She angled her chin and pursed lips I now realized had been painted purple.
“Yes.”
“The Fey Council wasn't expecting me, but the forest was. So the Council couldn't drop everything they were in the process of doing in order to tend to whatever it was the forest had dropped at their doorstep, but they couldn't ignore it either. So they either sent you, or you offered to see me.”
The woman drank deeper.
I continued, “What I don't know is what it was they asked you to do. What precisely is your goal in meeting with me? What will you take back to the council? How will they respond? And do they even care too much, provided that your answer isn't a shocking one?”
The woman placed the cup down and tapped her long red nails against it. “They asked me to meet you and to gather a profile based upon what I saw. I will take my notes and compile them into a report, which they will expect. They will respond as is needed based upon that report. And yes, they do care. Every fey is important to us, particularly those we thought stripped of the magic they'd been born with.”
“I can explain,” I said. “Just tell me what it is you have questions about…” My words faded off as she leaned back.
She tapped those nails again, rapping out a steady tune. A thought wedged in her mind and her fingers stopped. In this complete stillness in the hut, she said, “I can read upon your heart all the things which you thought were important, and in your mind all the things I think are vital. With this access, I do not need to listen to clumsy explanations. I am skilled at reading memories, so you needn't speak a word. Now, I know that you are confused and very, very anxious. I can set some of these things to rights by telling you first and foremost that I am used in the fey village as a therapist. I specialize in traumas.
“In your case, you could have employed my services a few times, but you and I were woefully distant during the aftermath. What I see are common trends in your life are feelings of solitude and abandonment. Not necessarily loneliness, but of being on your own, by your own choice. Be careful that you know when to seek help.”
The woman took my hands in hers. “And I can tell your fears and anxieties when it comes to your new mate. Of this, I will advise you as I have advised so many others: patience and communication. Speak with him as freely as you showed your thoughts. It will be uncomfortable at times, but unless you find yourself uncomfortable, your relationship isn't growing. Bear in mind this uncomfortable feeling may be nervousness or excitement. Eventually you will find safety and confidence.
“The road you will go down will need you to utilize all those who you connect with. Do not flinch from asking them their help as it is needed. Do not shy away from giving them a task to bear if you know it is theirs to do. And know that you will face constant competition for your place as Lady of Kragdomen. All will be well if you respond properly. But you must have confidence in yourself to bring this to be, and the strength to persevere against friend and foe. This starts and does not end with me.”
I looked up, and she didn't seem so intimidating any longer.
Further conversation wasn't so intense. We talked of neutral topics, things such as what I'd done so far and suggestions for what I could do in the near future. Despite my reservations, I began to feel comforted in her presence and soon felt eager to go explore the Wildwoods again. She never told me her name, not yet, but I found that I did not mind her purposeful omission. The Council would likely follow after her recommendation, and I did not fear it. She was still taking her notes about my social skills and abilities.
“Can I return now to my family? I haven't had a good chance to speak with my parents yet.”
The therapist tossed back her head and laughed, a throaty laugh which surprised me coming from her slight frame.
“Do you wish to speak with them, or to check that they haven't torn your potential mate to shreds in the time you've left them alone with him?”
“I would hope that he would be able to keep himself together, at least physically, but yes…I do worry that they'll burn bridges with him over some topic or another.”
“By all means return to them,” she said. “Go to the amphitheater. We await your illusion.”
I stood up, unsure what to expect, but when I went to invite her along, the chair she had occupied was vacant. So was the air and all the places in the hut. She'd simply gone. I shrugged. Another Wildwoods thing.
Then the meaning of what was said sunk in. They wanted my illusion—now. I tugged on my dress, pulling it out to the ankle, wondering what was appropriate and if it mattered, how I'd tame my hair, if I needed mascara or not. Anything and everything to not focus on realizing that I had to make an illusion which I hadn't practiced for.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I swallowed. A few more minutes and I'd have to perform before the entire fey village—I assumed, at least, and I didn't even know the names of anyone. If it were just my parents or coven members, or even just the people at the colony, maybe this wouldn't be making me so anxious.
“People are gathering around,” Mordon said, surprising me with his entrance. “You'll do well. You always have.”
I smiled gratefully. “Except I don't know what I'm doing. I always draw on what I know, and I don't know what will resonate with them.”
“Then do what resonates with you.”
“How do you tell stories so that everyone listens?”
Mordon cocked his head to the side and stroked his chin, making the connection with his historical fiction performances to educate the children in the colony and in Merlyn's Market. His hand dropped and he said, “A story is simple. There's someone with a problem and they try to overcome it. Your first moments are vital. Start at the beginning, stop at the end. If you're interrupted, remember that every time you stop, you need to start again, so you need to draw them in again.”
