The Watchers spotted him immediately. When he stepped closer to the one nearest him, however, Huck noticed how uncomfortably the soldiers regarded him. He picked out the one with the highest rank insignia. Lisle had explained that the more powerful the faerie, the stronger the effect of the stone, repelling their magic from a fundamental level. He only hoped this faerie had been promoted based on talent and not for something trivial like his family name.
The Watcher had dark grey skin that was almost black with a bluish tint, especially around the creases of his ears and the highlights of his facial features. He was tall and erect. Huck dropped the token into his hand.
“The Druid Hall?” the Watcher asked. He looked up at Huck and his dark skin paled a few shades, giving him a strange, gun-metal pallor. “Ashkyne’s gates are closed to all but our citizens.”
Huck retrieved Konstanze’s letter from his pack. “Our Hall has permission from Queen Konstanze to offer final prayers for a prisoner.”
Nearby Watchers subtly moved away, resuming their protection of the portal. The guard glanced at them. Huck hoped their display of disinterest made him seem less threatening.
The Watcher opened his mouth as though to speak, but then glanced away. He handed the letter and the token back to Huck. Without another word, he returned to his duty.
The abruptness of his show of disinterest startled Huck, but he shook himself into action, slipping through the ranks of Watchers. He glanced back after he’d moved away, but none came after him. Only when he’d gone some distance did the Watcher he’d spoken to relax.
The exchange weighed on Huck. He’d gotten through because of the letter. He hadn’t been rendered as invisible as he’d hoped. Clearly the guards didn’t want to deal with him a moment longer than they had to, but how on earth would he sneak Demi and Jago past?
He couldn’t. His only option was to take them to one of the gates to the human realm. Ashkyne’s borderlands covered many countries, from Germany to Romania. All he had to do was move the pair of them to England somehow. Eilidh was the only queen he could trust. He had to use Caledonia, even though some other kingdoms might be closer.
One step at a time
, he told himself. He had a long way to go. Getting Demi out of prison was only the first step. Considering the way the fae guarded their young, finding Jago might prove the most dangerous part.
∞
Oszlár had agreed to dismiss all the other keepers while Rory and Douglas visited the Source Stone, but he insisted on staying as they worked. They must not, he warned them, alter the Stone in any way.
“Aaron said I should look at the runes on the walls,” Douglas explained to Rory. The discovery of his unexpected talent with runes had his confidence surging. Aaron had told Douglas only he or Munro could crack the Stone, so to speak.
Rory asked the younger druid what he detected about the inscriptions surrounding them.
“They seem to be written by a lot of different people,” Douglas said, careful not to touch them. Mere physical contact with a rune wouldn’t alter it without deep intent accompanying the move, but the watchful eyes of the head keeper made him a little nervous.
“Druids?” Rory asked.
Douglas shook his head, his fingers hovering over the surface of the stone wall. “I don’t think so, at least not these.” He paused. “They’re really weird.”
Rory sighed. “Weird? Care to be more descriptive?”
“They seem like gibberish. Aaron said he thought so, but he wanted me to look too.” Douglas felt the weight of Oszlár’s gaze.
“Why didn’t Munro notice that?” Rory asked.
Douglas shrugged. “None of us did. When the Stone is raised, it’s hard to think about anything else. You remember.”
“Aye,” Rory said.
“Munro said the last time he came here, he couldn’t make heads nor tails of the walls.” He stopped. “I know this sounds barmy, but I sense the runes don’t want to be understood.”
Rory stopped dead in his tracks. “They what?”
“I’m just telling you what I feel,” Douglas said, holding his hands up.
Spinning towards Oszlár, Rory’s demeanour changed. “What do you know about this?” he demanded.
“I am a Keeper of the Stone,” Oszlár said, as though that explained everything.
“A keeper of secrets,” Rory said. His eyes reflected in the dim, misty glow in the chamber.
