Fierce Magic: A Victorian Faerie Tale (Iron & Thorns Gaslamp Fantasy Book 3) by E.B. Wheeler

Author:E.B. Wheeler [Wheeler, E.B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rowan Ridge Press
Published: 2024-08-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-One

Henry watched the English countryside slide by the train windows. In London, the only indication that anything was amiss was his nagging sense that the magic of the land was dulled and off balance—and the appearance of Faerie creatures, including Georgina Weaver’s sighting of the white stag. But out near the Cotswolds, the Carmun’s touch stained the land. Blight crept over fields of crops, with stalks of grain and even thick hedgerows browning and withering in an undulating pattern like the waves of the sea touching the shore.

“That’s ugly,” Jairus said, his hard expression making it clear he didn’t just mean the brown spreading over the fields.

Henry nodded. This close, he could feel the land crying out for help, slowly smothering under the touch of the Carmun’s poison. He had been uneasy about leaving Cassandra behind in London, but now he was grateful.

When they disembarked in Cirencester, the sensation of unease hit Henry with full force, tightening his stomach. The people in the town felt it, too. He could see it in their hunched shoulders and the wary, even hostile, looks they gave the outsiders. Fitzhugh had warned them the Carmun sowed hatred and despair along with plague and famine. Many of the houses were marked with signs of quarantine.

A young boy approached Henry, his eyes downcast. “Please, sir, can I shine your boots for a penny? My family has nothing to eat. Our crop’s been ruined, and my pa is ill.”

Henry felt as though he’d been punched in the gut. How many times had he ruined a family’s crops on Titania’s whim? How many children had he left hungry? He pulled all the coins from his pocket and offered them to the confused boy.

“For a debt I owe,” Henry said.

The boy took the money, hesitating as though it were Fay currency that might turn to acorns. Then he mumbled a thanks and rushed toward the baker’s.

“We need to move quickly,” Domin said in a low voice. “The sooner we can reinforce the Fisher King, the sooner we can end this.”

Henry hated to leave people in distress, but Domin was right. There was nothing he could do here.

Domin guided them out of the town on foot. Trees shaded their paths, the branches shuddering sometimes as if quaking in fear. Or begging for help.

As they walked, Henry heard the trickle of several springs. Even more, he felt them—the fresh, clean water bubbling up from the earth, anxious for its journey across England to the sea. Yet even the water spoke of darkness—not the natural darkness of rest and restoration, but something poisonous seeping deep into the land.

“There.” Domin pointed to an ancient hawthorn tree standing guard above one of the springs, its branches bowed as if its delicate leaves were too heavy a burden.

“How do we open the way?” Jairus asked, frowning at the water bubbling up beneath the tree.

“Normally, only members of Thames’s court would be able to,” Domin said. “I tried calling him from here, and he did not respond.

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