Shadows Fall

by Simon R. Green

  He walked on, and found two elves standing face to face, wrapped in faded roses whose thorns had pierced the elves’ colourless flesh. Their eyes were closed, and their chests did not move. Morrison touched one of them hesitantly, and the two elves fell stiffly to the ground, wrapped in dead roses like a brittle shroud. He knelt down beside them, but again there was no trace of any cause of death. Their flesh was cold and horribly yielding to the touch. Morrison got to his feet again, breathing harshly and shaking his head in denial. He broke into a run again, forcing his way through the decaying vegetation. He shouted for help, for someone to come, for someone to answer him, but there was no reply and nobody came. His voice was the only sound in the all-pervasive quiet. It seemed to take him ages to cross the vast courtyard, but finally he came to the tall, narrow gate in the far wall. The gate hung open, as though there was no longer any need for it to remain closed.

  He passed through and into Caer Dhu, the last Castle of the Faerie. He hurried through the great stone corridors, still calling out at intervals, but no one answered him. From time to time he passed elves engulfed in the stone walls. They were all dead. Finally he came to the Unseeli Court itself, the Gathering of Faerie, and he stopped before the vast double doors. They stood slightly ajar, as though daring him to push them open and see what they hid. Part of him didn’t want to, wanted instead to turn and run back through the courtyard, rather than face a truth he already suspected. But he couldn’t do that. He had to know. He pushed the doors, and they swung smoothly open before him.

  And so at last Sean Morrison came to the Unseeli Court, the final resting place of the elves of Caer Dhu, and found them waiting for him, stretched out on the floor in their gorgeous robes like so many dead birds of paradise. There were hundreds of them, hundreds beyond counting, lying gracefully together as though they had all just laid down where they stood and fell into a sleep from which there would be no awakening. Morrison stepped slowly over them, making his way carefully forward, looking about him with increasing desperation for any sign of life. But there was none, in the Court of the elves.

  And at last he came to the twin thrones on their raised dais at the end of the great Hall. On them sat King Oberon and Queen Titania, marvellous beyond measure, beautiful beyond hope, both of them quite dead. They were holding hands. Beside them Puck, the only imperfect elf, hung from a makeshift gallows, turning slowly this way and that, as though moved by some unfelt breeze. The thick rope had dug deeply into his throat, but his face was calm and peaceful. Morrison climbed up on to the dais, and hesitantly touched Oberon and Titania’s linked hands. Their flesh was heartbreakingly cold. He turned away and looked at Puck, and the elf opened his eyes and winked at him.

  Morrison shouted in surprise, jumped backwards and sat down suddenly. His heart was racing and there was sweat on his face. Puck chuckled softly, still hanging from his gallows. Morrison scrambled to his feet again.

  “You bastard,” he said finally. “I thought you were dead. I thought you were all dead.”

  “Oh we are,” said Puck easily. “Or they are, and I soon will be. I only held on to say a last farewell to you, little human, little bard. The day of the elves has finally reached its end, and only I remain to tell you why. I always had a fondness for you, and the breath of fresh air you brought to the Court, with your human wonder and your human songs. You’ve no idea how boring immortality can become. So I waited just a little, to say fare you well and thank you for what you gave us, your last great gift.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Morrison numbly. “What happened here?”

  “We decided to die,” said Puck. “We’d forgotten how much we had declined from the days of our prime. We were glorious then, wise and wonderful, and unbeatable on the field of battle. We fought all the races there were, and many that no longer exist, and none could stand against us. Eventually we reached a point where the only foe worthy of our attention would have been ourselves. But by that time we’d developed weapons and devices of such fell power that to turn them on ourselves would have inevitably destroyed us all. So we turned our face away from the dark joys of battle, locked our weapons away where we could not easily reclaim them, and turned our thoughts inward.

  “You saw what that did to us. We declined from our glory, and fell so far we no longer even remembered what we had once been. And then you came, little bard, and helped us to remember. And having remembered, we knew we could not go back to what we had become.

