Into Brocéliande (Blood of the Fae Book 2) Read online

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  This book is copyright. No part may be reproduced without permission from the author, except for fair use permitted under the Copyright Act. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental except for the people who volunteered their names as stated in the acknowledgements in the back of the book.

  Cover Art by Christian Bentulan © A.J. Ponder 2022

  Phantom Feather Press Logo © Geoff Popham, 2014

  Thank you to Chloe Write and Lee Murray for sponsoring the Wright-Murray Residency for Speculative Fiction where I developed this series. And thank you to all my readers, and the generous people who have helped to develop this manuscript, Charlotte Jardine, Denika Mead, Eileen Mueller, Richard Ponder, and all my heroic volunteers, Phil Sirvid, Schuyler Corson and Craig Harder.

  Wellington 6021, New Zealand

  [email protected]

  Dedication

  To my writing accomplices.

  Charlotte Jardine, Eileen Mueller, Denika Mead and Peter Friend for all your help and support.

  And a special thank you to multi-Bram Stoker award winning Lee Murray for believing in me and making this book possible

  Map of Brocéliande

  Contents

  Dedication

  Map of Brocéliande

  Contents

  Skin Walker

  Secret Memories

  Bottled Memories

  Discovery

  The Society

  Old Path: New Hope

  Themis Worshipper

  What Gran and Grandad Have Been Up To

  Demon Dreams

  Opportunity

  Infatuation

  Flowers and Wolves

  The Secret Room

  Dinner

  Burcham, Steadfast and Silvertongue

  Doors

  Are You Ready?

  Flying straw

  Potions

  Mission Impossible

  Breaking

  Paths

  Honey-Trap

  Salt-Spray Pre-Seasoned Snacks

  The Great Library

  Processed by Demons

  Thief

  Death Stalks

  Hot Water

  The Demon Mines

  Fall

  Demons on the Rooftop

  Tears

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by A.J. Ponder

  Quest

  Skin Walker

  Thursday 21 August 1952

  Lettie sighed. 82 days, 11 hours and 57 minutes to go until Ruby officially turns 21 and my exile is over.

  Every moment I’m stuck in this world, I regret that I didn’t run from Queen Persephone long before I was exiled. My changeling, Nada, and I could have joined the elderfae in the deep, dark forest. We could have searched for the fairy godmothers. At a pinch, we could have explored Brocéliande. Even that would be better than Earth. Here, I feel as if I’ll turn into an autumn leaf and blow away.

  My heart aches. I want my changeling back. Ruby is no substitute. Although she was an adorable child, she is human. And humans not only sundered my world, but they peck away at it like magpies.

  Every day I wonder how my changeling is…no I mustn't think of Nada as a changeling—Nada is fae. And fae will have grown. Mastered elegant form and faery form, become someone amazing.

  The fairy godmothers will have looked after Nada and spoilt faer with balls and dresses and parties.

  And I am not there to see it.

  I am here. Where the wind brings not the scent of leaves, but the stench of smoke, tarmac, and death.

  §

  Ruby wiped a cloth over the last expanse of library shelving and shoved the books into place. All the returns were shelved and standing at attention for tomorrow.

  “All done,” Ruby said, trying to ignore her tiny fairy godmother, Lettie, fluttering around her head in one of her graceful blue ball gowns.

  “Thank Chronos.” Lettie sighed dramatically. “It’s five thirty. Let’s go.”

  “You okay?” Ruby asked, and stopped as the head librarian rushed from the office. The woman gave Ruby a sharp glance. “Just make sure the doors are locked when you leave.” She hitched her purse over her shoulder and sped out the door.

  “Sure thing.” Ruby grabbed Agatha Christie’s newish book, They Came to Baghdad and settled in.

  Lettie sighed. “Don’t tell me you’re going to sit around and read. I’ve been waiting for you for hours.”

  “Might as well. Pearl’s been kept late to cover the afternoon shift. We’ll pick her up at seven.”

  Lettie reached for a blue flower-shaped flask hidden in her dress. She tipped it back, then peered into the murky blue depths. “Worse luck,” Lettie muttered.

