The High Mountain Court by A.K. Mulford
Chapter Seven
Remy was the closest she had ever been to the ocean, yet she still could not see it. She heard the rhythmic sound of soft waves lapping on the shore. Silver Sands Harbor lay through the thicket of trees to their right. Smaller foot trails led toward the beach from the main path. She kept looking down them, hoping to glimpse the harbor, but the shadows were too dark. She had imagined so many times what the ocean looked like. She had seen it in the far distance a few times during their travels through the Western woods, but it had been a thin strip of blue in the far distance. But to be standing on its shores . . . she wondered what it would feel like to overlook an endless sea of blue. She had seen the Western lakes and a few large rivers before, but that was different. Remy could swim . . . sort of . . . if flailing to keep her head above water counted as swimming, but there had been no waves. She had heard stories of waves taller than houses, swallowing ships in stormy seas. It sounded unbelievable.
An ocean scent hung in the darkened forest air, taunting her. The smell was strangely familiar. It reminded her of the fae prince several paces ahead. He carried the ocean on him even when they were far away.
They walked silently. The other fae had doubled back to fetch Hale and Remy’s packs, and the group forged ahead on the trail south, skirting Newpond. They only stopped once at a river. Remy hadn’t been able to scrub the smell of blood out of her hair. It still clung to her. She let Heather tend to her wounds and give her a tonic for the pain, but Remy insisted they kept moving despite her injuries. The sounds of Heather’s shocked cries at seeing her bludgeoned face still rang in her ears. Shame still stained her skin from the looks in the brown witches’ eyes. She pressed her lips together, swallowing the hard lump tightening her throat.
She had abandoned her bloodied clothes rather than trying to carry the wet ones. They were patchy and worn thin, anyway. Carys had bought herself new clothes and gave Remy her old fighting leathers. They were a bit too long, but they were supple and comfortable. Even secondhand, they were the nicest clothes she had ever owned. Wearing the leathers changed something in Remy’s posture too. It made her feel more like a warrior. Flashbacks of the attack kept her muscles coiled and jumpy. With the leathers on, Remy pretended it was her muscles readying to fight an unseen enemy. Focusing her attention on the swaying trees and sounds of the waves, she was determined to ignore the feeling of her stomach dropping over and over again.
She moved easily through the trail, too, thanks to the new boots Briata had bought her. She thought the Eagle would find her something secondhand, but these were brand-new boots, still smelling of leather polish. They needed breaking in, but they fit like they were made for her. Briata truly had an eye for guessing sizes, it seemed.
They walked in a tighter unit along the trail now. Heather and Fenrin struggled behind Remy in the darkness. The moon lit the path barely enough for them to navigate it.
Remy looked to the sky peeking through the trees. It was a full moon. In times past, the witches would celebrate on the full moon. They would cook a bountiful meal, light candles, and swap stories into the night. They would spread totems from their bags in beams of light and say a prayer to Mother Moon, asking her guidance for another lunar cycle.
Even on the road they would light a candle and say a simple prayer. Remy carried a long white candle in her pack for her full moon ceremonies.
“Let’s stop,” she said to no one in particular.
“There is nowhere to camp here. We have to pass the harbor,” Hale called from the front without breaking stride. “There is an abandoned mining town a few minutes off the trail. We will bunk down in a cabin there.”
“I wasn’t saying let’s camp here. I was saying we should take a break,” Remy said.
“Do we think these cabins will have beds?” Talhan grumbled from behind her.
“Doubtful,” Briata said.
Talhan loosed a string of muttered curses. Everyone was in a foul mood. Even Talhan’s normal joviality was wearing thin.
“It’s the full moon,” Remy pushed, looking at the sky. And not just any moon. Tonight the swollen blue harvest moon shone down on them. The witches believed that the candles they lit on the harvest moon could communicate with their ancestors.
“And?” Hale said.
Carys cast a glance over her shoulder at Remy, giving her an apologetic look.
“So we need to light a candle and say a prayer,” Remy said, though she did not truly care about prayers and candles in that moment. If she could stand by the ocean maybe she could breathe, maybe the trembling in her hands would finally ebb and she’d feel steady again. “We could go down the path to the beach and—”
“No,” Hale said in a clipped tone, dashing her hopes of seeing the ocean.
“We can light candles when we get to the cabin, Remy,” Heather said from behind her. Heather had been silent since seeing Remy’s bloodied clothes and bludgeoned face. The brown witch was more distraught than Remy was herself.
“It will only take five minutes,” Remy said.
“You are not lighting a candle visible to the whole harbor. I do not care how much you want to talk to the moon,” Hale growled.
