In the Witching Hour Read online

  The knife glinted in the bright sunlight, flashing downward. Pain ripped through her, a pain like nothing she’d known. Blood spurted from her chest and soaked the ground. She writhed in agony and….

  “Briana!”

  Someone shook her shoulder, and she jerked awake, staring around her.

  Weylyn crouched down beside her. “You were having a nightmare, crying out in your sleep. Want to talk about it?”

  She shook her head. “No.” Too soon, the nightmare would come true, and Weylyn an accomplice to her death.

  “Very well.” He pressed a hand to her shoulder and went back to the mare, turning away from her.

  Briana lay awake, her arm across her forehead, and stared up at the dark, cloudless sky, through the haze that drifted among the trees. Her ankle throbbed, another hindrance to sleep. Earlier in the night, after Weylyn had fallen asleep, she’d managed to relieve herself with much awkward maneuvering, and reminded herself to drink less water. She’d slept intermittently after that, too afraid to think of what would happen when they returned to the village and Samhain arrived. Gods, she prayed, save me from death by stabbing.

  She looked toward Weylyn as he lay next to his horse, and even through the mist, she saw his scabbard on the ground. He was never without his weapon, he, the best swordsman in the village, who hadn’t lost a match in over five years. She wondered how old he was now—twenty-three, twenty-four? She smiled grimly, for what did age matter? He was taking her back to her death.

  She raised herself on her elbows as optimism burst within her. If she could rise, she could steal his sword and slip away. She could disappear among the trees, go into the farthest reaches of the forest where he would never discover her. There was a cave close by, if only she could find it. Lying sideways, she tried to rise, but pain shot through her from her ankle all the way up to her leg. Fighting her tears, she cursed with frustration. She remained as helpless as an invalid. The hours passed, and she dozed the rest of the night.

  She awoke, stiff and sore, unsure of the time, for the fog still veiled the woods, with no sun in sight.

  Weylyn sat up and looked her way, then stared around him. “Fog’s still with us,” he said unnecessarily. “Let’s eat quickly and be on our way.”

  The horse trotted over to the stream and trotted back to Weylyn. The mare snorted, as if to say, let’s go.

  With no time to waste, they finished their breakfast, sharing the food they had brought. Briana drank from the stream, aware that the food and water must last for days, for they must continue, must reach Lochlann before Samhain.

  Samhain. Pure terror sent shivers along her arms and down her back as her mind grappled with the prospect that she must die a horrible death. She could not bear it. Could not. But she must. Gods, give me strength. Help me to bear the coming ordeal.

  Weylyn bridled and saddled the horse, tightening the girth, then gathered all their things

  together. He approached her, looking sympathetic, as if he could perceive her fright. Did he have any idea of the fear that drove every thought from her mind? Didn’t he realize her whole body trembled with terror, with only the thought of the fate that awaited her?

  He knelt beside her. “Briana, we must be on our way.”

  “Yes.” She wrapped her arms around his neck to make it easier for him to lift her. After picking her up, he walked over to the horse, the mare munching placidly on the fern. Carefully, he set her on the horse and brushed his hand over hers. She jerked her hand back, not wanting his sympathy or his touch. This was the man who was returning her to a cruel death.

  Sighing, he nodded, as though he understood her dread.

  They clambered down the rock-strewn slope as the fog drifted among the trees, first thinning then thickening, like clouds floating in the sky. Hours passed and they lost track of time, neither speaking. The fog was dense, until they couldn’t even see their hands in front of them.

  Weylyn cursed. “Can’t see a damned thing. No point in going on. We’ll only get lost.” He turned his head in every direction, looking for another place to stop, but they couldn’t see a thing.

  “Stop here.” Next to a hemlock, he slid off the horse and reached for her, setting her carefully on the ground. It seemed to her as if this had become the pattern for countless days, this stopping and continuing, but she realized it was only her fear that made it seem so.

  “Have to wait here,” he said, “and hope the fog clears.”

