by Frewin Jones
Edric? Who’s Edric? Wait, this doesn’t make sense.
Evan bowed his head. “Your eternal servant, my lord,” he said.
“Evan?” Anita called down. “What’s going on? Why are you talking like that?”
“My lady.” Gabriel touched her arm. “The man you knew as Evan is my bonded servant, Edric Chanticleer. I sent him into the Mortal World to find you and bring you home to your rightful place.”
Anita gave a breathless laugh. “No, you’ve got it all wrong,” she said. “He’s my boyfriend.”
Gabriel gazed at her with his deep silvery eyes and she felt a shiver of unease. What was going on? Her dream was getting out of hand. This wasn’t how it should be.
She put her hand to her head, struggling to clear her thoughts. “Listen,” she said. “I’m not a princess. This place isn’t real. That guy down there is my boyfriend, and his name is Evan Thomas.” She stared hard at Gabriel. “And I’d really like to wake up now, please, before this gets any weirder.”
Gabriel smiled at her, his gray eyes filled with compassion. “My lady, you have lived too long in the nightmare of the Mortal World. It is time for you to wake and remember who you truly are.”
Anita shook her head. “No,” she insisted. “Evan and I had an accident, and I think maybe my brain got a bit scrambled. Or it could be the painkillers they gave me, which might be giving me these crazy dreams.” She looked straight into Gabriel’s eyes. “Either way, you’re not real. Evan is my boyfriend, and just before the boat hit the bridge, he was going to tell me he loved me.”
Gabriel shook his head. “Not so,” he said softly. “He was going to tell you who you really are—Princess Tania, seventh daughter of King Oberon and Queen Titania—and that he had been sent to bring you home.”
Anita turned away from him and leaned over the banister. “Tell him the truth, Evan!” she begged.
The man in green lifted his head and looked at her. Looked at her with Evan’s eyes. “The truth is as Lord Drake has told you,” he said. “I am but his lordship’s servant, sent to bring you back to Faerie.”
“No!” Anita shouted. “You love me and I love you. Please, Evan, don’t do this to me.”
She felt as if the dream was spiraling away from her, darkening and warping and changing into a terrifying, spiteful nightmare. Why would her mind do this to her?
Evan turned to Gabriel. “Do I have your leave to depart, my lord?”
“Yes, you may go,” Gabriel said. “You have done well.”
Evan stood up, bowed, and walked the length of the hall to a pair of wide doors that stood open. Anita stared after him, too miserable and disturbed to speak. At the doorway, Evan turned and gave one final bow before stepping back and drawing the doors closed behind him.
The echoing boom of the closing doors struck Anita like a blow to her stomach. Her mind was flooded with feelings of hurt and betrayal. Could this be true? Did this mean that Evan had never loved her? Had it all been pretense?
In a shadowy corner of her mind, a small voice screamed that none of this could possibly be real. But it felt real—it felt all too real, and the emotions that burned through her were as intense as anything she had ever known in her life.
“Why am I here?” she whispered. “Why is this happening?” She closed her eyes and leaned on the wooden rail.
Her thoughts were broken by that familiar soft, velvet voice. “By your leave, my lady, I would like to take you to your father.”
Anita opened her eyes and stared at him in surprise. “My dad? He’s here?”
“He has waited long for your return, my lady.”
“Not that long,” Anita pointed out. “I saw him only last night.”
“Not for five times a hundred years have you beheld your father, the High King Oberon,” Gabriel said.
“Oh, right, him,” Anita said. “I thought you meant—Well, never mind.” She straightened up. “Okay, Gabriel, since I seem to be stuck in this dream for the time being, I might as well go along with it. Take me to the King.”
Gabriel lifted a candle from a sconce on the wall and opened the small door that led down from the gallery. “After you, my lady.”
She raised one eyebrow. “Too right, after me,” she said. “Who’s the princess around here?”
The palace that Gabriel led her through looked very different now. The rooms and hallways were dark and silent and lifeless. All the bright lights and the sound of happy voices were gone. There was a musty, sour smell in the air. The tapestries and paintings hung shrouded in deep, brooding shadows. A dark, gloomy sky stretched away beyond the dusty, cobwebbed windows. There were no stars.
