Elfland

by Freda Warrington

  “Did you hear what I called you?” he said quietly. “Don’t you recognize me? This is Rosie, Faith and Heather. You’re Virginia Wilder, but they call you Ginny.”

  She blinked, green eyes darkening. “How did you know?”

  “I’m Sam. Hello? Mum, I’m your flaming—” He caught himself and continued in a more measured tone. “I’m your son.”

  Her face froze, incredulous. “I had a son called Sam, but he was a boy . . . oh my god.”

  “Yes, I was eleven when you left, but that was fifteen years ago. Don’t you know how long you’ve been away?”

  Lotion and gauze fell to the floor. She put her fingers to her mouth. “Fifteen years? It doesn’t seem it. Elysion plays tricks . . . Yes, you look like him, but—no, it’s not possible.”

  “Bloody hell,” he said, rubbing his hands over his hair. “We thought you were dead!”

  “The life I had on Vaeth . . . it seems far away, cloudy . . . oh my god, don’t do this to me. You can’t be.”

  Sam caught her wrists and drew her hands away from her face. To Rosie’s astonishment, he began to sing, “There may be trouble ahead . . . ” Ginny’s mouth opened; Rosie stared. Of all things, she had never expected to hear Sam singing an Irving Berlin song, ‘Let’s Face the Music and Dance.’

  His voice was low, melodic, and slightly gravelly. Perhaps he wouldn’t have taken the stage on the strength of it, but here it was a revelation. Rosie and Faith exchanged a startled glance. Ginny’s face transformed. She appeared so dumbstruck that, when Sam spun her around in a jokey dance, she simply let him. He continued with, “I get no kick from champagne . . .” Cole Porter this time, ‘I Get a Kick Out of You.’

  Rosie started to smile. It was the most absurd, most moving thing she’d ever witnessed. Ginny’s eyes opened wide and she gasped, “Oh—oh, Sam!”

  She reached for him. He seized her in both arms.

  Rosie had never seen his attention so completely focused on another woman before. Amid her relief, she felt a perfectly ungracious stab of jealousy.

  “Oh, it’s really you. My Sam. Gods—all these years—why are you here? And Jon, where is he?”

  There were tears running down his face. “Not with us, but he’s okay. You were trapped here. I knew you didn’t abandon us on purpose.”

  Pulling away, Ginny sat down at the table next to Faith, covering her face with her hands. While she gathered herself, Sam sat cross-legged beside Rosie and said, “She loved those old songs. Didn’t you, Mum? We used to sing them together, remember?”

  Ginny let her hands drop. Her ice-queen face was a blotchy pink mess. “Yes—but when you’re here a long time, the past fades like a dream. Still, I remember leaving Stonegate as if it were yesterday. I fell over you and your brothers, Rosie, as I was walking out.”

  “You frightened us,” Rosie put in.

  “Oh, I was practically insane with rage that day. I came into Elysion, only to rest a few days while I decided what to do. Then I couldn’t leave. The portal was blind stone. I might have known Lawrence would abandon the Gates.”

  “He didn’t,” said Sam. “He insists there’s danger on this side. Is there?”

  Ginny didn’t answer. She shook her head, her eyes full of unspoken thoughts. “I’m a poor hostess; out of practice,” she said, moving to stoke the fire and position a kettle over the flames. She fetched a patchwork quilt and wrapped it around Faith’s shoulders, then brought cups and a jug of fruit juice to the table, followed by cakes, fruit and cheese. The juice tasted of strawberries and pomegranates. Although Rosie was bone-tired, food and drink revived her, reawakening her fears for Lucas.

  “It’s an Elysian tradition,” said Ginny, “to wait at the portal with gifts for the Vaethyr around Earth’s harvest time. Year after year I waited for you, but you never came.”

  “Wish we could have done.” Sam’s voice nearly broke. “Father wouldn’t relent.”

  Rosie put in, “And the Aelyr can’t open the portal from this side, I gather?”

  Ginny shook her head. “One Gatekeeper was meant to serve both sides. Lawrence was never comfortable in the role.” She added lightly, “How is he?”

  A long pause. “He got married again,” said Sam.

  Her face turned to iron. “Did he?” she said flatly. “Who to?”

  “A human called Sapphire who worked for him.”

