FWFW 3 - 81

Bronwyn watched as the Urghat filed into the enormous well cavern. She wasn’t sure why they called it a well—the pool at the center was filled with something, but it wasn’t water, more like a viscous gel that seemed to absorb Energy from anyone who touched it.

Whitestar and her “elders,” the older, more respected Urghat who’d joined her clan, stood arrayed, wearing ceremonial sashes or headdresses, whatever their families had crafted over the generations. Each piece of ceremonial garb was covered with beads, gems, bones, and feathers, and when Bronwyn passed nearby, she could feel the Energy pulsing within them.

Whitestar and Soft-fur had asked her to be part of the ceremony, and though she’d protested that she was almost out of time, they’d finally convinced her, promising to perform the ritual immediately. They needed to, anyway—Soft-fur was on her last legs. The Urghat stood, gathered in a loose circle around the central dais where Whitestar and the elders waited, watching the tunnel entrance where Bronwyn stood, in turn, waiting.

More than four hundred Urghat had joined the raid on the Hollows. Whitestar had gathered all of her hunting and scouting parties, all of her forces in her temporary base of operations, and they’d waited, just outside the Hollows, watching for the sign that Bronwyn had promised they’d see. She’d been right, miraculously—after the troll matron was dead, many of the trolls that had been lying patiently in ambush had begun to amble out of the hiding spots—wandering in twos and threes into the wooded valley where Whitestar’s people waited.

The Urghat had overwhelmed the monsters, killing them in small groups, whittling down their numbers, and then pushing their way into the Hollows. It was as if the trolls had lost their ability to plan or cooperate without their matron, and the horde of Urghat had managed to drive them out or slaughter them in just a handful of hours.

Bronwyn, for her part, had destroyed all of the matron’s eggs. By the time she’d finished and worked her way up from the depths of that stinking, damp cave, she found herself walking through tunnels occupied by Urghat. That’s when she’d found Whitestar and been strong-armed into helping with this ceremony. Some of the Urghat began to beat on large, hide drums, and Bronwyn blinked her eyes, bringing herself back to the moment.

The drums were her cue—she was supposed to help Soft-fur walk to the well. Bronwyn turned to face the dark, sloping tunnel, and she saw why the drummers had started. Soft-fur was being led, no, more like carried, toward the well chamber by two large, burly Urghat, one of whom was very familiar to Bronwyn—Ironhide.

“Underclaw,” Ironhide said by way of greeting as he and the other big Urghat carried Soft-fur, their arms under her armpits, dragging her along, with her feet barely touching the ground.

“How is she?” Bronwyn asked, stooping to lift the embroidered black cowl hanging over the young Urghat’s face. She was conscious, her eyes glazed and red-streaked but open, and Bronwyn thought she saw her black lips begin to spread into a smile beneath her muzzle's soft, gray-white fur. “Poor thing,” Bronwyn said, bending to scoop an arm behind the girl’s knees and putting the other behind her back. “I’ll take it from here, fellas.” She straightened as the two Urghat released Soft-fur, lifting her, cradled in front of her.

“Your new scars are impressive, Underclaw,” Ironhide said.

“Yar,” the other one added.

“Thanks, boys,” she said, flicking her head, so her long, copper-red hair fell to her scarred side. Then, she turned and, still accompanied by the drum-beat, started walking between the gathered Urghat toward the dais. As she made her way down the central stone walkway between the mass of hairy, fur, and leather-clad Urghat, she was stunned by how quiet they were. The only sound in the enormous cavern was the repeated *da-dum* of the drums.

As she drew near the dais and the well, Bronwyn felt Soft-fur begin to stir, and so did the enormous wave of Energy waiting within the girl. Bronwyn stood before Whitestar, resplendent in her high, imposing headdress. “Praise to Soft-fur! Praise to Underclaw, Bronwyn! The magic of our people will persist for seven more generations!” Whitestar bellowed, and the Urghat in the cavern stomped their feet and clapped their hands, mimicking the rhythm of the drums but magnifying it a hundred-fold.

Whitestar stepped back and to the side, clearing the path to the steps leading into the well, gesturing with one hand for Bronwyn to proceed. Bronwyn nodded and carried Soft-fur down the stone stairway, her feet sinking into the thick liquid after just three steps. She continued, the fluid climbing to her knees, then her thighs, and though she felt her Energy begin to bleed into the well, it was slow, and she knew she could be out long before she noticed the loss.

Soft-fur stirred, writhing weakly in her arms, and then she spoke, “I feel it, Underclaw. I feel the Energy trying to leave. Please, lower me in.”

“I’ll be right here. You’ve got this,” Bronwyn said, gently lowering the girl into the pool, and then she felt the thick, cold liquid come alive. As streaks of pearlescent Energy poured out of Soft-fur into the well, the fluid instantly warmed and began to flow as though a sluggish current had come alive. Bronwyn gently held Soft-fur in her arms, allowing her to float at the top of the well’s water. As Soft-fur’s massive store of Energy continued to bleed away, the current increased, and Bronwyn could feel the tug as it swirled around the stone edge, creating a gentle whirlpool.

“Ancestors be good!” Soft-fur said, her voice suddenly vibrant. “Such sweet relief, Underclaw! Thank you!” She gripped Bronwyn’s arms, her bright eyes clear and her brow unfurrowed for the first time since Bronwyn had found Whitestar’s camp. “It’s out; we can leave the well’s waters now.”

“Right,” Bronwyn said, helping Soft-fur to stand on the step, and then the two of them carefully climbed up and out of the well. The Urghat were cheering, stomping, and roaring raucously, and Bronwyn found Whitestar waiting atop the steps to grab her and Soft-fur up in a rather literal bear hug.

