Storm Warrior

Nainie had passed the necklace to her granddaughter with great love, and Morgan wasn’t going to fear it now. Besides, hadn’t Nainie known every household trick in the book and then some? She might have coated it with something, dipped it in a substance that prevented it from tarnishing, polished it with some old-fashioned Welsh remedy. Or maybe the piece wasn’t silver at all, maybe it was white gold or something even more valuable that didn’t darken as readily.

See? Morgan lectured herself. It’s all perfectly logical. Jay and Rhys have me spooked, and I’m just seeing things that aren’t there. I’m upset today and susceptible to this silly stuff. I just need to stick to reason.

And reason said that the necklace couldn’t possibly have any connection to the heavy chain-link collar that had been worn by the great black dog.

SEVENTEEN

Rhys strolled through the crowded fair with Leo. The little ellyll had come along as well, sporting a Blue Jays cap similar to Leo’s favored Mariners hat. No one could see Ranyon or his bright headgear unless he wanted them to, of course—and so far, that privilege was confined to Leo and Rhys. And to Spike, of course, but the old terrier had been left at home in blissful peace and quiet.

A wise decision, thought Rhys. The fair was bustling with horses and wagons, chickens and cows, entertainers and buskers, while sellers jostled to hawk their wares. It was loud and boisterous—the sounds far different than the mechanical ones that emanated from the city where Leo’s house and Morgan’s clinic stood. Crowds of people laughed and talked, dressed in vivid colors, while flags and pennants waved high above it all. It put Rhys in mind of a great trading market in Moridunum he’d been to as a small boy —with one outstanding difference.

It was clean.

Even with all the people and livestock, the smell in the air was mostly of baked breads and simmering stews and roasting pig. That’s because this was a temporary city, a bright mirror image of what life might have been like in a former age. Jay had explained it to Rhys as a way to keep traditions alive. Rhys could understand tradition, but he puzzled at the playfulness of it all, at the sheer enjoyment exuded by the participants. Why pretend not to have cars when you had them? Why play at swordsmanship when people carried guns? Perhaps modern people tired of their toys and their inventions. Perhaps the so-called civilized world was a great noisy burden beneath all its wonders, and it was a relief to let go of it for a while. That he could understand. And he had to admit that the fair was a place where he understood the rules—most of them, anyway.

“Oh, now, here’s something you’ll like.” Leo pulled him over to a fire where a great side of beef was slowly rotating. A moment later, Rhys had his hands around an enormous hunk of meat, and the juices dribbled down his chin. His friend opted for a slightly smaller slice folded inside a slab of bread the size of a dinner plate, and a similar one hid most of Ranyon’s head. The three of them grinned at one another like small boys. “I swear food tastes better when you can throw manners out the window,” said Leo, with his mouth full.

“Aye,” said Rhys and Ranyon together. They relished every bite as they watched a troupe of jugglers. Afterward, the threesome licked their fingers and wiped their faces on their sleeves, then washed their food down with ale at another booth. It was weak as water compared with the brews Rhys remembered, but it was refreshing nonetheless. Besides, he wanted a clear head for the events. Mightily satisfied, they made their way along the shops in the direction of the viewing stands.

Rhys examined a fine black leather bridle. It would have to be larger for a ceffyl the size of Lucy, of course, but the color would look fine against her dapple-gray coat. He turned to see Leo searching for Ranyon.

“He was right here a second ago,” said the old man. “Oh, wait a sec. He’s down there.”

Rhys had to look twice but finally spotted the ellyll half-hidden beneath a stand of brilliantly colored T-shirts, rapturously fingering them one by one.

“I guess he likes them,” whispered Leo. “But he probably doesn’t have any money. Will it insult him if I offer to buy him one? Or can he just conjure up the cash on his own?”

“Nay. The fae are powerful, but magic cannot create something from nothing, nor can it change the essential nature of a being.”

“Wait a sec, aren’t you the guy that got turned into a dog?”

“What is a human but a type of animal? A man has blood and bone and hair and teeth. The Tylwyth Teg had only to change my shape.”

Leo’s eyebrows nearly met his hairline. “So they could make you into a mammal—but not a bird or a frog?”

“Aye, that’s the way of it. They can’t make a cow out of a cabbage, nor a fish from the air. So Ranyon can conjure neither coin nor shirt,” said Rhys.

“Well, it’s probably not an issue for him. I imagine if he really wants something, he can just make it disappear and walk away with it.”

Rhys shook his head. “Never. The fae are many things, but not thieves. Most of them could kill you without a second thought, but they will never steal your belongings.”

“Great. Honor among the homicidal.”

“Some have genuine honor, like Ranyon’s people. For the rest, it’s pure pride. The Tylwyth Teg will never admit they need anything from mere humans. They borrow instead, and only from strangers. When they take something, it’s a point of pride to return it to its original place by dawn of the next day. The Law of Benthyg requires it, but they would do so without such a law.”

“So if they wanted to read a book, they’d just take it for the night and put it back the next day. I might not even know it had been missing?”

Rhys snorted. “You would likely know at once. Time doesn’t move the same way in the faery realm. The book will reappear in its rightful place at its rightful human time—but months, even years, may have passed while it was in fae hands. Plus, the Fair Ones tend to wring as much use as they can from a thing before they must return it. A book may be missing pages, the cover torn and dirty, as if you or I had read it a thousand times. But the Law allows for such usage.”

“I’ll just be keeping those horseshoes over my doors.”

Leo bought Ranyon a bright-blue souvenir T-shirt, telling the vendor that the child-size item was for his grandson. It was likely the only modern item for sale in the whole of the market, and it pleased the ellyll tremendously.

Ranyon tried to wrestle the shirt on the moment they were away from the booth, but it didn’t work well with his Jays cap still on his head. Rhys patiently untangled him as Leo held the hat and chuckled. “Actually, my grandson is in his thirties. I don’t think this would even fit any of the great-grandkids. Fits you pretty good, though.” He handed the hat back to Ranyon. “Goes with those Blue Jays colors too.”

“It fair fits me fine,” said Ranyon, smoothing it over the leaves that covered him. “’Tis a gwych color. My thanks to ya, my friend. You’ve a generous heart in ya.”

Rhys smiled to himself as his friends walked ahead of him hand in hand. He knew that not only was Ranyon invisible to the rest of the crowd but, like the hat, the shirt had vanished from mortal sight as soon as the ellyll put it on—at least to most eyes. Not Morgan’s, however. Ranyon had mentioned that, had it not been for one of his famous charms, she would have seen him at the last few practices at the farm. “Most mortals can’t see me because I belong to a different realm. But some can, and glad I am that I had this with me. I felt power leave it and I turned around to see your lady.”

The ellyll had said nothing more at the time, and Rhys hadn’t brought it up. He knew full well why Morgan had the sight, as his people had called it. By the admission of the Fair Ones themselves, there was a trickle of fae blood in her veins. Thanks be to all the gods that she didn’t wander where the dead bwgan lay in her field. Rhys could not have hidden it from her. And rather than support his case for the existence of faeries, he would likely have been blamed for it somehow. He sighed. Morgan Edwards was proving to be an