Mab's fear was realized and Moira grew weaker. This did not surprise her majesty at all, in fact, the logical part of her expected this to happen. Leah was half mortal, after all, and the mortal part of her was almost artificial. Arthur had been created while Uther was under the influence of Merlin's disguise. Arthur had also been nurtured by Merlin and been regarded as most as some great mystical key to the future and peace and Christianity; almost a second savior. Arthur was barely mortal himself.
The Queen turned over the crystal in her hand that contained Leah's powers. She turned it slowly at first, watching her reflection in the faces distort as the light hit the rock in motion. Mab was quickly grasping the extensive amount of work she had to do. Dustin had to be given a talking to, due to the fact that he was planning on marrying his sister and sending Leah into an emotional tailspin that was completely unnecessary to what had to be done. Merlin had to be faced, and bargained with so that Mab could even sink her talons into Dustin and Leah. Idath would probably have to be brought back into the picture, due to the fact that Mab could see Death on the horizon. She wanted the Man half of Idath back to her side, not the Black Shadow part she was too familiar with. And this new chap leading a Saxon army, he had to be shut down, and quickly. More quickly than Mab could conceivably shut someone down, she reckoned. And her list of people to converse with had to occur in this specific order. Perhaps.
She figured she could speak with Ambrosius first, but then she would be going in without a plan and without the proper backing she needed- she deserved. The crystal turned faster in her hand and her reflection became more difficult to make out.
The again, she could speak with the Saxon leader and strike a deal with him perhaps. She could mislead him, manipulate him, and set him back a week or so in his planning while she groomed Dustin, Merlin, and company for retaliation. That was easier said than done, though, for as Mab thought harder and dug deeper into her memory, she began to recall how difficult Vortigern was to reason with. All the Saxons were arrogant and had extravagant dreams of a kingdom. They were a difficult breed of men, not that any other breed of man was less difficult.
What Mab figured now was that the Saxon had to be sent on a goose chase, as best she could divert him.
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Another fae was dead in Idath's garden which was a rather unfortunate, but rather frequent circumstance as of late in Anoeth. He turned the handle on the iron gate to the garden, peering around the end of the open gate, as if he could not see through the spaces of the iron design and into his barren plot of land he called "garden". It was bitterly cold that morning, as it was most mornings in Anoeth, but the King did not notice.
Little things, like changes in weather, were things Idath did not typically notice. He remembered, as he glided down the pathway, the way Mab would sit up in a deep sleep beside him and wrinkle her eyes by squeezing them tight, turn up her nose and sniff loudly, breathing in the new direction of wind outside the castle window. She had been young then; the night that came to the forefront of his mind as the wind lifted the feathers on his coat, was the night of her five hundredth birthday. He had awoken her early and carried her out to her black mare. She had giggled like a child and kissed him with an open mouth and raced him through the woods, setting the trail of her horse's hooves ablaze and boasting that she could collect more souls than he. It had began to rain ice and she had flickered down from her horse to spin in a clearing, icicles falling from the clouds and cutting her cheeks. He had licked the blood from her skin and come inside her.
The fae was dressed in purple and had black ribbons in her hair. She was clutching a seed in her left hand, and had been holding her right hand, dripping with blood and bruised, far from her body. A gardening injury perhaps, but not the cause of Death. The cold had gripped her wings and refused to let go.
Idath picked her up gently and cradled her in the palm of his hand, as he had the first fae he stumbled upon in this space and the first fae he had found tending the flowers years ago. The garden was his gift to Mab before he even met her. He heard rumors of her love for flowers and her faes' need of sunshine and pollen and built a garden in her honor to attract the creatures and their Queen. She came instantly, as always, and hid her face behind the rose bushes so he had to coax her out to look upon her.
When Hell burst forth, and paganism froze over, the petals on the flowers began to wrinkle. The thorns on the roses grew bigger than the plants themselves and vines curled up against their roots. The trees began to cry. Sob. They would howl with the wind and keep Mab at the bedroom window all night, her face pressed against the stone of the castle.
