The Prince of Two Tribes (32 page)

Kitsune Kai seemed to sense the onset of Brendan’s warp powers. She hissed and redoubled her efforts. The song was in his hands and his feet now, driving him on, kicking him into high gear. He sang only in his mind now, the lyrics and the melody second nature as he balanced the cup and avoided Kitsune Kai’s blows.

He leaned backwards and avoided a roundhouse kick. He was astonished that a woman so tiny could reach his face with her equally tiny foot. He backflipped away from her while desperately trying to keep the tea from spilling. He managed to land safely on the very edge of the rock, teetering on the verge of losing his balance.

“Faster!” cried Kitsune Kai. “Faster!”

Oh no!
He cradled the teacup in his hand even as the mad little woman leapt at him again, her tail whipping back and forth ferociously.

He dodged as best he could, twisting his torso to miss the kicks and punches she hurled at him. He was vaguely aware that the crowd around him was hooting and cheering. As soon as he let that outside sound distract him, Kitsune Kai swept his feet out from under him. He went head over heels.

Suddenly, his warp powers kicked in full force. He was frozen in the moment. Time stretched out like taffy. He could see the expressions on the faces of the Faeries closest to him shifting from eager excitement to shock. Kitsune Kai’s eyes bored into his as the world rotated one hundred and eighty degrees.

Strangely, Brendan felt no alarm. Everything was slow and beautiful. He had time to savour his flight. With ease, he rotated his wrist so that the teacup was upright. Even so, a drop spilled out of the bowl. The droplet hung in the air, a glittering globule rotating with him. He felt weightless, like an astronaut in orbit. He smiled at the sensation. Slowly, he started to descend toward the rock beneath his head. He strained his neck forward and opened his mouth, catching the droplet of tea easily. Realizing he’d crack his skull if he didn’t take appropriate action, he stuck out his hand, palm down, and landed on it, balancing himself upside down while cradling the teacup in his other upturned hand. His legs were splayed out for balance.

The warp state dissipated and he was left poised on the rock. Throughout the Faerground, silence reigned supreme. Kitsune Kai stood with her hand cocked on her hip and a look of cool appraisal on her delicate face. Her tail twitched once. Twice. Then she nodded, a single dip of her pointy chin.

“Yeah, okay. I am satisfied.”

The crowd roared approval. Kitsune Kai plucked the teacup from Brendan’s hand and hopped down from the stone. Brendan gratefully lowered himself to the stone and got back on his feet. He was starting to feel that he might get through these tests after all. His elation died when he saw Pûkh step up onto the rock.

The Lord of Tír na nÓg took a moment to gaze out over the crowd. Pûkh had a sense of the theatrical, letting the tension build and the crowd slowly cease its chatter. Finally, when he had absolute silence, he raised his hands. “I have thought long and hard about this Proving. It is said that you are descended from the line of Morn. I was a close compatriot of Briach Morn. I was his comrade-inarms in darker times.” A whisper stirred the crowd before he continued. “But it is contested that the great Briach Morn was your father.” He paused here for effect, looking out over the crowd solemnly. “True, I can see his face in yours, Brendan, but I must be sure. Thus, my test!” He waved a hand and two Faeries moved forward carrying a long, narrow wooden box between them. The box was simple and rough-hewn with two rope handles at either end. From their staggering approach, it was clear that the box was quite heavy. They set the box on the grass with a dull thud.

“As you may or may not know, Brendan,” Pûkh said, pausing to arch an eyebrow at the audience, emphasizing Brendan’s ignorance, “Faerie weapons and armour are keyed to the energy of their owners. By lucky chance, I happen to have an item that once belonged to my dear friend Briach.” Pûkh flicked a wrist at the bearers and they bent to flip open the lid of the box. Lying inside was a long object wrapped in black silk. Pûkh lifted the bundle easily in one hand and joined Brendan on the rock.

Brendan was torn between dread at being so close to the Lord of Tír na nÓg and curiosity about the object.

