Winter came and the snow fell but Bridgit felt no cold. The forest clearing where she stood was full of small shrubs and occasional little animals. Neither mortal nor Kithain ever came there. The lonely winter passed to spring when everything blossomed and the grass grew up to the troll’s knees. More animals made their way through the glen but none stopped to give the statue a second thought. Even the chimera seemed oblivious to her existence.
During early summer a pair of blue jays made their nest on the top of her head and ivy and kudzu vines began to creep about her feet. High summer yielded to early autumn and the birds flew south. The leaves fell like a constant, silent rain in the glade and the air turned pungent as it does in fall. Once more frost painted everything, including the gray stone troll and soon the snow came again. Of all that changed with the seasons in the small forest clearing, the huge standing stone was the only constant.
Mostly, Bridgit slept and dreamed. There was a strange sluggishness in her mind, like that of a man in perpetual drunken stupor. Lazily, she watched the days pass but the reality mingled with the chimerical, which mingled with the bizarre visions that occupied her thoughts. Many were of herself and Olar Daan in various lives and times; things she’d never remembered before and probably wouldn’t remember if her viscous state of consciousness were ever broken. Some dreams were alien but not unseen. Bridgit dreamt of a desert land with its soldiers and gods, and other times deep woods in a foreign land with always a black tower in the distance.
Her past of the present lifetime was ignored and inconsequential and so she didn’t worry about it. On some days however, the stupor would thin and it was as if she was almost cognizant and those were the days she ached to move and run, to fight and dance, and to be free of the terrible prison. Just when it felt as though her heart would break for not being free, the pleasant daze would set back in and she’d sleep for days again.
Then one cold night Bridgit’s mind awakened as full as it had ever been and she looked out over the dark clearing. There was a slight scent of wood-smoke in the clear air and she could swear she felt the bite of wind on her face. Something was not right, something was changing, something was…coming.
A shining white brilliance entered the glen, made radiant by the light’s reflection off the thin coat of snow on the ground. For a moment it was too bright for the troll to comprehend, but then the light faded somewhat and the white unicorn strode slowly towards her. It was a thing so beautiful and terrifying that were she not stone she’d have been frozen in place. In its eyes was a peace, but also calm sorrow. This rarest of chimera, long believed vanished from the mortal plane, stopped before the standing stone.
A stronger wind buffeted the clearing, having no effect on the graceful being, but blowing loose snow up in a sparkling shower. The unicorn lifted its head and flared its nostrils, looking up to the sky and scenting for danger. Then the thing reared up, its eyes still beholden of absolute calm, and plunged its immaculate horn into the statue; the shaft of light easily cut through until it impaled Bridgit’s heart of stone.
There was an instant of exquisite agony before she fell to the ground, free at last. All haze and stupor was gone and new vitality flowed through her body. Dame Bridgit Steadheart looked up at the unicorn, now silhouetted against the dark sky. One word sounded in her mind.
Hurry.
Then, the perfect thing was gone. It was a few moments before she was able to stand, her limbs felt thick and heavy and on further inspection, her skin was still stone. Most of the feeling was returning and she could feel the cold wind, so Bridgit figured that perhaps her skin would, in time, return to normal. In her mind there was an abstract flash of the scene from Return of the Jedi when Han Solo is freed from the carbonite. Bridgit laughed, quietly at first, then it built to a loud, joyous laughter.
Free! She was finally free from that frozen state, from the drunken, meaningless dreams which even now had nearly faded away. Standing in the cold glen, she wondered just how much time had passed. It hadn’t seemed that long while she was standing but fae magic is best known for stealing time. Furthermore, where was she?
“Whose woods these are, I wish I knew,” she softly quipped against Robert Frost.
Suddenly there came a crashing of underbrush and noise of something coming towards the clearing. As quick Bridgit could manage, she drew her sword and stood at the ready for whatever man, fae, or beast would challenge her. She prayed her still-stone body could be made to fight. The boy with whiskers stumbled into the glade, eyes wide when he saw her.
