Beauty

by Sheri S. Tepper

  “The payment is a person,” he said. “Of some sort. Oberon’s been using us Bogles for the teind, when he can catch us, but we’ve grown too smart for him and he hasn’t caught one of us in recent time. That’s why there were so many of us come to court with Puck, to fight them off if they tried to take one of us by force. Oberon knows if he uses one of the Sidhe, it could cause rebellion against him. So he’s thinking of defying the treaty and using a human. And the only human resident in Faery now is Thomas the Rhymer. And you, Beauty.”

  “But I’m half fairy!” I cried.

  “No teind is better than half. Half a teind is better than a whole,” he said softly. “And once he’s used human, half or whole, then the treaty’s broken.” Then, “Whsst. I’m gone.” And he was.

  Outside in the hallway I could hear Mama’s voice, along with those of the others. She, still laughing at something Oberon had said, came into the room where I was, her nose twitching, like a cat when it smells a mouse.

  “I smell Bogle,” she cried. “Has that filthy Puck been near?”

  I shook my head at her. “I’ve not seen Puck since the audience, Mama,” I said, truthfully enough. She looked me in the face as though to tell whether I was lying or not, and then she said, “We of Faery value truth above all else, Beauty.”

  “I know you do, Mama,” I said, thinking over what I had said to be sure there were no lies in it.

  She sat down on the bed beside me. “Do not put yourself in peril, daughter,” she said.

  “In peril, Mama?”

  “If you make cause with the Bogles against us, no place or time will be safe from Oberon’s vengeance. The Bogles are always snuggling up to mankind. They mix more than they should.”

  I thought this a strange thing for her to say, she who had married my mortal Papa. Was that not mixing? Or even snuggling, come to that. Evidently she did not feel the need to be consistent. I had noticed the same thing among the aunts. What they told me to do was not always what they told others, or what they did themselves.

  Mama went on. “Oberon will find you if you offend him, no matter where you go.”

  “Why should I offend any of you, Mama?” I cried. “You’re my mother. These are your people.” And, indeed, why should I? What did she know that I did not?

  Satisfied at what she saw on my face, she told me to create a marvelous dress and come to dinner.

  I ate fruit and bread and clotted cream and none of the venison. I drank what would have been too much wine anywhere else. All around me others were eating the meat with good appetite. I don’t think anyone noticed that I left it well alone. Once or twice I looked up to find Thomas’s eyes upon me and my plate. Once or twice I looked up to see Queen Mab staring at me with curiosity. I smiled carefully back, and cast my eyes modestly down. If she had enchanted a man and his wife for refusing her their child, what might she do to one who entertained Bogles in her bedroom? All the time I was thinking about the doctrine of transubstantiation and wondering if the man and wife were still present in the venison, though they had been enchanted into something else.

  After everyone had gone to sleep, I heard the scratching at my door again. This time I knew it was Thomas, and he slipped into my room like a shadow. He was clearly frantic, his hands trembling, his eyes flicking like hummingbirds from one place to another. “I have to get out of here,” he said.

  “I know,” I told him, going on to tell him how I knew.

  “Queen Mab says she will neither let me be used as teind nor let me go,” he said, his voice shaking. “But Oberon says he will use me as he sees fit. Queen Mab says she will use you, instead, but Elladine is in favor with the King, so he will not permit that. Oh, Elladine is in excellent odor just now for having brought a half-human woman into Faery, even old as you are. They are all in a frenzy over you.”

  “Can’t you just run away?”

  “How? In what direction? Are we under the sea or high in the air? Are we deep beneath the earth under a barrow, as some say, or are we in some enchanted land beyond the bounds of earth? In what direction should I go? And when I have gone, what is to keep Mab from turning me into a deer and hunting me down as she did today with those others? I can escape from this place only by human help, and there is none human here but you.”

  “When is the teind to be paid?” I asked.

  “Soon,” he whispered. “Faery time is not the time of earth. It flows fast, it flows slow. Sometimes it almost stops, wandering like the tortoise, long hours in the space of a breath. Other times it dives like the hawk, a year in a moment’s pace. I only know it is soon.”

