Autumn Folke and Mey Folke, star-seers, poisons and potions, six-legged hounds, enchanted flowers, and moon-summoned stone reliefs. An entire world that had been unknown to her before her sixteenth birthday, revealed. And so, she spent the day thinking back over all the tales and stories she had been told as a girl: ghosts and goblins, satyrs and leprechauns, rings of Magesty and enchanted boots, unicorns, and trolls – all of it. Were those all real? Were they all borne of things that actually exist in the world? Where did myth end and reality begin?
She spent the night and all the next day retelling all of Gram’s old tales in her head. Since she and Morvan had left the ruined watchtower, their traveling was markedly different. They moved much faster than before. He drove them forward at the fastest pace he could physically endure. He stayed close to her, so he could benefit from her energy, but remained silent most of the way, with a look of staid determination on his face as he pushed them both to their limits. She knew he wanted a long head start. They understood Calandoe could sense her, and that Landor would follow them, incensed at having been left behind. However, without Kora there, Gram’s pace would slow considerably and they would never catch up to her and Morvan unless they left her behind. Still, the prince pushed forward, without the flirtatious banter she had come to expect, through all the next day, until at sundown, exhaustion required they stop.
Earlier that day, they had climbed out of the vales of the Breakers and gazed on the vast expanse of the lowlands of Eastern Anduir. From that height, they could even make out the smoke plumes of Fire Hollow in the distance. Late afternoon and early evening passed while following the ancient trail down the mountain and they discovered a thick grove of knotty pines off the trail in which to conceal themselves for the night. Using his bow, Morvan tagged a rabbit at midday that he cooked over a low flame. (She had fired at a rabbit in the morning but missed short, sending lunch skittering away. They decided it was best if he took the first shot going forward.)
She knew they would both be asleep immediately after eating, so she spoke to the prince in hushed tones between swallows. “Will we head north when we reach the plains?”
“If we’re to survive, we must get mounts. We’ll head west, towards Fire Hollow, until we can purchase some horses. We must get off our feet.”
That would be wonderful, she thought. The blisters on her feet burned with every step. Besides, if she hoped to make it to the White Owl Wood in time, they would need mounts.
“I’m sorry you didn’t get to see those carvings.” She had said the same last night when the bas-reliefs had failed to reappear. The clouds were thick and Morvan didn’t want to wait without knowing if they would clear again quickly.
“As am I,” he replied before downing some water.
“It was such a… captivating moment. I’ll never forget it,” she said quietly.
The prince stopped eating for a beat before lifting his gaze to hers. “Neither shall I,” he replied, finally giving her that smile she craved.
“Did Adela Laverium really rule for one hundred and fifty years? Chosen by the gods?”
“Indeed,” he confirmed.
“And the longevity of the chosen, it runs in your blood?”
He nodded as he took another bite of the charred meat.
“How does that feel? To know that you and your brothers were chosen to rule?” She suspected the burden would be immense. It seemed to weigh down on Landor. Morvan, on the other hand, handled it adeptly.
“Not my brothers,” he corrected. “I’m the one chosen. I’m the one with the gods’ blood. Only one in a generation.”
Wait.
Wait.
Her heart began to pound. Her breathing got shallow. That can’t be. It’s not a family trait? She felt nauseous and put down her plate. It’s wrong. It must be wrong, she repeated over and over in her head as she tried to steady herself. But she had to know for sure. How could she know?
Then it came to her.
It was dangerous. On so many levels. But at this point, she really had no other options. How could she do this? She got lightheaded even considering it. She summoned visions of her father to give her courage. Father, please let it be wrong, she pleaded. Please, please, please. But deep down, considering all that happened, she suspected it wasn’t.
Kora jerked her head up. “Did you hear that?” She put her water skin down and grabbed her crossbow.
“What?” Morvan turned around and peered into the darkness. “No.” He stood and drew his blade.
“A crunching,” Kora explained, “just past that tree.”
“Shhh,” he said as he lifted a finger, tiptoeing forward. Kora followed a few steps, so that she hunched over Morvan’s meal.
He circled the tree, sword in hand. The fine craftsmanship of his blade probably more than made up for its smallish size, even to Kora’s untrained eye. He took a few more steps into the shadows of the pines, listening intently. Kora leaned over the prince’s water as quickly and deftly as possible.