  “It was a wonderful last battle that you brought us to. Many the men and creatures of all sorts who fell beneath our sciences and our steel, never to rise again save in our service. Marvellous the destruction, glorious the thrill of battle. All that was missing was the wanton destruction and the looting, but we forgave you that in return for the sport you provided us. We relearned old thrills, old pleasures, and gloried in our martial strength. But having rediscovered the joys of being wolves, we could not, would not, go back to being sheep again. So we decided to take our leave of life in a dignified manner, and go out on a high note, at the peak of our history. We knew there would never be a better day than this. So we came home, said our goodbyes, laid ourselves down and died.”

  Morrison wanted to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come. Tears burned in his eyes.

  “One last word,” said Puck, not unkindly. “One last warning, to show our gratitude. The time of the Wild Childe is almost upon you, when friend shall turn on friend, brother on brother. We saw its coming long ago, but said nothing, out of kindness. There was nothing we could do to stop it, or save you from the darkness to come. Perhaps, in the end, that was also why we decided to die. Because we would have missed you humans so much. Goodbye, Sean. Sing a last song for us, if you would.”

  He closed his eyes and the breath went out of him. Puck the Weaponmaster, the only elf who was not perfect, hung limp and dead at the end of his rope. Morrison reached out and touched Puck on the shoulder. There was no response. He pushed a little harder, and the body turned slowly, the rope creaking quietly. And Sean Morrison, the only human bard to sing in the last Court of Faerie, turned and walked slowly out of the Hall of death, head held high, not crying, not yet. Crying would come later. Instead he raised his voice and sang one last song for those who could no longer hear it. He sang, heartbroken, and the sound of his voice echoed through the empty Court and all the empty corridors of Caer Dhu.

  —

  Rhea Frazier and Leonard Ash found Suzanne Dubois at her shack down by the river. It was early in the morning, and the rising sun shed golden light all across the world. Somewhere birds were singing, sharp and insistent, and on the river a single swan floated majestically past the stone statue of a mermaid, half immersed in the dark green water. Rhea looked at it thoughtfully. She was sure the statue hadn’t been there the last time she’d come to call on Suzanne. But then, that was Shadows Fall for you. She checked Ash over quickly to make sure he looked respectable, and then knocked on the front door of the shack. The door opened the moment she’d finished knocking, almost as though Suzanne had been expecting visitors. And who was to say she hadn’t? Rhea hid her surprise behind a pleasant smile. The lady who lived by the river knew many things; that was, after all, why they’d come to see her.

  Suzanne stepped back for her visitors to enter, and then looked suspiciously at Ash. He smiled at her charmingly, and she sniffed and turned pointedly away. Rhea looked at Ash, and he shrugged. They realized then that Suzanne already had visitors, getting to their feet and smiling and nodding to Rhea and Ash. Rhea slipped into social politeness mode, and took the opportunity to look unobtrusively about her. The place still looked as though a bomb had hit it. Her fingers itched for a duster, a dustpan and brush, and just maybe a shovel. Suzanne had been known to refer to her preferred living conditions as a comfortable clutter, which was a little like describing the Warriors of the Cross as over-enthusiastic tourists.

  “And I’m James Hart,” said a voice nearby, and Rhea’s attention s
lammed back into the here and now. The man before her was an average-looking guy, perhaps a little too old for the clothes and pigtail he affected. He also looked like he could afford to lose a few pounds. None of which detracted from her easy smile and friendly manner. The man was a voter. Rhea automatically shook the hand he held out to her.

  “So you’re James Hart,” she found herself saying. “I always thought you’d be taller.”

  Hart laughed politely. “A lot of people tell me that.”

  The woman at his side introduced herself as Polly Cousins, and Rhea had to fight from doing a double-take. Everyone in Shadows Fall had heard of the woman trapped in her house by her own memories. Something drastic must have happened to change her circumstances, but Rhea hadn’t heard a word about it. Which just went to show how out of touch she was getting. She shook Polly’s hand and flashed a standard politician’s smile. Questions would have to wait for another time. She had work to do here. She turned to Suzanne.

