Chapter 69
Trewoofe
Panic tightened Trewoofe’s chest as Avice wrenched herself free of the Spriggan Queen’s grip and fainted back onto his paw. His tail lashed as he focused on the emaciated Faerie, his dripping fangs a hairbreadth away from her.
“What did you do to my little witch?” Trewoofe hissed.
The Spriggan screeched and recoiled from his wrath. Just as he was about to crunch the Queen, Avice jolted up, grasping his thumb talon for support.
“I am alright,” she gasped. “I promise. Do not hurt her.”
Trewoofe snapped his jaws shut before turning to nuzzle her. That old fear – those sharp briars of loss – squeezed his lungs when Avice had fainted. She had only passed out for a heartbeat or two, but it was enough to set him alight with worry.
“What happened to you?” Trewoofe asked, flicking his tongue all over her.
Her dress and chemise had slipped down when she fell back, exposing a collar bone. The inked leaves had stained green. The sight made him hiss. No one had the right to change Avice’s body without her permission.
He swung his head back around to the Spriggan cowering in the cross. “You do not touch or change people without their consent.”
The Queen clenched the object she held. “I did not mean to.”
In his periphery, Trewoofe watched as Avice peeked down at the exposed shoulder, before tugging her dress back up. She beckoned him over and pressed a kiss to the tip of his muzzle.
“She should not have, but it was an accident.” Avice smiled tenderly at the Spriggan. “Queen Fawen has been through much and is trying to save her seed.” She pointed at the object pressed to her chest. “That is her is it not? That is why you hold it so close.”
“Fawen?” Trewoofe was already lost. “Who is Fawen?”
Avice slipped from his paw. He supported her back with the flat of his talon when she wobbled. Bracing herself on him, she answered his question without tearing her eyes from the trembling Spriggan.
“She is Queen Fawen of the Spriggan from the Green,” Avice explained. “I saw her memories. Shadows of the past. She showed me how she came to be here.”
“And how did she come to be here?” Trewoofe asked.
Avice told him of the dead Sidhe King, the egg that would not hatch, how few Spriggans there were, the Sprigganlings that would not fruit, and the death of the Birthing Tree with Fawen inside it.
“And now she holds her daughter seed in her hands. There are just some threads I have not quite figured out yet…”
A single silver tear ran down Trewoofe’s muzzle and splattered onto the ruined cross. “I know why she chose you. Fawen is right, you are like her.”
The Spriggan Queen nodded. “Yes, King. The witch is like me.”
Avice scrunched her face. “How so?”
“Because you both strive to do the right thing for your people and your communities,” Trewoofe told her, nuzzling into the sweep of her shoulder. “Even if it puts you in danger, even to the detriment of yourself.”
She rubbed his scales. “Then the true is the same for you. Did you not also use your body to save your Kingdom, knowing that you may not survive?”
“Yes, you are both like me.”
Apprehension seeped down Trewoofe’s spine as Fawen let out a sigh, her breath misting in the cold air before wafting into nothing. Her twiggy fingers creaked as she finally revealed what she held so closely to her chest.
A brown seed.
It was oval, roughly the size of Avice’s head. Trewoofe flicked his tongue at it. The seed pulsed with crackling green magic, stinging him, even though he did not directly touch it.
He retracted his tongue behind his fangs. “Why are you showing us?”
Fawn rattled her skull. “It is not just a seed. She is my daughter, but also all her mothers and grandmothers before that. She is the Spriggan: all the memories, the knowledge, past, present, and future.” She held it out to Avice.
“All that I am is in here. Will you take her and find somewhere safe to plant her? Away from humans and these” – she gestured around the nave – “stone cages.”
“Why do you need us to take it?” Avice asked.
Trewoofe had been wondering that too. “Yes, I can easily take you wherever you need to go.”
Fawen blinked slowly at them as though they were both a little stupid. “Because I will be giving the last of my life to ensure the sprout.”
“Is that really—”
Queen Fawen pressed her nose holes to the seed she extended towards Avice. She closed her eyes as a pulse of sparking green magic passed from her to the seed. The Spriggan’s fingers went slack. Avice caught the seed just before it cracked against the floor.
“Avice, put it down, it will hurt you,” Trewoofe warned.
She gritted her teeth and placed the seed tentatively on the ground. She rifled through her satchel and pulled out a length of linen bandage. Avoiding touching the surface with her skin, she rolled it up in the cloth and stuffed it into her satchel for safekeeping.