“If only it were that easy.”
“I said it was simple, not easy. And the first few minutes before stepping on stage are the worst.” Mordon kissed my cheek. “You'll be wonderful.”
That even Mordon had been nervous before his public appearances made me feel better. I discussed what I wanted to do, and Mordon agreed. We debated on the showmanship and what I would say. It seemed to go by slowly. Still, it was all too soon when Mother knocked on the door and escorted me to the amphitheater.
I entered the bare ground alone, Mother and Mordon having found places of their own off to the side where there were empty seats. At my appearance, the buzz of conversation dropped off to a soft murmur and everyone looked at me. I shivered. Involuntarily, my thumb stroked the sapphire brood ring which bound me to Mordon. The ring shifted, nuzzling me in reassurance.
I walked to the center, panicking that I'd forgotten what it was that I was going to say. Not a single word came to mind. Mordon had told the tales himself often enough, I could repeat it verbatim in my sleep, yet now I couldn't recall how it was to begin. The weight of the attention on me pressed like a physical force, but I remembered that I'd done this before, and to a larger crowd. I took a deep breath, focusing on the ring on my finger, and began.
With a single smooth action, I pulled the tie out of my hair and let it drift free in a steady breeze. The wind went by me and spread through the crowd, stirring through their hair and tickling the backs of their necks until it elicited shivers and gasps. No one noticed that that clouds had moved in, blacking out the sun so that the amphitheater appeared drained of color, the only splash of brightness being from scale-like glints off my dress. Honeysuckle scented the area.
“Might I borrow a will-o-the-wisp from someone?” I asked. Several people moved to comply. “You sir.” I pointed to a person in the fourth row, drawing attention when I had to walk between people to accept the small ball of light. “Thank you.”
There was a general hush now, people watching me with rapt attention, waiting for the illusion to begin. I held out the will-o-the-wisp, guiding it to the center of the stage and staying in the fringe
of its glow. By now it was so dim that it seemed we were in a real theatre, and we could see the faint blue tinge of the orb.
“From before the time of birth, we each experience periods of light and darkness. At times this is a trick of the earth's relation to the sun and moon and stars, but at other times this illustrates other trials and triumphs in our lives. We are in the flow of it, we talk of it and rejoice or mourn it in its turn, but we cannot do a thing to make it pass.” I walked directly behind the orb. “Or can we?”
As I spoke, I slid my hands over the light. “Can we not draw the shades to shut out the sun and make the room dark? Can we not suffocate the fire so that the last embers gasp their final breath?”
The crowd muttered something when I pressed the will-o-the-wisp down into a tiny pearl, hiding it within my hands so that the audience was thrown into nearly complete blackness. Then I eased my hands apart again, growing the orb once more.
“Or strike a light and make it grow to chase the darkness away?”
A few people sighed, as if relieved to be able to see again.
“We are in this world together and while we cannot alter what happens to us, we can choose to illuminate a dark world, and by doing so we can show the way for others. We can do this with gentle words and patience, for example. We can do a great deal to make the world a brighter place.” I paused, considering my final words.
“We can also choose to snuff it out,” I dimmed the light again, “and leave everyone,” I pressed my hands together until there was no more light coming through them, “in the dark.”
I was tempted to do just that and walk away, to see how long it would be before someone decided to make a light again, but decided that might lead to trust issues. So I waited until I heard a child begin to fuss, and I revealed the will-o-the-wisp again.
“What I want to ask each of you, is what do you do to those you encounter every day?” I tossed the will-o-the-wisp back to the fourth row. “Thank you, sir.”
When it touched his hand, it sprouted into a sapling of light. It grew leaves and branches, expanding and towering upwards until the base of it took up three seats and its branches flowered white. Fruit grew, and the petals fell off, turning into butterflies which fluttered between the people. Children shrieked and tried to catch them, along with a few adults. When someone shook the tree, fruit fell and people ate it, exclaiming, “It's real!”
The tree kept growing and growing until it shed its light all over the amphitheater, people eating the fruit excitedly. They didn't seem to realize that it had become so bright that the tree was fading into nothing, too busy chattering with one another. I had to raise my voice.
“And thanks to the rest of you for coming and making me welcome.”
Applause broke out, clapping hands, tapping canes, and the occasional streamer spell sent out in congratulations. Light-headed with relief, I grinned and looked for Mordon. He wasn't back yet, so I caught the pride of my parents instead. I smiled at the audience, curtsied, and stepped backwards to relinquish the stage.
