"A Touch of Cinnamon (b)" by Becca Lusher

“Great Gods! What happened?” The angry voice cracked through her pounding mind, and suddenly she found that not only was she awake, but that she was in pain. Lots of it. She groaned, wishing she was still unconscious, at least she could not feel anything there.

“Cinnamon!” the voice turned from angry to concerned. “Oh Gods, she must be inside. Come on, we have to get her out of there.”

She groaned again, hearing a lot of scrabbling going on around her, and opened her eyes. With a scream, she realised she was blind. “I can’t see! I can’t see!”

“Gods!” a voice, very close to her left ear swore suddenly and a rock crashed next to her head.

“Careful,” the first voice warned, and she now recognised it as Tarragon. “We don’t know where she is.”

“I have a fair idea,” Juniper, the second voice, muttered, “after all, I think she just burst my left ear.”

“Sorry,” she called out, earning her a small chuckle from him.

“Keep talking, little one, then we’ll know where you are,” Juniper called to her.

“I’m blind, Juniper,” she whimpered. “I can’t see anything. What happened?”

“I think you’re the only one who can answer that one,” Tarragon replied, a stern undertone to his voice. “And the reason you can’t see is because you’re trapped under Mint’s tent.”

“Oh,” she mumbled, slightly sheepish, remembering how angry she had become after he shut her inside. “Maybe you won’t lock me away next time,” she grumbled, hearing someone moving next to her, feeling the heavy weights both around and on top of her being removed.

“You’ve got to learn to control your temper,” Tarragon muttered, groaning as if moving something heavy. There was a crack, then suddenly Cinnamon felt all the pressure that had been holding her to the ground move and release her.

With a gasp, she began to cough, feeling her battered muscles surge into life and pain, while her lungs pulled in great breaths of air, full of dust and dirt.

“Gods,” Juniper muttered, and suddenly there was light all around her, “it’s all right, Cinnamon, we’ve got you.” Strong arms reached down and took hold beneath her arms, tugging forcefully.

“Careful,” Tarragon cautioned, and she saw him, covered in rock dust and looking a state. She did not suppose she looked any better as she whimpered and bit her lip, trying not to scream while Juniper dragged her free.

Struggling, she managed to get her feet underneath herself, and scrabbled upright on her own. When she stumbled, Juniper was there to hold her up, while Tarragon moved to her other side, so that between them they had her on her feet. “Thank you,” she muttered sagging against Tarragon, before crashing to her knees and back into unconsciousness.

~ ~ ~

“- do you suggest we do now? There’s all the proof you could ever want.”

Slowly voices swam into Cinnamon’s mind; familiar, and angry.

“We never doubted your claims, there was never any need for proof,” Mint said, his voice soothing and placatory.

“Then why didn’t you stop this?” She knew of only one centaur who could get so much anger into a few short words; her sire, Oregano. Without realising, she flinched, and wished she could flee into unconsciousness once again; things were so much easier there.

Even as she did so, she began to feel her surroundings and the touch of a cool, wet cloth as it moved carefully across her face, cleaning and dabbing. She winced as it crossed a cut she was not aware she had. Her whole body ached as if pummelled and trampled into the ground, while her mouth tasted of dirt and dust.

“Sir,” Mint was speaking again, “I can understand why you are frightened-”

“Frightened?” her sire interrupted. “I’m terrified. Great Gods, but that girl is dangerous! We knew it from early on, but no one expected her capable of this. Half the village buried in a landslide, three dams injured, two foals nearly killed. It is a miracle that nobody is dead!”

She flinched again, and the hand carefully cleaning her face stopped, a rough finger reaching out to stroke her cheek reassuringly.

“I hardly believe it was intentional, sir, after all she was buried deeper than anyone else. She can hardly have meant that to happen.”

“Which makes it worse!”

“No,” Mint replied tersely, and the hand which was cleaning her pressed slightly harder than intended and she stifled a yelp, her eyes snapping open. Tarragon shot her a distracted glance and an apologetic smile, before he lightly covered her mouth with his hand. She nodded faintly, telling him she would be quiet, and he returned to cleaning her up, while Mint and her sire continued to argue, though she could not see them. Their voices continued behind her head.

“What do you mean, no? How could it possibly be worse than it already is?”

Mint let out a disgusted snort, clearly unimpressed by who he was talking to. “If she intended to do such damage, then we should really be worried. As it is she does these things through accidents. As terrible as they may seem at the time, and as frightening, there is hope here.”

“Where?” Oregano growled, and she shuddered, knowing that tone of voice well; it was usually the one he had before he lost his temper fully and brought out the lash.

“Instead of keeping her dangerous and ignorant, we can harness these powers of hers, and have her aid us in this war we are fighting.”

“What war?” her sire scoffed. “Or is this just some story you’ve fabricated to allow you to take my daughter away, to let her run wild and free and ruin the lives of ordinary folk.”

She heard Tarragon growl darkly beneath his breath as he moved her mane from her shoulder, and pressed the cool cloth against the back of her neck, leaning over to dab the cuts there, which stung so much she had to bite her lip. Her mouth filled with blood, and she squeezed her eyes tight shut in an attempt not to cry out.

“Sir,” Mint said again, his patience sounding heavily forced, “you may not value your daughter, but I do, as I value all life. There are many threats to Idyllium -”

“My daughter being one of them,” Oregano interrupted.

“No, actually,” Mint growled, his patience all but gone now, “she is one of the last hopes we have. If we can reverse the damage your upbringing has done to her.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard.” Tarragon had obviously grown tired of holding his tongue, and Cinnamon felt him drop the cloth against her neck, before he got to his feet. “Here, in this quiet corner of the valleys, you have no idea of the true nature of the magic that binds us inside this realm, keeps us protected, saves us from the world beyond the mountains.”

She heard her father snort, and could imagine him tossing his head haughtily, in the same way Saffron always did. “Foal tales, and old mares’ stories. There is no world beyond. Idyllium is all there is, the mountains are the edge of the world.”

She heard Mint groan faintly, before Tarragon exploded. “You stupid, foolish, ignorant, idiotic, pathetic excuse for a centaur! I have never heard such nonsense! I spoke with your daughter yesterday, and to my horror she told me that she knew nothing of the threads. What kind of fool raises his foals without telling them of how we came to be here? Have our kind fallen so far into fat, lazy complacency that they forget the stories of what life was like before the Great Shrouding? Is your mind so weak as to believe Idyllium is all there is? That the Great Gods created us, and us alone, in this tiny place which can be crossed in the space of three moons? How can you believe that this is all there is? No wonder she is a danger, because of a pathetic, useless sire like you!”

“That’s enough, Tarragon,” Mint muttered into the painful silence that followed.

“No it isn’t,” he snarled, but Cinnamon could guess it was not aimed at Mint. “My Granddamma, Snowdrop, was the last of the Great Enchanters. They poured their hearts, souls and magic into creating this realm, in shrouding it away from the rest of the world to protect what little was left of our kind. She was the only one who survived it, and I am here to this day to make sure that we continue to survive, to maintain her legacy. Yet, when I come across useless fools like you, whose offspring have more magic in them then the entire threads that bind Idyllium to such secrecy, I begin to wonder why I bother.

“With your filly’s help, we can ensure that Idyllium remains safe for at least another five generations, yet you think she is a danger. All you can think of is yourself and your narrow-minded fear. What about the rest of us? Those of us who battle night and day against those who would enter our paradise and tear us all limb from limb? We, who give our lives, so that wretched little parasites like you can continue to lead your pointless little lives, beating your offspring when they show a talent for something that scares you? Do we not matter? Does the fate of Idyllium not matter, when compared to how much your limited little mind can understand?”

