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Twin streams created by unrelenting rain funneled in the wagon ruts of the packed earth road. A chestnut mare trotted down the center, her hooves splattering thin mud in every direction, including upward. The horse’s exhausted rider had lost track of time in the constant gloom, and couldn’t guess if they’d reach Cork by dark or not.
Aife stared at the leather-wrapped hilt of the sword strapped to her saddle, still dazed by the reason she carried one. Fifteen years ago, she’d set aside the mercenary life to bear a daughter. She hadn’t intended for the break to last so long. Whether she remembered how to swing a blade or not, though, she had to try. For Moira’s life, she would kill a monster or die trying.
The horse slowed and whickered. Aife checked the road. Ahead, a stopped wagon with an odd shape in the back blocked the way forward. One lone figure stood at the rear, working on the left wheel. Hairs on the back of Aife’s neck stood at attention. No matter how soft she’d let herself become, she knew a classic ambush setup when she saw one.
If Keric had come with her, she wouldn’t have worried. Even the most audacious brigands didn’t bother a pair of armed riders. One woman of her age with a sword, though, wouldn’t give such criminals much pause.
She scanned everywhere except the wagon. On the right, low grasses and wildflowers covered a gentle slope upward with scattered shrubs and small trees. Yellow, her husband’s favorite color, dominated the blooms. No one save a skilled mage could hide there. Skilled mages didn’t debase themselves with banditry.
On the left, a line of giant cedars marked the western edge of a sizable forest. An entire army could lurk within it. Aife saw no arrow tips or other weapons, but doubted she would in the rain.
Expecting attack, she gripped the sword hilt. The moment she saw or heard anything, she could slide off the horse’s side and use it as a shield. If they let her reach the wagon, she’d have to contend with the unknown figure, but she could hide behind it.
As the horse neared the wagon, Aife tensed. The horse tensed. Even the air and rain tensed, holding its collective breath in anticipation.
She discovered the odd shape came from a sheet of canvas pitched over the back with a peak in the middle like a tent. Hitched to the front, a fat pony stood with its head down. The unidentified person paused in their work and waved a hand high at Aife.
Aife snapped her head to the trees and leaned to the side.
Nothing happened.
“Excuse me,” the figure said. The woman sounded as exhausted as Aife felt. “Can you help, please?”
Bandits and highwaymen frequently used women as lures, but seldom did those poor souls seem so worn and used.
“What’s the trouble?”
“The wheel is stuck in the mud, and the damned horse won’t move when I tell it to.”
Still watching the trees and still holding her sword’s hilt, Aife reined in the horse beside the woman. “Where are you headed?”
“Cork. You?”
“The same.”
Someone in the wagon giggled.
Aife drew her sword and pointed it at the wagon. “Who’s inside?”
The woman raised her hands in surrender and sucked in a breath. “My daughter. Please don’t hurt us.”
Her reaction drew Aife’s gaze. Damp wool swathed the woman from head to toe, as a scarf, skirt, and jacket. She seemed young, with no more than twenty summers behind her. Her open face and earnest brown eyes reminded Aife of herself half a lifetime ago.
The child giggled again with the same voice as Moira.
“Gemma, come here,” the woman said. She delivered the command with firm, clear voice. Aife used that same tone with her own daughter.
The canvas rustled, then a little girl with brilliant blue eyes and a mop of blonde curls poked her head out. Aife guessed her age as two years.
“Ma ma ma ma ma.”
Aife blinked at the girl who sounded too much like Moira. Shaken, she sheathed her sword. “My apologies,” she mumbled, unable to tear her gaze from the child.
“No, I understand. Can’t be too safe out here.” The woman lowered her hands. She took a step to her daughter, kissed the girl’s forehead, and shooed her inside again. “Gemma play.”
“Pwa pwa pwa pwa pwa.” The girl disappeared and giggled again.
“Pardon my Gemma. She’s...” The woman sighed and shook her head. “Something’s wrong with her.”
Not sure what to say, Aife climbed off her horse. “You handle your beast. I’ll push.”