  “Oh,” said Ginny. “I think I remember her. She was at the New York store . . . I met her once, I believe.”

  “Very glossy and smiley, always telling everyone what to do.”

  “Oh yes, Lawrence loves being told what to do,” Ginny said acidly. “He must be ecstatic. Human, indeed. Is he happy?”

  “When’s Dad ever happy?” Sam said with a grin. As they were talking, Faith slipped lower until she was lying flat, her head pillowed on a cushion and Heather sound asleep in her arms. Ginny tucked the quilt over them. “They put on a brave front, but things have been frosty for a while.”

  At that, Ginny’s mouth flattened with knowing amusement. “Ah. That’s your father.” She looked at Rosie. “He’s the dream lover at the start—until you realize he’s devouring you to warm the icy chasm in his soul. Only no one can. Then he turns away and crowns himself the Arctic Prince. He did so with me and with Jessica. He will with Sapphire, too.” Her face lengthened and she breathed, “Oh, Rosie, I’m sorry. You won’t have known about Lawrence and your mother. An unfortunate diversion.”

  “It’s all right, everyone knows,” said Rosie.

  “Good,” Ginny said crisply. “My humiliation is complete.” She wasn’t a warm or cozy person, Rosie observed, but the polar opposite of Jessica. “I have nothing against Lucas, of course. A beautiful boy.”

  “He’s why we’re here,” Rosie put in, and gave a brief, bare explanation.

  Ginny became somber. She brought a huge brown pot of tea to the table before she answered. Every move she made was poised, goddesslike. “It’s true, the Aetheric soul-essence is drawn to the Spiral, drawn to the center of Asru, the Mirror Pool . . .”

  “And can we go after him?” Rosie was fraught with anxiety. She felt Sam’s hand on her knee. “It could be like trekking to Siberia, for all I know. I’m worried we’re losing time.”

  “There’s a specific way you must go, and I’m not promising it will be easy, but it is walkable. However, you can’t go until light. You’d get lost, abducted or eaten. And you won’t last five minutes unless you sleep off the initiation drug first.”

  Rosie knew she was right. She sipped the hot, honeyed tea, trying not to think about failure, or the chances of the Lychgate being relocked behind them.

  “Did Lawrence ever explain why I left?” Ginny asked after a moment.

  “Come on, we are talking about Dad here,” said Sam. “Of course not. We suspected he’d murdered and buried you in the woods.”

  Ginny grimaced. “Even Lawrence wouldn’t go that far.”

  Rosie put in, “I suppose seeing my mother and Lucas around can’t have helped.”

  “Oh, that.” Ginny swept her hair back over her shoulders. “We think we’re above mortals, but we’re not. We’re every bit as prone to bad behavior and insane jealousy. Lawrence would always flee an argument rather than confront it.” She shrugged. “We were at war for years, in the business of hurting each other. Neither of us was quite faithful. As for Jessica, I bear no grudge.”

  Ginny gave a thin smile. Sam stared, shocked. “No, the reason I left was rather more complicated. As Aetherials, we’re sensitive to deeper layers of reality. Sometimes it can drive us mad. Lawrence wanted to live in Ecuador. For me, though, rain forest and Dumannios were all tangled together in nightmares. I had to come home, where the Dusklands were peaceful and kind. He thought it was fine to dump you and Jon in boarding school, but it wasn’t.”

  Looking pale, Sam said, “Dad couldn’t have lived abroad anyway, being Gatekeeper . . .”

  “It wasn’t that he didn’t care about you,” Ginny s
aid, touching his hand. “Don’t think that. No, it was being Gatekeeper that he wanted to escape. He couldn’t, of course, but he resented me bitterly for making him face the truth. And I hated him for not understanding my fears, when he should have understood better than anyone. That was the problem, Sam. We each had a similar curse, yet we each refused to acknowledge it. We were both stubborn.”

  Sam frowned, eyes narrowing. “He’s as paranoid as hell. He insists there’s some great force ready to burst through the Gates and destroy us. Some believe him, some don’t.”

  “He always had that darkness,” Ginny’s gaze slipped down and sideways. “It drove me away. If I’d known I’d be trapped here, though, I would never have come.”

