Two and Twenty Dark Tales by Georgia McBride

imprisoned in a great lake, master of magic and music, and a tempest of time. If you shake the Dreamland Tree, he will be free again. He is music. And music is magic. He is, therefore, what unites us with the Infinite—with true power—and if good music is all about keeping time—well, time has been kept long enough. Look to the stars and the waters to find your way to the tree. You must see things differently now.”
    The Wolf was at the door again. “We must go.”
    “So you don’t have any of the Pieces of Eight for me?” Marnum asked.
    “No, but the song is as old as time, and as powerful as a true heart. You will find the last pieces. In time.” He hurried them to the door, and nearly shoved Marnum out.
    They followed the stream in silence for a while. “So,” Marnum said to the Wolf, who had once again donned her intimidating helm. “You’re a girl.”
    “Woman. And gender makes no difference in this.”
    “Gender always…”
    She stopped on the path and turned to face him. “I am a warrior first and foremost. The rest is secondary.”
    Marnum put his hands up between them. “I am a prisoner. First and foremost.”
    She snorted.
    “What’s your real name, Wolf?”
    “Cyrelle.”
    “I’m Marnum.”
    “No, you aren’t.”
    He stared at her.
    “That isn’t the name your father gave you. I remember.”
    “What?”
    “I was five when you were presented and named. It was the first—and the last—court ceremony I attended.”
    Now Marnum stopped their progress. “What are you talking about?”
    “You were born a prince, Marnum. Prince Garendell.”
    “And you?”
    “A common cur.” The laugh that followed her description was as sharp as a dog’s bark. “But my uncle, he was a powerful man. Once.”
    “The old man?”
    Cyrelle nodded. “Who but a relative would listen to his tales of mad gods?”
    “You do not believe in the Dreamland Tree?”
    “I believe I have orders to follow. I believe what any good soldier does—I believe my commanding officer. And he said to find you and bring you in.”
    “Yet you will let me complete my task first.”
    “I will still obey my orders. We are merely taking the long way back.”
    “Wait. If you were cast out of the court all those years ago, how are you in the palace’s employ now?”
    “Given the right papers, anyone can become anything.”
    “Wait,” Marnum said again. “I’m a prince?”
    She shrugged. “You are commonly known as the Lost Prince. Your mother stole you and…” her eyes focused on his scar as they never had before, “… made sure you’d be overlooked. Safe. She learned too late what your father was planning in making you.”
    “Thy father guards the sheep…”
    “Baaaa. What else are citizens of our kingdom but sheep ?”
    “Unreal. This is totally unreal…”
    That was when they were attacked by more Huntsmen.
    Cyrelle dispatched them neatly, adjusted her helm, and encouraged Marnum forward.
    “Those men were sent by—”
    “—your father. The king. You are to be sacrificed.”
    “What if I’m to make a sacrifice of some sort, not be sacrificed?” he asked.
    “Interesting thought.” She shrugged. “Either way, what’s life without a little father-son tension? Those men were paid for by our tax dollars, and I dealt with them so harshly. That was less than fiscally prudent of me.” She clapped her hands together and cleared her throat. “This,” she said, spreading her arms wide, “this is where we will find passage to this tree of yours.”
    Below them, the stream dumped and merged with others to create one wide river to the greatest of lakes, a river filled with boats flying the flags of a hundred different places. It was as if the entire world spread wide below them. Marnum, before little more than a slave, then a hunted sacrifice and lost prince, now felt like something so small there was no word tiny enough to fit the thing he’d become, standing before so grand a place.
    ***
    Cyrelle led