“Thank you. I’m Delaney.”
“Aife. Nice to meet you.”
Delaney hurried to the front of the wagon. Aife strained her muscles to rock the wagon back and forth. She gave up after the fourth try and tied a line to her horse for extra power. Between the added horse and Aife’s efforts, they slid the wagon wheel out of a sucking mud puddle.
All the while, Gemma’s giggles burst from the wagon in random clusters.
As Aife untied her horse’s lead, Delaney checked her pony’s feet.
“I can’t think you enough. We would’ve been stuck here forever if you hadn’t come along. My husband didn’t want me making this trip. Maybe I should’ve listened.”
“Why are you making it?”
Delaney sighed. “To see a mage. There’s something wrong with Gemma and I know it. The other little kids in our village can talk. They can dance and sing and learn games and all kinds of things. Gemma understands a few words, but that’s all. She’s simple. Which I could live with, I suppose, if her father hadn’t been such a capable mage. This seems wrong to me.” She set down the last hoof. “I just have to know for sure if there’s something a mage can fix. Even if there isn’t and it’s a waste of my money.”
Aife covered her mouth. Moira had been the same as a toddler. She’d asked her husband for money to take the girl to a mage for the same reason. He’d refused.
“It’s good your husband was willing to pay for that, but—”
Delaney barked a sour laugh. “Oh, no, he thinks I’m overreacting and doesn’t know I’m doing this. She’s just a bit behind, you know.” She climbed into the driver’s seat and picked up the reins. “Every child is different, after all. Sometimes, their little heads just need to cook longer.”
“That’s what my husband said.” Aife remembered the first time she’d asked. He’d used the same words. Bewildered, she climbed onto her horse and urged the mare to keep pace as the wagon rolled forward. “It’s exactly what he said. Their little heads need to cook longer.”
“That’s an odd turn of phrase for two different men to use. I wonder if they know each other? What’s his name?”
“Breasal Cuinn of Cork.”
Delaney blinked at her. “That’s...that’s my husband’s name.”
Aife frowned at her horse. “Didn’t you say Gemma’s father is a mage? Breasal isn’t a mage.”
“Breasal isn’t Gemma’s father. I married him when I was already pregnant. Her father was a breeze-through-town adventurer-type I was stupid enough to believe. Goddess bless, this is a shock. How could one man marry two women? Why would he even do it?”
Pieces of a bewildering puzzle clicked into place for Aife. She had to explain everything to Delaney. She had to save Gemma’s life with Moira’s.
“About sixteen years ago, I was one of those adventurer-types. My partner was a mage, Keric. I got pregnant with his child. He kept working to build savings for us, so we could live comfortably for a few years. The second time he left, he never came home, and I assumed he was dead.”
She remembered that last kiss. He’d brushed a hand over her rounded belly and promised to return long before the birth.
“We had little. I knew no one. I panicked. Breasal swooped in and promised to take care of us.”
She remembered his warmth and gentle touch. He hadn’t demanded much of her. At the time, she’d thought him kind and generous.
“My daughter, Moira, is like Gemma. She didn’t talk until she was five, and since then, she’s never gotten better than simple statements of fact or want. She understands more than she can explain, but not much. Giggles at strange times.”
She remembered tears. For both Keric and Moira. Years ago, Aife had surrendered to the inevitable fate of caring for her daughter for the rest of her life. She’d mourned the loss and moved on. Aside from her purpose on this ride, the past few hours without Moira had been a guilty pleasure, a terrible joy.
“This morning, Keric returned.” The moment had turned her world upside-down. “I learned he’d been under a magical geas and unable to leave where he was, or even send a message.” All that time, she’d thought him dead. She’d cried in his arms for an hour or more. Fierce love still glowed between them, and she should’ve felt it. Somehow, she should’ve known to go looking for him. So much time had frittered past, wasted by what she didn’t do.
“One look at our daughter, and he knew something was wrong, so he examined her. Moira is under a curse. Vile magic has been draining away her life force since she was born. It’s stolen her mind and soul, leaving her with only enough to survive.”
