Arrival

by Charlotte McConaghy

  “Phaeries,” Blaise spat in disgust.

  “Fairies?” Jane asked, surprised at his tone.

  “Not fairy. Phaerie, and it is only speculation. Let us hope to the gods that it is not correct, and we do not come across any,” Fern said, his eyes dark.

  “Why?” Jane asked, startled.

  “Phaeries are the spawn of hell itself,” Blaise growled.

  Fern looked at him wonderingly, then turned to Jane and said, “They are evil. A race unfortunately akin to the Elves. Long ago, not long after the birth of Elvish people, there was a kind of evolution. Phaeries were born from us. At first we welcomed this natural occurrence, but soon it became evident that there was something not right with them.” Fern paused for a moment, and a dark expression crossed his face. “They plundered and they stole, but worse—they showed habits of cannibalism.”

  “Cannibalism?” Jane repeated dumbly.

  “They rode through the towns of men, and they stole babies. They took them back to their caves and ate them. At first it was only babies, but they grew bolder, and started to steal young children to try and sate their hunger a little better. The Elves realised what was happening, and banished the Phaeries from Paragor. No one knows where they went, but it’s rumoured that they dwell on the Isle of Guanu. There is no one to stop them there, you see.”

  Jane felt like she might throw up. “How disgusting.”

  “There is only one living Elf that can remember coming into contact with a Phaerie,” Fern mused.

  “Who?” Jane asked faintly.

  “My mother. She was the one who banished them. Most thank the gods that she did,” he replied.

  “How long ago was that?” Jane asked, trying to hide the queasiness she felt.

  “Almost two thousand years ago,” Blaise said.

  Jane stared at him, her mouth falling open. “Your mother ... your mother is ... two thousand years old?”

  The very thought of it made her feel a little faint. It was terrifying. “She must have seen so much. Thousands of years of the world growing and changing around her,” Jane murmured. “Thousands of lives, and experiences and horrors.” She gave an involuntary shudder as an image of two wild beasts tearing apart a little person crept into her mind.

  “But, if your mother is two thousand years old, then you must be—”

  Fern cut her off. “The Phaeries are human-sized, and creatures of the forest. They ride on horses and carry arrows. They’re a lot like Elves, of course, but don’t live as long. It’s our hope that they died out a long time ago.”

  Jane looked at the two Elves. After speaking of the Phaeries they appeared surly and bad tempered.

  Jane tried to change the subject. “What other creatures are on the Isle?”

  “How could we possibly know that, since neither of us have been there?” Fern said irritably.

  “I just thought you might have heard of other things, like you’ve obviously heard of the Phaeries.”

  Fern didn’t reply, so Jane decided to leave the Elves to their brooding.

  She sat down at Harry’s table and peered at the knife Fey was showing them. It had a very long double-edged blade attached to a short handle. When Jane looked closely she could make out intricate designs on the blade. A long serpent wound around the handle, its face at the tip of the blade. Its long tongue flickered across the metal. Two red stones for the snake’s eyes stared out at Jane.

  She looked up from the strange knife to see Fey staring predatorily at Jane’s unsettled face. She had to admit—she found Fey just as creepy as her strange knife.

  “It is the sacred blade of the queen. It was given to me when I was crowned and it will be passed on when I die. The serpent is the totem of the Amazonians. We treasure this knife above our own lives,” Fey told them quietly. The two young Amazonian girls sat quietly at her side.

  “Did you train on Guanu?” Jane asked.

  “We must, or we cannot become warriors.”

  “Did you ever see a Phaerie?”

  Fey narrowed her eyes and asked, “How do you know about Phaeries, girl?”

  “Every one knows about fairies,” Harry said matter-of-factly.

  “Is that right? And I suppose you know that they rip the flesh from their victims when they want to eat it?” Fey snapped.

  Harry’s face turned white.

