Black Wolf, Silver Fox

Chapter Four “Picket"

Chapter Four

“Picket"T

he spotted stallion reared his challenge to the wind and thundered down the sloping hills of Éire. He skirted around a small circle of stones and skidded to the bottom of a hill. With no effort, he topped another rise and stopped running.

He stood, unconsciously posing, and turned his gaze to the next hill. His nostrils flared, his back legs quivered, but he stood his ground. Someone was approaching. Their black cloaks billowed in the wind, the flapping sounds touching the horse’s delicate ears.

They were sorcerers, these travelers across the stallion’s domain. One was young, seeming almost too young to wear MacKegan’s mark on his cheek. The other was too old and leaned on his staff for support as he struggled to climb the grassy slope. The stallion dipped his head, snorted, and resolutely met them at the bottom of the hill. The three regarded each other silently.

"Cuiddal Cernach?" asked the old one. The horse shook his head and started to graze, a docile nag that never knew the freedom of the wild. He walked away a few steps from the old man, one eye watching him warily.

"No sense in trying to trick us," snorted the young one. "We know you're no normal horse. For one thing, a normal horse would not stand there grazing like an idiot."

"Silence, Aes," the old one snapped. “Fool.” The horse lifted his chin high while still chewing a bit of clover. His ears swiveled independently. "I don't suppose you would grace us with a little conversation, Cuiddal?"

The horse reared, then bucked. His sharp hooves came dangerously close to the young sorcerer’s nose, but the two watched this without flinching. Suddenly the horse stood on his hind legs, pawed the air, and the naked man stood before them.

His red hair was spotted with gray, even though the slightly hostile face that regarded them was youthful. Freckles covered his skin heavily, like fleas on a sick mongrel. He was clean-shaven, and he had a long nose. Only his eyes gave him away, for they remained equine and gleamed at the elves mischievously.

"Thunder, man!" Aes exclaimed. He discarded his cloak to place it around the pooka's shoulders. "At least have the decency to appear dressed!"

Cuiddal shook his head, scratched his shoulder where the freckles grouped into an hourglass shape, and settled into the cloak. His entire demeanor said he could care less if he was clothed or not. "'Tis my nature to change and not the fabric I wear," he said

"We did not come here to discuss the theories of lycanthropy," the old one muttered impatiently.

Aes looked properly reprimanded. "Cuiddal," he said, "Moirfenn needs you to come back to Fion."

If Cuiddal had still been a stallion, he would have challenged the sorcerers immediately. Instead he shook his head with a snort. "It was our bargain," he said, "that I would not be called upon again. If MacKegan wants my services, he must bring me to him." The set of his jaw indicated that such an act would be impossible, if not fatal.

"You mean, you would not be called upon while you were not in Moirfenn," the old one said. “MacKegan still holds a part of you, creature. Don’t forget that.”

"This is not Moirfenn," the pooka said with a whinnying laugh. "This is the mortal realm. And that part of me may not yet be free, but it is not a tether. Not here. Not in the mortal realm."

"Skagg," Aes said, turning to the other, "is this true?"

Skagg sighed heavily and scratched the earth with his staff. "I'm afraid so," he said. "It’s stone magic, young one, and a solid spell at that. When MacKegan captured this one with the Sight Stone, he was lucky to keep the creature as long as he did. I’m not sure how ‘twas only this little bargain that held him this long. That’s MacKegan’s secret." The horse-man rumbled something. “And yours, of course. Yours.”

Aes scratched his chin, musing. “Clever,” he said. “I thought the Sight Stone’s charm only worked a short while; a full cycle of the moon or some such. And you say this pooka has been MacKegan’s for time out of time? By something so simple as leave to go outside of Fion?”

“Aye,” Skagg said. “Geis, my boy. Something you’ve yet to learn about.”

Cuiddal grinned broadly. He knew he was safe from MacKegan while living in the green hills he now called home. MacKegan could very well renew that hated charm in Fion, but this was Éire... and few rules from across the veil applied here. The prolonged vassalage of Cuiddal was not one of them.

"Then," said Aes somberly, "I'm sorry, Cuiddal."

His hand was too swift for the eye to catch, but Cuiddal thought it grabbed something from one of the sorcerer’s pouches. Something powdery and glittery hit him in the face. He sneezed, coughed, and tried to shake it off. His form wavered a moment and the man remained. Dizziness brought him to his knees.

"Let's hurry," Skagg said. The two sorcerers grabbed each of Cuiddal's arms and began to drag him. The old one's hands gripped Cuiddal's arm with surprising strength. The pooka's protest came out as a choked whinny.