Pûkh continued to speak as he gently unwrapped the bundle with his long, elegant fingers. “When Faeries die, their armour and weapons lose their power and quickly dissolve. Your Father, however, is not dead. He merely chose, in his grief over his wife’s death, to go to the Other Side. Therefore, his weapons and armour remain intact. He left them in my safe-keeping until the …” Pûkh stopped suddenly, then affected sorrow. “Alas! So sad. So much potential lost. He was an old friend and I miss his counsel.” He pulled the cloth from the object, revealing a beautifully wrought sword. He was careful to keep the hilt wrapped in silk as he held it. “This was his favourite blade. I’m sure you wouldn’t be able to pronounce the name in the Old Tongue, Brendan. In English, it would be called
Dawn Cleaver
.”

Brendan held his breath. The weapon was exquisitely crafted. The blade was a metre long with a single cutting edge. Sunlight danced along the razor-sharp edge, dazzling Brendan’s eyes. The hilt was a simple cross. The entire weapon seemed to be formed from one continuous piece of smoky, translucent crystal. It was a beautiful, deadly object.

More fascinating to Brendan was the sound. He could feel rather than hear a deep, rich humming as though the sword were vibrating to music only he could hear. It was like a tuning fork struck by a celestial finger.

“The sword is tuned to Briach, but if Brendan is really his son, he should be able to hold the weapon without undue harm,” Pûkh explained.

“NO!” Deirdre cried. “It’s too dangerous!” Ariel placed a hand on her arm to restrain her.

“Deirdre,” Ariel said. “Pûkh has chosen the test. He is a judge. You cannot interfere.”

“But he is young in his powers,” Deirdre insisted. “Even though he is Briach’s son and Morn blood flows in his veins, the imprinting of the blade upon his mind may drive him mad. Or worse. If the blade rejects him, it could be fatal!”

Ariel’s face was hard. He glared at Brendan. “He must be Proven. I, for one, would have Brendan Prove beyond a doubt that he is of the line of Morn and that his initiation was valid.” Ariel’s authority was at stake as well. He had accepted Brendan’s initiation and must have found it humiliating to have his judgment questioned by the Proving ceremony.

“What’s the point if he doesn’t make it through the Proving?” Deirdre insisted.

Brendan laid a hand on his aunt’s arm. “It’s okay, Aunt Deirdre. I have to do it. Otherwise people like Pûkh will never stop finding new reasons to doubt me. If I do this, it’s over.”

He could see the concern in Deirdre’s eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it without a word, nodded, and stepped back. Brendan smiled with a reassurance he didn’t quite feel himself and turned to face Pûkh.

“What is the harm?” Pûkh smiled. “If he is truly the son of Briach and Bir-Gidha, he should be none the worse. But if he isn’t … ” Pûkh’s smile darkened. “Well, then, I’ve done my job.” Pûkh held the sword out to Brendan in both hands, being careful to handle only the black silken cloth.

Brendan hesitated. The hum emanating from the sword was a siren song to him. His hands itched to grasp the weapon so that he could hear its voice more clearly. He forced himself to pause and consider the consequences. Touching the sword might end this ordeal once and for all, but it might also be the last thing he ever did.

He looked up into Pûkh’s face. The handsome features were fixed in a state of friendly detachment, giving nothing away. Brendan had a flash of insight then. He suddenly realized who had protested Ariel’s acceptance of his initiation. Pûkh had forced this Proving, made him jump through hoops and live through this terrifying ordeal. He looked into that blandly smiling face and felt a rush of anger. Brendan understood that he’d been manoeuvred into a corner for some purpose that only the Lord of the Everlasting Lands knew. He had a sudden desire to show the smirking Faerie that he wasn’t afraid of him. Without another thought, he reached out and grasped the sword.

The hum sang bright and clear, filling his head as soon as his hands touched the smooth, cool surface of the blade. Brendan closed his eyes and listened to the sweet tone.
Is this all?
he thought. He’d never heard such a beautiful sound. The note was pure and clear, resonating in every fibre of his body, every bone and blood vessel, every hair on his head. Ecstasy! He had heard the word before and thought he understood it, but this was ecstasy distilled into sound and poured into his soul through his palms.

Suddenly, his entire body ignited in agony. Lightning jagged along his nerves, and the hum escalated into a shriek that threatened to tear his head apart. Together, the pain and the sound grew to fill Brendan’s entire universe. Blinding white light flared, though he couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or shut. For that matter, he couldn’t tell if he was up or down, in or out. Brendan didn’t care. He just wanted it to stop.