“Queen Fawen…”
She was gone.
Trewoofe had been so focused on Avice, he did not know where the Spriggan had gone. He flicked his tongue into the air and peered into the carved-open cross. Only a handful of leaves and the smell of wilderness remained. Avice scanned the room for any sign of Fawen.
“Little witch,” Trewoofe said soothingly, “the Queen has passed through the Shimmering Veil. She is gone.”
Avice peered into the hollow of the cross. “She cannot be. I was going to save her and her daughter, find somewhere safe and quiet to plant them.”
Trewoofe’s heart ached at her devastation. His poor soul-bound. She tried her best, risked herself to save this Faerie. Yet, the mother still sacrificed herself to ensure the daughter would live.
“You cannot save everyone,” he reassured, curling his tail around her shaking legs. “You did all you could. You heard her, you saw her, you knew her, and we will make sure we fulfill her last wish.”
Avice stuck out her chin. Trewoofe knew that expression well: that grim determination, that stubbornness, and that ability to make things happen. One of the many reasons why he had fallen head over tail for her.
She strapped on her satchel. “Before we figure out where to plant her, I should like to visit John.”
Trewoofe was not sure how he felt about that, but he could not deny her. “As you wish. Shall we make our way out? I do not like to linger inside human made settlements.”
Avice arched a brow up at him. “You lingered in my cottage for quite some time, Lord.” She walked up the nave, boots tapping loudly on the stone. “You did not seem to mind then.”
“That is different,” Trewoofe said, following her.
He saw that – now that he had torn down the door – the vines begun their claim of the church interior.
Criss-crossing the stone walls like thick spiderwebs.
“You were there, and I know you are a Knucker at heart. So, it was more like I was inside a Knucker’s nest.”
Avice smiled back at him, before stepping into the light.
Trewoofe’s ears pricked as he heard her gasp excitedly.
He upped his pace and shoved his way out of the door, bringing down more dust and rubble.
For extra effect, he lashed his tail back and forth, splitting more stone and cracking the foundation.
He chuffed satisfactorily as he heard the church front tumble down behind him with an earth-shaking boom.
Trewoofe squinted through the change in light.
He saw Avice and another woman – the one who had told him where his soul-bound was when the men had stolen her – look on in shock at the collapse.
The horse with the woman did not baulk at the noise.
Avice’s jaw dropped and the woman covered her mouth with her hand.
“It needed to be done,” Trewoofe asserted as he ambled over.
He touched noses with the chestnut mare. There was a fierce shrewdness behind her russet eyes. Like she had seen too much over too many turns of seasons. The horse blinked, and then she was back to a regular animal.
Avice rolled her eyes at him before turning her attention back to the woman. “I am so happy to see you, Joan!” she exclaimed.
“I passed Mister Matthew on the path,” she said excitedly. “He mentioned seeing you and the Well King. I rushed to see if you were still here. I had to know you were alright.”
“I must thank you,” Trewoofe interjected.
He studied this ‘Joan’. She was young, closer to a child than an adult human female.
Her long brown hair was pulled back from her face in a braid.
She wore a cloak – he assumed to protect her from the rain – and breeches over hose that were tucked into sturdy boots.
“You helped me that day, when I came for Avice.”
Joan’s blue eyes went wide, and she offered him a deep bow. “Lord,” she squeaked. “It is the least I could do. Avice is my friend. She saved me, in more ways than one.”
“You may look upon me,” Trewoofe chuckled. “Any friend of my little witch is a friend of mine.”
She stood straight with a small smile on her lips. Joan looked Avice up and down and reached into a bag strapped to her mare. She tugged out a cloak and wrapped it around his little witch’s shoulders.
“It is raining,” Joan stated. “You will catch your death.”
Trewoofe bristled at that, he had not noticed the gentle droplets on his scales. He should have known better. While Avice was tough, she had only just recovered, and it was his duty to keep her safe. He arched his neck over the two women, keeping the worst of rain from falling on them.
“Yes, yes. Never mind that,” Avice said, her expression thirsty for news. “Are you alright? What are you doing with Epona?”
Joan stood a little taller. “We are doing our rounds.”
“Rounds?”
“Yes, after,” – Joan gestured to the briar covered gallows – “some of the Moot and their guards were wiped out—”
Avice held up her hand. “Who on the Moot?”
Joan tucked the lead rope under her arm and counted on her fingers. “Father Peter, George Courier, Simon Smith, Tristan Keeper, and… Robert.”