  Briana rested on the cold ground, every muscle tense. If she dreaded the sacrifice, she feared Samhain even more. If they didn’t reach the village by then, if they were caught in the open on Samhain eve…. She pressed her hand to her head and prayed to all the gods she could name to protect them, to enable them to reach Lochlann in time. Even if Weylyn disregarded his mission and escaped to Magh Mell with her, they would still not make it in time, for most of the way consisted of a forest that stretched for miles, with villages only on the outskirts of the city.

  Weylyn paced the ground, slapping his hands together, his booted feet reverberating on the ground. Was it night or day, she wondered as she watched him, having lost all sense of time. If they left now, they could easily gain the village in time, but she saw no way they could travel, not with this pewter sky that hid everything. With desultory effort, they ate the food and drank from the stream, while the horse munched on fern and grass. Now and then they spoke, but no more than necessary. Briana realized that Weylyn’s fear equaled hers, though of course, he would never admit it. Gods, what would they do if they didn’t gain the village in time? The demons would find them, alone and unprotected, no match for the minions of the Otherworld.

  Night came again, the fog as thick as ever, and Briana’s terror so great she daren’t express it, as though, by her silence, her fears would not come to pass. As they had on the previous night, they settled down on the cold ground, and she knew Weylyn’s sleep would be as restless as hers, if he slept at all.

  When morning came, she saw a slight lifting of the haze, so that they could at least see the trail. After a few bites to eat, they started out again, Briana with a sense of fate. Death was fast approaching.

  No! She didn’t want to go back, could not bear to sacrifice her life, could not bear to see Weylyn—and Enid, dear Enid—to witness her death. She bit her lip so hard it bled, clenching her fists so tight the nails bit into her skin. Her stomach muscles tightened, and she swallowed convulsively, fearful she would vomit.

  In spite of herself, she looked Weylyn’s way. His face held an expression of grim acceptance, and she wondered what went through his mind.

  “Briana,” he began, “I don’t know how to say it—”

  “Then don’t.”

  “But I must. Surely, my dear one, you know I would give the world—would give my life—to spare you.”

  “Yet you came after me, sought me out by the druids’ order. You could have made a pretense of looking for me, then returned to them empty-handed. But no, that’s not your way. Weylyn, the enforcer, never shirks his duty, never spares any effort to please the druids, the man who—”

  “Enough! We can’t thwart the will of the gods. That’s all there is to it.”

  “I don’t give a damn about the gods!” Sobbing, she pressed her fist to her mouth. “Forget I said that. I didn’t mean it. There’s no more to discuss.” She took a deep breath. “I’ll give you no more trouble, nor utter another word about the sacrifice. There! That should make you happy. I shall accept my fate and go willingly to my death.” If only she could! She must draw from an inner strength, must convince herself she was serving the gods and saving her people.

  He leaned closer to press his lips to her neck but said no more. She loved the touch of his lips, but sudden shame filled her, for this man was her enemy.

  The scent of pines blew their way, a pale sun trying to light their path, yet vision remained difficult. Weylyn restrained the mare to a walk. She felt a difference in the air, a moistening, a heaviness.r />
  “No, not again!” Weylyn’s body tensed behind her, his voice low and urgent. The fog was thickening again. They had miles to cover before they reached Lochlann.

  By all that was holy! Briana wanted to weep. It was her fault for damning the gods. Surely Weylyn silently cursed her. Only a miracle would get them back in time.

  Torn between fear of the sacrifice and terror of Samhain, she clenched every muscle, her heart beating so fast she feared it would burst from her chest.

  Weylyn slowed the mare further, for the trail was uneven, the ground so rocky with treacherous tree roots, they dared not hasten. “We’ll get back in time,” he said, but she knew he spoke with false conviction, whether for his assurance or hers, she didn’t know. Perhaps both.

  The time went on, and as night fell, the fog lifted again, the first faint stars penetrating the dark.

  The following day became a repeat of the previous one, the fog thickening again.

  Gods, no! Today was Samhain! They’d never get back in time!

