by Ken Altabef
Each knot of faeries celebrated in their own way, with a raucous tune on fiddle and flute, or an elegant duet of harpsichord and drum, or pan pipe and crashing cymbals. The musical themes clashed dramatically, adjusted and then intertwined like living things feeling their way along together to a bizarre sort of harmony. Where the troupes of dancers tripped over each other they were just as likely to swing a fist as to make love in mid-air.
A random shower of tiny golden sparks fell down upon Theodora and Gryfflet, tickling their faces then fading away. Theodora felt someone behind her. She whirled around but no one was there. She once again felt a presence behind her, a suspicion confirmed by a whisper in her ear that asked, “Guess who?”
She spun round again but the mysterious presence matched her with blinding speed, keeping out of sight. As this was bound to get nowhere, Theodora admitted, “I don’t know. I give up.”
A charming faery appeared, two halves seemingly coming round from either side of Theodora and meeting directly in front of her. This pale-skinned and golden-haired beauty was well-known to Theodora. She wore a fine gown of spider silk that clung so closely to her curves she appeared naked just the same, except for a necklace of yellow flowers and a loincloth of glowing fireflies.
“Arabelle!” said Gryfflet.
Arabelle curtsied and spun and came round again, dangling a small tart in front of Theodora’s face. “Try this!”
As there seemed no reason to refuse, and no practical way to do so in any case, Theodora bit into the warm treat. Beneath the delicious crust she tasted the robust sweetness of honeyfruit and the tart punch of lingonberries. Theodora had enjoyed neither in a very long time. The combination danced on her tongue.
“Fresh lingonberries,” she said. “Wherever did you get them?”
Arabelle smiled coyly. “My own personal stock. I’ve a secret garden hidden out on the heaths topside, where no one will ever find it.”
“But honeyfruits in England?” Theodora glanced down at the sweetcake. The pastry shell had a granular glow where moonlight had been baked into the shimmering breadstuff.
“It takes some doing, but I can get anything to grow!” Arabelle announced proudly with another swirl. “So much better than making due with half-rotten pumpkins pilfered from farms in the valley.”
She helped herself to a bite of the tart remaining in Theodora’s hand, then kissed James on the mouth, no doubt sharing the sweet taste with him.
“Not pilfered. Not anymore,” said Theodora. “Things are better now. We’re partners, not parasites.” And that, she thought, was absolutely true. Ever since the faery denizens of Barrow Downes had begun working with the Graysons, production by the farms had become more plentiful than ever before. The faery folk sparked the crops to grow in abundance and received a fair share in return, instead of having to steal. The benefits of cooperation, Theodora mused. The shared portion, she knew, represented only the surplus crop the Graystown farmers were unable to sell along the coast. And in recent days many of the pumpkins given over to the faeries were smashed. A sign of discontent?
“At least they’ve stopped hunting us,” agreed Gryfflet, “so long as we don’t go out and wander among them.”
“So long as you and I don’t,” said Arabelle. She pinched the back of Theodora’s arm. “The ‘princess’ does whatever she wants.”
“Enough,” said Theodora. “We’re supposed to be celebrating the harvest, so let’s get on with it. If we don’t hurry, we’ll miss Moonshadow altogether.”
They hurried on toward the grand assembly. This place never changes, Theodora thought, as they passed a hodgepodge of houses made of vines and thatch which the faeries had coaxed to grow in elegant patterns. These naturally-filigreed walls stretched upward as far as the eye could see, filling the vast cavern with towering arbors of gray bark and woven thistle. Every window was aglow with faery lights in lieu of candlewax. Box-planters hung along most of the windowsills and eaves, filled with greenery such as no human eye had ever seen. These plants, grown by faery light, had silken leaves and wispy fronds laden with delicate, pale blooms. Mushrooms littered the ground almost everywhere, wildly colored in red yellow and blue. Some had grown to gigantic size, with windows or doors cut into them.
