by Borderland
She even married a poet, when everybody told her not to. This was Randal, a Worlder who’d come to the Borderlands to learn enough magic to power the world’s fastest motorcycle. Not the sort of guy you’d expect a rising young power to favor. But Lena says she’s always been mad for red hair. And in fact, Randal’s not as crazy as most poets. He spends most of his time now on Council stuff and prettying up his cycle. It still doesn’t go very fast, but it looks real good.
So I know my mother means well, but I still want to kill her when she starts going on about my Good Qualities. It is a small, peevish comfort to me that, where her only child is concerned, my mother’s famous diplomacy is a joke.
They want me to dye my hair. My very own silver hair, which looks bleached but isn’t, which looks elven but isn’t. The thing is, the M-Bassy Ball guest list is very carefully made up to be half human, half elf. Just like the High Council. All the Council folk come, along with the seriously important ones they do business with. It’s supposed to be this big party where we all rub shoulders and show how well we get along. In years where the political situation in the city is tricky, the least little thing can set off an Incident. Elves can be very touchy when it suits them. Lena doesn’t want any elf getting the notion that her daughter is trying to look Elvin.
It’s not as though I couldn’t dye it and get away with it. Dark purple is a big thing this year, because of that band, the Guttertramps. But I like my hair the way it is. Everyone in the city knows I was born with it. I don’t see why, now that I’m sixteen and going to Council functions, I have to pretend to turn into someone else.
My best friend Lise says she’d shave her head if it meant getting a ball invite. But that doesn’t mean much: she shaved her head last year, and painted rainbows on it. Lise is very artistic. I wish she could come with me, because I dance a lot better when I’m watching her, kind of following the steps. Two years ago we were going to run away together. Her father’s wives were being a pain, and Lena and Randal were threatening to make me stay home at night unless my school papers got better. So we were going to get these grubby clothes and pretend to be boys and escape.
The dumb thing was, there wasn’t anywhere to run away to. You can’t get into Elfland (not that I’d want to!) and there are no other real towns in the Borderlands, just farming villages and stuff like that. Lise said if all the artists in the World really do come here, it meant there weren’t any left down in the World, and if we went there, she could make a lot of money. But I said they all left because it was even more boring down there than here. Everyone knows the Worlders are totally without brains, music, or style. So in the end we stayed where we were. And Lise got picked to do the scenery for the Full Moon Festival at school. And my parents let me go with this boy to the Dancing Ferret in Soho. He kissed me after, but I didn’t see the point, and I don’t think he did, either. I think he only asked me out because his mother told him to: all the traders want to get in good with people on the Council.
I wonder sometimes if the elf kids have to put up with this kind of thing. Council elf kids and rich traders and such live on the Hill, too, but on the other side, nearer the river. They go to a different school, and they’re always dressed really sharp. But you don’t really hang out with them unless it’s at one of those Soho clubs no one’s parents really approve of. It used to be that only real Slummers went down there, trying to pretend they were some kind of gang; but things are different now. Slummers still slum, but the rest of us go for the music, when we get the chance. There are private clubs all over the Hill, but they’re not too hot, and there’s no mixing. A human could never get into an elf club on the Hill.
It would serve them right if I shaved my head.
II.
I’m scared now, really scared. Too much depends on this. And I have to do it alone. Which means that, no matter what happens, if I fail, there’s no one else to blame. But there’s no one else he can turn to. I’m his only hope.
Silvan. The man in green.
Two days before the Ball, the word went round the inner circles of Bordertown: important elvin personages would be attending, from the Lands Beyond the Border. (Of course it threw the balance of the guest list off. They had to suddenly invite more humans.) In Council the elves were especially touchy all week, trying to gain points, to show their power. Old disputes about fishing rights resurfaced, and Windreed proposed a tax on ground corn, of all things! Dinner at our house— when we got to eat in private—was nothing but griping from Lena and Randal, how impossible the situation was, how they’d trusted Riverrun to take a moderate stance on the fishing issue but she’d got a bug up her pants like all the rest, must be acting on higher orders and blah blah blah. At least they forgot to nag me about my hair.
