Western woods. Hidden cave. Fresh food. Double-loop snare. Close to running water.
I repeated Kallistê's brief instructions as I walked out of the manor, through the cultivated gardens, across the wild, rolling grassy hills beyond them, over clear streams, and into the spring woods beyond. No one had stopped me—no one had even been around to see me leave, bow and quiver across my back, Kallistê's knife at my side. I lugged along a satchel stuffed with a freshly cooked meal courtesy of the baffled kitchen staff, and had tucked an extra blade into my boot.
The lands were as empty as the manor itself, though I occasionally glimpsed something shining in the corner of my eye. Every time I turned to look, the shimmering transformed into the sunlight dancing on a nearby stream, or the wind fluttering the leaves of a lone sycamore atop a knoll. As I passed a large pond nestled at the foot of a towering hill, I could have sworn I saw four shining female heads poking up from the bright water, watching me. I hurried my steps.
Only birds and the chittering and rustling of small animals sounded as I entered the green western forest. I'd never ridden through these woods on my hunts with Kallistê. There was no path here, nothing tame about it. Oaks, elms, and beeches intertwined in a thick weave, almost strangling the trickle of sunlight that crept in through the dense canopy. The moss-covered earth swallowed any sound I made.
Old—this forest was ancient. And alive, in a way that I couldn't describe but could only feel, deep in the marrow of my bones. Perhaps I was the first human in five hundred years to walk beneath those heavy, dark branches, to inhale the freshness of spring leaves masking the damp, thick rot.
The Alger's cave—running water. I made my way through the woods, breath tight in my throat. Night was the dangerous time, I reminded myself. I had only a few hours until sunset.
Even if the Baphomet had stalked us in the daylight.
The Baphomet was dead, and whatever horror Phoebus was now dealing with dwelled in another part of these lands. Elanor. I wondered in what ways Phoebus had to answer to its Imperial Lord, or if it was his Imperial Lord who had ripped off Kallistê's finger. Maybe it was a rebel hoard of Unseelie Faeries—the them whom Kallistê had mentioned and perhaps the current attackers—that instilled such fear in them. I pushed away the thought.
I kept my steps light, my eyes and ears open, and my heartbeat steady. Shortcomings or no, I could still hunt. And the answers I needed were worth it.
I finally found the Alger's cave—perhaps three times my height and tucked into a fairly dark corner of a huddle of birch trees—then stalked in ever-widening circles until I encountered the nearest stream. Not deep, but so wide that I'd have to take a running leap to cross it. Kallistê had said to find running water, and this was close enough to make escape possible. If I needed to escape. Hopefully, I wouldn't.
I traced and then retraced several different routes to the stream. And a few alternate routes, should my access to it somehow be blocked. And when I was sure of every root and rock and hollow in the surrounding area, I returned to the darkness of the Alger's cave and laid my snare.
.____________________.
From my spot up a nearby tree—a sturdy, dense oak whose vibrant leaves hid me entirely from anyone below—I waited. And waited. The afternoon sun crept overhead, hot enough even through the canopy that I had to shrug off my cloak and roll up the sleeves of my tunic. My stomach grumbled, and I pulled a hunk of cheese out of my rucksack. Eating it would be quieter than the apple I'd also swiped from the kitchen on my way out. When I finished it off, I swigged water from the canteen I'd brought, parched from the heat.
Did Phoebus, Oberon, or Kallistê ever grow tired of day after day of extremely hot days, or ever venture into Morana, if only to experience a different weather type? I wouldn't have minded endless mild sunshine while looking after my family—winter brought us dangerously close to death every year—but if I were immortal, I might want a little variation to pass the time. I'd probably want to do more than lurk about a manor house, too. Though I still hadn't worked up the nerve that had crept into the back of my mind when I saw the map of Asteria.
I moved about as much as I dared on the branch, only to keep the blood flowing to my limbs. I'd just settled in again when a ripple of silence came toward me. As if the wood thrushes and squirrels and moths held their breath while something passed by.
My bow was already strung. Quietly, I loosely nocked an arrow. Closer and closer the silence crept, emerging from the cave.
The trees seemed to lean in, their entwined branches locking tighter, a living cage keeping even the smallest of birds from soaring out of the canopy.
Maybe this had been a very bad idea. Maybe Kallistê had overestimated my abilities. Or maybe she had been waiting for the chance to lead me to my doom.
My muscles strained from holding still atop the branch, but I kept my balance and listened. Then I heard it: a whisper, as if cloth were dragging over root and stone, a hungry, wheezing sniffing from the cave.
