Shadow Magic (18 page)

             
“I have seen it,” Deirdre said, her voice cautious, yet still undaunted.  “Amid great crowds of people, in robes of colors so vibrant and rich that they hurt my eyes.”

             
“These people,” Egann asked, wondering why she had not told him of this, not liking the doubts that crept back to him at learning she had secrets of her own, “be they human or Fae?”

             
Fiallan too seemed to wait anxiously for her reply.

             
“Human, I think,” she said at last.  “For not all of them were fair of face, as I have heard the people of Rune to be.”  She shot Egann a quick look as she said this, making him wonder if she found
his
countenance attractive as well.

             
Fiallan laughed.  “I am very ancient, child. Yet it has been decades since anyone called my visage beautiful.”

             
Slipping her hand from Egann’s, Deirdre stepped forward.  “Ah, but you are, old one.  The gray in your beard and hair remind me of the first frost of winter, when ice kisses the silver sea.”

             
Though Fiallan did not reply to this, Egann could tell by his faint smile that Deirdre’s words had pleased him.

             
“Did you see the face of the one who wears it?”

             
“Nay, though I beheld the heavy chain, and the bright sparkle of its colorful gems.  But the face of he who has it has been hidden from me.  Perhaps it is because Egann believes this evildoer is Maccus.”

             
“Maccus?”  Fiallan said the word slowly, his snowy brows raised in question as he turned to look at Egann. “So you have news then?” 

             
“We believe that the one who has the amulet has begun to use it.”  From years of past experience, Egann knew he did not tell the Wise One anything he did not already know.  Quickly he relayed the events of the last few hours, telling of the mysterious riders who had vanished, and of the disappearing camp as well.

             
“And you think they might be Maccus?” 

             
Egann nodded.  “Though I know not why the Maccus would want our amulet.”

             
Fiallan did not respond at first, appearing deep in thought.  When he lifted his head, his attention focused on Deirdre.  “The Maccus,” he said, “are tied to Those That Dance in the Shadows.  Though you refused my earlier offer to tell you, would you now like to hear the tale of the curse?”

             
“Which curse?”  Deirdre’s voice sounded bitter.  “The one I have lived under since birth, or the one that Egann believes shadows the two of us even now?”

             
Stunned at what the rancor he heard in her voice, Egann took a step towards her.  Then, realizing that touching her at this point might be ill advised, he froze.  “I have never called it a
curse
.”

             
She glanced quickly at Fiallan before she spoke.  “You believe some outside force compels and controls us.  What would you call it then?”

             
Fiallan’s chuckle told Egann that the wise one found this exchange amusing. 

             
Egann shook his head, frustration making him clench his fists.  “Enchantment, perhaps. Or--”

             
“Children,” Fiallan interrupted, no longer laughing.  “What I have to say is important.  It concerns the Amulet of Gwymyrr, the Maccus, and both of you.”

             
Still glaring at Egann, Deirdre bobbed her head in response.  “I would like to hear you tale.”

             
Egann simply waited, the dim light of the moon competing with his own magical glow.

             
"I will listen too," Egann said.

             
After a moment, Fiallan began to speak.  “Though I have not yet been able to gain entrance into The Hall of Legends to verify this, I believe that long ago the Maccus lived in Rune.”

             
Deirdre gasped.  “You say that these evil ones, who hunt my kind like animals, are Fae?”

             
"I do not believe it," Egann said.

             
“Did you not see proof of their magic?”   

             
“The Amulet of Gwymyrr aided them.”

             
“Be that as it may," the old one conceded the point.  "So long ago that neither race remembers it, the Maccus were part of our people, and lived in harmony with us.”

             
Narrowing his eyes, Egann watched Fiallan, searching for some hint in the older man’s face that this was not the truth.  He saw nothing, no suggestion of the sly guile that would make him think Fiallan did not believe in the reality of what he said. 

             
“There was a battle,"  Fiallan said, his voice sonorous and heavy. 

             
“There are always battles.”

             
“This was worse than most, for Rune was split asunder by the horror of it.”

             
Egann had heard this tale before, or some variation of it.  Always had Fiallan loved his epic stories.

             
“One group used magic to compel the race of Man.”

             
Now
this
Egann had not heard of.  “To do such a thing is forbidden,” he said, his voice hoarse. 

             
“Aye, it is.  Yet enchantments were made, spells were woven, and many mortal men were made to fight against the Fae.”

             
“With no magic to aid them.”  The flat statement came from the depths of Egann’s soul, for he had not known of this shameful act on the part of his ancestors. 

             
“With no magic,” Fiallan concurred.  “And so they attacked and they died, and still they came in waves.  Hordes of them, before the Fae realized what the Maccus had done.  By then it was too late.  Most of the mortals had been slaughtered.”

             
Deirdre made a slight sound, but Egann could not look at her. 

             
“When our Queen learned of this, she organized a group of her most powerful advisors.  'Tis said that the spell they cast against the Maccus caused the sun itself to disappear for several hours.  Well-intentioned it was, but so against their bright natures that something went wrong.”

             
“What do you mean?”  Deirdre asked, a bleak and sorrowful shimmer in the shadow of her eyes. 

             
“The Fae are forbidden to do harm,” Fiallan explained.  “Unless directly threatened.  As this threat was indirect – the attack was by humans under the control of the Maccus – the spell became twisted.”

