by Pati Nagle
I saw a pale rectangle on the wall by the door and put my hand on it. Not an ordinary light switch, just a plate, but when I touched it flames flickered to life in lanterns all along the ceiling of the portal. I caught my breath at the beauty of the light racing around the passages, then headed to the bathroom.
On a small shelf embedded in the wall I found a comb. I used it to tidy my hair, then scrubbed my face with hot water and Madóran’s lavender soap, and combed my hair again.
My reflection looked a bit wild-eyed, but I felt a lot better. Next order of business: matches, and maybe a cup of tea.
I expected to find the kitchen unoccupied, but when I went in, Madóran was standing at the counter, chopping carrots. A large pot was burbling on the back burner, and the smell of cooking onions made my stomach rumble.
“Can I help?” I asked.
Madóran glanced up at me. “Do you like to cook?”
I shrugged. “I’m not a gourmet, but I can chop veggies.”
He offered me a knife, a cutting board, and a bowl of potatoes. It was strange standing next to him at the counter, doing something so mundane, but it was also comforting.
“Is the meeting over?” I asked.
“No, they are still discussing what to do. I had little to add, and thought I could be of more use preparing supper.”
A slight note of strain in his voice made me look at him. There was tension in his face. He knew the alben, I recalled.
“Have the ones who went after him … ?”
“No. They have not returned.”
“I hope they’re all right.”
Madóran scooped a pile of sliced carrots into the soup pot, then began chopping roasted green chile. I blinked as the fumes stung my eyes. He must be teaching all Caeran’s family how to eat spicy food.
Don’t think about Caeran. Think about anything else.
“My laundry.” I put down the knife. “I forgot to run it.”
“I started it. You might check to see if it is done.”
Nodding, I headed for the laundry room and quickly shifted the small load to the dryer, putting it on gentle in case Madóran’s caftan might shrink. Weird to think of Madóran using these modern machines, but I was sure glad he had them.
When I got back to the kitchen, the rest of my potatoes had vanished along with the chile. Madóran was leaning over the pot, stirring and frowning.
“What else can I do?” I asked.
“Fill the kettle.”
I did that, and set it on the front burner, then watched Madóran shake some herbs into the stew pot from various jars. He seemed satisfied at last, and beckoned me over to the table. He was looking at my arms, and I glanced down, wondering if I’d gotten soot on the sleeves.
“You are still feeling some pain.”
“Oh—that. Yeah, he grabbed me pretty hard.”
Madóran reached out and stroked my arms, brushing the soreness away. I repressed a shiver, still amazed by what he could do.
“Thank you. That’s a lot better.”
He smiled slightly. “It is the least I can do after scolding you.”
“I deserved it. I can’t believe I was so stupid.”
“A mistake any of us might have made.”
His gaze was gentle, even kindly. So different from the way the others looked at me. I was grateful, and surprised.
“I thought you disapproved of me.”
He glanced down. “I did, at first, but you have shown unexpected depths. Also, I can see that it is too late.”
I frowned, unsure what he meant. Was he talking about Caeran?
“It’s not too late,” I said defensively.
Madóran raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps I was mistaken,” he said, and stood up.
The kettle had begun to sing its low, melodious note. It sounded mournful, or maybe that was just my mood. Madóran made tea, bringing the pot and two cups to the table along with a bowl of fruit that I was proud to be able to identify as figs. He pushed them toward me, and I picked one up.
“Don’t tell me you grew these.”
“There is a fig tree in the plazuela.” He gestured toward the courtyard. “Did you not see it?”
“I wouldn’t know a fig tree if it bit me.”
“It has no leaves at the moment.”
I tilted my head. “You must love this place.”
He paused, gazing at me. “I do. I have been here long enough to grow attached.”
Yeah, two or three centuries would do that, I guessed. I bit into my fig. It was soft and sweet, mild compared to the dried figs and cookie fillings I was used to.
“And I always intended to stay. I meant to love it, so that—”
He stopped abruptly, frowning. Lifted the lid of the teapot to see if the tea was strong enough. The fragrant steam rose between us, obscuring his face for a moment.
“This is ready.”
He poured for me, then for himself. I sipped and sighed, grateful for the warmth. The window was chilly, and I still felt a little fragile.
“You were trying to forget your former home?” I asked.
That was nosy of me. Maybe Madóran didn’t want to talk about his past, least of all with a pesky mortal. I took another swallow of tea, trying to think of a different subject.
“Yes,” he said after a moment. His voice was filled with sadness. “There are many things I would like to forget. Those of course are the things I cannot help but remember.”
“Sorry.”
He shook his head, smiling slightly. “I lived in Italy, and before that in Greece. I have been a healer for many centuries. It has been my lifelong study.”
“Healing your own kind?”
“And humans. More and more, humans. Once you did not outnumber us so vastly, but we breed very rarely.”
I nodded. Caeran had said that.
“How many of you are there?”
“Fewer than a thousand.”
I was shocked. “In the whole world?”