  “I’m afraid this is a professional visit, my dear. We need your skill with the Cards.”

  “Let me guess,” said Suzanne. “You want me to use my Cards to discover who the killer’s next victim will be, and possibly provide a few clues as to the killer’s identity while I’m at it. Right? You needn’t look so surprised. I knew you were coming, and why. The Cards told me. They’ve been full of possibilities today. My friends here had the same idea, but I thought we’d better wait for you before we started. I don’t fancy going through this twice. Take a seat round the table please, everybody.”

  A small circular table stood in the exact centre of the room. The wood was dull and chipped and clearly hadn’t seen a coat of polish in years. A pack of cards sat on the table like an unexploded bomb. They seemed ordinary enough, but just looking at them made Rhea shiver. There was something about them; a sense of potential… She realized the others had already seated themselves, and were waiting for her. She pulled back the one remaining chair and sat down next to Ash. She felt very much that she would have liked to take hold of his hand, for comfort, but she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t afford to appear weak.

  Suzanne shuffled the Cards, while the others sat and watched. She did it for some time, and Rhea’s thoughts began to drift again. She glanced round the dishevelled room, and her thoughts took her back to the last time she’d visited Suzanne. She and Richard Erikson had found the first murder victim here, lying in his own blood on Suzanne’s floor. This was where it had all started, and perhaps it was only right that she should come here looking for the end of the story. Suzanne finished shuffling, and began slapping the Cards down on the table with what Rhea considered to be quite unnecessary force. The sounds seemed impossibly loud and penetrating, and Rhea winced in spite of herself. She was glad she was sitting down. She still felt weak and fragile after the beating she’d taken from the Warriors, and had a tendency to start trembling if she was kept on her feet too long.

  She’d heard Suzanne had been badly injured during the invasion, but she seemed well and whole now. Presumably she’d found a magical healer. Ash had taken Rhea to one of the town’s hospitals, but the place had been packed with people, most of them much worse than her, so Rhea had insisted they leave. She had work to do, and she was damned if she’d be stopped or even slowed by her own weakness. The town needed her. Ash leaned in close beside her, murmuring questions as to how she felt, and she made herself smile and shake her head dismissively. He worried too much. Besides, she didn’t want to think about how bad she felt. If she didn’t think about it, she could pretend it wasn’t happening. She made herself concentrate on Suzanne, who was laying out her Cards in patterns that meant something only to her. She finally finished, or ran out of Cards, and sat back to study the pattern she’d made. Everyone waited respectfully. Things were coming to a head. They could all feel it. Suzanne scowled at Ash.

  “Everything’s clouded, obscure. It’s hard to See details even under the best conditions, and having a dead man sitting at the table isn’t helping.”

  “Would you like me to leave?” said Ash politely.

  “Unfortunately, you can’t. You’re part of the pattern; you’re supposed to be here, like the others, but don’t ask me why. You shouldn’t be here at all, revenant. You should have passed through the Door long ago.”

  “I can’t,” said Ash. “I’m needed here.”

  “Why? What for?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Suzanne sniffed. “Convenient.”

  Hart saw thunderstorms forming on Rhea’s face, and hastily intervened. “Look, we can insult each other’s lifestyles later; for the moment, let’s stick to the Cards. Can you See anything at all, Suzanne?”

  Suzanne scowled reluctantly at the Cards before her, trying to lose herself in her usual trance, but the world clung stubbornly to her senses, anchoring her firmly in the here and now. She started to say something about trying again later when Hart, sitting beside her, reached out and took her hand in his. She slammed back in her chair, her back arching, as uncontrollable power surged through her. She gasped for breath, her hand clamping down on Hart’s. The power was harsh, inhuman, beyond anything she’d ever felt before, and for a moment it blotted out her mind, concentrating only on the Cards and what they held. She began speaking, or something spoke through her, and she could only sit helplessly and listen with the others to what her voice said.

  “The call of the Forever Door is stronger now. It’s calling all its lost souls home.”

  “She’s right,” said Ash quietly. “I can feel it.”

