Foul is Fair

by Cook, Jeffrey

  “Ms. O'Reilly needs to think Megan's home by supper,” Lani said. “She can be 'in her room' outside of meals. If we're not back by Monday, the math homework needs to be turned in at school. Megan needs to be seen so no one calls her mom, but 'she' can turn in mine while I'm sick.”

  The brownie was nodding. Megan couldn't believe they were having this conversation, of course. Most high school students did not get a personal assistant. But if they were going to have it, best to go for the best. “And some of the equations might need checking.”

  “Will do.” And there was that okay-salute again, and the bow-curtsey again, and Kerr was scurrying out.

  Everything she was experiencing brought more questions to Megan's mind, so she continued just asking the first ones to spring to mind. "How did... Kerr... do that? Just sort of showing up when you mentioned... Kerr?" Megan asked, at a loss for pronouns.

  "Brownies are very good at being right on time. Also very good with the little household magics and a few illusions. Your mom won't notice a thing, and we'll get you back as soon as we can."

  "Survival permitting," Cassia muttered to the kittens, just before the one with the aviator helmet was pounced by his brother.

  Megan didn't like the sound of that, including the thought there might be a lot more redcaps, or worse, where the one came from. She was interrupted from this reflection when the playful wrestling of kittens turned into something from a nature documentary, with two adult-sized leopards leaping and tussling. As Megan squeaked and dove from the sofa, she saw the light of dusk filtering in and shining on goat-like horns curving out of Cassia's thick black hair.

  Suddenly, moments after the world went crazy, everything returned to the way it had seemed. Megan got back up and dusted herself off as Cassia grinned. “Told you.”

  Megan sat down again in surreal normality, trying not to give Cassia anything to encourage her playful gloating. Instead, she turned to Lani, trying to go through which questions came to mind that didn't involve how, if the kittens were really leopards, they weren't knocking things over left and right. “Before anything more, where'd the word Seelie come from, anyway?"

  “It's an old word for punctual,” piped a voice from out on the balcony. The crow was perched there, and the amber-skinned little Painted Lady was sitting atop him. “I'm Seelie myself,” she said. “Don't listen to anyone who says different.”

  Chapter 8: Mazes of Words … and Ice

  “Where did you come from?” Megan asked, immediately feeling stupid.

  “Originally? Evolved from baby's laughter, obviously. Just now? We've been leading a merry chase that wasn't very merry.”

  “Right. Thanks. So … what happened to my father? They said you know more.”

  "He went hunting..." Ashling started. There followed a long stretch of explanations of hunting in Faerie, fantastic beasts that Megan had to admit might be possible in Faerie, or might be Ashling exaggeration. Most likely, she figured, there was some combination of all of the above.

  She listened to the meandering as best she could manage, until Ashling mentioned her father again. "...he does this a lot, when he's in Faerie. My cousin Nessa calls it his safari streak. There's a big dance that follows The Dance, and then a feast. The King likes to provide a new trophy every year as the centerpiece-slash-entree for the feast. Well, except some years, like the years with your mom, or the year he did a tour of all the castles of Scotland for nostalgia's sake, or the year he tried to invade Sweden..."

  Somewhere in the list of Riocard's adventures, Megan found herself staring at the torn sections of each of Ashling's wings, then trying to analyze what exact shade of pink was on their underside, before the story cycled back around. "...there was plenty of time. So he had me guide him out into the mountains. He knows them pretty well, but the Count and I fly all over the place and had scouted it out for him. I—I guess I missed something. We thought we'd found a cave where he could get his Ellén Trechend—”

  “Wait,” Megan interrupted. “He was hunting who?”

  “Not who. What. Your dad doesn't hunt people.”

  Megan's shoulders relaxed.

  “He doesn't have the palate for it. This was for a feast, after all. An Ellén Trechend is a giant three-headed scaly-red bird-monster.”'

  “Oh.” Megan paused. “So you thought you'd found it ...”

