What Do You Say to a Naked Elf?

by Cheryl Sterling

  “And I, Eagar Currge of Sylthia,” said a weak voice.

  Charlie swiveled on his mount. He gazed at the steward, who stood in an archway to the courtyard. One hand gripped the stone for support, the other dangled a cane, as if he disdained relying on it. Dressed in his habitual black, Eagar struggled to hold himself erect. He took a tentative step forward.

  “Good King Tuniesin,” he said, bowing to the monarch. “I beg your forgiveness for my sorry appearance. As you must be aware, I have been in my sickbed. I arise to accompany you, if it is your wish. The Earthwoman remains my responsibility.”

  Charlie bristled at his words. King Garmade gave her to Muttle and me to watch. Anyway, with Tivat alive, she is no longer a prisoner. He ached to shout his newfound identity, to lay claim to the power that would free Jane.

  King Tuniesin bowed to Eagar. “Join us, Eagar Currge of Sylthia,” he said, holding out his hand. “You are most welcome in this historic hunt. Today we not only free the Earthwoman, but also our world of the dreadful scourge of the sandobbles. Residents of Lowth will rejoice.”

  Someone in the crowd shouted. Soon others joined, an excited buzz swelling through their ranks.

  Eagar shuffled to the monarch’s side and stiffly bowed. A page ran to fetch a new mount, delaying the hunt. A groomsman brought a pony and assisted the steward into its saddle.

  A half hour after sunrise, a party of one hundred and sixty Isleighahans, a Malik hunter, and four determined Malinese set out to find Jane.

  They headed due west on trails that did not show before they reached them and blended into the forest once they passed. A blushing gray tinted the sky and shaded darker as they drew nearer to the storm. The wind stirred the previous autumn’s leaves, twirling them in patterns among those who flew. All around him, Charlie could feel the magic of the old woods.

  Enchantment lay everywhere, but the music enthralled him the most. Rhythmic tinkles and splashes as the Isleighahans forded streams, melodies coaxed from the trees—the trill of the willows, the rumbling bass of the oaks. The fairies harmonized. Those on the ground and in the air sang.

  They set out to win a victory, and the songs echoed their hope. Ancient words filled the air, words of triumph and pride, of valiant deeds and honor, of death hard-won. He joined them, a clear tenor woven among the other voices, the verses and their meanings, once unknown, coming from him as if he’d read them only this morning.

  Charlie recalled the tales of Princess Elaine, of how she’d loved to sing. He wondered if her spirit lived on in the woods. Or in him.

  After a time, they reached the edge of the Isleighah Forest, and the songs faded. How much time he could not tell, for the magic pulsed strong.

  By unspoken agreement, they broke for a midday meal and to lay the last pieces of their strategy. King Tuniesin approached Charlie, who leaned against a tree eating bread and cheese.

  “You did not fly,” he chastised, waving away the other’s attempt to stand.

  “Sire, you store great confidence in my abilities. As I said last night, I am sadly out of practice. Even if I could support myself, I would tire in minutes.”

  The monarch gestured to the trees, where many of his subjects had landed to eat and rest. “You will have noticed that we do not stay aloft for long. Flying is tiring. Endurance is for the young and for warriors.”

  “We are warriors today,” Charlie reminded him. He did not like to think of the consequences if his plan did not work.

  “You proudly wear the jouroke.” Tuniesin nodded toward the garment. “I am surprised, after your protests.”

  “No more than I. But it is tradition, and though I have denied it for many years, I am of fairy blood. My kinswoman gave it as a gift. Perhaps she knows it may be needed before the day ends.” He gazed past the forest edge, to the rolling plain and the gathered storm clouds. Somewhere close by, Jane waited for him. He itched to end this delay and run into the flowing grasses to see her again. Fly if he must. Nothing would separate them. Except her decision to return to Earth.

  The king clapped him on the shoulder, startling him from his thoughts. “Do not let fear of others’ ridicule sway you,” he said. “We have flown since infancy and have more experience. Besides, if you choose to join us, it is an effortless thing to ride the air currents. Have you never flown?”

  Charlie thought of his disastrous attempts with the Malin Village boys mocking him. “Fifteen years ago,” he admitted.