“I-is it? Is it really?”
“Sneezles?”
The pooka burst into tears and ran to the troll, who dropped her sword and knelt down to hug him.
“Bridgit! It is! It’s really you!”
“What’s wrong? Are you all right?”
Sneezles wiped his eyes and took a step back. “It was terrible! We didn’t, at least, not until it all started, and he…he, I never thought!”
Bridgit sat down so the boy wouldn’t have to crane his neck to look her in the eyes. “Just settle down, try to think about what you say.”
“Tiernan! He has these soldiers, terrible little tribesmen that came from the Dreaming. Baron Kelvin finally went into the Forgetting and all the sudden Tiernan said he was in charge. He’s got everyone at the freehold ‘cause there’s something about the stars tonight!”
“What about the stars?”
He shrugged. “Ahmira says the stars and planets are right tonight for the light of the balefire to shine through the treasure and tell Tiernan where it is.”
Sighing deeply, Bridgit tried to be patient. “Where what is?”
“Some great treasure Baron Kelvin was guarding, but it’s hidden in the mountains and no one knows where except him. Now that he’s gone, Tiernan got his hands on some treasure that can show him the way. That why he’s got everyone! We have to go back there!”
“Right!” Bridgit stood, “which direction do we go?”
“North, but I…” Sneezles trailed off.
“What?”
“My foot,” and they both looked down at the mechanical wonder crafted after the boy lost his chimerical foot. It had been twisted and smashed.
“Did that happen as you ran here?” Bridgit asked.
“N-no. Tiernan did it. Then he threw me against the wall and I got knocked out. I guess he thought I was dead, ‘cause they were all gone when I woke up. I ran to get help and I was gonna run to Pittsburgh to tell the Duke, but then thought I saw this unicorn or something, I can’t really remember. I followed it and I found you.”
Bridgit reached down and brushed Sneezles’ dirty blonde hair out of his eyes. “Pittsburgh is far from here, but you are very brave to be willing to go such a distance to save your friends and freehold. We’ll go back, you and I, and I promise Tiernan will feel the point of my sword tonight!”
“Are you gonna kill him?”
She sighed again. “No, although it sounds like he deserves it. It’s for the Duke to decide what happens to him. Here, you sit on my shoulders and hold onto my horns. North you say?”
“Yeah,” Sneezles replied and he climbed up on her back, “we’re about a mile south of I-81 at the Oak Falls Campground Exit. Do you know the way from there?”
The troll nodded. Beneath the stone exterior she was roiling with fury; her lord had fallen and her old enemy taken hostage the only family she’d even known. She began running at a fast, even pace. It felt great to be able to run and the blood and vitality coursed through her legs. She didn’t know what treasure Sneezles had meant, but if the Baron had been guarding it, then it was probably for a good reason and Tiernan wasn’t supposed to have it.
But where had he gotten an army? Even assuming the pooka was exaggerating, warriors from the Dreaming? This didn’t bode well. The night was already cold and promised no improvement; Bridgit Steadheart kept running.
The balefire in the one freehold of the small Barony of Crystal Hills was housed in a hidden room in the mortal Cumberland Gap Community Center. There was an old door on the wall backstage at the end of the gym where the stage was, and beyond that door (which mortals somehow never noticed) was a grand chimerical ballroom. It was built from the beautiful mountain crystals which gave the barony its name, but now it was merely a memory of happier, more prosperous times.
Even the balefire was small now, a tiny flickering rainbow flame that caused colors to dance through the crystal walls and fixtures; the last vestige of a vanishing dream. This hall had been great in days past. It was built by Hans Gearspent, a German nocker, in 1633, while the European fae were exploring farther than their Dreamers could ever imagine. There was a legend that the native fair folk lost the region in a game of throw-bones with Gearspent, but no absolute records exist. What is known was that he also built the mountaineer shack that housed the freehold, a building that would be wrecked and rebuilt many times as a tavern, a smithy, a brothel, the town’s first public library in 1911, a temporary draft office in 1917, a private residence, and the Cumberland Gap Community Center in 1976.