Idath tossed the lifeless body of the fae into the air high above his head. He watched her purple dress billow out away from her chilled body. Her fingers spread, arms far away from her sides. Her toes curled and uncurled, knees knocking together. The black locks she chained away in ribbons sprawled out in knots and mingled with the wind.
God, he had loved her and she had loved this garden. They would make love on the rose bushes and she would insist on laying herself down, completely bare, and having him thrust into her as hard as he was capable of thrusting. She would only come when the thorns had torn her back to pieces and would kiss Idath down his spine once he removed her from her entanglement and crouched down to retrieve the pieces of her flesh. She would want him to take her in the small sprouts of poison ivy she required. He would have to rub against her quickly to itch the rash and most times she would want it to bleed all over him. She only cried once, when it began to rain and the water closed her wounds.
The fae burst. Petals of lilac poured down upon him, landing on his eyes and in his open mouth. They fell upon his flesh and on his tongue and dissolved, at peace.
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The Saxon camp reeked of meat. Pigs were roasting over fires and men were sinking their teeth into burnt rats, dogs, horses, chickens, and women behind the closed drapes of their tents. When Mab had appeared in Vortigern's camp she had done so with grace, dressing in her finest armor and preparing her body to accept his manhood, but this evening she wore what she had been wearing for quite some time. Her hair was in a mess of braids and waves and the paint underneath her left eye was smudged. She understood that her appearance gave her leverage, especially if the Saxon's had some connection to paganism and respect for her ways.
No matter.
Her feet tread on wet ground. The places she set her feet were muddy and soiled the bottom of her dress, but she thought hardly more than once about it. He would see her as she was. The bells and whistles of her appearance barely made an impact, she decided as she breezed pass hoards of soldiers. Some did not look up, and that did not phase her. Some did look at her, but did not recognize her. Some did look up, and did recognize her, but she would not stop.
Mab entered the tent of the great Saxon leader. And he recognized her.
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Idath wandered through the garden, reaching out to caress the buds of browned roses. The petals were dry and would crack if touched. If touched too much, they would crumbled to dust. There were spiderwebs that went from the tips of petals to the first leaves on roses. There was not a spider in sight, though, so what the spiderwebs truly resembled the shear material Mab often wore in her dresses. She used to drape it over her face and pull it in front of his eyes and kiss him through the layers they had made.
He couldn't help but do all this remembering, especially now. The world was changing and there was a new war. Usually, humans created conflict to change their world. They could not just write rules or put a new leader in place. They had to kill. For a while, Mab and Idath and the other gods believed that blood was some sort of life for mortals, for they shed so much and enjoyed the texture more.
Perhaps he would breathe life back into the garden again, if he was able to bring things to life. That could have been why the garden died in the first place. Mab was able to bring things to life. She had given life to scores of children, some grown from crystals, some grown from the bodies of women, and some grown in her own body. Well, two. He marveled at her ability to create life. She herself was so full of life. She could bring life to societies, and great masses of people, great bodies. All Idath could do was take.
His great accomplishment, though, was Moira. When he had been lover to Mab, he never once had worried about conception, for he never once believed he could create. When Mab had disappeared from him for those months, which was not unusual, for time moved so differently then, and with that little girl, he had thought nothing of it. When he had appeared the night she screamed in pain, he had thought she was just giving breath to another creation. He never thought he had done the creating.
Moira wasn't anything like him. He never even felt the draw to her a father is supposed to feel. Never had she been in danger and he felt tugged to her side. He had come her aid once when she called, but hadn't he appeared to every being who had ever yelped for Death? It was his duty and their right. He felt overwhelmingly inadequate in this dead garden. All the things that were once his were like this garden, especially Mab. She was cracked and dusty and hosing the carcases of followers and creatures she once could call her own. She needed to be thrown into the air and she needed the feel the wonder of weightlessness. She needed to burst. He could not force her to burst. He could not take her life. Good god.