They walked silently in a pool of flickering candlelight. The darkness opened grudgingly in front of them and closed bleakly at their backs.
Anita shivered. “Where did everyone go? It wasn’t like this when we arrived.”
“What you saw then was only an illusion,” Gabriel said. “I wished to show you the Royal Palace as you had known it.” There was deep sadness in his eyes. “Few now live in the palace, and none are merry.”
“Why’s that?” Anita asked.
“Time froze in Faerie when your father heard about the death of your mother, Queen Titania,” Gabriel said. “She died tragically, soon after your own vanishing.” He walked to the window and cracked it open. Cold air wafted in from the gloom. “It has been twilight here for five hundred years. The whole of Faerie shares in Oberon’s grief.” He looked at her, and now his eyes were shining. “It is my hope that the joy of your return will lift the King’s long despair.” He smiled. “We may yet see a glorious sunrise. And then you will witness such sights, my lady, such marvelous sights!”
Anita smiled back. “That would be nice,” she said. “So the Queen is dead, is that what you said?”
“Indeed. Your mother drowned, my lady.”
“That’s sad,” Anita said. “But she wasn’t my mother. My mum can swim like a fish; she won medals for it when she was a girl. Breaststroke, butterfly, freestyle.” She looked at Gabriel. “You haven’t got a clue what I’m talking about, have you?”
“Your speech is sometimes strange to me, my lady,” Gabriel said.
“My speech?” Anita said. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Gabriel inclined his head with a smile. They had come to a large arched door. He twisted the black handle and pushed it open, then stepped aside to allow Anita through.
She found herself in a long courtyard. Tall, dark, red-brick buildings crowded all around her. She could see square battlements, jet black against the sky. Ahead of them, an arched gateway led into darkness.
Gabriel guided her across the courtyard and through the gateway. It led to an open area of long lawns and cobbled paths. Now that she was away from the musty smell and the sad silence of the empty palace, Anita began to feel better. Walking beside Gabriel under the twilit sky, she felt a dreamy excitement wash over her. This was only a dream, and now she was being taken to see the King of Faerie. How cool was that?
The lawn-flanked path sloped gently away from them. Anita heard the soft ripple of water and realized they were approaching a river. Away to her right stood the pale white towers of the bridge over which she and Gabriel had first come.
The river lay deep and wide and drowsy between the banks. Anita saw a jetty, a tongue of darkness that stretched out over the black water.
She turned to look at Gabriel. His eyes were glowing like moons. Behind him, the angled shapes of the palace were outlined against the horizon—turrets and towers, battlemented walls, great spires and steeples of stone, black against the perpetual evening of Faerie.
On the far bank of the river, wharves and jetties and low-roofed buildings bit into a forest of tall trees. No leaf stirred. No bird sang.
Anita became aware of a huge wooden barge moored at the far end of the jetty, lapped by the bloated belly of the silent river. A single lantern hung at its high prow, but the light it gave off was sickly and yell
ow. More torches lined the bows, but none were lit.
Gabriel stepped down into the barge. He held out a hand. Anita took it and climbed down next to him. She felt a thrill of amazement as she looked around. The wooden barge was covered all over with intricate carvings—stylized shapes of intertwined leaves and branches and flowers. An awning made of heavy dark cloth shrouded the rear half of the barge. Figures of people and animals were woven into the material. She couldn’t make out the shapes very clearly in the flickering, greasy lantern light, but she thought she glimpsed a unicorn, and maybe even a winged lion.
“The King’s here?” Anita whispered.
Gabriel nodded. He drew aside a curtain of the dense material. Anita saw that candles were lit within. The light was dim and smoky.
“Here goes nothing.” Taking a deep breath, she ducked under the awning.
At the far end of the barge, deep in shadows, Anita saw a seated man. She caught her breath; the air thrilled in her lungs as though charged with electricity.