“Hey,” Fenrin snarled at the prince. He was either too tired or grumpy to check himself. “The attack was not Remy’s fault. You were the ones who thought it would be a great idea to split up. You were meant to be protecting her.”
Everything moved in a blur. Hale reached for the sword at his hip. In a flash, Carys was at Hale’s side with her hand on his arm.
“Don’t,” she hissed to the prince.
Even through the shadows, Remy saw Fenrin’s eyes widen at Hale. What was the prince planning on doing? Cutting down her friend because he said something that was true?
Remy was sick of this male posturing. Hale thought that because he was a prince that made him better than everyone else. She had agreed freely to this journey, but she was not a servant of the Eastern Prince. It was time he remembered that.
Remy veered down the foot trail to her right, away from the group. The dirt trail descended, and she felt the grit of sand beneath her boots.
“Enough. I’m going to the beach,” she called over her shoulder. Only a few more steps and she’d be able to see the ocean. A breeze whooshed past her face and in the blink of an eye Hale was there, standing forebodingly in front of her, blocking her path forward.
“Keep moving,” Hale ordered the others. His piercing gray eyes stayed fixed on Remy. She matched his authoritative gaze with one of her own.
The fae all turned and walked at the prince’s orders, but Fenrin and Heather paused. Hale looked over Remy’s shoulder, his voice lethal as he said, “Keep. Moving.”
“They don’t take orders from you,” Remy snarled. Hale’s eyes darted to hers.
She heard Heather call from behind her, “Why don’t we carry on? You two can catch up.”
Remy turned to look at her guardian, quirking her eyebrow. It was unlike Heather to leave her, but perhaps her guardian knew it was best to keep out of this battle. Dipping her chin, Remy gave Heather a silent acknowledgement. She was okay to stay behind. The brown witch looped her arm through Fenrin’s, dragging him along the trail. Fenrin grumbled something as Heather pulled him.
Listening for their steady footsteps marching away, Remy turned back to Hale. The arching of her eyebrow made the muscle in his jaw pop out. Clearly, he did not like that the witches ignored his orders. But Remy was powerful, if only she would claim it, and she was getting precariously close to embracing what she was. When that day came, the prince would have to tread lightly.
“Get. Out. Of. My. Way.” No one got between a witch and her magic. She heard the ocean waves beckoning her. The trail below her boots had turned to sand, but it was too dark to see if it shone silver.
“No,” Hale said, crossing his arms, the sleeves of his jacket straining over his muscled shoulders.
“I won’t light a candle.” Remy relented through gritted teeth. “I just want to see the moon over the ocean.”
She made to dodge around him, but the trail was too narrow and Hale blocked her with ease.
“This isn’t about the ocean,” Hale said. “This is about you trying to distract yourself from what happened today.”
“No, it’s about seeing the ocean and the full moon,” Remy growled.
“This isn’t a joke, witch.” Hale matched her tone. They were two predators standing off, each readying to strike.
“I am not laughing, faerie,” Remy hissed back.
“Get back on the trail. Now.” His entire body was still as stone, but his eyes were raging and wild.
Remy grabbed her last bit of restraint.
“What is wrong with you?” her harsh growl rose as she said, “Why are you pushing me so hard?”
“Because you almost got your head cut off!” Hale exploded. “I should have been paying attention! I should have known that those hunters were fae, and I was too distracted to notice! When I saw that male with the sword, I . . .” He swallowed and ground his teeth so tightly she feared one might break. Even with all that effort, his voice cracked when he spoke again. “Gods, Remy, you almost died.”
Remy. Not witch. Not Red. He had called her by her name.
A long silence stretched between them as Remy watched emotions flash through Hale’s eyes in rapid succession: panic, fear, sorrow. He had thought he wouldn’t reach her in time.
The prince cleared his throat and all those whirling emotions disappeared as fast as they came. It happened so quickly Remy wondered if she had really seen them at all.
“I mean,” Hale said, looking to his shadowed feet. “It would take ages to find another red witch.”
And there it was. That princely, careless mask fit him so well.
Remy knew the prince built walls around himself to keep everyone out, but he flipped from caring to cold with such speed that she didn’t know what was real anymore. Her heart felt those words whether or not they were real: he only cared about her as much as he could gain. He was only scared of losing her because it would mean more work for himself.
Maybe that’s who she was: someone fun to flirt with in taverns and entertain him on his quest for the High Mountain talismans. But she was a tool to him, not a person.
The moonlight danced through the trees. The sound of gentle waves and rustling branches betrayed the storm brewing between them.
