Feyland: The Bright Court

Chapter Thirteen

Jennet grabbed her bow, her heartbeat echoing in her ears. She was barely recovered from the last fight - her weapon felt heavy in her hands, and she just wanted to sit down in the sweetly scented grass and take a rest. But there was no napping in Feyland.

Holding his sword at the ready, Tam approached the dark opening of the dolmen. She reached for an arrow and quietly nocked it to her bow. The wind ruffled the grasses, but inside the stones everything was still. She wanted to call out for him to be careful, but held her tongue. Tam knew what he was doing.

The silence stretched, shadows gathering thickly in the hollow of stones. Then a thunk issued from the opening.

“Come out,” Tam said.

For a moment, there was no answer. Then a figure moved forward into the light - a man with ancient, weary eyes and gray-brown hair. He had a guitar slung across his back.

All her fear left her in a rush. “Thomas!”

She dropped her bow and sprinted toward him, tears prickling the back of her eyes. He held out his arms, and she went straight into his hug.

“There you are, Jennet,” he said in his warm, raspy voice. “And Tamlin as well. I have been waiting for you, though I had hoped our meeting would not come so soon.”

Tam slid his sword back into its sheath, metal hissing on metal.

“What do you mean, waiting for us?” he asked. “How long have you been here?”

“How long? I cannot say. Time has a different meaning in Feyland. Long enough, it seems.” Thomas let go of Jennet and stepped back, looking her over. “You have taken a new form. I pray it serves you well on the path fate has laid for you.”

“Fate?” she asked.

He nodded. “It is always at work, but here in the Realm one can feel fate clearly, weaving the threads of lives. Come - place your hands against the stone.”

Thomas moved to the dolmen and laid his palm on the granite. Jennet followed, though she wasn’t sure she believed in destiny or whatever. The stone was rough and sun-warmed under her hand. After a moment, Tam did the same, a skeptical look in his green eyes.

“Now,” Thomas said, “close your eyes. Do you feel the power, the magic and intent of the land?”

She did - a vibration thrumming through the stone, like a note too low to hear, but felt in her chest, in her bones. The skin of her palm throbbed, then suddenly flared up, as though she had passed her hand over a flame.

“Ow!” She snatched it away and stared at her palm.

The red scar burned into her hand was glowing, so bright it was almost white-hot. As she watched, the light faded, along with the searing sensation, until the mark left by the Dark Queen was just a faint trace on her skin.

“Are you ok?” Tam stood in front of her.

“Yeah.” Her voice wobbled. “Look - my right hand is almost completely healed.”

She held out her hands, palms up, and he took them gently, comparing the two. “Wow. Can the stone fix the other one, too?”

“Worth a try.”

She put her left palm to the granite - but there was no humming within the rock, no flare of energy. When she took her hand away, it was unchanged.

Tam frowned. “It didn’t work.”

“I suspected it would not,” Thomas said. “The magic of this place never moves in the same way twice. It is beautiful, and confusing, and dangerous, as you both well know. More dangerous by the day, as the power of the Realm stirs. It wants to flow into the human world like a wave, washing everything before it and changing the mortal realm beyond recognition.”