A slight frown creased her brow. Her eyes lifted.
She looked at Elon, then at Jareth standing in the doorway. Some of the images from her dream were still vivid in her mind but fading.
“Elon, Jareth. I was dreaming.”
“Have you dreamt like this before, Ailith?” Elon asked carefully.
Ailith looked at him.
A quiver ran through the muscles of his arm where her hand rested.
Something about the tone of his voice sent a shiver down her back. “Yes. The night my mother died.” Her hand tightened on his arm. “I Saw it.”
Elon felt it, a touch of that raging grief his people knew of old, shimmering through the connection between them, wrought of his Healing and her magic. Fear and grief.
“You said you believed she was dead,” Jareth said.
“I didn’t know it. I dreamed it.”
Elon said gently, “You dream true.”
“Is that what it is?” Ailith asked wonderingly.
There was that note in his voice again, though. Fear shivered through her.
Their eyes met.
“Elon,” she whispered.
Ailith sat back, withdrawing her hand from the support of his arm reluctantly. From what she saw and felt there. An echo of deep pain. Her breath caught in her throat.
“You know.”
This was a different fear from what she’d known before. In the short time she’d known him she’d come to like and respect him. She trusted him. She’d hoped it was mutual but now…? She knew how Dwarves felt about Otherlings. There were Elves who felt much the same and for the same reasons.
She’d have faced a thousand hell hounds not to have known this moment.
Jareth looked from one to the other. There was something going on here but he didn’t know what.
Ailith waited, watching Elon, keeping her face still but looking at him squarely. Letting him look.
See me, I’m not a monster. I’m not.
Otherling.
Fire was always a danger in an Enclave, since so much of their lives depended on trees and wood.
Elon remembered walking among the trees of Lothliann, seeing the scorched and dying trees of the Enclave, the tattered remains of the homes of his people. The fallen roofs of the galleries, the tumbled boards, railings that hung from twisted limbs like fingers reaching out to him. He’d been scarcely Colath’s age then, nearly three centuries ago or more. The fire had swept through so swiftly and suddenly that some hadn’t had time to run.
Lives had been lost. Children. Bloodlines. All precious to his race.
Elon had fought the flames as had so many others, racing against time to stem that scorching tide. To save what they could of green Lothliann, the jewel of the Enclaves. The terrible grief of that day haunted him. He hadn’t lost anyone himself but he’d helped to ease the pain of so many.
All for the madness of an Otherling.
That story and that of the others, all told again and again, to impress on each and every generation the dangers of mixing blood. It was ingrained in them.
“You have magic,” Elon said.
The very tonelessness of his voice alerted Jareth to how deeply wrong things were here.
“Elon?”
Ailith closed her eyes, took a breath and looked at him. Her blue eyes were haunted, afraid, but resolute.
“He knows, Jareth, that I’m Otherling. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
For a breath or two Jareth stood there uncomprehending.
Otherling.
Said so flatly and matter-of-factly.
It was like a punch in his chest, taking all the wind out of him. He swore softly. The stories of Otherlings crossed all cultures, all races. Elon was one of the fairest Elves he knew but this…
Ailith looked back at Elon, her blue eyes even, steady.
“If I do have magic, Elon, I don’t know it. As I didn’t know this. I would’ve told you had I known. Geric told Tolan. Until then I didn’t know.”
Elon had noticed the night she’d come to warn them how well she could see in the dark. As sure in the night as an Elf. Guiding them to the ruins, to safety. Riding through the darkness, knowing what was coming. It had taken courage to do that.
It explained so much.
Even Otherlings weren’t proof against the creatures of the borderlands. He’d seen that himself, only this short time past. He’d Healed her from it.
She’d come anyway. To fight beside them though she could have stood back and let those who were bigger and stronger fight. None of them would have faulted her for it. Yet she hadn’t. She’d fought and then she’d gone back. Knowing what awaited her. A few hours ago he’d been relieved to see her, felt the burden of letting her go lift from his spirit.
He was torn.
As before, she looked at him now forthrightly, meeting him eye to eye, not in pride but with courage. Facing him, knowing he might condemn her or revile her. Or kill her. She didn’t beg or plead for mercy, merely waited and trusted to his judgment to see her rightly. She had to be afraid. Where else would she go if he cast her out? Her mother was dead, her father ensorcelled, her home and peace were all gone.
“If you want me to leave,” she said, softly, as if reading his mind, “I’ll go.”
Jareth took a breath in protest.
Oh, he knew the stories, those horrific tales and he knew them for truth but still…
Ailith held up her hand and shook her head, her eyes on Elon. It was his decision. It had to be.
Fear had turned to limbs to water, but still, she would give him this. She was so afraid. Still, she wouldn’t beg. She put it in Elon’s hands and prayed that she’d judged right.
It struck Elon that she did that.
Finally, he looked at her. Truly looked at her.
She meant what she said as she had before. She would leave, without protest.
He looked hard to see her clearly. Wavy, sun-touched hair and level blue-gray eyes. He’d trusted her from the first, from the very moment she’d ridden into their camp perched on the back of an Elven-bred cull.
