The Maze
Kerboros
Now that the initial danger has passed, I take stock of our surroundings.
We’ve landed in a meadow, bordered in all directions by distant trees.
One side has a mushroom circle, the other a row of standing stones.
To the right, the approach has a rocky path that’s been laid on purpose, leading to a deep and dreary wood.
On the left, there’s a profusion of wildflowers in purple hues—violet, lavender, lilac, and periwinkle.
Some are tall and ferny, while others grow close to the ground.
I don’t sense danger from any of these areas, but I’m not in top form right now.
“My head,” Rosa groans.
“It’s unbearable,” Taragon adds.
Govannon sighs. “We overextended ourselves, I fear.”
“It was the only way out of the In-Between,” Zeph says.
My head pounds as well. Light hurts my eyes, and my skull feels heavy. Until now, I didn’t realize it was possible to have a magical hangover. It’s so painful that I can’t think properly, and it takes me longer than it should to realize this.
“Even if the new trackers lack my skill, we must stay ahead of them.”
“My dad wrote a couple of spells that might prove useful,” Thea says, producing the battered grimoire that saved us before.
I worry that she may not be strong enough to tap magic again, as she struggles with it at the best of times.
It might have been better to do this as a group, but when the portal closed, it also ended our link.
She won’t appreciate me questioning her, however, so I will support her, whatever she chooses to do. And if she stumbles, I will catch her.
Thea appears to rush the first charm, and I cannot discern whether the initial working had any effect.
Next, she completes the second spell, and she takes a step toward the flower path.
She bites her lip, glancing over one shoulder to see whether we’ll follow.
I do. And the others fall in behind me, silent, most likely in exhaustion.
We have already suffered so much. And now we must run, just like those I once hunted. The appropriate nature of this trial does not escape me.
“You’re sure we should head this way?” Taragon asks Thea.
“I think so,” she answers.
“I would have gone with the mushroom circle,” Govannon says.
Zeph shakes their head. “The obvious transport hubs will be guarded. We can’t travel openly through known portals. For my plan to succeed, we must stay ahead of pursuit and reach the Autumn Court within the next ten days.”
“What plan?” Thea gripes. “As far as I can tell, you don’t have one.”
“Thea has a point. Do you ever intend to share your incredible plan?” Taragon asks with audible skepticism. “Because I agree, it’s starting to feel as though you’re winging it.”
“How dare you,” Zeph says, entirely without heat.
At the back of the group, Govannon is talking quietly with Rosa.
Their voices are too low for me to discern the topic of conversation, which is fairly unusual.
The pixie isn’t known for her discretion, so I wonder what that’s about.
Taragon, walking quietly beside me, casts more than one look back, as if she might be thinking the same thing.
The mortal woman, Olive, speeds up to fall in step with Thea. “I came from the stone circle over there. It’s farther than it looks.”
“How did you get here, anyway?” Thea asks.
As I’m directly behind them, it’s impossible not to overhear. I won’t join the conversation unless Thea addresses me directly. People may one day call me her hound instead, for the way I feel, I would follow her to the end of the world for a gentle word and a soft caress.
“I drove to a grouping of stones in Massachusetts. Local legends claimed that when all conditions aligned, it was possible to pass through to the fae realm from there. So I did the research, and there was a blood moon happening, so—”
“You just dropped everything and took a chance?” Thea sounds so surprised.
When she turns her head, I can see that she’s smiling. And her eyes are very bright. I’m so glad that someone proved to her she hasn’t been forgotten by the mortal realm. Once Olive gets to know Thea, she’ll treasure her even more, as Mudge and I do.
“Of course! You’re my sister, and I was so scared I’d never even get to meet you. I started a sabbatical as soon as I heard you were missing. I didn’t have a plan past getting here, but I had to try. And here we are.”
“This means a lot to me,” Thea says softly.
“The sky is so different,” Olive muses, gazing upward.
