Bound

11. Someone Completely Different

6

Someone Completely Different

The sound of murmured voices woke Thomas, and his eyes opened. His sleep had been deep and blessedly dreamless, and for a moment he couldn’t remember where he was. But then it all rushed back—his father, the Hunt. He looked over to where his father had been lying.

Matthew sat on the workbench, his face pale, Fidelma beside him. Nona sat on a stool nearby. They all looked at him as he sat up.

His eyes met his father’s, and he swallowed.

“Tommo,” Matthew said, his voice hoarse. A mix of joy and wariness chased across his face.

Silence fell. Thomas had no idea what to say.

Nona stood up, looking at him. “His fever has broken, thanks be to God. I will need to put a poultice on him. But we will give you a moment alone. Do not strain him overmuch.” She looked down at Fidelma, who darted a glance at Thomas and then nodded, rising to her feet.

The door shut behind them, leaving them in the semi-gloom. Rain still fell outside, but the wind had lessened. The women’s low voices faded out as they walked away from the workshop. He wasn’t sure how long he’d slept, but probably no more than a couple of hours.

Thomas eyed his father, the slight buzz of Fey-awareness an irritant to his tangled feelings. He is Fey, and I never knew. His father, but not his father. Not the person he had loved his entire life…not the person he had mourned for eleven years. This was someone completely different. “We thought you were dead.” He couldn’t help the bitterness in his voice.

“Yes.” Pain lanced over Matthew’s face, and he closed his eyes briefly. He opened them again. “English, Tommo. We can’t risk being overheard.”

The words slid along the corners of his mind, odd but familiar, until suddenly the meaning snapped into place. “Fine.” He ignored the odd dissonance of the word, and it quickly faded. He dropped his hand.

“I’m sorry, Thomas. I know this is difficult—”

“Difficult?” Thomas snorted. “You left us, left me. You knew I was Fey, but you left me to, what, figure it all out myself? And what about mom? She turned to the bottle after you left. She died—” His words choked off. He left ye to save ye. He bit back his anger as Fidelma’s words returned.

Matthew’s face paled. “I’m sorry.” Grief filled his eyes, and he shook his head. “Sorry’s not enough, I know. You have a right to be angry. I made a choice that hurt you. Hurt all of us. But know this: I would do it again. That choice saved you. And your mother and Danny. You wouldn’t be here now if I hadn’t.”

Silence fell. He had no idea what to say.

Matthew sighed as his gaze flickered over him. Wonder touched his face. “The Healer has told me your story, of how you came to be here and what has happened since.” He shook his head. “It’s like a miracle, seeing you again. I had hoped—” His voice choked off.

A grace from God, Nona had said. Thomas’ throat closed as tears rose to his eyes. He swallowed, seeking control. “I want to know what happened. Fidelma told me that the Fey wanted you to do something bad. And that you ran from them, went into hiding. And then they caught up with you.”

Matthew let out a breath and nodded, wiping his eyes. “Yes. Look, give me some ale. It’s a long story but I’ll try to be brief.”

Thomas got up and grabbed the jug off the table, filling a mug and handing it to his father before sitting down again. “So talk.” He couldn’t help the edge of anger in his voice.

Matthew eyed him. “I’m sorry. Some of this will be hard to hear.”

Thomas waved him on. “Go on. I’ve had lots of practice at hearing hard things.”

Matthew’s face tightened as the barb hit home, but he nodded. “Fine. Here’s the first. I am a Full Blood Fey, from a high-ranking family in the Unseelie Court. That is my heritage, and yours.”

Unseelie. Shock rippled through him.

Matthew eyed him, wary, and then continued. “My parents were both Travellers. Well-respected and feared, as most Travellers are. My father, Douglas McCadden, was cold as ice and just as hard. My mother, Elaine, sly and cunning. They made a great pair.” He grimaced. “I was their third son. My older brothers were twins. As most Fey are barren, or only have one child, my parents were seen as greatly favoured. They had much influence over the Court.”

“You told us they died before I was born, before you met mom,” Thomas interrupted. He had only ever seen pictures of his grandparents. And he had never known his father had brothers. Something else he kept from us.

“Yes. I’m getting to that.” Matthew took another drink. “Unseelies love to prance and preen, revel in their superiority over the humans. Every Gathering there would be talk about re-establishing the supremacy of the Fey over the earth. But those were just stories, whispers. Gathering tales. Until one summer when I was ten. That’s when everything changed.” He paused, looking him over. “You know some of the ways of the Fey, I think. But if you have questions, let me know.”

Thomas wanted to tell him that he questions he had would take a year to answer, but he made no comment and waved him on.

“That summer, a visiting Traveller came to our Gathering. He spouted the old tales, saying it was time for the Fey to come out of the shadows, to fight back against the humans and reclaim our place.” He snorted. “The same things the Unseelies had been muttering for years. But this Fey made it exciting. New. Our king was impressed. More than impressed. By the time the Gathering was over, the Traveller had convinced us all that it was time to begin. We needed to prepare for war.”