Recounting Keric’s report made her eyes burn. If only she’d defied Breasal’s wish to not take Moira to a mage, like Delaney had mustered the will to do. If only Delaney had been the first, perhaps there wouldn’t have been a second.
“Since she started her courses a few months ago, Moira has suffered illness after illness, her health declining with each passing day. She’s bedridden now. Keric says the dark magic is killing her, probably because she’s no longer a child. He tried to remove the affliction, but it was too powerful for him. What he could do was discover its source.”
“Breasal,” Delaney whispered. “It’s Breasal, isn’t it?”
Aife nodded. The rage that had put her hand on a sword hilt again after so long roiled in her gut, pushing aside her weariness from the morning’s turmoil. “I don’t know what he is, but I do know he’s killing my daughter. I also know he’s in Cork. I’m going there to stop him and save my daughter.” Keric would’ve come, but he didn’t think Moira would last much longer. He’d stayed behind to do everything in his power to keep the girl alive as long as possible.
Delaney stopped her pony. Aife halted her horse. Though the rain had lessened to a fine, misty drizzle, the sky had darkened.
“Night’s falling,” Delaney said. “I knew we should’ve started earlier in the day, but after lunch was when I managed to get up the gumption. Would you mind camping with us tonight? Safety in numbers.”
“I should’ve left earlier too.” Aife nodded. The time in Keric’s arms had been a glorious luxury she shouldn’t have afforded herself.
The two women tended the horses, the quiet broken only by Gemma’s errant giggles. Inside the wagon-tent, they prepared a small, cold meal from Delaney’s supplies and compared their experiences with Breasal by candlelight. In both cases, he’d demanded little in exchange for providing much. He’d found delight in the girls and never acted improperly toward them.
“Two days a month on a schedule like clockwork,” Delaney agreed. “That’s how often we see him. I didn’t realize it was so little until I sat down and added it up. Once I figured that out, I decided I should go, because he’d been to visit last week.”
Aife had noticed the same many years ago. Like a fool, she’d never given it much consideration. He traveled for business, so of course he rarely stayed at home. “What does he do for the rest of the month? You know, I don’t ever remember discussing his business. He always wants to talk about Moira or me, or the household, expenses, anything and everything except himself.” That tendency had endeared him to her, of course. He seemed so selfless.
Delaney blinked. “Goodness, you’re right. I have no idea what he does. Some sort of merchanting something or other.” She frowned and passed Gemma a cracker to make her stop giggling. “Four days out of every month, maybe two more for travel. That’s twenty-two days left to account for. What if— What if there are other women with other children? If he’s in Cork right now, what if he’s got one there? And another five or more in other villages?”
“All those children, and all those mothers,” Aife whispered.
“And we never meet each other because we’re too tired to ever get out. Even if we weren’t, no one wants to talk about a child like this.” Delaney rummaged through a lumpy sack and retrieved a small leather pouch. She offered it to Aife. “This is the money I planned to pay the mage to look at Gemma. You take it, and you use it to get at that bastard. He’s ruined a lot of lives. If he’s been doing this for a long time, he’s ruined a whole lot more than we’ll ever know.”
Aife held out a hand to push away the coin purse. For a farm girl, the number of coins offered had to represent years of scrimping and saving. “I can’t take that.”
“Yes, you can.” Delaney dropped it at Aife’s feet. The coins inside clunked. “This all stinks of magic. I’m no warrior or mage. I can’t fight Breasal and hope to win, especially not with Gemma to look after. You can. And you need support. This is what I can do for you.”
Picking up the pouch, Aife didn’t know what she’d do with the money. She didn’t need anything and couldn’t stomach the idea of using it to pay for a room or food in Cork.
“Don’t you dare ‘accidentally’ leave it behind come morning.” Delaney snuffed the candle and settled with Gemma.
If she didn’t use it, Aife decided, she’d find Delaney and return it. With that thought, she settled under a blanket and fell asleep.
Gemma woke them in the morning. Aife helped Delaney turn around the wagon, then urged her horse onward. Within an hour, she crested a low hill.