On that cold night, however, the crystal hall was lit with a sinister tint. The Bojeebie tribe, chimerical purple-skinned savages who each stood about three feet tall, were cavorting and dancing around the balefire. They gibbered in a strange tongue, and the ones not celebrating were guarding the three prisoners. Ahmira, Whomper, and Kia were bound hand and foot and tied to one of the larger pillars, with spears held to their throats. Taking in the whole scene was Sir Tiernan, resplendent in his house colors, sitting lazily in the Baron’s old throne and fiddling idly with some kind of contraption.
“You won’t be able to make it work,” Ahmira said to him, her quiet fury keeping her voice tight, “it is the Baron’s treasure and only he knows its secret.”
The knight looked up and raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? I think, my dear old hag, it will work for whomever wants it to work.”
“Don’t you call her a hag, ya pointy-eared blowhard!”
One of the Bojeebies shouted something at Whomper and knocked him on the head with the staff of his spear. He glared at the chimera but a tear slid down his cheek.
“Shh, now. Don’t worry,” Kia said softly to him, “Sneezles is going for help, I know it. It won’t be long now.”
Sir Tiernan snapped his fingers and the wild dancing stopped. The tribesmen gathered before the balefire and waited word from their commander. Tiernan walked over to the one window behind the throne and moved aside the lavish curtain to look at the sky.
“Almost time now,” he remarked to the Bojeebie chief, “are the rest of your people arranged through the area?”
The chief nodded. Some of his warriors began amusing themselves by throwing fishbones at the prisoners while the sidhe stood by the window, then finally turned away. He was young and handsome and at the height of his power. Now that the old man had Forgotten himself and he finally had the means to make the barony his. Besides, he told himself, if this hidden treasure was as powerful as he’d been lead to believe, well, he wouldn’t have to worry about Duke Fogerty either.
Slowly, he walked over to the prisoners, stopping at Kia and running a hand through her hair. She turned her head away, but tied up, could do nothing to stop him. Tiernan smiled.
“For the life of me, I don’t understand why you behave like this. We grew up together, you and I, and I’m a noble and you’re a satyr. It’s practically meant to be.”
Kia scowled deeper and spat at him. “You’re no noble and you never will be!”
Bemused, Tiernan only laughed. She’d learn in time. And time there would be; an eternity to compensate for his single lifetime in the Autumn world. The Bojeebies all suddenly fell quiet and still, watching the door. In a moment, Tiernan too heard the pounding footsteps of something approaching the freehold. A hand strayed to the hilt of his sword and the gleam of battle twinkled in his eyes.
“Let them try it,” he whispered to himself.
The footsteps only got louder, as if the mountain itself were advancing on the door. Whomper held his breath and closed his eyes and the Bojeebies spread out through the hall, making a rough gauntlet ending with Sir Tiernan. The door opened and the stone knight stepped in, sword drawn.
“Bridgit,” Kia said simply.
Confused, the tribesmen gibbered among themselves and made some threatening spear-jabs, looking to their chief, who scratched his scraggly beard and turned to the noble.
“So not even stone can hold the heart of a fool,” he muttered, bemused.
Bridgit grunted, but her continence didn’t change. “I won’t waste our time telling you to let my friends go or surrender the freehold. Nor will I ask you to come quietly or hand the baron’s treasure over to Duke Fogerty.”
“Wise choice, I see you grew a few braincells while you were growing moss.”
“I know you, Tiernan. We were children together and so I know your way and how you think,” she answered.
This time, Tiernan outright laughed. “You think you know me, but you have no idea.” He drew his sword, which glittered coldly in the strange light of the balefire, “I’ll not waste my army on you, if you think you’re strong enough to beat me, then come.”