They dragged Cuiddal to the small ring of stones, lay him down within, and spoke three words. The world dissolved around, then it reformed. Before the pooka knew it, he lay in the sparse grass of Fion. Already, he could feel the unwelcome chains of MacKegan’s curse settling over his hide. Cuiddal rolled to his knees.

"Welcome home," Aes said, helping Cuiddal to unsteady feet. He made a pass in front of Cuiddal's eyes, whispered a word, and stepped back. As the spell lifted, the pooka’s control returned. He aimed a glare at both of the sorcerers. In his equine form, his ears would have been flat against his head. Only one thing held him back from murdering these two, and that was MacKegan’s sudden awareness of his return. He could almost feel the ancient lord sit up suddenly in his throne and take notice. If Cuiddal acted against these two, MacKegan would punish him severely.

Geis and stone magic. The pooka clamped his teeth in displeasure.

"Now that you're here," Skagg said smugly, ignoring Cuiddal's blatant anger, "you should consider what Moirfenn has in mind for you."

As quickly as it had come, Cuiddal's anger vanished. He grinned, shifting his feet much in the way horses do when they’ve stood still for too long. "Fair enough," he said easily. He wore a disarming smile. "What is it this time?"

"For now," Skagg said, "you'll go to Nebhirrlos, the Sanctuary, and meet the others."

"The others? The others?" Cuiddal's face was blank. "What others?"

The sorcerers exchanged a glance. "He doesn't remember, yet," said Skagg. "He may need a guide."

Aes shook his head. "All he needs is a reminder." He reached into the little satchel again. His hand emerged covered with the sparkling dust.

Cuiddal backed away, half turning his back toward the young sorcerer. He nodded his head in alarm. "What is the dust for?" he demanded. "I'm here, wherever here is. In Fion. Moirfenn definitely. I will keep the bargain."

"It's not to harm you," Aes said. He blew the dust from his palm onto Cuiddal, who stood there and blinked stupidly. "It will help you remember, Picket."

The pooka was hit with a new wave of confusion, which he tried to brush off with the dust. His hands moved quickly, and he snorted. "I don't like this stuff. Makes you sneeze. Why did you call me Picket?" The pooka blinked. His hands slowed to a stop. The sorcerers grinned in spite of themselves.

"They called me Picket," Cuiddal said, answering his own question. "Picket is I."

"And who are they?" Aes asked dubiously. He crossed his arms and quirked a grin.

"The Priestess," said the pooka, "Eahn, Raori, and Duinn. The rest of the Five." His voice held a note of awe, as if he could not believe that he ever knew them. His snort broke the spell. "You say go to Nebhirrlos?"

Without waiting for an answer, Picket changed back into a horse. First, he snorted into Aes’ face. Then, he spurred away. A few pebbles scattered, striking Aes, in his rush. The stallion reared his challenge a few feet away from them before galloping north.

Skagg cackled while Aes brushed himself off. "He has good aim."

Aes was unperturbed. "I wish he had waited so we could tell him to get the last one on his way. Now we'll have to do it." He closed his satchel and then looked around. His brow furrowed. "He took my cloak, too."

***

Picket ran for the sheer joy of it. It was what he did best, and it was when pookas felt the most free. The hills passed quickly under his rumbling hooves. He jumped a fence, scattering the sheep within, and galloped to the other side of the field.

He stopped running and paced the fence a minute. It was a perfectly innocent structure. There were no protective wards placed along it. It was not too high, nor even painted to enhance it unnatural existence. Nothing about it should have caught the attention of any fairy, but it had caught Picket’s.

For a moment, it looked like he was going to forget about the fence and keep going. He pawed at the bottom railing indecisively, then he walked away. Stopping after five steps, he looked back at the fence.

He could not resist.

Running back, he jumped over it lightly, faced his hindquarters to it, and kicked. And kicked. When kicking got boring, he pranced. On their own, Boards flew off of the fence and landed randomly all over the field. When Picket grew tired of that, he carefully pawed the railing until that, too, fell apart.

When he was done, the sheep had scattered. Most stayed together in a clump that steadily grazed farther and farther away. Picket snorted, turned, and resumed his journey. He wanted to stay and watch the shepherd's reaction when the damage was discovered, but there was no time.

In the past, he would run a ley line and made it to Nebhirrlos in an hour. He could not remember why, but the prospect filled him with dread. One sentence lodged itself into his mind. Once, we were six.