  “Fern told me about the Phaeries. He said there were rumours that they still lived somewhere on Guanu. Do you know if it’s true?” Jane asked while Harry collected himself.

  “I’ve never seen one myself, no. But they are there. He told you what they’re like, did he?”

  Jane nodded grimly. Wanting to change the subject, she turned to the other two women and learnt that their names were Lilina and Hella.

  “How long have you been Amazonians?”

  “We were born Amazonians,” Lilina replied seriously.

  “But we are both three years out of our training on the Isle,” Hella offered.

  Corte gestured to Harry. “Come ’ere, lad. I’ll show you how to use a sword.” The two left and Fey turned to Jane.

  “How old are you, Jane?”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?” she asked, still wary after Columba’s attack at the war council.

  “Just answer my question, girl.”

  Jane sighed, “I’m seventeen. But I don’t think...”

  “You’re only a child.” Fey smiled.

  “Maybe,” Jane said, “but I won’t be measured by my age.”

  Fey shrugged. “We shall see.”

  Jane frowned, but didn’t say anything more. She looked up to see Fern crossing the room, seemingly in a much better mood.

  He stopped at her side.

  “Oh, you’re happy again now are you?” she asked irritably. “Temperamental, much?”

  He only smiled. “Would you like to dance, fair lady?”

  “Since when have I been a fair lady?” she replied, then, “And not with you, lord of the dance!”

  He only laughed and pulled her from the booth. Jane was glad of the excuse to lighten the mood.

  Ria and Luca happily agreed to play something a bit more upbeat, so the voyagers twirled and laughed, dancing for the good part of an hour.

  Eventually Ria and Luca slowed it down, and Jane was happy to return to her seat. But as she turned to leave, Fern grabbed her hand and pulled her back into his arms. “You cannot escape me so easily,” he murmured. She looked around and saw that they were the only two still dancing.

  “Fern, there’s no one else...” she started, but then forgot completely what she was saying as she looked up into his eyes. She felt like she might get lost in them. The greyness was engulfing. There was something there ... A flicker of memory ... Something long past, surfacing for just a moment out of the depths of his mind. They looked darker somehow.

  “Your eyes ... they aren’t right. They are too...” she said without thinking, then realised she must have sounded like a blabbering fool. She quickly turned away and sat down at the table. Fey’s eyebrows were raised, watching the pair, so Jane resolutely didn’t look back at Fern.

  A few moments later, she elected to go to bed, the spell broken. They all had their own rooms, which was a blessing, for Jane needed time alone. She was extremely glad she didn’t get seasick as she wandered past Corte, heaving into the ocean. Being a big, well-grounded man, he hadn’t adapted well to the rolling waves.

  Once locked safely in her room, she sat next to the little round window and watched the waves outside. She couldn’t help but feel bad at having left Anna alone.

  It suddenly struck Jane how horribly selfish they’d been, jumping through that portal without any thought for what they’d left behind. Their families would be sick with worry! God, what would they imagine happened? They hadn’t even said goodbye, or thought to make up a lie about going on a trip or something. But then, this was the last thing they’d expected to happen, really.

  The next day went by uneventfully
. Most of them spent the time watching the sea, or eating in the saloon. There was a deck of cards that got a lot of use, and some of the boys fought in mock battles on the deck, but Jane didn’t pay them much attention.

  That night, as they were all squashed into one booth, Jane was surprised to hear the topic come up again.

  “Beltane tomorrow,” Fern said with a grin. “My favourite night of the year.”

  “Why’s that?” Jane asked. “Is it easier to convince women they’re in love with you?”

  “So cruel, lady!” he laughed, then shook his head. “No, I could never play with the magic of Beltane.”

  “Explain this magic to me. I don’t understand.”

  “Beltane falls on the last day of summer,” Fern began. Everyone fell quiet around them to listen to the story. “Freyja, the goddess of love, claimed this day as her own, many long years ago when the world was young. It belongs to her, and so too does it belong to all the separated, thwarted lovers in the world.”