Bridgit tightened her grip on the sword and advanced, the Bojeebies scattering like birds as she and Tiernan came towards each other. They locked eyes, her stern gaze to his, and circled. This same dance had been done before, when the they were childlings being taught to fight; Bridgit had always been stronger, Tiernan had always been quicker. When it ended they’d always gone out with Olar Daan for ice cream, but that wouldn’t happen this time. This time only blood would be the reward.
It was Tiernan who took the first swing, which Bridgit parried and used her weight to throw him back a step before following with her own swing. Tiernan easily dodged and feinted around her, bring his foot up under her knee and tripping her. The troll crashed to one knee, barely bring her sword up in time to deflect a blow that would have taken off her head. The agile young noble backed up a step and smiled arrogantly; she was too big and too slow, this David would bring down Goliath.
“Is this really the disciple of the great weapons master Olar Dann?”
Bridgit growled and leapt to her feet, “Don’t you ever speak my master’s name!”
Tiernan smiled again, drawing idle swirls in the air with the point of his sword. “I’ll tell you what, Bridgit, I don’t really want to kill you. I’ll let you leave now, unharmed, and you can even take the eshu and pooka with you. We nobles are known for our mercy, after all.”
“Unacceptable. I’m not leaving without all my friends and that includes Kia. You think I would go now? Only a coward expects cowardly acts from his foe,” she replied.
“So die, fool,” he answered flippantly, the lunged forward and gashed Bridgit’s left shoulder. “Touché,” Tiernan whispered.
His next blow was parried but now the fight had earnestly overcome the sidhe and he fought well, as though the dance was a part of him. Bridgit, for all her years of training, was straining valiantly to overcome the months of inactivity and her skin of stone. Her right hand was cut next, then her forehead near the left horn. Still they fought, back and forth across the sparkling hall sending Bojeebies running to safer corners. Finally Tiernan tired of his sword and feinted, kicking her solidly in the stomach and bringing his two fists down on her head. Groaning, Bridgit fell to her knees.
“If death is your aim you’ll have it tonight, but enough distraction.” Tiernan nodded to the Bojeebie chief, “it’s time, if your men are in place we can begin here.”
The chief nodded and wiggled his fingers. Some of the tribesmen surrounded Bridgit and poked her with their spears. Pain crackled throughout her body but her energy was gone. Resigned, she growled weakly, the grip on her sword loosened, and her head began to droop; she’d lost a lot of blood.
“Bridgit, no! Don’t give up! You can do it, you can beat him!” Kia cried but was silenced by a blow from a Bojeebie club.
Ignoring all of them, Tiernan approached the balefire and held up the contraption he’d been playing with before. It looked somewhat like a gyroscope with a few too many wheels and attachments and a small lens was fixed on a swivel head at the top. When the light of glamour shone on it, the thing came to life and the wheels spun. A beam of light suddenly shot from the lens and out the window. Ahmira swore softly and her shoulders sagged; that beam would lead the Bojeebies right to the location of the treasure, wherever the baron had hidden it.
“Halt, boy!” A booming voice rang out and filled the hall.
Startled, Tiernan nearly dropped the gadget and the tribesmen looked around franticly for the speaker. A soft green mist began to fill the room before the window and instantly there was standing a towering figure clad in shining armor. The breastplate was emblazoned with the crest of House Gwydion and the sword the knight wore was unmistakable.
“My lord!” Bridgit cried out, rising suddenly, her strength renewed. The Bojeebies cowered towards the back of the room with their chief, who himself looked like he’d rather run than fight.
Baron Trembain lifted the visor of his helmet and nodded to his vassal. Sir Tiernan could only look on, shocked.
“But you’re gone!” he insisted weakly.
“There is a bit of life in me yet. Certainly, life enough to protect my subjects and my barony! Did you really believe you could just walk in here with your pathetic chimerical army and take whatever you wanted?”
