Worlds Without End

by Caroline Spector

  It was terrible, this force. This chaos and madness which threatened to engulf me. It wracked my muscles. I felt as though it would rip me apart. Tear from me my soul. That it would allow the insanity of the past to come and claim me again.

  In the distance I could hear the thundering of hooves. I raised my voice, barely able to hear myself. Barely able to force the words from my throat. Caimbeul's words were snatched away by the wind as he uttered them.

  The magic trembled in me, flew around me, pulled at the world and drew things from me. Terrible things. Apparitions from the past. Nightmares from the future. We stood there, trembling, and chanted the old words. Words of power. Until our voices grew hoarse and our throats were raw and our legs would barely support us.

  At last we stopped.

  Abruptly, the air was still and silent.

  I released Caimbeul’s hand and turned.

  Below us, at the base of the hill where the cairns stood, was what we’d called.

  They looked up at us expectantly. Their eyes reflected red iridescence. Black coats melted into black night.

  In the distance, I heard the howling of the hounds and wolves. The gabriel ratchets. Their cries were lonely, as though they realized that they’d been abandoned by the steeds which led them. At their head was a tall, cloaked form. Though I knew that this was the apparition who tended the beasts, its appearance was so close to Ysrthgrathe’s that, for a moment, I thought my enemy had come for me.

  A long, bony arm appeared from the depths of the apparition’s cloak. It beckoned us. I glanced for a moment at Caimbeul. His lips were set in a hard line.

  “You don’t have to come.” I said.

  “What?” he replied. “And miss all the fun?”

  * * *

  At the bottom of the hill we were gestured to two horses. These were the horses of the ancient Tuatha de Danaan. Created from fire, not earth, and able to live for hundreds of years. I had not ridden one in a thousand years.

  As we tried to mount the horses, they began to dance away and reached back every now and again to nip us with their long, yellow teeth. I grabbed a handful of long mane to help pull myself up. I hoped I would have enough strength left in me for the ride I knew was ahead.

  There was no noise as we mounted. No rattle of harnesses. No sound at all. I turned to the master of the horses, who stood looking at me. “To the Seelie Court.” I shouted over the din. The apparition nodded.

  Just then, I had a strange tingling sensation, as if someone unseen was watching me. I looked around, and there, in the distance, atop one of the far hills, were the hounds, stags and wolves. They swirled together, writhing like a thousand snakes, and disappeared from my sight. I shuddered at their terrible power.

  The horses lunged forward, jerking us in our seats. From then on we were no longer in control. As if we ever truly had been.

  We thundered down bare fields and into muddy flats. Fences were hurdled without a falter. Streams and meadows slipped away. Sparks flew as hooves struck rocky expanses. Lather foamed up on the horses, but they never slowed. My cheeks became chilled and chapped; my hands ached from holding onto the reins. Tears streamed from my eyes.

  We overtook cars on the road, causing accidents. Still we did not slow.

  Then we were at the shore. We pounded across the sand, plumes of it spraying into the air. Then into the tide, never slowing as we rode up and over the water. Galloping across the top of the ocean as though it were a puddle.

  Across the water I saw a misty turquoise glow. As we came closer, I saw that there was an island surrounded by this light. In moments we were on the beach thundering across the sand.

  This was not one of the Aran Islands, for we had passed those as we sped across the bay. This was one of the isles of fable. From legends I had helped create and had forgotten in the long expanse of time.

  This place must be Hy-Breasail, the island believed to rise from the sea only once every seven years. I barely had time to realize this before the Horses surged across the beach and went crashing into the forest.

  A path opened up before us. Whether it was there to begin with or the Horses created it as they went, I cannot say. The trail began to climb upward. We plunged on through the forest, shattering the silence with our passing. At last we burst forth into a great open plain and stopped.

  Though it was autumn in Tír na nÓg, here spring held sway. I could smell it in the air, could feel the warm and gentle caress of the breeze. It was balm to my sore, chapped face.

