Exile of the Clave

Exile of the Clave - Chapter 9

Low-burning fires flickered across a grassy hillside somewhere in Scotland, dotting the darkened landscape as the sun slowly sank below the horizon at the close of another day. Its fading bloody light washed over the Hunters that were crouched or sprawled around the Faerie-made fires and it painted their faces with swaths of shadow that gave them half-masks as the evening dimmed.

Rayce left his Hunters behind and drifted away from the pack, alone. He took a deep breath of fresh air to clear his head of the lingering effects of riding through the lands of deep Faerie. Memories of his father whispered at the edges of his mind and he angrily shoved them away. They oozed back insistently. Fresh air can't sweep away who you are, Rayce, they whispered.

He pushed his hands back through his hair, his eyes dark and serious as he watched the sun slipping below the horizon, and he sighed heavily. How many days had passed in the Mortal world since he had gone to the Eternal Forest? Was it even possible to mark the time between the two? It felt like only hours since he had left his sister in the throne room of the Seelie Court. Bitterly, he now understood why Gwyn had not allowed the others even attempt to track the days as they fell away from the calendar. Better to accept what was lost and only look forward, endlessly forward.

Once he could no longer see the light from the fires behind him, he settled down in the long grass and wrapped his arms around his knees. Despite all of the cautions and warnings he could find in Gwyn's memories of Veralysia, he let himself think of Sera. He closed his eyes and brought her to life in his mind, every beat of his heart adding another layer and more colour until she was perfectly restored. I have to remember, he berated himself. I don't care what it'll cost me. I won't let the Hunt take her, too. He held on to the image of her and relaxed back into the hillside comfortably as the sky darkened overhead and the stars winked to life.

The moors were nearly silent around him. Only the gentle humming of insects filtered through the night, and Rayce felt his lips gently curl up into the first smile he could remember since he had been ensnared by the cloak. Sera's crooked grin smiled back at him from behind his eyelids and he exhaled softly.

Sera.

Another Hunter lay in the long grass with his eyes closed, but the light of a fire flickered across his face, illuminating his swollen eyes and broken nose. Dried blood had spilled from his mouth, his nose, and from deep cuts made by the Morgenstern family ring, and it had crusted down across his split lips to give him a macabre mask. His right hand had been hastily bandaged by Caelus when he had been lifted from the isolated cavern under Cadair Idris.

Slim, blue hands unwound the dressing carefully and set it aside when they had coaxed it free. The lips of an inch and a half-long cut were pursed open and the wound began bleeding again as the clots were broken.

What a mess, Baelerithon thought to himself. He gently slipped his left hand over Kieran's right palm until he could lightly clasp the boy's injury. Bael focused his gift and let it trickle into the Unseelie slowly. In his mind's eye, he could see the wound begin to close over where Kieran's enchanted dagger had pierced his own hand once more. It happened slowly at first with an angry red scar, but then it soon faded to nothing more than a white ridge across the back of his hand and his palm.

Kieran stirred as his muscles and tendons knitted back together, but did not wake. Bael unhooked a waterskin from the boy's belt and poured some water over the rag that had been used to bind the injured hand. Working carefully, he began to clean away the blood from Kieran's face.

At the cool touch of the water, the young prince's swollen eyes fluttered, but he was unable to open them fully to see who had come to care for him. Bael's fingers brushed down Kieran's face and the swelling slowly subsided until black and silver eyes stared up at him curiously.