Barb Hendee - Rebel Fay

This was what he'd come for, but after passing the guardian serpent, he wavered at touching this tree. He quickly slapped his hand against its bare trunk, just to be done with it, and shivered again as the temperature dropped sharply.

"Sgaile…?" he said.

The man looked anxiously about and folded his hands under his arms against the mounting cold. Whether from fear or frigid temperature, he shook where he stood.

"I do not know," Sgaile whispered.

Someone stepped around the naked tree's far side.

The figure wore the gray-green of an Anmaglahk, cloak tied around its waist and cowl pulled forward. But it was short for an elf, no taller than Leesil himself.

Leesil began to pull back.

"Do not move!" Sgaile warned. "Do not take your hand from Roise Char-mune!"

Leesil didn't believe this was a vision. Surely one of Sgaile'scaste must have followed them.

The figure raised a hand and held it up before Leesil's eyes. In that closed fist was an Anmaglahk stiletto, silver-white blade pointed downward from its round, plain guard.

Leesil snatched the figure's wrist with his free hand.

The clearing lit up as if under a burning noon sun.

Where there had been cold, now sweltering heat choked the air in Leesil's lungs. Within the figure's cowl he saw a face… his face.

Leesil stared into his own reflection within that cowl.

There were the faint scars on his own cheek from where Ratboy had clawed him. His own amber eyes stared back at him, somewhat too small for an elf's, above a chin not quite tapered enough for a full-blood's.

His reflection looked older, somehow. And tears began running down his-its-face.

Leesil stood there, gripping the wrist of his reflection.

Heat made his double, his twin, or whatever it was ripple before his eyes. A shift in the land beyond the surrounding oaks tugged at his attention.

He thought he saw barren mountains beyond rolling tan hills that were too smooth and perfect. High peaks rippled in the distance as those hills radiated heat. Sgaile hissed out one word.

"Ancestors!"

Darkness filled the clearing. The cold bit again at Leesil as his gaze shifted back. His breath caught as one puff of vapor rushed from his lips.

He saw no reflection of himself anymore. His grip was closed on a slender translucent wrist that glowed like the naked ash. And he looked into… through… the transparent face of a tall elven male.

The man's eyes turned stern as he looked back at Leesil. His face was broader at the cheekbones than other elves'. An ugly scar slanted from his forehead to his right temple and another marred the left side of his jaw below his peaked ear. He had seen battle during his life; his hand around the stiletto appeared toughened and calloused.

No, not a stiletto… the elven warrior held a branch of naked pale wood like that of the ash tree. Long and straight overall, the wood showed gentle wavering throughout its length like any natural branch stripped of its bark.

Pale glimmers erupted in the darkness behind the branch's bearer.

Leesil remembered the ghost horde of the Apudalsat forest, all hideously wounded in the moment of their death. These were different.

They appeared as in life, dressed as they must have been long ago, though their transparent forms held no color but that of the ash tree's wood. A thirdwere male, the rest female, and not all appeared old. Leesil counted at least a dozen.

Their attire varied. Some were clothed no differently from the elves Leesil had seen around the council clearing. But others wore hauberks and bracers of hardened leather, either plain or covered in overlapping plates and scales of metal. Two wore helms of triple crests with scrollwork spirals engraved in their sides, as did the one Leesil still gripped.

They carried spears, some as long as pikes, and quivers and bows slung upon their backs. Not the short ones the Anmaglahk disassembled to hide away, but longbows capable of great range. One middle-aged female with scars down her left upper arm had thick triangular war daggers on her wide studded belt. They looked more like a human weapon than those Leesil had seen among elves. The spear in her grip was shorter than her height. Its thick shaft appeared to be metal instead of wood, and its head was wide-bladed and nearly as long as a short sword.

And that one, with wild eyes full of fury, smiled at him beneath narrowing eyes.

But there were none among the spirits dressed as Anmaglahk.

An elder woman in a robe approached behind the tall warrior holding the branch. Her face was slender and lightly lined with age. Long hair waved and floated as if she moved through water.

Take the limb of Roise Charmune… and guard it as it will guard you… as you will guard life, Leshiarelaohk.

Leesil heard her voice, though her lips never moved.

Tell Sorhkafare we wait for him.

A different voice.Male, tired but purposeful, like a sigh of relief after long burden.

Leesil turned his eyes back on the scarred and wide-cheeked warrior in his grip. The man's gaze shifted toward Sgaile then flickered once to Leesil. He seemed puzzled by something between the only two living people in the clearing. Then the spirit looked deep into Leesil's eyes.

Tell Sorhkafare that Snahacroe still waits for his comrade… when he is finally ready to rest. Tell him… Leshiarelaohk.

Leesil knew the first name from Magiere's vision-the long-forgotten name of Most Aged Father. The second might be this one holding out the branch. But that final name he couldn't place, though it was close to what his mother and her people called him.

Leshil…Leshiarelaohk.

He wasn't sure he could repeat it aloud, but its sound vibrated in his head, as if spoken again by both the elder woman and the dour warrior.

The tall spirit opened his fingers, and the ash branch began to fall.

Leesil released his grip and snatched it from the air.

When he looked up again, the clearing was empty but for himself, Sgaile, and the soft radiance of the naked ash.

He saw no spirits. Not a one.

Leesil held up the branch of Roise Charmune.

Midafternoon on the second day, Magiere ripped aside the elm's doorway curtain at the sound of running feet. "Leesil?"

Six anmaglahk stood outside, with Osha in the front, but there was no sign of Leesil or Sgaile.

"Is time," Osha said in his thick accent.

"Where's Leesil?" she asked. "How can the elves resume proceedings without Sgaile?"

"You come," he urged.

Wynn threw on Chane's cloak asChap rose, and they followed Magiere out.

The guards flanked them as they hurried through Crijheaiche to the council clearing. Again Magiere grew uneasy as she stepped between the bridge-branched oaks and the closest onlookers backed out of her way. She took a slow calming breath at the sight of Leesil and Sgaile standing with Brot'an behind the oak table.

Leesil held his hand out. Magiere hurried down the slope. One anmaglahk almost grabbed for her, but Osha waved him off.

Faint dark rings surrounded Leesil's eyes, but he smiled at her. His muslin shirt and cloak were damp and smudged. He and Sgaile had returned in half the time Brot'an had asked for, so likely they had pushed on all night. Their gear was piled beneath the table, but Leesil's punching blades rested on the surface-along with something hidden by a shimmering piece of white cloth.

"What are the blades for?" she asked.

Leesil shook his head. "They were here when I arrived. Brot'an must have sent for them."

Brot'an's hard glare told them both to be silent.

Across the clearing's depression, Freth and Most Aged Father entered as before, his chair carried by four anmaglahk. As he was placed beside Freth's table, the old elf leaned forward and peered toward Leesil and Sgaile.