“Precisely,” Oszlár replied with a slight bow and an amused look.
Both druids stared at him. Douglas had guarded what he said in front of the keeper, but now the old faerie dangled some truth in front of them. He wanted more.
“And the secrets of the Stone,” Rory began. “Do they relate to why you want me to bond with Flùranach so badly?”
“Yes.” The faerie regarded Rory eagerly, as though waiting for something important.
“What
is
this thing?” Rory asked, stepping closer to the flat top of the dormant rock. “It reads the minds of those who come near, detects where they want to go, and teleports them there. It transforms druids, chooses queens, and for some reason, it has chosen Flùranach for me?”
“No,” Douglas said, realisation dawning. He looked from Rory to Oszlár and back again. “The Stone doesn’t do any of those things.” Thoughts whirled about in his mind, and he struggled to order them.
“What then?” Rory asked.
Excitement built in Douglas’ chest. Why hadn’t he seen the connection before? “The Stone doesn’t do anything.”
“Are you saying this rock is a fake?” Rory’s mouth gaped. “That’s preposterous. I can detect its power, even though it’s dormant. We’ve all used the portal. If the stone doesn’t do anything, how are people getting shifted around?”
Douglas shook his head rapidly. “No, no. You’re missing my point. Okay, think of one of our talismans, like, say, the star we used to find Tràth when he was lost in the aether. Remember?”
“Aye,” Rory said. “Of course.”
“What did the talisman do?”
“The star amplified Griogair’s call to his son, then pinpointed Tràth’s location and pulled him out.”
“Not really, no,” Douglas said, his thoughts whirring. “Eilidh amplified Griogair’s call. Eilidh found Tràth.”
“You’re saying she didn’t need the star?”
Douglas shook his head. “Not at all. But look, let’s say you want to dig a hole.”
Rory exhaled his impatience. “Okay.”
“You’ve got some dirt and a spade.”
“Right,” Rory said.
“Who digs the hole?”
Rory muttered, then forced himself to play along a little while longer. “I do?”
“Exactly.”
“But…”
“The spade doesn’t dig a hole. A spade is just a spade. Without you, the spade sits in the garden shed, leaning against a wall, giving the spiders something to spin a web on.”
Rory furrowed his brow.
Douglas gestured at the centre of the room. “The Source Stone is a spade.”
“This is the garden shed?” Rory asked.
“I think the better question is,” Douglas said, shifting his gaze to the keeper, “who is digging the hole, and why?”
Oszlár smiled. “I confess. I thought Lord Druid Munro would work it out first,” he said. “I had hoped he would not do so for some time though.” He sighed and stood, lost in his thoughts, while the druids watched him. Finally, he began to explain. “In the days of the first draoidh, when our world was young and your precursors walked among us, there was one kingdom, one Otherworld. As often happens, as the centuries passed, the draoidh became divided, as did the fae who worked with and supported them. When the powerful draoidh sorcerers grew at odds, the world splintered. The Otherworld we know is a fragmented remnant of what it once was.”
“And the Stone?” Douglas asked.
“The Stone is what we have always said: The Source.”
“The Source of what?”
“Of all magic. Of our essence. Of the power used to create and sustain us.”
“So when the fae use it to teleport from one kingdom to another?” Rory asked.
“They are channelling the Stone’s memory of a place that used to be unified. We aren’t teleporting. We are asking the Stone to remember.”
“The Halls of Mist was a crossroads?” Douglas scratched his head.
“Exactly.” Oszlár’s eyes lit up. “You understand. Where the Halls of Mists is now, once stood a great city.”
“So why doesn’t everyone know this?” Douglas asked. “And why didn’t you just tell us?”
“The Stone is the key to our survival as a race. What do you think would happen if one queen believed that by taking the Stone, she could eliminate her rivals?” He shook his head. “No. We keepers have sworn an oath. We give ourselves to the Stone. We serve our people to prevent our race from descending into chaos.”