So the night of the M-Bassy Ball I did myself up right: tight-laced boots up to the thigh, that flashed out between layers of elvin glitter cloth when I walked, moved, danced. Bare arms with silver cuffs. And black glitter in my hair. Conservative, but striking. If I wasn’t going to turn heads, at least I didn’t have to be embarrassed either.
We hauled out the carriage for the.occasion. Because the night was warm, we got to ride with the top down, which I always love. It’s such a heavy old piece of junk that it doesn’t go too fast, even with both horses pulling it. And you have to take the widest streets. Once you get past the Old Wall, of course, that isn’t a problem: they built streets for two or three carriages, back in those days. Finally we pulled up at the M-Bassy building. Behind the guards, Soho punks were hanging around watching to see who drove up next. We had to wait behind another carriage, a little number obviously made out of wood, with old machine parts tacked on to make it look more realistic. Then we passed our invitations by the gatemen and went on in.
I wasn’t prepared to be so impressed. The M-Bassy Ball was like nothing I’d ever seen: more like the opening of Council than like going to a club or even a party. There was a giant staircase that curved, and you came down it with everyone watching from the bottom. Lena and Randal looked great, as always, but with all those eyes on them they seemed like stars. Like the best act in the hottest club in town. I had this stupid feeling like I was going to cry. Because there I was, their daughter, and even if I wasn’t so great, like not brilliant or pretty or coordinated, we were all three of us a unit, we belonged together, and there was nothing anyone could do to change that.
At the bottom of the staircase was the crowd of people, the music, and the food. I mostly checked out what everyone was wearing. People were looking good. And everyone who'd been coming to my parents’ house since I was a baby came up to me and told me how great I looked. Which was nice of them. I smiled until my face hurt.
This boy Johnsson who goes to my school and whose father is an important trader came up to me and rolled his eyes like, “Is this boring or what?” So I had to give the same look back like I agreed with him. He said, “You wanna dance later?” and I said, “Sure.” Later. Maybe I’d better get drunk before then.
I wandered off in search of drinks. Then I realized nobody else was moving. The room went quiet. Everyone was looking up at the staircase..
Coming down it was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Elf or human. I mean it. Long silvery hair floated back from her face like a cloud or as if she were standing looking out to sea. She was slender and graceful. And her face was . . . well, it was perfect. I can’t describe it any better without making it sound like I had a lech on her, which I definitely did not. It was just perfect.
Then something creepy happened. All the elves in the room got down on the knee. It made a rustling sound, like the wind on the hillside. Every human was left standing up, feeling awkward. We really showed, looming above their heads like that.
The band had stopped playing. In the perfect silence, there was the elf woman’s glittery laughter.
Then everybody got up off their knees and began to move around again. It seemed that I was the only one still watching the stairs. Behind the woman cam
e a man, elvin like her, all dressed in green, from boots to the tie that held back his long silver hair. There’s a certain shade of green that only elves can look really good in. No B-town men were wearing long hair this year—everything about him said Elfland. The man in green was not perfect. He went beyond perfect to beautiful: nose not quite straight, eyes a little long. Not that anyone would find him ugly—certainly the gorgeous lady didn’t. When he got to the bottom, she put her arm in his.
I’m not nuts about elves or anything. A lot of girls go through a phase when they get crushes on elves, especially musicians in bands, and they won’t even look at human guys. The whole thing’s pretty sick if you ask me. Nobody needs more halfies in the world.
So I turned away from the newcomers. I almost ran into Windreed. He bowed to me with that mocking half smile of his. “The daughter of the House of Flame looks splendid tonight.”