  “Ah, you were a lad then,” the king said. “You are now a man and a future king. Though you are not to rule the fey, your participation will be the thing of which songs are made. Come, we must talk of your plan and put it into action.”

  They gathered, Tuniesin and Rasleigh, Bryant and others.

  “The storm moves north,” Hugh said, tracing an invisible path in the air from the mountains to the Andair Plains. “An unusual direction. Jane does not control it. I believe the land acts on its own.” He paused and looked at the others, as if daring them to dispute his claim. “Her power is weaker than before. I cannot tell if she is hurt or hindered in some way.” His gaze held his brother’s. A silent communication passed between them. Charlie knew Hugh did not hold back any news.

  “An isolated storm brews north of the main one,” Hugh said. “It’s small, unnatural. I’m certain Jane makes it.” He swept his hand and pointed to a spot on the horizon about a mile distant. “There. That darker smudge. If you look close, you’ll see it rains in fits and starts. She uses it to keep the sandobbles at bay.”

  Hope grew in Charlie’s heart. Jane’s dark smudge signified the first good thing of the day. Turning, he asked the king, “What do your scouts say?”

  “Much the same,” Tuniesin replied, stroking his chin. “A ring of sandobbles and an unusual cloud of rain. They cannot tell what lies inside.”

  My Jane, Charlie thought, pleased at her resourcefulness. “Are your warriors ready?” he asked Rasleigh, who nodded. At last they’d start. “Then we split, half to fly in from the south, using Lowth’s storm as cover. Half from the east. Stay low. Bryant, can you direct the wind from here?”

  The hunter gestured to the plains. “I’ll pass on the king’s offer to be flown to the scene. I can conjure a windstorm to take all the sandobbles to the Tahmdee.”

  Charlie grinned at his fervor. “Make sure you do not create so much that our friends are blown away as well. We need their wing power to dry out the creatures.” His plan, from the moment they’d carried Jane away, had been to dehydrate the sandobbles. He’d noticed the trail they left—dried lumps that had fallen off the main group. With Bryant and the fairies working together, they would reduce the enemy to sand and rescue Jane.

  Hugh raised his finger. “Perhaps,” he said, “you might tell the lady in question to stop her storm. Otherwise, we will dry them out only to have her bring them back to life.”

  That would be like her. Mayhem. The woman is nothing but mayhem. Charlie wouldn’t have had her any other way.

  “It would be easier if Muttle were here,” he said, missing the easy communication of the Belwaith.

  “You can’t talk to her?” Hugh asked.

  Eagar, until then a quiet observer, spoke. “What’s this?”

  “They sometimes talk with their minds, as Muttle and Calme do,” Hugh clarified.

  Charlie shot him a look that should have spliced him open. He regretted he’d shared that information with him. Eagar didn’t need to know everything.

  “Is this true?” the steward asked, his eyes narrowed.

  “Yes. Sometimes,” Charlie hedged.

  “Then you must use this talent,” King Tuniesin ordered, “if it is to help in her rescue.”

  Charlie didn’t want an audience when he had his first words with Jane. They’d not been speaking when Capp’ear tore her away. She might be mad and, as a woman, probably blamed him for the kidnapping. But better to incur her wrath than have the plan fail.

  He nodded and stepped away. His gaze centered
on the cloud in the distance. Closing his eyes, he cleared his mind of outside distractions, of the wind and the murmur of voices. Only Jane. Her green eyes and soft skin. Her talent for finding mischief. The way she felt against him.

  As if on cue, a slow vibration hummed through his wings. He turned a fraction to the north and sent his message.

  Jane. In his mind’s eye, he watched the word pierce the air, reaching her as surely as an arrow.

  Charlie? She hesitated with her answer. She sounded different, weaker. Discouraged. Where are you?

  Near.

  My mother?

  She recovers. He did not want to delve into the details of Marion’s illness. Love, we come for you. Stop the storm.

  Love?

  He broke off the communication, afraid to say more. Time for that later. Impatient, he whirled back to the others.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  The fairies divided into two groups, Tuniesin leading one, Rasleigh the other. Charlie’s wings thrummed in anticipation, an excitement filling him. Overpowering, insistent, he couldn’t control the primitive urge. And suddenly he didn’t want to. With a shout, he vaulted into the air. The ground rushed away at an alarming speed, but he paid little attention to it. He focused on the vanishing cloud over Jane’s location.