He stopped and true silence fell, all Cinnamon could hear was the laboured breathing of Tarragon as he tried to contain the rest of his rage. Then he moved, returning to her side and picking up the cloth again. “Remove him from my sight, Bay, and do not let any of these short sighted fools bother me again.” Despite the clipped anger in his tone, the hand that cleaned her shoulder was gentle.

“You can’t do that!” Oregano protested, and she winced, embarrassed by him. “That is my daughter!”

“Was,” Tarragon replied coldly. “She is above the age of maturity. We will take care of her now. Bay, remove him.”

“Yes, Tarragon.”

Her sire continued to rant and rage, but his voice grew dimmer and eventually she could no longer hear him, and assumed they had succeeded in getting him outside. It was better that way; she dreaded to think what Tarragon would have done to him if he had not been able to control his temper, and descended into violence.

“Mint?”

There was a shuffle of hooves, before a slightly tremulous reply, “Yes?”

“She doesn’t heal like I do. I need some herbs. Would you be able to take Juniper, Sage and Pepper to get them for me?” His voice was calm once more, back to the ice which matched his eyes.

“Of course,” the old centaur muttered, and Cinnamon could not help but think it was so different to the way Tarragon had bowed to him the morning she had first met him; was it all a front?

“Thank you.”

Nothing more was said as Mint turned, and Cinnamon listened to him open the door and leave, what she could only assume was the main barn of the village. She lay silent, her eyes closed, and tried to get her thoughts into some sort of order, where she might understand what had been said and decided, without her input or consent.

“Are you awake?” Tarragon asked softly after a long moment.

Unsure of what to say, she simply opened her eyes and nodded, staring up at him and hoping he could read some of the confusion in her eyes.

He smiled sympathetically. “Sorry, that was not how I had any of this planned.”

“How did you plan it?” she asked, curious, and shocked to hear how croaky her voice was, her throat dry and rasping with dust and dirt. Gingerly, she sat up, wincing and hissing at the aches in her muscles and the bites of her cuts. What happened to me?

Offering her a bowl of water, he shifted her forelock out of the way so that it did not get wet, and smiled ruefully. “All right, so I didn’t have any plans, but if I had, then that was certainly not one of them. I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

“Find out what?” she asked, too tired to sort all the facts out in her head.

For a moment he looked incredulous, then he laughed. “Oh precious foal,” he chuckled. “We could use more of your kind in this dreary world.” Shaking his head, he looked at her, blue eyes brimming over with mirth, and he reached out to flick her forelock back across her face. “You have power, Cinnamon, reborn of old. You’re an Enchanter, a manipulator of elements. When I locked you in the tent, your anger released a rock slide. You called on the Rock-Singer to release you, and he answered… just a little more strongly than I think you intended.

“You can wield the power of the Gods, Cinnamon. You hold the world in your hands, but now you have to decide what to do with that world. Do you want to nurture it, protect it, help it grow? Or do you want to destroy it? Because, little one, after that display today, I don’t think there is anyone in this world - inside Idyllium, or beyond - who can stop you. The choice and power is yours. What will you do with it?”

~ ~ ~

Fennel and Saffron were idly wandering around the far shore of the lake, contemplating their new life together, when Dill galloped up to them in a cloud of dust.

“Dill!” Saffron scolded, shielding her face from the cloud that engulfed them. “For the Gods’ sake, watch where you’re going, will you?”

“Sorry,” he puffed, one hand pressed against his ribs as he winced and turned to Fennel. “Trouble,” he gasped.

“What? More?” he enquired, eyebrows raised. Little of the events of the past few days had impacted upon Saffron and himself, but he did have a vague recollection that Tarragon was handling it all.

“Oregano,” Dill muttered.

“My sire?” Saffron stopped fussing over the dirt and stared at him. “What has happened? He’s not hurt is he? It’s bloody Cinnamon again, isn’t it? I’ll kill that little mule!”

“No!” Dill interrupted her sharply. “They’ve just thrown your sire out of the main barn, where he was trying to talk to Cinnamon. Apparently she’s unconscious still and they’re holding her ransom.”

Fennel frowned. “Who do you mean by they?”

“Mint and all the others, including Tarragon.”

Saffron launched into a ranting list of what she would do to all the strangers if they tried to take her sister from her. Fennel ignored her and the startlingly duplicitous side of her nature. “I would believe such a thing of Tarragon, but not Mint. There must be more to this. Dill, where are the others?”

“Everyone else is in the village, milling around and not quite knowing what to do. Nutmeg is trying to rally some support, but they’re torn. Most of them would be glad to see the back of Cinnamon, they say she’s a liability.” He choked on the word, begging his brother to help with his eyes. “The rest are too scared to act. They’re terrified of Tarragon and the others. Fen, you’ve got to do something.”

With a heavy sigh, the older male nodded. “All right, little colt, I’ll see what I can do. Come on, Saff, let’s go save your sister.”

~ ~ ~

Cinnamon stared at him, her dark eyes incredulous. Then she laughed. “Oh come on, Tarragon, you’ve got to be kidding me. I have no more power than the average rock.”

“Then what about these things that happened to you when you were little? The sudden rain falls, the floods, the rockslides, the hurricane winds? Hmm? How do you explain those, Cinnamon?”

He was not laughing, she realised suddenly, feeling icy dread wash over her. Why was he not laughing? This all had to be some strange, elaborate joke. Either that or she had hit her head harder than she realised. “Oh Gods,” she muttered, dropping her face into her hands. “I haven’t got any power, Tarragon, I can’t have. Enchanters, they don’t exist anymore, there’s no such thing. I’m just a normal little mare, albeit really clumsy, and unlucky, because yes, things happen to me, but I could no more change the world than a blade of grass.”

“A rock, and a blade of grass, are more special then you give them credit for, Cinnamon. Each are part of the Great Gods’ creation.”

He was starting to sound sanctimonious, reminding her of long, gruelling nights by the fireside, listening to her grandsire drone on, and on, and on, with no hope of release. Lifting her head sharply, she glared at him; she was no longer a young and hopeless filly, she did not have to listen to something she did not want to. “Spare me the lecture, I’m not in the mood.”

For a moment his serious demeanour dropped slightly and a brief smile lit his face. “Are you ever?”

“No,” she replied, not amused. “Now stop with all this nonsense, and stop trying to tell me I’m something that doesn’t exist anymore. Go away and let me sleep.”

He raised an eyebrow, then sighed. “I’m sorry, Cinnamon, but I can’t do that. It is true that Enchanters, as the old tales talk of, no longer exist, but there are still those with power.”

She scoffed. “Oh, and I just happen to be one of them, do I?”

“Yes,” he half growled with exasperation, “you do. As do I.”

Whatever witty retort she was about to snap at him died on her lips, suddenly many, many things became clear. “You?” He nodded, and she shook her head, trying to shuffle her thoughts back into order. “Is Mint one too?”

Tarragon shook his head. “No, he’s just a seer and a healer. The first through his dreams, but it isn’t always accurate, while the second he learned through fierce dedication.”

“And you? What can you do?”

