"Alda was her father's daughter. She did not scream, as most human women would, and her expression did not change, but she took a step back.
"The fey made a grunting sound that might have been a laugh. Then he bowed deeply. As he straightened, his head changed, and he was once again a handsome man. 'You don't like my true appearance?'
"'No,' said Alda.
"'Well, then, I suppose we have no future. I like to be comfortable at home and look the way I am. Nonetheless, you must meet our queen.'
"He led her to the mound's queen, who was – and is – your mother, though this was long before she married Alfrad. Hogshead told the queen about Alda's spinning and weaving.
"'Show me,' the queen said.
"A spindle and loom were brought, along with wool. Alda spun the wool into yarn and wove it into a fine, thin cloth.
"'You must make my clothes!' the queen exclaimed. 'But not out of wool. We'll find you silk, and I'll be the envy of all the fey in Ireland!'
"There Alda remains in the mound. She has learned to spin and weave silk, and she makes the queen the finest clothing in Ireland."
"That's it?" Kormak asked.
"So far."
"That isn't much of an ending. She should have escaped from the fey or died. That's the way most stories end – with a victory or death. Why didn't Volund rescue her?"
"We can't find him to ask him. Maybe the dog knows where he is."
The iron dog lifted its head, but said nothing.
"He always cared more for his craft than for any person, except – possibly – his Valkyrie wife, who left him. It's said that he always frowned deeply and grew grim when he heard 'yo-to-ho.'"
After that, Kormak grew sleepy and lay down, waking now and then to the rattle of the cart over its metal trail. The lantern had grown dimmer, and the cart was mostly dark. Sometimes he saw the red glare of the dog's eyes.
At length, he woke completely and sat up. Svanhild and the elf warrior sat together near the lantern, sharing bread and wine in its glow. Kormak joined them. There were mushrooms, which Alfgeir laid between two pieces of bread and ate. Kormak followed suit. The mushrooms were delicious, thick and meaty and juicy. The bread was a little dry. He drank enough wine to feel it, then sat by a window and looked out. The lantern on the foremost cart lit the tunnel's stone walls and the metal track ahead of it. Now and then, a second light flashed above the cart, brilliant and white.
"That is the lightning," Alfgeir said.
So it went. Kormak dozed and slept. They ate a second time. The sunstone lantern had grown dimmer.
"Tell me about my mother's land," Svanhild said.
"Didn't she tell you about it?" the elf warrior asked.
"Only that it was far more pleasant than my father's country. She left when I was young."
"We live in stone," Alfgeir said, "as do you. But the fey live below earthen mounds. Their underground country does not look like a cave, as do our homes, but rather like open land, though the sky is sunless and moonless. Magic lights it. There is no winter. The trees bear flowers and fruit at the same time. The streams are full of cold, fresh water. The ground is covered with soft, green grass like a carpet.
"When the fey hunt – and they do; it's their favorite occupation – they bring down fat deer. When they angle, they bring up succulent fish. Everything about their land is lovely and rich.
"They love music and dancing and good-looking people like Volund's daughter Alda. They keep them as servants and lovers."
They would not love him, Kormak thought, with the scar across his face. Well, he had no desire to live among the fey. He remembered them dimly from stories he'd heard as a child. They were more dangerous than the northern elves, who mostly kept to themselves and did not bother their neighbors.
The iron dog growled and spoke:
"Brightness is not best.
Honor is better.
Loveliness leads nowhere
If the heart is hard."
"That may be," Alfgeir said, "but you do not know for certain, Elding. You have never been in their country, nor spent time with any of them." He looked to Kormak and Svanhild. "When we get close to the land of the fey, the carts will stop and you will have to walk. The fey do not tolerate iron in their country. The dog cannot come. Nor can I. I will not give up my iron."
Kormak went back to sleep and woke again. The sun-stone lantern was so dim that his companions were barely visible, though he could still find the dog by the glare of its eyes.
