen asleep with her head upon his shoulder, and he kept himself up and watching the stars to the north so that she would not have to be disturbed.
He will love her, though as a sister and not as the love that I promised her
, thought Morigan as the intuition hit her, though the details of that promise were increasingly obscure. Mouse and her father were similarly snug with each other; she dozed in his lap, and he did not study the heavens, but the shining gift that was his sleeping daughter instead. Only Thackery was by himself this eve, yet he was not wanting for company. The fire he slumbered close to was warm, and he could surely sense the serenity around him, for Morigan noticed that the carved-in-stone worry upon his face had actually eased to the simple tired countenance of an old man.

I am not a solitary hunter anymore
, said the Wolf as her sentiments moved in him.
Because of you, I see that I have found a new pack
.

Morigan twisted in his arms and kissed him. They ached for that contact. It had been forever since they were able to touch or taste the heat of the other. Quietly, they slipped away from the company, and the Wolf raced north, following some invisible scent, or even a phantom impression from his bloodmate, and in sands they had arrived at the brook near Thackery’s ruined home. He took her into the water, knelt, and returned the dagger he had kept so long for her.
Siogtine
, they said, and were overcome by how much significance that word held. They kissed, sniffed, and pawed at each other as animals would. Yet passion was not their intent, and soon the grunting
softened to sighs, the grasping to embraces. With how hard their journey had been, how desperate and unsure, they simply wanted to feel flesh to flesh and mind to mind. At times, they held each other so ferociously and spun in the stream so dizzyingly that they could not tell who was who: they were a moving, whirling force. They were one. When lust faded altogether, Morigan washed her handsome Wolf with handfuls of water, anointed him with kisses from her red lips, and then they went to the bank to sprawl on grass and count the flickers of whiteness above, feeling small and yet not insignificant beneath the vastness of the universe.

Will you tell me now?
asked the Wolf, at the moment of their greatest relaxation. He meant her dream. The one that had stricken her in Menos, which she had not mentioned to anyone, and that he felt roiling in her.

Tomorrow
, she said, and that was good enough for the Wolf.

He buried her in bites and kisses, and they fell asleep listening to the cheeping and howls of Alabion.

V

“Come to haul us off to your mistress, eh? I am not to be chained, and I dare you to try!” roared the Wolf.

So angry was he that a hint of his transformation had begun, distorting his jaw and sharpening his teeth. He and his hunting partner had caught the interlopers skulking through the ferns toward the camp, as quiet as cats in the dusk, but not stealthy enough to escape his and the dead man’s senses. He threw one of the three trespassers down on the ground near the fire, and he almost rolled into the flames—his hood flew off as he tumbled, exposing an angularly attractive man with mussed red hair and a groomed goatee.

“Alastair!” cried Mouse.

“You know him?” Caenith asked, frowning.

“She certainly does.” Alastair spit out a bit of dirt and threw irritated glances to the faces around him; he recognized them all. “The sage, the fire-haired witch, I know everyone at this gathering—except the little whelp. I saved many of you in Menos. Open your mouths and vouch for me, you scoundrels.”

“He’s fine, Caenith,” urged Mouse.

Morigan concurred with some unspoken gesture, for the Wolf looked to her as if she had spoken. Meanwhile, Thackery kept his silence; the last time he’d seen the man—as the Voice in Eod—was nothing but an annoyance. While Alastair straightened himself, the two other prisoners were thrust forward by Vortigern and had their hoods pulled back. Thackery found his voice when the faces were revealed.

“The sword of the queen and the watchmaster of the East! I didn’t recognize you back in Taroch’s Arm, and almost failed a second time today, as unkempt as you are.”

Casually, Galivad scratched his beard. “End-of-the-world sort of storms and weeks spent chasing a highly mobile and elusive old man will ruin one’s refinement.”

“How did you even find us?” asked Thackery.

Alastair tipped his head to Mouse. “Check your boot.”

“My boot,” she said, and squatted to examine her footwear. “I don’t… how would you even? I’ll be fuked!” After much fondling of the leather, she had found what felt like a tiny pin slid into the folded top of her boot. She removed the object, which was a sliver of cold black metal—feliron, presumably. The metal could bind the powers of others as well as keep an enchantment bound to it, such as a spell of seeking.

Mouse threw the sliver into the grass. “I don’t appreciate being tailed.”

“I do need to keep an eye—or witchneedle, as it is—on my most exciting prospects,” countered Alastair. “Besides, I’m better at watching out for you than you seem to be. By the kings, I was gone less than half a day before you burned the hideout down. It was one of my favorites, you know.”

“Blame the Broker, not me,” huffed Mouse.