  I looked about and saw a castle perched on a cliff above us. So much a part of the island it was that there was no telling where the castle began and the rock it sat upon ended. As I watched, lights appeared on the pathway below the castle. They bobbed and floated downward toward us.

  Closer and closer they came, and we waited for them, silent and patient.

  At last they appeared on the edge of the clearing, riming it in gold and silver light.

  Such a congregation of the Sleagh Maith. It almost made me forget my own mission, so good was it to gaze upon them again. The sprites and spriggans, brownies and hags, boogies, leprechauns, gnomes, and goblins all clustered around, throwing their crooked shadows against the rocky cliff behind them.

  I could hear their shrill cries and nasty whispers. They knew who I was even if there were those who would have it otherwise. There was but a moment for these impressions. They parted and a procession of elves appeared. Each was dressed in tight-fitting dun-colored leather garments. Some had tattoos marking their arms and faces. Others had datajacks glistening in shaved skulls. I ignored them as they surrounded us.

  I glanced over at Caimbeul. He was a bit paler than normal, but after the night we’d had so far, that was to be expected. He looked up at me and gave a little smile. I found myself smiling back, oddly happy at that moment.

  “This is hardly a laughing matter.” came a voice from beyond the edge of the faerie light. All the elves and faeries bowed down immediately. I squinted into the darkness. A ghost-like form moved forward. As it stepped into the ring of light, I saw that it was a woman. She was dressed in a white flowing gown. Her fiery hair was pulled back severely from her face, but left to cascade down her back almost to her heels. The brilliant blue eyes were unchanged. The skin as pale and white as milk.

  Alachia.

  Silence stretched out between us. I hadn’t seen her in the flesh since 1941.

  “So.” she said at last. “You’ve come. And the hard way, too.”

  “Well, we can’t all have the prerogatives of age. I wish to speak to Lady Brane Deigh.” I said. “She rules here now.”

  Alachia smiled. It was chilling.

  “Power is a fluid thing.” she said. “You’d do well to remember that.”

  Once that sort of remark from her would have frightened me. But that was far in the past. Now there was a larger threat at work. Not just to me, but to the survival of the world. And then, I was older now, too.

  “Perhaps you should mind your own advice.” I said. “You’ve let so much pass through your own hands.”

  “Caimbeul.” she said brightly, ignoring my last remark. “How good it is to see you again. But really, you need to improve your choice of companions. You know what they say about the company you keep.”

  She slipped past me and took his arm, leading him away from me toward the castle.

  “Do come, Aina.” she called over her shoulder. “We mustn’t keep Lady Brane waiting.”

  I watched her lead him into the night until all I saw was the white blur of her dress.

  She opens her eyes. The world is upside-down. No, it’s her perspective that’s off. But isn’t that always the way of it?

  Sitting up, she sees that she’s been lying on the ground. The fall leaves covering her rustle and slide away, revealing her naked body. How she came to be here in this wood she doesn’t remember. But she thinks she should know.

  Then comes the pain.

  It burns and stings like a th
ousand hornets. Her skin is on fire and she cannot stop it. As she looks on, small, round welts appear on her flesh. Sharp points burst through the welts, puckering the skin.

  Thorns.

  13

  No mortal being could have traversed the path to Lady Brane Deigh’s castle. But then, it wasn’t designed for mortals. The Sleagh Meath loved anything that might confuse or baffle mortals and so took great delight in the corkscrew turns, disappearing paths, and other annoying tricks to fool the unwary traveler.

  But I had seen all these games before. The Seelie Court was but another incarnation of something much older and more sinister. How many of them remembered, or even knew, the full story?

  Politics was a tricky business, and I’d done my best to stay out of it for most of my life. But now it seemed I had no choice. I was the only one who appeared to be willing to take the chance. No, I was the only one willing to see the threat of the Enemy for what it was—the ruination of the world.

