by Frewin Jones
“Not Lyonesse, then?” said Sancha, her face pale and her dark eyes anxious between the eaves of her long chestnut hair. “But then, who?”
“Who indeed,” came Valentyne’s timeworn voice. “What other enemies have we? I know of none.”
“Your pardon, my lords and ladies,” Bryn said awkwardly as he stood up. “Have you considered that the evil might come from Weir? We have it from Princess Tania’s own lips that the Great Traitor Drake visited his father in Caer Liel in the days when the Sorcerer King was in the ascendancy—and that Lord Aldritch agreed to do nothing to aid the House of Aurealis in the coming battle. Might Weir have sent this deadly bane upon us as revenge for the death of his only son?”
“Lord Aldritch is no sorcerer,” said Eden. “And even had he the Arts to do this, I do not believe that he would stoop to such devices.”
“Weir is not a traitor,” said the Queen, leaning forward in her chair. “I have spoken with him in a water-mirror; he repents his son’s deeds and curses the day he first became embroiled in the Dark Arts.”
“Indeed, all who dabble in that sinister brume are lost,” Hopie agreed. “But we must not blame the father for the deeds of the son.”
“Excuse me,” Tania said, lifting her hand. “I remember so little about this world, but is it really impossible that the child simply got a fever and died of it?”
Earl Valentyne frowned deeply. The King and Queen shook their heads, and there were murmurs and furrowed brows from the others.
“Such a thing has not happened since the Great Awakening,” said Earl Valentyne, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his stick. “Yes, I believe that it is impossible.”
“That’s the second time I’ve heard a reference to the Great Awakening,” Tania said. “I know I’m supposed to understand what it means, but I don’t. What is it?”
Eden stepped forward and rested her hand on Tania’s head. “I shall show it to you,” she said. “Open your mind and behold the nativity of our land.”
For a few disorienting moments Tania felt as though she had been plunged into the heart of a whirlwind. Gasping for breath, she spun through oceans of gyrating air.
Then, quite suddenly, she found herself standing on a wooden quay overlooking a flat blue ocean. She turned and saw that she was among a great crowd of Faerie folk all gathered on the quayside and gazing out to sea. Behind the crowd stood long walls, and beyond them were towers and steeples of red brickwork decorated in cream-colored stone and pierced by a hundred shining windows.
The high battlements and great buildings stretched away into the distance, following the line of a wide river that wound its way deep into the land.
It’s the Royal Palace! And I know exactly where I am. I’m on Fortrenn Quay at the estuary of the River Tamesis.
But everything seemed brighter and fresher than she remembered—as if the palace had only just been built, as though the long boards of the quay had only recently been put down, as if the sea was washing up against the land for the very first time, as if everything around her was brand-new.
There was something unreal about her surroundings. She felt dislocated from them, as if she was watching events through a thin veil. Although she was standing on the wooden boards of the quay, she had the sensation of floating; she could feel nothing under her feet.
“The white ship!” came a voice. “The white ship comes!”
Tania gazed out over the shining sea.
A shape on the very edge of sight: a swan riding the distant waves. No, not a swan. A ship: a galleon in full sail, a galleon that shone like the moon.
“The Cloud Scudder,” Tania murmured.
She knew the Royal Galleon well, with its spars and masts and rigging of shining silver and with decks and rails of pearly white. She had been aboard the Cloud Scudder on a night when Zara had whistled up a fine wind to fill the sails and when Oberon and Eden had sung a song that had set them sailing into the sky to the enchanted island of Logris.
And more recently it had been the Cloud Scudder that had brought her and her sisters to Leiderdale for Cordelia’s wedding.
But the Cloud Scudder looked different: newer, brighter than she remembered. As bright as if its keel had only just been laid and as if its sails were unfurling for the very first time.
The galleon moved with a stately grace but so quickly that it might have been driven by storm winds. It was soon gliding alongside the quay, pouring its silver light on the upturned faces of the people who lined the waterside.