  “He must have suspected you were here when he sealed the portal, surely?” said Sam. “Bastard!”

  “He must have had his reasons.”

  “He tried to find you, I’m certain,” said Rosie. “I think he was in pieces, but just couldn’t ever show it.”

  “I loved him,” Ginny said simply. “I left because I was at my wits’ end. I didn’t mean it to be forever.” They sat gazing at each other. After a minute, she lowered her eyes and asked softly, “And what about you, Sam? Look at you, a fine strong man. How are you, what’s happened? Tell me everything.”

  “Hell, where do I start?” He sighed. Rosie saw his shoulders dip with the weight of memory. “Can’t we sing some nice Cole Porter songs instead?”

  “No, we can’t.”

  “Shall I leave you to it?” Rosie asked quietly.

  “No, Rosie, don’t go.” Sam caught her hand. “She’s less likely to thrash me around the room if you’re here.”

  “Shame. That would have been worth seeing,” said Rosie.

  Ginny was studying them, one eyebrow arched. “You two are an item, I take it?”

  “Erm,” said Sam, looking sideways at Rosie. “I’m working on it.”

  Rosie bit her lip, reddening. “It’s why we’re in this mess.”

  An hour or two later, Ginny showed them through an archway into a small dark passage with two rooms leading off. There were no doors, only a heavy curtain across each entrance. She drew back one of these curtains for them, kissed them good night, and was gone.

  “My mother,” Sam whispered. “I found my mother. Told her everything, and she’s still speaking to me.” He couldn’t stop smiling.

  “I like her,” said Rosie. “I love the way she’s sort of acerbic. I can see where you get it from.”

  The room was strange, apparently taking no account of the cottage’s outside dimensions. It was near-dark, soaked in a midnight-blue glow with walls and ceiling disappearing into shadow. The floor sloped slightly upwards towards the far end and was covered in a thick, dry carpet of mossy fronds. There was no furniture, only a cushiony dip in the center.

  “I take it that’s the bed,” said Sam. “Kind of Freudian, isn’t it? It looks like a mouth, or . . . something.” He dropped the backpack and took off his boots. Rosie did the same, felt the carpet warm and squashy beneath her feet. A faint glow in the wall to her right led her to explore.

  She found a narrow, curved passageway, lit by a soft glow, winding into a small cave. A spring flowed down the polished limestone curves of the wall and away through a hole into an underground stream. Aetherial plumbing, apparently. She availed herself of the hole—hoping that was its intended use—then stripped and showered under the chilly waterfall. A cleft in the rock held clouds of dry vegetable matter that could be torn off in clumps to dry the skin. Shivering, Rosie quickly dressed again.

  “The weirdest en-suite bathroom ever is through there,” she said as she came back. “No hot water, though.”

  Sam went to the passage and peered in. “Any towels?”

  “No. Use the spongy stuff.” As she waited for him, she felt nervous. She was on her feet near the doorway, staring at the strange oval sleeping area, when he came back.

  “Not tried out the bed, yet?” he asked. He sat down on the lip, looking up at her. “Feels nice and soft.”

  Rosie wrapped her arms across her waist. She was suddenly frozen. He put his tongue between his teeth, gazed quizzically at her. “What’s up? I’m not going to pounce on you.”

  “Really? Oh damn,” she said, trying to joke and failing. She let her hands fall. “I know you’re not, Sam.”

  “You weren’t sure, though, were you? Good grief, Rosie, do you think I’m that insensitive?”

  “Hey, I never said that.”

  “All I want to do is sleep,” he said. “Not that I wouldn’t want to—normally—but as things are, I can’t. I’m not a machine. Of course it wouldn’t be right; I know that. I’m not a complete Neanderthal, you know.”

  “Sam, will you cool down?” she said, kneeling in front of him. “I never suggested you were. I felt awkward, that’s all. Never been in a situation like this with you before.”

  He exhaled. The hurt look bled away. “I’m sorry, love,” he said. “Who the hell am I to get all indignant, anyway? Considering my track record of pouncing on you every chance I get, why should you trust me?”

  “But I do,” she said, and meant it—because if she couldn’t trust him, they had nothing. “Let’s not argue. We’re both worn out and not thinking straight.”

  He gave a rueful smile, white in the dusk-light. “Come on, then. You sleep on the squishy thing. I’ll take the floor.”