When I went to leave, people surged to their feet and welcomed me in earnest, taking my hand and saying their name and talking in general. I let the crowd guide me where it would; after all the attention and garnering their approval, I felt little qualm or worry about being in their midst. In fact, I almost felt that I belonged with the way that these people kept me company and treated me like family. Actually, I realized belated, many of them were family. I just didn't know who was tied to me with blood and who wasn't.
The party moved to the huts, where people talked and swapped stories of the past illusions. There had been a great many, and Mother was right, many of the illusions had been about Morgana as part of a moral debate or to display cunning and tricks. I found that for the most part, I could nod and ask a question about this or that technique which would make my conversation partner do the talking instead of me. But there was one question everyone asked, and that I wouldn't answer.
Even Mother was confounded. “The fruit wasn't an illusion, it was real. But how did you do it?”
When Mordon joined me, he said, “I hid the basket behind the last row. We should remove it later.”
I nodded, whispered back, “Did you have fun throwing the fruit?”
He grinned. “I've always wanted to do that, but to an unappreciative audience.”
In a great hall made of alder trees and hollyhocks, someone turned the sky above into a low display of the Northern Lights and other people emerged with instruments. Though I blushed, I soon learned the dances. A few men seemed to have taken particular interest in me, and once they had each had two dances, Mordon stepped in on a country tune.
It was as if he'd been putting his feet down to this whirling, spinning style his entire life, though I'd never seen anything like it in the colony. I never used to like dancing, it always made me feel embarrassed and self-conscious, but when I was dancing with him it wasn't like dancing at all. It was a single frame of mind, the two of us knowing where the other was and where they were to go. To fall backwards and know his arm would be there, to move in daring quickness which would be disastrous unless we both knew the steps. Things that one of us could not do without the other, independent yet in unison.
Time passed as it was wont to do in the Wildwoods, all at once yet not at all. When I was exhausted and ready for sleep, I just walked through the doorway and found myself in my hut. Mordon soon joined me. My mind was spinning with the idea that I just might have a home here.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Come morning, I was amazed to find that it was long after noon the next day when I got up. When I checked the cupboard for a snack, it did not provide one. This in itself was concerning, but there was something unsettling in the air. Something that I couldn't quite place. Mordon was gone, but I'd rather expected that. I heard voices and people moving about.
What was happening?
I had just stepped outside into the singing birds when thunder broke overhead, not far above the ground. It took me a moment to realize that the sun was still shining and the wind indicated there was no imminent storms approaching.
“What was that?” I asked.
People rushed by me, heading for a destination unknown. Everyone had a single-minded intent behind their migration. I looked around, confused, but there was no one nearby to ask. Mordon appeared out of nowhere and drew me back into my hut.
“Mordon, what is happening? You know, I know you do, you've got that look in your eye. What is it?” I wouldn't let go of his arm until he told me.
“General boundaries alarm. Just because I haven't been here doesn't mean I can't tell what it is. It sings to my blood. I have to go.”
“Fine, go,” I said. “I know you're good as a few men.”
He grinned. “Just a few?”
“Can't inflate your ego too much. Now, on with you.”
Mordon stopped himself in the doorway. The sour look he gave me betrayed his thoughts. I beat him to the punch.
“I won't give you a promise to stay out of it. But I will try not to, and that's the best you can get.”
“We will argue this point later,” Mordon said.
He was gone before I could say my opinion on the matter. Wearied, I sat down in the deserted hut and stared at the willow walls.
Aside from the periodic thunder and the slap of feet running by my hut, all was quiet. The birds had stopped their singing and had nestled down to wait out the commotion. I tried to ignore the tugging at my magic, but it was hard. The wind surrounded me, surrounded the place where people were gathering, and it stirred within me a keen desire to be out in the thick of it. That desire grew to a resolve and the resolve into a need until I was on my feet and pacing.
After making a thorough inspection of the few cups in the cupboard and sampling a sip of two types of wine, I felt restless again. Though I wanted, really and truly wanted, to give Mordon a peace of mind, I was losing. Out there, there was danger and he was in it.
&n
bsp; Mordon said that the thunder sang to his blood and that he had to go. I had accepted his words at face value, but I hadn't understood. But as the thunder rumbled yet again, I began to understand. It stirred something deep within me, a need to defend and fight.
The longer I resisted it, the more I envisioned how I would fight. Ordinary defenses sprang to mind, then the enemies became exotic, and so did my imagination to fend them off. My heart pounded and my skin grew thick and ridged with scales which wanted to break through. At last, I gave in and went outside.
The Wildwoods took care of the path for me, a liberating feeling, for within a few steps I was on the fringes of the battle. It could only be called a battle, even though I didn't know who our opponents were. What I did know was that I could feel them, a sense of evil and meanness, and there was the smell of blood in the air.
Swift Magic (The Swift Codex Book 2) Page 15
