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"What does she make for you?"
She gave a soft laugh, as if embarrassed. “Oh, because I'm the one who looks after the family, she makes me a love heart."
"Appropriate.” He watched as she drew her knees under her chin, her hands wrapping around her shins. Her toes wriggled inside a pair of oversized knitted socks he had given her to wear. “You haven't ever been afraid of the night of the dead, have you?"
She shook her head. “Not usually. I've never seen a ghost or a demon outside of in my dreams, though, so there is nothing to be afraid of."
"Very practical.” Soon that would change, in ways beyond their imagination, he was sure of it. “Does anything make you afraid?"
Her smile faded. “Losing the ones I love, I suppose, to death. My mother's death was ... frightening."
He didn't want to take her back to those memories, but he needed to know. She would have to face death much earlier than he would choose.
"She fought for her last breaths. It was as if she was being dragged from us...” Her voice drifted off and she withdrew into herself for a moment, lost to the painful memory. “And you, Bron, what makes you afraid?"
"That I will not overcome wrongdoing, when it has been within my ability to do so.” He smiled wryly. “The master sage who taught me says it's a fault I must learn to harness, that I need to learn tolerance and that sometimes I lead, when I should follow."
"A leader must be sure and strong, though, to inspire trust, and you are all those things."
Affection glowed in her eyes, teasing at the man in him. It amazed him, still, that the twinkle of her eyes, or one flash of her dimpled smile, could set his loins on fire. A woman had never affected him like this before.
"What of the ghosts and demons?” she asked. “They do not make you afraid?"
"Only to a level where I can fight them. At present, the spirit world is but a piece in the puzzle of all things."
She frowned. “I don't understand."
"The spirit world, the animal world, our world, these things exist like villages that make up one land. They differ from one another in their design, but they overlap. All are real to one another. But it is only when an element of evil takes root in one village that the other nearby villagers are at risk."
She thought about what he said. “I think I see what you mean.” She sighed. “Perhaps then because we sing and laugh away the dark night of the dead, drinking wine and eating sweet things and vowing to survive the deathly days of winter, we overcome the evil elements of the spirit world in some small way, by showing we are different?"
The shutters rattled again. “Yes, and that is the way I would always want it to be for you and your village.” He paused, unwilling to go on, but needing to do so. “But the nights will not pass so pleasantly from now on, if the curse of The Strangeling is unleashed."
She frowned. “Do you know exactly why the curse exists?"
"We know a little of it. The two armies that fought and died there were from lands far away. They were the sort of men who would go anywhere and undertake any act for money, and to satisfy their hunger for death and pain. But they were rivals too, so when they closed on each other, a battle for supremacy was bound to take place."
"It was just chance that their paths crossed in Edren?"
"Unfortunately, yes. They were a good match for each other, as you might imagine, and the battle raged through the twilight hours. Legend has it that only the two leaders were left alive and fought against each other under the rising moon, a century ago. The story goes that they cursed each other repeatedly, but one of the men, Yaxlan, had more wit, and he pointed out how strong they might have been had they joined forces."
"Despite the fact they fought on, the other leader, Crondor, shared the irony of his comments. In the last throes of their battle they vowed to return together, uniting as one bloodthirsty army. If they had but agreed to back away, all might have been well, but fighting to the death meant their vows were heard by the demon lords of the underworld who rose to answer their call. Their wishes were granted in return for possession of their souls for one hundred years."
Maerose sat transfixed; her eyes alight with concern as she imagined the scene he described.
"The bargain they had struck empowered the demons of the underworld, feeding them beyond the natural course of things. The demons grow strong and multiply, fed by the evil souls of the fallen. When the two murderous armies rise, after the allotted passage of time, they will become entwined for eternity and wreak havoc upon living souls, watched over and led by the demons."
"It sounds like the curse brings upon us the end of all things,” she murmured.
He nodded. “The land at The Strangeling suffered the worst fate already. It was always a special, mystical place,” he continued. “But it was fertile, good land. The hordes had come to plunder it. Their evil blood tainted the land. The people and the creatures who lived in the woods died, or if they were lucky, escaped."
"I know a little about it.” She offered the words tentatively.
His curiosity lifted and he urged her to go on.
"My mother told me that my grandmother's grandmother hailed from The Strangeling, and that I carry her fey blood ... I don't know if it is true or not, but I remembered what she said in a dream, last night."
He looked deep into her eyes as he considered her words. There, in the liquid depths, he saw the simple honesty of what she said. Fey blood, yes, and it was powerful. This was beyond what they knew, and added so much to her connection with The Strangeling. “We did not know this about you."