“Nothing as spectacular as you, sadly.” He half smiled. “Like my granddamma I’m a seer, with more success than Mint. I am also a healer, though everything I know about that I’ve largely learned from Mint in recent years. My powers stem from my purpose, which is to protect Idyllium,” he explained, seeing her about to ask. “But I suppose this is a tale that needs to be told from the beginning.” He gave a weary sigh and rubbed at his forehead. “Perhaps we should wait until you are rested, and I’ve eaten. I’m starving.”

“I’m not tired now,” Cinnamon perked up, after all how could she think of sleeping when she was finally beginning to get answer from Tarragon that made sense? It did not mean she believed him, however, but they were interesting ideas at least.

He smiled dryly. “Of course you’re not tired now, but you should still sleep.”

“But-”

“No,” he warned. “No more now, stay here, I’ll be back.” As he got to his feet, the door to the barn opened, and Mint entered, with an unfamiliar female.

She glanced at Cinnamon, before her eyes rested on Tarragon and she saluted. “Tarragon.”

“Pepper,” he returned her greeting with a nod, “what is it? Why aren’t you on watch?”

“Because the herd is getting restless, sir. They think we’re trying to kidnap the young one.”

“Great Gods grant me strength,” Tarragon growled, before glancing back at Cinnamon and half smiled. “You better be worth this trouble, little one.” He shifted his gaze, and his tone. “Mint, would you please tend to her remaining injuries, and make sure she gets some rest. I shall have to deal with this myself.”

“Of course, Tarragon,” Mint nodded.

No one seemed to care what Cinnamon wanted, and whether or not she would like to speak to her own herd. Without another glance or word to her, Pepper and Tarragon left, leaving her alone with Mint. Yet when she rose, ready to protest and demand that she be allowed to do things for herself, she found she could not. Stumbling on her knees, she fell back, utterly exhausted.

Mint rushed to her side. “Careful now,” he cautioned. “You’re still weak, best not to overdo things.”

With a resigned sigh, she sat still and let him administer his care to her, while pondering all that had been said, and many things which had not. Nothing seemed to make sense to her anymore. “Mint?” she asked when he seemed to have finished cleaning the numerous scrapes on her back. “Do things make more sense as you get older, or less?”

He chuckled softly. “Poor thing, you may not wish to know the answer.”

Smiling at him, she shook her head. “Perhaps not, but I feel I already know. And the things I don’t understand now, I suspect I never will. All that’s left is for me to make my choice, I guess.”

“What choice is that?” Mint asked carefully.

She shrugged. “I don’t know,” she sighed, “Tarragon didn’t finish explaining it to me. From what I gathered of his words, I might be a kill or cure for Idyllium and the world beyond.”

“Oh. Which would you rather be?”

“Cure, obviously. But if people don’t stop shutting me out of decisions and things that I should know, I fear my temper might make the choice for me.” She heaved a great sigh and dropped her face into her hands, as if trying to rub away her weariness. Eventually she looked up again, and met Mint’s eyes. “I love Idyllium, how could I not? I would never dream of destroying it, nor the people I love and who live here. It is my home, though my curiosity leads me to dream of what lies beyond the mountains. Do you know what lies there, Mint? After all you must have been old enough to know Snowdrop, and perhaps the world before she did, whatever it was that Tarragon said she did.”

Again he chuckled, this time a little ruefully. “I know I am old, young one, but I’m not yet that ancient. Snowdrop died almost two hundred years ago, as proud as I am of my long life, my scant seventy-eight does not compare.”

“But I thought -?” She stopped herself.

“Thought what?” he asked, watching her with his pale green eyes, as if waiting for her to reveal a great secret.

As far as she knew she had no answers, nor any idea of what answers he might be seeking. “Nothing,” she replied quietly, except that it was not nothing. Tarragon claimed to be the grand-colt of Snowdrop, the last great Enchanter, yet she died almost two hundred years ago, so how could that be? He looked barely older than Fennel, who was a very grown up twenty one. He claimed to have been taught by her, which could only have been done when she lived. Just how old was Tarragon? Somehow she did not want to ask Mint, so remained quiet, took the sleeping draft he made for her, and welcomed the darkness of her dreamless sleep beyond.

~ ~ ~

Steeling himself to face an angry mob, Tarragon was surprised when only four centaurs met him in the waning light of the afternoon. He raised his eyebrow at them, recognising the travellers, Fennel and Nutmeg, along with Cinnamon’s sister, Saffron, and a young male he had not met before, but had seen hanging around with Cinnamon. They seemed nervous, so he started; “Yes?”

The young male snorted at Tarragon’s haughty manner, immediately drawing the icy gaze upon himself. He seemed unbothered by it, which piqued Tarragon’s interest. Looking to the others to react, the young male sighed and decided he would have to do it himself. “Where is Cinnamon?”

“Inside,” Tarragon replied coolly, “recovering. I will let her know you came by…” He paused and waited for a name.

The young centaur did not provide one, instead he swished his tail with anger. “I would rather see her myself. Check her well-being with my own eyes.”

“She is sleeping.”

“Then I will wait inside.”

Tarragon had to admire the young colt’s courage, few would face him down, but he still was not about to let him pass. “I think not. She has had a traumatic experience, I do not want her disturbed until she can at least walk outside on her own.”

“What have you done to her?” Saffron burst out, shrinking back as Tarragon glared at her.

“I did nothing, young mare. Perhaps you should ask your sire what things she may have overheard him say. See how he might have upset her.”

Nutmeg decided it might be a good time to intercept. “I hardly think you would wish us to speak to you of what Oregano has told us took place within,” she smoothly interrupted anything Saffron might say. “He does not paint the nicest picture of you, Tarragon. Will you let us pass? I would see how my cousin fares.”

Tarragon chuckled. “I suppose he would not take too kindly to my words, but all I told him was the truth, which I am sure was the last thing he wanted to hear. Still, Nutmeg, I cannot let you inside. Mint is healing her while she sleeps, and it is best not to disturb him while he works.”

“Then how is she?” the young male demanded. “You could at least tell us that.”

Again Tarragon looked at him, this time with approval. “Congratulations,” he said softly. “You are the first unselfish creature I have met in this herd. When Cinnamon is recovered I will certainly let you in to see her. What is your name, young one?”

“Dill.”

“Ah, brother of Fennel, no doubt?”

“Yes.”

“Well thank you for asking, Dill. Cinnamon is fine, but exhausted. It is not easy summoning the elemental power of the Gods, and then being buried beneath a landslide. Her technique is raw, unbalanced and powerful. Give her a day, perhaps two, and she will be well enough to see you again.” Seeing that he had answered Dill’s questions, he nodded to the young centaur and turned to leave.

“What did Oregano say?” Fennel asked, stopping Tarragon in his tracks.

He turned back and surveyed the male before him for a long time; though he had travelled with him for a full moon cycle, he had learnt barely anything about this young male. He seemed capable enough, yet Tarragon had deemed him unworthy of true note - however he was always open to changing his mind. “Would you believe me if I told you something you did not wish to hear?”

Saffron looked thunderous and about to protest, but Fennel squeezed her hand and cautioned her into silence. “Yes,” he replied to Tarragon. “You have no reason to lie to us.

Tarragon inclined his head, agreeing with his point. “Then I will tell you the gist of what he said. I believe he thinks Cinnamon a dangerous renegade, though what he plans to do with her, I dread to think and will leave it up to you to decide. For my own part, and Mint’s, I believe she is indeed dangerous as things stand. She will only become more so the longer you insist on keeping her in the dark. We could make her strong, but also give her control, so that only through her own choices would she be dangerous. She could make a big difference to the defence of this realm and the safety of our people, if we give her the chance.