  Harry eagerly sat forward in his seat.

  “The stories of the gods are many and varied, but they are always riddled with mischief and intrigue,” Fern went on, his deep voice sounding richer with every word that came from his mouth. “This story begins when Freyja was born from the sea and washed to shore in a giant seashell. There she was found by a mortal man named Hephaistos and married him. So good was Hephaistos as a blacksmith that soon he became the god of iron.

  “But in her youth, Freyja was not content to be a loyal house-wife. She fell madly in love with Odin and was caught with him by her husband. Using his powers, Hephaistos wrought a mighty net, trapped them both and called the other gods to see. But instead of congratulating his power and his vengeance, they only laughed at his shame and Aegir, the god of the sea made Hephaistos release Freyja and Odin.”

  Here Fern paused and laced his hands together. “All was not well though,” he said. “The king of the gods, Actaeon, watched Freyja’s childish games play out, and he sought to teach her a lesson in the true ways of the heart. Casting a spell, he created a mighty storm to tear them apart, and to dash their love to pieces. Freyja and Odin forgot entirely about each other—it was as if they’d never heard the other’s name, nor seen their face. And so they went their separate ways, never once giving the other a thought. But they were living half-lives, hollow lives. In their chests were holes, chasms where emotions had once existed and they knew not why they were but ghosts.”

  Jane watched Fern’s lips move and found that she was mesmerised by the story. He looked at her and caught her gaze as he spoke, neither of them breaking the contact. “Many years later, hundreds and hundreds of years spent unable to love another living creature, the pair came across each other on the last day of summer. They looked into each other’s eyes, and the power of their love was enough to break through Actaeon’s spell, crashing it to pieces around them. All at once, like the mighty waves out of which Freyja was born, she and Odin remembered. For one single, perfect day, they knew each other, and they knew the meaning of love. But at the end of that day, the spell was restored, and they forgot each other once more until one year later.

  “And so it became, that through the many long years of eternity, the soul mates would remember each other for one day only, the last day of summer. The goddess of love never again sought to play petty games with people’s hearts, but instead set out to allow humans the gift of finding their soul mates as she had found hers, even just for a day.”

  Fern smiled and Jane looked down at the table.

  “That’s why the last day of summer is named the lover’s day, and many believe that if you love someone, they will be yours, even just for the day,” he finished. Then he winked and added, “Or, if you’re like me, you just love an excuse for festivities and drinking.”

  Everyone around the table laughed and the spell was broken so that they might all get back to eating and chatting.

  “I’ve never heard the tale told so beautifully,” Corte complimented the prince.

  Fern clapped him on the back and gulped of his ale.

  Jane was still staring into her glass of water uncomfortably.

  “You’re unusually quiet,” Fern said to her. “Something wrong?”

  She shook her head mutely without looking at him.

  After a moment, he said, “Why does that story make you uncomfortable?”

  “It doesn’t!” she exclaimed. He didn’t say anything. Jane shrugged. “I find it strange that you can talk so passionately of love when you don’t believe in it yourself.”

  “I never said I didn’t believe in it.”

  She shook her head. “Anyway, why is it that just because they weren’t together it meant that they weren’t whole? Why can’t they find fulfilment within themselves? Why does everything always have to be about love? It’s so depressing.”

  He sat back in his seat and frowned. “There you go again, insisting that nobody should need anybody else. Or at least that you don’t need anyone.”

  “Well I suppose that will all be proved tomorrow, when my soul mate just happens to be absent,” she snapped. “And I’m sure you’ll be there to rub it in my face.”

  “Jane, that’s not what I meant...” he tried to say, but she was already squeezing her way out of the booth and leaving the room.

  ***

  Satine didn’t know how she survived the wedding ceremony. It wasn’t until the meeting that she understood what she needed to do. The path was becoming clear.

  She sat down with Accolon as a courtesy before she left.