“Our people’s traditions are safe, and so is our prophetess. Thank you, Bronwyn. If you hadn’t helped us to retake the Hollows, what progress we’ve made would be lost, and we’d fracture, becoming more savage and lawless. Now we can focus on building on our traditions, making strides to create peace with our neighbors. With luck, by the time the well needs replenishing again, it will be a matter of course, and the city I dream of will be here, atop the Hollows, and our elders will know what to do. Soft-fur will be the last to suffer as she did.”

“Will you stay for the celebration, Underclaw?” Soft-fur asked, her warm, strong fingers wrapping around her wrist.

“No, Soft-fur. I’m sorry, but my time is limited, and I need to see someone I care about before it’s too late. I have to leave this world for a while.”

“Is there something we can help with?” Whitestar asked, her lips frowning down around her long canines.

“No. Thanks, though. In fact, I really need to get going. Congratulations, Whitestar and Soft-fur.” Bronwyn paused and looked Whitestar in the eyes, saying, “Be sure you go get Cal for your celebration—he’s going to want to know things worked out. I’m trusting you to get him back to First Landing safely, all right? I have to haul ass and won’t be able to talk to him.” The Urghat had insisted on leaving Cal back at their forward camp, not wanting to bring him along on the invasion and also not wanting an “outsider” to view their ceremony. Bronwyn was, apparently, an exception because of her Underclaw status.

“Of course,” Whitestar growled. “I’ll get him now. Goodbye, Underclaw Bronwyn.”

“Goodbye, Underclaw Whitestar,” Bronwyn said with a grin, offering her forearm to the tall, lanky Urghat. She gripped it, her long, steel-band fingers wrapping around her wrist, and they smiled at each other, though Whitestar’s smile could have been described as a snarl. Then they let go, and Bronwyn hurried out of the hall, shouldering past the milling Urghat and lengthening her strides until she was practically jogging up the long, sloping tunnel toward the upper reaches of the Hollows and the exits to the outside world.

It took her a solid twenty minutes to climb free of the warren of tunnels and step into the afternoon sun. As she started jogging through the twisted woods of the outside valley, pushing herself into a run and letting her Blessing of the Herd do its thing, she breathed deeply, no small amount of pride tinging the bitter-sweet feeling that she’d be leaving soon, and that, though she was soon to see Olivia, it was to say goodbye.

Bronwyn wasn’t sure how she’d get to Olivia before the end of the next day when she was due to leave this world, but she trusted the Summer Queen and knew she’d find a way. In the meantime, she intended to run toward First Landing until she heard otherwise. Bronwyn had just burst free of the woods and was practically sprinting toward the trail that would lead her out of the valley when a bird swooped in front of her, its warbling, piercing cry catching her by surprise as its long tail feathers nearly slapped her in the face.

Bronwyn slid to a halt, watching the crazy bird as it arced around in a wide circle and made another pass toward her. This time it landed in the grass before her, and Bronwyn saw, just as before when she’d been sitting with Olivia in First Landing, that it had a message clutched in one of its talons. This bird was similar to the long-tailed birds that swooped around the pond in First landing, but it was larger, around the size of a big duck or a goose. The feathers along its back were glossy and black, but underneath, along its chest and down to its tail feathers, they shone white with a silvery iridescence.

“You’re pretty, aren’t you?” Bronwyn said softly, squatting and holding her hands out, palms up. “Got something for me?” The bird walked closer to her, its long tail up, swaying with its steps, and Bronwyn admired its bright orange, pointed beak, and gleaming, gold-flecked, blue eyes. “God, really pretty!” Bronwyn had to assume this bird was coming direct to her from the Fae realms because she’d never seen its like on Fanwath. “You’re too smart and lovely to be a normal bird, isn’t that right?”

The bird didn’t answer her, though she might not have been surprised if it had. It bobbed its head and held up its clenched talon. Bronwyn held out her hand, and it released the rolled parchment, squawked, and then turned, trotting away and flapping its wings until it had built enough momentum to get airborne. “All right,” Bronwyn said, unrolling the paper. “Let’s see how this is going to play out.”

Daughter of Summer,

Congratulations on your victory! I’ll be brief: bond with this note, and it will disperse into a cloud of Energy motes that will guide you to a Way Tree. The tree will take you to the forest near your home, to which your friend Olivia travels as we speak. Bronwyn, she will have news that may trouble you. Please remain steadfast in your determination to complete your end of the bargain—I cannot foresee all the consequences should you not.

With a warm heart,

Queen Aestasia

“News that may trouble me? What else is fucking new?” Bronwyn groused, holding the note up and then trickling some of her solar-attuned Energy into it. As promised, the paper exploded into a million little motes of light that streaked away between some trees. They left a long trail and were bright in the fading sun, so Bronwyn had no trouble following them through the valley, up a steep rise, and then into a copse of ancient, wide-trunked trees. Before long, the motes flew straight into the hollow of a lightning-blasted tree and disappeared.

“So, here we go,” Bronwyn said, walking up to the tree, noting its gnarled bark, stunted branches, and feathery, gray leaves. “You aren’t dead, are you? Did the queen send the lightning to you that made you a Way Tree, or did it happen naturally? Are you being used, just like me? If so, I’m sorry, and I hope it doesn’t hurt when you do your magic. Thank you, old tree.” Bronwyn laid her palm on the rough bark next to the black hollow in the trunk and tried to imagine she could hear the tree breathing. After a long moment, she took her own deep breath and stepped inside, ready to face whatever the queen had been trying to warn her about.