  “Yes! We thought we'd found it. So he went in to explore. He had the Count and me cycle around to make sure there was no back way out. Then suddenly the wind carries a message from him. Something about being ambushed and trapped, telling me to run and hide, then nothing. I go back later, really sneaky, to explore. When we first found it, it hadn't looked that deep. Now, there was all sorts of passages, and even though the handover in power hadn't happened yet, it was all like an ice cave. Mirrored surfaces everywhere, and all twisty like a maze. I didn't go in very deep, so I didn't get lost. Besides, I figured there was something worse in there, since Riocard normally wouldn't have any problems with ice and cold things. That's his favorite magic."

  Megan followed the last bits. "Okay, so we need to go to the caves and figure out how to find him. And figure out who ambushed him? If he's even alive. I mean, if he just stopped there."

  "No, no. That wasn't the last I heard from him. There I was, turning the Count out of the cave because I didn't know the depths, didn't have a special knack for ice, and didn't see a thing except that one will o' wisp—”

  “A what?" Megan had heard the term, but wasn't exactly sure how it applied here.

  "Sort of like faeries, since they were also spawned from the sparks from the fire of the first storyteller..."

  "I thought you said faeries came from baby's laughter."

  "That's silly. Faeries were around way before there were babies."

  "So the first storyteller was never a baby?"

  "See, now you're asking the important questions. And that's a very good story, actually. Want to hear it?"

  "Later, maybe. We're talking about my da—what's a will o' wisp again?"

  "Okay, so will o' wisps are sort of like really minor faerie things, or lights that like to hang around faeries, because they eat emotions, and faeries are a constant buffet that won't wear down easy. Now and then, one or two wander through the portals and get hungry. That's where you get stories of people seeing lights in the woods and getting scared and stuff. Poor will o' wisps, they're just lost and hungry. I try to lead them back when I can." Ashling wiped a non-existent tear from her cheek, before getting back on topic. “...Where was I?”

  “The cave shouldn't have scared my dad, so something more awful must have been there.”

  “Right! So there I was, ready to go for help, when I hear just a whisper on the wind—it's a very distinctive whisper, you see. He tells me he was betrayed and trapped, and don't trust anyone. I guess someone knew he wouldn't worry about the ice and would just get curious, and then they trapped him somewhere in the mountains. He assured me he was still alive, but faerie magic wouldn't free him. And I was supposed to go find you and bring you to Faerie."

  Megan took that all in, the comments on very distinctive whispers reminding her of that voice, the one she just knew belonged to the man in the photo. The trip was obviously dangerous, but if there was any chance of it being true, she resolved to try. "You mentioned something about a dance?"

  "Not so much a dance as The Dance," Lani said, before Ashling could get going on a new tale. The pixie harumphed again, but let Lani continue. "Riocard and Queen Orlaith meet and do an old, formal dance twice each year, Halloween and May Day. It rekeys all the pathways, helps keep the seasons in order—for part of the world, anyway—and helps keep some really important things in order in Faerie, too."

  "Okay, so now that brings up more questions. Pathways? Who benefits from this not happening? If a faerie lord's magic can't free him, what are we supposed to do?"

  Lani continued talking over Ashling, with the pixie eventually ceasing to try, and just sticking her
tongue out at Lani instead. "There's various paths and shortcuts, some obvious, some hidden, between Earth and Faerie, and a lot of the different fae realms. Pixies are especially good at finding them, knowing which one leads where, and navigating them."

  The compliment seemed to mollify Ashling a bit, while Lani continued. "When The Dance happens, a lot of them close, others just get more treacherous. But it's sort of a rest for the Faerie realm, though it still lets some of the nasty things wander unchecked. So there's one question."

  Megan nodded, restraining herself from asking any more before Lani caught up. "Okay, so next," Lani said, "There's too many people who might benefit. Some of the Unseelie would do things just for the chaos. Some of them would also love to take Riocard's position, no matter the cost. There's plenty of intelligent and powerful creatures out there that would love to see the pathways stay open all the time, and all of the magic protecting them start to break down. We need more information."