Only the dim cacophony of crickets greeted them. “Kora, did you hear something, or did you hear something?”
“I… I’m not sure.”
“Do you hear anything now?”
“No.”
He came back into the light of the fire. “I don’t see anything.”
“I must be spooked,” she admitted as she moved back to her spot at the fire. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Keep your ears open. This is dangerous territory.” He sat and polished off the last few bites of hare and washed them down with a swig from his skin.
Kora tensely plucked at a string on her lute, as she looked across the low flame of the campfire at her companion, finishing off his meal.
“Morvan, the seer who told me to go to the White Owl Wood, told me something else. He told me he saw the Three Cups in my future. He told me the oldest star was red. To beware the eldest of the three.”
Morvan squinted at her, looking befuddled. He shook his head, as if trying to clear his mind. “You… you never told me… who this man was.”
“Up until tonight I thought he might have been referring to you and your brothers. And the eldest. Landor. But it wouldn’t be him, would it? You have the blood of longevity. Landor doesn’t. You’re older than him, aren’t you?”
Again, he looked at her as if she were far away. He smiled, as in a stupor, and replied in a whisper, “Yes.”
Kora’s voice began to quiver, “And so milord, forgive me, but I feel I should ask: why did you take me away? Will you bring me to the White Owl Wood?”
He smiled, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “No, Kora, I cannot.” Morvan’s eyes went wide with surprise, and he rubbed his face with his hands. “Wait… why… why did I say that?”
Her guts twisted up in a knotted cluster, her worst fear realized. “What are your intentions, milord?” she asked. She opened her left hand and looked down at the empty flask that had contained the waiter’s truth tea she had kept from The Lonely Cog.
“I…” Morvan seemed to choke before continuing, his body tensed and relaxed as he struggled against the serum. His body relaxed and the words poured out, “I’m taking you to Chrais. Back to my father.” His body tensed again, and he stood, wobbly, and steadied himself against a tree. “Why… why am I saying this? What have… what have… you done?”
Kora stood, fists clenched. She had been hoping, praying, her suspicions were wrong. “Forgive me, milord, but the truth must out now. Why did you kiss me last night?”
“To make you trust me. To make sure you accompanied me.”
“But you don’t like me, do you?”
“You’re desirable enough to bed, but hardly someone I could have on my arm.” He gnashed his teeth and clutched at his chest, as if he could somehow extract whatever coursed inside him with his fingers. “How dare you…” he muttered as his legs shook, “the laws of Anduir forbid it…”
She couldn’t grasp how his true thoughts and feelings could be so different than his outer facade. How could anyone be so false, she wondered? He was so convincing. Her head started spinning. How could she trust anything or anyone after this? Ever?
“One more question,” she forced herself to say, “what if I tell you I’m not going with you to Chrais? That I’m going north?”
The prince took a big, deep breath and exhaled as he sat back down. He seemed to suddenly decide to stop resisting and resign himself to the fact that the truth was coming anyway. “The power inside you is too valuable to allow you to disperse it,” he said, more clearly and steadily, “the dormu-lilies you’ve absorbed must be extracted for my family. For me.”
“Extracted? How?”
The prince no longer fought it. In fact, he breathed into it, and his eyes cleared. “I cannot say for sure, but I strongly suspect it would need to be siphoned from your blood.” He said it plainly. He said it directly. He said it without remorse. Ice behind his eyes. In an instant, the prince transformed from liar to killer.
Enough.
She scooped up her bag and crossbow and ran. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she needed to get away. The thick pines blocked out moonlight and made it hard to see, but she threw herself forward anyway, pushing aside branches and leaping over bushes as best she could.
She didn’t get far.
Morvan hit her from behind and the ground rushed up to knock the wind out of her. Before she could catch her breath, Morvan hog-tied her hands behind her back. He threw the rope around her neck so it would tighten with increasing force the more she struggled to pull away.
“Please! Don’t…”
Morvan punched her savagely on the side of her head and her ears rang. He spoke between pants as he completed his knots, “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you? I really didn’t want to have to drag you all the way back to Chrais, but you’re not going to leave me any choice.” He dragged her, not gently, to a thick pine, sat her against it, and tied her to it. “Anything else you’d like to ask me, Kora? Ask now because whatever you gave me is wearing off.”