Remy let Hale see that his indifference landed harder than any blow. It felt worse to be stomped by his words than a witch hunter’s boot.
Remy glared at Hale.
“Yes, that would be a real tragedy for you,” Remy said, meeting those eyes one more time before turning around and heading back to the trail.
“Remy, I—” Hale called from behind her, but she was already stomping away.
He had said her name again, the second time in a matter of seconds. She didn’t know what that meant, that new familiarity. It cracked her open in a way that she despised. Why did he have to speak to her like a friend and treat her like an enemy?
One day she would see the ocean. One day she’d feel as mighty as those giant waves. The full moon followed her along the trail as she swallowed the tears threatening to destroy her.
* * *
Remy wasn’t sure when she had fallen asleep. The dim firelight flickered and cast shadows about the cabin. Someone must have fed it while she slept. The night wasn’t as cold now that they had skirted past the harbor into the Southern Court.
Groggily sitting up, Remy rubbed her eyes. She wiped away their blurriness and scanned the cabin that had become their campsite. Two lumps slept on either side of her, Heather and Fenrin. Fenrin’s snores shook the floorboards under her. He had come down with some sort of cold during their travels, turning his normal soft snores into loud honks.
Three bodies slept lined against the far wall: the Twin Eagles and Carys. And one in front of the doorway, Hale. It was a strategic position to guard against any unwelcome guests. Remy wondered if the witch hunters had spooked him.
The light of the full moon illuminated the open doorway. The door had long been ripped off its hinges, leaving the cabin open to the elements.
Bright moonlight beamed into the room. The harvest moon. Curses, she forgot. Heather and Fenrin had invited her to light candles when they arrived at the cabin, but Remy had been so tired she had all but collapsed on her bedroll.
She crept on bare feet to the door, careful not to wake Hale lying across the threshold. Her injured feet had healed. Of course, now she had a swollen lip from the witch hunter’s punch that stung every time she moved it. A bruise spread from her brow to her jawline where that boot had collided with her face. Her right ear still had a high-pitched ringing, and it popped every time she swallowed.
She reached into the outer pocket of her hiking pack and blindly found the longer of two candles. Her fingers skimmed over the stubbier red wax candle. Every time she touched it, she wondered if she would ever use it. She stealthily tiptoed over Hale’s sleeping body. She paused, but he did not stir, his breathing slow and steady.
As she stepped out into the night, she braced for the chill, but it was still temperate in these parts. The South was indeed warmer than the West.
She stayed close and found a spot below the window where the moonlight kissed the ground. She knelt, pressing one finger into the earth. Remy dug a little hole to hold her candle straight.
With a rock and flint from her totem bag, she struck a spark to light the candle, whispering, “Mother Moon, bless me this night.”
Remy took totems from her bag: a fledgling raven’s feather, a piece of red string, a snail shell, a stick of cinnamon, and a pressed white flower. She laid them out in front of the candle. The moonlight bathed her totems in gleaming white light.
Remy looked into the blue base of the flame. She wondered if the souls of her ancestors listened through the witch candle of this harvest moon. What would she say to her parents if they could hear her? Pressing her lips together, tears filled her eyes.
“I almost died yesterday,” she whispered to the flame. A tear slipped down her cheek and fell off her chin. “I thought of you. I wondered if I’d see you in the afterlife. I wondered what you’d say to me.”
She took a ragged breath as more tears fell.
“I don’t think you’d be very proud of me. I have amounted to little in this life. I’ve just been a hiding coward.”
She spoke the words Hale had called her around the campfire those nights before. It was true. All she had ever done was hide.
“I’m going after the Shil-de ring and the amulet,” she said, one side of her mouth pulling up. “A quest like the ones you used to tell me as I fell asleep at night. I’ve made some friends too. I think you’d like them.” Remy imagined her father laughing along with the Twin Eagles, swapping battle stories, and her mother trading tales with Carys. “A prince saved me yesterday. Just like in those stories. I think you might like him too,” Remy added, afraid even in the darkness to invoke Hale’s name. She wondered what her parents would tell her, what advice they would have, which direction they would steer her.
Her eyes welled with another bout of tears. “I miss you.”
She moved the pressed flower from her totems and swapped it for a small red leaf nearby. The leaf would be her totem for the next moon cycle.
She waited for Mother Moon’s wisdom, for something to whisper into her mind, an intention for the month ahead. The flame bobbed in the windless night.
Something murmured in her mind, but it was not the moon. She knew that warm, soulful voice. It was her mother. A flicker of memory spoke from the flame: “Never let anyone else tell you who you are, Remy, not even me. No one decides how bright you shine but you.”
