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Mistletoe nodded. "Aye, I do. Your Majesty, should I retrieve it now?" He knelt on Feddrah-Dahns's shoulder.
"Yes, my friend, and give it to Camille. She has the strength and fortitude to wield it, even if she doubts herself," the unicorn added, staring into my eyes. We locked gazes, and it was as if he were able to reach deep down into my heart and witness my fears and self-doubt.
Mistletoe whistled a long note, one that sounded like a silver flute. He leapt off of Feddrah-Dahns's back and lightly fluttered to the floor and opened his bag. I watched, curious as to where he was going to produce the horn from. It was then that I noticed a vortex forming inside the bag. He reached into the swirling blend of colors, and when he withdrew his hand, he was holding a velvet box.
"Very clever," I said. "You hid it in an interdimensional portal."
"I wish I'd done the same when my Liege first entrusted it into my care," the pixie said, blushing. His skin was mint-green, and the red tinge to his cheeks lit him up like a Christmas tree. "I made a sore mistake and can only hope to work my way into His Majesty's confidence again."
I blinked. He didn't sound pompous, even though he spoke in archaic syntax. "Have you been Earthside before, Mistletoe?"
He shook his head. "No. I learned to speak English when a mortal man wandered through a portal accidentally. He arrived in the Windwillow Valley well over one hundred Earthside years ago, and His Majesty gave him protection. He was a budding poet, and he stayed for awhile until we were able to return him back to his home. Since then, I've spoken with a few Fae who travel back and forth between the realms."
I blinked. One hundred years ago, a man had slipped through the veils to land in Otherworld and take his place beside the Crown Prince of the Dahns unicorns. "What a shock that must have been for the poor guy."
"Actually," Feddrah-Dahns spoke up, "he was neither shocked nor terrified. In fact, he was delighted, and it took everything we had to convince him to go home again. I would have let him stay, but Arachnase the Weaver insisted he be returned Earthside. Apparently William Butler had a part to play in destiny here and could not be allowed to stay in Otherworld, or the balance would be thrown out of synch."
"Here," Mistletoe said, handing me the velvet box. "Be cautious when you open it. The horn is powerful and can easily suck you in if you aren't prepared for the blast of energy."
I stared at the box. Resting in my hands, I held one of the rarest artifacts in Otherworld. Treasure hunters had sought the shed horns through the years, some dying in their pursuit of the legendary wealth. A thousand mages would give anything to be in my shoes, and some of them weren't very friendly. In fact, a number of them, if they knew that I possessed such a gift, would gladly blow me to pieces in order to steal it.
Inhaling deeply, I set the case on my lap and slowly opened the lid. A shimmering cloth came into view, woven of spun gold. There was a small fortune in itself, both here and at home in OW. Delilah gasped and leaned in closer to watch. Morio's eyes went wide, and he rested one hand against the small of my back to steady me.
As I quietly unfolded the cloth, my fingers begin to tingle. Then my hand. Then my whole body set up a reverberation that felt like it was going to shake my teeth loose. Shivering, I stared at the horn that rested in the folds of the wrap. The spire was a good eighteen inches long, made of solid, diamond-hard crystal, with threads of gold and black and silver encased within, like rutile needles caught in a quartz crystal ball. It resonated, humming a long, low note, and I hesitantly reached for it, waiting for it to strike out, to char my hand.
"Take it," Feddrah-Dahns said. "It's calling for you."
I closed my eyes and listened. There—on the wind, a faint voice. I couldn't catch the words, they were alien and distant, but the invitation echoed in my heart, in my soul, in the quicksilver glow of the Moon Mother's tattoo on my left shoulder blade where I'd been branded during my rite of passage. The horn wanted me as much as I wanted it.
As my fingers slid around the cool crystal spire, the night of my initiation flooded back full force, and once again, I found myself standing in the grotto where I'd made my oaths and consigned my soul to the Moon Mother for life.
The moon was high and golden and full, pregnant with the promise of magic. I'd trained rigorously for years until now, on my night of Claiming, when my mentors debated whether I should be allowed to take the oath.
"She'll never progress beyond this point," Lyrical said. "Let her leave the city and remain a minor witch."
Lyrical had always been my foil, my nemesis. Her tasks were always set just a little too hard, her demands always a little too impossible. Nothing I could do pleased her, and I'd cried myself to sleep a hundred times, her stinging insults ringing in my ears.
Nigel shook his head. "I think there's more than meets the eye to our Camille." My primary teacher and mentor, he had been just as hard on me as Lyrical, but not nearly so harsh. "It may take time, but she'll travel farther than you or I ever will. She'll fight harder, take on adversaries far greater than we dream of."
He put his hands on my shoulders and stared into my eyes. "Camille, listen to me. You're a leader with an Achilles' heel. You'll always be flawed, but your courage will do much to supplement your lack of ability. Don't be afraid to let the Moon Mother take you over when she calls. Accept her help when she offers it, even if that help comes from unexpected quarters. I cast my vote for allowing you to take the oath."
I remained silent. Lesson number one: the student must not speak unless directly asked a question. This was the way it had always been, and the way it would always be.
Tonight, the Coterie of the Moon Mother would either allow me to pledge bath and come into my own, or they'd turn me away in dishonor. There was no middle ground. Students either made it or they didn't.
Those who didn't pass the test usually left Y'Elestrial in disgrace to wander the countryside until they came to a village offering food and lodging in exchange for minor magic, often supplementing the work done by the healers and guardians of the towns.
More often than not, the outcasts led quiet, unassuming lives. Never again were they allowed to enter the temples of the Moon Mother, though most sang praises to her in private on the nights when she was hanging full and round.
Mees-Mees, the third member of the Coterie, pushed herself out of her chair. "One for, and one against. Rarely do we have ties. Usually an acolyte's abilities speak for themselves. Therefore, you must go before the High Priestess for final adjudication." Mees-Mees wasn't allowed to vote. She was the mediator, forced to permanently reside in limbo with regards to her opinions.
Nigel let out a thin whistle. "Perhaps it's best this way. The High Priestess will be able to see the girl's heart and soul far clearer than you or I, Lyrical. She'll know what the Moon Mother wants."
Lyrical scowled and turned away. "I warn you, we'll be sorry if the half-breed is given the oath. Half-Fae, indeed. I'm surprised she's come this far."
I forced myself to keep my mouth shut. I'd blow my chances completely if I tried to defend my honor or my family.
"Derisa is the best choice," Mees-Mees said. "The girl won't feel put upon if rejection is the decree. Nor will there be any call by her father to claim prejudice."
