Brightfall

by Jaime Lee Moyer

Genres: Fantasy; Contemporary Fantasy; Historical Fantasy

Synopsis

'Immensely satisfying' Kate Elliott, author of King's Dragon Someone is murdering the Merry Men . . . It's been a mostly quiet life since Robin Hood put aside his pregnant wife Marian, turned his back on his Merry Men and his former life and retreated to a monastery to repent his sins . . . although no one knows what was so heinous he would leave behind Sherwood Forest and those he loved most. But when friends from their outlaw days start dying, Father Tuck, now the Abbott of St Mary's, suspects a curse and begs Marian to use her magic to break it. A grieving Marian must bargain for protection for her children before she sets out with a soldier who's lost his faith, a trickster Fey lord, and a sullen Robin Hood, angry at being drawn back into the real world. It's not long before Marian finds herself enmeshed in a maze of secrets and betrayals, tangled relationships and a vicious struggle for the Fey throne. And if she can't find and stop the spell-caster, no protection in Sherwood Forest will be enough to save her children. A wonderful re-imagining of Robin Hood and Maid Marian, perfect for fans of Katherine Arden, Naomi Novik and Christina Henry. 'Beautiful inside and out, gorgeously written and filled with bittersweet magic. A lush, immersive read, perfect for readers of Juliet Marillier' Stephanie Burgis, author of Masks and Shadows

Release date: September 5, 2019

Publisher: Quercus Publishing

Print pages: 400

Sample

Chapter 1

And if Robin should be cast Sudden from his turfed grave,And if Marian should have Once again her forest days,She would weep, and he would craze . . .

John Keats

In the middle of the greenwood stood an oak, broad as it was tall, with roots the Fae believed wrapped around the heart of the world. People on the farms outside Sherwood still told tales about that tree; most called it Robin’s Oak. Few spinning tales about Robin and Marian’s adventures knew I shared a cottage there with my children. Much as it pained Robin to claim Kate and Robbie, they were his children too. Only a few close friends and the monks in St Mary’s knew he’d left us on our own almost twelve years ago.

Not many ventured this far into Sherwood. Trees were widely spaced near our house, the ground running more to glades and meadows dotted with the oldest oak and rowan. King John’s foresters and woodcutters might stop by to share a meal, or women from Nottingham come seeking small vials of the philtres and elixirs that only I knew the making of, but other visitors were rare. Seeing Brother Timothy striding down the dusty, seldom-used path that led to Nottingham was a welcome surprise. Tim was a member of Abbot Tuck’s order and an old friend, though I hadn’t seen him in a year or more.

I continued dipping water from a bucket onto the mint growing near the door and waited for him. The bow and quiver slung over his shoulder looked out of place with the wooden crucifix bouncing on his chest and the awkward way he carried them as much as shouted that they didn’t belong to him.

A gift for Robbie, from his father. I hoped that Robin had remembered Kate as well this time.

Timothy raised a hand in greeting and called out, ‘Blessed day to you, Lady Marian.’

The fourth son of a noble house, he’d taken vows as a boy, yet he still held to courtly ways and granted me titles I’d lost long ago. I waved back and hurried to meet him at the edge of the path. His fringe of hair was whiter than the last time I’d seen him, making him look old enough to be my father. Age had settled deeper around his eyes, but his cheery smile still belonged to a young man.

‘Ah, Tim, the title came with the marriage. I gave up being Lady Marian when Robin put me aside.’ I stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. ‘You’re the only one who still greets me that way.’

‘Don’t expect me to approve Robin’s folly,’ Tim said. ‘You know neither Tuck nor I agreed with his reasons for asking to annul the marriage. Cardinal Liam was wrong to grant Robin’s request.’

‘Old hurts and sorrows are best forgotten, Tim. And it’s all long in the past now. So, tell me why you’ve come and if you’ll be able to stay for supper.’ I pointed at the bow and quiver. ‘And forgive me, but unless Robin remembered a gift for Kate this time, I’m going to ask you leave the bow right here.’

He reached into the oft-mended purse at his belt and pulled out a small packet, nicely wrapped in a scrap of yellow linen and tied with a blue ribbon. Yellow was Kate’s favourite colour, but remembering that was more like Tim than her father.

‘A silver locket, and with a penny tucked inside. I made it plain to Robin I wouldn’t carry gifts for only one of his children,’ he said. ‘Come and sit in the sun with me, Marian. We need to talk.’

