The Immortal Realm

by Frewin Jones

  “Before all this happened you were talking about taking a year after school to tour Europe and America,” her father said. “And then if your grades were good enough, you were set on going to university.” He looked closely at her. “You told me you were thinking of training as a journalist. Remember that?”

  “Yes, of course I do.” She remembered it, but it was like looking at things down the wrong end of a telescope. All her previous dreams, hopes, and ambitions seemed very small and far away. She couldn’t bring herself to say that to her father. It would have been like telling him that all the things they had discussed together over the past few years were meaningless to her now.

  “So?” he said quietly. “Do you intend to finish your education?”

  She gazed at him, noticing his flushed cheeks and the sheen of sweat on his forehead. “I hadn’t thought about it.” She looked at the crumpled sheets of his bed. “Get up for a minute,” she said. “You can’t be comfortable like this. I’ll straighten the covers for you.”

  “The new term starts in September,” he said, heaving himself off the bed. “Why not come back home after the summer? Do your exams. Go to university; get some qualifications under your belt. What harm can it do? And then if you still feel you belong here, well—you can make your final decision then.” She moved around the narrow bed, tugging at the sheets, smoothing the blankets. She picked up his pillow and plumped it between her hands. His hot fingers touched her wrist. She turned to see his eyes burning into hers. “All this must have put your head in a spin, Tania. I’m concerned that you’re not giving yourself the time to take a step back and think it through properly.”

  “You make it sound like I have a choice, Dad,” she said slowly. “As if I get to pick whether to be Anita Palmer or Princess Tania. It’s not like that at all. I love you and Mum, but the person I am with you two—she’s only half of who I really am.”

  “And exactly who is this other half?” asked her father. “You told me yourself you don’t remember anything about her.”

  “I might, given time.” She placed the pillow back on the bed and gestured for him to lie down again. He sank onto the mattress, sighing as he settled himself.

  “And in a world where people are Immortal,” he said, puffing, “how exactly does a princess give herself a sense of purpose, Tania?” A hint of impatience came into his voice. “I know this place must seem wonderful to you at this moment, but eventually you’re going to have to decide what you want to do with your life.” He took hold of her hand, his skin hot and damp against hers. “You’re in a fairy story right now, Tania, but what happens on the morning after happy ever after?”

  Tania pulled her hand out of his. She didn’t know what to say to him. Why couldn’t he just go with the flow? Why did he have to analyze the joy out of everything? Why did this have to be so hard?

  He began to cough, breaking the awkward silence.

  She used the moment to change the subject. “We should have brought some lozenges through for you.”

  “Don’t fuss. I’ll be fine.” His voice became brisk and teasing; it was clear he wanted to break the tension just as much as she did. “Now look here, young lady, you shouldn’t be stuck in here, getting my germs all over you. Don’t princesses have any duties or responsibilities in this world? Get out there and mingle.”

  “I don’t want to leave you here on your own.”

  He picked up his book. “I’m never alone with a new physics textbook,” he joked. “Besides, I’ll just finish this chapter and then I’ll come out. I promise. Your mum’s threatened to teach me one of those peculiar dances.”

  “I’d like to see that.”

  Tania got up, leaning over quickly to kiss his hot forehead. “Feel better, all right?” she said. “That’s an order.”

  “Women!” muttered her father, his nose already in the book.

  “Men!” she retorted, pushing out into the starry night.

  Tania made her way back into the heart of the valley. All around her, lanterns and torches and bonfires sent shadows dancing. Minstrels filled the night with sweet music; folk danced in rings and formal Faerie squares or formed long sinuous lines, hand over hand, that wound through the crowds following the rhythm of the pipe and drum.

  Tania paused to watch a pair of jugglers, a man and a woman dressed in black and white diamond-patterned suits, who stood on a high dais and sang as they threw to each other balls that kept changing color: red and green—silver and black—orange and blue.

  Tania was totally absorbed in the performance until a voice whispered close into her ear.

  “I’ve been looking for you.”