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"The Lady Mab," Ambrosius said, putting a great leg of meat down on the table in front of him. He stared at her with great eyes, black all the way around, as if possessed by some demon or transfixed by a terrible spell. Mab knew no other being who held such power, and could infect a mortal man so. Well, no other being of her design.
Mortals often murmured about the workings of the Devil, a being whose likeness was stolen from Hades and given a similar back story. This Devil was the first child of the first woman who slain his brother and was thereafter banished to a world of darkness and pain. Or so Mab had heard. As the story ran through her mind, she could not help but feel it was ever so slightly inaccurate. Perhaps the first boy was some other evil being. No matter, she would never call herself an expert in Christianity. Then again, it might benefit her to be well versed in Christian ways. She would better know what she is up against.
"I do not want to introduce myself to a being other than Ambrosius," Mab said, staring into those black eyes. "I sense that you, before me, cannot claim to be fully the Saxon Lord in which you are housed. Pray you, introduce yourself so we may properly converse."
A twisted smile appeared on Ambrosius' face and he lifted the leg of meat to his chin once more and sunk his teeth deeply into it. Ripping the meat from the bone, he chewed with an open mouth, lips smacking together messily. Mab waited.
"I am Death," he pronounced, throwing the leg back down and licking his lips as his eyes passed over her body. Mab smirked.
"I lie with Death," she said simply. "You are not him."
"And yet," the Being said, his voice hollow, as if it were the echo of some far away voice Mab could not directly hear. "I kill."
"You are not giving the Saxons a fair fight then," Mab said, taking a seat at the table across from the Being. She was beginning to get a sense of whom she was speaking. "I know that they want a fair fight, they deserve it after all the deceit Vortigern caused. This should be their chance to prove their worth; you are destroying that by infecting Ambrosius."
"Vortigern did nothing wrong. He wanted the throne and he took it," the Being said. "There is no shame in that! No deceit! People stole thrones all the time."
Mab's eyes glittered in the dim light under the tent. "Vortigern was a tyrant. He choked his people into resenting him. When Uther came, there was no contest. The sided with him and turned their backs on their own king. And Merlin, Merlin was accepted because of the Saxon's ignorance. He was a slave to his pride, pride, his own personal tyrant. He was tragic and he was sent to the Lake for it."
Ambrosius pounded his hands on the surface of the table. "Vortigern was strong!" he insisted. "He had no weakness. It was his people who had weakness. They believed in the allure of Christianity and the promise it held. But it is an empty promise. You know that! You depend on the emptiness of the promise. How dare you imply I was weak? I was not weak. I was betrayed!" The table flipped and Ambrosius, the being pulling inside him and grasping for life, stood before Mab. His breathing was heavy, like two lives strained within him.
Mab stood, placing her hand on his cheek. It was cold, like a corpse, and up closer, she could see into his eyes. They had no depth. No soul.
"Vortigern," she whispered, addressing him directly. "It is good to see you."
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On the eve of his meeting with Ambrosius on the battlefield, Dustin was polishing his boots. Most men about to head into battle would grab a girl and bed her the night before, or drink themselves into a careless stupor, or make sure all the weapons that would be taken were sharp and polished. Not Dustin. Dustin polished his boots, boots that would not even be worn onto the battlefield.
It was tricky for him to imagine himself in an actual exchange with Ambrosius. He had heard alternating waves of stories from other who had fought him, or witnessed fights, or heard stories themselves. Dustin had been told that the blade he used vacillated from being ice cold to red hot, hot enough to cauterize the wounds he inflicted as he struck his victims. Dustin had been told Ambrosius did not wear traditional armor at all, but rather human bones strung together with straps of leather. He wore a helmet that had a human skull perched on top and great elk antlers protruding from the sides. Dustin had also heard that Ambrosius went out of his way to become covered in blood.
The one consistency throughout the stories the boy had heard, was that Ambrosius had eyes that were soulless, and black as pitch and that he made not one sound during battle, but when all was finished and he had won, he emitted a roar that sounded like the product of a thousand echoes.
