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  She passed through the doors to find Àed discussing something with the innkeep, a short, balding man with a gold embroidered coat that looked out of place on his less than grand physique. Àed had not taken the coin purse back from Finn while still on the road, yet he now produced four silver coins for the innkeep. Finn could not tell exactly where the coins were coming from, a sleight of hand that likely helped ward off pickpockets. She shook her head at her knowledge of pickpockets. She would simply have to stop thinking.

  She walked forward swiftly, attempting to avoid eye-contact with the inn's patrons as they sat eating their suppers. Her shoulders relaxed as the room's warmth comforted her, but she instantly forced them to stiffen. She should not be comfortable here. Reaching Àed's side, she let out her held breath, then turned to acknowledge the innkeep with a tight smile. The small man's coat was almost blinding with its gold thread that reflected the lantern light as he shifted his weight back and forth. Though the innkeep was narrow of limb, the coat attempted to hide a rather full, round belly that reflected the light more than the concave areas of his body.

  The innkeep grinned as he took in Finn with his eyes. “Welcome to the Sheep's Delight, the finest inn in all of Garenoch, burgh of Alderman Gwrtheryn.”

  Àed glanced up at the man from under silver bushy eyebrows. “Considering it's one of two inns in Garenoch, that ain't really sayin much.”

  The man's smile did not falter, but the tone of his voice was bland as he held out a key to Àed and said, “Your room is up the stairs, third on the right. Enjoy your stay.”

  Without a word, Àed snatched the key, then turned and ascended the wide wooden stairway beside the bar, with Finn following silently after him. She left clumps of mud as she went, and cursed herself for not wiping her feet on her way in. The feeling of eyes on her back made her think that perhaps the innkeep was cursing her as well, but she turned to find not the innkeep's eyes, but the eyes of a young man seated in the common room.

  Next to him sat a young woman who looked startlingly similar to him, both in age and appearance. They each had dusky red hair, small angular faces, and large honey brown eyes. They reminded Finn of the foxes that lived in her glen. She took in the woman's burgundy cloak and concluded that they were two of the riders from earlier. Realizing with a start that she had been observing the pair for longer than was polite, Finn met the man's gaze with a glare, and he quickly averted his eyes. She may have just been a tree, but she still knew that it was rude to stare.

  She ascended the stairway without looking back again, removing the hood of her green cloak and shaking out her slightly matted hair as she went. Though she was out of sight of the common room, the feeling of eyes on her back remained.

  Chapter Three

  Anders had not meant to stare at the girl. His thoughts had been on the old man, actually. He knew his face, though he couldn't quite place it.

  He turned to his twin sister, Branwen. She obviously had not even noticed the old man, or the girl that had accompanied him. Branwen was poring over a decrepit book on the history of their current burgh. Tomorrow there would be another book, as they would be heading toward another burgh. For the life of him, Anders could find nothing interesting about any of the little hamlets they'd passed through, but his sister acted as if each new place held great historical significance. She had loved books as a child, and now she would see the places she had read about for the very first time.

  Even in the present day, Branwen was always reading one book or another. He could grudgingly admit that it made Branwen the better historian, though he'd never say so to her face. Anders, the older of the two by one hour, was at least a far superior cartographer, or so he kept telling himself. Given that their mission at present was the mapping of the lands, from Cael all the way to Migris, he thought of himself as in charge, though he'd also never voice those particular thoughts to Branwen.

  He looked to their other companion, Iseult, the guard they'd enlisted before leaving the Gray City. At least Anders liked to think of him as a guard. In reality he was more of a mercenary, taking whatever job paid regardless of how lawful the job might be.

  Iseult was a tall man, but not overly muscled. Anders would have doubted his abilities, if he had not seen how fast the man moved. Iseult swept a hand over his near-black hair, which hung just past his shoulders. The length was likely less of a desire for long hair, the style of the times for the gentler classes, than a lack of desire to get it cut. There was a peppering of gray at his temples, making Anders imagine that Iseult had led a trying life, as he seemed fairly young to have gray hairs. Iseult's eyes were a mixture of pale green and gray-brown. Anders realized with a shudder why the eyes had seemed so familiar to him at first. They reminded him of the eyes of a great hunting cat.