  He maneuvered as easily as if walking, but stayed in formation with the others, resisting the temptation to swoop and circle. The muscles on his back stretched, a good, tight feeling. His wings beat down and up, making minute corrections in flight.

  They arrived, and he faltered in his effort to backwing. Tuniesin caught him by the elbow and steadied his position. Charlie shot him a look of gratitude and stabilized himself.

  Glancing down, he saw a dark ring of earth surge and roil toward two figures—sandobbles revolving around Jane and Capp’ear. A wet, sucking noise, a menacing burble, rumbled from its midst.

  We are here. Charlie cast his thoughts down to her.

  At a signal from the king, the Isleighahans stroked the air harder. A great wave of wind swirled, eddied and grew. Another force joined in, a natural current, strengthened by Bryant’s talent. It intensified. With a shock, Charlie recognized Jane’s touch, though it was weaker than he expected. Good work.

  The fury continued, the combined efforts of the elves and fairies entwining to create a tempest of unusual proportions. The sandobbles clung together, but the gale hurled bits and pieces from the outer edges into the plain. Their dark color fluctuated, lightening as they evaporated. In a frenzy, some of the beings flung themselves into a nearby stream, acting as a wick to carry moisture to the others.

  Rasleigh’s group wedged the sandobbles away from their water supply. The fairies stroked on. A heat rose from Lowth. Capp’ear, shrieking like a madman in the teeth of the storm, threw himself between the creatures. Then, as they shriveled in size, detaching from each other, he spun toward Jane.

  The glint of metal spurred Charlie. Memories of the man’s previous attack propelled him from Tuniesin’s faction. He dove.

  Jane stood in the midst of the destruction, her hand shading her sight, gazing upward. The forces Bryant and the Isleighahans made twisted around her, but she stayed unmoved, in the eye of the storm. Adjusting for shifts in air pressure, Charlie plunged through the turmoil and snatched her up in his arms.

  They broke through the fury into the relative calm of the surrounding plain. His wings beating rhythmically, Charlie tacked toward the forest. Selecting a spot at a distance from Hugh and the others, he backwinged and landed.

  Jane, whole and healthy and gloriously in his arms again, threw back her head and grinned at him.

  “Look, up in the sky. Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it’s Charlie Whelphite,” she cried. Her laughter edged toward hysteria.

  “Are you well? Did they hurt you?” Charlie did not want to release her, even to let her stand.

  “No, nothing like that. They made me their queen,” she hiccupped. Panic scurried through her voice.

  “Their queen?” Only Jane could be kidnapped by sandobbles and end up their leader. “I’ll make you a queen,” he said, promising her his heritage.

  “Will you? With a big, fat tiara and a velvet robe—”

  “Jane,” he warned. “Have I ever told you that you talk too much?”

  She looked at him, a little sobered. “Yes, Charlie.”

  He shifted her closer. “Then shut up and kiss me.”

  Charlie kissed her long and sweet, unable to let go, but unwilling to tell her his true feelings. He murmured her name over again and breathed in her scent.

  “You smell like rain,” he whispered.

  Jane tilted her head and traced the side of his jaw. “You would, too, if you’d spent three days in a storm.”

  “It slowed them. Hugh was able to spot you because of the weather you and Lowth created.” He’d never felt so proud of her as he did at that moment.

  “Me? And Lowth?”

  “So he says.” He nibbled on her ear, noticing its points’ infinitesimal growth since last he’d nuzzled it.

  Jane pulled away slightly, leaving her hand on his chest. “Ah, Charlie, there’s a fairy guy staring at us.”

  He shifted her to the side. Over her shoulder, he saw Tuniesin grinning at them.

  “Not just any fairy. This is their king.” He made the introductions.

  “All is well?” Charlie asked, remembering the battle.

  “The prisoner Capp’ear escaped, carried away by the last of the sandobbles,” Tuniesin said. “Most perished, sacrificing themselves to jump the stream with him on their backs. They headed north. Eagar said to let them go.”

  Shock ran through Charlie. “Eagar said?”