Because of this, all Dustin knew to do on the eve before his sure death at the hands of a demon was polish his boots. His mother had made him these boots from the leather of the family's finest cow. The animal had produced an astounding ten calves for Dustin's family farm and had helped them collect gold coins every spring. When it had been evident that she would bear no more calves, his mother allowed the animal to live one happy year before gutting her to use her hide for boots and a cloak for her only son.
Dustin's father was dead at that time, victim of a mysterious illness that made his skin turn gray and his bones show. The man had never once complained of discomfort, dying a noble gentleman, and plenty proud, conducting business in the town as if nothing was wrong every day, including the morning of the day he died. Dustin's mother had nursed her broken heart by making the leather boots and cloak for her son, and then given into her grief and passed in winter. It was then that Dustin was taken in by Merlin.
His mother had purposefully made the coat and boots too large for her boy, so that he would be able to wear them far into the future. The coat fit perfectly now, but during the past year Dustin's feet had grown three sizes, and his toes curled up against the toe of the boot now. With each step he took in them, he felt his toes would surely break, and yet he wore them everyday. He thought if he squeezed his feet into his mother's boots, his feet would stop growing, and perhaps shrink back down to the perfect size for the shoe. In the back of his mind he knew this was hopeless.
There was the sudden sound of cracking stone and a flash Dustin could not recognize. And there she was. Mab stood on the table at which Dustin was seated, her hands gracefully at her sides. She was cloaked entirely in black, with a shear hood that draped over her forehead, but allowed for her eyes to poke out. The rest of her dress was shear, but layers upon layers of fabric allowed her to cover herself. She glittered like the inside of a rock and smiled at him.
"You have to fight," she whispered, pulling a bit of black cloak behind her back. "You must lead the army Dustin, and you must do it in my name."
He twisted the cloth in his hand. "If I fought in your name," Dustin said. "It would not be a noble fight, and it would not be a winning fight."
Mab's face fell as she absorbed Dustin's words, but she was not discouraged for long. Previously, she had not thought she could persuade Dustin to do anything because of the terrible abandonment she inflicted on him, especially after all the promises, promises. Mab would have to draw him a family tree, then he would do her bidding.
"You, child, have absolutely no idea what you are fighting," she hissed. "Ambrosius is not who he seems, and his cause is not paganism. He has no beliefs, save the belief in himself. If you fight in the name of Christianity you will only encourage him. He will destroy you."
"And fighting in your name will deter him?" Dustin questioned, throwing the towel at her feet. "Well you may as well just help me wipe the nervous sweat from my brow, for I have nothing to fear. Nothing to fear, now that I have the Great Queen on my side. Now, that I have outdated powers and now that I can paint your face on my shield and watch every moral man on my army walk from the battlefield. I am a child? Please. You have no idea who would be fighting for you."
"You would be fighting the Devil himself!" she yelped, her hands twisting into fists. "Ambrosius is dead and gone. In his place, in his form is King Vortigern, the selfish tyrant Merlin laid to rest in the Lake. I left his tent not five moments ago. He is possessed by evil and he is willing to destroy every faithful Christian who damned him to Hell! If you paint a cross on your shield, he will cut you in half."
Dustin lept from his chair, slamming his open palms down on the table. "All you have ever done is lie to aid yourself in climbing the ladder of success. You speak of a man who only believes only in himself with such distaste, when that is exactly what you are. You have no trust in your people, and you do not give them any strength. You draw other close to you, like Leah and Sky, and myself, and then abandon us when you have drained us completely. You ask me to fight a man with no beliefs under your name and expect for me to believe I would not just be fighting you."
The chairs flew from the table and cracked against the wall. Dustin did not flinch, he simply tried to control his breathing. Mab walked towards him, bending down to his level. Her left hand snaked up to her hood and it fell behind her head.
"Fight in the name of Christianity, go ahead and fight with a cross on your forehead," she whispered, and the back of her hand touched his brow. "Walk onto the battlefield with dead man swinging back and forth on your neck. Go ahead. Get cut in half by a Demon and his Venom, and, on the off chance you survive, return to your Golden City and marry the woman of your dreams. Marry Sky, and live in Sin."
