by Jill Nojack
Thomas called to James from the small kitchen where he was mixing herbs and cooking up his latest potions. "All right then, James?"
"Yeah, I guess. Lizbet’s still having headaches, so I worry about that. And she's still stuck with the wings."
"She'd embrace them if she fully understood the honor it is to be even partially fae."
James rolled his eyes. He'd grown to like Thomas and appreciate his sober—and often entertaining—approach to the world. It was more suited to an eighty year old than a twenty-one year old. But Thomas seemed destined to be a zealot in every lifetime. Although he no longer had the memories of a long-dead Roman monk, he was as single-minded in his devotion to the fae as the monk Faolan had been to the Roman church. It worried him, but he hadn't seen Thomas doing anything that seemed dangerous to other people since they’d come to London. However, James knew Thomas's interest in traveling to one of the elves’ fortresses to get to know his magical counterparts would be a very bad idea.
Thomas was convinced the elves would accept him as one of their own if he became a strong enough sorcerer, but Thomas was only one-fourth fae and one-eighth elf, and neither was by birth. He was one of the half-fae whose magic was the result of the remerge of what the fae called a wisp which had been created when Faolan split the realms. They consisted of the magic that had been pulled from the bodies of humans who were less than half fae but had some fae blood.
The fae viewed the wisps as abominations—lost pieces of fae magic that didn't have enough life essence to coalesce into a being. They were considered soul-less, much like the ghouls. They floated across the face of the world searching for the lost part of themselves. Even if the elves didn't hold Thomas responsible for Faolan's actions, they'd never accept a wisp-made fae in their midst. James thought it was unlikely the elves would greet Thomas at their gates with anything other than an arrow through the heart.
Stalking prey through a city is much easier than stalking it through a forest. Freoric had no difficulty shadowing Thomas on the busy London streets. So many humans in one place provided more than enough cover. In the forest, it would not be so simple. Silence and stealth would be necessary. Here, it was easy enough to dress human, pull his long hair back tight while making sure his ears were covered, leave his bow behind in favor of a short, sharp knife, and feign disinterest as he walked along behind the human who strode along from shop to shop, making purchases along the way.
It took him by surprise when a slender young man who almost matched him in height fell into step with him and said, "I knew it would be an elf."
Freoric looked at the young man and recognized him as the man who shared space with his prey. He had soft blue eyes and brown hair, and his expression made him appear older than Freoric judged him to be. He continued walking.
The youth spoke again, "Thomas sensed someone had been following him. His magic is strong despite being only one-fourth fae. And who else would it be but an elf?"
Freoric stopped and turned to face the young man. "Go away. You don't interest me. I don't know you."
James knew that a geeky American boy was never going to impress an elvin warrior. Freoric had at least two inches on him and the glint of silver in his hair told James that Freoric would have been ready for battle for at least a hundred years. "Your ancestors knew me when I was Myrrdin."
Freoric stopped and turned to face the man who shared a living space with Thomas. "My ancestors respected Myrrdin, but I don't know you."
"Myrrdin respected your ancestors. Me? I'm not thrilled to see you stalking my friend. Faolan has been dead for thousands of years. Thomas has no memories of being Faolan. All of that was wiped out when his amulet was destroyed to free the fae. Leave him alone. He isn't hurting you."
"He intended to kill all of the fae, the same as he murdered Myrrdin. How can you defend him? He's an abomination."
"No. Not anymore. He practically worships the elves like he once worshipped the church. He's no danger to you."
"We'll decide that for ourselves."
"He's under my protection."
"As you say. I am only following him, for now. If I meant for him to be dead, he would be."
James relaxed as he watched the elf round the corner in the opposition direction from the one Thomas had taken. He'd really bigged it up by playing the Myrrdin card. He hoped the elves didn't realize that he had no natural magic. The best he could manage was mixing up herbs for natural remedies like any non-magic-wielding New Age health-food nut. He had all the knowledge, he just didn't have the stuff to back it up the way Myrddin had. He hustled through the crowd to catch up with his flat-mate.
