Barb Hendee: Through Stone and Sea

"They all suffer, but each generation, one is worse. That one feels it most … and can never be allowed to take the throne. Do you know of Hrädwyn, King Leofwin's sister?"

Wynn nodded. "Yes, she succumbed to illness when she was young."

"No!" Reine snapped. "She drowned herself … in that pool … after nine years of imprisonment."

Wynn looked to the open ocean, suddenly as chilled as she'd been upon emerging from the tunnel. All she could think of was a prince's desperate, pale features.

"Caught betwixt and between," Reine went on, "unsettled on land and longing for the sea, that sickness drives … that one … to greater desperation than the others. The tides began to change … him . I thought he had drowned that night, when he vanished from our boat. Something made him return to shore, where Hammer-Stag found him."

Wynn knew why in watching Reine—watching Frey's one reason to fight his heritage, his affliction … his taint, so much worse than Wynn's own.

"Cinder-Shard came to me soon after," Reine continued. "Even Frey's deceased aunt wasn't the first Âreskynna whom the Stonewalkers had taken in … though none before Frey had ever lived long enough to leave. But while alive, they were still necessary … to maintain a hold on some ancient blood-bound alliance! I stayed with Frey during the tides, especially the highest. I would've stayed always if my prolonged absence under the people's suspicions would not have cast further doubts upon the family. And each year, Frey's changes grew worse before they passed."

She finally turned, and Wynn fell victim to Reine's gaze.

"The terror of your wraith … and the Dunidæ's persistence … forced his change too far!"

Reine's voice broke. Though tears ran down her face, they didn't match the cold anger in her features.

Wynn sat silenced, her thoughts filled with memories of half-breeds. So rare, even unique, yet they'd all come into her life. All had appeared within this generation, after a millennium, and in these new days of history.

Magiere … half mortal, half vampire, some would say, though it wasn't accurate.

Leesil … half human, half elf, a wanderer outside of all peoples.

Chap … part Fay, though physically pure majay-hì, equally an outcast of eternity.

Then there was Shade, descended of a Fay-born father and majay-hì mother.

And now a prince of Wynn's own land whom all had thought dead.

Why now? What did it mean? And how much ruin had she brought down upon the last?

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Reine merely returned to staring across the water, until the wind dried all of her tears.

"What now, sage?" she asked. "For such a price … what have you gained?"

How could Wynn answer? Swirling questions wrapped in secrets hidden beneath myths already overwhelmed her. One place in the world had lain hidden for centuries in plain sight. Another had been lost beyond remembering. And a traitor, remembered by only a few who wished to forget him, had gained a worshipper in the dark among the honored dead.

First Glade … Bäalâle Seatt … Thallûhearag … Ore-Locks …

"It's too much to consider," Wynn finally said. "More answers must be found."

And she had to face it all without the texts.

Reine shook her head. "In the few years since Frey's ‘death,' we learned nothing more concerning the family's heritage, though Lady Tärtgyth Sykion has kept watch for anything to help me … to help Frey."

Reine turned, and in two quick steps, she hung over Wynn, her voice a harsh threatening whisper.

"And you will do the same!"

A snarl rose in the dark. Shade closed, head low and jowls quivering in warning.

Reine's gaze never left Wynn, and Wynn quickly waved Shade off.

"You will keep watch for anything to help," Reine went on. "Whatever you do, wherever you seek, this as well as your silence is what your life depends on. You owe your people … you owe my husband … you owe me !"

Reine walked away, never looking down as she passed Shade.

Wynn sat in the dark, listening for the sound of Chane's footsteps.

The following night, Wynn walked through the gates of the Guild of Sagecraft with Chane and Shade.

She'd sat up late the night before upon the ship, waiting for Chane, but then she grew tired and went to a cabin that Captain Tristan had assigned. It wasn't until the next day that she learned Chane had finally arrived at the ship just before dawn. Perhaps it had taken longer for him to find blood than she'd imagined.

At least he'd arrived and taken cover on board before the ship sailed.

Now … they were back in Calm Seatt, back at the guild.

The guild courtyard was empty, but by now her superiors might have heard she was returning. If they hadn't, at the moment she had little desire to tell them herself. High-Tower would want a word with her—and she with him concerning the second codex. He would be more than relieved that she was leaving again soon, and less than pleased that she would expect more funding.

Shade trotted straight to the door of the southeast dormitory. By the time Wynn shut the door of her old room, Shade had bounded onto the bed and dropped in a huff.

"Don't get too comfortable," she said. "We're not staying long."

She'd barely leaned the staff in the corner as Chane set their packs by her desk, when someone knocked at her door.

Wynn almost groaned. Someone had spotted them and told High-Tower or Sykion. She wasn't ready to face either but opened the door just the same.

A young man stood in the passage wearing the midnight blue robe of the Order of Metaology. He thrust out something flat, wrapped in plain brown paper.

"I was ordered to place this directly in your hands," he said, already turning to leave.

Wynn took the package. There were no markings upon it, and she leaned out the door.

"Wait … ordered by whom?"

The messenger had already rounded the passage's far end and gone down the stairs. Wynn stepped back and shut the door. Considering the messenger's robe color, she wondered if this was something from Premin Hawes, head of Metaologers. But that didn't make any sense.

"What is it?" Chane asked.

"I don't know."

The flat, flexing square hadn't been bound with twine, but every edge of the paper wrap was sealed with glue. Its contents were completely enclosed. With no name or hint of the sender, she carefully tore one corner until she could unwrap it safely.

Inside, atop a folded parchment sheet, was a note—from Domin il'Sänke.

Wynn, if you are reading this, it means you are still alive. A relief, I am certain, though a surprise to me, considering your nature. …

Wynn wrinkled her nose at this poor humor.

The enclosed may be of interest in your pursuits, though it is incomplete. I can do nothing more, since I have not seen the whole of the original from which it is translated. Make of it what you will, and as always, keep your secrets.

With hesitation and affection, Domin Ghassan il'Sänke, Order of Metaology Guild of Sagecraft in Samau'a Gaulb, il'Dha'ab Najuum

In the brief days she'd been gone, he couldn't have returned home, let alone sent this all the way back. He must have left it before he departed, with instructions for its delivery if and when she returned. Wynn unfolded the parchment, and there was il'Sänke's scrawl upon it.

The Children in twenty and six steps seek to hide in five corners

The anchors amid Existence, which had once lived amid the Void.

One to wither the Tree from its roots to its leaves

Laid down where a cursed sun cracks the soil.

That which snuffs a Flame into cold and dark