Seawater was pooling around the rocks as the tide drew in. She walked through the ankle deep water and clambered onto the rock, dropping the twigs of lightning oak at her feet. In the moonlight, she saw worry flicker across Donnan’s face.
“Look,” he said. Kaetha turned. Wind blew hard against her face as she looked up at the moon, the same wind which was blowing away the storm. Shimmering in the sky were dancing trails of green and golden red which twisted, vanished and soared, ebbing and flickering. “Some say they’re spirits of the dead,” continued Donnan. “First the storm, then this. I can’t help but think they’re warnings. Perhaps you shouldn’t do this.”
Kaetha stared, transfixed by the lights. “Not warnings,” she said, “signs. I needed the storm for the lightning oak and now we see the great lights. Edonians would call them the Merry Dancers. I don’t believe they’re spirits of the dead but there is magic in them, of that I’m sure. They pass from the invisible world into the visible. What if they’re a sign that the Baukan will do the same?”
“Have you thought that there might be a reason that creature is trapped there? What if it’s dangerous?”
“And what if it’s been suffering there from another’s cruelty? You know as well as I do that there’s more cruelty in the world than justice. I don’t believe this creature deserved whatever happened to it. It deserves freedom, as we all do.”
“You’re not going to change your mind.” It wasn’t a question.
“Be lookout for me?”
“Be careful, Kit,” he said, fading into the shadow of the rocks.
She scattered the oak around the Baukan rock. The power of the lightning would be deeply buried in the wood and she knew it would be hard to draw it out. Ordinary fire wouldn’t release the lightning from it but perhaps her conjured Fire magic could.
Looking at the water surrounding her, she thought back to a tale Gwyn had told her long ago about an ancient Edonian ritual, the lighting of the Need-Fire. When a village had suffered greatly from disease, the healer commanded all fires to be extinguished, then he had taken a boat out to a small, uninhabited island. There he lit a fire which, being born surrounded by water, was a new, pure flame which had the power to cleanse the land of its diseases if it was carried to every hearth. So the story went – whether it was true or not. But the story spoke of the power of the sea and thrilled her with an idea which she desperately hoped would work.
Opening the iron box, she retrieved the elf-shot, her cloak covering her hand, and placed it at the foot of the Baukan rock, against the ring of oak shards. She did not plan to draw the Fire from her own strength this time; she didn’t think she had enough. She closed her eyes, stretching one arm towards the sea, one towards the rock, listening to the breathing of the water in its rising and falling of waves, filling her mind with thoughts of its power – pure, raw, destructive and life-giving. Sea release your strength, she thought. Sea release your strength.
Water crashed, hitting her with cold spray. She tasted salt. The sea stormed around her, its energy thrumming through the air around her. Her fingers which pointed towards the sea prickled, growing hotter. Her arm shook as ribbons of heat threaded through her, down her other arm which now trembled too.
With a rush, the water sank back into calmness and Kaetha dropped to her knees, laughing in amazement. The rock was surrounded by white flames. They flickered, stretching high, singing with power. With her Air magic, she sent her thoughts to flame and elf-shot, with her Fire magic, she willed the Baukan to be free. Fire with the power of the storm, release the living from the lifeless rock. In the sight of the sky’s Merry Dancers, let the Fiadhain pass from its prison to freedom. White light danced across the glassy surface of the elf-shot. In you is the power of the Fiadhain. Work with the fire. Destroy the prison; free the one who is trapped.
The rock beneath her quaked and she was glad that she was already kneeling, otherwise she might have fallen. Rumbling mounted like the unfurling of thunder and a crack rent the air, echoing against the rocky cliffs. In the split second before the flames went out, Kaetha saw the black split running up through the rock from the tip of the elf-shot, jagged as a bolt of lightning.
Then the air was still and all was quiet, but for the pieces of rock which crumbled away. Kaetha didn’t see the figure emerge but she felt the shifting of air as it loomed before her and the prickling which traced the back of her neck.
She blinked, gradually adjusting to the darkness. The figure was like that of a man. He bent down to pick something up.
“Don’t!” said Kaetha. “It’s elf-shot. It’ll kill you if you touch it.”
He straightened up again. “It would seem not.”
SIXTEEN
Unanswered Questions
A rapid crunching of pebbles announced Donnan’s return.
“Kit! Are you alright?”
Streaks and blotches were still imprinted in her vision but Kaetha could now see how the moonlight glanced over the rugged contours of the stranger’s face, glinted in his dark, deep set eyes, hinted at a tousle of thick, dark hair. She took a step back when she noticed the scars. They cut across his face, disfiguring a cheek, a brow, the edge of an eye, a lip.
Donnan’s hand found her arm as he clambered up to stand beside her.
“Don’t be afraid,” came the stranger’s gravelly voice. “I won’t hurt you.”
“You’re a Baukan, aren’t you?” She was struck by how much more human his voice sounded