  “Okay.”

  Sam stayed fully clothed and so did she, ready for fight or flight. Carefully she eased herself into the dip. She found a quilt there, deepest violet in color and intricately sewn with tiny flowers. As she lay down on soft silk-padded moss with the cover over her, it felt like floating. She said after a moment, “It’s unbelievably comfortable.”

  “Good.”

  Take a hint, damn it. “Sam, does no sex mean we can’t even sleep together?”

  “Erm.” Lying a couple of yards away, he rose on one elbow. “Depends if you can control yourself, sweetie.”

  She gave a soft, tired laugh. “I can’t sleep without you. Please hold me.”

  No answer, but a second later she felt him sliding into the dip beside her. His arms went around her and he kissed her forehead. “I thought you’d never ask. Go to sleep. I’m here. And tomorrow, we’ll find Luc.”

  This was something they’d never done before; shared a bed fully clothed, holding each other. It felt strange and wonderful. Rosie turned on her side and, with Sam behind her and his arm over her, she fell into exhausted sleep.

  Sam lay holding Rosie, his face in her hair. Her body molded to his as if she belonged there. Simply lying here with her was more than he’d ever dreamed of. It was wonderful beyond words. And unbearable.

  At one stage she woke and he felt her shaking with suppressed sobs. He stroked her hair and held her more closely, letting her know with all his heart that he was there with her. He thought, I love you, but didn’t say it out loud because he wouldn’t be able to bear the silence if she didn’t say it back. Eventually she slept again.

  I need to know if this is the end or the beginning, she’d said.

  Sam had no answer.

  Love was meant to be noble and self-sacrificing and all the things he wasn’t. And it had brought her to this.

  She was right about him, he knew. He’d loved the mischief, the chaos, the sheer unkind fun of tempting her off her chosen path and into the dark thorny woods. Oh yes, so much gleeful pleasure at her fall. The truth was that he hadn’t known any other way. She wouldn’t give her love freely, so he’d stolen it. He truly wasn’t good enough for her; he was cruel, selfish, a wolf who’d harried her until she’d given in. And this was the result.

  His love was never going to bring her anything but pain.

  If you get something you don’t deserve, insisted a small voice at the back of his mind, how can you possibly hope to keep it? He tried to ignore the voice. His sweet dark red rose lay warm in his arms. For now, nothing else mattered.

>   18

  Kissing the Mirror

  Rosie woke with a sense of suffocation. She was in the strangest dream of following an owl, its flight leading her to climb a tree where she found a nest high up in the branches, and in the nest a silk bag containing a rosewood box, and inside the box an egg of pale rose quartz. The Greenlady seemed to be in the dream too, whispering an incomprehensible story. Rosie was stealing the egg and slipping it into her pocket as she woke.

  Someone had called her name. She found herself lying in darkness under thick soft covers, with no sense of place or time but knowing something was terribly wrong . . . Then she remembered. Elysion. Lucas. She sat up and checked her watch. The light worked, but the hands had stopped. “Sam?”

  “What’s up, love?” he said sleepily beside her.

  “What time is it? Have we been here two hours or two days?”

  “I don’t think they bother with time here. Not in any sensible fashion, anyhow.”

  The call came again, clear this time. “Sam, Rosie? It’s light.”

  He sat up, smoothed her hair and kissed her forehead. “That’s answered the question.”

  The glow spilling along the passageway had a fluid quality, as eerie as the deep ocean. Elysian dawn. Ginny was seated at the low table, with breakfast laid out. In a holly-green dress with ropes of amber around her neck and her hair flowing tangled down her back, she sat very straight; spare and poised like a dancer.

  “Are you well rested?” she asked.

  “Yes, thank you,” said Rosie. “Just a bit . . . confused.”

  “That’s normal.” Ginny smiled.

  “That was only one night, right?” said Sam.

  “One night,” she replied. “Night and day don’t always fall when you expect them.” She held out her hand to him.

  “Okay, that’s too cryptic before breakfast,” he said. He took her hand, kissed her cheek. Rosie still felt awkward, witnessing their reunion. It was so intense and private; the knowledge of all the lost time between them, overwhelming. “Did I really tell you all that stuff last night?”