Aife hadn’t visited Cork in sixteen years, yet little had changed. Villages dotted the three roads leading to the massive, singular gate in the high stone walls around the city. Stone buildings marched to the ocean, where ships bobbed with the waves at the deep-water port. Horses, oxen, wagons, carts, and walkers clogged the area near the gate.
As she neared the city, a chilly breeze brought the stench of too many creatures in too small a space. Dogs barked, donkeys brayed, children shrieked, people chattered. Guards stood at attention and watched people pass through the open gate without stopping anyone.
She didn’t know where in Cork to find Breasal. Once upon a time, she would’ve plunged into the seedy underbelly and knocked heads together until someone pointed her in the right direction. That approach took skills she hadn’t practiced in a long time.
Since no one knew her anymore, she figured no one would treat her like a criminal or mercenary. She stopped her horse beside a guard.
“Excuse me. I’m supposed to find a man named Breasal Cuinn to deliver a package. Do you have any idea where he might be? Or know of a place to ask after him?”
The guard smiled at her. “Of course, ma’am. Master Cuinn’s place is on the north side, along Crevard Row.”
Aife blinked at him. “I...didn’t expect you to know that.”
He laughed. “I guess it’s your lucky day. Master Cuinn passes through here all the time, and he’s a frequent guest of the Duke. I sometimes escort him.”
“Thank you.” Aife moved on, eager to keep the guard and his colleagues from remembering her.
Three-story houses sharing side walls lined Crevard Row on both sides of the street. Every house looked the same as every other house except for the window boxes. Flowers in every color spilled from planters hanging off the facades.
Planters full of daffodils and yellow daylilies made her pause outside one house. As she reined in the horse, the front door opened, and a woman stepped out.
The woman, perhaps five or six years older than Delaney, wore a black wool dress with a white pinafore and a white bonnet covering her hair. Her shoulders sagged with weariness. Aife thought she recognized the droop of a young child’s mother.
“Excuse me, miss? I’m looking for Breasal Cuinn. Do you happen to know where he lives?”
“This is his house,” the woman said as she closed the door. “But he’s not home. Come back after dark if you want to see him.”
“Thank you.” Aife watched the woman walk away. She didn’t want to trouble anyone, but she needed to know.
Once the woman turned the corner, Aife urged her horse to follow. Two turns later, the woman disappeared around a corner. When Aife stopped to look for her, the woman stepped from behind a column, pointing an accusing finger at Aife.
“Why are you following me?”
Aife had hoped to speak with her under more private circumstances. She saw no other option than ignoring the passersby and asking the most direct question she could. “Do you have a young child who seems behind in speaking and learning? And their father was a mage?”
The woman narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?”
“One of Breasal’s wives.”
“What?”
“I know he has more than one, and I know we all have children who aren’t right.”
Her brow furrowed, the woman turned her back on Aife and strode several paces away. Then she turned around and marched back. She jabbed a finger at Aife again. For a heartbeat, Aife thought she meant to shout, then the woman closed her mouth and frowned.
Aife climbed down from her horse and touched the woman’s arm. “I don’t mean you or your child any harm. Please, hear me out. I can help you.”
“I’m not his wife. I work for him as a maid. The cook and I, we both have little girls who need extra help. He takes care of us.”
Using the horse as a screen against strangers, Aife told the maid everything she knew.
“I don’t want to believe you.” The maid sighed and rubbed her face. “He’s so sweet to us.”
“Because he doesn’t want you to discover the truth. If he was wretched, you’d have a reason to question him.”
The maid slumped her shoulders and nodded. “What will we do without my income?”
Aife thought she’d found a use for Delaney’s coins. She dug out the purse and offered it. “I need to get inside that house without him knowing. Take this and show me the way so I can save our daughters.”