  The monarch shrugged. “Capp’ear was the steward’s prisoner. I have no authority beyond our forest.”

  Anger flooded Charlie. Letting Capp’ear escape opened the opportunity for him to hurt Jane again. “Yet you stepped beyond the forest today,” he said to the fairy king.

  Tuniesin’s eyes narrowed. Charlie guessed he rarely had his decisions challenged.

  Jane placed herself between them. “The sandobbles will take him to the Tahmdee. It’s their home.”

  “How do you know this?” Tuniesin asked.

  “They told Capp’ear. They’ve been imprisoned in the Magwrosin against their will. I think if they’re allowed to return to their river, they’ll leave everyone alone.”

  Charlie cocked an eyebrow at Tuniesin, challenging him.

  The other returned the stare. “We’ll speak of it at Council later.”

  Jane sagged against Charlie. He could see the fatigue in her eyes. “Charlie, are we near the castle? I’d like to see my mother.”

  He put aside his anger. She needed to rest and recover. Everything else could wait. Picking her up in his arms, he joined the Isleighahans in flight back to Kerreleigh.

  As soon as she entered the forest stronghold, Jane disappeared into the healing rooms. Charlie did not seek her out, but spent the next few hours in meetings. King Tuniesin, with a weakened Eagar seconding the suggestion, recommended that a guard observe what remained of the sandobbles. If they rehydrated and headed toward the Tahmdee, they should be left alone. However, if they posed any further threat, they would have to be dried again and scattered in a remote corner of Lowth.

  Eagar, on the verge of collapse, retired to his suite. Charlie and Hugh joined Bryant and Alfted in the healing rooms.

  “How are they?” Charlie asked, indicating the two guards hurt in the explosion.

  Alfted answered. The men had been under his command. “Broken bones and bruises, mostly. The fairies have offered to let us stay until they recover.”

  Charlie nodded. He expected to remain in Kerreleigh for some time and convince Jane to become his queen.

  “Muttle has improved since yesterday,” Hugh reported.

  The Belwaith looked healthier, his eyes whirling blue and green, only a hint of yellow in their depths. “Death for damn san
dobbles,” he said, grinning.

  Charlie knelt at his side. “Sorry you couldn’t be there, friend. You would have enjoyed the hunt.”

  “Carve them up.” He made a twisting motion with his hand.

  “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

  Muttle nodded. “Speak with Calme. Many messages. One for ye.” He pointed to Hugh.

  The brothers parted, and Charlie slipped into Marion’s room, looking for Jane. Bryant sat next to the bed.

  “I took her to her room,” he said, answering Charlie’s unspoken question. “She’s more exhausted than she let on.”

  “I know. She’s gone through much the past few days.”

  “More like the past few weeks,” the hunter said. “Kidnapping and almost being drowned. She still hasn’t recovered from the stabbing. She’s going to push herself to take care of Marion.” He indicated the woman in the bed.

  “How is she?” Charlie asked, pulling up another chair. Jane’s mother looked less sallow than when he’d last seen her.

  “The fairies tell me she’ll recover. I’m going to make sure she does.” Bryant stroked Marion’s arm. “I love her, and I lost her once. It’s not about to happen again. I’m going to ask her to marry me when she’s better.”

  His confession didn’t shock Charlie. He’d seen how the hunter looked at Marion, knew his devotion to her since her illness. Still, he needed to voice caution. “You haven’t had a chance to talk since she’s been back.”

  “Who needs words, when your heart speaks for you?” the other whispered, his gaze not straying.

  Charlie decided to be candid with Bryant. “I need to speak with Jane.” He hesitated. “I don’t know what her heart says.”

  “I can guess her answer, but she has a difficult decision to make. She gives up many things to stay here.”

  “It will be more difficult when I tell her my news,” Charlie muttered.

  Bryant looked up. “News?”

  “I’m sorry, I cannot say more. Just that, because of this journey, I’m no longer a mere lawyer.” Or a mere Elf.

  “Because you have fairy blood?” the other asked.

  Charlie didn’t want to tell him the truth yet. It belonged to Jane first. “Yes, I have a heritage here from a powerful family. I don’t know what her thoughts will be on it, or what she thinks of my loving her.” Her path was open now. Would she take the simplest way out and return to Earth?