Now Tiernan had regained him composure and his eyes shot pure hate at the baron. “Shut up, old man! You ran this barony like a family picnic, blind to everything that was happening around us. The Cataclysm, the attacks, everything!”
“No, Tiernan,” he answered patiently, “it was you who was blind. You were only a childling and now, even as a wilder, you see the world through a child’s eyes. Could I stop the Cataclysm or the dragon attacks? No. All I did was try to preserve our home and way of life here. Crystal Hills is old, and I pray by virtue of the Dreaming, it may survive this night, if possible.”
“You see! Even now you try to rationalize everything, talking to me like I’m a child likely to burst into tears and say I’m wrong then we’ll all have a heart to heart and sit down to play checkers. You pawned me off on that fool old troll rather than teaching me yourself the way of the sidhe. I’m no child, I am a noble knight of House Fiona! I will have your treasure and have your barony. Enough talk, enough stalling, if you intend to stop me, you’d better be ready to fight!”
With that he charged the baron who drew his sword to parry but never had a chance. Bridgit, who’s rage had been building since Tiernan referred to Olar Daan so irreverently, had interrupted the noble’s charge and come between him and Baron Trembain. Their swords clashed terribly as fury fought fury and neither would back down. With a flash, both swords broke, sending the troll and the sidhe sprawling backwards.
Tiernan recovered first and plunged the shattered hilt of his sword as deeply into Bridgit’s shoulder as he could. She cried out in agony and shoved him off, standing quickly and wrenching the metal from her body. Blood pooled on the floor and the balefire flickered dangerously low.
“This ends now, Tiernan,” the baron said softly.
“Is that what you think? Even now my minions are combing the forest and mountains. Maybe the beam is gone, but they had it for long enough to get pointed in the right direction, and all I need is to wait until the stars and planets align again over the balefire.”
“No. You do not understand. You will never have that treasure. I am sworn to guard it as it is far too powerful for any of us to posses. You will also not take my barony and torment my loyal people,” and he sighed sadly, “it ends now.”
Baron Kelvin Trembain ap Gwydion approached the balefire and held up his hands. “Cold of the world of men, hear me! Ice of the unbelieving mind, serve my will! Grey of the death of dreams, turn your face to me! Extinguish this fire and let cold fall! Banality, I call upon you!”
And with a sweep of freezing wind, the balefire guttered and failed. It was as if the color was suddenly sucked from the world; the Bojeebies squealed and writhed in pain, dashing madly from the room. Bridgit felt the deep, keening fire throb through her and she crashed to her knees. Whomper was crying, Kia was moaning and Ahmira has passed out. Taken with pain, Tiernan cringed but forced himself to his feet and made it to the window.
“You’ll never stop me,” he swore harshly before leaping out the window.
As the conduit of Banality, the baron’s armor had disintegrated in that instant and he fell heavily to the floor. For a moment, a look of determination filled his eyes and he reached forward to grip Bridgit’s unwounded arm.
“Never let him have it!” he managed before vanishing.
The mortal Allen Kennington collapsed into unconsciousness, awash in the Mists that would keep him such for many weeks. In a daze, Bridgit ripped apart the rope that bound her friends and Kia revived Ahmira. The four of them, then joined by Sneezles who’d been instructed to wait outside, gathered around the slumbering form that once held their lord.
“He died for us. He died to protect us.” Bridgit’s voice was choked with emotion and she knelt and cried, cried as she had the day that Olar Daan died.
For quite a while no one spoke. The dark hall seemed cold and lifeless without the balefire and the twins looked around and shivered. Ahmira walked over to the window and stared out into the night. Finally, Bridgit gave a great sigh and stood.
“Sneezles, Whomper, I need you to bring him out into the gym and sit him against the wall. Go out to the payphone and call 911, muffle your voice and tell them there’s a man unconscious in the Community Center, then hang up. Meet us behind the building.”
