Weariness tugged at his awareness, but he refused to give in, reminding himself he wasn’t tired. His thoughts clouded. If he didn’t get more tonic, he’d fall asleep. Using all the willpower he could muster, Munro shuffled down the path and out of the clearing. He was surprised how close they’d been to the solid, black copy of the shimmering Otherworld portal. He wondered how much Ewain knew about the druids’ work with gates. The elder druid seemed to know everything else about them. Munro still didn’t understand how.
Realising he’d been standing motionless again, Munro marshalled his resolve to push onward. He’d only taken one step down the meandering path when he heard a noise like a strangled cry. He tilted his head to listen, but the sound seemed to originate beneath his feet.
A moment of realisation and clarity came to his thoughts.
Of course.
The Source Stone rested directly below the portal in the Halls of Mist, so the Shadow Stone must be below this portal. But how to get there?
Ewain’s earlier words came to him.
Like all things in this realm, the shadow portal is only a reflection of the real thing.
Munro tried to visualising this solid, black orb to be the real portal. Where, from here, would the library entrance stand? He had difficulty orienting himself due to his clouded thoughts and the hunched black trees surrounding them, but he could figure out how far the entrance should be, at least.
There was no sun, moon, nor stars to tell him what direction he should search. The spherical portal didn’t offer any clues. With no other way to find his bearings, he stepped away from the shadow portal until he thought he had gone the same distance as the library entrance in the Halls of Mist. He saw nothing like an opening or way down, so he walked in a circle. Keeping his eyes on the portal to maintain the correct distance, he wove through the trees, struggling at times when the woods grew too dense. He’d travelled nearly three quarters of the way before he found an ominous sinkhole in the ground a few feet further out.
Munro crouched down to examine the cavity. He’d never suffered from claustrophobia, but he didn’t relish the idea of burying himself alive in the narrow passage. Then he stopped and laughed, a peculiar, hollow sound. He couldn’t bury himself
alive
. He was already dead. With any luck, he’d never have to get used to that fact.
The cleft in the ground was slightly wider than his waist and filled with a tangle of dark roots. Still, he had to try. If the hole went nowhere, Ewain might never find him. The thought sent a shiver down his lifeless body. Determined to make an effort, Munro got to his knees and began to crawl, following the narrow cavity deeper and deeper down.
Fighting the urge to rest, Munro dragged himself on his belly, using rocks or tree roots to move along a path he felt certain no one had travelled in a long time. This couldn’t be the way Ewain had gone. Munro couldn’t imagine the stiff old druid worming through the earth.
Still, he had to either move forward or go back, and he was determined to travel as deep as the Shadow Stone should be. The real Source Stone was at least three full flights of stairs below the portal, and although tracking time proved difficult, he’d not yet gone far enough.
Finally, after what felt like hours, the tunnel widened, and he tumbled into a bleak cave. Dark water trickled down the walls in rivulets. The general shape of the cavern was a precise copy of the library foyer. Buoyed by the discovery, he willed his heavy body to carry him further. He closed his eyes and envisioned the library’s layout. When he got his bearings, he pressed on, following the route by memory from one cave into the next, stepping down a rough stone path. He knew immediately when he arrived at the right place. Unlike the other rooms, this chamber looked almost exactly like the one that housed the Source Stone, even down to the runes on the wall.
The Shadow Stone was elevated in the centre of the room, and Ewain sat with his hands on the surface as the druids did when they used its Otherworld counterpart. The elder druid turned his eyes to Munro. “I told you to wait.”
“I need more tonic.”
Ewain sighed, scowling with frustration.
“What’s wrong?” Munro asked.
“Douglas has not been feeding the Stone,” he grumbled.
“What about the others?”
Ewain glared. “No, but then none of the rest of you were as dedicated as Douglas.”
“Lisle does her part.”
“Yes,” Ewain spat, “but her blood power does me no good. What use is blood to a dead man?”
Munro furrowed his brow. Douglas, like Aaron and Rory, was a water druid. “What use is water?”
“Douglas gives more than he realises.”
“I don’t understand,” Munro said.
“Of course you don’t.” He turned to the Stone and whispered, “Douglas.” The sound echoed strangely, grating in Munro’s mind.