  §

  Pearl hurried out the hospital doors, thankful to be out in the fresh air and away from the funk of antiseptic and illness.

  “Hey Pearl,” Arthur Faulkner said. The dark-haired athlete drew away from his brother and sister and strode up to Pearl. “You ready?” He flashed his magnetic smile. He looked rather dashing, as always, in his Teddy boy jacket.

  She nodded. In truth, she wished she’d changed out of her nurse’s uniform for the Faulkner’s Literary Society meeting, but then Ruby would have twigged. It wasn’t worth the stress. Not when Gran and Grandad were always warning them away from the Faulkners. Gran would wag her finger and say, “You know that the Faulkners and their Society are the reason your parents went missing.”

  And that was exactly why Pearl needed to go and see what The Literary Society was all about. Also, there was the fact that Arthur was gorgeous. Arthur’s dark eyes were the perfect complement to his chiseled features. And he was tall. At least 6 feet. Pearl’s chest tightened. I wasn’t swooning over him like Ruby said. But there’s no denying he has looks.

  Pearl tried to think of something suitably witty to say to Arthur. Nothing. If I’m not careful, I’ll put my foot in my mouth. She tugged her nurse’s uniform. “It’s been a long day.” Damn, but his grin was infectious. She found herself smiling back.

  Hazel and Tailor caught up, Hazel looking stunning in her green shirt-waist dress that brought out the green-gold in her eyes.

  “We should get moving, or we’ll be late,” Tailor said. “It’s going to be so much fun having you along,” he continued, as if he was the one who’d asked her to the society meeting.

  If he had, would I have accepted? Pearl smiled politely. “So, tell me more about this literary society,” she asked. “I thought Arthur was more into football and fencing, not books.”

  “You’re about to find out,” Hazel said. “Though today is more of a lecture.”

  Tailor nodded. “When you know what we really do, you can decide what to tell your grandparents.”

  Pearl flinched. “Why do you think there’s a problem?” She scurried to keep up with their long strides.

  “Ah, I guess they always seemed really strict,” Tailor replied, jumping up onto the low stone wall that ran along the outside of the university.

  Arthur lengthened his stride. “Come on, we don’t want to be late.”

  Hazel ran along the echoey corridor beside him. “Last one there’s a rotten egg.”

  “How old are you?” Arthur asked, sprinting to catch up to her.

  Pearl followed suit and Tailor grinned, matching Pearl step for step as they raced after the others.

  Arthur stopped at a door and Hazel put he
r finger to her lips. Together, they all crept into the lecture theatre and founds seats at the back.

  “The thing with fairy tales,” Prof Brian Faulkner was saying, “is it’s not so much the truths they hold. It’s the possibilities they unfold and the limits they create. Don’t think of…” he trailed off, glancing at Pearl with a slight nod. “…the world of fairy tales as static, but as a living, breathing place of interconnected mythology.”

  “Look, Mum’s here,” Tailor whispered, pointing at Alice Faulkner. She was talking to an old gentleman leaning forward on a chair, a white cane planted in front of him. The old gentleman glanced back, his eyes shielded by dark glasses.

  “That’s odd,” Hazel said. “Mum hates these meetings. Complains that Dad treats everyone like students at a lecture.”

  “And who’s she with?” Tailor whispered.

  “I don’t think it matters,” Hazel replied as the old man stood and made his way back down the corridor. “Looks like he’s off, anyway.”

  Pearl’s skin crawled as he strode past with an unexpectedly fluid grace and slipped out the door without hesitating or using his cane once.

  “He was odd,” she said.

  Arthur nodded and placed an arm around Pearl’s shoulder. He smelled so good, like spice and sunlit apples.

  “Now, where was I?” Prof continued. “The story of Snow White and Rose Red. Traditionally, it’s the story of two well-behaved girls who live happily ever after.” He opened a huge gold-bound book with the title Hidden Tales embossed on the cover and started reading the tale Pearl knew so well.