Remy’s heart cracked open at that. She remembered the night her mother had spoken those words to her. Bundled in blankets, they had looked up at the night’s sky in Yexshire. It had been a harvest moon, like this one. The light snow had dusted their eyelashes and headscarves. She remembered looking out over the twinkling lights of the city, how they mirrored the stars above. Her mother had woken her simply to look at the moon. Her older brothers and younger sister still slept, but Remy and her mother had taken in that night’s sky, just the two of them. She still felt her mother’s warm arms around her, pulling her into the warmth of her embrace. What she wouldn’t give to have her mother’s arms around her again.
Remy relived that moment for a long time, savoring that memory. She took one last deep breath.
“Thank you,” she whispered to the candle. Then she said the last words, rolling in a chant off her tongue, “This or something better now manifests for the highest good of all.”
Blowing out the candle, she collected her totems and put them back in her bag with care. She wiped the last of her tears on her rough tunic sleeve.
As she walked up the steps, there was no lump sleeping across the threshold.
Scanning the room, Remy found Hale sitting in a far shadowed corner. It was too dark to see more than his outline, and yet she was sure his eyes watched her. Careful not to disturb her sleeping companions, she made her way over to him. Her bare feet made it easier to pad silently across the wood floor. Remy wondered if his fae ears had heard what she said to the candle. She prayed the crackling of the fire had covered the sound of her words.
“You should rest. We have another hour before we break camp for the day.” His voice was gravelly with sleep.
“I can’t rest anymore,” Remy whispered. “I’m surprised I slept at all.”
Memories of those witch hunters flashed in her mind. She still felt their phantom grip on her. It was only through sheer exhaustion after hiking into the night that sleep had claimed her.
Hale grumbled something under his breath and handed his skin of water to Remy.
Gingerly moving to avoid aggravating her injuries, she sat next to him.
“Where are we headed today?” Remy whispered, taking a cool sip of water.
“You know I can’t tell you that,” Hale muttered.
“What do you think I could possibly do with that information?”
“There are many things you could do. You could try to go after the ring yourself. Or warn your other witch friends of your location so they could ambush us, for example,” Hale said. He kept rubbing his pointer finger as he stared at the wall. Something was still bothering him.
“Firstly, I have no other friends apart from Heather and Fenrin. They are the only other witches I know.” Hale’s cheek twitched. “And secondly,” Remy whispered, “you think highly of our abilities to evade you when we are only three witches against four trained fae warriors. Look what happened the last time four fae ganged up on me.”
She regretted the words as soon as she spoke them. She didn’t miss Hale’s jaw clenching as the words came out.
Gods, you almost died!
She was sure she had heard his voice crack. That moment when his mask fell, genuine fear peeked through. What happened on the road to Newpond had shaken him, but it wasn’t until she was shouting at him that he revealed it. He felt responsible for her attack, Remy realized. That was why he slept at the threshold of the cabin.
“You were frightened,” Hale said with a shrug. “You forgot to use your powers. With a little more training you could be a warrior.”
“I know how to use a bow.” Remy frowned. She looked over to the new beautiful carved bow sitting against the wall. Bri had picked the finest maplewood bow Remy had ever seen but in the aftermath of the witch hunter attack she could not test it yet. “But I don’t think a bow or more training would have turned the tides of that fight if you hadn’t shown up.”
“Is that a thank you?” Hale looked to her. Even through the darkness, Remy sensed when his eyes were trained on her.
“No,” Remy ground out. Hale let out a low chuckle. His breath skittered across the hairs of Remy’s arm. She pressed her lips together. “I do not want a prince to save me. I want to save myself.”
“Then you should train,” Hale said. “Bri could teach you. She’s more patient with beginners than me.”
“Why does that not surprise me?” Remy smirked.
Hale’s face hid in shadow, but she saw his lips tilting up at the sides.
“Ruttmore,” he said.
“What?” Remy asked.
“We’re headed south to Ruttmore, it’s near Saxbridge.”
“Oh.” Remy nodded. “I’ve always wondered what the Southern Court looked like.”
Of all the courts, the Southern Court was the one she had heard the most outlandish tales about. Stories had reached her of wild jungles, brightly-colored birds, and revels that lasted until sunrise.
A long silence passed between them before Hale spoke.
“Listen, what happened yesterday, I—”
“I think I am tired after all,” Remy cut him off.
There was nothing good that could come of what he was about to say. She went back to her bedroll wedged between her two protectors and lay there, unsleeping, thinking about what would have come out if she had allowed him to finish his sentence.