“Oregano does not believe us. I am not sure what he believes, nor what he imagines we would want with his filly otherwise. Still, it is his conscience he must search. I have made my choices long before this moment. Cinnamon needs guidance, we can give it to her, if you believe us to be abducting her against her will, then fine, you are free to believe whatever you wish. I work for the greater good of Idyllium, I will hurt no one who does not deserve it. Those who stand in my way, however,” he added darkly, lowering his voice to a menacing tone, “I will deal with accordingly. Any more questions?”

Fennel swallowed, before he looked to Saffron, but her eyes were on the ground before her hooves. Nutmeg and Dill were both staring at him, waiting for his guidance. He nodded slowly. “Very well.”

Tarragon arched one eyebrow, wondering what he meant by that.

“Take good care of my sister,” Saffron whispered, before she fled.

Again Tarragon found himself surprised, even more so when Fennel did not rush directly after her. For a moment he looked pained, torn between running after his beloved and finishing what had already been started. He stood his ground and boldly met Tarragon’s eyes. “I hope to the Great Gods that you know what you are doing. She’s a good foal, hurt her, in anyway, and I will be sure to seek every kind of vengeance I can find.” With a stiff nod, he turned and chased after his mate.

Dill and Nutmeg shared a startled look, before they turned to Tarragon and shuffled closer together for solidarity. “Cinnamon is precious to us,” Nutmeg spoke on behalf of both of them. “And we would hate to see any harm come to her, yet we will trust you with her life. If there is anything we can do, tell us, we will do all we can to help her.”

The day was full of ever increasing surprises, Tarragon found himself thinking as he nodded graciously to the two young centaurs, even smiled at them. “Thank you. I will make sure she knows that not all of her herd are against her. When she is well enough for visitors, I will send word to you. Until then, farewell.”

“Farewell,” they both echoed, before turning and wandering away, heads close together as they talked in low voices. Tarragon watched them for a while, then looked out across the green valley and the sparkling lake, illuminated by the final rays of the sun. Beauty and freedom, those were the things he sought to protect within the circle of the mountains, yet so many failed to grasp what he was doing. Failed to understand the true danger they were all in. Looking at the view of the fields, valleys, lake and the tall mountains beyond, Tarragon tried to capture the memory, to remind him why he continued with his work. Then, with a heavy, heartfelt sigh, he shook his head and entered the barn again, sealing himself willingly into the gloom.

~ ~ ~

Harpy, was the name Snowdrop had been able to put to it the first time they had been glimpsed inside Idyllium. They lived in the crevices on the far side of the mountains, and were one of the reasons for the Shrouding in the first place. Yet now they were back, and she had no idea why, or how to deal with them. She had to find Snowdrop.

Rubbing at her chest, she found it raked with deep gashes, care of the monster, and also bereft of her quiver strap. It must have been lost in the fall, as was her bow. The smoke was so thick that there was no hope of her regaining any of them. She would simply have to forge onwards unarmed. So be it.

Something moved in the darkness and Cinnamon opened her eyes, feeling her heart race, still able to feel the oppressive heat of the fire around her. To her right something shifted again, and she suddenly found the cause for the unnatural warmth; not a memory from her fading dream, but the fact that she was ringed closely by other centaurs.

Embarrassment scorched her cheeks, and she tried to move away from whoever was pressed against her right side. The centaur snorted, shifted slightly, then began to snore. Juniper. He mumbled faintly between his snores and she recognised his voice. Knowing who it was did little to ease her discomfort, for one thing mid-summer was far too hot a time to spend sleeping amidst a group of bodies, and for another she had never actually shared her bed with a male before. Even though it was clearly in innocence, she still felt uncomfortable.

Searching for a way to extract herself from the bodies pressed about her, she noticed someone standing in the doorway to the barn, letting in the cool summer air, and faint strains of moonlight. His head was bowed, long strands of his black hair falling across his face, yet she knew he was not asleep. Whether he was on watch, or simply unable to rest, she could not tell, yet she sensed that he was grieving, remembering things even as she dreamed them. Why did she dream his memories?

As if sensing her thoughts, he glanced across at her, his blue eyes shining like ice in the moonlight. He did not say anything, simply looked away again and gazed out into the night. Perturbed, Cinnamon carefully got to her feet, picking her way between the bodies and legs, making sure not to step on or touch anyone, trying not to wake any of them if she could possibly help it. Feeling her mind hurting from the strength of concentration needed, she stumbled towards the entrance and leant heavily against the wall opposite Tarragon.

“Trouble sleeping?” he asked without looking at her.

“Too hot.”

He nodded. “How are you feeling, other than hot?”

“Tired,” she yawned, “and a little weak.”

“Not surprised,” he agreed.

“What are you doing awake? On watch?”

A small smile lit his face, washed pallid as it was in the moonlight; in that light his eyes looked silver. “I hardly think we need a watch for your safety with all of that lot sleeping around you. Someone would have difficulty getting you out of there without someone waking.”

“I got out,” she muttered.

“Yes, you did. But that’s not the same as someone getting into the circle and dragging you out. I think that would be a little more difficult.”

Cinnamon found that she had no answer for that, so drifted into silence for a while, her mind heavy with thoughts, none of which she wanted to explore in any depth. Eventually she sighed, and looked across at him, wondering what went on behind his ice-like eyes. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“I don’t need much sleep,” he replied, still staring out into the night. “I find night the best time to think alone, in silence.”

“Oh. Sorry, have I interrupted you?”

“No. You are far less distracting when you are awake, trust me.”

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise at that comment. “What do you mean?”

“Your dreams. I wish you didn’t keep reminding me of things I had thought forgotten.” This time he did look at her, and though he smiled, she could see the pain in his eyes, thawed for a brief moment. “I’d almost banished that fire from my memory. Clearly not as deeply as I had thought.”

“Sorry.” She scuffed at the dirt with her front hoof, uncomfortable that not only did she share his memories, but that he shared her dreams, even when he was awake. It was a connection to him that she was not entirely happy to have.

He shrugged and looked away, once more the stern, dark guard with frozen eyes. “No matter, it’s not like you do it on purpose. I don’t even think you know how you’re doing it, do you?”

She shook her head, feeling slightly numb as the dream flashed back into her mind, along with snippets of previous ones that she had forgotten. Threads, dreams, fires and monsters, they all replayed and she fell to her knees beneath the weight of them, clutching her pounding head. “Gods, make it stop. I don‘t want to see!”

“No!”

Her eyes snapped open sharply at the cry, and she raised a startled hand to her face, feeling the heat of her skin and stared up at Tarragon, where he knelt in front of her. For a moment he loomed dark and menacing above her, even his eyes were black with the light of the moon behind him. Then he ducked his head, reaching across the distance between them and rubbed her cheek softly, his voice soft as he apologised. “I’m sorry, Cinnamon, but I could wake you no other way.”

“Why?” she asked, feeling detached from both mind and body; she was floating in a vague haze where the pain was there, yet not quite.

He swallowed, opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Sighing, he shook his head and hung it with shame. “I can’t relive that moment, Cinnamon, not again. I have done so almost a thousand times, and it drove me close to madness. I lost it all that day, mind, body, soul. Please, I beg you, don’t make me watch it again. Losing her once was agony. I cannot do it again.”

Something warm splashed against her hand, and she glanced down in amazement, realising he must be crying, yet when she reached up to touch his face, he flinched.

“Do not pity me,” he snarled, pulling away from her.

