Haven Magic (4 page)

“I can only imagine the offering that this lot has come up with for the Feast,” muttered Jak back over his shoulder to Brand. “Probably a barrel of last month’s salmon garnished with old man Tad Silure’s shoelaces.”

Corbin and Brand said nothing in return, but they did exchange a glance. Jak had never forgiven the Silures or the Hoots, and persisted in the claim that they had had a hand in the odd boating accident that had left his parents missing and presumably eaten by merlings.

Slightly higher up the hill they passed the tannery and the slaughterhouse. Brand turned a wistful eye to the rambling old house that stood near the tannery. A single candle burned in an upstairs window. Brand wondered if it was Telyn’s room.

Jak nudged Corbin, and it was a moment before Brand noticed that they were both eyeing him and grinning. “You sure are sweet on that Fob girl, aren’t you Brand?” chuckled Jak.

Corbin laughed and slapped the reins lightly on Tator’s back, as the horse had begun to slow, sensing their distraction. Brand felt his cheeks flush and grimaced at the melons.

“Scraper, isn’t that what they call her?” asked Jak.

Brand frowned at him. “Her name’s Telyn.”

Jak nodded, saying nothing more. Corbin began humming a little tavern song about the lord who loved the pig farmer’s daughter. Brand sighed, and they both grinned at him.

“I think she’s a fine girl, Brand,” said Jak quietly.

Corbin cleared his throat; a mannerism that Brand knew was his mild form of apology. Nothing more was said of it, but Brand continued to watch the lonely candle in the window until they had left it beyond a bend in the road.

After a time the rutted road left the docks and the shacks behind and Riverton proper began. Here the houses were larger and more pleasantly lit up. Sounds of merry-making came from beneath several of the thatched roofs. Smoke curled into the night sky and the scent of burning pine and frying trout filled the streets. Brand and Jak both found their mouths watering. It had been many hours since lunch.

Corbin, never one to travel far between meals himself, sensed their mood. “The Harvest Moon won’t come for a few more nights. We needn’t take the offering all the way to the Faerie mound tonight. Let’s go by Froghollow and see if my mother has some of her stew and cornbread left over.”

Brand perked up visibly. His eyes pleaded with Jak.

“Well,” said Jak after a moment of thoughtful chin rubbing. “If you think we can get to the common by tomorrow afternoon....”

“There isn’t a doubt of it!” said Brand.

Jak nodded. “I would certainly hate to miss out on any of Aunt Suzenna’s cornbread muffins.”

“Nor her stew, either,” added Brand, delighted. At his age, skipping a meal, especially supper, seemed an almost criminal act. And for a fact, there was no better cook in the clan than Aunt Suzenna. Even old Gram Rabing’s legendary cooking had been surpassed years ago.

“Good then, it’s decided,” Corbin said. He made a comfortable readjustment of his bulk on the sagging driver’s board. “Quite possibly, I could do with a bite myself.”

Jak laughed out loud at this, poking Corbin in his thick ribs. “Thin as a rail you are, boy. Famished!”

Corbin took all this good-naturedly. When they came to the fork that led to Froghollow, Corbin let Tator turn toward home. Knowing he was headed for fresh straw and a good brushing, the colt picked up the pace, almost trotting as they left Riverton and entered the forest.

Chapter Three

Froghollow

The night was moonless and still. A tranquil farmhouse squatted under a dark sky near the cliffs overlooking the Berrywine River. A soft orange light glowed from the windows.

A tiny manling parted the leafy hedge with delicate, thin-boned hands. Dando of the Wee Folk watched the farmhouse and barnyard for several minutes, but there was no sign of the River Folk or their beasts. He leered hungrily at his goal: a small clay pot set out upon the back porch that brimmed with fresh, creamy milk.

A dark, overly-long tongue snaked out, swept across Dando’s lipless mouth and snapped back from whence it had come.

Crouching for the sprint, the tiny thief pushed his cap down squarely upon his head and gripped his walking stick. He burst from the cover of the hedge and dashed across the barnyard. His coattails fluttered as he ran. He shoved his face into the pot and greedily slurped up the feast, pausing only for quick wheezes of breath. Although the clay pot was nearly as big as he was, the milk was gone in a trice.