Swarms of tiny winged insects swept here and there—fireflies, dragonflies and butterflies. Raised on faery nectar, these luminescent swarms took different shapes as they passed, forming a mobile topiary in flight—a dragon, an African elephant, a phoenix—all playing out pageants as they went by. The air was filled with the pleasant smells of harvest baking combined with the perfumes of mythical orchids, random strains of wild beautiful music, and joyful laughter.
“Why don’t you come back and live with us?” asked Arabelle.
“Yes, do! Live with us again,” chimed Gryfflet, “and we can play and play, just like we used to. It’s been so long you’ve been away. Please! Please!”
Theodora smiled at the sentiment. She’d been twenty years living among the humans, a long time even for a faery. She had initially taken on the role of Lady Grayson in service to her people, but had remained because of Eric and her two darling children.
“Your children are grown,” said Gryfflet, half reading her mind, or perhaps her expression.
“And Eric is always welcome here,” added Arabelle. “Why stay in that stuffy old manor?”
Eric could never live here, she thought, glancing at a pair of faeries fornicating in mid-air only a few feet away. Her husband was half British aristocracy, half country farmer, and a certain level of Old World prudishness had been drummed into him all his life. He approved of very little that transpired here beneath the mountain. And yet, he fought tirelessly for them. He was more ardent than any faery in fighting for their independence and a land to call their own. What would Eric think of such a place should they win? Where would he choose to live? In stodgy Grayson Hall or a magical faery palace? Worry about that later, she thought. Today is the Festival of Lights.
They had arrived at the grand gallery, the gigantic central chamber of the hollow. Its borders were the very foundation of the mountain itself, where a madcap jumble of faery homes joined with the deepest roots of the most ancient trees to form a vast bower, a tall cathedral of stone and wood that extended straight up. The vault went so very far up it melted away into the darkness above. Darkness where there should be a sky.
The hollow was as vibrant a place as had ever existed but, for all its joys and wonders, it was still just a hole in the ground. The faeries had no daylight, no breeze, no open spaces. No trees or squirrels, no birds, no flowers or bees. No sky, no sunshine. No matter, thought Theodora. We have our own lights.
The huge commons was illuminated by countless little balls of colorful light which moved endlessly about, jumping up and down and skipping merrily along. The Summer Court had assembled in a series of high seats along the far semicircle of the cathedral. These were the eldest and most respected among them. Some wore ornamental wreaths upon their brows or gilded tips on their slender horns; some wore brightly colored gowns, others nothing at all. The broad, open space below them was filled with faeries, dancing and singing and frolicking. Theodora, Gryfflet, Arabelle and James squeezed into the crowd.
They were immediately assaulted by people passing out food—cakes of milk and honey, cheese and nectar, dandelion wine, goblin mead and plums and breadfruit. Many people were celebrating by throwing colorful balls of faery light up into the vast darkness above the citadel. The ceiling lit up with competing bursts of red or yellow, exploding like fireworks.
“Let’s play!” said Gryfflet. “I challenge you, Clarimonde.”
Theodora smiled at mention of her true faery name. She was perfectly satisfied with being Lady Theodora Grayson, but it was pleasant to be Clarimonde again, even for a little while.
Gryfflet threw up a little ball of yellow light. It went up a few dozen feet and then fizzled gaily.
“Is that all you’ve got?” asked Theodora.
She wasn’t used to projecting light so far above, but she remembered how to do it well enough. She was determined to make a good show of it. She had to reach deep down into the reserve of power she kept inside. It was a bit of a strain. She flung up a stream of red light that shimmered and slithered like a snake until it met Gryfflet’s yellow ball and ran rings around it.
She felt like a child again. This, her faery life, was so different from her workaday at the manor house, and equally as satisfying.
Gryfflet produced a web of yellow that resembled a phoenix to battle Theodora’s red snaking loop.
“Come on, Arabelle,” Gryfflet said. “Show us your light.”
“A waste of energy if you ask me.”
“All festivals are a waste of energy,” said Theodora. “But, it’s a celebration. Come on! Relax and play.”