“I’m finding your cryptic answers annoying,” Munro said. “You want my help, but you’re not giving me any information in return.”
Ewain opened his mouth as though to deliver a scathing remark, but he clamped his aging lips closed instead. After a long silence, he stood. “My tonic keeps your damaged soul intact. I’d think that would be enough of a payment for a few nights’ digging.”
Munro tilted his head. “I’m done digging, but you need more from me, don’t you?”
“You still have your soul, don’t you?”
Munro shrugged. “I suppose. I’m starting to think your talk about the old druids being so powerful was bullshit. Or maybe you were the weakest one. After all, you got stuck in this place, but the others didn’t.”
Ewain stood and glowered. “The others had to work together to imprison me here.
All
of them.”
A moment passed while Munro pondered. So Ewain hadn’t gotten stuck by accident as he’d claimed. Munro wondered at the wisdom of their plan to create a gate. If Ewain had been jailed, there had perhaps been good reason. But what choice did he have? “Why would they turn against you?”
“You’ve seen the phenomenon yourself,” Ewain said. “The fae began to fear the azuri, spirit and blood most of all. Juno and I were cast out. I think Mari and Falon, the two gifted with temporal and astral flows, thought if they cast their lot with the others, they would be spared.” The elder druid stared hard at Munro. “They were not.”
“You said
all
the others worked to imprison you. Did that include Juno?” Munro asked.
“They compelled her. She never would betray me willingly, but Falon twisted her mind and turned Juno against me. He melded his power with Mari’s, showing Juno a false and bleak future: one path that ignored a thousand happier possibilities.”
Munro nodded. “What happens when we leave here?” he asked. “What will you do in the Otherworld?”
“I will
live
,” Ewain said. “For now, that is enough for me. I wish only to return home.”
“Where was your home?”
Ewain’s frown deepened, and he didn’t answer.
“You could come to the Druid Hall,” Munro said. “Your understanding of druidic power would be of immense help. Your experience might change everything, and we would stop fumbling in the dark for answers. I can’t tell you how much we need a teacher like you.”
Ewain gave him a puzzling look Munro couldn’t interpret. “Perhaps. We’ll worry about where to go when the time comes. For now, we must restore your strength.” He paused. “If you call to Douglas through the Shadow Stone, I believe he may respond. He might trust your voice more than mine. We must convince him to feed the Stone. Otherwise, we’ll never gather enough power to awaken our gate.”
The elder druid led Munro up the rock stair. Instead of going to the chute Munro had climbed down, Ewain pointed to a wide, open corridor that didn’t exist in the Otherworld. “When I first discovered this place, I used the same route you did. Since then, I’ve built a more civilised path. This way.”
∞
Tràth sat across from Prince Griogair, stunned and dismayed at the news of Munro’s death and Eilidh’s collapse. “I’d like to see her,” he said.
Griogair sighed. “If you wish, but she won’t acknowledge you. She hasn’t spoken since the event. She merely stares. I’m sorry, son. I know how much she means to you.”
“And to you, father,” Tràth said. “The healers and elders offer no hope?” How strange that his father had lost his mate, a faerie he loved, and yet
he
was the one comforting Tràth.
“Elder Oron won’t say one way or the other. He now puts his efforts into soothing Maiya. He hopes the child can reach her mother, but she’s so young and her astral abilities untrained.”
“I’m amazed at the clarity of her communication. That level of telepathy must be rare indeed.”
Griogair nodded. “Several members of the azuri half of the joint-conclave arrived to work with her, but none are as capable as Elder Oron himself. If anyone can guide Maiya, he can. Still, to pin our hopes for Eilidh’s recovery on a one-year-old seems ludicrous.”
“You’ll accept the regency, then?”
“After the Druid Hall announces Munro’s death, I will declare a month of mourning for Eilidh’s second mate. During that time I can keep news of her condition secret. After that time passes, if she has not shown improvement, I will be forced to reveal her deterioration. Likewise, the conclave will be compelled to act. The only awkward situation between now and then will be her absence at his death rites.”
Tràth shook his head. “Word of their love for one another was well known in the kingdom. You must know how people talked about Maiya being conceived without the need for a sacrifice to the Mother. I think everyone will understand her grief.” He paused. “If you accept the regency, but if Eilidh recovers before Maiya comes of age, will the title revert to her?”