The brothers nodded and picked up the mortal, making their slow way out onto the stage and down into the gym. Bridgit closed and locked the door after them. Wordless, she and Kia began cleaning the small hall; throwing the trash from the Bojeebies out the window and making everything right. It was as if they all knew it would be a while before fair folk dwelt there again. They both finished and stood before Ahmira.
“What should we do now? Sir Tiernan…” and Bridgit trailed off.
The eshu slowly turned around. “He must be stopped.” Her normally kind voice was cold and steely and her gaze was stern. “You can’t fight with a broken sword, so we’ll take care of that before we go out there. There isn’t a lot of time, so we’ll have to call them all now.”
Bridgit cocked her head, confused, but Kia nodded. “I’ll show her, and it shouldn’t take too long.”
“Wait, call who?”
“Bridgit, a lot has changed here since you left and there was a lot that we were never told as childlings. Olar Daan and the other grumps meant to tell us when we were older, but then with the Cataclysm and the attacks, all those who died, it was just forgotten.”
“What do you mean?”
Ahmira walked over to the two, putting a hand on Bridgit’s arm. “There are many fae in the mountains who owe no loyalty or prefer to be left alone. Some of them are refugees and some are the original dreamed folk of the forest. They call themselves the Appalachian Alliance, they are the inhabitants and protectors of the area and most never come to court. Recently, after the Cataclysm, they were forced to keep in contact with us court folk, for matters of mutual protection. And now we need their help.”
“Oh. How do we call them?”
“You know the old bell tower of St. Steven’s?” Kia asked, “there’s a huge chimerical horn at the top. It will bring them in from all through the mountains.”
“If you two sound the horn, I’ll wait with the boys and meet you back here behind the building, but be quick! We don’t have a lot of time.”
The two nodded and unlocked the freehold door, hurrying out into the cold night. Bridgit suddenly staggered, the night air sapping some of her strength and the still-wet blood felt cold against her skin.
“Oh my god, I completely forgot you were wounded,” Kia cried and turned to her friend, “here, sit down.”
“I’m fine, I’ll be ok. Ahmira said to hurry.”
“No, you’re not fine. You’re exhausted and hurt. Just let me heal it, ‘cause you’ll wear yourself out, otherwise. How can you fight Sir Tiernan if you can’t even walk?”
Bridgit conceded to that and sat down on a bench outside the Community Center. Kia cast about then finally shimmied up a small pine tree, returning with a handful of pure white snow. She packed it down and applied it to the gaping wound in the troll’s shoulder.
“Purify and heal, purify and heal,” she sang softly in the dark night, and after a few minutes the wound had healed enough that Bridgit could move that arm again.
“That’s a lot better, thank you.”
They started off again towards the church, running at a good pace. The bell tower had been constructed some years after the original building, so the entrance was on the outside. As the support beams had rotted and the bell crashed to earth three years past, the door was never locked for the tower was never in use. Careful of the crumbling stairs, the two raced for the top.
“Do you realize,” Kia managed between breaths, “that when I healed you just now, that was the first time you accepted help without a second thought?”
“Well,” Bridgit replied, “only a fool believes he can save the world himself,” and she smiled.
The top of the bell tower was open to air on all four sides with a spire roof and the horn was set facing south. It was a gigantic thing made of curves and twisting turns, guilt in gold around the edges.
“Well, here goes nothing,” Bridgit said, and taking a deep breath, sounded the Great Mountain Horn.
A booming wail filled the air and passed over the forests. Herds of chimerical birds and small drangonlings took sudden flight, frightened by the awesome sound. Once more it resounded for miles, and then a third time before Bridgit sat down on the floor of the tower completely out of breath.
“Little troll blue, come blow your horn,” Kia said and laughed.
“Har har. Come on, let’s get back to the freehold. That horn sounds ominous and there’s something odd in the air now.”
Kia followed her down the stairs. “I know, I feel it too. Something’s not right, something’s…coming.”
