C. E. Murphy - Wayfinder

“That’s not a god,” Lara protested. “That’s—I mean, my God doesn’t walk the earth, no, or not mostly, but He’s eternal, and humans are mortal. You keep reminding me of that.” She sent a sour look after Emyr, though he was long gone.

“Mortal flesh,” Ioan said, “but immortal souls. You go on forever, in a way we do not.”

Hushed truth ran through his words, more like water over stone than the symphonic song Lara was accustomed to. She finally said, “That’s awful,” feeling it entirely inadequate, but Ioan laughed.

“Perhaps, but then, we would consider your brief span of physical years in exchange for an eternity of disembodiment terrible, too. We follow different paths, Truthseeker, and different fates await us.”

“But not for the next few days,” Aerin concluded pragmatically. “Until we return from the Drowned Lands, our fates are most certainly bound together, and most particularly bound to …” She trailed off, frowning at Ioan.

“We were children together,” he said after a moment. “For a little while, anyway. It may as well be Ioan, especially as I think the royal title would sit poorly on your tongue.”

“Hafgan is king of the Unseelie,” Aerin said, though without conviction.

“Which is why I took his name when he went to the Drowned Lands. The continuity was more important to my people than my name was to me.”

“The continuity was more important to my king,” Aerin corrected. “Had he known of Hafgan’s abdication—”

Ioan’s eyebrows rose fractionally, a hint of humor coming into his response. “He would have invaded. Hence its importance to my people.”

Aerin thinned her mouth, clearly exasperated at the shaving of details, but she let it go to continue what she’d been saying. “We will be greatly in your power, which I acknowledge so that you’re aware I understand our debt and danger. Do not abuse it, teyrnfradwr. ”

The word echoed in Lara’s mind, rendering meaning though she was certain she hadn’t genuinely understood it. Traitor , or something close, full of bitter connotations. Ioan pursed his lips and glanced away, then met Aerin’s gaze without guilt. “I mean you no harm, nor will any come to you through any inaction of my own. I believe all of Annwn needs Lara’s help, Aerin. This is not done for myself alone, or even for the Unseelie people at the expense of the Seelie. It would be counter to my own purposes to lead you into harm’s way.”

Lara exhaled. “What’s the problem, Aerin? He’s telling the truth, but even if he wasn’t, I’ve seen you fight. I’m the weak link here, not Ioan.”

“You don’t understand.” Aerin turned a look of condescending pity on Lara. “The Drowned Lands hunger for Seelie lives. Without Ioan’s presence, we will most certainly die.”

But I’m human! The childish protest, made in half-offended innocence, still made Lara wince the next morning. Aerin had been scathing, and even Ioan was apologetic, making it clear that only Unseelie could pass safely into the Drowned Lands, so long as they had the strength to succeed in the trials.

They rode out together at what Ioan claimed was dawn, though there was no way for Lara to tell within the enormous Unseelie cavern. Someone had worked all night to take in a cream-colored tunic and rich, dark-red doublet so they would fit her small frame. She suspected the leggings she wore had recently belonged to a half-grown teen, as their hem had only been brought up an inch or two. There was padding in the seat and thighs, just enough to make riding slightly more comfortable, and Lara suspected her gratitude, already significant, would know no bounds before the journey was over.

She was escorted by the two elfin warriors—escorted, because she was the most likely to fall off her horse. Ioan and Aerin rode close to either side of her, even though Aerin had once again worked the magic that kept Lara stuck in the saddle. Less stuck than before, though, Aerin had said: Lara would never learn to ride properly if she trusted magic over her own talent and instinct.

Lara muttered “What instinct?” again now. They had been riding for a long time, but with only magic-born globes like those from the Seelie citadel for light, she had little idea of how long. Long enough to make her thighs and back ache, but at her skill level, that had only taken a few minutes. Her discomfort was worsened by the supply packs strapped across the horse’s haunches. Intellect told her they were far enough back not to disturb her ride, but she kept edging forward in the saddle, trying to give them more room.

Ioan reached over to pat her horse’s shoulder. It turned its head toward him agreeably, but continued forward without missing a step. Lara, though, clutched its mane when its head moved, then felt patient glances from not only Ioan and Aerin, but their horses as well. “We don’t ride horses as a matter of course in my world.”

“Do you not travel, then?” Ioan edged his animal further forward, so they rode abreast of one another instead of with Lara at a slight point. That made more sense: he knew the path they were taking, though for the moment there was no choice in the stone-cut road they followed. It was struck through sheer stone, a pathway tall enough that its ceiling was lost to vision, though echoes suggested there was a roof. Lara glanced up as she had dozens of times already, wondering if one of the globes of light might be sent skyward to show how tall the enclosure was, but once again dismissed the idea with a shiver. She could almost imagine it reached to sunlight if she didn’t see that it closed above them.

“We travel,” she said firmly, eager to take her thoughts away from the enclosed roadway. “Just not on horses. We use … self-propelled carriages called cars. There were several of them on the road when you came through to fight the hydra. The wheeled boxes in different colors?”

Ioan squinted, then grunted in surprise. “Those would keep a rider dry. How do they work?”

“With what we call an internal combustion engine. Technology, instead of magic.” Lara shook her head. “I could explain a steam engine to you, but not a combustion engine. And I wouldn’t anyway.”

“To keep us simple?” Aerin asked archly.

Lara risked a dirty look over her shoulder. The horse ambled along, undisturbed by her motion, and triumph lanced through her before she answered. “To keep the air clean, maybe. The fuel those engines burn smells terrible and is bad for the atmosphere. But even if I understood them well enough to explain it, they’re made of steel. Seelie couldn’t make them anyway.”

“We could use another metal, perhaps.”

“I think the whole point of iron and steel is that once it’s molded it can be reheated without losing its integrity. Most metal is too soft.”

“Is this?” Aerin tapped her moonlit armor, and dismay splashed through Lara.

“I don’t know. It’s at least as strong as the plate mail my people used to use, but it’s lighter, so maybe it’s harder, too.” Lara wrinkled her nose. “Anyway, I really can’t tell you how they work, because I honestly don’t know. Mostly in my world we have mechanics to take care of car problems. People don’t fix them themselves, if something goes wrong.”

“You must have some idea,” Ioan said dubiously. “There’s no one here who can’t check a hoof for stones, or rub down swollen muscles if a horse comes up lame on a journey. Surely you can do the same for your ‘cars’?”

“No, we have …” Lara put a hand over her face, suddenly embarrassed at her reliance on other people’s knowledge. “We call for help if something goes wrong. With cell phones, which are sort of like your scrying spells, except everyone can use them.”