Cinnamon recoiled as if he had hit her again, and for a moment he leant against the door to the barn, a hand covering his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “Oh Gods, I cannot do this again. I’m sorry, so sorry.”

Before she could find any semblance of response he wandered out into the night, his black pelt and skin soon swallowed by the darkness.

~ ~ ~

Morning dawned and already Cinnamon could tell there was something different. Opening her eyes she found herself alone in the barn, and shivered. The wind that was creeping in around the door was cold and moist. Tasting the air, she flicked her ears and soon realised what it was - rain. Tiny, almost imperceptible taps on the roof above her head and on the ground outside told her that it was faint. Yet she smiled; she loved rain.

Before she could get to her feet and go outside to enjoy it, the door opened. “Cinnamon! You’re awake!” Nutmeg’s joyous declaration was followed closely by Dill, as he barged his way into the barn and grabbed her hands when she lurched to her feet.

“Gods, Cinny, don’t you ever do that again.”

Chuckling, she carefully extracted her hands from his grip, where they were in danger of being crushed. Reaching up, she ruffled the water from his hair and ears. “You’re such a donkey, Dill, I’m fine, there was never anything to worry about.”

“Except Tarragon.” He grimaced. “That is one scary centaur. Wouldn‘t let us anywhere near you.”

“Not a lot I could do about that, I’m afraid,” she admitted, smiling at Nutmeg and reluctantly allowed her cousin to tug her forelock. “He seems to have appointed himself to that role, and I’m not sure how to get rid of him.”

Nutmeg shot her a strange look, then smiled. “Well, perhaps your prayers have been answered.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s gone,” Dill told her. “That’s how we got in to see you.”

“Gone?” Cinnamon asked, wondering why she was suddenly suffused with panic. “What do you mean, gone?”

“Gone as in vanished, not here anymore,” Nutmeg elaborated. “And no one knows where he is, not even the others. Juniper is frantic, he seems to think this is the end for us all. I told him he should go take a dip in the lake, wash away some of the heat in that hot head of his.”

“He didn’t take it too well.” Dill winced.

“I can imagine,” Cinnamon muttered weakly, tugging at her ear. “Are you sure no one knows? What about Mint? He must know, surely.”

Nutmeg and Dill both shook their heads, and Cinnamon began to understand what Juniper must have been feeling.

“It’s good though,” Dill continued. “It means you’re free to go, get out of here, run wild again.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, straight into whatever my sire has planned for me.” It was only a guess, but from the way both of her friends winced, she could tell she had struck close to the truth. She decided to ignore it and returned to the task in hand. “Look, I know you don’t like him, and to be honest, I’m not even sure I do, most of the time, but we must find Tarragon. It’s important.”

“Why?” Nutmeg asked.

“I don’t know,” Cinnamon sighed truthfully. “All I do know is that he’s important to the survival of Idyllium, and he’s the only one who can help me with my… problem,” she said carefully, still unable to come to terms with the fact she might have power of some sort. “Where did you last see Juniper? Who was the last to see Tarragon?”

“Juniper is down by the lake, talking with Mint, I think,” Nutmeg told her.

“And the last they saw of him was last night. Everyone went to sleep, and when they woke up this morning he was gone,” Dill added.

“Great Gods!” Cinnamon swore, charging out of the barn. “That means I was the last to speak with him. We have to find him, before he does something stupid.”

“What do you mean, stupid?” Nutmeg demanded, trotting swiftly in her wake.

“I mean wind-up-dead stupid,” Cinnamon muttered, and looked around for any sign of the others. Spotting her sire making his way towards her, she backed up and fled down towards the lake. “Come on! Are you helping me, or not?”

Dill and Nutmeg shared a debating look, before Dill nodded, and Nutmeg grinned. “We’re helping. Tell us what to do, and we’ll sort it.”

~ ~ ~

“Has he ever done anything like this before?” Cinnamon asked Juniper when they stopped for a brief rest around mid-afternoon. The rain had largely stopped now, leaving hazy mists in the distance and ragged clouds above. Every so often they tore apart enough to let the sun through, giving glimpses of rainbows before the light was swallowed up again, returning them to overcast darkness.

The big male shook his head. “Never. Not in all the years I’ve known him.”

“How long is that?” Nutmeg asked nosily.

Too distracted to flirt in his usual manner, Juniper simply shook his head. “Since I was a very young colt. He knew my damma, and my sire, they used to follow him around. In fact that was how they met each other. Then, when they stopped I took their place, as soon as I was old enough. I’ve never known a world without Tarragon in it somewhere.”

Nutmeg frowned, trying to do the necessary sums. Dill was quicker than she was, and blurted out, “But he doesn’t look old enough!”

Juniper looked uncomfortable for a moment, wondering if he had just revealed a large secret, but he relaxed again when Cinnamon did not appear bothered.

“None of us are what we seem,” she muttered cryptically instead and searched the boggy ground near the lakeshore.

They were nearing the far end of the lake and still there were no signs of him. He might not have even come this way, yet both Juniper and Cinnamon were sure they were on the right track.

Scouring the ground for any sign he might have passed that way, Cinnamon sighed and headed back to the others. “Meg,” she mused, a sudden idea forming in her mind, “do you know where there are any beech trees around here? Any groves?”

“Beeches?” Meg wondered, scratching at her ear as she thought. “I don’t know. Can’t remember seeing any. Fennel’s the one who usually notices that kind of thing. Why?”

Juniper pricked his ears up at the mention of beech trees. “But of course! Cinnamon, you gorgeous little filly, you’re a genius. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Probably because you’ve never dreamed his memories,” she muttered dryly, and received incredulous looks for her trouble. “Never mind. Does this mean you know where there are some beech trees nearby, Juniper?”

“Of course, Tarragon always points them out.” He grinned, more his old self. “Come on. If we hurry he might still be there.”

Whether he was in the beech trees or not, Cinnamon did not have a chance to find out. Even as they raced along the lake shore and deeper into the meadows beyond, Pepper came pounding down from a different direction. “Juniper!” she yelled as she galloped. “Juniper, quick!”

Hearing her distressed tone, Cinnamon and her friends stopped and turned towards the shouting mare. She waved at them, seeing she had their attention, before she slowed and turned around. “They’re got through, Juniper! You’ve got to help.”

Swearing, he sprang forward, then suddenly remembered he was not alone. “Have you found Tarragon?” he called to Pepper, but she shook her head, dancing on the spot, eager to be away again. “Great Gods,” he growled. “Without him we won’t be able to seal the hole.”

“Bring her,” Pepper said shortly, nodding in Cinnamon’s direction.

“Maybe,” Juniper muttered doubtfully.

Curiosity flared within her and she suddenly had a desperate desire to go along too, yet the warnings about her lack of control, her forceful powers, how dangerous she was sprang to mind to hold her back. “But I don’t know how to do anything,” she muttered.

For a moment Juniper stared at her, then he smiled. “No, maybe you don’t, but if you’re there Tarragon won’t be far behind. He wouldn’t want to risk you. Come on, filly, you’re going to be just what we need.” He sprang off, shouting to Pepper that he was coming, while he indicated to Cinnamon to follow. Temporarily forgotten, Dill and Nutmeg pursued them, determined to protect Cinnamon in any way that they could.

