by Frewin Jones
“We will, sire,” said the two lords.
“Please come quickly, Father,” Tania urged the King. “You have to do something now or more people will die.”
The King strode rapidly toward the quarantine ship. “I have no cure for this malady, Tania,” he said. “You must reconcile yourself to that. But mayhap I can thwart death for a while….”
They came up onto the ship. Eden was huddled by the bed, her head fallen forward, her hands spread on the earl’s chest.
“Stand back, my child,” said the King. “It is time for the Gildensleep.”
Eden looked up, a new hope in her eyes. She got to her feet and stepped away from the bed.
Oberon reached out one spread-fingered hand over the earl. A deep stillness came over Faerie. Even the seagulls were silenced, and Tania could no longer hear the creak of timbers or the slap of waves on the hull.
Oberon’s hand began to glow. Drops of gold fell like honey from his fingertips. They splashed just above the earl’s chest as though they were hitting an invisible glass dome. The golden drops ran down to either side in curved streams, spreading and forking into a fine filigree of shining threads. And then Tania saw the earl’s thin body rise slowly from the bed. The threads of golden light spun beneath him so that he was cocooned in their radiance.
Eden let out a gasp of amazement as the shell of golden strands twined and twisted together, completely encompassing the earl, his floating body still visible through the corona of light.
Tania looked into the King’s face. He was frowning and his mouth was tight, as though the enchantment was putting a strain on him. He let his hand fall. The cocoon of glowing golden threads hung still in the air.
“There, ’tis done.” The King gasped. “The earl will slumber deeply now in the embrace of the Gildensleep. No evil will come nigh him. The despoliation of his body is halted.” Tania saw that a serenity had come over the earl’s face now—as if the pain had been drawn away from him.
Tania gazed at her father in awe. “That’s totally amazing!” she said. “You’ve put him in some kind of cryogenic suspension.”
“I do not know the words you use, daughter.”
“You’ve frozen him, haven’t you?” said Tania. “He’ll stay like that till we find a cure.”
“Or until I can no longer keep the enchantment alive,” said Oberon.
“Is it hard, then?” Tania asked. “It looked hard.”
“Hard?” The King looked pensively at her. “Nay, the charm did not tax me overmuch, child—but it will only last so long as I remain wakeful.”
“For the Gildensleep to exist, the King must not drowse,” said Eden.
Tania looked up at him. “How long can you stay awake?” she asked uneasily.
Oberon didn’t reply.
“My Lord Father,” said Eden, taking the King’s hand. “Others are on the threshold of death belowdecks. Can you bring aid to them also?”
“I can.” The King went to the hatch and climbed down.
Tania looked at her sister. “How long can he stay awake?” she asked.
“I do not know,” Eden replied. “But the enchantment of the Gildensleep will quickly drain his strength.” She looked at Tania. “And the more of our folk he has to protect, then the swifter will he tire.”
“Then we probably have a few days at most?”
“Aye, mayhap—but with each new victim, our time dwindles.” She touched her hand against the golden cocoon and it glided silently and smoothly through the air. “Come now, sister. The sooner we are all within the walls of Veraglad, the sooner will the folk of this town be safe from danger.”
The interior of Veraglad Palace was delicate and graceful beyond anything Tania could have imagined. Its rooms and hallways were full of dancing light and the subdued play of soft colors, the white surfaces sending pale shadows leaping and colliding. Gentle music played everywhere, coming from the trembling crystal droplets of chandeliers and from water that ran in fountains of colored glass.
People gathered at first in the airy atrium inside the gatehouse, putting down their burdens and waiting patiently while Lord Brython and the earl marshal spoke with the palace retainers and made preparations for this sudden influx of unexpected and uneasy guests.
Tania stood to one side, wishing she could help but knowing at the same time that she would only make the Faerie folk more fearful if she approached them. She felt useless—and worse than useless: She felt a crushing responsibility for what was happening. She could no longer pretend this was anything other than a Mortal disease brought into Faerie by her Mortal parents.