Arabelle refused again and Gryfflet and Theodora soon gave up on their battle of lights, turning their heads to watch the dance. A large number of faery folk had taken up positions in the center of the cathedral. Though they danced to a wild array of music coming from a number of different sources which made an incomprehensible riot of sound, their dance was perfectly coordinated. Other levels of communication besides speech were at work between them. All in all, the communal performance was as dazzling as the fireworks splashing all around them.
“Look!” said Gryfflet. “Here comes Moonshadow.”
Chapter 5
The pulsing lights and frenzied dancing came to an abrupt halt as the grand faery made her appearance. Moonshadow was the best and brightest among them. Everyone believed her to be the daughter of Moon Dancer, who had led them for hundreds of years.
Moonshadow radiated light and life. She was completely hairless, with the exception of long and luxurious eyelashes. Her skin was pure white, as bright and luminescent as the Moon itself, her eyes a unique combination of silver and blue. The sight of her naked body, flush with the power of the moon, was nearly blinding. The faeries erupted in a wild hooting cheer as she took her place at the head of the Summer Court.
“I trust you are all enjoying the celebration.”
Another massive cheer, so loud it hurt Theodora’s ears.
Moonshadow raised a goblet of finely chiseled blue glass. “The dandelion wine is especially excellent this season.” She nodded her head at a red-faced faery close to the front of the crowd, whom Theodora recognized as the hollow’s brew master.
“As I light the incandenza, let us all contemplate the bright future that lies before us.”
Another cheer rang out as she placed her hands on either side of a tall ivory brazier carved from a mastodon’s tusk. She bowed her head, gathering her power to ignite the pyre.
“To the city we shall soon build. To the City of Everlasting Change.”
This sentiment set off a groundswell of support as Moonshadow braced herself to ignite the biggest faery light of all, one that would mark the height of the festival and bathe them all in her warm, blissful glow.
“It shall be an island realm, surrounded by clear blue water where sprites splash and play. The Isle of the Blest, such a fortunate isle, a land where all is happiness, peace and plenty. We shall live in forever spring, feasting, hunting and lovemaking as we wish. The splendid music, the spectacular gardens we will have, full of fruit and flowers. Green meadows of enchantment, lush trees and beautiful bowers, towering palaces in gold and silver, lakes of glittering fish and a rainbow of songbirds.”
“You expect us to believe that?” cried a voice from the crowd.
Theodora cringed. She knew that voice only too well. It was Meadowlark.
“Challenge,” muttered the crowd, “A challenge!”
“Challenge?” Moonshadow peered across the court.
There was some misunderstanding as to exactly what was meant. There had not been a challenge in a long, long time.
“Yes, a challenge! Someone else to light the incandenza. Someone else to lead.” Meadowlark stepped up atop a small platform of stone that faced the dignitaries of the court.
Meadowlark was thin and lanky, wearing a red velvet hunting jacket with frilly cuffs, loose-fit leggings and knee-high calfskin boots. He had a pleasant face with a deep green skin, a slightly upturned nose and luxurious curly black hair left loose to fall in chaotic curls to his shoulders. His eyes were a perfect blue sky, his ears were gently pointed and tilted slightly back, a little bit like a wolf’s. For all his hundred and ten years, Theodora thought him still a child.
They had grown up together in the fen. They had played and frolicked there, sometimes exchanging stolen kisses among the daffodils. As adolescents she’d taken Meadowlark as an occasional lover, but found him too shallow and selfish. But even so, there were certain things about him she admired. He was pure faery, always over the top and unrestrained. She, on the other hand, had always felt restrained, unsatisfied, waiting for something. Eric, she supposed. She had waited and he had come. She had found love and, even more than that, she had found fidelity. A strange concept, but it suited her. Whatever Meadowlark was looking for, he hadn’t found it yet.
“Someone else to lead,” he said. “Why not? Moon Dancer was the greatest among us, or so we are told. But so what? What of Moonshadow? Does power here follow in succession like the despotic human kings?”
Moonshadow, ever calm, smiled gently at him. “Nothing of the sort. No one is obligated to follow me.”
“Then why do they? Is it your talk of this impossible paradise?” He took up a mocking voice, “A place of our own, where we may do whatever we please, far removed from the affairs of men. A place where wild thyme grows. Free to dance our ringlets to the whistling wind and dine of sweet nectar. Fie!”