Tania noticed that the ship had no visible crew. There was no one on the decks, no sailors in the rigging, no hand at the wheel. And yet the phantom ship came gently to rest with hardly a bump against the quay, and a few moments later a long gangplank slid from the high bulwarks.
A man stood at the top end of the plank.
“Oh…my…god…” Tania gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as she stared at a figure that was both familiar and changed.
It was King Oberon—but it was not the full-grown man that Tania knew as her Faerie father. It was Oberon as a slender youth, beardless, and with golden hair that hung to his shoulders. The crown of Faerie rested on his temples, a simple white circlet of crystal studded with jewels of black amber.
My father, Tania thought. From way before I was born. I get it now! I’m seeing things that must have taken place thousands upon thousands of years ago.
As he began to walk down the gangplank, all the people save one dropped to their knees. Tania looked at the one man as he stepped forward to greet the King. Again there was something familiar about him: He was tall and broad-shouldered, his face long and thin with sunken cheeks and wise, dark eyes, his hair gray as mist.
It was Earl Valentyne—much younger than Tania knew him, but still old, even so very far back in time.
“Greetings from your people, sire,” said Valentyne, bowing his head as the King stepped onto the quay. “All is prepared for your coming. The Hall of Light awaits you on your coronation day!”
There was the vortex of reeling air again, and Tania found herself back in the Royal Pavilion, gazing around like someone shaken out of a deep sleep. She stared at the King, disoriented to see his familiar, mature face again so soon after witnessing him in his youth.
“Wow,” she said. “What was that?”
“You have been shown the very beginnings of the Immortal Realm of Faerie,” Eden said to her.
Tania blinked at her. “I don’t understand….”
“None remember the time before the Great Awakening,” said the King. “None have any knowledge of the time before I came in the White Ship to Fortrenn Quay.”
“Not even you?” Tania asked him.
“Not even I,” said the King with a grave shake of his head. “Those times are lost. Forever lost.”
“The Coronation of the King was our birthing,” said Earl Valentyne. “And never since that ancient day has any man or woman or child of Faerie died of old age or of sickness.” He paused, his long, thin hand coming to his chest, a frown gathering on his wrinkled brow.
Eden turned to him. “My lord?” she said. “What is the matter?”
The earl’s hand fluttered in the air. “’Tis nothing,” he said. “We have weighty matters to consider. The question before us is unchanged. What distemper is it that has entered our Realm and stolen a life from us?”
Tania looked at the ancient earl. Did he seem flushed? Perhaps it was anger at the evil that had come into Faerie…or was it something else?
A new voice rang out in the pavilion. “Your majesties, my lords and ladies. My pardon for this intrusion, but I may have the answer that you seek!” The voice belonged to Edric; he was standing just inside the closed tent flaps.
“You presume much on your friendship with Princess Tania, Master Chanticleer!” called the earl marshal, his face furious as he glared at Edric. Others, too, stared at Edric in dismay and outrage. “This council is for those of the House of Aurealis,” Cornelius continued. “No
ne other have permission to enter or to speak.”
“Nonetheless I ask that you hear me,” Edric insisted. “I do not believe we are being attacked by Lyonesse, nor by any other enemy. I believe I have with me the source of the blight.” He opened the tent flap, letting in a blaze of early sunlight. Two shapes stepped into the long triangle of light.
Edric let the tent flap fall.
Tania gasped. “Mum? Dad?” Her mother’s face was full of consternation. Her father looked even more unwell, but he also seemed worried and uneasy. Tania got to her feet, not understanding what was happening. “Edric, what’s this all about?”
Edric didn’t even look at her.
“It’s all right, Tania,” said her mother. She looked across at the King and Queen. “I am so sorry,” she said. “But I think Edric is right. I think it’s our fault the child died.”
Clive Palmer stepped forward, his face flushed and beaded with sweat. “In our world a virus can be the most dangerous thing human beings ever encounter. Titania—you lived there—you know what I’m talking about.”
