Author H.E. Curtis

Once, the worlds of men and Sidhe co-existed together without turmoil or fear. But now, contact with men or Sidhe is forbidden in both realms. For some, like Tralina and Rhys, the penalty for loving one another is death. One at the hands of the Inquisition, the other at the hands of the Tribunal; whose knightly oaths he swore to uphold and guard the realm of the Sidhe.

In the shadow of outlawed love and the presence of forbidden Sidhe magic, there is a magic so ancient and powerful that it was locked away, and knowledge of it intentionally forgotten, to be lost forever.

While the love of Tralina and Rhys grows, so do the shadows which haunt their paths and seek to claim the lives of both. Facing the fires of the Inquisition, to the Wild Hunt itself, will their love remain strong enough to keep them alive?

Or will the cost be too great and plunge both worlds into deep shadow?

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EXCERPT:

It had been yet another trying day, in a series over several months. The deeper reaches of the forest offered some respite; the whispering breeze through the limbs above her sighing softly, sighing tunes in words only they knew, but which she understood. She stopped near several small stones, bending down and gathering some of the white, flowered herbs and placing them in her sporran. There were too few of the fever herbs available for this season. Three years ago, the village elders, in their infinite wisdom, had forbidden the gathering of medicinal herbs as a conduit into the paths of dark magic.

Heedless of the warnings from the village doctor and Tralina about not having enough on hand, the elders had threatened accusations of sorcery if one was found gathering certain herbs. So they watched helplessly, trying to prevent the fevers and other illnesses that spawned from the fevers, which swept through the village the first year, exhausting all the collected herbs to fight such sickness. It took the near death of several elders, for the remaining ones to come to their senses and rescind their decree, allowing the doctor and Tralina to search for the needed herbs.

The doctor had rightly called all of them fools upon leaving the council room. He muttered about their continued foolishness of not understanding vermin brought the plague. Not until young Jacobs caught it did they start to protect the grain sheds better. None had asked how many healers had gathered needed herbs unhindered. Tralina agreed with him about them being daft beyond hope. Ever since the Inquisitor came to live here, the black devil himself had taken their common sense.

Now she was alone. Several years ago the old doctor perished from old age and being over worked. The new one who replaced him could not look beyond his schooling. He was good in some respects, but the people still came to her as they had in the past.

She had remained out of the Inquisitor’s eye so far because this forest was on the land she had inherited; she chose to live here instead of the village itself. Not many women had their own land—one point against her. Not many had the knowledge of the old healing gifts—a second, more dangerous, mark against her; many of the women had suffered due to their knowledge of old traditions, including the midwives. Both resulted in her keeping a low profile and not being too visible.

A third black mark, though not to her, was that she knew the magic her grandmother had taught her—the magic some called that of a “forest witch.” It was more than that, she knew. More precious, but still not understood by most, and so she did not practice openly.

Deeper into the woods she went, for the particular herbs she was searching for grew much deeper in. She sang softly as she searched, her fingers gently uprooting the herbs and keeping enough earth around the plant’s roots. Once she replanted these near her cottage, she would not have to travel so far into the forest. She sang in the old language, the one which was outlawed, but which every villager spoke out of hearing of the authorities. Outlawed just like the tartan, claymores and pipes of her people.

“Tha tighin fodham, (It comes upon me)

the havens of the lady to see.

Tha tighin fodham (It comes upon me)

to dance upon the sacred stairs.”

She stopped, listening for a moment around her, and then continued until she came to the patch of herbs growing thickly among the rocks and trees. After gathering them, she sat for a moment against the rocks, letting their fragrance and the deep peace of the forest seep into her bones, relishing the solitude. It was so safe, unhindered and untroubled here where everything was on balance. She dozed as a patch of sun stroked her cheek.

* * * * *

Before her stood Daniel Dubois, captain of the guard and good friend to her family. His eyes were troubled, void of the mischief which usually shown out from them.

He opened his mouth to speak. It was obvious he had something very important to tell her, but then stopped; obviously fighting to stay composed, he swore softly.

She knew before he spoke.

He was the messenger of David’s death, his helpless and broken account of what happened as he attempted to keep his calm and strength told her he blamed himself because he was in command.

She stopped him as they shared their tears, the only thing left to them who had loved David deeply.

* * * * *

She woke, her mind jumbled for a moment, confused as to why now, after ten years she had dreamed of that day. Perhaps it had been the presence of the forest guardian, which she saw from time to time. A fleeting figure, seen occasionally walking between the trees, across a stream or standing on some rocks, but for never very long, and never solid enough to be sure she had seen him.

She moved to stand, but stopped as she saw movement in the trees not far away from her. There came a sound of soft singing to her ears; she could not make out the words, but it was soothing to her and had a soft keening to it.

A figure moved, a woman, by the grace and long hair. Tralina was intrigued and a little concerned that someone walked in her wood.

Softly she rose and walked toward the small copse of trees. The music continued and Tralina still could not make out the words, but she could hear it more clearly now.

It was a soft keening, unlike any she had heard before, but she knew with clarity it was keening, for the women in her village still keened for the dead despite the objections of the Inquisitor—who called the practice closely resembling the summoning of demons. But what could he do, burn all the women of the village? No support would be spared him for this small remote village.

The woman turned and as she did so, her hair flowed around her. The sound of keening left no question Tralina saw the Cointeach. The visage did not seem as it was thought to be, but how to be sure when she could not see clearly from here?

Tralina felt no fear, rather curiosity and a faint kinship at the woman before her. She continued to walk closer, timidly at first, then more boldly and with confidence. A lone breeze swirled leaves in front of her and when it subsided the woman was gone, but not before she had seen the woman beckon to her.

Tralina stopped, confusion clouding her mind, tinged with a fear she had not felt since listening to the tales of the Cointeach as a child. She had once heard the wailing the night before David had died, but did not think of it again until the news of David’s death was given to her.

Anger suddenly surged in her. What was to be taken from her now? She would not sit idle this time, helpless at events. She would confront and fight. All caution was tossed aside as she made the rest of the way to the clearing and she looked around her, suddenly her anger cooling at finding nothing.

“Foolish!” She chided herself. “Chasing the lingering pieces of a dream.”

She turned to go, but spotted a patch of herbs beneath a tree. These were a rare find, for their potency against sickness was strong, and not many of the plants were found in one place. As she had been taught by her wise grandmother, she left several plants there.

Recalling she was also to leave an item as thanks for the gift as well, Tralina dug a small hole, placing a copper piece in it, which she covered with dirt. As an after thought, she emptied her remaining water around the herb’s roots.

It was then she saw the dark, tear drop, amber stone on the rock nearest her.

It looked like one of the healing stones her grandmother had taught her about. She reached for it, looking at it briefly, and then placed it in the satchel on her belt to explore more in depth at home. It had felt warm to the touch, but now it felt as any stone would. Tralina clasped it to her breast, feeling as if she had been given something precious.

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