The cauldron effect, p.12
The Cauldron Effect, page 12
A thump on the carriage windowpane startled them.
Aunt Gwen sat up with a start.
Cri was back outside the carriage window.
Before Merryn could react, with a flick, Braden drew out a dagger.
Where had he kept that hidden?
The little pixie gave a frightened squeak and vanished again.
Aunt Gwen changed form and flew over to land on Braden’s shoulder, chirping excitedly in his ear.
At Braden’s startled expression Merryn, tried to contain her laughter and stayed his hand. “Pray, put away your weapon, my lord.”
“That was a tiny demon outside, albeit a well-dressed one.”
“I will grant you that evil does exist in our world. As does good. Both can manifest in different forms. Before you extinguish this tiny creature, are you not the least curious to discover which shade you may be about to encounter in this instance?”
BRADEN GLANCED AT HER hand covering his. His training shouted at him to shake off her hold, leap out of the fast-moving carriage to seek out and destroy that underworld creature. All supernatural creatures were demons sent by the Devil to test the righteous. That was a given. The wren’s animated chirping, however, drowned out his sound reasoning.
Deciding to bide his time, he slipped his weapon back out of sight.
Miss Pendraven leaned close as she reached for her aunt. Her sudden nearness undid all the Church’s teachings about keeping a guarded and pious distance from witches. Seemingly unaware of his inhaling her sweet scent as if it were his last breath, she plucked the wren off his shoulder and sat back.
The wren flew away just as quickly and landed on the seat beside Braden. Her aunt re-appeared. “I’m so relieved we’ve all settled down.” She patted Braden’s arm. “There’s nothing to fear from that little creature, my lord.”
“I shall take that under advisement, Mrs. Truscott,” Braden said.
“Would you please signal the coach to stop?” Miss Pendraven asked.
He obligingly knocked on the roof with his cane.
Once the coach halted, the young lady opened the door to look outside.
“Come back,” she called. “You’re safe, I promise.”
“Who, Miss?” the coachman asked.
“Not you,” she said. “Stay on top of the coach.” She sat back as if prepared to wait.
Braden glanced out the window but all appeared normal. Trees and bushes and birds. A gray squirrel scurried up a trunk with a chestnut in its mouth. Nothing out of the ordinary. No flying people in tiny blue gowns.
“What was that creature?” he asked.
“A pixie,” Mrs. Truscott said.
That didn’t sound dangerous. Now he thought on it, although this little creature had startled him, it hadn’t exuded a sense of evil and danger. It had also looked genuinely frightened before vanishing.
He was a little disappointed if he had indeed frightened away the pixie. He always considered such creatures woven from people’s imagination. “I thought only demons were real. That fairies and such were merely children’s tales.”
“The little people are as real as warlocks and witches and magicians and, yes, demons too,” Mrs. Truscott said. “Like anyone, human or otherwise, to determine inherent goodness, one must get to know the person, their wants and desires. In most cases, it is free will that dictates the choice to do evil or good, not birthright.”
Just as her aunt finished speaking, the pixie appeared on Miss Pendraven’s shoulder. She sat, ankles crossed and stared intently at Braden.
Like a startled horse, his pulse shot off at a burst of speed.
The miniature creature, its wings fluttering, leaned back on tiny arms. The pixie wore a pout as she said, “Who is he?”
Braden got the distinct impression he was unwanted in this company. He swallowed past a rigid throat.
Miss Pendraven made the introductions.
To his utter astonishment, the pixie stood and dropped a curtsey as if they were being introduced at the arriving line at a house party. “How do you do, my lord.”
Manners and instincts warred like combatants at Gentleman Jackson’s. Manners won. He bowed his head, fingers itching to hold something weighty and sharp-edged.
“Do you like my new gown?” the pixie asked and twirled to show it off.
Braden raised his eyebrow in surprise.
“Miss Pendraven made it for me,” the pixie said. “I wore it at the Seelie Court and all were duly impressed.”
“Seelie Court?” He frowned, trying to remember his mythology.
“Our ruling order. That’s why I’m here. My queen wishes Miss Pendraven to attend her at court to talk about the latest styles and fashion in London.”
“How thrilling!” Mrs. Truscott exclaimed.
“I see.” Miss Pendraven visibly relaxed.
What had she been expecting the pixie to tell her?
“Perhaps later,” she said to the pixie. “At the moment, we’re on our way to Fishguard.”
“Why?” the pixie asked, and sat back down.
“We seek a witch at the coven there who may have knowledge of a missing boy.”
“I shouldn’t go there, if I were you,” the pixie answered, arranging the folds of her skirt.
“Why not?”
“Because they’re readying to burn down that coven. Besides...”
Braden’s heart lurched. Not yet! The archbishop had promised the guards would await Braden’s arrival before they took such a dangerously foolish action.
“What did you say?” Miss Pendraven asked.
Mrs. Truscott started beside Braden, her hand painfully clenching his forearm. “Did she say someone’s attacking the Fishguard coven, Merryn?”
“It’s all right, Aunt. Remain calm.”
He absently patted the elderly lady’s hand in comfort as he stared at the pixie, willing her to be silent.