  “Edric!” She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. “I went to see my dad.” She wrinkled her nose. “It was a bit awkward. He thinks all this has turned my head a bit. He’s worried I’m going to waste my life. He suggested I should—”

  He put a finger to her lips. She looked at him in surprise.

  “I want to ask you something,” he said, drawing her away from the densely packed crowd around the two jugglers.

  “Is this the same something you wanted to ask me before?”

  He nodded, his face wreathed in a smile. “Tania, will you make this perfect day complete for me? Will you marry me?”

  “Will I what?” Tania blinked at him. Of all the things she had imagined he might ask, she had never dreamed of this.

  Edric dropped to one knee, taking her hand in his, and gazing up into her face. Tania was aware that a few people nearby had stopped and turned toward them.

  “Princess Tania Aurealis, beloved seventh daughter of King Oberon and Queen Titania,” he began in a loud voice, a trace of Faerie formality coming into his speech. “In front of all these people, under the eternal stars, with a heart filled with love and humility, I ask you from the very depths of my soul, will you consent to be my wife?”

  Tania stared down at him. Speechless. Stunned. Time seemed to come to a shuddering halt. She was intensely aware of his face—of his eyes gazing up at her—and on the edges of sight, all the people who were standing around them.

  She swallowed hard. Trying to regroup. To reboot her crashed brain.

  “Get up, Edric.” She heard her own voice as if it was coming from the far end of the universe. “Please—get up.”

  “Not until you consent to be my wife.” The expectant eyes. The smiling mouth. The hands holding hers.

  A panic began to rise in her. She tried to pull away from him. “Stop it, Edric,” she said, glancing around at the watching people. “You’re embarrassing me.”

  The light in his eyes flickered and his smile faded. “Tania?”

  She was desperate to bring this to an end. “If you don’t quit it, all these people will think you’re being serious,” she said, trying to joke her way out of the situation. “Get up and stop fooling about.”

  There was a subdued murmur of voices. Tania turned her head, forcing a smile. “Show’s over, folks,” she said brightly, but unable to prevent her voice from trembling. “Move along, please. Nothing to see here.”

  Edric got to his feet. The hurt and confusion in his eyes tore at her heart.

  She gripped his hand. “Come with me,” she said. “We need to be somewhere more private.”

  She moved quickly through the crowd, towing Edric along behind her, not daring to look into his face again—not till they were alone.

  He brought her to a halt between two pavilions. She swallowed hard then turned to face him.

  “Why did you do that?” she said fiercely.

  He seemed confounded. “I want us to get married,” he said. “I thought you would want the same.”

  “Edric, I’m sixteen. I don’t want to get married. What were you thinking?”

  “Do you not love me, then?”

  “Yes, of course I love you. You know I do,” Tania said. “But I can’t marry you.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would you reject me like this?”

  �
�I’m not rejecting you,” Tania said, exasperated. “I’m just giving you a reality check. I haven’t ever thought about getting married. Seriously! The idea has never even crossed my mind.”

  “You never want to marry?”

  “Of course I want to get married,” Tania said. “One day—in a few years’ time, I guess. Get married, have kids, the whole caboodle—but not now. Not this minute. It’s crazy.”

  “Why crazy?” Edric persisted. “If you love me as much as I love you, you’d want to share your life with me.”

  Tania felt a moment of shock as she realized how wide a gulf of expectations there could be between a young man of Faerie and a sixteen-year-old London girl.

  “I am sharing my life with you,” she exclaimed. “What do you think I’m doing? But getting married—that’s a forever kind of commitment, Edric.” She blew out a hard breath as she realized the enormity of what she had said. “And in Faerie I guess forever really does mean for ever.” She looked anxiously into his face. “I’m not ready to make that kind of promise, Edric. I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you. I never meant to.” She moved in close, reaching up to touch his face. “We’re together. Isn’t that enough for now?”

  He pulled back from her hand, his eyes pained and his voice bitter. “In this world, Tania, love without the covenant of commitment is a promise written on a cloud.” He bowed sharply. “Let me know when you feel grown up enough to be my wife. I will be waiting.” He turned and began to walk away.