Face dripping and belly distended, he cast about for more solid fare. His candle-stick nose wrinkled and twitched in the evening air. He caught an enticing scent—that of fresh fur, fresh life, fresh
meat
.

Bounding from the porch, he followed the scent to the barn, where cows lowed fearfully at his approach. An old carthorse nickered and kicked once in its stall.

A pile of loose straw obscured a wooden crate. From inside came mewling sounds. Grinning at his good fortune, the manling dug furtively at the straw and poked his face inside. Six gray-furred kittens squirmed deliciously. Their eyes were not yet open. The manling grinned more widely.

Some moments later, a great ruckus brought Aunt Suzenna to the back porch. She noted the absent milk.

The screeching sounds from the barn continued. She called to her husband over her shoulder, “Mama-cat has caught something in the barn!”

The screeching and commotion grew in intensity.

“Here, puss, puss,” Suzenna called, looking with concern toward the dark hulking building.

Suddenly, a tiny figure bounded out into the yard. It wore clothes like a man but was no bigger than a doll. It took incredible leaps, despite its swollen belly, each stride carrying it a dozen feet or more. Right behind it was Mama-cat, ears flat, eyes blazing.

The chase went around the farmhouse once and then off into the woods.

“Wee Folk!” gasped Suzenna, eyes wide with wonder and fear. Trembling, she looked in on the newborn kittens in the barn. She counted all six, although she had to scoop up two of them and put them back in their wooden crate. She stepped back into the house and pulled the door shut.

Soon after that, the shutters slammed and the house fell dark. None inside dared speak above a whisper for the rest of the night.

* * *

Sometime later they reached Froghollow, where, true to its name, the frogs and bog-yelpers were singing their nightly serenade. Corbin’s father Tylag and his older brothers had already gone to bed, but fortunately Aunt Suzenna was still up. She did indeed have several fine helpings of her stew and more than a dozen corn muffins left over. She ladled each of them a fresh tumbler of chilled milk to wash the meal down. The three young men made quick work of the lot of it, leaving only crumbs on the checkered tablecloth.

“Can we camp in your yard tonight, Aunt Suzenna?” asked Jak humbly. “It’s an awfully long trip back up to the common, and since we brought all our own gear we won’t be any problem.”

Aunt Suzenna would hear nothing of it. They were marched first into the washroom and then up the steps to the guest bedroom where they stripped off their clothes and sank into the softest feather beds that either of them could recall having touched.

“Now you boys go right to sleep, you hear?” Aunt Suzenna told them. “I know you’ve been taking care of yourselves out there on the Isle, but you’re under my roof now. I don’t want to hear that you kept Corbin up all night playing Jiggers and Swap-Cards. We arise early for chores in Froghollow. There’s no place for lay-abouts.”

They assured her that they would be up with the sun to help with the chores. She bade them goodnight and bustled out of the room, dousing the candles as she went. As soon as the door was shut, Jak groaned aloud in ecstasy. “Isn’t this grand? I’ve forgotten what a proper down bed feels like.... Just the smell of it is heaven!”

Brand frowned a bit in the darkness. He rubbed the clean sheets and deeply inhaled the aroma of the bed. It reminded him of his mother and father. He even felt a bit homesick.

“Aren’t we taking a bit too freely from our clansmen?” he felt compelled to ask his brother. “It seems like none of the family come out to Rabing Isle to visit us anymore. I remember the summer barbecues out on the verandah. Fresh melons and toasted mussels, dad served them every year.”

Jak scoffed, but fell silent. Brand knew that their increasing isolation from the rest of the clan bothered him too. He had yet to take a wife, being too wrapped up in keeping Rabing Isle going to be out courting. The Isle had been family land for many generations back. He wasn’t about to be the one who let it wither and die.

* * *

Sometime later Brand awoke with a start. He blinked, having just been on the edge of sleep. It took him a moment to figure out why he had awoken, and then he heard it again. A flapping, fluttering sound. He rose up on one elbow, looking around the room. Pale moonlight poured into the room, as the moon was nearly full. Jak was asleep, looking younger with his face relaxed and the cares of the day forgotten.