A vast forest loomed in the distance. It started suddenly and was edged with hazel, hawthorn, and oak. Picket did not relish the idea of fighting his way through the primeval undergrowth. Fortunately, there was a small river that cut a straight path through it and beyond. So, he forded the river.

The currents were strong, but his atma – the all-source of magic – gave him strength to fight back. Fey creatures such as he were more atma than flesh, and the strength of their magic seemed boundless. It was Picket’s nature that gave him the seeming of a mortal body, that and MacKegan’s hold over his soul.

Once on the other side and on dry land, Picket shook himself dry (and free of that memory). He kicked in the river's general direction. Nothing happened, so he assumed the river god was away or ignoring him.

With no sport to be found along the river, he resumed his journey with double speed. He could be in Nebhirrlos in two days, provided he took no detours. He might even beat the others. But... what fun would that be? It had been a long time since he was home. One might as well make the most of it.

The trees thinned out as the terrain fell away to cultivated lands. Ploughed fields passed him by. He galloped by someone's house and was gone before the children knew what kicked their pigskin ball on to the roof. The cows lowed when he passed about a mile away and paused only to knock down another fence.

Darkness began to fall. He relished the night, but he had been running all day and was tired. He found a small clutch of oak trees of the road and used them as a makeshift stable. At first he tried sleeping in his man form, but it was uncomfortable and cold. The tree roots dug into his back, and the sorcerer’s cloak was a pitiful shield against the night air. Settling for four legs and a warm hide, he spent the night grazing in his sleep...

The Five had gathered beneath the full moon to discuss their future. It was weeks after they had proven themselves to the Lord of Moirfenn by burning the temple and ransacking the city. Raori was late, as always, but when he arrived he had someone with him.

Picket had excellent night sight, especially in his natural form. He grazed nearby, c*****g his ears to listen, and watched the pretty girl who shyly clung to Raori's arm. She would not need an hourglass on her shoulder if she joined their group, he decided. The shape of her body was hourglass enough.

"This is Leannahn," Raori said, giving her a slight push to present her. "She used to live in the temple with Aramina and myself."

Now, what's wrong with Aramina? Picket wondered. The werewolf sat to the side with her head lowered. Was she afraid, or did she feel threatened?

"I wanted to cheer," Leannahn said, "when the temple started burning. I hated it there."

"You're free now," Eahn said, puzzlement coloring his tone. "I'm glad for you. What would you want with us?"

"To join you," the young woman said. Her pointed chin trembled, but her eyes were steady. "I can be a big advantage."

"Oh?" Duinn leaned his burly frame forward. He was dwarven stock, an audacious breed, and did not trust easily. "What could you, a mere slip of girl, do for us? Can you cook?"

"Cook?" the woman demanded incredulously. She sniffed. "Does this one cook for you?" She gestured to Aramina. "Is that what she is to you? A cook?"

Raori looked uncomfortable, glancing sidelong as Aramina visibly bristled. "We take turns cooking."

"Except for Duinn," Aramina murmured. It was the first thing she had said all evening. "Dwarven fare is not very palatable."

"Say that," Duinn said, flashing a sharp grin, "in the field with sword in hand. My halberd and I could convince you that my cooking is worth eating."

"All right," Aramina said. She returned his grin. "Let's go. Maybe your halberd can tenderize the meat into chewable chunks, too."

"Wait," Eahn said. He blew through his nose noisily. "Be serious, you two. We haven't settled this matter with the girl yet."

Leannahn said, "I can do more than cook. I was about to take the Rite of Blue Passage before... the burning."

Admiration took the power of speech away from the others. Anyone qualified to take the Rite of Blue Passage were talented indeed. It was no wonder Aramina was not comfortable with this strange girl in their midst. Picket lifted his head and nuzzled Aramina in the ear. He nickered.

"Picket likes her," Aramina translated grudgingly. "That's one vote to her favor."

"And me," Raori said. His sly glance in Aramina’s direction hinted that Leannahn was not there to enhance the group in any way. His affair with Aramina, lately peppered with disinterest on her part, had been a continuing drama for a year now. If Picket were any judge of men – and he was, but a terrible one – then Leannahn’s pretty looks were at the heart of the matter.

Aramina refused even to look Leannahn’s way. Picket could safely bet Raori’s ploy had failed. Or perhaps it had worked, but not the way Raori would have preferred.

Duinn grunted. He never voted for anything. That was for people who liked responsibility, he always said. All eyes turned to Eahn.

"Very well," he said slowly. "She can travel with us to Moirfenn, and we'll ask the lord. If she proves herself along the way it will be easier."

Leannahn broke into a happy grin. "I will," she promised. "You will be very surprised at what I can do."