As he fell into step with Thomas, Thomas looked over and said, "Who was it?"
"An elf, like I suspected. But I think they’re only keeping an eye on you right now, not planning a full-on ninja assassination just yet."
"Faolan must have been a right old sod. We've only just rid ourselves of the monks that followed us here, and now I‘ve got to worry about being mugged by my kin."
"Yeah, and only a month old, too," James grinned, enjoying his own running joke about Thomas's lack of memory, "I’m sure the elves aren't the only fae who'd like to have a go at you."
"Maybe we'd best get started working on protection spells instead of healing potions. How many pixie bites am I going to need to heal in London, anyway?"
"We may not be staying in London, if it's okay with you. I miss my friends and my stuff, to tell you the truth. Plus, Eamon's ‘Underground money’ is close to running out, and I can't get a job here because I can't get a work permit. I've got a job waiting for me back in Ohio, if I want it. Magical pest control is apparently set to become big business, and I could fit it in around school hours. That way I only miss a semester of college and can start back at the beginning of the year."
"And you want to see Lizbet," added Thomas, with a rare smile.
"Yes. And I want to see Lizbet," James said, smiling back.
"It would be nice to meet her," Thomas replied, "It would be nice to meet any of the other half-fae. I've no feelings for London one way or the other. I don't remember a life in England."
"Yeah, I don't know how she'd feel about that. Tanji—that's Lizbet's friend who's kind of related to me now through Myrrdin—would be happy to meet you, I think. I'm not sure how strong her fae side's feelings are about Faolan, although she'd be…” James stopped and thought for a moment, “…his great aunt, Myrddin’s sister. But if we end up back in the States, I don't know how Lizbet would feel about having you living right next door."
James stopped to examine a shop window sales banner. "But, the way I see it is this—Faolan murdered Myrddin, and if Myrddin doesn’t hold it against you, Morgan and her other lives are going to have to let Lizbet alone about it sooner or later."
Forty-five minutes later, James slid the key into the lock of their shared flat as they arrived at the door. He walked into the flat and then abruptly stopped dead still. Thomas only stopped when he ran into James from behind. The small room was full of elves—a full council, by James's reckoning. It appeared that no one was much intimidated by Myrddin anymore.
A tall, grayed-haired elf folded his arms across his chest and nodded his head to James in the elvin equivalent to "we come in peace." The other eight elves behind him stood unmoving, their arms also folded loosely across their chests.
James returned the greeting with the help of Myrrdin's memories and asked, "Why are you here, Elder?"
The elves returned their hands to their sides, as did James.
"You have chosen to associate yourself with the man who imprisoned us for hundreds of years. Our ancient histories tell us you have always dealt respectfully with the elves, Myrddin, but we are unable to stay silent and let this wisp-endowed abomination practice magic near our families and our homes."
Thomas began to speak, "Elder..." but James held up a hand to stop him. Myrrdin's memories were shoving at him hard not to let Thomas into the discussion. One wrong ste
p and Thomas could lose his life so easily—as easily an as elf, with one liquid movement, can nock an arrow, draw a bow, and let the arrow fly.
"Elder, with respect, I ask that you call me by the name I wear in this life. If you can address me in the English tongue, then surely you can address me by my proper name. That name is James. Myrrdin is with me, always, of course. I have his knowledge, his memories, and his influence. But I am not Myrrdin as you knew him, just as Thomas is not Faolan."
"As you request, James, I recognize you are not entirely the man my ancestors knew. However, we know this man, this Thomas. We watched him from the other side. And the warrior we have had watching him on this side, Freoric, informs us that you are educating him in the way of sorcery and have placed him under your protection. We wonder why this is. He is Faolan."
"No longer. Your people saw what happened at the tree. Faolan is gone forever. I don’t hold him responsible for what Faolan did any more than I hold you responsible for the actions of the elves who murdered Myrddin’s farther. Today, in this moment, there's only this empty-headed man behind me, cleared of memories and partially fae. Would you destroy an innocent, Elder?"