The five fae stood in the cold behind the Community Center. Sneezles had fashioned a makeshift crutch from a tree branch and was using that to hobble around.
“The next thing to do is meet the others and get you a weapon, Bridgit,” Ahmira said.
Whomper look up. “Down at ol’ Amos’ place?”
She nodded and turned to the knight. “Amos’ is a nocker who lives at the base of Big Raingreen Mountain, only a few miles south. Don’t worry, this time we’ll take my van.”
“Ahmira,” Bridgit finally asked while they were driving, “how do we know that Tiernan doesn’t already have this treasure? And what is it, anyway?”
“The baron never told me. I don’t think there’s anyone he ever told besides Olar Daan, in fact, I don’t even know to whom he swore his oath to guard it. What I do know, is that he once told me if it fell into the wrong hands it would be catastrophic and we would know at once. I’m trusting that, it’s all the information we have.”
The younger woman sighed deeply. “I’m so sorry I haven’t been here to help. If I had been, maybe…” but Kia cut her off.
“Don’t, honey. You had a life in your new barony and as much as Olar Daan instilled it in you, the defense of the entire world isn’t your responsibility.”
“I know, I just feel like, he died because I didn’t fight hard enough. So now it’s my job to make that up to everyone. If I can work a bit harder, fight a bit longer, be a bit stronger, well, who knows how many lives I’ll be able to save?”
“Bridgit, you saved my life. That’s enough for me.” The women had assumed the pooka boys had fallen asleep in the back seat, but Sneezles was still awake. “And someday, when I get a new foot made, someday I’m going to be a knight too, just like you.”
“You’ll make a fine knight,” Bridgit said softly, so touched she was almost crying for the second time that night.
“Reforge a sword in twenty minutes? Flippin’ gol-blast it, woman! What do you take me for?”
Ahmira sighed. “Do you expect her to fight with a jagged hilt?”
The crotchety old nocker grump peered down at all of them from his precarious seat atop some machine he was tinkering with. “No, but I can’t do what you ask. It takes at least three hours for the forge to heat up, let alone doing any actual work.”
“Don’t give me that, Amos! This concerns you as well, and don’t pretend you’re so high and mighty now that someone needs your help. I remember your wilder days and they’d make quite a tale for everyone around to hear,” the eshu threatened.
“Hold the pickles, hold the onions! I’m not saying I won’t help, I’m just saying I can’t reforge her sword tonight. I do have other weapons, however. Jeppity-Jebus, don’t go flyin’ off the handle!”
Bridgit raised a doubting eyebrow. “Other weapons? This is my master’s sword, I’ve always fought with it.”
“Aw, quit yer grousing!” Amos jumped down and scrambled into a back room, emerging with a great-axe. “Here, ain’t hardly been used.”
“How about it, can you fight with an axe?” Ahmira asked.
“Yes. Olar Daan trained me in all the martial weapons, I just like the sword best.”
“Well then, it’s all settled! Axe it is! That’ll be ten dross and fifteen for the sword job,” Amos cackled, doing some quick calculations on his abacus.
“You’ve gotta be kidding!” Kia had been sitting with the twins off in a corner, playing cards while they waited. “No one’s got money like that!”
Bridgit reached into her pocket and pulled out the ten-dross coin she’d had since Summer Parliament a year and a half past. The coin she had refused to spend; her reward from Queen Mab for swearing an oath to save her. Bridgit had been ashamed because the queen had been rescued without her help, and she believed she didn’t deserve such a prize simply for swearing an oath. Now, however, she knew that using it would be how Queen Mab would want her to spend that money.
“I can afford the axe, but not the sword. I guess I need the axe more. We’ll just have to bury the sword and shards in the Fallen Glen by master’s body, because it had served both him and myself so well.”
“Amos…” Ahmira threatened again.
The old nocker sighed. “No, we’ll not do that. It was Olar’s sword after all, and that sonnova-gunbuster was always a stand-true friend to me. Five for the axe and five for the sword job will do.”