They finished off the rest of the food and wine in silence. Then Kormak sat in darkness, listening to the cart rattle on and on. He slept again and woke and found the carts were motionless. A pale light, like the dawn through mist, shone outside. He could see a platform and a tunnel leading up.
Svanhild lay on the bench opposite him, sleeping and snoring softly, like a cat purring.
"We are here," Alfgeir said. "She won't wake soon, so we have time to talk."
"How do you know she won't wake?" Kormak asked.
"She drank the rest of the wine. That by itself should have put her deeply asleep, but I added a spell."
"You said that dark elves do no magic."
Alfgeir grinned, showing square, white teeth. "No elf is entirely trustworthy, though we are far more reliable than the fey. For the most part, I have told you the truth. Iron makes magic difficult, and dark elves rarely perform it. We always prefer iron. But we're a long way from our country here and close to the country of the fey. Magic is easier here. I have something I want you to do."
"What?" asked Kormak.
"Go into the country of the fey with Svanhild."
"Why should I do this?"
"Look around you. There is nothing here except stone, and it's a long walk back to the country of the dark elves. Dangerous, too. You might be hit by one of our trains. You could go in the other direction, of course, and end in the coal mines of Wales. If you do as I ask, I will be grateful."
"What is your gratitude worth to me?"
"Enough silver to establish yourself among the humans of Ireland. You will be free, and you will be an elf friend."
"That sounds good," Kormak said. "What do you want me to do?"
Alfgeir pulled a bag from somewhere in his clothing and took a gold bracelet from it. "Look for Alda in the fey court. Get her alone and give her this. Tell to wear it on her arm, but keep it hidden under her sleeve. If the fey see it, they will steal it from her."
"Yes," Kormak said and took the bracelet.
"The second time you see her, give her this." Alfgeir pulled out a gold and ivory brooch. "Tell her to pin it to her undergarment, so it will be hidden from the fey. Make sure that she knows to pin it over her heart."
"Do you think she will do this?" Kormak asked.
"She is the child of her mother and the grandchild of Nidhad's queen. Both women loved gold." The elf warrior took a final object from his bag. It was a golden dog, small enough to be held in a woman's hand. The eyes were garnet. A golden tongue hung out between tiny, sharp ivory teeth.
"The third time, you won't have seek her out. She will come to you. Give her this, and see what happens."
"Very well," Kormak said. He put the three objects in their bag and hid the bag in his clothing.
"Now," said Alfgeir. He touched the sleeping woman, and she woke. "Go into the tunnel. It will lead you to the country of the fey."
Svanhild climbed out of the iron cart. Kormak followed, carrying Svanhild's bags, which had not become any easier to carry. They walked along the platform and into the tunnel. Light filled it. There was no point of origin – the air itself seemed to glow – and he could see only a short distance. The glowing whiteness closed in like a mist. The tunnel slanted up and twisted like a snake, rising and turning. They began to climb.
This went on for a long time, till he was weary from carrying Svanhild's saddlebags. If the dark elf had been telling the truth, he would come out of this with freedom and silver. That was worth som
e effort. Did he trust the elf? Not entirely. But what choice did he have? He had learned one thing when the northerners came to his village and burned it and took slaves: he did not control his fate.
At last they came to a door made of polished wood and covered with carvings of interlaced animals. There was a bronze ring set in the door. Svanhild took hold of it and knocked.
The door opened, revealing a handsome man dressed in green. His hair was red and curly. His face was clean-shaven and his skin was fair. He wore a heavy, twisted, golden torque around his neck. "Well?" he asked.
"I am Svanhild, the daughter of Bevin of the White Arms. I've come to find my mother."
"She's here, though I don't know if she will want to see you. Nonetheless, come in."
They did. As Kormak passed through the doorway, the stone groaned loudly. The man looked suddenly wary. "What are you?"
"He's human and my slave," Svanhild said. "Don't you have human slaves?"
"Why should we? We are served by magical beings. Humans are for making music and love. Since he belongs to you, I will let him in."