  Pearl’s eyes slipped closed. It had been a long day.

  §

  Ruby raced up to the hospital carpark, late as usual. The only car here was a beat-up old Cadillac. She pulled in and parked three spaces over from it.

  “Where’s Pearl?” Lettie asked, from her favourite spot on Ruby’s shoulder. “I need to get home and have a drink.

  But there was no sign of Pearl. She should be waiting on the park bench, under the wrought metal electric lights. Or at least, making her way there. The gardens on the other side of the carpark were filled with long shadows, the heady scent of late summer roses and freshly cut grass. Whatever could be keeping her?

  Ruby hopped out of the car. “Pearl!?”

  Something rustled in the bushes.

  “Pearl. It’s not funny.” Ruby peered into the darkness.

  Lettie swiveled around on Ruby’s shoulder, her blue spider-silk dress shimmering in the lamplight. “Watch out!” she called.

  “Where?” Ruby asked the fae, spinning around and squinting into the darkness.

  “Here.” A silver-haired gentleman with a white walking cane and eyes like pools of midnight emerged from under a statue.

  He moved fast, stepping rather than running, malice emanating from his wiry frame. A pair of dark glasses was perched on the top of his head.

  Lettie fluttered up into the sky and Ruby stepped back.

  She considered getting into the car—but not with Pearl out there. “Stay away!” She pulled the back door open and fumbled for the fencing swords on the car seat as he loped closer. She could hear his breath. Smell his aftershave.

  The practice swords were right here.

  The moment felt like an hour. He was a stride away, his hands reaching out to grab her when she found the blade and training took over. She gripped the pommel and whipped around, cracking the metal down on his hand with a force hard enough to break a finger, or at least leave a serious welt.

  He didn’t even flinch. Pulling the sword from her grip with his left hand, his other hand wrapped around Ruby’s wrist.

  His stone-like grip crushing her wrist, he drew her closer and let her épée clang to the ground.

  “Wyrden! Skin demon, get away,” Lettie yelled, flying at the man.

  He smiled, ignoring Lettie and flashing sharp white teeth. “It’s time you returned, Ruby.”

  “Returned?” Ruby asked. Not that she cared what he meant. She only wanted to distract him. Where is Pearl?

  Ruby kicked him hard. Her toe flamed with pain, but the man seemed more bothered by Lettie as the wee fae zipped back and forth, barely beyond his grasp. “You shouldn’t be Earthside. Do King Hades and Queen Persephone even know you’re here?”

  “Pearl!” Ruby elbowed her attacker. It was like hitting steel. Electric pain zinged along the fragile bone, worse than pins and needles.

  “I’m just doing your job for you.” The man whipped out a hand to catch Lettie.

  She darted away. “My job?” she yelled. “My job was to raise a changeling, but faer was stolen away on a whim of Queen Persephone. Then, for my troubles, I was banished from FaerLand to mind this human. I’ll be sent to the Underworld before I lose Ruby. Leave. Her. Be!”

  Ruby struggled, battering this Wyrden skin demon person with her free hand. It was like hitting stone.

  “Come. Queen Persephone has been waiting for you.” He dragged Ruby along the gravel path through the park and toward the shadows of the forest behind.

  Ruby dug her feet in, trying to wrench herself from his grip. Fiery pain coursed through her arm. She screamed.

  “Foolish human,” he spat. He tossed Ruby over his shoulder. Stomach crushed, she gasped for breath.

  Lettie threw a last punch at his head and disappeared into the night.

  The demon moved fast. The dark forest loomed. Any second they’d be hidden under its branches, where no amount of screaming would bring help.

  Where could Lettie have possibly gone? And where’s Pearl?

  “Pearl!” Ruby yelled, battering the man’s back with her arms and kicking his rock-solid gut. “Help!” The forest soaked up the noise and the man, or skin walker, or whatever he was, strode on, slowly and steadily eating up the miles until they reached a tree with two trunks.

  Through the gap in the trunks, and illuminated by a silvery moon, the deep velvet green of the woods of Brocéliande enticed Ruby. Brocéliande? How do I know this place? When?