Brand was on the verge of laying back down when he heard the sound again. He turned to the window. There, silhouetted partially by the moon, was a very large horned owl. It’s huge yellow eyes were luminous orbs that radiated an eldritch light. It was staring directly at him, directly into his eyes. While he watched in surprise, it dipped its head and tore at the window sash with its powerful beak. The motion forced the bird to flap its wings to stay in place. Brand was shocked to see that it had already managed to pry up the window an inch or two from the sill.

“What kind of changeling are you?” demanded Brand, sitting up and swinging his feet out of the bedclothes.

Jak came awake with a start. He looked at Brand, and then saw the owl. “What’s going on?”

Brand pointed. “It’s trying to get in!” he hissed. “It’s bewitched!”

Just then, there came a creaking sound from the hall. Very quietly, the brass door handle twisted and the door edged open. Jak scrambled up and fumbled beneath the bed for his crossbow, which he had stashed there when Aunt Suzenna wasn’t looking. He had it out and pointed toward the door before he realized it wasn’t cocked. With practiced motions, he bent the prod back and loaded a bolt into the guiding slot.

The door was open now, and an indistinct figure entered the room.

“Corbin?” breathed Brand.

Corbin’s face caught the edge of the moonlight. “You’re awake?”

Jak made a sound of disgust and alarm. “I nearly shot you, Corbin! Any fool knows to knock before entering!”

Corbin hushed them, easing the door shut behind him. “My father will hear, or worse my mother.” He then revealed the purpose of his visit, producing a deck of stained and scarred playing cards and a jar full of polished sticks and betting beads. Tucked beneath his arm he had a loaf of bread, with a wedge of cheese in a scrap of cloth and a small jug of berrywine riding in his pockets. “It’s your own stuff,” he said, tapping the jug proudly. “Rabing Isle makes the best berrywine still.”

Jak groaned, unloading the crossbow. “You think of nothing but your stomach.”

“And of games,” added Corbin with a chuckle. “By the way, why are you two awake and so flustered?”

Brand pointed to the window, but the owl had fled. They explained the incident and inspected the damage the bird’s talons and beak had done. Corbin pursed his lips in concern. “An owl you say? Looks more like an eagle, by the look of these marks.”

“It was strange—when it looked at me, I felt that it wasn’t afraid and that it wanted to find me. There was no fear at all in that creature. Perhaps it was some kind of changeling.”

It was Jak’s turn to be skeptical. “For a fact, things have been odd this autumn, and the Harvest Moon is almost upon us. But I don’t think that the Faerie would break the Pact with the River Haven just to get at the likes of you and me. What could be their purpose?”

“Still, this all seems quite odd to me,” said Corbin. As he spoke, he methodically set up a table in between the two beds, laying out the food, wine and game pieces. He didn’t even bother to ask if the others wanted to play. There was no need.

Shaken by this second unnerving apparition, Brand told Corbin about the shadowy horseman he had seen earlier on the shore. Corbin listened intently while he divided the betting beads evenly, dealt the cards and arranged the polished sticks in the appropriate patterns. When Brand had finished, Corbin shook his head and scratched his red beard. “I know of no one like that, nor have I heard anything of such a man. But this is not to say that I doubt you, cousin,” he said hurriedly, cutting off Brand’s protests.

Soon, they grew tired of discussing it and turned to the games and the food. Brand was quite tired, but nothing could keep him awake like food and games. The three played Jiggers and Swap-Cards long into the night. They kept their voices low so as not to awaken Corbin’s family. Corbin won most of the hands, but Brand was just as glad to have something to keep away thoughts and dreams of the shadow man at the river and the giant bird that had torn up the windowsill to get at him.

Morning came too soon and they had to fight themselves awake. Never did their beds felt better than when they tried to leave them for the cold dawn air. Shivering, they washed up and dressed in fresh clothes before tramping down the creaking spiral staircase to answer Aunt Suzenna’s call to breakfast. She set a grand table that morning. Corbin’s two older brothers, Sam and Barlo, were there in addition to his father, Tylag.