Catching up with Pepper, Juniper began to move in earnest, his longer strides easily eating up the ground, and he soon left the mares in his wake. Torn between excitement and fear, Cinnamon kept up as best she could, but Pepper was in prime condition, used to running long distances at top speeds; next to her Cinnamon felt like a goat. Yet Pepper did not pull ahead as she expected, instead the flea-bitten grey mare seemed to be deliberately keeping pace, while they watched Juniper vanish into the distance. They galloped around the northern shore of the lake and into one of the small valleys that littered the area.

Not knowing what to expect, Cinnamon tried to prepare herself for the worst, yet she still failed to come anywhere close. Trailing after Juniper as fast as she could, she did not have time to look up. It was only Pepper screaming for her to get down, then bodily forcing her from the path and down into the ditch beyond, which saved her.

Finding its prey taken from beneath it, the harpy banked and twisted mid-air, returning to have another go; talons outstretched, eyes wild.

“Juniper!” Pepper screamed.

A whistle parted the air above the two mares’ head, and the harpy fell with a defiant screech, an arrow imbedded in its throat.

“Great Gods!” Juniper thundered back towards them. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Cinnamon muttered shakily when she realised the question was aimed at her; Pepper was already gone, trying to find her own bow and weapons, which would be with the others. “Thank you for saving me.”

Juniper smiled and helped her back onto the path, both of them ducking as another harpy whistled overhead, falling soon after without Juniper moving to stop it. “Much as I’d enjoy taking the credit, it had nothing to do with me.”

Glancing around, their eyes fell on Dill, who waved slightly sheepishly at them. “Always was a crack shot,” he muttered.

Grinning, Juniper gripped him gratefully by the shoulder. “And we’re all the more thankful for it. Keep an eye on her, if you wouldn’t mind. I need to find the others. Head to the centre of the valley!” he called, before he was gone again.

Nutmeg and Dill rushed over to Cinnamon the instant he left her. “By the Cloud-Shaper’s sight, that was close!” Nutmeg gabbled as she fretfully patted her cousin all over, checking for wounds.

“I’m all right, Meg,” she sighed, shying away from her and her slapping hands. “Really, I’m fine. Get off.” With a swish of her tail she finally drove Nutmeg away from her, and smiled at her friend instead. “Thank you, Dill, you are quite literally a lifesaver.”

“Anytime,” he grinned, his smile fading as he grabbed another arrow from his quiver and raised his bow. A third harpy dropped like a stone, screaming curses and promises of revenge, an arrow in its chest. “I don’t know about you,” he mumbled into the quiet once the harpy had crunched in the dirt, “but I’m feeling a little exposed out here. Think we should catch the others?”

“Yes,” Cinnamon agreed.

“Hang on, two ticks,” Nutmeg begged, pulling off the band of cloth she had tied about her waist, and digging up rocks beneath her feet. “Give us a hand, would you?”

Recognising what she was up to, Cinnamon instantly knelt down and began gathering the stones into her bag, which had been carrying small food supplies for their search. Those had been eaten a long time ago, so its emptiness was the perfect place to store the ammunition.

“Good girl,” Nutmeg approved, carefully folding her cloth to make a sling. “Let’s hope I’m still as good at this as I once was.” Testing the weight of the stone in her hand, she fitted it to the string, flexed her wrist and began rotating it for practise. Directly overhead another harpy tumbled into a dive, spotting the three centaurs and headed straight for them.

Dill drew another arrow just in case Nutmeg’s skills were not what they once had been. Sighting her target, Nutmeg narrowed her eyes and spun the sling with more intent. When she sensed the time was right, and the harpy was close enough to count its gaunt ribs, she released her missile and the stone went rushing into the air.

There was a crack, followed by a scream as the stone collided with one of its wings, neatly snapping the frail framework of bones and knocking it to one side.

“Damn!” Nutmeg growled, knowing her shot had gone wider than she intended.

“I wouldn’t be too upset,” Dill remarked casually as he fired his arrow into the unfortunate creature’s throat. “You actually hit it, which I doubt I could have done, and you knocked it off course enough to buy us time. You’re not half bad.”

“Thanks,” she muttered ungraciously.

“Enough,” Cinnamon scolded them both and quickly retrieved Dill’s arrows from the four dead harpies. “Come on, let’s get to the others. If they do need me to do anything, if indeed I can do anything, then I’m of no use out here, am I?”

With determined nods, the three centaurs began to canter along the road again, just as the rain returned. At first it was little more than a light dusting of moisture, drifting down to bead upon their eyelashes, but it soon changed. Great pellets of water cascaded from the clouds, hammering their backs and stinging their skin. The dusty road beneath their feet became heavy and full of sludgy mud, that lifted in great clods from their hooves and splattered against their bellies, legs and chests. Cinnamon even found herself having to cover her eyes as she followed in Dill’s wake, his great hooves slinging mud in huge lumps.

Yet no matter how much the rain seemed to hinder them and affect their visibility, it appeared to be having far less impact on the harpies. Still they came, screaming down the wind, pale, blood caked hair sticking to their gruesome faces, leathery wings folded tight for the dive, sharp talons extended and reaching.

“Stone!” Nutmeg screamed, and Cinnamon fumbled to get one to her in time, her hands cold from the pelting rain.

Most of the threats were seen off by Dill and his bow work, but occasionally it fell to Nutmeg to distract, maim or injure their attackers long enough for him to deal with one, before finishing off the next. Though Cinnamon handed each stone to her cousin, she could not help feeling useless, and responsible. If it was not for her neither of the other two would be stuck in such a perilous situation.

“There you are!” Suddenly, looming out of the rain shadows was Juniper, and never had Cinnamon believed she was capable of being so pleased to see anyone as he hustled them under the scant protection of a nearby copse of fir trees. “Are you all right?” he asked, wiping some of the mud from Cinnamon’s face, checking that none of it was blood.

“We’re fine, just about,” Nutmeg answered for him.

His eyes flicked over her and took in the makeshift sling. “Are you any good with that?”

“Improving.”

He grinned. “Good, we could use both of your help. We need all the weapons we can get. And you, Cinnamon, we’re going to need your help most of all.”

She swallowed, not liking the sound of that and unsure of what he was asking, but she nodded. “Of course, if you can tell me what to do, then I’ll do it.”

“I’ll try, but I can‘t promise I‘ll be of much use. Tarragon never was a great one for explaining what he was up to.” Juniper grimaced, before leading them through the shelter of the trees to where the others were gathered. Six of the strange centaurs were on their feet, including Pepper, who was standing guard on the edge of the trees, scanning the skies and looking fierce. Five more were injured, with another one trying to tend to their wounds.

The healer looked up at them, his green eyes dark with desperation. “I can’t do this on my own, Juniper, I’ve never had to do it all before. I don’t think I can cope.”

“It’s all right, Sage,” the big male soothed, rubbing the young healer’s forelock. “Just do what you can. We’ll see to the rest.”

“Where’s Tarragon?” Sage whispered, a question that was swiftly echoed by the others. “We need him. We’ve never done this without him before.”

“He’ll be here,” Juniper told them stubbornly, silencing any more mutters and questions, before glancing at Cinnamon. “He has to be.”

The others were all staring at her too, and she felt incredibly self-conscious, pulling at one of her ears, before she stepped amongst the various bodies to join Pepper by the edge. Looking over her shoulder, she nodded to Juniper. “What do you want me to do?”

“Anything you can,” he replied grimly, joining them in staring at the rain. “They don’t appear to be hindered by this weather at all. Is there anything you can do about that?”