Instinct had spoken to him, his Elven instinct and that even gaze. No guile.
He glanced at her swords.
Ailith saw where he looked.
“Would you tell me if I asked?” he said.
It was a test. Another’s secrets. There would be some among his people who would have no love for the one who had given her those, if what he suspected of the giver were true.
“Yes,” she said, carefully, “if you asked.”
Another’s secrets. She would tell him if he asked, of that he had no doubt.
“I won’t ask.”
Her head bowed. Like his people, she had no capacity for tears.
For a moment she hesitated and then looked up and said, evenly, “I’m not those others, Elon. I’m not. I know you have the right to hate me for what I am but I’m not them.”
“I know, Ailith,” he said and offered her his hand so she would know it for truth.
With all trust, she laid her hand in his, opened her heart and soul to him without any understanding of what it was she truly did. Look at me, she was saying. There was nothing controlled or held back, she opened for him to look into her heart and soul if he chose. Absolutely opened to him. So he could see her clearly.
Such faith she had in him.
“I won’t go mad, Elon,” she said, solemnly, and then her mouth quirked up in that grin he was coming to know was so uniquely Ailith. It faded suddenly. “I think if it were so, I would have in these last few days. What I’ve seen…”
He felt it, hand to hand, that thrum of utter terror, a horror so great she’d teetered on the edge of insanity. Tilted but not fallen. It was in her eyes as well.
Even among his own people this sort of openness was rare. The reserve they used to keep painful emotions at bay was at work even then.
“In that dream?” Jareth asked.
“That and another. In the othe
r I looked through the Door.”
“I think,” Elon said, releasing her hand with some little reluctance, “that we should tell the others. I don’t think telling it twice will make it easier.”
She shook her head. “No, it won’t.”
“How much should we tell them?” Jareth asked, worriedly, looking at Elon.
Otherling. Ailith was Otherling.
It echoed through him.
He knew Colath well enough to know that where Elon led, Colath trusted to follow. He hadn’t yet gotten to know Jalila well enough. Gwillim was a complete unknown.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t Elon who answered but Ailith.
“Everything. All,” she said, firmly.
Then looked at them both squarely and gave them that smile again. She gestured at herself.
You see what secrets do? With no ill intent at all. There’s trust or none. I’ll ask no one to trust me without full knowledge.”
“What if they can’t?” Elon looked at her.
She winced but faced him.
“I’ll make my own way. You can’t go on divided and I won’t be the cause of it.”
Such courage. Elon had to admire it.
After a moment, he released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding and nodded.
In the outer room, Colath watched the door.
He’d seen Jareth get up, had sensed the hum of magic. His eyes had gone to Jalila, who met his gaze evenly. If Elon had need of them, he would have called. He hadn’t, so they waited. Such was their way.
The Hunter Gwillim came in through the outside door. “How is she?”
“Well enough, Elon says,” Colath said, to assure him. “How does the horse?”
“Smoke? He’s a tough old beast,” Gwillim said, fondly. “I cleaned the wounds. Like all of that of your people, he heals fast. A little rest, some food and he’ll be right as rain.”
The door opened behind them.
Jareth stepped out with Elon at his heel.
Colath started to ask but then saw Ailith’s face peer between Elon and Jareth.
She caught his eye and gave him an uncertain smile.
“Hai, Ailith,” Gwillim said, both startled and pleased to see her so well.
Bowing, he swept his hat off.
“Oh light of my day and joy of my heart. What beauty you bring to us this evening. Ah, it does my heart good to see you so well.”
Trust Gwillim, Ailith thought with a grin.
Even Colath and Jalila gave him strange looks.
Oblivious to their reactions, he was mad but not in a bad way.
Jalila rolled her eyes.
Bemused and amused, Jareth just stared at him.
Shaking her head, Ailith said, “He does go on so. As you say, Gwillim, leave off, would you? For all the stars in the heavens, Jalila is prettier than I. For that matter Colath is prettier than either of us.”
With an impish look at Jareth, she added, “Jareth, however, is not.”
Amused, Jareth said, “Should I be offended or not?”
“Not, someone in this room should be less pretty than I,” she declared.
Even she wasn’t so daring as to include Elon in that group, although she gave him a quick and merry sideways look. He raised an eyebrow at her, a slight warning. Her mouth twitched as she smothered a smile.
With a quick glance at Colath, Gwillim sighed sorrowfully. “I’m afraid on that I’ll have to agree.”
Ailith laughed.
Colath just shook his head, amused.
Do it quickly and get it over with, Ailith thought.
“Good, then that’s done,” she said, more soberly. “I have a thing to tell you.”
Sensing the seriousness, Colath put aside his sword and Jalila her arrows. Both looked quickly at Elon but he shook his head. This was for Ailith to do and he found himself unsurprised that she took it on herself to do it. She spared herself little this one.
“It seems,” Ailith said and took a deep breath, “there’s a secret my family has kept even from me. Most folks in these parts know my father had mixed blood.”
Gwillim went still and wary. Most folk around the castle knew of it but never spoke of it. Those who had known King Geric’s mother had spoken well of her but more than a few hadn’t mourned much when she died. This, though… He had a terrible feeling about what he was about to hear. Especially in this room, among these.