I slipped the locket into my apron pocket and took his arm for the short walk to the cottage. He leaned the bow against the wall, emptied the remaining water in the bucket onto the flowers under the window and upended it so I could sit with the sun warming my shoulders. He lowered himself to the step, his back to the runes painted on the oak door.

Tim stared off towards the path. His long silence was making me uneasy, but finally he sighed and looked straight at me, sorrow and pity filling his eyes, and a strange reluctance.

I shivered, convinced a shade had touched my face and left the cold of the grave behind.

‘Marian . . .’ He cleared his throat. ‘There’s no easy way to say this. Will’s dead.’

I stared, thinking I’d misunderstood. Foolish thoughts skittered about in my head, thoughts that led anywhere but to never seeing Will again; never hearing his laugh, or feeling his warmth next to me.

Tim touched my shoulder, making me jump. He smelled of greasy wool, tallow smoke and too much time spent indoors. Odd things to notice, normal things, that kept me from hunching over my knees and wailing. ‘Did you hear me, sweet lady? Will’s dead.’

‘I – I heard.’ I stared into his kind blue eyes and I saw he believed what he’d said. ‘But it’s not true, Tim, it can’t be. It’s a mistake or . . . or another man died and they mistook him for Will. He’s not dead. Please tell me he’s not.’

He crouched in front of me, putting us eye to eye. ‘There’s no mistake, Marian. The messenger who arrived at the abbey and gave Robin the news wore the earl’s crest. I read the message myself. Will died while visiting his father.’

Dead was only a word, nothing more, but that word held so much sorrow. I screwed my eyes tight shut, unable to stand the pity in Tim’s face a moment longer. A vision of Will Scarlet as I’d last seen him taunted me: him grinning as he reached for me, his hair tousled from sleep, blue eyes sparkling in early morning light.

Will’s ghost was standing at Tim’s shoulder when I opened my eyes. Knotting my hands in my apron was all that kept me from reaching for him.

‘How long ago?’

‘Less than a fortnight. Will had put the finishing touches to the earl’s trade agreements the day before. He’d planned on leaving for home within the week.’ He glanced away, then squeezed my shoulder before standing. ‘I wanted you to hear the news from a friend.’

Kate and Robbie needed to be told, as gently as I could manage. Unlike his older brother, Will hadn’t hesitated to be a father to my children. We’d been together more than seven years. Robbie and Kate loved him nearly as much as I did.

‘That was more than kind, Tim,’ I said. ‘Did the message say what happened, or how . . . how he died?’

Tim sat on the step, looking defeated in a way I’d never seen in him before. ‘Will went riding just after mid-morning and the stablemaster saw him return late that afternoon. The groom who stabled his horse told the earl that Will was laughing and joking, just like always. He greeted those he passed as he went upstairs to his rooms to change before the evening meal, as was his wont. But Will never came downstairs. May God have mercy on his soul and forgive William his sins.’

Touches of grey may have frosted Will’s temples, but he was only a year or two older than me. Healthy men didn’t spend the day riding and return home to die before supper. ‘I . . . I don’t understand. What killed him?’

‘I wish I could tell you, but I don’t know. No one knows.’ Tim clutched his cross with both hands. ‘The earl’s own physician said there weren’t any wounds or signs of an injury and he told Will’s father that even the most quick-acting poison would leave traces – retching or foaming at the mouth, an odour that clings to the body or bleeding under the skin. And any poison that kills that quickly causes unendurable pain. None of the upstairs servants heard Will cry out, not even once.’

Tim was toying with his cross and avoiding looking at me: he had more to say, but needed to work up the courage. I’d known him well for almost twenty years. I could give him the peace to find the words.

He didn’t make me wait long. ‘The housemaid who went into his rooms to lay the fire found Will sitting in a chair . . . holding a scroll in his hand. He’d turned the chair to the window, maybe to catch the light. His eyes were open wide and he was staring at a mirror on the wall.’ Timothy looked down the lane again and frowned. ‘He was dead, his skin already cold when the girl raised the alarm. The earl and Robin both accepted his death as the will of God. I have a harder time laying his passing at the Lord’s feet.’

‘Do you have someone else to blame?’ A name: I wanted a name, someone worthy of wrath and vengeance; someone to whom I could return all this pain.

Tim crossed himself and sighed. ‘Will isn’t the first to die, Marian. We’ve had word of others dying, men who were friends to us all. At first we thought their passing was natural, either from age or illness, then when we began to hear the stories of how they died, Abbot Tuck sent me to beg your aid. He hopes you can find the reason behind what’s happened and put a stop to it.’

