Gossamyr (10 page)

"I diought she was the Red Lady," Gossamyr said under
her breath. A foolish act on her part to approach so boldly. "She
is not."

The mounted rider who had held her stare appeared at their side.
The sixteen-hand destrier unnerved Fancy with a snort of warning, and
the mule backed away.

The tip of a sword drew up under Gossamyr's chin. "Mean you
my lady harm?"

"I plead mercy," Ulrich said with a stunning swipe of
his hand to deflect the blade from Gossamyr's neck. He approached the
barricade and addressed the woman in the carriage over the warning
crossbows. "Forgive me, my lady, for the rudeness of my, er—"he
turned to Gossamyr and shot a glance up and down her body "—my
sister."

Gossamyr gaped, stepped up to defend—but was stopped by the
leader's sword. Leery of mortal steel, she kept still. Two dark eyes
peered out from the narrow slit on the helmet, holding her more
fiercely than a blade to her shoulder.

"You see, my lady," Ulrich continued. He managed, after
a bow, to gain access between two of the men barricading the
carriage, insinuating himself right next to the lady's window.

The woman propped a hand on the window ledge and, fascinated by
Ulrich's gesticulating confession, gave him her full attention.

"She is daft," Ulrich explained with a wide stretch of
his arms to encompass the enormity of his statement. "Luna-touched.
She meant you no harm. Just a little difficult to keep...calm when
the light of the moon threatens her very soul."

"I see," the lady replied in throaty tones that slipped
into Gossamyr's ear so smoothly, she settled, and stepped back from
the threatening sword. But not too far. A half circle of weapons were
to her back. Kohl-lined eyes peered carefully at her. "She is
dressed oddly."

Now Gossamyr gripped her pourpoint, trying to clasp the broken
agraffe. It was too dark to make out details, so long as she stood
out of the lantern's glow.

"My family indulges her whims," Ulrich explained.
"Fancies herself a forest warrior, at times. Others, we must
chase her cross the meadow to place a stitch of clothes to her naked
back."

Blight that!

"How troubling," the lady said. Her eyes sought
Gossamyr's secrets. So dark, and moving up and down, and along every
portion of her being. "Yet you allow her a weapon? Might she not
injure herself?"

"Oh, she does! The occasional hit to her head knocks her out
for but a time. Blessed relief, I tell you, from tending her idiotic
antics."

"I am standing right here!" Enough. Gossamyr would not
allow them to make jest of her with such falsities. She knew what
Ulrich attempted; but his suggestion she was a lackwit only drew more
attention to her than masking it. She nodded toward what looked now
to be a cage all covered over with a tapestry tied at each of the
four corners. "What is in the attached carriage?"

"Allow her to approach me. Guards," the woman commanded
lazily. "Step back. I see no harm so long as her brother stands
beside her. I want to look upon madness."

Bloody elves. So now she was mad?

Yet, the woman announced her desire with such passion it shot a
prinkle up Gossamyr's neck. And not a favorable prinkle.

Eyeing the covered cage, Gossamyr stepped cautiously past the men
who smelt of horseflesh and sweat, and who clinked with every
cumbersome step. Stealth avoided them, but, it mattered little; they
could take her down with fight. She was no match to four men on their
feet and wielding weapons. But if need be, she would give them a
challenge. Oh, indeed.

Ulrich slid close as Gossamyr approached the carriage. His cheek
brushed hers as he whispered, "Caution, Gossamyr. We want to
walk away. I do not favor a sword to my gullet."

He did not leave her side, remaining just behind her shoulder. A
presence that somehow stilled Gossamyr's apprehensions, almost as if
grounding that part of her that wished to fly. With a glance to the
well-armored men who stood but a leap to either side of her, Gossamyr
then stepped up to the carriage. She did not get so close this time.
Her enthusiasm must be restrained. This woman was not the Red Lady.

A movement from inside the cage alerted Gossamyr. Her sudden jerk
to look to the side was met with a
shing
of steel as two
swords were released from their sheaths and placed to threaten.

"Relax," the woman said to her men. "She is but a
troubled girl."

Wincing at the bright light that beamed across her face, Gossamyr
ducked her head to better view the woman. A small ruby had been
pressed to the corner of each eye, distracting with each glint of
lamplight. Her lips were glossed with an unnatural substance that
also shimmered in the light. When she opened her mouth in a wondering
observation, it revealed a row of small, thin teeth, almost as a
fox's foreteeth. Sharp and made for exact cutting.