“How could you do this?” Her head was still ringing from his clout.
“How could I not? My entire kingdom hangs on extracting the power of those flowers. What are you? One farm girl. It is an exceedingly simple choice. Now, I’m going back to our camp to collect my things. Sit still and stay quiet.” He marched off into the darkness.
She struggled against the ropes, exhausted. It occurred to her how utterly alone she was. She cursed herself for leaving Gram’s side. All of the events of the last twenty-four hours caught up to her at once, and as she pulled at the ropes in vain, she cried. Alone now, she allowed them to pour out in gushes. She rarely cried. Her father had never suffered it, so she had learned to grit her teeth and keep her tears in check. Now, however, her plight overwhelmed her. She despised being helpless. Being held against her will. What could she do? She had nothing.
Not nothing, she realized.
Her songs had always been affecting. She thought back to the look of pride on her music teacher’s face after playing a particularly moving tune, or the tears of melancholy on the cheeks of her neighbors, the Stenns, when she sang sad songs on warm summer nights. Was it possible the prince could be so moved? She doubted it, but then, she had been affecting people in unexpected ways since she had fallen into the purple flowers.
Morvan returned, carrying his things, and laid them out nearby. “Get some sleep. You’re going to need the rest.” He laid his head on his pack and kept his hand on his sword hilt.
“Milord,” she said, subdued, “I am tired, and I do need to sleep. Allow me to soothe myself.”
Almost imperceptibly, in the softest of whispers, she began to sing.
Little boy, little pip,
There’s a thrush at the gate,
Why doth he cry? For what does he long?
Morvan turned to look at her, a hint of suspicion in his eyes. She continued in the gentlest of tones.
Freedom, freedom,
To soar on bold air,
Clouds under wings, where he belongs.
Whilst you clutch, covet and trap,
Tis not love you impress,
Such a lad ne’er be strong.
Set it free, swing ope the gate,
If you truly love,
You’ll be alone come dawn.
The prince sat up, a single tear leaving a streak in the dust on his right cheek. He wiped the tear from his cheek with the back of his hand. His face had softened, and he looked at her with wide, empathic eyes. “What am I doing? What have I become?” he said to himself. “You’re so innocent. I… I can’t do this.”
Her spirits soared. She had touched his soul! She sang with more voice now, infused with passion.
Set it free, swing ope the gate,
If you truly love,
You’ll be alone come dawn.
He stood, exhilarated by his newfound passion. “Damn these Dormu-lilies, there must be another way. What was I thinking? I’ve become consumed.” He circled around the back of her tree and started working at the ropes.
Kora was giddy with excitement as she gushed with joy, “I knew you couldn’t do this, Morvan! Oh, thank you, thank you! I promise I will help you find whatever you need to keep your kingdom.”
He circled back around. “By all the gods, you’re powerful,” he said with a gasp. “I’ve been trained, all my life, to resist such things, and still, you almost had me.” His face darkened into a sneer.
Kora opened her mouth to sing again, only to have the young man jam a cloth in her mouth.
“But that wasn’t exactly a charm, was it? It was something else. It was… passion. Childlike. An unlocking of something inside me…” His voice trailed off, as if speaking further might somehow make whatever had been briefly awoken reemerge. “We’ll have no more of that folly,” he affirmed as he wrapped a rope around her mouth, keeping the cloth securely in place. He kneeled before her. “You are going back with me to Chrais. And you’ll do so without any more tricks, or I promise you, I’ll make this journey a living hell. Do you understand?”
She gave the smallest of nods. She was spent. Empty. Of energy and feeling. She had stopped singing, for only a moment, assuming that Morvan’s basic goodness had somehow won out.
She would never make that mistake again.
Exhaustion shut her down, and all went black.
* * * *
Her eyes popped open to spy The Father’s soft light finding a break in the branches above. Ever since she had fallen into those flowers, she had been unable to sleep more than a few hours, and this night was no different. Almost immediately, she realized…
She was not alone.
Something alit on a nearby black chokeberry bush. At first, she mistook it for a dragonfly, but when the tiny wings stopped flittering, she realized they were attached to a tiny girl. She wasn’t more than two inches tall and her skin glistened magenta. Her membranal forewings and hindwings, nearly transparent, twitched at the slightest breeze. Her long hair fell in a tangle of purples and pinks, and her eyes were large for her head, with huge pupils that peered at her curiously. She smiled as she studied Kora.
