Home > Barrow Witch(9)

Barrow Witch(9)
Author: Craig Comer

Though not Fey Craft, the alchemy contained Aerfenium and blood. Fey blood, Effie presumed, and perhaps more. Cyrus Reed had removed blood and brain tissue from a pair of fey before performing the alchemy on the pixies. The thought made her want to gag, and some of her warmth slipped away. But she kept her tongue on that account. The lass didn’t need to know what she’d most likely ingested.

Effie bit her lip as a wave of guilt welled within her. Had the other grindylow once been a frightened lass just like Clara? Or perhaps a kindly village Spae Wife? What were they to do if the Barrow Witch raised an army of helpless victims? Surely they could not just cut them down, as Gaelyph had done in the ravine.

“If we had captured some of these Unseily instead of slaughtering them, maybe we could’ve helped them recover.” She turned to Jaelyn. “There were two auras you sensed that were not corrupted. Clara’s and another.”

The brownie shrugged.

Effie glowered in frustration, but she could not hold honesty against her friend. Drawing herself up, she said, “We must find a way to return Clara and any other poor creatures to their rightful state. In the process, we might glean information on the Barrow Witch.”

“No,” said Gaelyph. He shook his head dismissively. “There is no returning. Once a fey is altered, their former aura is forever lost. It is best to put such creatures down. They are an abomination to our blood. Their kind have long plagued our court with their Unseily ways.”

Effie planted her hands on her hips. “You would have us believe in absolutes? Do not frighten the poor lass.” Her words carried a bite to them. The warden’s arrogance had done naught but rile her since the moment of his arrival. “Though I am new to most fey lore, I have witnessed enough to recognize it holds millennia of half-truths and false certainties.”

Gaelyph’s face turned to stone. “I am Warden of the Hunt, outsider. Do you think that means I chase after rabbits? I know of what I speak when it comes to the blood of Unseily.” He jabbed a finger toward Clara.

The girl shied away from the warden. Fear shone in her eyes. Effie stepped to keep herself between Clara and Gaelyph. She knew the warden would make quick work of her with that sword of his, but it mattered little. Scaring the girl with threats after all she had endured only drove Effie to resist his arrogance more.

Caledon raised a pacifying hand. A sense of peace and calm fluttered through Effie. She saw Clara relax as well, though Gaelyph remained as stone.

“Ye speak of Unseily beyond the nature of a cabal,” said Jaelyn. The brownie seemed undisturbed by the tension between those around her. “Do ye mean these creatures be something more than pets of the Sidhe Bhreige?”

“They are Unseily in the original sense of the word,” answered Caledon. “The present fey court of Scotland flows from the bloodline of a single Tuatha fey—Sidhe Righm. While the other Daoine Sith left for the stars and distant lands, Righm held his court in the Highlands and bred into life the pixies and selkies, the brownies and hogboons. His children formed a Seily Court and ruled the forests and hills, the lochs and the glens, for a millennia.”

“Until the arrival of humans,” said Jaelyn. Her lip curled.

“Until another Tuatha called Bhreige returned to the Highlands and became jealous of his brethren’s happiness,” answered Gaelyph. His countenance melted slightly. “Bhreige was close in bloodline to Righm, and he found a way to corrupt those of the Seily Court. He stole from them the pureness of their auras and tainted their very blood.”

“They became Unseily,” guessed Effie.

Gaelyph nodded curtly. “While Bhreige’s direct offspring became what we now call the Sidhe Bhreige, these altered fey of Righm fell from the grace of the Seily Court. They became slaves to the Sidhe Bhreige and formed their Unseily Court.”

Effie frowned. “But trows and wulvers are not evil. I have sensed in them only a base nature, one common in the wild. Can the Unseily not be persuaded to cast off this corruption?”

“Trows and wulvers are not Unseily in the eyes of the Sidhe Righm,” answered Caledon. “They are born of other Tuatha fey and stand apart from our Scottish courts. The same holds true for all the other fey bloodlines on Earth.”

“Like the gnomes of Germany and huldrefolk in Norway.” Effie stamped her feet to warm them. What the steward said made sense, though her mind whirled in a circle.

“True Unseily have no love for those pure of blood,” said Gaelyph. “Their corrupted minds are easily dominated by their creators. It does not take any Fey Craft or compulsion. It has already become their nature.”

“But how?” asked Effie. She came back to a question that had long plagued her. “How does one alter a fey aura? What is the precise alchemy? Perhaps if we knew the answer to that, we could find some way to halt this corruption. To stall it before it takes hold.”

Gaelyph glanced aside. “That we do not know,” he admitted. “After the defeat and imprisonment of the Sidhe Bhreige, the great Star Readers foretold of a human betrayal. The Court of Righm had no reason to involve themselves with such petty concerns. They retreated to Elphame, carrying with them the knowledge of the Tuatha, and of Righm and Bhreige. This knowledge has been passed through the generations, but it is not complete, nor is all of it as precise as it once was. As Warden of the Hunt, it is my responsibility to learn the history of our enemies and to keep that knowledge safe. Until three years ago, the responsibility was a matter of function alone.”

Effie balled her hands into fists. Her nails dug into the flesh of her palms. “You’ve confirmed the merits of my very argument. Nothing of fey lore is known with certainty. We cannot set about killing our own kind merely because they had the ill fortune to fall victim to the Sidhe Bhreige. There has to be some way to remove the bond they have to their new master and allow them to return to a life of peace.”

The warden eyed Effie as if she smelled of rank cheese. “Only the sword will alieve Unseily of their corrupt nature. It is well you learn that, outsider, before it brings you harm.” He drew his shoulders back. “Regardless, the matter is for those of the court alone. It does not concern you.”

Effie’s cheeks burned. But even as anger overtook her, a sadness crept in. Once again she’d been reminded that her place had never been beside the fey of the Scottish court.

 

 

6

 

 

Effie gulped in the frigid night air and slowly let out the breath to help ease her temper. Her blood still boiled from the warden’s comments, though the hour had grown later. She stood now in the ravine apart from the soldiers who worked at lighting a bonfire. She’d left Clara with them and saw the lass sitting near Edgar, wrapped in a blanket and devouring a hunk of some coarse bread. Caledon had stayed Gaelyph’s hand for the moment. The Warden of the Hunt had raised an eyebrow but given no other reaction to the command.

An outsider, he’d called her. The word stung, despite hearing it all her life. She had been an orphan as a child until Thomas Stevenson took her in. As his ward, she had found a home and believed herself fortunate that he cherished and honored her heritage. But she had never truly belonged with Stevenson. She’d had to hide from the public and all his engagements save those with Stuart Graham. His very association with her threatened to ruin his name.

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