  “We need to think of some way you can return without being killed,” he said, “Could you say that Harry kidnapped you, that it was not your fault?”

  Satine thought for a moment. Leostrial couldn’t have seen her properly when they flew away. He could be told that she had been forced to leave, and was now escaping back to him in Burmia.

  “I guess it could work. I think he might be willing to believe anything if it means I didn’t betray him.”

  “We can’t take that chance. Did he see you doing anything that could give you away?”

  “No. I don’t think so. I will return on the ferry, and I’ll tell him that I was forced to leave.”

  “Don’t underestimate him, Satine,” Accolon warned.

  Suddenly she lost her temper. “Do not patronise me, Accolon! I’ve spent the last seven years with him!” she raged.

  Accolon blinked. “I just want you to be careful, Satine,” he said, and she felt her anger diminish.

  “Of course I’ll be careful,” she sighed.

  “I want someone to accompany you,” he said.

  “That would only endanger me further!” Satine cried.

  “This matter is not debatable. I’m sending someone with you and that is that.”

  “They will only be killed!” she snapped.

  The next day Satine was on a ship heading towards Lapis Matyr with Ambrosius, Captain of the Horse, at her side for protection.

  “Princess,” he said, “have I offended you?”

  Satine sighed. “I’m sorry, Ambrosius. It’s a problem between Accolon and me. It has nothing to do with you. I apologise for my rudeness.”

  Ambrosius nodded. “I shall prepare for our evening meal,” he said as he walked off. Though Satine had tried to stop him from coming, she was actually glad of the company.

  Over seven long years Satine had learned to harden herself. To put up a wall against her loneliness and sorrow, a wall that was made of anger. She’d had to become someone strong.

  But seeing Accolon again, and being so suddenly torn from him, made her think that maybe she knew how Leostrial felt.

  And so the thoughts of Accolon, of her son, of her dead father were not so easy to push away. Banishing the loneliness and the fear seemed more difficult. She could not numb the ache inside her.

  So she was heading back into the lion’s den, where she had only survived because she was icy cold, and now she was open and vulne
rable. What a terrifying thought.

  Satine looked down at the rolling waves. The wind swept her hair over her eyes. Huge cascades of spray burst and splashed over her face and wet her clothing. Looking down at her hands, she suppressed a sigh.

  ***

  Columba of Uns Lapodis was exceedingly pleased. She stood and walked to her desk. Pulling a quill and parchment from a draw, she sat down to write a letter.

  She donned a cloak despite the warm weather, concealed the letter in its folds, and asked for a litter to carry her to the wharf. She waited in that litter for one hour, until exactly midday—the busiest hour of the day. Pulling her cloak over her face, she climbed out and walked to the far end of the dock. There was only one boat moored there, a secret vessel that undertook forbidden journeys to Lapis Matyr, to Burmia, no longer allowed because of the dangerous tyrant who lay in wait on the other side of that stretch of ocean.

  Columba stopped in front of the man standing guard by the boat.

  Without a word, she handed him the neatly sealed scroll, waited for his signal, and turned back. A few minutes later, she was back in her litter heading for the palace.

  She sat down in her most comfortable chair and thought about what she’d just done. Instead of guilt, she felt only satisfaction.

  Columba had been born and raised in Lapis Matyr. The daughter of a nobleman in King Altor’s court, she had been deliriously happy to be betrothed to him since the age of nine. But Columba and her heart had been so young, and so easily broken when the love of her life had chosen some filthy Amazonian to be his queen. Columba was instead cast out of her home, away from her family and the future that had been laid out before her, the future that had seemed so perfect.

  A woman scorned she was, then. And her rage was all consuming. Columba’s need for vengeance grew until finally she found an avenue for it in Leostrial, and piece by piece, she was bringing Altor and everything he had once loved to destruction.

  Columba frowned suddenly. That wretched man, the assassin. He could have ruined everything. But he was an honourable man and took his work seriously. He knew the importance of discretion.