‘Me?’ I wrapped my arms over my chest and held myself tightly, afraid of how much more grief Tim meant to set at my feet. ‘Why would Tuck send you to me?’

‘He thinks witchcraft might be involved. A curse.’ He fidgeted, obviously uncomfortable. ‘Tuck is sure we need a witch to unravel it all.’

I shook my head ‘I’ve never denied being a witch, Tim, and you’re not going to hurt my feelings by calling me such.’

My mother had raised me in the old ways, as her mother had raised her, and her gram before that. She’d taught me herb-craft and lore, healing and midwifery, and to respect the Fae while staying wary, and when I had learned all she could teach me, Mam had found someone who could teach me more.

No longer able to keep still, I stood and paced in tight circles. A breeze ruffled the plants in my garden, stole the scent of rosemary for its own and carried it away. ‘Tell me who’s dead. Then tell me what Tuck needs me to do.’

Tim shut his eyes, as if reciting the names of our dead friends would be easier if he couldn’t see my face. ‘Alan died sitting alone in a tavern, staring out of a window. Midge went out to water the animals before starting the day’s work in the mill. His wife found him dead next to the horse trough. Gilbert White Hand and Gamelyn died in late spring. The man who brought us the news said they’d set Gamelyn’s wagon up for the market in Sheffield, but he didn’t know how they died.’

He stopped talking, but the sorrow on his face told me he wasn’t yet finished naming those we’d lost. I touched his shoulder. ‘You’ve at least one more name to give me, Tim. I need to know everything if I’m to be of any help.’

Tim kept staring at the dirt between his dusty boots, his hands wrapped tightly around his cross. He finally looked up. ‘Ethan – John’s little boy. He died a month ago.’

‘Oh stars, no . . .’ All the rest were grown men, friends since our outlaw years in Sherwood. I could imagine someone seeking revenge on any one of them for some slight, or a deed performed in the name of our cause, but not all of them, not for things that had happened so far in the past they’d blurred and all but faded from my memory.

And Ethan? My heart refused to believe he was gone. He was only six, an innocent little boy with no stains on his past. His death wounded me as much as Will’s.

I moved away from Tim and looked with other sight into places most didn’t believe in. My garden and the surrounding forest were bright with butterflies and blossoms, full of life. No shadows intruded, no taint of death reached for those I loved.

Not yet.

A red vixen raced out of the trees, the rag poppet Kate normally carried everywhere hanging from her mouth. The little fox dived behind Tim’s legs and wiggled into her den under the step.

Kate charged out of the forest an instant later, her skirts lifted above her knees so she could run and a storm brewing on her face. ‘Bridget! Bring her back or you’ll be sorry!’

Robbie, my own innocent, was labouring to keep up with his sister. Blackberries bounced out of the overflowing willow basket he was clutching in both hands, leaving a trail of glossy blue-black fruit snaking behind him.

Kate ignored Tim as she slid to a halt next to the step. Her braid, the same reddish brown as Robin’s, was half-undone, strands of hair stuck to her dirt-smudged face. Fresh mud clung to her apron and I spied leafy sprigs, gnarly roots and flower-heads peeking out of the pockets. She stomped a bare foot on the step and glared at the den opening. ‘You’re not funny, Bridget. Give her back, right now!’

Tim stood and moved a few paces away from the step, hiding his smile behind his hand, struggling not to laugh.

Robbie had slowed to a walk when he’d spotted the monk in front of our door and stood there, hesitating, until I held out a hand to him. He was too old at eleven to hide behind my skirts, but not too old to shy away from the arm I laid on his shoulders. He watched Tim warily.

‘Bridget, come out here,’ I said. ‘Don’t make me call you twice.’

The hole under the step wasn’t the only way in and out of the vixen’s den. Her head popped out of an entrance hidden in the shadow of the woodpile, tongue lolling, laughing at her own cleverness.

‘Give Kate her doll. Then make yourself useful and fetch a couple of hares for the stew – and big full-grown bucks this time, not any of those scrawny younglings you left on the step yesterday. Hurry yourself along.’

She whined and shimmied backwards. Kate’s poppet was clutched in her mouth when she reappeared. Bridget made a show of carrying the rag doll to Kate – but dropped it just out of reach, then yipped and danced to the side, daring Kate to chase her.

