know. Merle suspects Philip possesses a relic of some kind.”
“A relic?”
“A longevity talisman, something from the old world probably,” Richard replied as he glanced at the forest canopy. “A necklace or ring or something.”
Arrow Jack landed on a wobbly tree branch, his dark feathers blending into the black leaves. The bird took off again, his wingspan a scythe through the blue of the sky.
“Why did the bird come?” Bran asked.
“He is our scout. He’ll keep an eye ahead for trouble.”
They hiked through the forest, the rolling land easy to navigate, Richard avoiding every overhanging limb, every exposed root. Bran mimicked him. The sun swept overhead in a golden arc, but the cool shadows of Dryvyd Wood infiltrated the knight’s clothing and left him chilled. It had been a long time since the knight had ventured from the Bricks, and suddenly being thrust into nature made him uneasy. Arrow Jack winged from tree to tree, a companion vanishing and returning at whim. No animals appeared, no sounds intruded. The forest was a burial ground. The feeling that Richard had made the wrong choice grew with every step.
The sun crossed midday, beginning its slow decent, when they came to a stream sliding like a silver snake through exposed gnarled roots, gurgling as it rode over rounded rocks.
They were fortunate to have come on a stream so quickly.
Richard removed his boots and socks, and stepped into the slow-moving stream. “Stay where you are, Bran, on the bank.”
The boy halted. “What are you doing?”
“Searching for something.”
“For what?”
“Just wait,” Richard snapped.
Bran darkened. The knight didn’t care.
Richard closed his eyes, focusing on a memory from a lifetime ago, trying to remember the spell Merle had taught him. The necessary words materialized as if he had used them that day. As he reiterated a series of five Welsh words backed with a hum, he passed his hand over the stream in slow circular motions, his palm open and face down, calling. Warmth spread from his use of the ancient magic but he barely felt it. Instead he foraged along the bed of the stream with his mind, seeking the one specially shaped rock he hoped existed.
Several feet away a white glow formed in the running depths.
“There it is,” the knight whispered.
He burned with concentration, new sweat pricking his skin as he tightened his use of the magic. The light broadened, pushing its way out of the water, the brook giving way to the power Richard employed.
“Get back, Bran.”
Before he could see if the boy heeded him, a small rock erupted from the stream, its expulsion sending water cascading in all directions. It flew through the air as it was beckoned, the stone coming to hover below his hand, a sphere tumbling with rapidity. The knight closed his fist over the stone, its smoothness like ice, a near perfect band of gray rock still wet from eons of submersion.
“What’s that?” Bran questioned.
“A fairy ring,” Richard replied, holding it up in the sunshine.
“Looks like a rock with a hole in it.”
“A hole for your finger,” Richard said, annoyed anew. “This little stone will protect you from certain appetites Mankind has among the fey.”
“And those would be?”
“Remember the cu sith?” Richard asked.
“How could I forget?”
“Fairies controlled it,” the knight said, tossing the ring to Bran who caught it. “Some creatures here in Annwn have power over others—power to control humans. That ring, born of wild nature, will protect you.”
Frowning, Bran slid the circle over his right hand middle finger.
Arrow Jack screeched from a limb high in one of the trees across the brook, the sound quick and earnest even in the deadened air of the Dryvyd Wood.
“What did he say?” Bran asked.
“I. Don’t. Know,” Richard answered angrily. “He’s your bird. You deal with him.”
“My bird?”
“Yes, your bird. Every Heliwr has a guide. I think Arrow Jack will be yours when the time comes.”
“Merle said knighthoods don’t get passed from father to son.”
“And he lies,” the knight said. “Don’t forget it.”
Richard replaced his socks and boots and without a look back jumped over the dry stones of the brook. Bran followed. The trees thinned and lost their threatening feel almost immediately, the misshapen limbs and trunks of Dryvyd Wood less twisted, its foliage greener and more vibrant. Richard exhaled from holding his breath; he was pleased they were through the unnatural forest. Birdsong reentered the world. The oppressiveness of the crooked forest vanished entirely.
“Something has been bothering me,” Bran said. “Why didn’t the Church captain kill you? He had his chance,