             
“But the Maccus were banished from Rune.”  Egann clenched his jaw, wondering why he had not been told of this before.

             
“Aye, the Maccus were sent far away, into the world of men.  Their supposed destiny was – and is – to make amends for the damage that they caused to mankind.  Against this they rebelled.”

             
A flash of confusion passed across Deirdre’s pale face.  “What has this to do with me?  Why cannot my people go into the light of day without dying?”

             
Egann wanted to know this as well. 

             
The tense lines on Fiallan’s face deepened.  “The curse of The Shadow Dancers was meant for the Maccus.  You, Deirdre of the Shadows, are descended from the very humans the Maccus enchanted.  The ones that attacked Rune.  The curse struck your tribe instead.”

Eyes widening, Deirdre seemed to tremble as she took all this in.  Egann fought the urge to go to her, to hold her close as she digested the truth of her life.

“You mean the curse I live under,” Deirdre swallowed, glowering at Fiallan, “is merely a spell gone awry?  An error in judgment meant for the very ones who seek to kill those of my kind?”

Slowly, with great dignity, Fiallan nodded. 

Such pain, such sorrow did Egann hear in Deirdre’s soft voice, he saw no choice for it but to go to her.  Moving towards her, he froze when she, peering up at him through lowered lashes, flinched and took a step back.

“Your people did this to mine.” 

Egann hesitated, attempting to measure the depths of her emotions.  “My ancestors,” he clarified.  “So long ago that it has nearly been forgotten.”

Fiallan placed his gnarled hand on her shoulder.  This time, she did not flinch, instead she lifted her chin and tilted her head.

“If this curse was made in error, is there not a way to remove it?”  This question she directed at Fiallan, her firm voice full of entreaty. 

“I do not know.”  The old man sighed.  “Perhaps the secret lies in our Hall of Records but as I said, the stone door will not open and I cannot enter.”

Now she turned her gaze on Egann, the brilliant emerald of her eyes sparkling with hope.  “What of you?  Think you that your amulet could do it?  Remove the spell that would allow me – and all of my kind – to live safely in the bright light of day?”

Though he would have given much to be able to answer her in the affirmative, Egann shook his head.  “I know little of the powers of the amulet.  The use of it belongs to the rightful King of Rune.”

Her eyes narrowed as she looked from Egann to Fiallan, then back again.  “Is there such a one?”

Fiallan coughed.  He too seemed to be watching Egann, waiting for a response.

“You look to the wrong man for an answer,” Egann drawled, letting his irritation show in his mocking tone.  “`Tis Fiallan who must find my replacement, Fiallan who is known as the Wise One of Rune.”

Giving Egann a black look, Fiallan held up his hand.  “Enough of this.  Child,” he smiled down at Deirdre, squeezing her shoulder once before releasing it.  “If there is a way to remove your curse, I will endeavor to find it.  But for now we must worry about the Amulet of Gwymyrr, and the fact that the potential of its power lies in the wrong hands.”

When Deirdre gave a slow nod, Fiallan clapped his hands.  Once, twice, then a third time.  Again the fabric of time shifted, again the air seemed to shimmer, the veil to part. 

Egann blinked, wondering what tricks the wise one was up to now.  In a moment, he had his answer.  When the world righted itself again, Weylyn pawed the path in front of him and nickered.

“Welcome, old friend.”  Laying a hand on the stallion’s silky coat, Egann shot Fiallan a look of gratitude, before turning his attention to the great beast.  “I am sorry that you had to cut short your hunt.  I can but hope that it was a good one.”

With a snort, the animal seemed to indicate that it had been. 

“He balked at first at wearing again the form of a horse.”  Fiallan said.  “But I thought you might have need of him, since it appears you must now travel Northeast up the rocky coast.”

Had the old one been following them?  Listening while cloaked in secrets to every word they spoke?  About to ask, Egann took one look at Deirdre’s stricken expression and realized that she wondered the same. 

Did Fiallan know that Egann and Deirdre had made love?  Not once, but two times, that each time they touched or kissed, their passion flared more intensely?

“How know you where we must travel?” he asked instead.

Fiallan’s face creased into an amused smile.  “I have heard the amulet sing, remember?  Methinks it comes from Barras Head.”

Egann cocked his head, considering.  Barras Head had no human settlement that he knew of.  “I thought we would travel inland, to Suttin Montis or Cadbury.”

Fiallan did not immediately reply to this; rather he stroked his long beard and appeared deep in thought. 

“Are there caves in these places?” Deirdre asked.  "For I have seen such in my dreams.

As Egann opened his mouth to answer, Fiallan lifted one hand in warning.  Egann held his silence. 

“Described this cave,” the wise one ordered.  “Tell me what you saw.”

Nodding once, Deirdre’s lids slipped down over her eyes.

When she spoke, her voice sounded flat, no inflection or emotion coloring her words.  “I saw jagged cliffs, much taller and more forbidding than my home at Carn Vellan.  The dark mouth of the cave blended in with the rock, making it hard to see.  The wind blew, great gusts of sand and rock swirling.  I felt a sense of mystery – and danger there.”

              She opened her eyes, and even in the dim light of the moon Egann could see an excited light burning in the vivid green of them. 

             
“Go on,” Fiallan urged.

             
“I heard the amulet's sweet song calling me from within."

             
“And inside?”

             
“In my dream I was not allowed to enter."  She lifted one shoulder in a delicate shrug.  "Though I longed to do so."