Longeye

by Sharon Lee

Diathen, her subtle aura betraying neither humor nor temper, inclined her head. She wore a crown of woven starlight; artifice of the highest order. The crown, Becca recalled, though she had never known it, was as old as the Vaitura itself. Beneath it, the stones, feathers, leaves, and flowers woven into the Queen's hair seemed commonplace, embarrassing.

  "Where," the Queen asked in a cold, high voice, "is Altimere the Artificer?"

  "By report of Meripen Vanglelauf, he is returned to the elements from which he was born," Sian answered.

  Diathen closed her eyes. "Is that two of my counselors gone, then, not forgetting our previous losses? Has the news of Zaldore's return been verified?"

  "Yes, my Queen," a grizzled Wood Wise spoke from behind the throne. "Zaldore and her estates have gone, all, to mist."

  "And we with the greatest disaster of our age upon us," Diathen murmured. She opened her eyes and inclined her head to Sian. "What do you bring me in their stead, Engenium of Sea Hold?"

  "Heroes, my Queen." Sian's voice was perfectly serious, her aura unruffled. "Meripen Vanglelauf. Rebecca Beauvelley. A representative of the Little Folk, and . . . Nancy, an artifact."

  Becca stiffened, expecting Diathen to protest Nancy's presence—and relaxed as Meri squeezed her fingers.

  The Queen inclined her head. "Thank you, Engenium," she said calmly, and lifted her chin. "Stand forward, Heroes."

  Meri took one of his long fluid strides, bringing Becca with him. At his knee came the Brethren. Nancy, wings busy, was at Becca's shoulder. Meri bowed, and Becca did. The Brethren bowed. Nancy dropped to one knee on the overcharged air, and inclined her head, arms extended, palms turned up.

  "Be welcome, Meripen Vanglelauf, Rebecca Beauvelley, Little Brother, Nancy. What news?"

  "My Queen," Meri said gently, "you will perhaps have heard of the trees which the heroes have been excising from the keleigh."

  "Indeed, I have heard of and seen these trees," Diathen answered with some asperity. "The Vaitura groans under their weight, nor is there any method known to my philosophers that will either return them or persuade the mist-bound to give over their mad project." She sighed. "Forgive me, Master Vanglelauf, but it is our considered opinion that the Vaitura could do with fewer heroes."

  "My Queen, I agree," Meri said, a ripple of laughter in his voice. "To be a hero is an uncomfortable business at best. However," his voice grew serious once more. "We did not venture before you, heroes though we be, to bring you cold news. Guided by our Little Brother, Rebecca Beauvelley and I crossed to the other side, and there we found . . ." He glanced at Becca, who bowed and took up the tale.

  "The land we crossed to, Queen Diathen," she said, wishing her voice was cool and calm, "has been under the care of my kin for . . . since the Charter was granted at New London. The Beauvelley family takes their responsibilities to the land and those who tend it very seriously. I—it is our service. When I left in company with Altimere, the land was green and lush, reflecting long seasons of care. When we returned . . ." She paused, seeing again that blasted field with its few sorry weeds drying even as they tried to set roots in the sand.

  "When we returned," she said, "the land was . . . a ruin. There were no trees, the soil could not support plants—not even grass! We went to the house of—and spoke to a man who claimed to be my own brother's grandson. I—" She looked into Diathen's face, seeing only distant patience, and continued.

  "It may be, Your Majesty, that he was . . . a little mad, for when I left my family's holding my brother had not yet wed, much less produced a son, and that son produced his own. Yet, on the subject of the disaster that had overtaken the land, I believe he was sincere . . .

  "A wind, he said, had blasted across the world, drying everything, everywhere. The trees fell, the plants died, the crops failed. The folk fail now . . ."

  "And so they would," Diathen interrupted. "Is there more?"

  Becca shook her head. "No, Your Majesty."

  Diathen looked to the Brethren. "Little Brother, what news do you bring us?"

  "There is a hole in the hedge," the Brethren said predictably. "The same hole or many, not even the Longeye will venture. The wind blows up the hole, and the wind blows down the hole, and the roots of the Alltree stretch and break."

  Diathen sighed. "Is there more?"

  "No, High Queen."

  "Yes," Meri said, frowning down at the Brethren with a small shake of his head. "There are monsters leaping into the Vaitura, from out of the keleigh or from the far side, is not certain. Rebecca Beauvelley was attacked by a portion of these creatures, and I have myself seen a unicorn inside the Vaitura, which I am assured is a creature known only to the tales told on the other side."

  "I see." Diathen looked to Nancy.

  "She is mute," Becca said softly. "She can mime somewhat, but—"

  "Nancy." Diathen's high voice overrode Becca's easily. "What news do you bring us?"

  There was a pause, then Nancy rose on effortless wings and flew into the ranks of the counselors. At each empty seat, she alighted, and also upon the shoulders of Fey whom Becca had cause to remember well.

  So many! she thought, and recalled that Altimere had always chosen his guests from among the High Fey, and most especially from among those who sat on the Queen's Constant.