"If, as you say, Myrddin is with you, you know my people outlaw the mixing of human and elvin blood. This has not changed," The elder nodded his head toward Thomas, "This one has no fae blood at all, he is only inhabited by a wisp, a contemptible thing. He is no kin of ours. However, we owe you a debt. If you have extended your protection, we will abide. What we will not tolerate is having him so near to us here on the green isle and on the continent beyond. In these times, for your people, it is easy to move from land to land. Find another place."
"And you won't follow us?" James asked.
"By my troth, the elves will not follow," replied the elder.
"I accept your troth. We'll leave before the new moon. Is that acceptable to you?"
"It is," the elder said, then folded his arms and nodded his head to indicate the meeting was over. The other elves directed the same greeting toward James and followed single file behind their council leader as he left the flat.
The last elf in line spat on the floor as he passed Thomas and mouthed, "Abomination."
James silently closed the door behind him as the elf moved into the hallway, then sucked in a deep gulp of air, and let it out sharply. "Wow...that was intense."
"You should have let me talk."
"No. Not a good idea. How can you not get that the only reason those guys haven’t killed you is because they feel they owe a debt to Lizbet and me?" James felt his neck reddening as he let himself feel the anger he’d had to rein in tightly while he faced the elders.
"I could've eased their fears. I'm for the fae, I'm not Faolan. I'd defend them with my life...you know that. I want to live among them and learn from them."
James walked into the kitchen and plugged the kettle in for tea, needing movement to keep his anger from growing, "Look, Tom...it's not going to happen. They're never going to forget Faolan and forgive you, no matter how much you want it."
Thomas's eyes narrowed slightly before he responded, "And by the way, empty-headed?"
"You know what I meant," said James, "I defended you in a way the elves would accept. It seemed like a reasonable way of saying it at the time. I didn’t do it to start a fight."
Thomas sat down at the small table in the corner of their shared kitchen. James set a cup in front of him, the tag of a tea bag trailing over the rim.
James said, "At least there's no more decision to make about going home. It's definitely time for us to get packing. We've got exactly seven days."
CHAPTER THREE
The Denial Twist
Eamon stood silently on the crest of a small, green, Ohio hill, watching the grazing cows below. Although he was as at peace here as any gruagach could possibly be, a part of him was always alert, keeping his eyes and ears open for threats to the herd. He heard the lassie moving through the grass long before she got to him, and he knew her by her distinctive scent that was both human and elf.
Without turning around, he spoke quietly in his thick Scottish accent as she grew close, "So, Tanji, what brings you here on such a glorious day? Were you of a mind to spend some peaceful time with my little herd? Or...don't tell me...my mistress has changed her mind about my retirement and sent you to fetch me?"
"No, little dude, your mistress is still pretending she isn't hanging around. But anyone who knows Lizbet can tell there's something going on. She flipped out yesterday and looked like she was going to bash some gnome brains out while Bobby watched. That is not my Lizzie. That is also not the human Morgan or any of Lizbet's other ladies. That was the fae Morgan. I know it. And Langoureth knows it," Tanji said, as she sat down on a large rock near where Eamon stood. Sitting down put her only slightly above eye level with the standing gruagach.
"Agreed. I'd say the fae in her is growing restless. I didn't think she'd give up gracefully in the same way that Langoureth did for you. My mistress wouldn’t have counted on the human personalities being the dominant ones after the remerge. She'll fight that to the bitter end. She would never content herself to be a set of memories and influences instead of being fully in charge."
"You know that, and I know that, but Lizbet is just like...in denial. I don't know how else to put it. I don’t feel good about going behind her back, but you told me to let you know if it was looking fishy, and dude…it’s become an all-fishies-into-the-pool situation."
"Lassie, don't put it all on the girl. She's being influenced by a powerful fae. Does she still have the wings?"