The King of Faerie was sitting on an ornately carved chair with a high arched back and padded leather arms. He was dressed in similar clothes to Gabriel, except that his doublet and hose were black, fur-trimmed, and lined with white satin. His doublet was embroidered with white threads and beaded with jewels.
His head rested against threadbare velvet cushions. His golden hair hung around a lean, care-lined face. Anita had seen that face before, just for a few moments, when she had first stepped onto the gallery above the Great Hall. It was the man she had seen on the throne, the man with the neat beard and mustache, with the sharp, angled cheekbones and the flashing blue eyes. Except now his expression was filled with sadness and his eyes were hooded, as if he was lost in deep, heartbreaking memories.
“Your Grace.” Gabriel’s voice startled Anita. For a moment she had been totally lost in that sad, noble face.
The King looked up.
Anita felt a shiver of something between apprehension and delight as those bright eyes came to rest on her face. As she watched, the King’s eyes widened and a look of astonishment spread over his face.
“Hi there,” Anita said tentatively.
The King suddenly leaned forward, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. “It cannot be!” he murmured, his voice a low, rumbling growl. He rose from his chair and his face slowly transformed, at first with disbelief, and then with absolute bliss.
“Tania!”
“Well, not exactly—” Anita began, but she had no time to say anything else as the King surged up out of his throne and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him in a fierce, breathtaking embrace.
Anita stood stiffly in his arms, feeling embarrassed and awkward, her feet almost clear of the floor. His fur collar was right in her face, filling her nose and mouth.
“Uh, excuse me.” She gasped. “I can’t breathe!”
The arms relaxed and the King’s hands came up to cup her cheeks. She felt even more uncomfortable as he stared into her face with an expression of such absolute happiness that all she could do was hang there and smile uncertainly up at him.
“My daughter!” he said, his voice amazed. “Tania. Dear heart. Are you truly here, or is this but an illusion?”
“It’s definitely me,” Anita said. “Sort of.”
“I must see you more clearly,” said the King. Anita allowed herself to be led out into the open. Again, he scrutinized her face with wide, ecstatic eyes. “It is you, indeed,” he said. “And you are as I remembered—the very image and reflection of your mother.”
Anita smiled at this. All her life people had commented on the fact that she looked nothing like her parents. Now she understood why—her real parents were Faeries! Why hadn’t she thought of that before?
Because you’ve never been in such a crazy dream before, that’s why!
Oberon stepped away from her, his face transformed with elation. He tilted his head back, his mouth opening to let out a shout of pure joy. He lifted his arms up to the sky, his voice ringing out like a peal of bells.
A sphere of light appeared in his cupped hands, and as Anita stared up in amazement, the light surged out from between his fingers, bright and piercing, flashing like sapphires, burning like blue flame.
As the echo of his voice rolled back from the walls and battlements, Oberon slowly spread his arms, and as he did so the brightness poured up from him in a fountain of brilliant blue fire. The column of light gushed upward, fanning out, spreading rapidly over the dark sky. It lifted like a great wave, curling and breaking at its peak, scattering and cascading down from horizon to horizon, banishing the darkness, bathing the whole world in a glorious burst of daylight.
Anita staggered backward, lifting her arms to shield her eyes.
She heard a sound like laughter rising around her. Deep, rumbling laughter, as if mountains were laughing; high, keening laughter that was like the cry of seagulls; a silvery, shivering laughter as of running water; and a sibilant, gusty laughter like the wind in tall trees.
Her ears still ringing, she stared around. The dull gray twilight world had been transformed. The sun was riding high in a clear, blue sky. The river sparkled as it ran swiftly between its banks. Sunlight glinted on the red-brick walls of the palace. The forest was a field of glittering emerald leaves, rustling gently, filled with birdsong. The heat of the sun warmed her face and a warm breeze ruffled her hair.
And at the center of this new-waked universe stood the Faerie King, smiling down at Anita as if she was the brightest thing in this bright new world.
She gasped. “How did you do that?”
“I am Oberon,” he said, as if that explained everything.