I have never visited the mortal realm, so I quicken my pace slightly, ensuring that I stay close enough to hear what she has to say.
Taragon appears curious as well, and I can tell by Thea’s quick head tilt that she’s interested.
Her hair is tangled, darkened with the filthy water from the In-Between, and yet to me, she’s still so beautiful that I find myself smiling at her back.
“How so?” Thea asks.
“There’s no sun here. I’d imagine there are no stars at night either. Just…colors. It’s like living beneath the aurora borealis all the time.”
“What’s that?” Taragon asks.
Though I’m loath to admit it, I’m curious too, drawn by the information Olive must possess.
As we enter the forest, the path narrows, so we can’t walk together, even if Olive seemed inclined to.
She doesn’t budge from Thea’s side, though she smiles at Taragon to acknowledge that she heard the question.
“It’s also known as the northern lights, visible only at certain times and in certain parts of the world.
Something to do with charged particles or solar wind, interacting with the planet’s magnetic field.
I think it also relates to oxygen and nitrogen somehow, but this isn’t my area of expertise. I’m a physician, not a physicist.”
“I don’t understand anything you just said.” Taragon frowns, as if she doesn’t enjoy feeling left behind.
I cannot say I comprehend the terms either.
While I have read some fiction from the human realm, the stories I perused seem to have been written long ago.
I rather enjoyed some detective stories by a Mr. Doyle, though I found his protagonist rather lacking in social graces. Rather like me, come to that.
“Sounds complicated,” Thea says. “If the northern lights look like the sky here, then maybe it’s glimpses of the fae realm slipping through where the veil is thin.”
“I like that explanation,” Taragon declares.
“A physician is a medical doctor?” I am fairly sure I read that in some mortal tome that made its way here.
“Yep! I specialize in virology. And…I’d rather not talk about work.” Olive smiles at Thea, seeming alight with happiness. “Have you learned to manage your abilities?”
“You mean my endless craving to leech from people until they collapse? I wouldn’t call that an ability. More of a curse.” Thea’s bitterness is tangible.
I wish I could comfort her, but I stay quiet. Olive is likely better suited to the role.
“It shouldn’t be like that. What do you know about our physiology?” Olive asks.
“Nothing. My dad tried to figure out what I need, but there are no resources. The fae aren’t terribly interested in others, at least not beyond seeking some territorial advantage.”
“They sound like cats,” Olive says.
“That is accurate,” Rosa pipes up. “Pet us, give us treats, offer what we want when we want it, and we are the dearest creatures. But should anyone prevent us from having what we desire?” The pixie’s smile chills even me.
“I’ll teach you as we travel,” Olive says, touching Thea’s arm in a comforting gesture.
We’ve reached the tree line, and Zeph whistles, high and clear.
A bird swoops down, a glossy black-winged beauty, circling above our heads with raucous calls.
They converse in chirps and trills; it’s fascinating to hear such sounds come from Zeph.
They don’t realize that I’m conversant in crow, not fluent but knowledgeable enough to get the gist.
How do you fare, madame crow?
Well enough, though you’ve caused me no end of grief.
Is my mother well?
She worries. As she should, considering your predicament.
Update?
The conversation becomes more intricate, and this crow seems to realize that I’m listening. She peppers her talk with nonsensical sounds that make it more difficult for me to parse the meaning. At the end of the exchange, Zeph tosses a treat to the bird, who snaps it up with a greedy beak.
Zeph explains, “I have a network of informants. Crows mainly. I’ve just received an update.”
“What did Crow tell you?” Rosa demands.
Govannon blinks. “The crow’s name is Crow?”
“No, but crows don’t share their names with anyone who isn’t crow,” Zeph says with a touch of impatience. “Can I tell you what I learned?”
“Please do,” Thea invites.
“It would be a welcome change,” I mutter.
“There is, indeed, a substantial price on our heads and the Houses of Summer and Winter hover on the brink of war.”