‘Enough!’ I pointed towards the trees behind the cottage. ‘If you want supper, do as you’re told.’

With another low whine, Bridget loped into the forest. Of course she was more than capable of catching her own supper, but she’d bring back the rabbits I’d asked for first.

Kate picked up her poppet, dusting it off and checking to see if the vixen had done any harm. Bridget never did damage her toy, but my daughter wouldn’t leave that to chance.

‘Will you stay to supper, Tim? We have plenty to share.’

Tim rested a hand on Kate’s head. She peered up at him and smiled. ‘Another day, Marian. I promised Tuck I’d return to the abbey tonight. A word with you before I go?’

‘Robbie, take the blackberries inside, please. Kate will help you sort out the best ones for tarts, but don’t eat any more right now,’ I said. ‘Save room for supper. Go on now, I’ll be in to help soon.’

He looked up at me, blackberry juice on his chin and big brown eyes full of innocence. I smoothed a hand over his dark hair, remembering how I’d lain awake at night feeling two babes tumble and roll inside me, imagining twins would be exactly alike. But Kate had all my fire and fight, while Robbie had my curiosity and need to know.

Once they’d gone inside, I walked with Tim to the edge of the path. My hands shook, the thought of telling Kate and Robbie that Will would never return to us almost more than I could bear. We’d never said vows nor felt the need for Church blessings, but Will had been part of our lives since they were very small. Breaking their hearts would cause mine to bleed anew.

Tim kissed me on the forehead, offering both comfort and a blessing. ‘How soon will you be able to come to Nottingham? Tuck needs your knowledge and skill. Others in the Church might not agree, but not all things in the world can be handled with prayer.’

He didn’t need to say that Robin was one of those; I already knew that.

‘Tell Tuck I’ll meet him at The Lark and Wren in three days. Once I speak to him, I’ll know better what I need to do. No scrap of gossip about how our friends died is too small. Make sure he knows.’

Tim fingered his cross again, a nervous habit he’d acquired since I’d seen him last. ‘What will you do for the next three days?’

‘Find a way to ward my children against Ethan’s fate. I can’t leave them unprotected and trust that whoever took John and Emma’s son won’t look in their direction. I can’t be that careless with their lives. And I need time to mourn with my children before facing more troubles. Tuck will understand.’

‘I’ll tell him.’ Tim made the sign of the cross over me. ‘May God watch over all of you and keep you safe.’

Thickening shadows stretched away from the rowan trees to darken the path. As I watched Tim being swallowed by distance and nightfall, my thoughts were full of the last time I saw Will walk away. A lifetime wouldn’t be nearly long enough to mourn Will Scarlet. I’d wanted to spend the rest of my days with him.

Bridget’s yips called me back to myself. I wiped my eyes on the corner of my apron and turned towards the cottage, determined to get through supper before breaking the news to Kate and Robbie. Will’s smiling ghost stood on the path, arms outstretched.

‘Please don’t haunt me, Will.’ His ghost drifted closer, but I backed away. ‘Please. I don’t have the strength to send you away.’

The shade faded, thinning into the twilight until I couldn’t say if I’d really seen him. I hurried to the cottage, tears in my eyes and all the things needing to be done before I left for Nottingham whirling in my head.

Protecting my children wasn’t a simple thing and asking for help to keep them safe was a risk I couldn’t avoid, but I needed to prepare carefully before sending out a call. One misstep could mean summoning disaster down on all our heads. That truly frightened me, but the uncertainty scared me more.

I didn’t know what I’d do if I called and none of the Fae answered.

Chapter 2

Merry, merry England has kissed the lips of June:

All the wings of fairyland were here beneath the moon,

Like a flight of rose-leaves fluttering in a mist

Of opal and ruby and pearl and amethyst.

Alfred Noyes

I left the cottage with night well underway, the moon already high in a sky full of stars. Bridget was lying in front of the door, a sharp-toothed guardian in addition to the shimmering wards I’d laid around the cottage. Robbie and Kate slept deeply, bad dreams and grief held at bay for the moment by a packet of herbs under each pillow and a protective circle drawn around their bed. I’d never shielded them from life before; guilt and the knowledge there’d be a price later left a sour taste on my tongue.

But that was my only choice, to ward Kate and Robbie as best I could and leave Bridget to watch over them. I didn’t want them waking to find me gone, or fearing I wouldn’t return.