  Megan sighed. This wasn't getting any easier or any clearer, even with the explanations. Mostly, they just raised more questions.

  "Finally, he wanted you in Faerie. Maybe he was just worried about sudden redcap incursions because you might not be a secret anymore, but maybe he thought you could help. Meanwhile, the Queen thinks someone of human blood can help. Great minds might have thought alike, so we're taking you to Faerie, and starting at the towers. Speaking of which, tomorrow is going to be a really long day, and it's getting late. Ashling is going to lead us to the quickest path first thing tomorrow. Cassia's girlfriend should be home around 3, so there'll be at least one interruption. We should try to get some sleep while we can. Seeing Faerie tomorrow will explain a lot of things better than I could now."

  "Yeah, good luck with getting to sleep," Megan said, but tried to settle in on Cassia's couch anyway, while Lani curled up in a loveseat. "Good night, Lani."

  Megan's head was whirling while she tried to get comfortable. Amidst all of the wondering about faerie courts, the existence of magic, what, exactly, that meant for her, her mother's state of mind, and so many other things, she also realized she'd forgotten to ask anyone to get her medication. Not the Vitamin C that had replaced what only one out of four doctors had recommended, but the pills that four out of four doctors thought helped her function.

  Oh, well. She had bigger problems now.

  Chapter 9: Into Faerie

  Ashling's way to the nearest passage turned out to require a trip to Fremont Peak Park. The small group navigated the gravel paths that wound through the park, and then the crow and pixie led them out onto the grass and through some of the shrubbery to a spot that would be hidden from the view of most casual passers-by.

  "So, you did promise. Why's he called Count?" Megan asked, while Ashling was moving about the ground, amidst a ring of mushrooms mostly hidden under the brush and grass.

  "Dressed in black, with a widow's peak," Ashling began.

  How matters of hairstyle could be applied to a bird was, technically, a question that Megan could have asked, but she just stood and watched and listened as Ashling walked in a figure-8, still talking at a mile a minute.

  "—and of course my cousin Nessa has told him that it's a shame he's not named the Marquis because he travels the far reaches and all, but considering his fondness for Monte Cristo sandwiches..."

  Megan was seeing by now what Lani had meant about pixies, so she directed her next question to Lani. "So, it's not dawn or dusk. Why am I not seeing a butterfly?"

  "It will start happening more and more. You know what she really looks like, you've accepted that pixies exist, and you're starting to acknowledge the sidhe blood thing."

  "My dad being a faerie lord who decided to leave his magic realm and come join a rock band for a few years? That little thing?"

  "Gee, when you put it that way, it almost sounds silly," Lani said, unable to entirely avoid smiling. "You're sounding more like yourself, though."

  They glanced back to Ashling, who had stopped talking and stopped pacing. "Okay, ready," she said, before looking to Megan. "So, did you have any other questions? I like questions."

  "I'll get back to you. So, how do we do this?"

  Ashling was about to respond, but Lani interrupted. "Just step into the ring, close your eyes, and then step out again." While she explained, raising her voice just a bit, Ashling attempted to answer anyway, with some directions that sounded to Megan like they might have been lifted piecemeal from the hokey-pokey, the Macarena, and the time warp. Noticing no one being inclined to go through her dance, Ashling huffed, then stepped into the ring, followed by the Count. Both disappeared when they started to step—or, in the Count's case, hop—out of the ring. Lani went next, demonstrating on a larger scale. As she stepped back out of the ring, she too disappeared.

  Megan took a deep breath, then stepped where Lani had been, careful to avoid the mushrooms, then closed her eyes, released the breath, and stepped back out, a little surprised when she kicked something crunchy-sounding that seemed almost to hook into her shoe.

  When she opened her eyes, the entire world had changed. The first thing she noticed were the colors. Everything was brighter, starting with the sunlight, especially in comparison to the gray skies of Seattle in October. The light made it no warmer, but just added to the golden sheen in the air. This brought out the color in the marigolds and golden columbines that peeked from the vibrant green grass amid the chill. The golden haze of the air also matched the golden apples hanging within some of the dense expanse of trees, the apples that weren't red or yellow or green or mottled or pink.