Help! Kora thought to herself, as if this tiny creature could somehow read her mind. She mumbled in a desperate tone, and the tiny girl’s smile turned to a look of concern.
Whack! The tiny creature was swatted away.
“Beat it.”
The voice, and the hand that swatted, belonged to a small man that peeked out from the chokeberry. He stood only two feet tall, with a bulbous nose and a thick, wiry beard of greys of uneven growth. He sported a black wool coat and brown breeches that matched his brown bowler. The unpolished silver buttons of his dark coat strained against his well-fed middle. The little, purple, winged girl zipped around his head until he swatted it again, sending it zipping for the cover of the woods.
“Ugh, annoying,” he muttered as he wiped his hand on his sleeve, “that’s a sure rash.”
Accepting he couldn’t clean his hand to his satisfaction, the little man in the brown hat looked Kora over, and then let his gaze drift over to Morvan, still sleeping nearby. He put his hands on his hips. “M-hm,” he said, and he tilted his head to one side as he looked at Kora’s chest.
Kora pleaded with her eyes, and she began humming a low, plaintive tune, muffled by the cloth.
The little bearded man made a horizontal slashing motion across his neck with his hand and muttered, “Kill it, harpy.”
She stopped.
He moved closer and reached between the ropes and under her shirt so that he could grab the strings of the tiny pouch that hung from her neck. He opened the pouch and emptied the three gold coins with the diamond centers into his palm.
“Teueriks,” he whispered as he lifted an eyebrow. He scrunched up his face as if personally affronted. “On some siren tied to a tree. Who are ya, ya bag-snatcher? Some Glanian cutpurse, no doubt. And how’d ya compel me here?”
She tried to say ‘please,’ but all the cloth allowed was a high-pitched garble.
“Let’s see where ya swiped this,” he whispered as he held up one of the coins for study. Strangely, he closed his eyes as he held it up. “Hmm. A human priest. A false priest. Fak! What is the world coming to? Seems any scalawag can get his grubby little paws on our designs,” he said with an eyeful of disgust toward Kora.
She had no idea how this peculiar man in the black coat could know about the priest, but she didn’t have the luxury to speculate. She checked on Morvan. Still asleep. She tried to plead in hushed mumbles through the cloth. The little man was not having it. He closed his eyes again, concentrating, as he rubbed the coin between his thumb and forefinger.
“Ack!” he sputtered as his eyes popped open. “Garakul,” he whispered darkly. He studied her again, this time with more interest. He paced a bit, murmuring to himself, “Walk away, Topper, walk away. Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t.”
The creature (man?) that called himself Topper stopped pacing and drew a pipe out of his inside breast pocket. He tamped it with his finger and flicked the edge of the bowl with his thumb, producing a spark. He enjoyed a deep, long drag. As he exhaled, the smoke twirled and swirled in the night air, two snakes pirouetting up into the starry sky. He followed the plumes with his eyes as they circled and dispersed amid the constellations. Something he saw in the way his smoke tendrils merged with the stars made his shoulders droop in defeat.
“Fak.”
He reached forward and pulled Kora’s gag down.
“Alright, what’s he got ya goose-tied for? And no trickery harpy, or he’s awake before you spit a note.”
Kora kept her voice as low as possible. “Please, sir, don’t wake him. Please untie me. I can explain everything once we slip away.”
“Do I look like a simp?” Topper asked. “What’d ya do?”
“Nothing. I…” she paused before realizing her situation couldn’t get any worse. Why wouldn’t she tell him everything? “I have some kind of Magesty in my blood. He wants it. That Garakul wants it. Everybody wants it, and all I want to do is get rid of it, alright?” It came out a little harsh, but she was tired of constantly explaining herself.
“Blood? What do these coins have to do with that?”
“Nothing,” she whispered, “who cares about the coins?”
“I care. You have any idea the amount of sweat and toil goes into a teuerik? You have any appreciation for the craftsmanship required to mint only one of these?” he whispered, as he moved his bulbous nose close enough so that his beard whiskers tickled her chin. “My people died off producing these for the ancient houses. Now, I gotta live long enough to see these precious symbols of my people’s sacrifices passed into soiled human hands as some kinda bounty payment. And here you are, squirreling ‘em away in your sweaty bosom, and here I am, having to hand ‘em back. It’s soul crushing. Soul crushing, I say.”