  She ran after him, catching hold of his arm. “Edric! Don’t be so stupid!”

  “I’m not being stupid.” He wouldn’t even look at her.

  “I love you!”

  “But not enough, it seems.”

  “Edric!”

  He wrenched his arm free of her hands. “Let go of me!”

  Before Tania could speak again, a high-pitched wail rang out across the night, sharp as a knife through the dark air.

  “My baby!” shrieked the voice. “My baby is dead!”

  III

  Tania ran through the bewildered crowds that were gathering at the entrance to the crèche tent.

  She remembered her mother’s words. I wanted to go and visit the crèche tent, anyway. There was a baby—he seemed a bit hot and feverish when your dad and I were in there earlier this afternoon.

  She plunged breathlessly into the large tent. The light within was subdued, a warm coral glow that came from many paper lanterns. There were cribs and cots set up between the tent poles, but most of the nurses and serving women were grouped around a single pallet.

  Tania was aware that her mother was there, but all her attention was caught and held by the plaintive sight of the young golden-haired woman who sat on the low bed with a swaddled baby in her arms. The woman was no longer wailing, but tears poured down her cheeks as she rocked back and forth on the bed with the infant cradled in her arms.

  None of the gathered Faerie women were speaking. A few were weeping and wringing their hands as they stood around the grieving mother.

  Only one woman had dared to come closer. Tania’s mother was kneeling at the woman’s side, her hand on her shoulder.

  “I’m so sorry, Mallory,” she was saying. “I’m so very sorry.”

  Tania was aware that more people were coming into the tent, filling the place with the murmur of distressed voices.

  “What happened?” Tania asked, coming onto her knees in front of the heartbroken Faerie woman.

  Her mother looked at her with sunken eyes. “I don’t know. The poor little mite was so hot; he was burning up. I tried to cool him with wet cloths, but nothing I did made any difference.” Her voice cracked with emotion. “Why don’t they have medicine in this country?”

  “We have medicaments, Lady Mary,” said a voice at Tania’s back. “Let me see the child.” Tania looked up. It was Hopie, her healer sister. If anyone could do something, it would be Hopie. Tania scrambled to her feet, gently ushering the others aside so that Hopie could get through.

  The dark-haired princess sat beside the grieving mother. “Give the child to me,” she murmured. “Come now, be not afeared. I will do him no harm. What is his name?”

  “Gyvan,” whispered the mother, reluctantly laying the baby in Hopie’s lap. She leaned close, her fingers clutching a tiny foot, as if she could not bear to be separated from him. He was dreadfully still. Hopie leaned over him, her deep blue eyes intense as she carefully unfolded the linen wraps.

  “Gyvan,” Hopie murmured as she ran her hands lightly over the infant’s body. “A good, strong name.” The child’s filmy wings lay folded along his back like crumpled lace. Tania bit her lip till she tasted blood. The infant was so terribly still; there was no sign of breath being drawn. His eyes were closed, his cheeks bloodless, his lips blue. Tears welled in Tania’s eyes as she looked at the little hands and feet, the fingers and toes so perfectly formed, each with its little crescent moon nail. How could something so exquisite not be alive?

  “Hopie?” Tania looked up at the sound of the Queen’s voice. Titania had arrived without her noticing. She rested her hand on Tania’s shoulder as she leaned close. “Can you do anything?”

  “The child has passed beyond my skills,” Hopie said, her voice trembling. “Is Eden to hand? Mayhap she can use her arts to bind soul to body again.” Tears ran down her cheeks. “For I can do nothing!”

  “Fetch the Princess Eden!” Titania called. “Swiftly now!”

  “I am here!” Eden made her way through the growing crowd. Tania stepped aside, looking into her oldest sister’s solemn face, Eden’s eyes a piercing blue tinged with sadness and hard-won wisdom, her hair an ash white fall like a cascade of frozen water.