She heard a sudden murmuring and the rustle of hasty movements behind her. She turned to see Titania and Hopie lead the floating golden cocoons of Gildensleep in through the gateway, pushed gently forward by wardens. The other folk backed away from the cocoons, their faces filled with fear as they huddled in the far corners of the wide antechamber of the palace.
“We will place the sick all together in Cerulean Hall,” said Titania. “Its windows face east to the rising sun. Though they will see it not, the sun may comfort their souls.”
Tania watched in sorrow and distress as the cocoons were guided through the doors of the hall and into a soft blue radiance. More folk came in through the gateway, and Tania saw that Sancha was among them.
“Well, my love, will you aid us now?” Sancha asked, looking solemnly at Tania. “Our need is great.”
“I know that,” said Tania. “But what can I do? Everyone is scared of me. They think I brought the plague here.”
“I am not scared of you,” Sancha said simply. “The library here is not so extensive as my own in the Royal Palace, but mayhap there are books that will be of use to us. Would you come with me to fetch them?”
“Of course.” Tania was glad to be asked; she was desperate to help in any way that she could.
Sancha led her up a long winding staircase to the first of a series of wide galleries that overlooked the entrance hall. She pushed open a door, and Tania saw a room filled with laden bookshelves. “We will take those books I deem relevant down to Cerulean Hall. I would be with Hopie and our mother while I work. Together we may find a way to defeat this thing.”
It took Sancha a while to pick the books she wanted. They smelled old and timeworn to Tania as Sancha heaped them into her arms.
At last the two of them made their way back down the stairs. The atrium was beginning to empty as people were allocated rooms. Tania noticed Edric a little way off helping a woman with three small children. It was the first time she had seen him since Leiderdale.
If he saw her, he showed no sign of it, and she made no attempt to speak to him. What could she possibly say? Even looking at him tied knots in her stomach.
A warden had been put on the door of Cerulean Hall, but he stepped aside to let Tania and Sancha through. A floor of pale blue marble stretched away from them between sapphire walls. The hall was long and slender and empty of furniture or decoration; it seemed to Tania to be a place where grand balls might take place. The air all around her was awash with light that shimmered as it poured in through the huge open windows.
The cocoons of Gildensleep had come to rest along one wall, hovering a little above the ground, sending out their own golden glow. Tania’s heart ached to see them. The number of sick children had grown to eleven—and there were now seven sick adults as well: four men and three women. At Eden’s insistence Earl Valentyne had been taken to a separate room, where she remained at his side behind a locked door.
Tania looked through the glaze of gold at the faces of the sleeping patients. They seemed peaceful, giving the impression that Oberon’s enchantment had washed them clean of the sickness that was really only being held at bay.
A table had been set up on trestles under a window. It was filled with beakers and vials and bottles and jars of liquid and dried herbs and powders. Hopie pounded a mixture with mortar and pestle.
As Titania saw them enter, sh
e stepped forward. “Tania, you should not be here,” she said. “We cannot risk you falling ill.”
Hopie pushed her long hair out of her eyes with one arm, her fingers darkly stained by her work. “No, Mother, by your leave, let her stay. She may be able to assist me.”
Tania looked beseechingly at her mother. “Please? I have to do something to help.”
The Queen nodded. “So be it. Stay, then, for a little while.”
“Put the books on the floor by the table,” said Sancha. They spread the ancient leather-bound volumes on the floor. Sancha knelt, opening some of the books, leaning in close to read the fine gothic script.
Tania stood at Hopie’s side. A sharp, tangy scent rose from the stone mortar.
“What can I do?” Tania asked.
“I have mixed and brewed such potions and nostrums as I know,” Hopie said. “But I am working in darkness, Tania. I need you to tell me all that you know of the remedies that Mortals use for such ailments.”