“What do you mean they’re readying to burn the place down?” Miss Pendraven asked. “Who are they?”
“Could the warlocks have declared war again?” A tremor shook the old lady’s voice.
The fact she hadn’t changed yet suggested she had taken some comfort from his touch.
“What bad timing,” Mrs. Truscott continued. “Since all the witches are gathering at Callington and would not be able to come to their defense in Fishguard.”
Braden turned to the older woman in shock. That was news.
“More like perfect timing,” Miss Pendraven said in a hard voice that whipped at Braden’s conscience.
“It’s the church guards,” the little fairy said, disconcerting Braden further. “They’re going to set a bonfire to the coven in Fishguard. I heard the news while I was at court.”
Miss Pendraven’s glare had daggers aimed at him. “You knew!”
His flush of guilt damned him. The growing tenderness between them died and he shuddered at its passing. He couldn’t find the words to defend himself. Anything he said would sink him further in her estimation and they both knew it.
“I thought the guards were heading for Callington,” Mrs. Truscott said, in a soft frightened voice, her fingers trembling beneath his hold. “We’re not prepared to defend ourselves at Fishguard,” she murmured and shifted into a wren.
“How clever!” The pixie clapped her hands.
“You must let me explain,” Braden finally managed to say.
“The time for explanations is over,” Miss Pendraven said in a cold voice. Mouth set in a fierce line, her back ramrod straight, she refused to meet his gaze.
Mrs. Truscott returned to her human form. “Dear, oh dear. What are we to do, Merryn? Shall I fly home to tell them about the trouble in Fishguard?”
“Not enough time. I need to attend the Fishguard coven in the swiftest way possible.”
“Then let’s continue our journey,” Braden said in a reasonable tone. “I wish to help. I’d hoped to talk the guards out of the attack.”
Miss Pendraven spoke as if to herself. “Traveling by carriage will take far too long. We’re still a good half a day’s ride away.”
“Are you going to fly again?” the pixie asked. “May I come, too?”
“Fly?” Braden asked in shock. He glanced at her aunt and then at her. “Can you, too, turn into a wren?”
Ignoring him, she brought the pixie around on her arm to speak face-to-face. “Will you ask your friends at the Seelie Court to help us?”
“I could,” the pixie said, her expression falling, “but our queen’s forbidden any light fae from interfering in Wyhcan conflicts again.”
“Then I’m on my own. Aunt, you must stay here.”
“But Merryn,” Aunt Gwen began in a fretful voice.
“I’m sorry, Aunt, but I can’t both protect you and work to save the Fishguard coven.”
Braden worried she was about to foolishly put herself in danger to save her people. Coven Protectress or not, she was no match for a squadron of church guards. Especially if, as he now suspected, those guards were under the influence of warlocks.
“What are you planning?” he asked, knowing the answer.
“I go to Fishguard, my lord,” she told him in a cold voice, finally facing him. There was such disappointment in her eyes, Braden’s racing heart shriveled. “I intend to stop your guards from murdering my charges.”
She leaned out the window and called up to the groom.
The man jumped down and came around the side. “Yes, Miss Pendraven?”
“Keep the carriage here until you hear from me. I might be gone several hours to a day. His lordship is not to have access to the horses, his or ours. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Miss Pendraven.” The groom gave Braden a dark look that warned any attempt to escape would be met with great resistance.
“Him and what army?” Braden asked, displaying a smile meant to infuriate her henchman.
It worked.
Miss Pendraven shook her arm until the pixie flew off and hovered near the ceiling. She then raised both arms and swiped them down in a slicing gesture.
Braden frowned wondering what that meant and then remembered his trip from Exeter after she left the coach. He’d been unable to stop the carriage or disembark until they reached Callington. He rattled the door, pushing to open out. It remained unmovable as if iron barred it on the other side.
The groom grinned and called to the postillion on the lead horse, to unhook the team.
“You no longer have a say in matters, my lord,” Miss Pendraven said. “Unfortunately, despite my better judgment, I’ve no choice but to trust that you will guard my aunt.”
The words stabbed directly at Braden’s abdomen. As if he would ever harm this gentle old lady. “How could you question my honor?”
His answer seemed to satisfy her, for she nodded acceptance. She gestured with her right hand and muttered under her breath.
A spell?
A more complex one than the sealing of the carriage doors. The air about them shifted and warmed, pulsing with the promise of change. She was about to leave. In an instant, she would be lost to him.
“Stay and guard Mrs. Truscott,” he ordered the pixie, hoping the creature was capable of such a thing. Just as Merryn’s spell ignited, he grabbed her swirling hand.
“No, you mustn’t!” Mrs. Truscott cried out, panic in her voice. She muttered something and pointed at him.
The startled pixie, with her hands clasped to her chest, watched with eyes wide open. Then the world shifted and he lost sight of the inside of the carriage.
Chapter 8
“What is this bird doing up here?” Anan, a cumulonimbus cloud asked his best friend, Vindr, the warm south wind.
“It’s probably a witch,” Vindr said, swirling around to study all angles of the stray that had arrived so precipitately in the midst of his mushroom-shaped friend. “They go anywhere they please, with nary a ‘May I.’”
