Page 18 of The Exquisite Torment of Loving Your Enemy
Fairhrim awaited his arrival at the waystone. She had once again complied with his request to dress in black, and wore a mismatched ensemble whose only saving grace was that the trousers hugged her thighs and bum to good effect. Osric could appreciate a good bum. (But nottoogood—not better than his. He would have to examine hers further to confirm that it wasn’t.)
Osric rarely saw Fairhrim without her Haelan whites. Black became her. It heightened her unsmiling intensity. It emphasized the dark promise of her eyes.
She had replaced her Haelan satchel with a leather bag, tucked into the small of her back. Tonight, the only sign that she was a member of that Order was her tacn, a white swan, presently hidden under black gloves.
“You’re late,” said Fairhrim.
“You said three but didn’t specify a time zone,” said Osric breezily.
This garnered no response from Fairhrim, exasperated or otherwise. Upon closer inspection, she looked fatigued.
“Hard day?” asked Osric.
“We charted the words ‘penile degloving’ this evening.”
Osric was silent as he processed this information. He could have gone the rest of his life without knowing thatpenileanddeglovingwere two words that could be put together.
Another of Fairhrim’s eight-word horror stories.
He said, “Hel.”
She said, “I know.”
With these auspicious beginnings, they set off towards Glastonbury Tor.
The Tor was a massive conical prominence in the landscape, surrounded by rings of its labyrinth, which shimmered in pale arcs around its base. It was topped by the squat tower of the Færwundor.
“This is as close as we should get without shadow-walking,” said Osric, “or we’ll risk being seen. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” said Fairhrim. She sounded pinched, but then again, when did Fairhrim not sound pinched?
Her principal anxiety was that they would get caught; Osric’s was that the healing wouldn’t work. She fiddled with her gloves.
“Do stop fidgeting,” said Osric. “They’re Druids. They haven’t even got a tacn.”
“Right.” The frown drawing Fairhrim’s brows together relaxed minutely. “Then let’s go. Resume the torment.”
She reached towards him, a gesture he found strangely elating. Osric lifted her against him. He had been distracted for the entirety of their shadow-walk practice by the feel of her in his arms. The feeling was back again.
(She did not make his heart go pitter-patter, so the cricket could fuck off. It did swell in his chest and beat more rapidly, but that was due to exertion,thank you.)
Osric swept himself and Fairhrim into the shadow-walk. The world passed in flashes of moonlit road, wheat fields, cattle and sheep, beehives. Fairhrim clung to him and emitted those little gasps that delighted him. He did not think about how good it felt to hold her to him, nor was he catastrophically aware of her nearness.
Their objective for the healing tonight was the crossing of two waterways. Based on their map, this occurred somewhere within the Færwundor.
They reached the base of the Tor, where the labyrinth began. A large signpost stood there, plastered with dire warnings about not proceeding farther unless authorised, that this was a dangerous area, and that trespassers would be punished. Two motionless Druids stood sentinel on either side of the labyrinth’s entrance. Golden sickles gleamed like crescent moons at their waists. Their grey-green cloaks camouflaged them perfectly against the ivy-laced stones.
Unfortunately for them, Osric and Fairhrim were even more perfectly camouflaged by seith and shadow, and slipped past them without incident.
Osric was pleased: everything was going according to plan, including Fairhrim not immediately getting sick. She clutched firmly at the front of his cloak. They had agreed that she would give it three tugs if she needed a break from the shadow-walk.
He had hoped to cut straight across the labyrinth by walking along the tops of its walls, instead of winding through all seven rings up the Tor. He was dissuaded from the idea after shadow-walking to the top of the first wall and finding himself waist deep in a hedge of massive spiky brambles. He and Fairhrim were impaled by long spines all the way up their legs.
Osric descended back into the labyrinth and released Fairhrim. They proceeded to withdraw needle-like spines from each other’s arses and hamstrings, with much whispered swearing.
“You all right?” asked Osric.
Fairhrim didn’t answer but did a lot of swallowing, and fanned herself with a limp hand. Osric left her to her queasiness and scouted ahead a bit, pleased to discover no further Druid sentinels.