  "Forgive me," Diathen said, as Nancy returned to her place by Becca's shoulder, "if I do not perfectly comprehend your news. Is there someone here who might act as interpreter?"

  Becca cleared her throat. "Your Majesty," she whispered, forcing herself to meet Diathen's cool eyes. "I believe Nancy wishes you to know that—that those whom she indicated are those who lost . . . greater or lesser amounts of kest to—to myself, who then, though the means . . . which you and I have previously discussed, gave it up to Altimere."

  "Is that so?" The Queen raised her head and looked out across her Constant. "Small wonder that we show so weak upon this day, of all our days." She looked back to Nancy.

  "Is there more?"

  Nancy shook her head: No.

  "Very well. Accept, O Heroes, our thanks. And stay! For you have a right to witness what your news has bought us."

  She rose, the stars in her crown piercing the chamber with a cold, pale light.

  "My lords and ladies, I can add nothing to what you have heard from these Heroes—nay! from what you have seen and confronted upon the very lands that lie under your protection! The Vaitura staggers and falls to her knees, and we are powerless to aid her."

  She raised one white finger, rings glittering balefully.

  "We are the spirits and the guardians of this land. Once, in our folly we allowed fear to rule us and in doing so damaged not only ourselves, and not only the Vaitura, but the world entire. There is now as there was then only one right action available to us. The single question we have before us is this: Will we accept the charge that is come to us, or will we cry craven once more?"

  Silence rang in the Queen's Hall. It was Sian who rose next, to bow to Diathen with no hint of anything but respect, her voice unwontedly gentle.

  "Though the act end the Fey, yet we must embrace it, for our ancient duty and our service is to the world. To assuage our horror and our regret, we had made ourselves forget. We must remember now. Remember, and make amends."

  "The end of the Fey is no small matter, my Queen—Lady Engenium!"

  Diathen raised her eyes. "It is to the world, my lord Mondair. We are the makers of the keleigh, the smiters of the world. It is we who broke faith; who huddled in our closet like frightened children and rejected our most holy duty."

  She looked around the room. "Is there more?"

  Silence.

  Diathen swayed a bow, her crown too bright to look upon.

  "My lords and ladies, I call the question. Who will stand with the world, and mend our greatest wrong?"

  Again, it was Sian who spoke first.

  "I join my power and my honor with the Queen. Let us mend what we have cast asunder."

  Diathen's si
lver-green aura gained an edging of turquoise.

  Becca expected argument, politicking, outright refusals. What came was a simple—surprisingly orderly—vote.

  The Fey lord seated next to Sian rose, bowed, and joined his power to the Queen's, adding a filigree of tangerine to her aura.

  The third lord did not join his power, nor did the fifth, nor the twelfth, nor the twenty-third.

  Becca, with Meri's memories, began to worry in earnest. The Constant must be unanimous in its support. If they were not . . . the Vaitura would fall, the trees would fail, both sides of the world would falter and die . . .

  "My lords and ladies," Diathen cried again, "I call the question a second time! Who stands with me?"

  The fifth lord rose hesitantly, looking about him at the others who had not pledged—and threw his lot in with the Queen.

  They are weak, Meri sent, worry tainting his thought. Altimere's predations may have left them unable to act as they must, even if the Constant joins together.

  Becca stirred. Altimere's predations . . .

  "Nancy," she murmured, extending her hand. The little creature landed lightly on her palm.

  "Do you know," Becca whispered, as the twenty-third again refused to join herself with the Queen. "Do you know where Altimere stored the kest I stole for him?"

  A vigorous nod, wings bouncing.

  "Will you help me join that kest to the Queen's purpose?"

  A pause, the tiny head tipped to one side, then another nod, less exuberant than the first, but firm.

  "Can it be done when the Queen calls the question for the third time?"

  Another nod, emphatic.

  "Thank you," Becca whispered. Nancy bounced into the air with a flash of wings, swooped close, and kissed Becca's cheek with her cold lips.

  "My lords and ladies!" Diathen cried. "I call the question for the third time! Do you die a coward or a hero, my lords? Look into your hearts. I am patient."

  "Your Majesty." Becca stood forward and bowed, feeling Meri's shock.

  The fiery figure of the Queen turned. "Rebecca Beauvelley. What would you?"

  "I would," she said, firmly, "join the kest harvested by Altimere to your purpose."

  "Would you, indeed?" the Queen said softly. "If you are able, O Hero, you may do so now."

  "Yes," Becca said, looking around. A flash of jewel-tones warned her, and the shake of surly horns.

  The Brethren walked up to the Queen's brilliant form and, coaxed by a series of pats and pushes from Nancy, knelt and held up a leathery hand.

  Diathen bent and plucked something from its palm, holding it up for all the room to see.

  Altimere's watch.

  Nancy patted the Brethren's unkempt head approvingly. It backed away from Diathen and scurried over to hide behind Meri.

  "Nancy," Becca said. "Is the stolen kest in the watch?"

  The little creature pirouetted, shaking her saucy head.