Griogair shook his head. “No. The conclave will have raised Maiya as queen. If, at a later time, Eilidh regains her strength and faculties, the best we might arrange is to transfer my status as regent to her until Maiya comes of age.”
“I should postpone the announcement of my contract with Princess Imena. A celebration would be unseemly at a time like this,” Tràth said.
Griogair tilted his head, studying the two contracts Tràth had brought him. “You achieved favourable terms for trade. I’m impressed,” he said. “You did well.”
Tràth felt uncomfortable accepting the praise under the circumstances.
“I must speak with the druids, but I see no reason to delay your announcement.” He picked up the mating contract. “This is what you want?” He raised his gaze to meet his son’s.
“Imena is a strong faerie, both in power and personality. She seems dedicated to change in her kingdom, something I’d like to be a part of. Becoming her consort would benefit Caledonia. Do you not think so?”
Griogair rubbed the bridge of his nose. “No doubt the situation would offer us many advantages,” he said. “You are of age, so the choice is yours.” After a pause he added, “What does Douglas say?”
“I haven’t told him.” Tràth shrugged. “He doesn’t care what I do. I don’t see why I should trouble him with my decision.”
“You signed this formal pledge to Imena, but not yet taken the mating vow. Before you do, you should consider your bond to Douglas. Elder Oron was most unhappy when he learned of your plan to stifle the bond. I witnessed first-hand the power of the bond between Eilidh and Munro—”
“Forgive me, father, but Douglas and I are
not
Eilidh and Munro. I gave my word to Imena and to the Zalian conclave. I won’t break my promise.”
Griogair nodded. “I’m pleased to hear you do not take the commitment lightly. If I may say so, son, you have changed much in a short time.”
“I long ago passed the day when I should have grown up.” He gestured to the contracts. “I did this for Eilidh, who was more like a mother to me in two years than the woman who birthed me had been in nearly eighteen decades. I made this choice for Caledonia. You would do the same in my place.”
Griogair tilted his head. “Perhaps—”
A steward entered the study, interrupting the prince. “Forgive me, Your Highness,” he said. “Lord Druid Aaron is in the courtyard, insisting to see you. I told him you were busy with Prince Tràth, but he issued a command.”
“Did he?” Griogair’s eyebrow twitched upward. “Very well. Show him up.”
“And another matter, Your Highness. A messenger arrived with an invitation to meet with Queen Konstanze tonight at the Ashkyne Hall.”
Griogair blinked in surprise. “That’s…unusual.”
“Indeed,” the steward said. “I assumed you would wish to decline and indicated as much, but the messenger said Queen Konstanze asks you to consider why she makes this request of you.”
Griogair looked puzzled, then his expression darkened. “
Faith
,” he swore. “Draft an acceptance. I will visit the Ashkyne Hall when I’m finished here.”
Tràth watched with interest. He didn’t understand what the additional message meant, but clearly something had upset his father. When the steward left, Tràth continued their conversation. “Father,” he said. “If I might make a suggestion? Perhaps consider asking Lady Druid Lisle if her grandson Jago can visit Maiya. We can’t deny the connection the children share or the significance of his claims of communication with her even before she was born. Bearing in mind her extraordinary telepathic gifts, we must assume he didn’t exaggerate. She may respond to him in a way she won’t to anyone else.”
Griogair stared for a moment. “A good idea,” he said. “You know his grandmother better than I. Do you expect she will agree?”
Tràth nodded. “I can’t think of a reason why she wouldn’t. There doesn’t appear to be any obvious danger.”
“How long will you stay in the Halls of Mist?” Griogair asked.
“I promised Imena I would return as soon as possible after delivering the contracts and making the necessary arrangements. She’s organising a dinner in two weeks’ time with the most prominent Zalian nobles to formally introduce me. Of course, I’ll ask for a postponement.”
“They may not agree,” Griogair said.
“Why not?” Tràth said, astonished at the thought.
Griogair shook his head. “Your new position will take some getting used to, but as of the moment you signed this, you owe loyalty to Queen Naima. A death of a friend, while tragic, won’t override the substantial demands of the kingdom.”