  He left me then, as quickly as he had come, his face haggard with fear. I lay on the bed, looking out at the sky, scarcely darker now than in midday. Blue, spangled with stars. There had to be a way to help him. Had to be a way.

  Mama and I had a picnic together in the meadow. I had asked her for it, as a favor, wanting to, as I put it, “know her better.”

  “You must tell me some things,” I assured her. “Simply must, Mama, or I shall make the most dreadful mistakes. You must tell me what not to say in front of Queen Mab or King Oberon, or any of the others.”

  “Don’t talk of treaties or Bogles and all will be well,” she said, not looking me in the eye.

  “Can I speak of the teind to hell?” I asked innocently.

  She blanched. “It would be wisest not.”

  “Then you must tell me what it is, so that I will not mention some aspect of it inadvertently.”

  “It’s a payment,” she said impatiently. “To the Dark One. For guarding our borders. For keeping out … other influences.”

  “Angels?” I asked. “But, aren’t you acquainted with angels?”

  She looked around, making sure we were not overheard. “If you are speaking of those from Baskarone, Beauty, then be sure they are not angels. They are no more angelic than we. They are our own kindred who separated from us when man was created, over some fear they have that we or mankind or both of us will do something … something irrevocable. Foolishness. Are we not Faery? Are we not wiser than that? Our separated kindred dwell in Baskarone, but they are not angels.”

  Though I very much wanted to pursue that subject, I had other matters at hand which needed concentration. “I heard some of the Sidhe speaking, Mama. They said I might be used as the teind.”

  “Nonsense,” she cried. “Who would say such a wicked thing.” There were tears in her eyes, the first I had seen there on my behalf. So, like it or not, she was fond of me. Or she was afraid. Or she cried for some other reason.

  I almost stopped then, not wanting to be disloyal to her, but something made me go on. Perhaps the anguish I’d heard in Thomas’s voice. He had been so fearful, so terrorized, so very human. I said, “So I thought. They have a perfectly good teind in Thomas, do they not? And yet, someone said they thought he might escape.”

  “He cannot escape.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I know the spell set upon him. The only way he could escape would be if a human woman were to see him riding by, were to ask for him and hold him tight, despite all the changes Mab could put him through, hold him fast from midnight to dawn, then he could leave Mab and return to the land of mortal men.” She said it carelessly, as though it didn’t matter.

  “That’s not very likely, is it?” I asked faintly.

  “Not likely at all, which is why Mab thought it up,” she said. “So you’ve nothing to worry about. It is not long until Samhain, All Hallows Eve on earth, the night when the teind is paid. Once that is done, we’ll have no more worries for seven Faery years.”

  “Mama,” I asked, changing the subject, “I think it’s time I learned some magic. What am I half fairy for, otherwise.”

  That night I told Tom-lin what Mama had told me. “Have you such a human woman, Thomas?” I asked. “I could attempt it myself, but I’m only half and it might not work. Besides, it would so offend Mama and my other kindred, I could not stay in Fa
ery.”

  “My fair Janet,” he said. “Oh, yes, my fair Janet might well hold fast against all hell.”

  “Where will I find her,” I whispered.

  “Near Ercle’s Down is a wood, named for the carter’s house which is there and, near the wood, a well. By that well, roses grow, and Janet will come there at sunset to pull a rose in my memory, for it was there I pledged her my love and gave her a rose in troth.”

  “In what country?” I asked.

  “Why,” he replied, “in Scotland.”

  So, in the midnight hours of Faery, it was to Scotland, to Ercle’s Down I went, begging my boots in a whisper to take me quietly.

  I came there on a late afternoon in summer. I begged directions from a passing shepherd, who directed me to Carterhaugh Wood, and I went there, quickly enough. The well was less easy to find, for there were a number of wells. Only one grew roses, however, the last one I went to, at the edge of the woods. I waited impatiently for evening, watching the shadows lengthen. As it was growing dark, when I had about given her up, she came walking across the downs toward the trees. I was about to go out to her when I felt a tug at my sleeve, and there were Puck and Fenoderee. “Now that you’ve led us here, best leave it to us,” Puck whispered.