He realized then that the shriek was coming from the blade itself. The sword wasn’t dead like some Human creation. No, it was a living thing with a mind and a soul of its own. The sword felt Brendan’s foreign touch and was attacking him. The sword wanted to destroy him.

“Stop!” he shouted, not knowing whether he screamed aloud or only in his head. The tiny part of him that could still think reasonably wondered how much time had passed and whether he was dead or not. That’s when he heard the voice.

“Breandan. Can you hear me?”

He recognized the voice, though he’d heard it only once before.

“Father?”

“Yes, son.”

“What’s happening?”

“You hold Dawn Cleaver. It is tuning itself to you. The sword served me and will serve you now. We are connected for a very short time.”

“Where are you? How can I hear you?”

“We may speak now, if only for a moment.”

“Pûkh brought the sword for my Proving.”

“I am aware. Dawn Cleaver told me what is happening.”

“It speaks to you?”

“Yes, as it will to you. Listen to me. We haven’t long.”

“But I have questions.”
Brendan couldn’t believe he was talking to his father. He had so many things he wanted to ask him about, things that he’d thought of since the last time they’d met in the basement of the orphanage.

“I know you have, my son, but I need to speak to you now. I cannot maintain the link between us for long. Listen to me. Do not trust Pûkh. He has plans that serve only himself. No matter what he says, he does not have your welfare in mind.”

“I figured that out for myself.”

“Clever boy. Do you remember the name I gave you?”

Brendan remembered the afternoon in the basement, when Orcadia fell and Briach breached the veil between this world and the Other Side to initiate him. He remembered the secret name his father had whispered in his ear. He’d never told a soul, just as his father instructed.

“I’ll never forget it.”

“Share it only with the one you trust most.”

“How will I know who the right one is? And why is my secret name so important?”

“It is the key to controlling your heart and soul. Those who know it can make you do what they wish, even bring about your death.”

“Seems like a dumb thing to have then. Why did you even tell me?”

Brendan sensed Briach laughing.
“Breandan, you are a delightful boy. I wish we had more time. Just keep the name safe.”

“How will I know when it’s time to share it?” “You’ll know. Finally, do not tell anyone about the rock.”

“The Snoring Rock.”

“Exactly. Tell no one. Especially Pûkh. Now I must go. I haven’t the strength to hold on.”

“Father!”

“Yes?”

“I … I wish you were here.”

“I wish I were there, too. Take care, my son. Farewell.”

“No! Wait! Don’t … ”

The next Brendan knew, he was on his knees on the platform, the sword held in both hands in front of him. His cheeks were wet with tears. He blinked his eyes clear and looked up into the face of his aunt Deirdre.

“Are you all right, Brendan?” Her grey eyes were full of concern. She helped him to stand.

“I’m fine, I think,” Brendan croaked. He looked at the sword. The blade glowed with a soft green fire. The humming had faded to a faint echo, a ghost of itself, still present but muted. Brendan lowered the blade and saw that Pûkh was looking at him, the deep brown eyes blazing with a disturbing light. It was the hungry gaze of an animal that promised to devour Brendan if he wasn’t cautious. When Pûkh saw that Brendan was returning his stare, his face resumed its mask of amusement.

“You passed my test, Brendan,” Pûkh said with a mocking bow. “I am satisfied.” He turned to step down from the rock but stopped and shot a smile over his shoulder. “I believe the sword is yours now. I look forward to the day when you come to Tír na nÓg to claim the rest of your father’s possessions.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” Brendan muttered. Deirdre crushed him in her arms, planting a wet kiss on his cheek.

“Gross, Aunt Deirdre,” he groaned, but secretly he didn’t mind at all.

“If the judges are all satisfied … ?” Ariel broke in. He looked first to Kitsune Kai, flanked by her Kappa guards. She nodded. He looked to Deirdre, who merely smiled. Pûkh assented with a wave of his hand. “Then we have heard from all concerned, and—”

“Not all!” a voice called from the crowd.

“Who speaks?” Ariel said sternly. “Show yourself!”

“Gladly!” There was a murmur from the Faerie throng that swelled as a path cleared to allow a single person through. “Give me a moment. I’m not as young as I once was.”

The crowd buzzed with excitement as Merddyn clambered up onto the stone. He was dressed in the same tweed suit he’d worn in the doughnut shop. He looked every inch a doddering, elderly man afraid of a fall that might break his hip.