  The party also traveled with Liaden, an emissary of the Gray City, and Kai, her escort. Though the latter two had already retired to their room.

  Anders felt himself rolling his eyes at the thought of the travelers from the Gray City. The city's traditional name was Sormyr. Sormyr was originally built with wrought iron and basalt. It had been altogether imposing in its darkness. The only problem was that it stood near the sea, so that over time everything became caked in salt and other minerals. The city dwellers did their best to scrub the minerals away, but most of the buildings turned to gray. Hence, the Gray City.

  He could have done without the emissary, but the approval of the Alderman of the Gray City, Arthryn, granted legitimacy to any maps Anders might make, so he hadn't much choice in the matter. Without an extension of Arthryn to monitor the progress of his mapping, the maps themselves would not be worth near as much renown. Though he understood the need for witnesses under a greater authority, he did not understand why such authority belonged only to the rulers of the larger cities. He had not even been allowed to meet the Alderman of Sormyr, and was forced to deal with Liaden on all matters.

  Anders turned his attention back to his present companions. Branwen was mercilessly explaining to Iseult the history of Garenoch, their current burgh. Iseult did not seem overly interested in the one-sided conversation. In Anders' opinion, the only significance that Garenoch held was as the place where he finally received a hot meal. Or he would receive a hot meal, if it ever actually reached their table. The sole barmaid of the Sheep's Delight (a rather questionable name for an inn, at that) was nowhere to be seen. She was very old, and continuously disappeared into the kitchen for long periods of time.

  Iseult gave the hint of a nod here and there in acknowledgment of Branwen's prattling, yet he was not inclined to actually speak. Anders doubted he had heard the man speak more than three words since they had hired him. He wouldn't have trusted Iseult to protect them at all, if he hadn't come on good recommendation from a fellow scholar.

  As Anders regarded the mercenary yet again, Iseult's green/gray eyes narrowed at something across the room. Anders turned to see the old man and the young girl descending the staircase.

  “I know that face,” Iseult muttered to himself, unaware that Branwen's expression had turned to one of contempt at the interruption.

  “That's odd,” Anders commented. “I thought the same thing, like I've seen his face in a portrait somewhere.”

  Iseult gave him such a look that Anders wished he hadn't spoken, but replied, “Not the old man. The girl.”

  Anders gave the girl a second look, but her face did not stand out to him. She was lovely, in a common sort of way, but he was sure he had never seen her before. The girl went to sit with her elderly companion at a table in the far corner, so that Anders had to look over his shoulder to see them. This time, the girl directed her glare at Iseult, and Anders let out a sigh of relief. The sigh caught in his throat as the mercenary turned away to look down at the tabletop, as if fully chastised. Anders had never thought to see such a look on the mercenary's face. Iseult recovered quickly, and directed a glare toward Anders, daring the smaller man to make comment.

  Anders quickly looked aw
ay, only to see that the barmaid had re-emerged from the kitchen with large plates of food in hand. His mouth watered in anticipation. It had been nothing but hard bread and cheese for two days. Only the thought of a hot meal had kept him moving in the poor weather, instead of stopping to make camp in a sheltered area.

  The barmaid walked toward their table, food in hand, then walked right past, setting the plates that surely should have been destined for Anders in front of the girl and the old man. The girl looked at the old man in surprise, and he rewarded her with a wink and a smile. Anders watched longingly as the pair tore into roasted grouse and potatoes the size of Anders' two fists put together. There was something about that old man, he was sure of it.

  Finn was not sure why those men had been staring at her, but she knew she did not appreciate it. The red-haired man seemed harmless enough, but the other, the one with the dark hair, seemed like some sly, hunting beast. The woman with them did not stare, at least. In fact, she seemed completely oblivious to it all.