“I do,” Titania said. “But I never thought such a thing could pass between the Realms.”
“Virus is disease; do I understand that aright?” asked Hopie.
“You do,” Clive Palmer said, bringing a handkerchief to his mouth as he coughed. “I have brought a virus into your world—and it must have killed that child.” He bowed his head. “And I am more sorry for that than I can possibly say.”
Tania saw the faces of her Faerie family turn toward her Mortal father, their expressions showing sudden fear and disgust.
“No!” Tania shouted, running toward her Mortal parents. “No! I don’t believe it.” She looked around the assembly, alarmed by their reactions. “It’s just a stupid head cold, that’s all,” she said. “It can’t kill anyone.” She felt as if the breath was being squeezed out of her. “And where’s the proof that people in Faerie can even catch human diseases?” She turned to her Mortal mother. “Mum! Tell them it isn’t true.” She rounded on Edric. “How could you do this?” she hissed. “Why are you trying to blame them?”
“I’m not trying to blame them,” Edric said, turning to look at her. “But I think it’s time for—what did you call it? A reality check. For the first time in thousands of years a Mortal has brought an illness through into Faerie. And a few weeks later a baby is dead from a fever. Connect the dots, Tania!”
Her father put his hand on her shoulder. “Tania, it’s not Edric’s fault. I did this. I should have known better than to come here when I wasn’t feeling well.”
“I do not understand,” said Cordelia. “Are you saying that this ‘virus’ can be passed from person to person?”
“It can,” Titania said, her face twisted in torment. “In the Mortal World many thousands can die of a disease carried by a single person. I curse myself for never once thinking that the folk of Faerie may suffer so!”
“Sun, moon, and stars!” Sancha gasped. “Are all at risk, then?”
“I’m afraid you might be,” Mary Palmer said, her voice breaking. “I only hope the infection is limited to that one poor baby.”
“Hopie?” Oberon’s deep voice sounded for the first time. “You are master of herbs and medicines; do you have the skills to fight this virus?”
“It is possible that medicaments could be discovered, were I given enough time,” said Hopie. “But the search may take months or years, and it may be that there is no cure in all of Faerie for such a malady.”
“Then there’s only one answer, and even that may be too late,” said Clive Palmer, his breath wheezing as he spoke. “King Oberon, Queen Titania, my wife and I must leave your country immediately.” He stopped, coughing into the handkerchief. “Excuse me!” he gasped. “We should go before we do any more harm.”
“No!” Tania cried. “No! That’s not right. We should all calm down and think this through properly! Just because Edric says it’s all my parents’ fault doesn’t make it true!”
“Peace, daughter,” said Oberon. “The well-being of Faerie rests on this decision.”
Clive Palmer stepped toward the King. “You don’t have a choice,” he said. “Who knows what damage I’ve already done.”
The earl marshal held out an imperious hand. “Come no closer to their majesties!” he cried. “I will not have them fall victim to your sickness.”
Tania saw that others were also looking at her Mortal father with dread in their eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Palmer said, backing off. “Forgive me.” He looked at the Queen. “Tell them what a disease like this can do. Tell them!”
Titania stood up, her face ashen. “I have seen it before. I witnessed the Great Plague of London in centuries past. Without medicine such a disease could rage through our people like wildfire.” She looked at Tania and her eyes were full of sorrow. “First it would take the more vulnerable of us—the infants and the elderly—but then if it were not checked, it could rampage through the entire population.”
The Marchioness Lucina got up from a cushion and stood at her husband’s side. “It grieves me to say so, for it presses hard upon all our hearts to do hurt to Princess Tania, but these Mortals speak the truth. They must be banished and never more be allowed into Faerie.”
“These Mortals?” Tania shouted. “You’re talking about my parents!”
“Tania, calm down,” said Mary Palmer.