  Suzanne ignored him, her eyes somewhere else. “The Wild Childe is coming into his power. It is his time, come round at last.”

  “Can you identify the next victim?” said Hart gently.

  “Yes. It’s Sean Morrison. He wants to die, and the Wild Childe can sense that. But if you prevent his death, worse will follow. Something monstrous lies in the future, waiting to be born.”

  “What, again?” said Ash. Rhea shushed him.

  “Something monstrous, but something wonderful too. Everything will change in Shadows Fall, and it will never be the same again. The world will end and be transformed, and all things shall be made new again.”

  Hart jerked his hand away from hers, and Suzanne fell forward across the table as the strength went out of her. Her face hit the table painfully hard, but she was too weak to move, her thoughts whirling wildly as she trembled in every limb. Polly was quickly there with her, helping her to sit up and then leading her away from the table. Hart sat very still, his face pale. Polly helped Suzanne stretch out on her bed, and sat beside her, holding her hand. Ash looked at Hart, and then at Rhea.

  “What the hell was that all about? The end of the world? Did somebody raise the stakes while we weren’t looking?”

  “Presumably it’s a metaphor,” said Rhea. “Prophecies are usually symbolic.”

  “Not necessarily,” said Hart. “The prophecy concerning me is quite clear; I will bring an end to Shadows Fall. It can’t be just a coincidence.”

  “Let’s put that comforting thought to one side, shall we?” said Rhea. “Till we’re all feeling a little calmer. I think it would be very dangerous just now to start jumping to conclusions without any real evidence.”

  “All right,” said Ash. “What do you think we should do?”

  “First, contact the Sheriff’s office. We have to locate and protect Sean Morrison.”

  “Last I heard, the Sheriff was missing,” said Polly, from Suzanne’s side.

  “He’s back, but he’s… indisposed,” said Rhea. “It doesn’t matter. There are a couple of Deputies there who can help. They’ve got the resources to help us find Sean.”

  “Hold on a minute,” said Ash. “Let’s think about this. Suzanne said if we prevent his death, worse will follow.”

  “So we just let him die?” said Rhea. “Is that what you’re suggesting?”

  “I don’t know,” said Ash. “But it seems to me we need to think this thr
ough very thoroughly, before we set anything into motion that we might not be able to stop.”

  “I don’t think we’ve got that much time to spare,” said Hart. “According to Suzanne, Morrison wants to die. If we don’t get to him soon, the whole thing might become moot, and we’ll have lost our chance to set a trap for the killer. The Wild Childe, whatever the hell that is.”

  “Sean is my friend, and Suzanne’s,” said Polly, growing anger giving weight to her words. “If he’s in trouble, we have to help him. Everything else can wait.”

  “She’s right,” said Rhea. “We’ve all lost too many friends in these last hours to lose one more because we didn’t act fast enough. I know Sean; if I can get to him, he’ll listen to me. He never could say no to me.”

  “I never knew that,” said Ash. “Where did you know Sean from?”

  “Polly can stay here with Suzanne,” said Rhea, ignoring him. “The rest of us will head for the Sheriff’s office. We can keep Sean there, under protective custody. He’ll be safe there. Then all we have to do is wait for the Wild Childe to come and get him.”

  “Then we close the trap, and he’s ours,” said Hart. “And maybe then, finally, we’ll get some answers.”

  And as easily as that, it was settled. A telephone call to Collins and Lewis at the Sheriff’s office set things up, and they tracked down Morrison inside an hour. He was found wandering at the edge of town, dazed and incoherent. A doctor at the Sheriff’s office diagnosed shock from the invasion. There was a lot of that, in Shadows Fall. They let him lie down in a cell, and he was asleep in minutes. People took it in turn to stand guard.

  There weren’t many at the Sheriff’s office. The Sheriff had been sent home, to sleep off his drunk, and so far Lewis and Collins were the only Deputies to report in. There were others, but they were busy overseeing relief and restoration work. There was a lot of that in Shadows Fall too. Rhea and Ash and Hart found places to conceal themselves not far from Morrison’s cell, and then they all sat back, and waited.