Cinnamon tried not to look doubtful; she had no idea what she could, or could not do. Tarragon clearly knew, so she assumed Juniper would also be fairly familiar with her powers. She wished she was. All she knew was that she was out in the middle of nowhere, in a damp fir copse and that she was wet, and cold, and the wind was beginning to whistle chillingly towards her. It ruffled her coat and drove the raindrops closer to her shivering skin.

About to say there was nothing she could do, a harpy swept down right in front of her. She jumped back with a stifled screech, throwing up her arms to protect herself. “Wind-Runner guide me!”

With a roar, a gale howled out of nowhere, diving amongst the trees before it picked up the harpy and flung it back out into the storm, where it screamed in frustrated protest.

“Perfect!” Juniper announced, his hand squeezing her shoulder reassuringly, his eyes already searching for the next threat. “That was great. What else can you do?”

Of course, she realised as her elated surprise quickly began to ebb, he was used to Tarragon performing all kinds of tricks. Her little wind was probably everyday to these well worn fighters. “Umm…” Her hopeless answer was cut short as the trees behind them burst into flames.

For a moment everything descended into chaos as the centaurs fled from the copse, back out into the rain and the direct attacks from the harpies. Nutmeg and Dill paused to help Sage and Juniper with the worst of the injured centaurs, but there was little hope for them, or time to think as the harpies descended on the small group of unprotected centaurs without mercy and with little warning.

Cinnamon stood amongst them, not noticing how they automatically built a protective wall about her, hoping she would find a way to rescue them. For her own part, she was stunned, not even noticing the screaming harpies diving and swooping overhead. Her eyes were fixed upon the burning trees, and the creature crouching there, waiting for her to make her move.

Golden eyes, slit and watchful, gazed out of the flames, taunting her and daring her to do something. Other than its eyes, all she could make out was the slick, heavy tail, black like onyx, weaving in and out of the fire, with a hard bone white lump at its tip. Seeing it had her attention, the creature shook its tail, the hissing from inside matching the fire, which writhed and danced in chorus. The tail dipped and moved, mesmerising her and calling her forward. “I hear you, Fire-Speaker,” she whispered, moving through the protective ranks of her centaurs.

Dill blocked her passage. “What in the Gods’ name are you doing, Cin? You can’t go out there it isn’t safe.” He shoved and hustled her back a few steps, before she beat his hands away from her angrily.

“You fool! Can’t you see it, can’t you see it! It calls to me, I have to answer!” she shouted at him, pointing at the flames and the watchful eyes within. “The Fire-Speaker calls to me!”

“Don’t be stupid,” Dill growled at her, ducking as a harpy swept down upon him. Too late for him to raise his bow, he drew his dagger and slashed the creature across the throat, even as it dug foul talons into his shoulder.

“Dill!” she screamed, seeing blood gush out of the wound, before he dropped the kicking, writhing body and grabbed at his shoulder, falling to his knees from the pain.

“Get away!” she hissed at the dying harpy, before kicking it towards the fire. The creature within leapt upon it, dragging it into its searing den, teeth and claws already tearing into the frail flesh.

Cinnamon recoiled in disgust, seeing the heavy cat like head and forepaws, gradually descending into a goat body, with the mesmerising tail behind, like that of a snake. It caught her looking, and its gold eyes burned her, crimson stained teeth snarling briefly in a welcoming grin. With a cry she turned away, crashing into Dill, who was struggling to his feet again.

“Oh, Dill, I‘m sorry!” she gasped, trying to help him stand, while also looking at his right shoulder. Three puncture wounds were gouged into his back, with a thicker one on the front, he tried to pull an arrow from his quiver, only to find the movement impossible.

“Bastard things,” he snarled, pain fuelling his rage as he clutched his wounded arm, now useless to him. “Now I can’t even kill them!”

“I’m sorry, Dill,” Cinnamon gabbled, trying to hustled him further into the protective circle to where Sage was dealing with the injuries. “It was all my fault, I should have listened to you. I don‘t know what came over me. I just looked into its eyes and forgot.”

“It’s all right, Cin,” he told her wearily. “It’s all right now.”

“No,” she stamped her front hoof forcefully. “It isn’t. Tarragon has always saved them before, but he isn’t here. And I bet that’s my fault as well. If we’re going to get out of here, then I’m going to have to do something. So I will. And I’m starting with that thing over there.”

“Cinnamon!” Dill shouted as she left him to Sage’s care and pushed her way out of the circle. “Cinnamon!”

Too late, she was free. Picking up a rock from the bag she still had over one shoulder, she checked its weight and positioned herself to face the creature in the fire. Now she was angry and it was time to let something pay the price. Golden eyes met hers through the flames, and even though its cat-face was hidden by the writhing oranges and yellows, she could tell it was smiling, apparently amused by her.

Behind her head the wind screamed, but she was ready - air had always been the easiest for her to manipulate. Without even turning to look, she raised her hand behind her and a wind roared to answer. It tore out of the void behind the flames, from whence the creature and harpies had come, rushing past her, lifting her mane and tail and making them dance as it powered straight into the attacking creatures, and carried them far away into the cliffs on the high side of the valley.

Throughout it all she did not move her eyes from the golden gaze in the fire, nor did they flicker or flinch, even as the fire was subdued and battered by the sudden gale; if anything they brightened further. “Very clever, little one,” the flames whispered to her mind. “So you can handle the air-screamers, but how, I wonder, will you deal with me?”

Smiling, she tossed the stone in her hand, checking the weight once more. “Quite easily,” she promised, and saw the golden eyes spark with amusement.

“I know.” She smiled again, then bent her knees and rolled the stone carefully along the ground. It passed into the flames and came to a stop next to the furry front paws of the creature.

“Did I?” She shrugged. “I might have done, but the Rock-Singer won’t. Send the rocks!” she commanded, raising both of her arms up towards the sky, still pouring with rain. “Rock-Singer! Send the rocks!”

For a moment the golden eyes flashed fearfully, glaring at her, fading to a pale yellow, and gazing around for its doom. When nothing further happened, they sparked again, this time the fire danced to the sound of laughter. “Your Gods have abandoned you, child, or perhaps you were never that strong in the first place. Never mind, I shall enjoy a tasty morsel like you.”

Without warning, the creature from inside the flames sprang, lion jaws open in a feral snarl, claws extended and Cinnamon could do nothing but watch as it came for her, frozen by fear and the bright, enchanting eyes.

The impact in her side knocked the breath from her; she clattered into the dirt, feeling her entire left side scrape along the rough valley floor, with cuts and bruises springing instantly to life. Yet it was not the attack she had anticipated, and she felt the shadow of the creature pass over where she would have been mere moments before. She tried to look up when the ground shuddered beneath her, trembling, before a great jolt tore open more wounds on her side. The world groaned.

“Stay down,” the voice of her attacker ordered, before thunder sounded in her ears and something covered her face.

Tarragon’s weight pinned her to the earth, his breathing loud in her ears as the creature from the fire screamed in anguish, having been denied first its prey, then its freedom, and finally, as the rocks clattered, rolled, rumbled and thundered down the valley wall, its life.

Then silence, utter silence, the only sound coming from the mournful patter of the rain on the ground all around them. Even that had lessened in its force, as if finding itself no longer needed. Cinnamon was shaking, feeling sick, tired, worn and hurt, with the fear of the golden eyes coming for her, still fresh in her mind. All she could feel was the warm touch of Tarragon’s chest, where he had thrown himself over her face, his lungs and heart thumping against her and the harsh rasp of his breath.