“No, I won’t calm down! They’re talking about you as if…as if—” She came to a choking halt. She had been going to say, as if you’re outsiders, as if you’re different from them. But the truth was they were; they were totally different. They were aliens from another world.
The King looked from face to face. “Is this the will of the entire council?” he asked. “Banishment for all time?”
“It is,” came a quiet chorus of voices.
“Is there no other way?” asked Rathina. “Surely there must be?”
“I don’t think there is,” said Mary Palmer. She looked at the King. “Do it now—before we cause any more harm.”
Oberon stood up from his chair and raised his arm, lightning flickering at his fingertips.
“No!” Tania screamed.
“Silence, daughter. The council has made its will clear. Your Mortal parents must be sent from this place—never again to return to Faerie!” Oberon gestured toward them. Lightning crackled through the tent.
Tania threw herself in front of her parents, her arms spread wide. “You can’t do that!” she shouted. “I’m their daughter, too!”
“Stand clear, Tania!” boomed Oberon.
But it was too late. Before Tania had time to react, the lightning struck her and she staggered back, caught in a blazing ball of white fire that dazzled her eyes and filled her ears with roaring flames.
V
Tania had the sense of hurtling through the air in a haze of white sparks. She could move but only slowly, as though under fathoms of water—and through the frosted halo that surrounded her she could see into a deep velvet blackness studded with huge stars. She was flying through the sky high above Faerie.
Moving with her were three other balls of white fire racing like comets through the darkness, trailing beards of flame.
The stars wheeled around and her stomach launched itself into her throat as the four fireballs plummeted and a great stretch of green land came racing up to meet them.
Tania found herself standing on a grassy hillside. Beside her, wide-eyed and gasping for breath, were her Mortal mother and father.
“You are safe,” came a deep, gentle voice. “The horse of air is swift and wild, but it does no harm.”
Tania turned and saw Oberon standing with his back to a tall round tower of brown stone.
“Bonwn Tyr!” she murmured. She knew this tower well: It was the portal through which she could come and go from her bedroom in London.
The ways in and out of Faerie were called portals or doorways, but really they were neither.
Faerie and the Mortal World were shadows of each other divided by an invisible membrane through which only a few people had the art or skill to pass. Princess Eden and some handful of similar lore-masters could do it, but they relied on long study of the Mystic Arts to allow them to open a portal between the worlds. For Tania, whose ability to walk between the worlds was a gift of her royal heritage, moving between the worlds needed but a simple, effortless side step.
Tania turned and gazed down the hill to the endless profusion of towers and courtyards of the Royal Palace, stretching away in either direction along the snaking course of the River Tamesis.
Tania’s Mortal father seemed dazed from the journey, his face red and the sweat standing out on his forehead. He was leaning forward, his hands on his knees, panting for breath. A frown deepened on Oberon’s face, and he stepped forward as if to help him.
Clive Palmer pulled himself upright and stretched out his hand. “No! Oberon, no. Don’t touch me. It’s too dangerous.”
Oberon nodded. “So be it,” he said.
“We’re sorry for the harm we’ve done in your world,” said Mary Palmer, moving to her husband’s side.
Mr. Palmer held a handkerchief to his mouth, stifling a cough. “We must go. Tania, you have to take us through into London—and then you have to come back here again.”
Tania nodded. “I’ll visit you as often as I can,” she said.
“I don’t think that would be wise,” said her mother. “At least not for the time being—not while your dad is still contagious.”
“Then I’ll stay in London with you,” Tania said impulsively. “I’ll help look after Dad.” Angry tears burned behind her eyes. “Why did this have to happen? Everything was so perfect. And now everything is wrong and broken.”
“Mistress Mary, Master Clive, my good wishes go with you on your journey,” said Oberon. “I do not blame you for what has befallen us, for you were not aware of the danger you posed to my people.” He turned to Tania. “Take your Mortal parents into their own world, my daughter. Then return to me. Your knowledge of Mortal sickness may be of help to Hopie as she seeks a cure.” He strode to the tower and drew the door open.