She kissed him between his eyes and stood, slipping her hood over her eyes and calmly walking the length of the table.
"Wait," Dustin said. She did not turn around and he slammed his hands on the table once more. "Wait!" he cried desperately. "Sin? How will I be living in Sin? I have not taken her. I love her desperately."
"Of course you do," Mab said softly without turning around. "Most people love their kin."
Dustin froze, the color draining from his face. "Kin? What say you Mab?"
She turned to him, her green eyes glowing brighter than he had seen. As she turned, a paper scroll appeared in her hand which she threw to him. It unrolled and the bottom hit his chest.
"This is the family tree of Arthur Pendragon," she explained as Dustin picked up the end of the scroll. His eyes widened until Mab thought they may bulge out of his head. "You will notice towards the end it depicts that King Constant, the Christian tyrant, was father to Uther, who impregnated the Lady Igraine. She birthed a daughter, Morgan le Fay, and a son, by Uther, named Arthur. By an unfortunate circumstance, Morgan le Fay bedded Arthur and Mordred was produced. Arthur also bedded Moira, my daughter, and that's how Leah came about, see?"
Dusting looked at her, his cheeks flushed. "Mab, Mab, it says here . . ." he stammered.
"There is a line drawn underneath Mordred's name, do you see that?" she said softly. "Mordred bedded a whore and she bore twins, a boy and a girl, right there near the bottom. Dustin and Sky."
He dropped the end of she scroll and ran to the corner of the room where he began to vomit. Mab grinned, slowly rolling up the scroll. "I guess that makes Leah Mordred's step-sister so, I suppose, she is your aunt? How curious. How curious indeed."
Dustin gripped the wall, panting heavily. His head spun and his stomach churned, and his genitals felt as if they may retract into his body from shame.
"Now," Mab said softly, suddenly appearing behind him. "I wonder what it is you will do for me in return for this information. You must admit you are in debt to me, for I have saved your soul."
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Dustin did not wear a cross into battle, and some of his soldiers did leave him, but they were few in numbers. Most of them had such a hate for Ambrosius and the Saxons, they did not care whose side Dustin was on. Most already knew that the future king was not too faithful of a Christian.
Mab was watching the whole thing unfold when she felt a chill. "The wind you brought is colder than usual," she noted, her left eyebrow arching. "Where have you been?" It had been a while since they had seen each other, even longer since they had seen each other civilly.
"I was visiting your garden," he answered simply, deciding to omit the portion of the story that included the dead fae. "I was contemplating my ability to sustain life. I do not gather it is a very great ability. Moira shocks me, Mab. She tears me to pieces."
"She is very weak," Mab responded, without turning to look at him. "I have slowly been feeding her Leah's powers, but it is no use. They have only made her weaker and it is difficult for me to bear." He approached her from behind, laying a hand on her lower back.
"Only you can make her stronger," he whispered and his lips touched her skin. His left hand traveled down her body and came to rest on her backside. Mab turned her head and lifted her hand to his cheek, pushing his lips into hers.
They crashed to the floor, and he tore her dress immediately, ripping his nails into her skin and kissing her passionately. She opened her legs, clutching his waist between her thighs. He kissed her neck, turning her over so her bare back scraped against the stone floor. She let out a sharp cry and he unbuttoned his pants, entering her quickly. Their lips interlocked and they lay together as one for a while, until his breath became labored. She thought she would scream as her passion peaked, and then the skin on her back tore open and Mab let out a roar.
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Blood gushed from Leah's back, which had clearly been the cause of Mab's pain. She laid her hand on the small girl's skin, closing the wound. She could feel Moira's spirit moving inside the little girl, and it troubled her. Mab knew that if she sent Moira's energy into her physical form, she would sleep and never wake. Leah would be orphaned.
"Leah."