He nodded. “I cannot be certain of the number. When I came here, I severed all contact with the others. I intended to remain apart from them.”
Why? I hastily took another fig, trying to shift my thoughts.
“Because of Gehmanin,” Madóran said.
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know, but let me say this to you. It is not safe for me to discuss it with the others.” He gazed at me, blue eyes sharp and earnest. “Will you accept my confidence?”
I swallowed. It was the least I could do.
“Sure.”
Madóran stared at the teacup between his hands. “Gehmanin was my lover, long ago.”
= 13=
I must have gasped, because he glanced up, smiling wryly. “Long ago. We have both had other loves since.”
Whoa. I took another swallow of tea, trying to grasp what I was hearing. Gehmanin, who was now an alben, had once been … and that meant …
“He would have returned to me had I asked it. He wanted me to ask it, but I never would.”
Unable to think of a single thing to say, I just listened.
“We first met on Samos. He was a favored member of Polycrates’s court. Well, we both were, but he far more than I. He let himself be idolized; he basked in it. I considered his behavior too public, too involved with mortals for safety. We argued, and I came to see that we would never reconcile that difference. So I … left.”
His voice rang with heartache. Even now, centuries later, he regretted this loss. How could these people endure such pain?
“I traveled to Rome, and threw myself into study. Watched the empire thrive, and then begin to decay. I could see its end approaching, so I moved again, this time to Egypt, there to pursue my learning in a different context.”
“Were you alone all that time?”
“You mean without companions of my own kind. Yes, I was alone in that sense. I had friends among the mortals—even lovers, occasionally—but my own folk were elsewhere. Most went deep into the for
ests of Europe, hiding from the waves of invaders. Many of them live there still, though the forests are much smaller now.”
He poured more tea for us both. I watched his hands—graceful, steady, no wasted movement. How I wished I could come close to that.
“All the time I was studying the arts of healing, I was also searching for understanding. The alben’s suffering is very old, you see. It came with us from our homeland, which has long since sunk beneath the sea—”
“Atlantis?”
He shook his head. “Atlantis is a myth, cobbled from fragments of various histories, including ours. Our home was more distant, far away in the center of the ocean. It was there that the alben’s sickness first arose, and our ancestors fought the first wars over it.”
“Is anyone—are any of you—still alive from that time?”
“None that I know of.”
“But you’re immortal.”
He smiled sadly. “Even immortals grow weary of this world.” He took a fig, turning it in his fingers as he admired it. “And immortal does not mean indestructible. We can be killed.”
He ate the fig, looking thoughtful as he chewed. I sipped my tea, wondering why he wanted to tell me all this.
“It was in Egypt that Gehmanin found me,” Madóran continued. “He begged me to see him, and I agreed. I should have refused, but I was weak.
“In one evening, he reminded me of all the reasons we should not be together, even as he argued that we should. He wanted to go to the Egyptian court and claim kinship with their gods. Certain of our gifts would stand as proof of such claims, or so he maintained. Gehmanin wanted the adoration of mortals. He could never see that it was a dangerous trap.”
“I suppose you could have gotten away with it.”
“Perhaps, but the chances of discovery and disaster were too great for my liking. Moreover, I thought it unethical. Gehmanin and I never did agree on ethics.” He smiled, glancing up at me.
“After the Dark Ages, I returned to Rome. From time to time I saw other ælven. Their visits to human cities were always temporary; they preferred the solitude of their hidden enclaves. I could not convince them that we must find ways of living in harmony with humans, especially since they—the ælven—were at war.”
War. Ugly word.
“With the alben?”
Madóran nodded. “That war—the first war—never really ended. The alben fled to Europe, and we followed when our homeland drowned. The struggle has continued.”
“How did you keep from getting dragged into it?”
“By living among humans. Even so, there were times when my kindred would beg me to join them—to mend their wounds, and heal those who sickened with the alben’s curse. Those latter I did try to help, but I never found a cure.”
Fear crawled down my spine as I remembered that Caeran was threatened by this curse, as Madóran called it. My throat went dry, and I sucked down more tea.
“Gehmanin sought me out again, and I refused to see him. He sent messages with my friends from the woodland clans. I realized he would never give up, so I cut my ties and came to the New World.”
“That must have been terrifying.” I remembered studying the Spanish Colonial era. Much of it wasn’t pretty.
“It was needful. I did not regret it. Despite the wars that have troubled this land, I have found peace here.”
“Until now.”
He sighed, and sipped his tea. “All things come to an eventual end.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You did not bring Gehmanin here.”
“I sort of helped, though.”
“No. Do not think I mean to belittle you when I say that your absence would have made no difference. Gehmanin would have found me in any case.”
“Do you think he wants you to heal him?”
Madóran closed his eyes briefly. “No doubt. In many ways. I can do nothing, though.”
“And the others …”
“They mean to kill him.”
He stared at the cup between his hands, eyes going hard. I wanted to help, to offer comfort, but I couldn’t think of anything to say. Gehmanin was a stranger to me, one I knew only as a brutal killer who wanted to consume my life. I couldn’t pretend that I disagreed with the other ælven.