The maid stared at the pouch. She lifted it from Aife’s hand and poured half the coins into her pocket, then handed the pouch back to Aife. “Leave your horse stabled someplace. There’s an alley that runs behind the houses, and they all have back doors. His is number five twenty-seven. That door is always unlocked during the day. Give the rest of the money to Iona, the cook. Tell her you’re Breasal’s wife, there to surprise him from out of town, and she should take the rest of the day off. He’ll come in through the front door about half an hour after dusk.”
Tucking the pouch into a pocket, Aife smiled at her. “Thank you. I hope we all notice the difference immediately.”
They parted ways with a clasp of hands. Aife found a stable and left her horse behind. At the house, she climbed the fence as the maid had told her. Iona accepted both the coins and explanation without question.
With a few hours before dark, Aife drifted through the house until she found his office. She rifled through everything. His records showed he spent a lot of time paying attention to the movements of male mages, and possibly sponsored their exploits and conquests. A ledger revealed he kept ten wives at a time, each referenced by the name of her isolated village.
To her horror, she found documentation suggesting he’d managed all this for at least seven decades. Files held information about woman after woman, each with a daughter fathered by a mage. He’d financed funerals for dozens of girls aged twelve to sixteen.
She found Keric’s name on a file. Her hands shaking, she opened the folder and read everything. According to Breasal’s records, he’d approached Keric after Aife became pregnant. Keric had refused his offer, so Breasal had manipulated him into a job expected to kill him, or at least to keep him away from Aife long enough to swoop in and woo her. He’d planned to convince her to move if needed so Keric couldn’t find her and Moira.
Aife clutched the file to her chest. She wanted to weep and scream at the same time. Fifteen years ago, she should’ve taken Moira and searched for Keric. Instead, she’d let a monster whisper honey into her weary ears. By the time she’d regained her strength from the difficult birthing, he’d owned her.
If Keric hadn’t returned, she never would’ve known. Moira’s death would’ve shattered her.
Dropping the file, she gripped her sword and stalked to the entry. There, she stood where the opening door would hide her. And she waited.
She remembered the soul-crushing despair when she could no longer ignore Moira’s problems. She remembered wondering what she’d done wrong to doom Moira to such a terrible life. She remembered hating herself for wishing she’d never had Moira.
Every day, she woke to face the slow, building horror of what would happen to Moira as she aged.
Breasal had caused it. All of it. Even if destroying him didn’t fix Moira or all the other girls, Aife would still do it to avenge all the stolen lives and to prevent him from stealing more.
Once upon a time, she’d fought for money. Though the causes she’d chosen had been good, never had she fought for this kind of true, pure justice.
The sun set, darkening the room. Aife held a hand ready to catch the door. She’d wait for him to close it, take a step, and thrust the blade through his body. No need for all the swordplay she’d forgotten or muscles she’d allowed to wither.
Too soon and not soon enough, the knob turned. The door opened. A silhouette stepped inside.
“Iona?” Breasal called.
He shut the door. Aife took a step and thrust her sword at the center of his back.
Breasal turned. Her blade slashed across his jacket. He sucked in a breath and sidestepped. She swore and raised her sword again.
“Who’s there?” He darted to a shadow and disappeared.
“Your wife,” Aife growled. The vile bastard had turned the darkness against her. She held her sword and focused on the blade. If the lights came on, she wanted to see. Otherwise, she needed to ignore the shadows and listen.
Breasal’s voice echoed around the room as he chuckled. “Aife, I should’ve known it would be you who’d come for me.”
“Why’s that?”
“All your years as a swordswoman gave you strength. It took so much work to lure you at the beginning. Of course, now your daughter is at the end, I have no further need for you. It’s fitting that you should die the same day as she, isn’t it?”
Aife swallowed a surge of panicked grief. Keric had promised he’d keep her safe. She had to trust him. He’d said he could do it. He would do it.
“Not to worry, though. I’ve already found the next one. She’s plump and ripe for the taking.”
Shadows flickered on the edge of her vision to the right. Ignoring them let her hear his breathing. He had slipped to her left.
“Why do you do all this? Why all these children?”
“My dear Aife, no power is free. No matter what you want, someone always pays.”
“And what did my daughter pay for?”