I'd laid my snares carefully, making the freshly cooked meal look as if it has accidentally fallen out of someone's satchel while they were passing by. I'd taken care to keep my own scent off the meal as much as possible. But these faeries had such keen senses, and even though I'd covered my tracks—
There was a snap, a whoosh, and a hollowed-out, wicked scream that made my bones and muscles and breath lock up.
Another enraged shriek pierced the forest, and my snares groaned as they held, and held, and held.
I climbed out of the tree and went to meet the Alger.
.____________________.
Kallistê, I decided as I crept up to the faerie in the entrance of the cave, really, truly wanted me dead.
I hadn't known what to expect as I entered the semi-circle of white trees—tall and straight as pillars—but it was not the tall, thin veiled figure in dark tattered robes. Its hunched back facing me, I could count the hard knobs of its spine poking through the thin fabric. Spindly, scabby grey arms clawed at the snare with yellow, cracked fingernails.
Run, some primal, intrinsically human part of me whispered. Begged. Run and run and never look back.
But I kept my arrow loosely knocked. I said quietly, "Are you one of the Alger?"
The faerie went rigid. And sniffed. Once. Twice.
Then slowly, it turned to me, the dark veil draped over its bald head blowing in a phantom breeze.
A face that looked like it had been crafted from dried, weatherworn bone, its skin either forgotten or discarded, a lipless mouth and too-long teeth held by blackened gums, slitted holes for nostrils, and eyes ... eyes that were nothing more than swirling pits of milky white—the white of death, the white of sickness, the white of clean-picked corpses.
Peeking above the ragged neck of its dark robes was a body of veins and bones, as dried and solid and horrific as the texture of its face. It let go of the snare, and its too-long fingers clicked against each other as it studied me.
"Human," it said, and its voice was at once one and many, old and young, beautiful and grotesque. My bowels turned watery. "Did you set this clever, wicked trap for me?"
"Are you one of the Alger?" I asked again, my words scarcely more than a ragged breath.
"Indeed I am." Click, click, click went its fingers against each other, one for each word.
"Then the trap was for you," I managed. Run, run, run.
It remained sitting, its bare, gnarled feet caught in my snares. "I have not seen a human woman for an age. Come closer so I might look upon my captor."
I did no such thing.
It let out a huffing, awful laugh. "And which of my brethren betrayed my secrets to you?"
"None of them. My mother told me stories of you."
"Lies—I can smell the lies on your breath." It sniffed again, its fingers clacking together. It cocked its head to the side, an erratic, sharp movement, the dark veil snapping with it. "What would a human woman want from the Alger?"
"You tell me," I said softly.
It let out another low laugh. "A test? A foolish and useless test, if you dared to capture me, then you must want knowledge very badly." I said nothing, and it smiled with that lipless mouth, its greyed teeth horrifically large. "Ask me your questions, human, and then free me."
I swallowed hard. "What do you know of—of the black milkweed?"
The Alger paused as the wind died. "The faevenom capable of temporarily stifling a faerie's magic and healing abilities. Yes, I know very much about the pernicious fae-killer."
Hope bubbled up in me and I tried to smother it away. I pressed on, "What do you know of this faevenom?"
"Throughout the years there were many wars. Wars against humans, wars between faerie ranks, and wars against an ancient evil," it recounted, as if lost in history itself. "Many of our enemies used black milkweed against us, mainly to strip us of our abilities so that they could deliver the killing blow. It was because of this the Imperial Lords of Asteria decided to banish the black milkweed from their lands—even seeking through human villages and burning the last of the faevenom. But what the faeries didn't know was that their Imperial Lords kept some of their own, a weapon in their arsenal to use against enemies in upcoming wars and battles. It's hidden in their territories and is still there today."
I shifted on my feet. Useful information, but not exactly the one I was looking for. "Where exactly can I find it in Elanor?"
The Alger gave a weary sigh, no more than the sound of shifting sand of a dessert. "If you insist on knowing human, the black milkweed is kept guarded in the Imperial Lord of Elanor's home—hidden in a blooming labyrinth of many twists and turns. As it has a mind of its own—its sole purpose to prevent anyone except the Imperial Lord himself from possessing the black milkweed—not a single being can control it, not even the Imperial Lords themselves."
A suicide mission. This had been a suicide mission from the beginning. Despite the Elders—Japeth—promising me a safe home for my family, something told me they had just sent me to my death. Still, there might be a chance in which I could prove that theory wrong. I stood a little taller. "Is there—is there truly no way for me to go home?"
"Not unless you seek to be killed, and your family with you. You must remain here."