"Big, boss, beautiful wings, even though she doesn't want them."
"Right, see…fae don't have wings, except for the pixies and dragons who are just magical creatures. And they actually do need them for their flyin'. Among other fae, only Morgan has wings. An affectation-like that she adopted during Queen Victoria's time. She enjoyed her spyin' on the humans from the other realm and liked their twee pictorials of the fairy folk. Her wings are ornamental. Following the fashion, I suppose. She created and sustains them by a conscious act of magic. That means that she still has hold of the magic and is probably using every bit of it she can to influence and control Lizbet's thoughts."
"Lizzie still has super-mondo headaches. You think that's what's causing them?"
"Aye, probably. She's got a magically encapsulated fae in her brain. That has to hurt. The only ending I can see is that it'll eventually drive Lizbet mad, and my mistress will win dominance, or she'll just wear out and, again, my mistress will win dominance."
"I was kind of hoping for something better than a 'lose lose' proposition, Mr. Grim-To-The-Core. There has to be something we can do..."
"If I try to intervene, I fear what my mistress might do to the lass. I know she's in there listening all the time, even if it's not always obvious. Perhaps there's something you can do from that book I had sent from the old world? How much of it have you read?"
"A hundred or so pages. I keep getting distracted by spells I want to try. Plus, it's slow going. It takes a while with Langoureth's memories having to play translator for me."
"Are you pickin' up on the sorcery, then?"
Tanji waved her hand over a patch of wildflowers with buds that were yet to bloom and spoke a few quiet words. As she did, the flowers sprung to full bloom instantly. Tanji smiled and nodded. "I've got a good start. I seem to have a talent for making things grow."
"Good. You may need some magic before this is through. Although I recommend you focus on spells for healing and protection. I can’t really see a few bloomin’ flowers setting Morgan to shakin’ in her boots."
"Yeah, well…I'd rather just help Lizbet before she gets taken over and not have to prepare for a war."
"I don't know how to help her, lass. It's Lizbet's battle now. We might be able to influence and scheme, but in the end, Lizbet will have to beat the queen with her own strength. I know her, and I believe she can win, but Morgan is a strong force. How
else could a nymph become queen? Nymphs, even those whose magic gives them the power of the aether, are not generally considered by the fae when choosing their leaders. Morgan has been a notable exception."
"Yeah, that's another thing. The gnomes kept yelling, 'the queen, the queen', so I think they can tell that Morgan took over Lizbet, too."
"Aye, she never liked gnomes. They all fear her. You do need to understand...Morgan, for hundreds of years, was a good queen. She united the fae after Faolan sent them to the shadow realm. Without her, the stresses of living that way might well have overwhelmed them. She has great power over the fae, particularly now that she's freed them as she promised she would do. But I’d rather Lizbet wield that power than see it continue to rest in the hands of the bitter, angry creature my Morgan has become."
"I don't think Lizbet would want that kind of responsibility. She just wants things to be like they were before she went to Scotland. She doesn't like being 'the girl with wings' who everybody wants a piece of."
"Believe me, there's no one who understands wantin’ to be released from duties more than I do, but there's a lack of leadership among the fae now and old rivalries are heating up. They’re all breakin' into factions, and with the fae, that always ends in war. Not much different from humans, I suppose. They need their queen to keep things stabilized, and like it or no, that queen is either Morgan or Lizbet. I know you think it doesn’t concern you, but any war coming among the fae can’t help but threaten humans."
Sheila Moore dried the dishes she’d already washed and stacked in the draining rack. Lizbet had a headache again, and Sheila didn't have the heart to keep her daughter on her chore routine when she was so clearly in pain. She'd had Lizbet to doctors several times, but they had found nothing wrong with her despite all the tests. Sheila worried for her daughter. Ever since she'd returned from Scotland she was not only physically different, with chronic headaches and well...wings, but the joy had gone out of her. Lizbet had always been such an upbeat, happy, active girl.