He laughed at her. She heard him slithering closer.
“What do you think? Immortality, of course. Youth. Strength. Riches.”
The darkness writhed to her right and lunged toward her. Trusting herself, she slashed to the left.
Breasal squealed and hissed. Warmth spattered Aife’s face and burned her flesh. His blood stank of corruption and death. Something solid hit the floor near her feet. She stomped it. Bones crunched.
She swiped her face with her sleeve.
“If you were still a pretty young thing, those burns would be a shame.” Breasal sounded pained and tense.
She knew her age. A few wrinkles, extra pounds, and gray hairs made no difference to her heart or soul. His taunt didn’t sting, only the acid in his veins did. “If you were a decent person, that lost arm would be a shame.”
“I can make a new one,” he snapped
The shadows lunged again, this time from the left. Aife didn’t think he’d moved far enough to reach her from the right. She thrust her sword forward and felt the blade hit something.
Breasal gurgled. Though she knew it would hurt, Aife rushed him and shoved her sword deeper. More of his blood sizzled through her shirt and scored her skin. They crashed to the floor together. His acid blood splashed her hands. She screamed as she wrenched her sword to the side, cutting through him.
He whimpered. Tears sprang to Aife’s eyes from the pain in her hands. She lurched to her feet, yanked out her sword, and staggered to find a light. He needed to die, and she needed to see him dead.
She bumped into a table and found an oil lamp. Pawing the surface, she discovered a sparker beside it. With a shaking hand, she scraped the sides together to produce a spark and lit the wick.
Light flared. Breasal lay on the ground in a puddle of black ooze, gasping for breath and staring at her in shock. She’d split open his side, and it oozed more slime. Gray crept over his flesh as if time rushed to claim him.
Aife would take no chances. She locked her gaze with the monster’s and shoved her sword through his heart.
High-pitched wailing wheezed from his mouth. His body darkened and crumbled. The ground shook. Aife stumbled until she hit the wall and slid to the floor. Struggling to wipe her arms on her pants, she watched his form fall apart and her sword hit the floor. Pulses of darkness leaped from the rubble, turning white before winking out.
Everything stopped. He left behind a dark stain on the rug. Her sword lay unspoiled in the center, gleaming in the candlelight.
Raising her hands, she saw the ooze had vanished, leaving behind raw, numb burns. They would heal. Scars would remain, inside and out.
If she hurried, Aife could reach home before dawn. She’d collapse with weariness when she arrived, but she’d know Moira’s fate. Iona and the maid would tend to the house and everything inside it. Aife had no doubt they would do whatever they could for the other women.
She rushed to pick up her sword and flee the house. The stablehand helped her saddle her horse swiftly. The ride through Cork passed in a blur, then the headlong rush through the countryside. Aife pushed the horse as hard as she dared.
The poor beast frothed at the mouth and heaved for breath when it reached home. Dim light glowed around the edges of the curtains covering her front window. She slid out of the saddle and ran through her wild front garden under starlight. Her heart pounded as she threw her body at the front door to heave it open.
Fire burned in the kitchen hearth. Steam roiled from a pot over it, filling the air with mint and rose musk. Keric and Moira sat at the round table, each holding a clay mug.
Both snapped their heads to see who’d burst inside. Moira’s face lit up. She set aside her mug, leaped to her feet and rushed to hug Aife.
Her strong, sturdy arms squeezed like Moira had never suffered sickness. “Mama! Papa say you save me!”
Aife crumpled, delirious with joy and tears streaking down her cheeks. Even if Moira never caught up, never regained what Breasal had taken from her, she lived. Her little girl lived. They needed nothing more.
~***~
Lee French lives in Olympia, WA with two kids, two bicycles, and too much stuff. She writes across a variety of F/SF subgenres, including epic fantasy, space opera, and cyberpunk. An active member of SFWA, she is best known for her young adult urban fantasy series, Spirit Knights. Her stories appear in numerous anthologies, including the award-winning Merely This and Nothing More: Poe Goes Punk. Her work can be found online at www.authorleefrench.com.