Ailith, though, Ailith went on with that calm steadiness he’d always known in her. As a child she’d been a minx and a sprite, driving many to distraction but always with that impish grin that made you want to both hug her and spank her at one and the same time.
She’d grown into a merry, calm and sensible young woman, though.
“Few knew,” she continued, evenly, “my mother did as well.”
Straightening slowly, Colath looked at her warily.
Was she saying what he thought? His blood went cold.
He looked at Elon. Who nodded, once.
Colath froze.
It took a moment for Jalila to understand the implications, to put together the inference.
Not because she wasn’t bright but because she didn’t want to see it.
Ailith saw the look pass between Colath and Elon, the dawning comprehension on Jalila’s face.
It took an act of will to say the next words.
“I’m Otherling.”
As a child, Jalila had, of course, heard the tales, no Elven child could grow up without them. When the bards spoke the histories, drawing their pictures in the air, she’d been as horrified as all the others. But that was a different life. These things were not hers to know. What she knew was the one who’d stood in the doorway at the old ruins alone with Elon and Colath both occupied with the ogre. The one who’d fought a firbolg to guard their backs. It had been half again as tall as she.
For her it was enough.
There was a moment and then Jalila gave her an assessing look and said mildly, “Well, I knew you must be mad, to have ridden all that way just to fight some boggins.”
A look passed between them and then Ailith laughed.
The sound rang rich and warm.
Colath liked Ailith, had liked and trusted her from the start.
If she went mad, as Otherlings were said to, he would deal with it when it happened. Until then she was just Ailith.
Taking his cue from Jalila, he said, with a small smile, “It couldn’t have been the company. Elves are known as a dour folk.”
Even Elon was caught off guard.
But then, both were younger and didn’t have his memories. Colath had been a child and Jalila unborn when the Dwarven Otherling, Amarok, had died. That had been a little more than two hundred years ago.
The relief was enormous but Ailith couldn’t let it go, seeing the glint in Colath’s eyes.
“Nah,” she said, “It was just the chance to see that handsome face of yours again.”
Lifting an eyebrow and in the same tone, Colath said, “You seemed not that much impressed when last we met.”
“Jealousy, is all,” she said, lightly, “and to find it’s not the looks that matter but what’s behind them.”
Colath bowed his head a little at the compliment.
Those words, though, however innocently said, were at the heart of Elven philosophy.
Elon looked at her as they rang through him. She was Ailith, who’d ridden through the night to aid them.
Whatever misgivings he’d had, for now it was enough.
For a minute, Gwillim had been concerned, he sighed with relief.
Ailith looked at him.
With a shrug, he said, “I’ve known you since you were a sprite, sweet Ailith, which you were. And a minx as well. I’ve never known you to do harm. I’ll trust it stays that way.”
Ailith sighed. “Good. Now, is there any food? I can’t remember when last I’ve eaten. And then I have a story to tell.”
“Dear heavens, have none of these heathen fed you?” Gw
illim exclaimed in theatrical horror as he hurriedly fetched her a bowl of the stew that hung over the fire. “You’ll waste away to nothing.”
With a roll of her eyes and a lift of an eyebrow that would have done Elon proud, she said, in a dry voice, “Oh, yes, that’s likely.”
“There’s more? What happened after you left us?” Jareth asked, as she dipped spoon into bowl.
“I told you what I planned,” she said, taking a swallow. “It worked better than I expected. I went to my chamber relieved it had gone so easily only to find that Tolan had left me a trinket tucked into my bed.”
Elon looked at her sharply and Jareth sat up a bit.
With a small shrug, she said, “I sensed something amiss, I don’t know how. An odd itch that wouldn’t go away.”
“It seems you have more magic than you know,” Elon commented, carefully.
She looked at him.
“Was it that? If so, why didn’t I sense Tolan? I sensed something was amiss with my father but didn’t know what it was. Yet Tolan escaped me. From the first I disliked him but I thought it was because he’d supplanted me at my father’s side.”
“He escaped me as well,” Elon said, frowning. “I sensed nothing about him at all.”
Sitting back in his chair Jareth said, “He seems not to have alarmed any of us, including me. I should have felt something but didn’t. That worries me. Are there more Tolans around we can’t see or sense? What then?”
He looked at Elon, who shook his head. “That concerns me as well.”
“Perhaps it’s just the talismans?” Jareth suggested.
Ailith shook her head, remembering the vision in the cellar. Her appetite was suddenly gone.
That figure…
“No,” she said, “there’s more. I’ve seen…”
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath.
“I get ahead of myself. Best to tell it in order. Tolan has always had an odd sing-song voice. It’s compelling.”
“I think,” Gwillim said, “ he tried to use it on me once. Then someone called me. I think I’ve rarely seen an angrier man than he was at that moment.”
“Chance. Caradoc and Korin weren’t so lucky,” Ailith said, sadly. “I know Korin suspected something and yet still he was caught.”
Grief for her friend touched her voice again.
The Coming Storm Page 23