The gloom in the room seemed to intensify at Matthew’s words. A chill crept up Thomas’ spine. “War?”

“In a manner of speaking. He said we Travellers had the biggest part to play. He asked us to use our Travels for more than just a lark. We should begin to influence, to meddle. Carefully. Take small steps at first. Lead the humans into disaster, nudge the Fey towards prosperity. Influence humans and Fey alike towards our goal: the subjugation of the humans under the authority of the Fey.”

The chill Thomas felt congealed in his gut. “But I was told the Rule says we have to stay hidden. In secret we survive. That doesn’t sound very secret to me.”

Matthew grimaced. “No. It also breaks the first Rule of the Travellers: To change the future by the past is forbidden.” He let out a breath. “You have to understand. In our time, the Fey are much fewer than they are now. We are dying out. It’s simply numbers. The humans have more children. The Fey have few children. Many are barren. The Fey here don’t see it yet. But in the future it’s evident. Desperation was growing even before this Traveller came along. And amongst the Unseelies, he found a ready audience. They love to twist the Rule at the best of times. But when he told us that it was time to break free of it, they bought it. His ideas were spark to the tinder. My parents were all for it. So that’s what they decided to do.”

“They Crossed back in time to change history? But how? I mean, if you changed something, I guess when you came back things might be different?” Unease filled him. This was the very thing he had been worrying about all along. To hear that some were doing this deliberately was more than unsettling.

“It is possible. A Traveller could kill someone destined to be a great leader, or stop someone who was the greatest opposition to an evil man. Encourage the invention of a weapon that is slightly before its time in order to bring victory in a pivotal battle that in our history was lost. Publish a book with radical ideas, worm our way into churches and governments.” His father shifted on the bench, wincing as the movement jarred his injury. “All against the Rule of the Fey. But there’s something else.” He paused, his gaze sharpening on Thomas’ cross and then meeting his eyes again. “Do you believe in God?”

The question reminded Thomas of Celyn, when he first woke up in this time, the first day they had met. Are you not a Christian? “Yes,” he said. His answer hadn’t changed, even despite his doubts. “So what? You never cared about religion before.”

“No.” Matthew smiled faintly. “But I found Christ here, through the kindness of the monks. I have prayed every day since that you would find Him, too.”

The pattering of the rain filled the silence that fell. Another difference between the father he lost and this stranger. But maybe this one was a bridge they could meet upon. Maybe.

Matthew waved a hand. “We can speak of that later. I only wished to make the point that although we Travellers can move through time, it is God who holds the keys. He will not allow us to meddle. If we try, He will interfere.” His face turned bleak. “My parents Crossed back to do their part, and they never came back.”

“They died?”

“Of course I can’t prove it, but yes, that’s what I believe. What they were doing would not have gone unnoticed.” He blew out a breath, his face growing sombre. “The Healer told me that the Undying chased you before you Crossed.”

The dark, angular shapes detaching from the trees, the hard claws on his arm…

He forced the memory back. “Yes.”

“And so you see. You were not unnoticed. This is the way of it. We Travellers must be careful.” He looked as if he would say more but clamped his mouth shut instead, and silence fell.

Dread uncurled in Thomas’ gut. Not unnoticed. Great. He took a drink of ale, trying to shake the feeling that dark eyes watched him even now.

Matthew continued, his voice low. “You saw the Huntsman, the mark of the Undying on him?”

Thomas nodded, suppressing a shiver at the thought of the Alder King and the twisting shadow that wreathed him.

“The dark Undying, like the one wedded to the Huntsman, will try to use us for their own purposes. But know this: God’s servants are not always our friends, either. They mistrust the Fey, especially the Unseelie. They don’t look kindly on any Traveller who starts to meddle.”

“The demons want to use us and the angels are against us? That doesn’t give us much hope.”

Matthew shook his head. “There is always hope. Don’t get stuck by the questions, or you will never find your answers. Live your life one day at a time, and the path opens up.”

“The wisdom of the Fey comes by doing.” It was the first part of the Rule that Brorda had taught him.

His father smiled faintly. “Exactly.”

The door opened, interrupting them, and Nona and Fidelma entered. Nona carried a jar, and Thomas got up and took it from her so they could hang up their cloaks.

Nona looked Matthew over with a critical eye. “You must rest. I will put the poultice on, and then you must take the draught I’ve prepared. ’Twill dull the pain and give you sleep.” She glanced at Thomas. “Master Torht is cutting some logs. Perhaps you could help him.”

It sounded like a dismissal to him, but he nodded, stifling his instinctive protest. He needed some time to think through all that Matthew had told him. Torht’s silent company and a little exercise would suit him fine.

He put the jar on the table, grabbed his cloak, and stepped outside into the rain.