  She took a bite of the piping hot potato, and had to leave her mouth open and pant on it to cool it down a bit. When it had cooled enough, and she was able to swallow, she turned to Àed.

  “Those two men were watching us,” she commented.

  “Aye lass,” he replied with his mouth full. “I saw.”

  “It was very rude,” she prompted, frustrated that he didn't say more.

  Àed shrugged. “Perhaps ye should go tell them so, lass.”

  Finn's face burned with an angry blush. “I was just making an observation,” she muttered.

  Àed took a bite of potato, and had no trouble with its scalding temperature. “We are an odd pair, lass. Ye dinnae often see an old man and a young lady traveling without protection. Not lately at least. They're probably just wonderin what we're up to.”

  The barmaid appeared in front of their table again, carrying two pewter mugs. The woman never said a word to them, but left with a kindly smile for Àed. Finn noticed the red haired man looking after the barmaid longingly as she disappeared back into the kitchen.

  “You know her,” Finn commented, referring to the barmaid as she looked down into her mug to find that it was filled with dark red wine.

  Àed nodded, and took a sip of his wine. “Aye lass. Sometimes being among the elderly has its benefits.”

  Finn lifted her mug to her lips, but hesitated. Now, not only was the red haired man looking at her, but his sister was looking too. Not directly at her though. She realized with a start that they were actually looking at Àed.

  She turned her own gaze back to Àed, who didn't seem to notice the attention he was getting. “Pooks,” the old man mumbled. “Who ever heard of Pooks in these parts?”

  Finn waited as the old man continued muttering to himself about Pooks and magical folk. “What are you going on about?” she questioned finally.

  Àed startled, and turned toward Finn with a glare. “I'm tryin to hear the news from our dining companions, if ye dinnae mind.”

  The old man had been eaves-dropping on the rest of the common room. Finn was surprised that he could hear so well at his age, while she herself could not pick out any individual conversations from the murmur.

  “What are Pooks?” she asked, once again interrupting Àed from his listening.

  “Bah,” he grunted. “I'm never going to hear anything of import with all yer ramblin.” He eyed her for a moment, then explained, “Pooks are night creatures. Some say they be of the Tuatha De, the faierie folk, or some say demons. They appear as twisted, small humans with goat features, horns and the like, ye know? Portents they are.”

  Finn nodded in understanding. “You mean Bucca. I've seen the Bucca.”

  She had seen them on many a night, creeping through the darkness. Small creatures walking on two legs, but more animal-like than human. Their milky yellow eyes reflected the moonlight when they were still, but they would meld into shadows a moment after coming into her line of perception.

  “There are many names,” Àed explained, “but the creatures remain the same. The important thing is that folk have been spottin' them. Well, they say they been spottin' them. Ye saw them as a tree ye say?”

  Finn nodded. “For the past few years at least, only at night.”

  Àed shook his head. “Things be changin'. For good or for worse we cannae know. Pooks are a bad sign, a sign toward the latter.”

  “Why would seeing the Pooks be bad?” Finn pressed.

  Àed took a deep swig of his wine. “The Tuatha De started dwindling off several decades ago,” he explained. “There was a war, and I'll tell ye, the wars of men cannae compare to the wars of the Tuatha. No man even knew what the Faie folk were fighting over, but the fighting lasted for half a century and another half of that. Not huge battles mind ye, but the clashes were evident when they happened. Many mortals lost their lives and homes simply because they stood in the way. Forty years back the fighting stopped altogether, and the Tuatha began to disappear. There've been no sightings in decades, except for the Travelers. If the Tuatha De return, ye can bet the violence will return with them.”

  Finn had not witnessed any such fighting in her time as a tree, nor had she witnessed any Faie besides those in recent years. “I liked the Bucca,” she decided, “and I think I would like to see the other Faie as well.”

  Àed shook his head and sulked in silence, his mood seeming to sour by the moment.