“All very interesting stories to hear, I’m sure,” said Galivad, and sauntered over to the fire to smell one of the hares that roasted there. He seemed completely nonplussed by this circle of rough strangers. “However, we have more dire matters to discuss. As you are no doubt aware, my companion and I were sent at the behest of the queen to find and question the crimson witch; yourself, good Sage; and that exceptionally large man with whom you ran off. Mostly him, until we learned that you were alive. It was around then, after the unfortunate fishy incident in Taroch’s Arm and a chat with the woman
responsible for it, that we began to realize that the men we chased might not be foes and were, in fact, acting covertly on a mission of rescue. This Voice has confirmed your motives, and I no longer see either of you to be terrorists.”

“You could have come to the queen, Sage,” said Rowena. “The Silver Watch could have helped you.”

Swiftly, Thackery managed to interject himself over what was to be a growling response from Caenith. “We were pressed by the need for speed and secrecy. Any arrangements with the king’s army would have been hindrances for both. Particularly when there are spies within the palace.”

“Yes,” said Galivad, frowning. “I had thought the same, myself. Espionage is the only way Menos would have learned of the crimson witch so quickly. I am glad that we have come to this accord with one another, but still I must ask what it is that you know that has Eod and Menos making war.”

The blond rogue was pointing at Morigan; she sat and gazed at the flames, and then motioned for the others to rest, as well. Now was the time to tell the company of her vision in Menos. For the sky had rained fire and ice, and she knew
why
. Perhaps she should unburden herself of her other visions as well: of a Black Queen, a black star, the Immortal Kings and their love and hate, and her uncanny connections to the very folk around her. When all was quiet and the company was pale with anticipation, she spoke.

“Fate has chosen me to witness terrible things. I shall not ask why, for my dark destiny has come with many blessings.” Caenith had settled in behind her, and she pulled his strong embrace tighter. “The war between Eod and Menos is not what we should worry ourselves over. Magnus’s war with his brother is what will shape Geadhain. If you look to the lands apart from these woods—protected by the Sisters’ magik or their own resilience—you can see that the shadow of their war has reached far, indeed. I saw their conflict. A clash of ice and fire, beautiful and horrifying. I saw Magnus fall to his brother.”

Many about the campfire winced as their spirits were wounded by the news. They did not shed tears, for grief could not be found in the cold river of shock that ran through their hearts. Night layered them in shadows, their faces growing darker and darker, and no one spoke for many sands.

At length, Morigan continued to the stony crowd. “This is not the end of my dark foresight. Nor should we grieve a king who I do not know is yet dead. We have more enemies to consider, the true threat in the south. For Brutus has made pacts with ancient powers: a beast of pure fire, like a snake—if a snake could be the size of a mountain—and a bodiless menace that seeks to call herself queen. She is more dangerous than Brutus or his pet, this spirit that defines wickedness. I can see the truth of the world when I wander the other realms, and what I have seen of her is
hunger
. For life, love, light, everything that makes Geadhain green and pure. So much hate and anger…she could be pitied in her obvious despair if she wasn’t so merciless. She wants it all, and she will break the kings and the order of nature to have it. She has already taken Brutus, and I admit I do not know the fate of Magnus after his fall.”

“Who is this dread queen?” whispered Mouse.

Morigan shivered out a shrug. “I don’t know. Something old. Something that comes before the memories of men or any who could recall such a monster.”

Not all memories would be so foggy
, mused Thackery. Beguilingly, the woods called him, and he drifted away from the conversation and into its muddled darkness. Deep inside, he wondered if the Sisters Three watched from a cauldron or whatever scrying surfaces those ancient witches used. He marveled at the synchronicity of fates all drawn to their realm, remembering the suggestion born by Lila that he was to seek their wisdom should the worst befall Eod. How ridiculous the idea had appeared back then. Yet, the worst had come, and here he was. Led by Morigan, joined by a man who knew these woods, for he had once ruled them. He had even brought them to the shelter of Alabion without realizing the obvious lure. Was he even a person or simply another pawn in this game of destiny?

“Thackery?” Morigan waved for the old man’s attention. “This is not a time for silence. We could use your counsel.”

“Yes. Where were we?” he asked, apprehending that time had escaped him.

During his lapse, the stunned faces had been replaced by shaken fists and animated discussion. Morigan had stood and was pacing about the fire,
as bold and in command as a warmaster. Thackery almost wandered into whimsy again, remarking at how much she had grown.

“If there is any light to cling to,” she declared, “it is that Brutus’s army will need to be rebuilt after the battle. I watched most of his forces die in the storm that the brothers made. Brutus’s army is nearly wiped out, I would say. So there is time, at least, to prepare for his coming. I do not advise diplomacy. I have seen the red madness of his twisted mind, and he speaks only in blood now.”