Beyond the door was a wide, green country. A meadow lay before them, where noble-looking people played a bowling game with golden balls. On the far side, the land rose into wooded hills. Many of the trees were flowering. A sweet scent filled the air. The sky above was misty white.
"I will escort you to the queen," the man said.
"Do you have a name?" Kormak asked.
"My name is Secret," the fey replied. "And you?"
"Kormak."
"Are you Irish?"
"Yes."
"Our favorite humans!"
They circled the meadow to avoid the bowlers. A wooden bridge led over a crystal-clear river. Looking down, Kormak saw silver trout floating above the river's pebbled floor. Apple trees with fragrant white blossoms leaned over the water, dropping petals. He saw red fruit among the blooms. A miraculous land!
The next thing he knew, they were climbing a hill. On top was a grove of oak trees, their branches thick with acorns. The ground was carpeted with acorns, and a huge boar was feeding on them. Its lean body was covered with long, black, bristling hair, and yellow tusks sprouted from its mouth
Svanhild paused. "Is this safe?"
"That's Hogshead," the fey answered. "He'll do no harm."
The boar lifted its head, then reared up till it was standing on its hind legs. Kormak had never seen any kind of pig do this. A moment later, a man dressed in scarlet stood where the boar had been.
"How are the acorns?" their fey asked.
The man grunted happily, and they walked on, leaving him standing under the oak trees.
Well, that was strange, Kormak thought. He glanced at Svanhild. Usually she had a calm, determined expression, but now she looked drunk or dazed, her eyes wide open and her lips parted. Was this Alfgeir's magic? Or was she so in love with her mother's land?
They descended the hill to another meadow. A silver tent stood in the middle. The fabric shone like water and moved like water in the gentle wind.
"This is her bower," their fey said.
One side was open. Inside sat richly dressed ladies, listening to a harper play. Some had human heads and faces. Others had the heads of deer with large ears and large, dark eyes. One had the long neck and sharp, narrow beak of a crane, though her shoulders – white and sloping – were those of a woman, and she had a woman's graceful arms and hands.
In the middle sat the queen, who looked human, more fair than any woman Kormak had ever seen. She held up a hand to silence the harper, then beckoned.
They approached.
"Who are you?" the queen asked.
"I am Svanhild, the daughter of Alfrad and Bevin of the White Arms. This man is human and a slave."
"If that is so, you are my daughter. If you wish, you can stay a while. But the human is ugly, scarred, and worn with labor. Send him away. Maybe someone in my land will find him interesting, but I don't want to look at him."
Svanhild glanced at Kormak. "Do as the queen says. Put down my saddlebags and go."
Kormak did as he was told. The harper began playing. The music was sweeter than any he had heard before, and he would have liked to stay. But the queen had a cold face. What had the iron dog called it? Loveliness with a hard heart.
Their fey walked with him from the tent.
"What will I do?" Kormak asked.
"There are humans here who no longer interest us. Former lovers. Former harpers and pipers. They live in our forests. When we have finished banquets – we usually eat out of doors, so we can enjoy the scented air and the birds that fly from tree to tree – they come and eat whatever food remains. Sometimes we hunt them for amusement."
This was worse than living in Elfland. It might even be worse than Iceland.
"Do you know of a banquet that might be over?" Kormak asked. "I'm hungry."
The fey pointed. Kormak walked through the lush, green grass to a grove of apple trees. He pulled an apple from among the blossoms and ate as he walked. In the middle of the grove was a long table made of wooden boards. Dishes covered it, full of the remains of a feast: roast pork, white bread, wine, a half-eaten salmon. Ragged humans fed there, using their hands. He joined in. Everything was delicious, though cold.
"Do you know the human woman Alda?" he asked when he was full.
The man next to him stopped chewing on a ham bone and said, "There's a cave in that far hill." He used the ham bone to point. "She's there, always weaving. She won't pay any attention to you. She's under an enchantment, as I used to be, when the noble lady Weasel loved me. I wish I still were. I was happy then. Now I am not."
