Dani Harper - Storm Bound

He passed through the door and headed up the stairs. The old woman was in her bed but not asleep. She started when she saw the giant canine, then unexpectedly smiled.

“Ah, ’tis you. I wondered when you would come. It’s been harder and harder to get meself up in the mornings lately, and today, well, I found meself just too tired.” She studied him with watery blue eyes. “My, aren’t you a strapping big fellow? If my little terrier were still alive, he’d be like to bark his head off. Come closer, won’t you? Let me get a good look at you.”

This had never happened before—most mortals greeted him with fear, loathing, sorrow, or even anger. Instead, Maeve crooked her gnarled fingers on the quilts, and Aidan didn’t hesitate. It seemed like the right thing to do, the human thing to do, though he was on four legs. He approached the narrow bed and rested his great head next to Maeve, firming his spectral form until he was as solid as any mortal dog. He nuzzled his way beneath her hand so her fingers rested on his broad forehead.

“Aye, there’s a good dog. There’s a fine fellow. You can keep an old woman company fer a bit before she passes. When I was a girl, me mam spoke of the gwyllgi sometimes when she told me stories of the Fair Ones.” Maeve’s weak fingers rubbed little circles around the base of his ear. “She’d seen a grim come fer my nainie afore I was born. Afraid of it, she was, but I always liked the idea. Seems fair that you get a little warning when your time comes.”

Aidan wished he had the power of speech, but Maeve seemed content to do the talking. Her words were English with a charming Welsh seasoning—few people in this time spoke the language Aidan had been born to—but had she used any other tongue, he would have understood her just as well. As a grim, he’d been exposed to many languages over the centuries and knew them all well.

“You know, we used to leave yn cynnig , an offering, on the back porch for the Tylwyth Teg,” she said. “We were taught to show respect to the Fair Ones, so they wouldn’t be playing tricks on our farm. They love pranks, the Fair Ones do, even cruel ones. Yet quick they were to reward people for generosity and unselfishness. They punished the greedy and the mean spirited. Seems to have kept the balance in the world somehow.” Her fingers were barely moving on Aidan’s dark head, and her voice became softer. “It’s different now, ya know. The older I get, the less balance there seems to be. Some say it’s because people stopped believing in the Fair Ones, although I don’t know as you have to believe in a thing to make it real. You don’t believe in the sun, it still shines, now, don’t it?”

He nuzzled her arm to indicate his agreement, and she seemed satisfied.

“Some say the church ran them off, but it would have to admit the Fair Folk existed afore it could do such a thing,” she chuckled. “’Sides, the Tylwyth Teg are old, far older than men. Seems they must have a place in the way of things, else they wouldn’t be here.” Her hand moved to Aidan’s neck, grasping weakly in an attempt to ruffle the thick mane of black fur. “Glad I am that you came. Tells me there’s still a purpose and a reason behind it all.”

Had he believed that once? He licked the old woman’s arm like the most faithful of dogs, even as he envied her outlook. She smiled and closed her eyes.

And she was gone.

A faint vibration in the links of Aidan’s silver collar warned him that he should leave the mortal realm soon, but he ignored it. The magic couldn’t drag him away until dawn approached. Instead, he lingered at Maeve Lowri Jones’s bedside for a while. He hadn’t known Maeve, had never met her before, but it seemed to him that the world was poorer without her. And that his world had been better for a few moments because of her.

Finally, he went downstairs, his great black paws gliding silently over the steps as though he were a ghost. The empty place in Aidan’s chest pained him as he approached the front door. Rather than pass through it, he gazed intently at it until it opened wide. A chair slid across the floor and braced itself against the door to hold it in place. All the lights in the house came on at the same time, making the house a beacon in the approaching twilight. Maeve’s spirit had gone on, but Aidan was determined that her earthly vessel be found and properly cared for.

He padded down the leaf-littered sidewalk, deep in thought—until a sudden flurry of leaves gathered itself into a whirlwind. The column rose up and up, drawing more and more leaves from the lawn into the swirling vortex. Abruptly, it resolved itself into a dark figure he recognized from the fae realm: Lurien, Lord of the Wild Hunt.

Unlike most of the Fae, Lurien’s hair was as black as his riding leathers and hung in hundreds of long, loose braids. Whiplike strands escaped that seemed to have a life of their own. His eyes were dark with secrets and glittered with danger, and a strong jaw seemed to dare the world. No fine features here, no glamor or artifice to make himself appealing. It wasn’t necessary. His broad shoulders bore the weight of a power so strong that it buffeted the air surrounding Aidan with its presence alone.

Aidan stood his ground and growled deep, even as his fur rose along his spine. His black lips drew back to reveal fearsome white fangs, and he crouched ready to spring.

“Take your ease, grim,” said Lurien. “I have no quarrel with you. I pay honor to Maeve.”

Startled, Aidan hid his sharp teeth, though he remained at the ready.

“No doubt that seems strange to you, but she was a fine woman, one of the few mortals left in this land who still believed. Had you entered by the back door, you would have seen the bread and milk she placed outside yesterday night.” His voice was contemplative, as if he spoke half to himself. “It was all she had left in the house, the most unselfish of offerings. It cost her dearly to set it upon the step—I feared she wouldn’t be able to get back up and provided her an unseen hand. By the stars of the Seven Sisters, she thanked me . She could not see me but knew I was there. I have lived a long time, grim, but never have I been thanked by a mortal.”

The Lord of the Wild Hunt had shown kindness to an old mortal woman, been surprised by her, and now paid his respects to her as well. Aidan didn’t know what to make of such a thing. Celynnen would never have noticed the woman’s offering or her need, never mind actually thought to aid her in any way. Celynnen cared only about Celynnen. In fact, if any of the Fair Ones cared about anything other than themselves, he had not seen it.

“What Maeve said to you was quite true, of course. The Tylwyth Teg once kept the balance. Everything changed when King Arthfael was killed—more likely, it was changing before his death and none of us knew it. Queen Gwenhidw holds things together as best as she can, but the Nine Realms beneath this land have splintered like a broken mirror, every faction for itself. There is no unity, and little loyalty left in the kingdom. I wish for a return to the way things were, when the Tylwyth Teg were honorable and just in their dealings.”

He couldn’t help it. Aidan chuffed at the word just .

“You should wish for such too,” chided Lurien. “You live a life of servitude, forcibly indentured to Celynnen. Nearly a thousand years have passed since she spirited you away, and she still does not comprehend that you will never give in to her. You do not understand that a millennium means nothing to an immortal.

“Therefore you have no hope. I, on the other hand, have some hopes of my own, and I would do us both a favor. I have a proposal.”