“I don’t think this one’s a witch,” Anan said, adjusting his lower layers to support his unexpected guest. “For one thing, it’s male, and everyone knows witches are females. Whoops... there he goes.” Gravity had taken over. He shouted in encouragement, “Flap your wings!”
Vindr whipped after the bird in high excitement. “He’s going to break into a hundred little pieces when he touches ground!”
Watching the wren’s accelerated descent, Anan was compelled to agree. Then an unexpected sensation shivered through every dust particle and water droplet that made up Anan, to the point where he couldn’t help but release the water that had been building in him all morning.
“Vindr, you have to help him!” he shouted through the downpour, hoping his friend would hear and pay attention. Vindr could be flighty sometimes.
“Why?” Vindr asked, swirling back up.
“Orders. Just came in. It’s not yet time for his lordship to return home.”
“Oh,” Vindr said. “Oh! That’s him? He doesn’t look at all the way I pictured he would. I’ll get right on it.” He swooped after the floundering brown wren.
BRADEN SHOUTED IN ALARM at finding himself high up in the midst of a heavy white mist. The air bathed him in icy droplets and he had one moment to catch his breath before he fell. Plunging through the vapor, he found himself midair, high above ground.
“Flap your wings!” The order hit him with astounding force, and he did as commanded. A sudden downpour railed on him, sending him plummeting again. Then a stray warm current balanced and twisted him right side up so his flapping wings could have an appreciable effect.
Wings? He had wings!
“That was a most foolish act, my lord,” Miss Merryn Pendraven’s voice scolded.
“What happened?” His words came out as an incomprehensible squeak.
“Let’s get out of this rainfall and I’ll explain.”
Braden noticed with a start that he conversed with a raven. There was no time for questions.
The black bird led the way. They flew for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes. He worried he wouldn’t have the strength for one more flap of water-laden wings when they cleared the rainfall. The sunshine soon warmed him but he still listed, slowing, heading downward more than straight across.
“You’re a raven,” he said, feeling foolish. “I thought Garth mad for suggesting you could turn me into a vole if I annoyed you.” A warm wind blew beneath him and he automatically coasted on the current. “I’m a wren,” he said next, mind reeling at the shocking news.
“That bird is my aunt’s specialty,” Miss Pendraven replied. “After you foolishly stuck out your arm, interfering with my spell, Aunt Gwen lent you a helping hand by transforming you. Then, in a panic, she accidentally transported you way up here. Realizing what she’d done, I followed as swiftly as I could. That was a dangerous action you took, my lord.” The raven gave him a piercing look from a glassy black eye.
Braden accepted the scold as well deserved. “How is this possible?” He cringed. It seemed there was no end to the inanity of his conversation. “I know that you and your aunt are witches and I’m under a spell. But how is this possible?”
“You must have seen Garth do magic.” Her voice softened, suggesting her temper cooled.
He was glad, for he had many questions vying for an answer. “Are you a magician, then? Is 'witch' simply another term for someone with the same ability to work magic?”
“No, my lord. Garth is as human as you, but with an innate ability to see the lines of power that thread through this land. He has simply found ways to direct and control that power.”
“The ley lines he’s always going on about?”
She chuckled - coming from the raven it sounded like a gurgle. He hoped it had been a chuckle and not a growl.
“Do we have much further to go?” he asked, thinking if he did not rest soon, he would fall.
“Follow me.” She winged her way down.
They landed on the top bare branch of a pine that was more deadwood than leaves. The lack of foliage made finding a perch easy, though the view did nothing to ease his new terror of such impossible heights. He spread his legs to get a better grip on the slender branch, his heart drumming at an incredible pace.
“Transformations can be tiring,” she said. “But we cannot stay long. Time is of the essence.”
He looked at her large form, almost five times his puny size, and ferocious looking. He did not care to be on such unequal terms with this witch. Pity her aunt couldn’t have changed him into a hawk or an eagle.
“Why did you not abandon me?” he asked. “I had gained the impression you despised me for withholding what I knew of the church’s raid.”
The raven’s head turned and he slid sideways a pace, the branch bouncing alarmingly beneath his clenching claws. He was unsure what worried him more, the height or her.
“Since my aunt changed you into this bird, you are now my responsibility, my lord. I take my duties to heart.”
Her words were surprising. If she spoke truly, then he had much in common with this witch – a creature the Church insisted was evil and destructive. He fluffed himself, finding that the action released some of the tension he’d built up.
All he had been taught about witches and his years of reading scholarly papers on the subject did not match what he had learnt from spending a few days in this protectress’s company.
“If you are not a magician, like Garth, then what are you?” He was curious to hear her version of reality. At her continued silence, he wondered if she would answer at all.
“Are you ready for another flight?” she asked instead.
He took several breaths and nodded. Now or never. Together, they leapt into the air, wings spread out.
How amazing! He didn’t plummet down as he’d half expected. He was grateful that she waited until he developed a comfortable rhythm.
“I am not like Garth,” she said. “Or yourself, my lord. I am not human.”
Braden’s heart sank. This time it was he who could not speak, for one word reverberated in his mind. Demon.