  I had to grasp hold of this thought because all my old fears came back to me in this place. Once I foolishly thought that power would protect me from harm. How I discovered the error of that belief is another tale.

  For now, I kept up with Alachia’s lead. She glided over the rocks as though they weren’t there. Each turn was taken with a casual nonchalance, and all the while I could hear her keeping up a steady banter with Caimbeul.

  I knew their history was a long one, and I wondered if she knew how much my life had been entwined with his. And how far back it extended. Part of me hoped she didn’t know, relishing the secret. And a part wanted her to know. Wanted her to know that even when she wielded so much power that most of my people trembled before her, I had won a small victory over her.

  But there was no more time to wonder over such childish things—we had reached the gate of the castle.

  Alachia waved and the gates swung silently inward. The courtyard was bathed in the light from thousands of floating will-o’-the-wisps. They fluttered around us, rising and falling with the breeze. It was like walking through a rain of stars.

  Then we were moving up the wide, white, marble steps leading to the great doors. Made of oak and tall as a two-story house, they were banded in brass in deference to the faerie hatred of iron. As the doors opened, a radiance spilled forth. I stepped into the brilliance.

  * * *

  The great hall of the castle dwarfed any I had seen before or since. This was no mean feat given what I’ve seen in my time. I could feel the magical energies flowing through this place. The magic to pull Hy-Breasail from the sea, to create this castle upon it, to gather the members of faerie who still remained here on Earth, and to pull back those who had left for other planes. An impressive feat indeed.

  At the far end of the hall, I saw a group of elves. Alachia moved toward them with her usual single-mindedness. As she approached, the group parted and allowed her to pass. I squeezed in just as they closed ranks again.

  Standing at the center of all this attention was a tall elf wearing a black leather breast plate over a long white dress. Her fine hair was bobbed off short, one side shorn away so short I could see the fragile shape of her skull beneath. Her skin was the color of amber and I saw that her eyes were blue, transparent and glittering as ice. Though she was only as tall as Alachia, there emanated from her a power that I found compelling. The same sort of power that Alachia had once wielded so many lives ago.

  She glanced at Alachia, then at Caimbeul, and finally, at me.

  “Lady Brane, may I present Aina Sluage.” said Caimbeul. Alachia shot him a hateful look, but didn’t say anything.

  I stepped forward, but didn’t bow. Though I knew she was made as I, she was only a child compared to me. Just as I was a child compared to Alachia. And even if she did hold sway over this court, she did so at the sufferance of myself and the other Elders. So, instead of bowing, I offered her my hand. For a moment, I thought she might not take it, but then her smooth, cool hand was in mine. I felt an odd shock, and then our eyes met.

  Yes, she was fit to rule, I saw. Though I had abstained from participating in the new politics between the Tirs, I was glad to know that there was someone strong enough to deal with whatever was to come. The only question was: Could I convince her that the threat was real?

  “I have heard your name.” Lady Brane said. Her voice was sweet as summer wine. “When I was younger I almost thought you were a ghost, invented to scare children.”

  So that was to be the way of it. Well, I’d handled worse in my time.

  She released my hand, then beckoned me to her side as she turned to leave the group. I heard the murmuring of the others as we passed, but I ignored it. Alachia’s face was even paler than normal and I saw her eyes narrow as we passed. Good, I thought. Let her worry a bit. I suspected the nature of the poison she had managed to spread about me while I was gone worrying about more important matters.

  “You’ve created quite a stir.” she said. “Calling up the Hunt’s horses. A most impressive feat. And, from what I understand, only you and Harlequin were present.”

  “That is correct.” I said. “There are those of us ... who are of an age ... who have found such things to be . . . within our grasp.” I looked around for Caimbeul, surprised to see him hanging back. It was so unlike him.

  She stared ahead, leading me toward the back of the hall. I caught the scent of her perfume. A complex scent: grasses, sandalwood, and a few other notes of which I couldn’t be certain. Elusive.

  “And why did you call the Chasse Artu?” she asked.