“So
you
choose the queens? You picked Eilidh to rule over Andenan lands when Vinye died?”
“No,” Oszlár said. “The Stone is in some ways what it appears to be: a powerful, almost rational artefact. It does, however, draw on the keepers’ knowledge and energy when making a change. So, in a small way, we do have some influence.”
“Then why don’t you just pick one good queen and unify the Otherworld completely?”
Oszlár chuckled. “If only life were that simple. If only we could force people to live in peace. Have you attempted such a feat in your own world?”
Douglas had to concede the point. He turned back to the Stone. “So how does this thing work?”
“I don’t know,” Oszlár said. When Douglas shot him a pointed look, the elder raised his hands. “I speak the truth on that,” he said. “The lore of the keepers is ancient and secret, passed to us by the eldest of the draoidh, gone now for tens of thousands of years. We never thought to meet their like again. We know our duty. The Stone shows us the strength of each candidate as reflected by our own observations and experiences. But sometimes, in ages past, instead of bringing kingdoms together, the good of the race was most served by creating an entirely new kingdom with a new queen.”
“If we, the new draoidh, are so flippin’ important,” Rory said, “How come you’re willing to let one of us die?”
Oszlár’s eyes flashed. “You think I didn’t try to stop Konstanze? We were once the servants of the gods,” he shouted. “Now we are nothing more than old scholars and you are mere fledglings. We lose one druid tomorrow night, yes, and that pains me. But we must protect your place in our world until the day when your true magic manifests. Someday you will remember what those who came before you understood. You will unlock the secrets and revive the Stone.”
“Revive?” Douglas asked.
Oszlár sighed. “I have worked its magic for thirteen hundred years. The Stone grows weaker. Without your help, it will die, and the fae will die with it.”
Douglas nodded. Oszlár’s account explained everything, including why the keepers had been so keen to support the construction of the Druid Hall and helped to establish them as the draoidh of old. "How long do you have?” he asked.
The old faerie shrugged. “A night? A thousand years? Every time a faerie asks the Stone to remember the Otherworld as whole, it grows weaker.”
“Using the portal damages it?” Rory asked. “Why not shut the thing down?”
Oszlár said. “The same reason you do not shut down the brain just because you have a headache.”
Douglas pondered. “The Stone is the only thing holding the kingdoms together.”
“You’re saying the gates to the human realm don’t work in the same way as this portal?” Rory asked.
“Correct,” Oszlár said. “They are like anchors. If we tore them all down, the Source would not suffer.”
“Except for the fact that faeries seem to need to visit the human realm to procreate,” Rory said, muttering as though speaking to himself. He directed his next question to Oszlár. “Do you know why faeries have to visit altars to have babies?”
Douglas said, “Munro and Eilidh didn’t. Ulrich and Demi probably didn’t.”
“I have suspicions, yes. You’ll also note that the azuri fae of the Isle of Skye were blessed many more times than is usual for faerie couples. But I admit these questions do not overly concern me. My challenge and life’s work are the Stone alone.”
“What about the gate we created at the Druid Hall?” Rory asked.
“Like the gates from the human realm to our lands, you created an anchor. I’m impressed that you were able to affix your gate to an existing one, but that has nothing to do with the Source. Your achievement, while laudable, will not solve the problem of the faltering Stone.”
Rory sighed. “We’re wasting our time. There’s nothing here that can help Demi.”
“That’s not true,” Douglas said. He’d been listening, thinking, staring at the runes on the walls. He turned to Oszlár. “We can stop Konstanze from killing Demi.”
Oszlár’s expression darkened. “I will not risk doing damage to the Stone. We can’t force it to do what we want. There are rules and structure to its magic. Konstanze is strong. She is in no danger of losing even an iota of her kingdom. She came within a breath of gaining Vinye’s lands. One life, no matter how precious, cannot take priority over the lives of every faerie in every kingdom.”