Nodding, Bridgit handed over the coin and Amos handed her the axe. It was a nicely made weapon, she had to admit, wood finished and blade of red-tinted metal. There was a soft tap at the door and they all looked up.
“Come in,” Amos said.
The door creaked open slowly, revealing a timid childling of sorts. His hair was a shock of white puffs and he had beautiful, deep liquid eyes. The child wore only breeches that stopped at the calf and one of his arms was shriveled. Curious, he approached the fae.
“I am Tottlebol of the North Pigeon River, I am come to tell you my family sends blessings. We will aid you however we can, but we wish to know why you have called.”
“Blessings upon you and your family, river child. I assume there are others outside?” Ahmira asked.
“Yes. There are many. Some have come from our little homes and others are flesh-dwellers of your kind, also our cousins have come. We are gathered outside.”
Amos and the Crystal Hills motley walked outside the small shack built into the foot of the mountain. A large crowd had gathered; fae of all kiths and seemings dressed in the patched wearings of rural mountain people, beautiful and mysterious Native American fae, glade children, tree-nymph chimera, and even a towering rock giant. They all stood silently, watching and waiting.
“Go ahead, Bridgit,” whispered Ahmira.
“Me?”
“You’re the titled one. In the time of the Interregnum it was the trolls who led us, as the nobles had gone. If the baron had been lost in the Cataclysm it would have been Olar Daan who took charge. They will listen, don’t be afraid.”
Dame Bridgit Steadheart took a step forward. She hadn’t been in a position of command since her short-lived appointment as Captain of the Guard of the House of the Yellow Crescent (House of Rotted Dreams). Nevertheless, there she was, in a land where there were none to torment her, none to mock her. There were people who cared about her, believed in her, and so then she suddenly felt stronger than she’d ever before.
“Folk of the Appalachian Alliance, thank you for answering our call. Some of you may have known the Baron Kelvin Trembain, and sadly I must inform you that he is Forgotten. Know he died to protect the mountains and their people. There is another of his kind, a knight called Tiernan Bain, and he is working with a chimerical army to uncover a powerful treasure Baron Trembain had been sworn to protect.”
“Mmmmmm, the Mountain’s Heart,” rumbled the rock giant, seemingly to himself.
“We fear because he used a treasure to seek this greater item and his minions are combing the area for a scent of it. They must be stopped but they are many and we are few. Further, we do not even know how to prevent them from finding the treasure. Please, kind folk, help us in our time of great need!”
Various motleys and groups began talking excitedly amongst each other, then one by one, a representative from each came forward with their decision to help the search for Sir Tiernan.
“One problem,” Kia said, “is how to stop his army.”
A raggedly dressed sluagh wilder stepped forward. “No need to confront them in battle, there are far too many and they are too small. I believe if we can simply keep them off the ‘scent’ for long enough, the glamour gathered will fade and your knight will have to find a new balefire and wait for another convergence to try again.”
A murmuring of agreement answered him. “But how are we gonna do that?” Sneezles asked.
Everyone fell silent, some using sticks to draw makeshift plans in the dusting of snow. Finally the rock giant looked up at the clouded night sky.
“Hmmmm, looks like snow,” he stated and nodded, mind made up.
“Yes! That’s it!” “Are you sure?” “We could still try it!” “I don’t think…” “I remember how!” “Well, I think it won’t work.” A chorus of voices broke out all at once and Bridgit had to concentrate to hear even one.
“What? Do what?” she finally shouted above the din.
The rock giant stared at her and clapped his great hands together once for silence. “Little sister, we are going to call the Storm.”
With that, all the folk of the Appalachian Alliance began running and jumping up the steep trail to the top of Big Raingreen Mountain. That strange feeling which had started in the glade where she was trapped and grown stronger at the sounding of the horn, was now a creeping electricity that charged the air. Something was coming and it was almost there.
TO BE CONTINUED...