"Your costume is most creative," the lady commented. The
sound of her voice reminded Gossamyr of the ungraspable past. A piece
of mortal, whole and deep, very similar to Veridienne's voice.

Forgetting her interest in the cage, Gossamyr merely stood there,
betaken by the woman's unnatural allure.

"It grows cold for her." Ulrich made a move behind her.
Gossamyr turned to ask of his concern only to see the swing of his
dark cape billow toward and around her shoulders. He fastened the
embroidered peacock agraffe at her neck and pulled the hood up over
her plaited hair. "I shouldn't wish my sister to take a chill."

He'd covered her blazon.

He had not—he was... touching her.
Mortal touched.
A
fearsome condition whispered by those who would never dare to visit
the Otherside. The touch of a mortal makes you shiver, and the shiver
never leaves, eventually it eats away a faery's wings.

But Ulrich's hands were not cold, rather warm. Instead of a
shiver, Gossamyr smiled as a relaxing loosen of her shoulders chased
back her fears.

"Where do you journey?" the lady asked.

"The next village," Gossamyr replied.

"It is dangerous."

"I crave danger."

"Do you?" A chuckle again revealed those vicious little
teeth. "But there are Armagnacs."

"You saw them?" Ulrich asked.

Sensing his sudden tension by a squeeze of his hand to her
shoulder, Gossamyr peered cautiously out of the corner of her eye
toward the direction they traveled.

"Indeed," the leader said from his mount. "We
exited the city as a score of mounted Armagnacs, wearied and hungry,
crept in."

"Mayhap we shall pass around the village," Ulrich said.

"It would be wise."

"Do you journey for a convent?" the lady asked.

"Oh, indeed," Ulrich spoke in Gossamyr's stead. "The
best place for my sister, you understand. She is marveled too easily.
'Tis why she became so excited to see you, my lady. If I may be so
bold, your beauty rivals quite any woman my sister has yet to lay
eyes upon. Mine, as well."

Oh, but he was laying it on thick. It took all her strength not to
swing about and knock him silent with a club of her staff.

"You like marvels, do you?" the woman asked Gossamyr.
"Mayhap you wish to see what I've in my cage?"

Gossamyr followed the slender finger that pointed out from the
carriage and behind. Lace threaded through with glinting strands of
silver fell over her narrow wrist. Gorgeous, the mortal vestments.

"Yes, please," Gossamyr cooed. And then she found
herself shaking her head. Snapping out from a strange fog. Almost as
if a faery
erie.
Blight, what was this? 'Twas as if she was
mesmerized by the woman. The mortal passion?

No! Concentrate. She was merely tired and hungry.

"What is behind the tapestries?"

"Look at me," the lady beckoned.

Spots of brilliant gold dotted her deep brown eyes. Gossamyr found
herself leaning forward, to better scent. An indefinable odor, not
like any flower or even the must of mortal earth, surrounded her.
Almost cold, like the depths of a dark cave oozing with dribbles of
ice water.

"Your eyes are brown," the woman commented. As if it
were uncommon. "Have you ever..." She leaned forward,
clasping the rim of the carriage door with long fingers painted with
rust-colored designs that swirled across her entire hand.

Gossamyr swayed closer.

"...looked into violet eyes?"

Struck by an unseen force, Gossamyr pressed a hand over the
agraffe at her neck.

"Do you believe in faeries?"

"Wh-what?" A step back found her tumbling into Ulrich's
arms.

"We should leave you to your travels," Ulrich said as he
righted Gossamyr. "My sister tires. We need seek shelter."

Ignoring Ulrich entirely, the woman announced in spectacular
breaths, "I've a faery in my cage. Do you wish to see it?"

"A f-faery?" Finding herself quite unable to stand
upright, Gossamyr clung to her staff.
They keep them caged to
display in market squares.
This woman had captured a fée?

Teetering her gaze between the covered cart and the woman's sharp
smirking mouth, Gossamyr fought a sudden rise of fear. "I—
I don't think I believe in faeries. No, of course not." She
stiffened, locking her knees to remain upright. "This is the
mortal realm. So many...mortals. Faeries are nonsense and so much
blather. We are off, brother?"