Kora sat tied, jaw dropped, unaware of how the topic could have veered so far from her predicament. “Sir, please, listen,” she pleaded, “don’t hand them back. I don’t care about the coins. At all. I just want to be freed. You can have the coins.”
Topper pulled back in surprise. “I can have these?”
“Yes.”
“You’re giving these to me?”
“Yes.”
“Fak.”
“Fak? What does that mean?” Kora asked.
Topper shrugged. “It has many meanings.” He let the coins roll around a bit in his palm as he looked at her. “I’m asking for trouble,” he said as he hopped around the tree and started on the knots. “My mother always told me, ‘Toppy, you’ll live as long as ya keep yer snoot outta this dunghill of a world.’ I never listened, and so I deserve a cursed fate.”
As soon as the binds were loose enough, Kora pulled free and silently collected her gear, while holding up a finger to her lips. As soon as she had her things, she darted off. In a rush, she weaved through the woods back in the direction of the path. Topper followed. Despite having much shorter legs, he bounded and skipped along at a surprisingly fast pace, keeping up with her without much trouble.
“Who was that?” he asked.
“The prince of the lands,” she replied.
“Fak.”
They moved in silence until she found the path west. She turned to him as she stopped to catch her breath.
“Thank you so much. My name is Kora Smythe.” She held out her hand.
“Daenabius Donnduhban. So… call me Topper,” he replied, as he looked sideways at her hand. “Take no offense, but I have no idea where that thing’s been, and my suspicions are dubious at best.”
“Then I hope you take no offense, when I ask, what are you?”
Topper slumped his shoulders. “Ugh. Have we sunk so low? Near extinct and relegated to the lost tomes of lore. I’m a leprechaun, girlie. Ever heard of us?”
“Leprechaun? I’ve heard legends. Your bite is poison, and you hoard gold,” she said carefully, suddenly aware that this little man might actually be dangerous.
Topper pulled his bowler off and throttled it as his face flushed to a tomato-like color. “WE hoard gold?! WE hoard gold?! We slave to extinction, minting for the pockets of the Folke lords, and we’re the hoarders?! We’re the greedy ones, eh?!” He spat at her feet.
“I’m sorry. I meant no offense,” she offered.
But Topper was already looking forward to the comfort of his pipe. He tamped and sparked again.
“Topper, I have to keep moving. He could wake up any time and he’ll be chasing after me. I’m going north to the White Owl Wood.”
“The White Owl? Alone? You know how far that is?”
“Not really,” she admitted. “Do you?”
Topper looked at her with suspicion. “Doesn’t matter if I do or I don’t. Does it?”
She had no idea what Topper’s allegiances were, but it seemed clear he did know where it was, and she was desperate. She really didn’t know how to get where she needed to go, and truthfully, travelling alone terrified her. The leprechaun angered quickly, to be sure, but he didn’t seem particularly malevolent, despite the tales.
“Will you bring me there?” she asked. She knew she had no right to expect Topper to travel to the White Owl Wood with her, but she asked, nonetheless.
“Fak! You knew you were going to ask me that when ya gave me the coins didn’t you? Is that an official entreaty? Is that what yer sayin’?”
“Um, I guess so.”
“Ooh, yer a snake, to be sure. Giving me those teueriks knowing I’ll owe ya.” He pointed the stem of his pipe at her in accusation. “Yer a crafty siren.”
Kora smiled. “I’m no siren, but I’m glad to have you. Let’s go.”
Topper scowled and snuffed out his pipe. As he tucked his pipe into his inside breast pocket, his eyes closed. His small, chubby fist squeezed the three coins that were still in his palms.
“Teueriks. Garakul’s teueriks. Changing hands…” he whispered as his fist raised up close to his temple. He stood quietly for a beat before his body shuddered.
“Ack!” Topper turned pallid as he opened his eyes. “This is going to be a short journey.”
“Why?”
“Garakul. He’s after you? He just passed teueriks to the Master of the Hunt.” Topper whispered it, as if she would know what he was talking about. But she had never heard of any Master of the Hunt, so she looked at him blankly.
Topper shook his head in pity.
“Yer dead, kiddo.”