Moonshadow was resolute. “Why do you scoff? Just think of it. The crops we shall grow—the golden apples of the sun, candyfruit as sweet as liquid honey. It will be a place of love and music and beauty—”
“And mischief!” someone cried out.
“Yes and mischief, too,” she agreed, and the way she said the word it was poetry. “Pranks and gambols and fits of jealous passion and rage and everything else. The lusty shall be ravished and all thirsts evenly slaked.”
“Is it just a dream?” asked Gryfflet.
“No. It may seem so to us now. But we shall have it. We’ll have the Patch again, the mushrooms, the Fen. All of it. And more. There are so few of us left and kept buried underground, but what if that seed was let to bloom? To grow? We could have such a shining Avalon as never existed before, a place where everything is possible and nothing forbidden.”
“Pffft!” scoffed Meadowlark. “All of this at the whim of the English?”
“If necessary. The seed grows at the whim of the wind, at the pleasure of the soil, at the mercy of the sun. But it grows.”
“It’s a lie,” said Meadowlark. “Don’t believe it can ever happen.” As his emotions piqued, little faery lights began to pop and sizzle around his head, setting off tiny charges of red and blue and yellow.
“Don’t doubt it,” said Moonshadow. “It is a dream. But why not? That’s what we are all about. Dreams made reality.”
“A dream is one thing,” insisted Meadowlark. “A lie is another.” His lights sparked with greater intensity.
Moonshadow smiled gently. “Oh. Come on, then. Let us have it out.”
She rose from the podium and began to float above the rest. Moonshadow was absolutely resplendent, so full of the shimmering power of the moon. She hovered silver and naked above them, her gossamer wings pearlescent, her arms parted wide, her legs together, toes pointed down. There could be no doubt of her greatness.
For Meadowlark, not so much.
Faery flight was nothing more than a trick, but it was a magnificent trick. The wings had nothing to do with it. The moon’s power was used to trick the local gravity, which was tantamount to tricking the world itself. Theodora had never been able to manage it. Meadowlark could not do it either. He stood on top of the stone, sneering up at his adver
sary.
Moonshadow bowed her head slightly. Her expression was as serene as moonlight on still water. “State your objection.”
“My objection,” he said, “is stupidity. A country of our own? At who’s permission? The British? If we are to wait for the British, it’s simply never going to happen. Look around you, ladies and germs. What green meadow is this? What sunlight have we here? This is what men have done to us.”
His faery lights intensified. “Look what we eat—castoffs from the Graysons. And look what we eat off of—plates and pottery, mismatched and stolen from the Graysons. What do the Lord and Lady dine on? Fine bone china and porcelain.”
“Immaterial things,” offered Theodora, “which make the food taste no better.”
Meadowlark snickered. “Why am I not surprised that you won’t stand with me on anything, Clarimonde? You’ve lived among them so long, you are one of them. How did we come to this? Living underground! It’s all because of the Graysons, Graysons, Graysons. Most of us lived through those dark days. We all know what happened.”
“And we know,” said Moonshadow, “the wisdom of Moon Dancer. Perhaps the young ones don’t know, and they suffer for having missed a great one among us. When the trouble came, when Griffin Grayson hunted us, Moon Dancer counseled us to retreat, to wait. She guided us away from bitterness, away from anger.”
“They ran us down!” said Meadowlark.
“It was wise to wait things out…”
“And what finally stopped them? A group of us, seven of us, whom I shall not name.” Meadowlark made the hush sign before his lips, but Theodora knew. She had been one of the seven herself.
He raised a fist in the air. “I was among those who assassinated Griffin Grayson. Only then did the killing stop. We had no blessing from Moon Dancer. We had no permission from the British. We did that on our own. The successor, Henry Grayson, called off the purge. Don’t you see? Only when we fight back, can we win.
“It is ever a crossroads,” he insisted. “We were herded down here, told to stay in the dark. Now you mollify us with pretty lights and pretty promises. Weakling. Betrayer of our people! Coward!”