  The skin walker strode into the gap between the two trunks. Ruby almost willing him on past the barrier. There was something here she’d wanted to do. If only she could remember.

  Red-hot pain lanced through Ruby along with old, long-forgotten memories, as she smashed into an invisible barrier with a force that rattled her bones.

  She screamed.

  Secret Memories

  Ask me no secrets, I’ll tell you no lies—anon

  Monday 7 July 1947

  Young Ruby darted back, sweating under her heavy padding. Focus. She wanted to wipe the sweat from her eyes, but the bulky wire-mesh mask was a pain to get off and on again.

  Her sister, Pearl, closed in. Stronger and faster, Pearl used her strength to push Ruby’s defensive line.

  Arm aching from wielding the heavy wooden sword, Ruby shoved back, trying to gain control, sword against sword. I’m older than her. The oldest person in every class. And also the youngest, with nearly three years lost in FaerLand. Years that went by with her not aging a day. As Gran would say, a twelve-year-old with a fifteen-year-old birth certificate.

  Which made her too slow, too clumsy and too weak. I’m going to be stronger. Pushing as hard as she could, Ruby gritted her teeth, determined to gain control of Pearl’s sword.

  Pearl disengaged and thwacked a blow against Ruby’s bulky padding, doubling Ruby over. “Ow! That really hurt.”

  “Got you, again!” Pearl gloated, performing a pirouette on the grass, her heavy white padding and wire-mesh mask ruining the balletic effect of her swirling pinafore dress.

  “Damn.” Ruby collapsed to the grass, cradling her bruised gut. She wished she was one of the birds flitting between the trees that edged the garden and the rose beds along the back of the house. Or Lettie, who was out here somewhere, flying free.

  “Language,” Gran muttered.

  “I’m done. I’m dead. And I’ve had enough,” Ruby moaned.

  Pearl laughed, flicking back h
er ebony hair. “Quick, get up. There’s a spider.”

  Ruby’s vision contracted. Her heart felt as if it would burst. “Where!?” She sat up, clutching her arms, terrified. Visions of giant spiders swam before her eyes.

  “Just joking,” Pearl laughed.

  “That will do,” Gran snapped, her face grey as she pushed her horn-rimmed glasses up her nose. “You are not to mention spiders, understand, Pearl?”

  “But…”

  “No, buts.” She got up from her sturdy wooden outside table and chair set. Her safari outfit, stained faintly green and brown, scandalised the neighbours. According to them, grown women didn’t wear trousers. Or swords, even if they were really pretty, with soft silver and gold writing embedded into the blade.

  According to Gran, people whose husbands worked for the Secret Service could do what they liked—so long as they kept their secrets close. “Now, Pearl, you know what I said about turning your back on the enemy?”

  “And Pearl, watch,” Gran said. “I’m worried about that grip of yours. It’s a sword, not a club.”

  She moved Pearl’s fingers.

  Pearl scowled. “But it doesn’t work as well.”

  “Mark my words.” Gran tutted. “You’ll regret this nonsense later. And Ruby.” Gran looked down at Ruby. “You really shouldn’t have fallen for that play. Strength against strength is not the clever move, unless you know you’re the strongest person. And even then it can be dangerous. Step back a bit more, or step forward and use your leverage better. Keep nimble and…”

  Ruby lost focus as a flash of blue signalled the arrival of Lettie.

  “Miss me?” The tiny fae asked as she lazily circled around Gran’s head, her bluebell-inspired dress flashing in the sun.

  Gran frowned.

  Lettie mimicked Gran, waving a finger and whirling a make-believe sword in the air. “Hold it like this.” Her fingers twisted up against each other in crazy knots.

  Ruby stifled a laugh. The last thing she wanted to do was to explain to Gran that she was laughing at Lettie. That’d get the old girl’s knickers in a twist. Instead, she closed her eyes and listened to the birds chirping and Gran’s endless drone about attitude, language and giving everything your best shot. Always so serious. Like in the modern world, I’ll ever need to use a sword.