The child began to cry softly, little whimpers filling the cave where Mab had transported her. The Queen had heard the combined cries of her daughter and her daughter's daughter as Idath collapsed on toop of her. She had disappeared from beneath him, appearing before the cluster of crystals she was using as a looking glass to view the battle. She had to view of Dustin or Ambrosius, only Leah, falling from the top of a tree in bird form, and hitting the ground with a "crack", appearing newborn, naked, and in human form. Mab's heart had lept, and as Idath buttoned his pants, and gathered his thoughts to ask after her panic, she dressed and disappeared.
"Awake."
When Mab transported Leah to the cave a few kilometers outside the battlefield, the girl had began to whimper, and Mab suspected she could not handle magical travel until morning. While this slightly aggravated the Queen, for they were not safe there and Mab still had to investigate Moira's state, she accepted that they would remain there for the night.
Mab blinked, calling a white nightdress of Leah's to her hand. Slowly, as if her movement would wake the child, Mab bent down, carefully unbuttoning the nightdress to cover Leah's naked skin. She pulled Leah up and held her in place, slipping her head through the top hole of the dress and then feeding her arms through the holes. Leah's head slumped forward and she made more small protests of pain, and the Queen rubbed her back, laying her back against the cold stone. Mab pulled the dress down past Leah's knees and then fastened the buttons. Finally, she unclipped the heavy black cloak from her neck and laid it over her daughter's daughter.
"What are you doing to her?" Merlin's voice inquired, echoing softly into the cave. He was standing at the mouth of the hollowed rock, looking quizzically at Mab as she smoothed the wrinkles in the cloak. Never had he seen her act in a maternal manner so, at first glance, she almost appeared to be preparing the girl's body for burial.
"It is freezing," Mab responded, as if that answered Merlin's question. She realized, in that moment, that she had forgotten all about Merlin. She had meant to converse with him before the battle, let him know that it was Vortigern's grudge-holding ghost they were up against. "You never could resist a battle, could you Merlin, especially one I was ring leading."
"It is my inability to resist Justice, Mab, that leads me to the battlefield. Your schemes have nothing to do with it," he replied, his eyes fixated on Leah's form. He watched her chest go up and down. "Though they are rather entertaining."
"There is that sense of humor," Mab said, standing and walking closer to him. "I thought I missed it, but I realize now I can do without."
"Justice, Mab," Merlin repeated. "We all get our Justice, in the end, even witches."
Mab raised her shoulders, like a turtle about to retreat into its shell. "Merlin!" she whispered. "Do not come in and scare me with such things. Especially before nightfall; you will inflict horrible night terrors upon me!"
"I do not want you to be thrust into the darkness unaware," he said with a smirk. The playful expression faded as he locked eyes with his mother. "Let me take her."
Mab's face, and shoulders, fell and she locked her elbows at her side. "I am afraid I cannot allow you to do that," she responded. "Leah has to come with me. She will be very weak when she awakes and very confused. Besides, Moira tried to save her when the Saxons were shooting at her. Moira's spirit is inside the body of her daughter, and I must decide what to do with that before Leah awakes."
Ordinarily, Mab would not have revealed so much to her son, but she herself was growing weaker and in need of a rest. She had no time for games and clever diction. If Merlin knew of her plight, perhaps he would help.
"I see," he said softly, looking down at his hands. "I wish you had devised a better plan for the unveiling of your family tree. Dustin has completely shunned Sky and her heart is broken. I know you were not thinking of that, but in a sense, they are all yours, Mab, and you have to be mindful."
She tilted her head. "Mindful of all of them?" Mab questioned. "Shall I also be mindful of you?"
"You were never mindful of me," he said with a shrug. "I am an old man, Mab. Why start now?"
In the silence that followed Merlin's statement, Mab discovered she could hear her own breath. Usually, in close proximity to a battle, one could not hear oneself think, let alone breathe. "Why is it so quiet?" she inquired, walking out the mouth of the cave in the hopes of seeing some sign of the fight.
"Ambrosius thrust his sword into Dustin and fled, without releasing his trademark roar." Merlin answered wearily. "Never fear about the heir, though. I gave his surviving officers instruction to carry him to Avalon. He will be safe from the Saxons there, and safe from you."