“Nor do I know what I want,” Madóran said softly. “I can find no reconciliation.”
“You still care for him.”
“But his actions are wrong. The more so, now.”
I frowned, staring at the satiny wood of the table. “It’s so unfair. You should have access to the best medical research facilities. There’s got to be a way to find a cure.”
Madóran looked bemused. “Sadly, I dare not seek out the means of conducting such research.”
“You need an ally.” A flicker of excitement kindled in my chest. “You need an ally, and I need to choose a major. Why don’t I make it pre-med?”
He blinked. “What?”
“I haven’t chosen a career path. Medical would be fine. I’d be more interested in research than practicing, but that’s what you need anyway.”
Madóran stared at me, seeming confused. Maybe he hadn’t kept up with the human educational system.
“It would only take me a few years to get through med school. That’s nothing to you, right? And then I can get a research job somewhere, with access to a lab.”
Madóran’s frown told me he still didn’t understand. I was getting more excited the more I thought about it.
“I can work on your problem! Help find a cure for the alben. Maybe figure out what makes you immortal, too.”
“Lenore—”
“Just say you think it’s a good idea, and I’ll go away and not bother you for a few years.”
He smiled, shaking his head. “It is a generous thought, but your lifetime is brief. You should spend it pursuing your dreams, not our troubles.”
“I want to do this. This inspires me like nothing else has. I was thinking about business school, because at least you can get a job. But this is way better.”
“And how would you explain the nature of your research?”
I waved a hand. “We’ll do that on the side. My official research will be on human health issues, and if you feel any obligation, you can help me with that. For as long as you’ve been studying us, you probably know things about humans that no one else does.”
The disbelief in his eyes faded, replaced by a spark of interest. “You are envisioning a huge commitment. What if you discover that this work is not to your liking?”
I shrugged. “If I flunk out, I’ll have to try something else. But I won’t flunk out. I’ll have every reason not to.”
A slow smile spread over Madóran’s face. “A cause.”
“Yes! You help us, we help you. It might even convince your people to change their attitude toward humans.”
His glance flicked aside. I could see that he doubted that one, and I didn’t blame him. People—humans—could be pretty rotten a lot of the time.
A timer went off. Madóran got up and opened the oven, sending the smell of baking bread through the kitchen. I offered to help, and Madóran cheerfully ordered me around the kitchen to fetch dishes, butter, silverware. He sliced the bread and gave me a heel, still steaming. I put some butter on and watched it melt into the bread, then munched it down.
“Mmm! You know, you could be a professional baker.”
He chuckled. “Too social for me.”
“Oh, yeah. And you probably don’t need the money.”
The food was ready. Where were people going to eat it, I wondered? There was a table in the front room, but it wouldn’t seat more than eight, squeezing. The kitchen table was only big enough for four.
“We will manage. Help yourself while I go tell the others supper is ready.”
“Hey, Madóran?”
He paused at the door, looking back.
“Thanks,” I said. The word was inadequate to cover all my gratitude, for the healing, the trust
, the inspiration. And the fantastic bread.
He smiled and went out.
Left alone, my nervousness crept back. I didn’t want to be here when all the ælven came through. I filled a bowl with soup, grabbed another piece of bread, and headed back toward my room.
The portal was warmer now, probably from all the gas lights. The glow they cast was golden, cozy. I decided to park in one of the chairs there to eat. Picking one next to an end table where I could set my plate, I settled in to enjoy my meal.
I could hear the murmur of voices, see the shadows of my fellow guests passing through the entryway to the kitchen. Ignoring them, I curled my feet under me in my chair, trying to be invisible.
The soup was savory and delicious, with chicken and beans and shreds of greens, and just enough chile for a slow burn. I gobbled it down, then ate my bread slowly.
I heard the door to the south wing, the kitchen wing, open. Like a guilty school kid, I put my feet on the floor and sat up straight in my chair, watching the newcomer approach through two layers of glass, an unfocused shadow. My heart started racing and I knew before I could see his face that it was Caeran.
He carried a supper plate, and smiled when he saw me. I smiled back, then tore a piece off my bread and popped it in my mouth. My heart was racing; I was thrilled that he had joined me, though I knew I should stay away from him.
He set his plate on my table and drew another of the chairs closer. “I do not blame you for hiding.”
I swallowed. “How’s the argument going?”
His smile faded. “Some wish to set a trap for the alben, luring him back here to capture him. Others wish to hunt him down.”
“Those three haven’t come back yet, have they?”
Caeran shook his head as he ate a spoonful of soup.
“So maybe it’ll be a moot question. If they catch him.”
Unless he catches them. But three against one? I doubted he had much chance. Poor Madóran.
I wrenched my thoughts away from that, picked up the last bit of bread from my plate and stared out at the courtyard. It was dark compared with the lighted portal, though I could see the glint of starlight on the fountain’s restless water.
“What do you want to do?” I asked. “Trap him or hunt him?”