Then he moved. Water splashed onto her face, dabbing at her closed eyes, washing the cold reality of life back into her again, and she felt able to breathe once more. Carefully he pulled her to her feet, eyes regretful as they took in the nasty grazes on her side, the cuts on her cheek. He traced the line of her eyebrow, and carefully around her eye with a finger, taking in all the damage done to her, but he soon discovered she was whole other than a few bruises and scrapes.

“You bloody little idiot!” he fumed, once he knew she was not about to drop dead on him. “What possessed you to take on a chimera? On your own! We’re you raised by wolves?” For a moment he glared fiercely at her, then he looked away. “Don’t even bother to dignify that with an answer,” he mumbled, “I know you were raised by idiots.” Then suddenly, and utterly unbelievably, he grabbed her into a tight hug, so that she once again found her face pressed up against his chest, listening to his pounding heart.

“I am so proud of you, little one,” he whispered into her hair. “I didn’t think you could do it. Couldn’t believe you’d even try. Thanks the Gods I got here in time.” Letting her go, he smiled at her, his blue eyes for once melted into warm pools of delight and excitement as he turned to look at the former valley, most of which was now blocked by a brief, yet violent rock fall. “Then again,” he laughed, “it looks as though you barely needed my help after all. What in the Star-Weaver’s name did it say to you?”

Cinnamon simply stared, trying to take it all in - firstly that Tarragon was back, secondly that he was so joyful and being nice to her, and thirdly that she had truly been the cause of the rock fall, which appeared to have pulled down half the cliff-face. Shaking her head, she looked a little bemused. “He was laughing at me, made me angry,” she muttered, only to get pulled into a sideways hug.

“Remind me never to dare laugh at you, little one,” he chuckled, before letting her go, and trotting over to the other centaurs who were picking themselves up from the ground, where they had been thrown by the tremor. Three of the heavily injured centaurs had died, but that had been from their harpy inflicted injuries, and the swift movement from the fire.

Still in a state of shock, all Cinnamon could really work out was that she had, amazingly, not injured anyone, and that the harpies were gone. As was the chimera. And the hole through which they had apparently crossed over. It was all far too high above her head, so instead she sank to her knees beside a new stream that had been born from a spring trapped inside the cliff, released by her outburst.

Gratefully, she collapsed next to the water and cupped her hands for a drink. She lay down and rested the side of her stinging face in the refreshing coolness, and decided it would be a very nice place to stay, forever, would be her preference. It all seemed too much like excitement for her to cope with.

~ ~ ~

“The world is full of threads,” he told the upturned face that watched him with rapt absorption, her head resting on her arms, eyes heavy with sleep, yet wanting to listen to him for a little longer. He was not sure how much she was taking in, but talked to her nonetheless. “The universe is bound together by them. The Star-Weaver creates the threads, while the Cloud-Shaper comes along and binds them into the worlds He makes. He builds things, designs them, makes and shapes all that we know, yet it is She, the Star-Weaver, who puts life into everything.

“Without the threads that bind us we are left to drift, to flounder, to wander, and perhaps even to die, doomed never to take a shape we can hold, or a home we can inhabit. That was what the Great Enchanters learned, and further what they manipulated to create Idyllium. They paid the price for that knowledge, and all but one was destroyed, their powers along with them.”

“Snowdrop survived,” she prompted him with a yawn.

“Yes,” he smiled, “she did, but she was the last of the Great Enchanters.”

“What about you, if you’re not an Enchanter, what are you?”

Tarragon snorted. “I don’t enchant things, Cinnamon, surely you’ve seen that.”

“Ah,” she smiled and nodded her head sleepily, “so you’re the Great Bully then?”

“Very amusing, little one,” he growled, and she chuckled.

“So what are you, the Guardian? Protector? Enchanter-in-waiting? You need to have a name.”

He shrugged, squinting into the fire that crackled and spat in the middle of the clearing. “I don’t know, I was never given a title, just a purpose. What they wish to call me is not my concern, they’ll do it when I’m dead, whether I want them to or not. I already have a name - Tarragon. It suits me just fine. Now, where was I before you side tracked?”

“Threads,” she yawned, “always threads.”

He stroked her head soothingly, wondering just when she was going to shut up and finally fall asleep. “That’s because our world is all about threads, and our realm is safe purely because of the threads.”

“So how do oth- other things,” she yawned again, “get in?”

“They’ve learned how to tear the threads, to pull apart the magic of the Shrouding and get inside.”

“Oh.” A pause. “That’s not good, is it?”

He laughed. “No, little one, that’s not good.”

“How do we stop it?”

“By sealing Idyllium in again.”

“Is the world beyond the mountains such a bad place?” she wondered, shifting slightly to look at the stars above the canopy, where they glittered on their velvet blanket. “Is there so much bad out there that we have to hide ourselves away from it? I thought that Star-Weaver and Cloud-Shaper made all in equality, with love, harmony and beauty, with the balance of chaos and destruction to remind us of what gifts we‘ve been given.”

“Yes, they did. You’ve learnt something, I see.” Lightly, he tugged one of her ears to make sure he had her attention again, when she did not answer his teasing. “There are plenty of wonderful things beyond the mountains,” he told her softly, “but with the good always comes the bad, and our people were dying before the Enchanters found a way to save us. In these years, though we have become complacent, we have also grown stronger. There are those of us who now know how to fight, we are swifter, larger, more powerful,” he grinned and flipped her nose. “We are better at protecting ourselves than we ever were when we were part of the world. Back then the Enchanters were everything, and our people relied on them to protect them. Now we do it ourselves.”

“Then is there any real need for me to patch up the cracks? Perhaps it is time to rejoin the world.”

“Perhaps,” he mused, “and perhaps not. It’s not really for us to decide. There are many of us who are not yet ready to live in a violent world. We have grown used to peace and prosperity. Is it such a bad thing that we might want to keep it?”

“I guess not,” she agreed, pillowing her head on her hands and the springy moss beneath, smiling sideways up at him. “What would you do if the Shrouding wasn’t there?”

“Same as I do now, I should think - protect the people of Idyllium, as much as I am able.”

“You’d still be a bully though, wouldn’t you?” she asked with a small grin.

“Most like,” he agreed. “Are you going to go to sleep, or will you insist on chattering all night? We’ve got a long journey ahead of us tomorrow.”

“I know,” she grumbled, feeling her eyelids grow heavier, and yawned. “But I’m excited. Anyway, shouldn’t you be sleeping too?”

“Told you before, I don’t need sleep.”

“Neither do I then.”

“Liar.” He watched as her eyes dipped down, before they sprang back open, but only halfway, where they instantly started to close. Smiling, he reached out and soothingly rubbed her temple with his thumb.

“That’s cheating,” she protested feebly. “Anyway, there’s still so much I don’t know. Tell me something else.”

“Like what?”

“Like - like -” she searched for something, but found her head was not working as well as it might have been. “Tell me the story…”

“Of?”

“Of the -” Whatever it was she had been thinking, she suddenly found she could not remember and closed her eyes just for a moment to try and recall it. “Tomorrow,” she muttered, and fell asleep.

Grinning, Tarragon pulled his hand away and carefully covered her with a blanket. “Aye, little one,” he nodded, before feeding more twigs to the fire, “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

Careful, so as not to wake her, he got to his feet and wandered to the edge of the clearing, staring into the darkness of the road that would take them to the mountains, and from there to the pass, the last place where anyone could cross over to Beyond. “Tomorrow,” he whispered to the mountains, and a sweet wind tickled the black strands across his face in agreement.