  “I have been away a long time.” I said. “I needed to find the Court.”

  “Yes.” she replied. “I thought as much. No other way would have found us so quickly. We have been careful for a while now. But you come to us with the toss of a spell so powerful it would take half my court to cast it. I see some of what I’ve heard is true.”

  We had come to the back half of the hall. A great feast was laid out. Row after row of tables were covered with white linen, fine gold eating utensils, and bone china. Garlands of flowers were swagged onto the tablecloths. Most of the tables were filled with members of the Sleagh Meath and Awakened elves.

  Invisible hands served and took away platters of food and jugs of wine.

  Lady Brane led me to a raised table in the center of all the others. She took a seat and motioned me to take mine next to her. As I sat down, I noticed Caimbeul finding a place down at Alachia’s end of the table and I wondered how best to approach the reason for my visit. I didn’t know precisely what lies Alachia had spread about me. My cup was filled with wine, and food appeared on my plate. I didn’t eat. Couldn’t.

  Lady Brane, however, was having no such problems. She drank heavily from her cup and tucked away the feast like she’d been starving for a year. All this was done with a grace and delicacy that made it look like the most delightful thing I’d ever witnessed.

  “You aren’t eating.” she said with a little frown. “Is the food not to your liking?”

  I pushed a pea with my fork and shook my head. “No, thank you. I’m not hungry. Lady Brane.” I said. “I am not a threat to the Seelie Court, nor to you.”

  She turned and looked at me, her expression unreadable.

  “And what makes you think I find you threatening?” she asked.

  “I just assumed that you had been told . .. things.” I said. Good, Aina, I thought, stick your foot in it right off.

  She picked up a pear and bit into it. I could smell the sweet aroma of it. It took her a few moments to finish off the pear. Daintily, she dabbed at her mouth with a napkin before speaking again.

  “Yes.” she said. “I have heard stories. From several sources. You have not endeared yourself to many of the Elders. But there are other, more powerful, voices who seem to value you. So, I decided I should see for myself what sort of creature you are.”

  “What sort of creature?” I said. “That hardly sounds impartial. Unlike Alachia, the politics of men have
little interest for me. But your court deals with matters that do concern me. Magic and mysticism have long been intertwined for our people.”

  She shrugged. “Perhaps some of what I’ve heard does concern me.” she said. “I am proud of being an elf and I am proud of our Tir. It has come to my attention that you have chosen others over your own kind in past disputes.”

  Alachia’s fine Italian hand at work, no doubt. “Yes.” I said. “There was a time when I had to make that painful choice. But there were reasons for my choice and I was not the only one who made that decision. I, too, am proud of my people. But we are not perfect, nor are we always right. I am not blindly devoted to every act. And those matters have no bearing on the dangers before us now.”

  Lady Brane took a sip from her glass, then swirled the contents around as she stared into them.

  “Yes.” she said at last. “These dangers. How is it you know of them and the rest of us do not? Are you so special? So powerful?”

  Yes, I wanted to say. Yes, I am special. I haven’t forgotten why I am here. I haven’t forgotten the past. If that makes me special, then so be it. As for power, how could I have survived for almost eight thousand years without it? But of course I said none of this. She would discover in her own time what a curse immortality was.

  “Perhaps it would be easier if we were to discuss this in a less public place.” I said “There are some things that should only be spoken of in private.”

  “You’re right.” she said. “I was hoping only to come to a quick resolution of this matter.”

  “That is my most fervent wish.” I said.

  “Very well.” she said. “Come with me. You, Harlequin, Alachia, and I will discuss this matter.”

  I rose, and without even a backward glance at Caimbeul, I followed her from the hall. It had been a long time since I’d had to call upon the good graces of my fellow elves. I suspected the reception to what I was about to say would be chilly indeed.

  She opens her eyes. Darkness suffocates her, pushing against her like an old lover. Putting her hands up, she feels the smoothness of satin. She pushes, but there is resistance. A hardness under the soft fabric.