  They plodded on and Weylyn’s face held an expression of grim determination. But she knew the demons would find them tonight.

  Darkness fell. No! She grabbed his arm. “Weylyn—”

  “Don’t say it. There is a sacred circle nearby. We shall take refuge there, for ‘tis said the stones will grant us protection. And the sacrifice….” He shook his head. Was he happy they would arrive too late for the sacrifice—through no fault of his—or did he feel remorse that he had failed the druids, no matter how great his effort?

  “Soon, Briana, soon we shall reach the circle of stones.”

  The fog was dense and moisture dripped from the trees. She clenched her hands and looked in all directions.

  He pointed ahead. “There! I see it. We’ll make it to the circle in time.” Past thick strands of evergreens, they reached the circle of stones, set on a grassy, level plot of land. He dismounted and lifted her down carefully, so she could lean against the stones. “See, I told you—”

  Screams and howls rent the air, screeches and the heavy thud of feet. The earth shook, the screams getting closer.

  “Weylyn!” Forgetting her ankle, forgetting everything but her horror, she clung to him.

  The horse bolted, rushing off into the night.

  “Epona!” Weylyn shook his head. “No time to lose!” He picked her up and set her across the stones, then stepped over them.

  Strange creatures moved among the trees, bright eyes shining in the dark. A monster approached them, closer, closer. No! Gods, no! Briana screamed.

  “Weylyn, please, what are we going to do!” She held Weylyn fast, her heart pounding with fear, with horror, with a terror greater than any she’d known. His heart thudded next to hers as he pressed her body to his.

  No, no, no!

  The demon neared them, its eyes gleaming with intensity. The stench of rotten meat fouled the air, and it grunted as it moved with slow, plodding steps. Shorter than they, it had a solid build, its squat body covered with fur. Saliva dripped from its mouth. Razor-sharp teeth glittered as it opened and closed its thick lips.

  “Stay behind me, Briana!” Weylyn threw off his cloak and drew his sword from the scabbard. The demon breached the space between them, only feet away. It grunted as it moved, swaying with each step.

  Faint with fright, Briana threw off her cloak and tugged at one of the stones to hurl it at the demon, but they were too big for her to dislodge. She glanced up. “Weylyn, look!” Another brute menaced them, then another and another.

  Weylyn’s head turned from left to right, his body flexed to fight. How could he defeat them? The demons would get them, devour them. Gods, save us!

  The earth shifted beneath them. Briana pressed her hand to her mouth, stifling a scream.

  “Briana, hold onto me!” They moved back together, the monster still advancing. No matter how they moved, the ground shifted, then gave way.

  “What? What?” Briana screamed again. She clung to him as they plunged down, down, down, until she thought they would fall forever. They finally stopped, and in spite of her sore ankle, she felt as if she’d landed on feathers.

  “Well, now.” A feminine voice greeted them. “We have company. How nice! We don’t get visitors often.”

  PART III: Interlude

  Where were they? Clasping Briana’s hand, Weylyn looked around from one end of the vast room to another. A palace! Several people sat at the longest oaken table he’d ever seen, and smiled at him and Briana. He and Briana had obviously landed in a dining room, a room so far outside his experience he was at a loss for words. He stared at the men and women, perhaps twelve in number. Their silvery, gossamer wings glittered by the bright sunlight that shone through the window. Fairies! Gold-rimmed dinner plates rested at every place, and crystal wine glasses sat on a lace tablecloth.

  He looked toward the window again. Sunlight! Blue sky and trees! But it was nighttime when they’d left the circle of stones. And they were belowground. Off in the distance, cows grazed in the fields. He remained speechless, his mind unable to take it all in. He exchanged glances with Briana, her face reflecting his own amazement.

  A woman with gold hair at the head of the table clapped her hands. She wore a gown of white silk with large red dots. Red stones—rubies? he wondered—glittered from her neck, ears, and wrist. “Come, come, don’t be shy. Welcome to Donoria. We love to have humans here, and we don’t get visitors very often.” She indicated the table. “Just in time for dinner.” She clapped her hands again. “Bronwen, bring two more plates for our guests.”