“I thank you,” I said correctly. There was a silence I was obviously supposed to fill. “Uh . . . that was some entrance, just now.”
He looked pleased. Either I’d just made a fool of myself, or it was the right thing to say. “The new Lady and her Lord honor us.”
“Yes,” I replied, trying to keep from fidgeting under his pale gaze, “very much.” Go away, I thought fiercely at him. Everyone knows you’re the coldest, meanest, toughest elf in Council. Go pick on someone your own size!
As if in answer to my plea, Shoshana Mizmag appeared behind him. “Windreed!” she said. The woman knows no fear. I hope I’m like that when I’m forty. “I’ll forgive you insulting me in Council yesterday if you’ll come dance with me now!”
His formal face thawed a bit. Elves love to tease. “Formidable lady! At home we have a Dance Challenge. How I would love to test you in it!”
“How you would love to give me a heart attack!” She chuckled. “But not tonight, sir. I know about those elvin contests. Nice if we could settle all city disputes
over possessions by dancing, but somehow I don’t think the town would go for it. And this is a civilized party. Tonight we dance away our troubles, but nothing more substantial.”
“Certainly not, to this music.” The old elf almost sniffed.
“What a traditionalist! Elvin folk music by all means, but not at the ball; here we must be stylish or perish! Shall we hurl ourselves into the fray?”
“And let others profit by our example?” he said. “Look!”
We looked.
It was the Lady, the silver-haired lady, dancing with ' my father. Randal looked like an amiable, shaggy red bear beside her. He also looked like he was having fun.
“An example has been set,” said Windreed smugly. He offered Shoshana his hand.
When the band really got going, there wasn’t much for me to do but watch and listen. They were fantastic, and it was wild to see all the Councillors and powers, human and elvin, enjoying themselves like normal club-goers. I didn’t see Johnsson, which was good: there’s nothing worse than having to dance with the only free person in the room. It gives new meaning to the phrase, “I wouldn’t do it with you if you were the last human in the World.”
The silver Lady was everywhere. I’d sell my soul for a pair of enchanted shoes that could make me dance the way she did. It’s a good thing that that magic stuff doesn’t work reliably in Bordertown, or I’d be minus one soul now. As for her escort, he was hard to spot. I noticed him once, leaning against a wall peeling a piece of fruit with his fingers. But I quickly looked away. He was doing it so carefully, so smoothly, with delicate concentration; it was as though I had come on him
undressing someone. Someone. All right—it was as though I’d come on him undressing a woman. I didn’t stick around to watch him take a bite.
When the Lady left the room, everyone pretended not to notice. She paused in the doorway, and for a moment her eyes seemed to stare into mine. The dancers closed ranks over the silver trail she left. I followed.
I just did. It was the same impulse that led me once to the Elven Wheat Sheaf: wanting to get away with something I shouldn’t. And a faint feeling that I could do it.
She didn’t go far, just down a wide hallway, dimly lit and private. Her Lord was waiting there.
I didn’t dare get close enough to hear what they were saying. I scrunched myself into the darkness of the window bay. Even just standing and talking they looked like they were dancing. It made my throat hurt, watching. Suddenly she turned sharply away from him, lovely as a swan wheeling over a lake. I heard myself make a small noise. He held out his arms to her. She pulled him to her, close, his green and her silver together. His mouth was against her ear, moving her hair. She stood back a pace, looking at him. Then she lifted her arm and slapped him, hard, across the face.
And he just stood there. He didn’t even look angry. She took off a ring and gave it to him. And he put it on his finger.
I remember hearing the band playing a new hit, “Free Me,” the music faint but followable if you already knew the words:
Used to gaze with my heart,
Follow my fingers home.
Did you want me or my need?
Then there was hope,
Now there’s none—
Free me!
Once I burned for your touch
Now even one look is too much—
Free me!
Rope me to the wind and set me free,
Cuts like a knife,
Power scream,
Ten thousand volts is not enough
To free me .. .