Mab scoffed. "I can appear in Avalon," she said smugly. "I just cannot touch anything."
"Well," Merlin said, beginning to walk past her. "That is what happened."
Mab watched him walk into a dusk mist with a look of confusion on her face. "Then it is not over?" she called, hoping Merlin would rush back to her side. He did not rush back, nor did he answer. Merlin simply disappeared into the mist.
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Only you can make her stronger.
Mab gently touched Leah on the shoulder shortly after the sun rose, in the hopes she would wake. The girl did not budge, but her chest continued to rise, so Mab resolved to leave her sleeping for a short while longer.
She wondered about Idath's whereabouts for a moment, wondered why he had not come after her to aid her in housing Moira or transporting Leah. Mab quickly reasoned he was in over his head with new souls in His Land, for all she smelled was hot spilled blood. What was she to do with Moira? Upon first discovering Leah, Mab had decided that placing Moira's spirit back into her body was out of the question, and the Queen still felt that was certain. If Leah's magic had drained her daughter's energy, putting Moira into a weakened body would only create a sticky situation. Moira would not be able to wake herself.
The only thing Mab knew to be absolutely certain was that Moira had to grow stronger. Though, every trick Mab had tried had only resulted in weakening Moira, as her physical body struggled to keep up with her gaining spirit. Well, if the physical body was the issue, perhaps Mab should simply give her a new one.
The Queen almost laughed aloud at her notion. Give Moira a new body? How silly, complete lunacy. Where would she find a body suitable enough for her daughter? No mortal body would be able to contain Moira's energy, her spirit, or he magic. It was impossible. And even if a mortal body could contain her, how owuld Mab dispose of the current mortal inside the body? For one thing, she could not kill outright. For another, she did not imagine her reputation would improve if people knew she was banishing souls and using the physical mortal shell as a home for her daughter. And a corpse simply would not due.
"You must wake up now." Mab pushed on Leah's shoulder a little harder and the girl's eyes fluttered open. "It is about time," Mab said, helping Leah sit, and handing her a cup of water that appeared in her hand.
"You almost died."
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Moira's body was completely lifeless, and Idath and Frik had taken it upon themselves to try and preseve her body whilst Mab was off collecting Leah. She had been dressed in white and laid on top of a great stone grave in the garden where she was brought to the world. The faes had woven yellow tulips in her hair, and spread her curls out over the surface of a stone grave they had carved for her. She looked as though she was sleeping, dreaming in the garden as she loved to do, and as Mab gazed upon her daughter's body, she felt she herself was in a dream, for this was something she should never have seen.
Leah would have to be kept away from here.
Mab knew what she had to do to save her daughter. She had thought of it shortly after she had tucked Leah into her bed under the ground. Mab had decided to keep Leah in a deep sleep for a few days while she finalized her plans for Moira. Leah would be kept out of the decision and be allowed precious time to heal.
Leah tugged on the invisible rope that connected her to Mab. A vision of the girl dancing in snowfall appeared in Mab's mind. The Queen had missed the entirety of Leah's true childhood, so the picture of the girl in her mind was often one of Leah in childhood. The vision Mab had now, however, was one she had created to send to Leah, to help relieve her daughter's daughter of the night terror she was experiencing, and calm her so she could go back into her deep sleep. Leah had not woken, for she could not fully wake, but she had reached the lightest level of the sleep and been able to alert Mab to her fear and discomfort. Leah did this almost hourly and Mab, almost hourly, created a new portrait of happiness to soothe the girl she barely knew.
When she was sure Leah was back in her deep sleep, dreaming of her childhood Winter Solstice, Mab appeared to her bedside. She placed one hand on her own stomach, and the other on Leah's heart. Breathing deeply, Mab felt for Moira's energy. The sense she had of her daughter was weak, so weak that for a moment Mab feared Moira was dying. She had gotten to her in what she would forever consider the nick of time. With another deep breath, Moira's spirit was placed inside her mother's womb. Mab would nourish her daughter, and bring her to life again.
And all would be well.