  Eden nodded in acknowledgment and touched Tania’s arm as she passed. There was hope now! Eden was a student of the Mystic Arts. Only the King and Queen, and Eden’s ancient husband, the Earl Valentyne wielded more power than she did.

  Eden spread her hands out above the baby as it lay in Hopie’s lap. She spoke strange words in a sinuous language that Tania did not know. A greenish glow emanated from her hands and emerald particles of light rained down on the infant.

  “My lady, by your pity, heal my child….” Mallory groaned, her shaking fingers caressing the unmoving limbs.

  “My daughter will save Gyvan if she is able,” whispered Titania. “All that can be done is being done.”

  Eden’s face contracted in a grimace of pain. The green light grew darker and her hands shook. “Awake,” she whispered between gritted teeth. “Abred shall not have thee. Reach out thy arms to me, little one.”

  Tania could see her sister trembling with tension. Eden bowed lower, her legs faltering. Tania knelt, putting her arms around Eden’s waist, holding her up as the strain vibrated through her.

  The corona of green light that bathed the baby darkened almost to black and then it vanished. Eden gave a low cry and went limp in Tania’s arms, slipping sideways so that between them Tania and Titania only just saved her from falling.

  “I could not awaken him.” Eden gasped. “He sleeps the endless sleep.” She put her hands over her face. “I could not awaken him!”

  “No! Gyvan—no!” Mallory cried, throwing herself forward over the child.

  There were cries of consternation and horror from the women gathered around the pallet. A few drew away, as if they could not or dared not be close to the dead infant. Some stood with their hands to their faces, tears running between their fingers; others simply stared with blank disbelief, their eyes uncomprehending.

  Another hand reached past Tania’s shoulder, a long, withered hand with bone-slender fingers and mottled paper-thin skin. Tania looked up into the ancient face of Earl Valentyne. His deep-sunk eyes were half closed as he rested his hand on the baby’s forehead.

  There was a moment of silence, then the earl withdrew his hand. “He shall not wake again,” he said, his voice as cracked as a winter wind. “Some great evil has done this.” A grim light glowed in his eyes. �
�Mayhap the lady Lamia casts new spells on us from across the ocean?”

  Tania stared up at him in alarm. Lamia was the Queen of Lyonesse. Less than a month ago, her strength enhanced by her Faerie mother and father, Tania had destroyed Lamia’s husband, the Sorcerer King. It had been thought that the Hag-Queen Lamia would be helpless without him—but could the Sorcerer King’s widow still have the power to inflict damage on Faerie?

  Judging from the ripple of dismay that went through the crowd, the earl’s question had struck a fearful note.

  A voice rang out from the entrance to the tent. “If the Hag-Queen had a hand in this, I shall indeed wreak a dour revenge upon her!” The crowd parted as Oberon came to the bedside.

  Tania gazed up at her Faerie father. Surely with all his powers he could put things right again. He had to!

  The King rested a hand on Mallory’s shoulder. The desolate mother picked the child out of Hopie’s lap and held him up to him. Tania saw that the baby’s shrunken wings were cracked and withered like autumn leaves.

  “Your grace,” Mallory said weeping. “Of your mercy, bring my child back to me.”

  “Nay, my lady, even I cannot bring the dead alive,” he said softly. He looked for a moment at the dead infant, his face rigid with anger. When he spoke again, his voice was a threatening rumble like distant thunder. “Such a thing has not occurred in this land since the Great Awakening. That a child of Faerie should die!” He turned to the earl. “It must be confirmed whether Lyonesse lies at the heart of this dark deed. Come, my lord—I have need of your Arts.”

  Oberon swept from the tent with Earl Valentyne at his side.

  Mallory groaned and swayed, her eyes swimming. Hopie drew mother and child to her, cradling them in her arms.

  Titania turned to the crowd. “Leave us now,” she said to them. “No further good can be done here. Let the festivities cease and if the minstrels have the heart to play, let it be a dirge of lamentation and grief, for a thing has happened here that has not happened for ten thousand years. Be gone now!”