She left him then and went back down the hall to the dancing. I could have reached out and touched her drifting silver tunic. She was smiling to herself as she went by.
Of course it was none of my business. Some weird elvin ritual. Or maybe what I’d just seen was only your basic lovers’ spat, just because Randal and Lena never slug each other doesn’t mean I’m ignorant.
I didn’t even know who they were. Even in B-town, surrounded by elves, there’s a lot about the customs of Elfland we don’t know. You get the feeling that if the elves in B-town had been so in love with their home, they wouldn’t have settled in the Borderlands. So it’s no wonder they don’t talk about Elfland much. “The new Lady and her Lord,” Windreed had said. Some kind of rulers or powers, then, come down past the Border to check out the ball, pick up some good food for cheap, or maybe get a kick out of having a roomful of elves bow to them. . . .
She’d passed me, but I didn’t know where he’d gone. So, cautiously, I stuck my head out to look.
He was standing where she’d left him, turning the ring on his finger. I don’t know why he looked up then. But my hair was very bright in the gloom of the half-lit hall, and he saw me.
“Maiden,” he said.
I just froze. I literally couldn’t move. I didn’t want to.
“Don’t come out,” he said. “Wait there for me.”
What could I do, jump out the window? I watched him come down the hall to me, until we were both standing in the tiny space of the window bay together, looking out over Soho.
He reeked of magic. I felt dizzy. He might have been trying to cast a spell, but if he was, it wasn’t working. I had the feeling, though, that magic just clung to him as grace and beauty did to the Lady.
He was much taller than me, so he sat on the windowsill. I could barely see his face. His words came out of darkness.
“The Summons,” he said. “And so soon. Maiden, I am afraid.”
“Oh,” I said, because saying anything, no matter how dumb, was better than letting that lie there. “I’m sorry.”
I mean, nobody had ever talked to me that way before. Beautiful strangers out of nowhere don’t start suddenly telling you how afraid they are. Not in real life. Maybe in stories.
“Can I help?” I said.
I thought he’d say, like, “Oh, no, thanks a lot, it’s just really got me down,” (only Elfland-y). But he said, “Yes.”
“I can help?” I repeated, to be sure.
&
nbsp; “If you will. Because you’ve offered. I am not allowed to ask for help; but if you offer it, I can take it.”
This was beginning to sound a lot like magic. I hated to disappoint him, but I'm not real good at that stuff. I can’t even put a few extra RPMs on Randal’s bike. “Are you under a spell?” I asked.
I could hear his smile in the dark. “No, maiden. Not really. The Lady chose me last year at Dancing Night. It is my pleasure to serve her”—here I’ll swear he blushed—“in all things. I could ask for no greater honor.” Suddenly he pulled off the ring. The twisted silver caught the light. “But this honor is too much!” he said angrily. “I had no idea she would Summon me.” “Summon you where?”
“Forever,” he whispered, staring at the ring. “Not from one Dancing Night to the next, but to stay by her side for the rest of her life.”
“You don’t love her?” I asked softly.
“Love the Lady?” he said bitterly. “One doesn’t love the Lady; one serves her. Maybe I’ll learn to love her, over the years . .
“Is it someone else?” I couldn’t believe I was daring to ask a question like that. But something about the way he was trusting me, putting himself in my hands, made me feel it was all right.
“No,” he said. “There’s no one else I’ve loved. And now there never will be. I’m young, you know; she was the first. And I was so pleased when she said she’d take me to Bordertown. I’ve always wanted to see it. I’ve heard stories about the music, the dancing . . . It’s different here. You get the feeling that anything could happen.”
Anything can, I thought.
“I would stay here, I think, if I could,” he went on. “But we must be back to Kingsmound by the New Moon. And then we'll go back Under the Hill and that will be that. For our lifetime.” He sounded so sad.
“I said I’d help. I will. Just tell me what to do.”