  I bridled.

  “Nae, lass, leave it to us,” Puck admonished me. “Ye have none of the language needed, and it has to be set in rhyme.”

  “Why does it?”

  “Because she’ll not believe it’s from him, otherwise,” and he gripped my hand tightly for a moment. I could feel his hand there for a long time after he had gone.

  The girl came to the well and pulled a rose, and I heard Puck’s voice in fair imitation of Tom-lin’s.

  “The Queen of fairies caught me up

  in a far green land to dwell

  And though it’s pleasant in that land,

  I’ve a fearful thing to tell,

  For at the end of seven years

  they pay a teind to hell;

  And I’m a fleshy human man,

  that the Dark Lord would like well.

  The night is Halloween, my love,

  the morn is Hallowday;

  Then win me, win me, if you will,

  as well I know you may.”

  It went on for some little time, but was clear enough for all that, despite being interrupted by the girl’s questions every line or two. Puck told her how to recognize him, that is, Thomas: right hand gloved, left hand bare, hat cocked up and hair down, riding nearest the town. He also told her where she would encounter the ride (at Miles Cross) and what horrors he would probably turn into, and that she must hold him until dawn. When he had done, we watched the woman go running back across the downs, her hair loose and tangled behind her, then Puck took me by one hand and Fenoderee by the other while I commanded the boots to take me back outside Oberon’s castle.

  There we stood upon the terrace, looking out across the midnight meadows, listening to the night creatures and the stream, both murmuring.

  “That was a courageous thing you did,” said Puck. “To help your fellowman.”

  “Help fellowman, play Faery false,” I said bitterly. “One is the same as the other. I am neither nor, Puck. I am confused and wishing myself other than I am.”

  “Would we could help you, Beauty. Will it help to know you are helping Faery, too?”

  “How?” I asked, very sceptically.

  “They break the treaty if they give Thomas to the Dark Lord. And that will harm them far more than losing Thomas will do.”

  I heard him, but was not sure he told the truth. “Would you take me to visit Carabosse?”

  “Old Carabosse of the clocks?” asked Fenoderee. “Old tick-tock?”

  “Will you?”

  “I will,” he said. “I will come for you soon,” and with that he was gone.

  It was Puck who came for me. I was alone when he came. “Get yourself upon a horse,” he said, “ride out and call for Fenoderee.”

  So I had a stableboy saddle me a lovely horse, rode out some distance from the castle, paused beside a large rock and said into the air, “Fenoderee, I need a friend.” Immediately, both he and Puck were standing beside the rock, Fenoderee grinning, Puck picking at a toenail. He liked to stand storkwise, on one leg, his fingers playing with the toes of the upraised foot.

  “The fairy Carabosse has invited you to tea,” Puck informed me.

  “Clockwork Carabosse,” chanted Fenoderee, cutting a circle about himself with his scythe. “Old gears and ratchets.”

  “Who calls her that?” I wondered.

  “I just did,” said Fenoderee. “Lots of the Bogles do.”

  “Some,” admitted Puck. “Not lots.”

  “Why do they?”

  “You’ll find out when we get there.”

  Puck got up behind me on the horse and held me around the waist. It reminded me of all the times Bill had held me in the twentieth, when I was tired or discouraged or didn’t know what to do next. Both he and Puck were small, but wiry and strong. Capable. I relaxed and let him guide the horse. Fenoderee bounded ahead like a fawn, disappearing behind clumps of grass and then appearing again, far ahead.

  We came to the forest, went along it to the left until we came to a small stream, followed the stream into the woods, up a narrow defile, and then out into a clearing where a cottage stood, smoke rising from its chimney. It was a fairy-tale cottage. Though I don’t know much about tales of that kind, I had seen cartoons in the twentieth. This cottage could have appeared in “Hansel and Gretel” or “The Three Bears” or “Red Riding Hood” without any changes at all.

  “We’ll wait,” said Puck. “Just in case you need us when you come out.”