Kormak went on. Maybe he should have refused this task. But that would have left him in the stone tunnel, with no alternative except to walk back to the land of dark elves.
There was a trail, no more than an animal track, which wound through forest and meadow. He followed it to the hill. As the man had said, there was a cave. Lamps shone inside. Kormak entered. A woman sat at a loom, weaving. She was young with long, blonde hair. For a human, she was lovely, though not as lovely as the fey with human heads.
He greeted her. She kept weaving, paying him no attention.
What could he do? He took out the gold bracelet and held it between her and the loom. She paused. "What is this?"
"A gift for you. Take it and wear it, but be sure to keep it under your sleeve – the fey will steal it if they see it."
"This is true." She took the bracelet and pushed it onto her arm, under the sleeve. Then she looked at Kormak. Her blue eyes were dim, as if hidden behind a fine veil. "Who are you?"
"An emissary from someone who wants to give you gifts. I know no more than that."
"Are there more?" the woman asked.
"Yes, but not today."
"I could tell the fey about you."
"And lose the gifts. You know the fey share little."
The woman nodded. "I have been here a long time, weaving and weaving. They have never given me gold, though they have plenty." Then she returned to weaving.
Kormak left her and went up into the forest on the hill. He found a clearing in a pine grove, where the air was sweet with the scent of the needles. One huge tree had a hollow at its base. He used that as a bed.
In the middle of the night, he woke. A splendid stag stood in front of him, rimmed with light.
"What are you?" Kormak asked.
"I used to be human. Now I am prey. Can you hide me?"
Kormak scrambled up and looked at his hollow, then at the stag. "You are too big."
"Then I will have to run," the stag replied, and ran.
As it left his little clearing, dogs appeared, baying loudly. After them came fey on horseback with bows and spears. Kormak crouched down. They did not appear to see him. Instead, they raced through the clearing and were gone.
The stag had no chance. The light that rimmed him made him a clear target. He would die. Kormak wrapped his arms around his
knees and shook. Finally, he went back to sleep. In the morning, he remembered the stag dimly. Had it been a dream?
The day was misty, as if the silver-white sky had descended and hung now among the hilltops. Trees were shadowy. The air felt damp. Kormak wandered down into meadows, looking for another banquet. He found nothing. In the end, he picked apples from among the apple blossoms and ate them to break his fast. In spite of the mist, the land looked more beautiful than on the previous day. Flowers shone like jewels in the grass. The birds sang more sweetly than any birds he'd ever heard, even as a child in Ireland. The birds in Iceland had not been singers. Instead, they had quacked, honked, whistled, and screamed.
He reached Alda's cave and entered. She sat at her loom, her hands unmoving. "I dreamed of my foster parents last night and the farm where I grew up. How could I have forgotten?"
"I know nothing about that," Kormak replied. "But here is your second gift." He held out the gold and ivory broach. "Pin it to your undergarment, over your heart, and make sure the fey do not see it."
Alda did as he said. "I feel restless today, unwilling to weave."
"Do you have to?"
"The queen will be angry if I don't."
"Does she come here often?"
"No."
He sat down, leaning against the cave wall, and they talked. He told her about his life in Iceland and among the light elves, though he didn't tell her about Alfgeir or the dark elves.
She talked about her foster family. It was hard to talk about the fey, she said. Events in their country were difficult to remember. "My dream last night is clearer to me than my days here."
At last, he rose. "I will come again."
"Yes," said Alda.
He walked out. The mist had lifted, and the land lay bright under the white sky. Kormak's heart rose. He spent the rest of the day wandering. Deer grazed in meadows. A sow with piglets drank from a crystal stream. Once a cavalcade of fey rode by. He stepped into the shadow of the trees and watched them, admiring their embroidered garments, gold torques, and gold crowns.
The Best Science Fiction and Fantasy of the Year: Volume Eight (Best SF & Fantasy of the Year) Page 50