  “Yes, madam.” Another fairy in a simple gray dress left the room.

  The golden-haired woman nodded toward Weylyn’s sword. “Young man, is that weapon necessary?”

  He looked at the sword as if he’d never seen it before, then unbuckled his belt and removed the sword and scabbard, setting them on the floor, and then buckled his belt on again.

  “Good. Your sword will be returned to you later.”

  After several tries, Weylyn spoke. “Madam, please tell us what has happened here. We are apparently in a fairy kingdom, but how did this happen?”

  The golden-haired woman giggled, the others joining in the laughter. Weylyn wondered what caused such jollity. “We don’t have a king, so we call this a queendom. And don’t you know that the circle of stones is a portal that leads to our world?”

  “I’ve always heard that.” Briana squeezed his hand, whether from fright or awe, he didn’t know. “But I never imagined it was true.”

  “Well, of course, it’s true. You’re here, aren’t you? But I’m forgetting my manners,” she said as the servant Bronwen appeared and placed two more steaming platefuls of food on the table. The woman touched her chest. “I’m Queen Cinnie, and I would gladly introduce you to the others, but I fear you would never remember their names.” The guests all nodded and smiled in acknowledgement.

  Weylyn wrapped his arm around Briana’s waist. “This is Briana and I’m Weylyn.”

  “Well, Briana and Weylyn, sit down, please, and join us for the mid-day meal.”

  He hesitated, still overcome with shock.

  “Come now,” the queen said. “Sit down and eat. I assure the food is not poisoned.”

  “I never thought that.” Weylyn made a slight bow. “My apologies, madam, for interrupting your meal. We accept your offer with pleasure.” Now that they stood on a hard, marble floor, he noticed that Briana still limped. He led her to the chair the queen indicated and sat down beside her. He picked up a gold-plated fork—or was it solid gold?—and dipped it into a tempting mélange of potatoes, broccoli, and carrots in a rich cream sauce, seasoned with thyme and sprinkled with parsley. Ah, delicious, and he hadn’t realized how hungry he was. When was the last time he’d eaten a truly satisfying meal? Not since he’d left Lochlann. He reached for his wine glass and sipped the white wine. Wonderful!

  Conversation ensued around the table, talk about a reception to be held for the king of
another fairy country. Weylyn missed the name of the king and the country, too overwhelmed to even think well. Now that he had a chance to glance around, he counted six men and their women, besides him and Briana. All were richly dressed in silks and velvets of vibrant colors, gemstone rings flashing on their fingers, the women adorned in gold and jeweled necklaces and bracelets. Their gossamer wings fluttered as they talked, the movement matching the degree of their enthusiasm.

  Fork poised in midair, he observed something for the first time—all of them looked young, no older than Briana or he, and no wrinkles among them. No blemishes or disfigurement marred their lovely features. Some had blonde hair, some black and a few brown, and one woman boasted beautiful chestnut hair that fell to her waist. The women were all beautiful and the men all handsome, but much shorter than he or Briana. He wondered how they slept with their wings—on their backs, he supposed. How else? And how did they make love? Very carefully.

  The queen looked his way. “Now tell me. How did you come to be within the circle of stones?”

  Weylyn set the fork on his plate. “You see, madam, it was Samhain and—”

  “Ah, Samhain. I should have known.” She made a face, the other guests frowning. “Barbaric practice, your human sacrifice.”

  “Queen Cinnie.” Briana set her wine glass down. “How do you know about the Samhain ceremony?”

  The queen waved her hands, her wings fluttering. “You’re not the first human visitors here, nor the first who have sought sanctuary among the stones during Samhain.”

  Weylyn blinked. “You mean this has happened before, other humans who have sought protection within the circle?”

  “Others have visited here, and others before you returned to the human world ages ago.” She folded her ringed hands on the table, looking directly at him and Briana. “We have an Otherworld, too, but we call it The Summerland. No demons there, no monsters. Only good things and happiness.”