  I was fairly sure I could find my way back, but company on the homeward ride would be welcome. I dismounted and walked toward the cottage, hearing as I approached a sound like the muttering of rain on dried leaves. It grew louder and louder, and as I stepped onto the stoop, a chime rang, followed immediately by a cacophony of bells, whistles, cuckoos, gongs, all telling the hour with indiscriminate fervor. After a time the noise died away to the murmur once more, which I now recognized as the ticking of countless clocks, and I knocked firmly upon the cracked panels of the door.

  “Enter!” cried a cracked old voice.

  She was sitting beside the fire, under her tumult of timepieces. They dangled on every wall; they squatted on every flat surface. They made a noise like a storm of rain until she raised her hand and the sound stopped. All the little pendulums swung, all the little hands moved, but they moved in silence.

  “So you’ve come,” she said.

  “I’ve come,” I agreed. “I’ve come because you are the only one who knows what’s going on, and I cannot go on, not knowing.”

  “You weren’t supposed to know,” she muttered. “You weren’t supposed to be bothered with it. All we intended to do was keep it safe, inside you, until the proper time comes….” Her voice dragged away into the clock-silence, the endless movement of hands and swinging pendulums, and she stared into the fire.

  I did not disturb her. If she would tell me, she would. If she wouldn’t, there was nothing I could do.

  “Long ago,” she said at last, “when man was made, which was long after we were made, I looked into the future and saw an ending there. You have seen that ending.”

  I had seen it. Of course, I had seen it.

  “At that ending is no magic,” she said. “At that ending, all beauty stops. There may be some life after, bacteria perhaps. Small, senseless things moving endlessly on the winds and in the seas. No matter.

  “I saw an end. And those of us who could—they were not many, for most of us have been less than diligent in learning what may be done—decided that a certain thing should be preserved.”

  “In Baskarone,” I said, suddenly sure of it.

  “Of Baskarone, partly. Israfel was one of them who did the preserving. He and his kindred distilled a thing from…. From t
he necessary materials. They made it. But then we had to hide it.”

  And I knew then. “You hid it here,” I said, putting my hand to my breast. “It burns.”

  She looked at me pitifully. “Does it hurt you?”

  I shook my head at her in wonder. No. It did not hurt. “What is it?”

  “It is what it is. It is what Oberon wishes for but has never been able to hold. It is what the Dark Lord lusts for. We must keep it from him.”

  “That’s a riddle, Carabosse!”

  “It is how we old fairies speak,” she said, looking at me from under her scanty lashes. “If you knew what was going to happen, you could not behave normally.”

  “This thing … I suppose it’s important.”

  She sat unbreathing. It was as though the universe had stopped for that instant. At last her breath left her in a sigh.

  “Important,” she whispered to herself. “Yes. Important.” She sighed again. “We thought no one would look for it in a child. Then we planned to entice you into some place where you could live happily for a long time. We picked Chinanga, the timeless land. No one had ever aged in Chinanga. Chinanga was poised there in the always, and we thought it would go on forever. How long did we need, after all? Only a few hundred years.

  “We planned you would want to leave Westfaire, that you would think of the boots, that you would make them and go to Chinanga. Meantime, your mama would return to Westfaire to move your sleeping body to the tower, and on her way back to Faery she would be caught by our spells and brought to Chinanga also. By the time you traveled upriver, she would be there to meet you.

  “But, you didn’t make the boots, and as you were leaving Westfaire, those people came. They came from the twenty-first. We cannot even see into the twenty-first. And when they took you away, we could not reach you. And when you returned you were pregnant. We didn’t want you to go while you were pregnant.”

  “But then Elly was born,” I said.

  “That was the first good opportunity for you to go to Chinanga,” she murmured. “But then, by the time you got to Chinanga, you were too old for your mama to be easy with, and the Viceroy had already heard of this virgin with a difference. Between them, the Viceroy and Elladine, they destroyed the whole place. Imaginary worlds do not show up in my Forever Pool. Elladine has always done things that are quite unreasonable. And now you are here, where we had never intended you should come.”