  Becca sighed. "Will you teach the Queen how to release it to her own use?"

  A brisk nod. Nancy threw herself spread-eagled against the air. Slowly, she brought her arms up until they met above her head. She rested in that position for a moment, then turned a somersault and assumed a stance, hip-shot, stick-like arms folded over her silver breast.

  Baffled, Becca shook her head.

  "Well?" Diathen said. "Riddle me these instructions, Rebecca Beauvelley."

  "Your Majesty, I don't myself under—" She stopped, replaying Nancy's odd mime, recalling Altimere's pride in this watch, made by Becca's own people, that ran through artifice, without kest, only needing to be wound . . .

  "Set the hands," she said slowly at first, then more surely. "Your Majesty, there is a stem at the top of the watch. Pull it out and you may manipulate the hands. Set both the small hand and the large onto the twelve, and—" She looked to Nancy, standing on the air. The little creature gave her an encouraging nod.

  "Yes," she whispered, tear-choked. She kept her eyes on Nancy's tiny form. "Set both the large hand and the small onto the twelve, and push the stem back in."

  There was a pause while Diathen manipulated the unfamiliar object.

  "I love you, Nancy," Becca whispered; "and I will never forget you."

  She had expected—noise. An explosion.

  A zephyr wafted through the Queen's Hall, bearing the scents of violets, pine, and culdoon blossoms. Nancy faded softly into the air, like a snowflake melting against a windowpane.

  Becca covered her eyes with her hands, not because she was ashamed of her tears, but because Diathen was far too bright to look upon.

  "Rebecca Beauvelley, stand forward!"

  Becca started, feeling Meri's arms tighten briefly around her, then let her go. Lost in mourning, she had paid no attention to the final round of voting, but Meri had done better, even as he comforted her.

  The Constant entire had cast in its lot with the Queen.

  Hesitant, Becca stepped forward, and did her best to look at the terrible beauty that had been Diathen the Queen.

  "Rebecca Beauvelley, as the one here who has ties to both sides of the world, it is meet and proper that you shape the new world that is about to emerge from the crucible of our error. Think well, and when you have thought, join with me."

  A fiery hand extended.

  I'm to shape the world? Meri—

  Who better? His thought was calm and pure as ever. You needn't plan every grass stem. Choose what seems good, reject what you know is ill.

  Help me, then!

  We are melded. How can I not help you, and you, me?

  "Rebecca Beauvelley?"

  "A . . . moment, Your Majesty."

  Panicked, she closed her eyes. She tasted the distinctive tang of duainfey along her tongue. Clear sight. Reject what is ill.

  Domination and subjection, she thought—those I reject. Care for the land—and for the sea!—that we must keep, or the world might as well die as I stand here. Kest . . . let there be magic in small things, but let it not be subject to collection, or hoarding, or misuse. Let there be halflings and those to whom the land speaks. Let us each accept our service and find joy in it. Let there be an accord between the high and the low.

  "Art ready, child?"

  "Lady," Becca said slowly. "I am."

  She stepped forward and clasped that fiery hand.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  There was sun in her face. Overhead, birds were arguing; a blade of grass tickled her nose.

  Becca sneezed and opened her eyes.

  A young man lay stretched on his side in the grass before her, his head propped on his hand. His hair hung in a tail over one shoulder, brown-black streaked with auburn. That and his brown skin spoke of someone who had spent most of his years out-of-doors. The worn leathers suggested that he might be a woodsman.

  "A fresh new day to you, Rebecca Beauvelley," he said, and his voice . . .

  Becca sat up, staring down into a lean face made up of stern smooth lines. His eyes were mismatched—one blue and one green—and both focused upon her with some measure of irony.

  "Meri?"

  The corner of his mouth quirked in a way that she knew all too well. "In this brave new world you have made for us—aye. Meri."

  What happened? she sent, but her thought felt strangely flat, as if it had struck the inside of her skull and fallen. After a moment, she asked again.

  "What happened?"

  The smile this time was full, and only a little ironical. "Diathen threw down the keleigh and mended the world." He nodded beyond her. "Look, at what your vision has brought us!"

  She looked up at an azure sky laced with the green branches of trees. The breeze was gentle, the sunlight warm. Beneath her hand, the grass was silken and agreeably damp. There was no mar upon the air, nor any glimmer of ominous forces.

  Dropping her gaze, she found two horses grazing near at hand, a big grey stallion and a smaller chestnut mare, a white star on her forehead.

  "Rosamunde!" she cried joyf
ully. "And—"

  "Brume," Meri murmured. He paused, then said, hesitantly. "I have something here for you to see."

  She turned back to him, blinking at the dry flower of bone in his palm.

  "The sunshield," she said, remembering. "But I—" She looked up into his face.

  "I do not see any threads binding it," she said slowly. "But, Meri—I cannot see your aura!"

  "Nor I, yours," he said gently, and added, with an air of quoting: "Let there be magic in small things, but let it not be subject to collection, or hoarding, or misuse . . ."