  Megan noticed the second thing very quickly, because if she hadn't, she would have fallen right into the raspberry bush rather than recover her balance. As it was, she barely managed to extricate her foot from the thicket it was ensnared in. The raspberry bushes, too, were filled with all varieties: red and black and purple and blue and yes, golden. All the fruit was large and ripe and glistening—in the cold.

  Lani was waiting calmly by one of them, with the Count perched on one of her shoulders, and Ashling perched on the crow's neck. She turned at the sound of odd footsteps. Megan didn't blink, thanks to the 'preview' of the night before, but it was a better look this time. The woman behind her was still Cassia—the facial features were right, she was the right size, and she still had the Sax & Violins t-shirt. Now, however, the rest of her clothing was a distinctly more ancient Mediterranean style. She had loops of bronze-plated leather covering the top portion of her now-fuzzy-and-hooved legs, while the Vespa helmet had become a bronze and ivory helm, with holes left for her impressive, curving horns. The kittens were again full-sized adult leopards—one still wearing a leather helmet and goggles—and the Vespa she'd been wheeling beside her had become a small chariot. The letter opener had likewise transformed, leaving Cassia with a straight bronze sword on one hip. The satyress grinned, striking a pose.

  "Time for showing off later. We have a lot of walking to do," Lani called.

  Cassia sighed. "Spoilsport." There was a grin, though, and she set to securing the chariot to the pair of leopards, though once the apparently tame cats were strapped in, Cassia just walked alongside it.

  As soon as everyone appeared ready, the Count lifted off of Lani's shoulder and began weaving through the trees, doubling back often to make sure the others didn't lose him.

  For a while, Megan just marveled at the world around her. When there was sufficient breaks in the trees to see them, towering peaks that looked like they'd dwarf the Cascades—and probably the Rockies as well—loomed in the distance. There was the occasional sound of birds. More disturbing, Megan was constantly feeling like she was being watched and occasionally would swear she saw motion out of the corner of her eyes. Any time she turned her head, there was no sign of anyone but herself and her companions. The others weren't exactly relaxed, but they also weren't looking around every few seconds, so she did her best to convince herself it was her imagination, fueled by the haze of golden light, wh
ich was occasionally almost lens-flaresque.

  She therefore stared straight ahead, which for the moment, was at Cassia. “Now, wait a minute,” Megan said after considering for a moment. “You've got the horns, like the fauns in Etruscan and Roman art, but the outfit is Bronze Age Greece, and that—” she pointed at the horse-like tail emerging from the armored skirt. “—is an old-school Bronze Age satyr's tail.” Mrs. Chang's Art History Thursdays, sophomore year, had been more fun for Megan than regular history.

  “While I appreciate your checking out my ass, Megan, satyrs and fauns have been mixed up for millennia.”

  “Yeah, but you can't actually be both at once.”

  “Don't tell me what I can't do,” Cassia said good-naturedly.

  After the sighing and eye-rolling, there was a pause, a silence she wanted filled with something other than the shuffle of shoes—or hooves—across the vibrantly colored ground or the thought of what was on the edge of her vision. “You said something last night about attachment issues. Is that about how my mom stopped liking music because my dad left?”

  “No,” Cassia said. “I think she'd have still been able to heal, get another guitarist, and enjoy music just fine if Riocard hadn't dated her for four freaking years, almost.”

  “That's … not that long.”

  “It was for him.”

  “What's the longest you've dated someone?”

  “Going on two years now, but I'm young. And a satyr. With my girl, I've just got to be careful about how often we get to drinking. The mad revels and all. Go wild, fun times, dangerous, exhausting, etc. And then we're done with it for a bit. Break down and let it all out, you know? But the sidhe aren't like that. They're always on. Always. It's not one wild moment. Get too wrapped up in them, and you'll never just get a moment again. Not ever. There's a reason 'fae-touched' used to mean 'crazy.' Too much time with a sidhe will burn a person out."