Whatever last shred of hope I'd been clinging to, whatever foolish optimism, shrivelled and died. This changed nothing. Before my fight with Phoebus that afternoon, I hadn't even entertained the idea, anyway. Perhaps I'd only come here out of spite. So, fine—if I was here, facing sure death, then I might as well learn something else. "What do you know about Phoebus?"
"More specific, human. Be more specific. For I know a good many things about the Imperial Lord of Elanor."
The earth tilted beneath me. "Phoebus—Phoebus is an Imperial Lord?"
Click, click, click. "You did not know. Interesting."
Not just some petty faerie lord of a manor, but ... but an Imperial Lord of one of the two territories. An Imperial Lord of Asteria.
"Did you also not know that this is Elanor, little human?"
"Yes—yes, I knew about that."
The Alger settled on the ground. "Elanor and Morana," it mused, as if I hadn't even answered. "The two courts of Asteria, each ruled by an Imperial Lord, all of them deadly in their own way. They are not merely powerful—they are Power." That was why Phoebus had been able to face the Baphomet as well as whatever other horrors and lived. Imperial Lord.
I tucked away my fear. "Everyone at Elanor is dressed in so much finery, and yet you aren't," I said cautiously. "Are you not a member of the Court?"
"I am a member of no Court. I am older than the Imperial Lords, older than Asteria, older than the bones of this world."
Kallistê had definitely overestimated my abilities. "And what can be done about these attacks that have spread in Asteria, somehow managing to steal and alter the faeries' magic? Where did it come from?"
The Alger gave me a grim smile, as if it knew a dark secret no one else did. "Stay with the Imperial Lord, human," the Alger said. "That's all you can do. Listen to your puny, mortal heart and you will be safe. Do not interfere; do not go looking for answers after today, or you will be devoured by the shadow over Asteria. There are some whom you trust now that don't have good intentions. When the time comes, remember to stay with the Imperial Lord. He will shield you from all of it so stay close to him, and all will be well."
That wasn't exactly an answer but I stiffened at the similar words I had heard that ungrateful day. The last words of the Baphomet. I repeated, "Where did the attacks come from?"
Those milky eyes narrowed. "The Imperial Lord does not know that you came here today, does he? He does not know that his human woman came to trap an Alger, because he cannot give her the answers she seeks. But it is too late, human—for the Imperial Lord, for you, perhaps for your realm as well ..."
Despite all that it had said, despite its order to stop asking questions and stay with Phoebus, it was his human woman that echoed in my head. That made me clench my teeth.
But the Alger went on. "Before the Mother created Asteria and its Imperial Lords, the three Zargans ruled and governed this world—keeping the peace between everything. They were kind creatures without hearts, but the greed for power overwhelmed and turned them into wicked, powerful kings. Yes, kings," it said when I raised a brow. "Not like the Imperial Lords—then, their territory is not divided into courts. Then, they are law unto themselves. Humans were their slaves and their thrones were made from their bones."
The three crones I'd seen from the book, the Zargans when the Mother had banished them into mortal bodies. And—a throne of bones. The cheese I'd eaten turned leaden in my stomach.
"For some time now after faeries and their Imperial Lords were introduced into this world, the Zargans have been searching for a way to regain back their power—to return to their former selves. And so, a hundred years ago, they dispatched their most-trusted and loyal commanders, his deadliest warriors, remnants of the ancient armies that they once waged such a brutal war against you humans and us faeries, all of them as hungry and as vile as they are. As spies and courtiers and lovers, they infiltrated the various Seelie Faerie courts and kingdoms and empires around the world for fifty years, and when they had gathered enough information, they made their plan. Nearly five decades ago, they did return to their former selves, but kept their mortal bodies as so to disguise themselves from being discovered. They have been planning to strike faerie life ever since. And—" The Alger straightened. "We are not alone."
I drew my bow farther but kept it pointed at the ground as I scanned the trees. But everything had already gone silent in the presence of the Alger.
"Human, you must free me and run," it said, those death-filled eyes widening. "Run for the Imperial Lord's manor. Do not forget what I told you—Follow your heart when the time comes, and live to see everything righted."
"What is it?" If I knew what came, I could stand a better chance of—
"The Sephtis—faeries made of shadow and hate and rot. They heard my scream, and they smelled you. Free me, human. They will cage me if they catch me here. Free me and return to the Imperial Lord's side."
Shit. Shit. I lunged for the snare, making to out away my bow and grab my knife.
But four shadowy figures slipped through the birch trees, so dark they seemed to be made from a starless night.