"First you must look!" The woman's head withdrew from
the window and moments later Gossamyr heard her call from the rear of
the carriage, "Draw back the curtains!"

Utterly gasping for breath, Gossamyr fought to settle her racing
pulse. Intuitive caution could not dispel the hard compulsion to seek
the truth.

Using Ulrich to steady her on the left side, Gossamyr, much
against her better judgment, but compelled by her curiosity, walked
toward the cage. The armored men cautiously parted to allow her
access. Mortal steel clinked; horses snorted. She ran a palm over the
heavy tapestry; the weave was tight and heavy. The fabric pushed in
through two thick poles—two of many dozens that caged whatever
it was inside.

Fear dried her throat. Horror stilled her heart. Not a faery. It
cannot be!

"Are you ready?" the lady whispered so loudly Gossamyr
heard it as a scream.

"My sister—" Ulrich started.

"I am!" Gossamyr declared.

With little fanfare the tapestry curtain was drawn back and
flipped over the corner of the cage. The contents were not initially
visible, for a sheer curtain that glimmered like faery dust hung from
top to the floor of the cage. The rear lanterns, while boldly kissing
the woman's cruel grimace, barely lit the fore of the cage.

Steel glinted and one of the men poked his sword through the
curtain and bars. A cry of pain pierced Gossamyr's breast. A female
voice. Something within the cage shuffled into the torch glow. A
frail, thin figure...indeed, a woman, clad in tattered brown cloth.
And there!

Gossamyr let out a cry.

"Quite remarkable, yes?"

Gossamyr swung a look to the heartless woman peering out from the
rear window. She kept a faery chained inside this foul cage!

Gripping the wood poles, Gossamyr scanned the poor creature. Bones
were visible through her pale flesh. Arms clasped about her legs, the
creature shivered. Not
a creature, but your own kind!
She
would not meet Gossamyr's eyes. Just as well. Sure Ulrich's cloak
concealed her blazon, Gossamyr could not know if another fée
would recognize her. The cage floor was littered with crushed hay and
the glimmer of faery dust. One wing swept a lazy trail across the
poles Gossamyr held. The wing was limp, colorless, and a tear rent
through the upper section. Unable to divine a scent, beyond the
rotting straw, Gossamyr swallowed. Lifeless, or almost so.

"I usually charge admission to look upon my pretty faery,"
the lady announced. "But I won't ask one so troubled to
sacrifice."

"Troubled?" Gossamyr swung around. Ulrich's arm barred
her from approaching the rear of the carriage. "The only
troubled one I can see is you, my lady! How dare you? She is not
yours to own or display or to destroy!"

"Gossamyr," Ulrich cautioned.

"Your name is Gossamyr?" The lady's fox teeth parted and
her tongue ran along them. "Unusual. Not a French name. Will you
turn about for me?"

"I will not move another footstep until you release this poor
creature!"

The clomps of heavy hooves rounded behind Gossamyr and Ulrich. The
caravan leader marched his horse warningly close. Sword drawn and
eyes keen to her, with a flick of his weapon he bid her turn.

"We thank you for revealing your prize, my lady." Ulrich
tugged Gossamyr's shoulder. "Best we leave you to your path."

"You cannot own this faery," Gossamyr hissed, "nor
treat it as a beast!"

"I cannot see," the woman directed the man on the horse.
"Her cape must be lifted."

Caught up in Ulrich's arms, Gossamyr struggled against his firm
grip. She swung out her staff, clipping the shoulder armor of one of
the men. Forced backward by a line of drawn swords, she held her
staff to the ready.

"Let us pass, my lady," Ulrich called. "It is the
moonlight; she is so troubled."

"Indeed."

Gossamyr clenched her teeth. Ulrich tugged her backward, away from
the carriage. She followed, but held a hard eye to any who would
challenge her. Indeed, she knew it foolish to have reacted so, but in
that moment her heart had led her.

The armored men, forming a shield before the carriage and cart
stood with weapons aimed for Gossamyr's retreat. Ulrich turned and,
dragging her along by the clutched ends of the cloak, began to jog
across the grasses.

"Release me!" She kicked at him and managed to free
herself.

He landed her body, a foot to her shoulder and bent over her face.
"Cease!" he hissed. "You wish to lose your head?"