Five days before the full moon and for a full five days afterwards, Sherwood’s clearings and meadows were brightly lit. Dewdrops on every flower and blade of grass were transformed into softly glowing orbs, earth-bound moon-twins reflecting light and soaking in power. For these few nights, creatures that thrived on darkness and foul deeds were banished to the densest parts of the forest; the new moon was their time.

Roaming Sherwood at night was never safe for mortals, so I welcomed the small protections moonglow brought. Power hummed in the air, building towards its peak four nights from now. Every hedgewitch and herbwife, even unschooled in true craft, recognised the power of the moon as women’s magic and used it to full advantage. I planned to help protect myself from the Fae with it, but first I had to call them to a ring.

Faerie rings have never been rooted in one place. The Fae move them with the seasons, abandon those defiled by the king’s foresters, or even stop using a ring because they grew bored with the view. They’d taken to hiding their rings deeper in Sherwood, away from common folk and the bustle of towns, but I still heard tales of young maids on far-flung farms being beguiled to leave their beds and dance under the full moon. Some, who found special favour with a Fae Lord, never returned home, while others reappeared months later, their bellies swollen with half-Fae babes and memories of the revels they’d willingly joined shining in their eyes.

Gossips used such tales to cast doubt on anyone who showed signs of having other sight or of being skilled in craft. Stories concocted to explain my gifts claimed my mother had been one of those maids, that I was the price she paid for the touch of a Fae Lord’s hand. All I knew was that my father loved her till the end of his days. He loved me as well, and if I wasn’t his true child, it was never spoken of.

The particular ring I sought was built from tall standing stones rooted deep in an earthen mound and spelled to turn away anyone without at least a touch of sight, or the few mortals called to dance. This ring never moved. None of the Fae would ever say, but I suspected the mound concealed a way Underhill.

Tall grey stones were glowing with an inner light when I arrived, shining across the clearing like a welcome candle in a window. The Fae wanted their light to draw moths to their flame, but I wasn’t fool enough to step between the stones and into their power. Summoning them from outside would work just as well, and hold more than enough danger. I dared much by disturbing the High Lords and Ladies.

Salt for the first protective circle sank into the grass, only a slight shimmer showing where it lay when I stepped inside and woke the protections. Next, pebbles for the inner ring, charmed to keep me inside and safe from beguilement, disappeared in the same way. I closed the second circle, wove my will around the power of the moon and cast the spell to see who would answer my summons.

Air sprites were the first to appear, gossamer creatures who swirled like wisps of smoke, high keening voices echoing off the stones as they circled above my head. The whirlwind they stirred up whipped my hair into my eyes before they tired of the game. Water sprites arrived next in churning clouds of mist, weaving in and out of the standing stones the way a cat seeking cream greets a milkmaid. They curled around my protections, looking for a break in salt or pebbles. Moisture beaded on my face before they gave up and I wiped my eyes clear on a sleeve.

I saw the glitter of Fire sprites before they left the cover of the trees, buzzing sparks rushing loud as a swarm of angry bees protecting a hive. They circled me – once, twice, a third time – seeking a way through my protections, before settling atop the tall stones.

More of the lesser Fae came in response to my call: lobs and brounys, goblins, bugbear and piskies, all settling in to wait at the foot of the stones for the Fae Lords and Ladies to appear, clinging to the shadows as was their nature.

The glow from the stones pulsed, brightening in the time it took to blink dazzle from my eyes. Out of the space between shadow and light stepped the High Lords and Ladies of the Fae. I’d hoped for one or two to answer my call, not a crowd large enough to fill King John’s audience hall. Their attendants trailed behind them: full humans who were allowed to stay until they grew too old or fell out of fashion, Demisang who favoured their Fae heritage, full-blood Fae of lower rank and status.

All the Lords and Ladies and their court gathered a few paces away. The entire assemblage was dressed for a revel. Those of lesser rank eyed me openly, whispering behind fans and feather masks that did little to hide flattened noses and cat-shaped eyes or far from human-looking faces. The least powerful of the court carried the blood of hobs, goblins, brounys, bugbear and greenmen in their veins, but those with enough power used glamour to disguise their faces and hid among the humans and Demisang.

The highest-ranking Lords and Ladies had no need of disguise; their beauty was the source of all the stories told about the Fae. Like mortals, some were pale, with golden hair, or tawny-haired with deep brown skin, and every shade between. Often those of the highest rank were the darkest, something men forgot at their peril. Even in the light of the standing stones, the High Lords and Ladies illuminated the night with their power.

Two of the F. . .