  “Perhaps we should retire to our room,” Finn said softly, regretting her comment on the Tuatha when she saw how it affected her companion.

  Àed glanced up, once again startled out of his thoughts. “Finish yer food first. We'll have plenty of time to scamper away afterward.”

  Finn resumed her supper, wanting strongly to escape from the common room and the too-loud din of conversation. Whereas at first the large volume of people offered Finn comfort, now they made her nervous, especially when the ones who'd been there before kept staring in her direction. Àed surveyed their unwelcome watchers thoughtfully for a moment, shoved one last bite of potato into his mouth, then stood. Finn pushed her plate away and did the same, grateful that the meal was over.

  Half-full wine glasses in hand, Finn and Àed wove through the tables and walked toward the stairs. Finn let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding as they reached the threshold. No one barred their way, and they ascended while the siblings and the dark-haired man pretended to not look at them.

  By the time Finn reached the top of the stairs, Àed was already unlocking the small door to their room. She caught up with him as he opened it, and he gestured for her to step inside before him.

  The room was far more grand than Àed's hovel, but that wasn't hard to accomplish. Two straw mats were placed on raised bed frames with a small wooden table between their heads. There was also another small table with a washbasin and pitcher, as well as a rickety wooden chair shoved into the corner near the small fireplace.

  Finn sat on the edge of one of the beds and sipped her remaining wine. “What do you think they wanted?” she asked after a time.

  Àed had set himself to examining their door, then turned to the room's small window. “Not sure lass,” he mumbled as he smoothed a finger along the edges of the windowsill.

  Finn looked down into her cup, the small amount she had consumed had succeeded in making her feel slightly giddy. “Well then, who do you think they were?”

  Àed grunted. “By the looks of it, they're wealthy. The twins are likely merchants, or something of the sort. I'd say the dark haired man is a hired sword, or sellsword as such are called. He's also a thief. Not much to worry about, I'd say.”

  “A thief?” Finn intoned. “How could you tell?”

  Àed chuckled. “I've a nose for such things. I'd bet ye all of the coin in the world that the man is a thief, though I doubt his employers know it.”

  “Do you think he'll try to rob us?” Finn asked.

  Àed shook his head. “The man would have little reason to. Not
much to worry about, like I said.”

  Finn raised an eyebrow, but Àed didn't see. “Then why are you inspecting the room so thoroughly?” she asked skeptically.

  Àed finally turned his attention to her. “I said that lot was nothing to worry yerself about. I dinnae say there weren't anything else to be worryin about.”

  Finn pulled the scratchy blanket off her bed and wrapped it around her shoulders. The room was absolutely freezing. On cue, Àed began making a small fire from the paltry amount of branches left in the room for that purpose.

  “And what should we be worrying about?” Finn prompted. She knew better than to offer aid. The old man never took it.

  Àed shrugged as he crouched on the floor. “The road is a dangerous place for all, and now talk of Pooks about. Next thing ye know we'll be hearin' of Grogochs in folk's gardens and Dullahan knockin' on doors.”

  With that pleasant thought simmering in her mind, Finn went to the washbasin to clean a bit of the road dirt from her skin. The water was icy cold, and chilled her fingertips until she thought they might fall off. Not quite finished, but too cold to go on, she dried her face and hands on a rough towel, then went to sit by the fire. Àed began rinsing his own face, leaving Finn to her thoughts.

  Finn had felt the fates shift that night, and knew with a surety that she would see the siblings and their hired sword again. She knew it like she knew a storm was coming, back when she was a tree. She felt the pressure of it building, telling her that a downpour was on its way.

  Chapter Four

  Finn couldn't sleep. Àed had insisted that they go to bed early in order to get an early start, but Finn had tossed and turned for hours, unable to calm her mind. Each time she closed her eyes she would have flashes of that strange other life, a life that could not possibly be. She still could not make any sense of the scenes, yet the memories were most definitely her own. With the discomfort of the memories, that familiar aching had returned to her insides, and she was once again overcome with some need she couldn't quite describe.