She turned in a slow circle. It was unbelievable. Stunning. Now she almost could believe that she was in the Realm of Faerie.
Gabriel was standing behind her. “Not alone did the King reawaken the light,” he said gently. “It is you, my lady, who is at the heart of this miracle.”
“And it was you, Lord Drake, who returned my daughter to me,” Oberon said. “Your rewards shall be as great as it is in my power to bestow.”
Gabriel dropped to one knee. “I ask nothing more than to be your most devoted servant,” he said, lowering his head. “All that I have done was done for your sake, and for the eternal Realm of Faerie.”
Oberon stepped forward and rested his hand on Gabriel’s head. “This I believe to be true,” he said, then his tone grew a little grimmer. “And in gratitude, I shall not ask by what dark arts you returned my daughter to me.” As Gabriel looked up at the King, Anita glimpsed a flash of apprehension in his silver-gray eyes.
“Rise, Lord Drake,” Oberon said. “In recognition of your service to me and to Faerie, I grant you the Earldom of Sinadon. From henceforward you shall be Lord Chancellor and sit at my right hand in my Council.”
“Your Grace honors me far beyond my desires or my merits,” Gabriel breathed as he rose to his feet.
“And now,” Oberon said, turning to Anita, “I wish to speak with my daughter.” He called out, “Wardens, throw back the shrouds, and bring food and wine.”
Men in holly green uniforms appeared out of the shadows, and the heavy draperies were rolled up and tied back so that the new sunlight was able to flood into the covered cabin at the back of the barge.
Oberon rested an arm around Anita’s shoulders and drew her under the awning once more. He sat on the carved wooden chair and gestured for her to sit on a padded stool at his feet. Gabriel followed them and stood quietly behind the King’s chair.
For what seemed to Anita like a very long time, the King sat there gazing at her. Gradually, as the thrill of what had just happened became less overwhelming, she began to feel awkward and uncomfortable. She glanced up at Gabriel and he smiled reassuringly at her.
A servant placed a dish of fruit on a low table at her side. Another servant brought a jug of dark red cordial and three crystal glasses. The King made a small gesture with his fingers, and the servant pour
ed the drink before slipping silently away.
Oberon lifted two glasses, handing one to Gabriel. “To your return, Princess Tania,” he said. “And to the blessed Realm of Faerie reborn.”
Anita picked up her glass and the three glasses touched rims with a single ringing chime. She sniffed the cordial. It smelled richly of fruit. She sipped. It tasted delicious, and as she swallowed, a warm glow went down through her.
She looked up at the King. “So, what happens now?” she asked.
“The rest of eternity,” Oberon replied. He smiled. “Do you remember the song we used to sing?” He began to sing in a deep, sonorous voice:
“Willow pale, willow fair, willow tree bowed in care,
Dangle your yellow hair, willow, sweet willow, sad willow.
I come to speak with you, garlands of morning dew,
Bathing you all anew, willow, sweet willow, sad willow…”
He paused, looking at her as if he expected her to do something.
“I’m sorry,” Anita said. “I don’t know it.”
He frowned. “We sang it many times together,” he said, sounding puzzled and even a little bit hurt. “And Zara would play the spinetta.” He looked closely at her. “Do you truly not remember?”
She shook her head. “Sorry. I’d love to, but I don’t remember a thing.” She gave him a regretful smile. It didn’t seem like the right time to point out to him that this was all just a dream. “I don’t even know what a spinetta is.”
The King leaned back, turning his head to look questioningly up at Gabriel.
“She has been lost in the Mortal World for five hundred years, Your Grace,” Gabriel said. “All that she once was sleeps now in her mind. But I do not doubt that time will bring back her memories.”
Oberon nodded. “Time, and the company of those who love you,” he said, smiling again at Anita. “Lord Drake, will you take my daughter to her chamber?” He rested his hand against Anita’s cheek. “There you will find raiment and other such things that may help you to remember who you truly are.”
She frowned at him. “Raiment?”
“Clothes,” Gabriel explained, coming around from behind the King’s chair and holding out a hand to her. She took it and stood up.