“I don’t really know anything about medicine,” Tania said. “It’s all chemicals.”
“Indeed,” Hopie said with a hint of impatience in her voice. “But even in the Mortal World, these chemicals must surely come from natural sources? I must try to find these sources and replicate the formulas used by Mortal apothecaries. Think, now, Tania. Is there anything you can remember, any medicinal herb or plant or root of the Mortal World that grows also in Faerie? Something that I can use?”
“I’m not sure,” said Tania. “I know that aspirin has something to do with tree bark, but I don’t have any idea which tree. And I have no idea at all how antibiotics are made.”
“A tincture of the bark of willow and myrtle relieves pain,” Hopie mused. “I know this, already, Tania. I need more.”
“I don’t know any more,” said Tania, becoming frustrated by her own ignorance.
“What of the petals of the nasturtium flower?” said Sancha, looking up from her books. “A healer from centuries past wrote, ‘combined with honey and pure water, these petals purify the lungs and will eradicate fevers.’”
“Good. Good, Sancha. I will add a tincture of nasturtium,” Hopie said. “Tania, hand me the bottle with the red liquid in it.”
Tania watched as Hopie made up a new mixture, but she could not help glance every now and then at the golden cocoons, beautiful but sad in the blue light.
“How will you know when you’ve got the right formula?” she asked her sister. “Can you treat people while they’re inside that…light.” She didn’t quite know what to call the glowing shells of the Gildensleep.
“I will not have to,” said Hopie. “I will know when the potion is true.” She looked at Tania. “Did you think that my gift resided only in my hands, sister? Nay, it runs through my whole body. I will know if I find the cure. I will feel it in my soul.”
Sancha looked up again. “It is written here that the feather of an ossifrage can be of assistance in treating colic.” She frowned. “I do not know what manner of bird an ossifrage is.”
“I do!” exclaimed Tania. “It was in a crossword. My mum does them all the time.” She looked at Titania. “My other mum, I mean. It’s an old-fashioned name for a lammergeier. It’s a kind of vulture.”
“Such creatures dwell only in the crags of the far north.” Hopie sighed. “If all fails, mayhap Eden will ride the horse of air into far-off Prydein and fetch for us this feather.” Her voice became brisk. “In the meantime, Tania, you will assist me with my potions even if you cannot unlock for me the secrets of Mortal medicines.” She looked sharply at Tania, and there was a glimmer of understanding in her eyes. “Fear not, sweet sister; I will work you hard. Under my tutelage you will have little time for brooding over things you cannot change. Now then, let us bind the tincture of nasturtiums with rosemary and rue, for repentance and for grace. Swiftly now, Tania. All the bottles are labeled. Be helpful!”
For the rest of the morning, as Sancha read the age-old texts, Tania sifted powders and poured thick liquids into spoons and cut dried herbs with a sharp double-bladed, crystal mezzaluna while Hopie brewed potions and elixirs that filled the air with a heady brew of pungent smells.
They could only hope this would help.
A sudden knock sounded on the doors of Cerulean Hall.
“Who can this be?” muttered Hopie. “Have we not work enough without interruption?”
The knocking became an urgent hammering.
“Bid them depart!” said Sancha.
Tania nodded and ran to the closed doors.
“Do not let anyone in!” called Titania.
“What do you want?” Tania called through the doors.
“Tania—quickly—open the door!”
“Edric?” She jerked the bolt free and pulled one of the doors open a fraction.
“Edric, you can’t come in here, it’s not—” She stopped dead as she saw the disturbed expression on his face.
“Quickly,” Edric said. “It’s Cordelia. She’s ill.”
VII
Tania arrived at Cordelia’s bedchamber to find the door locked against them and Bryn hammering on the white wooden panels.
“Let me in, Cordelia; you are not well. Hopie is here.” He paused but there was no reply. He banged the flat of his hand on the door. “Cordelia? You must open the door.”
Bryn looked at Tania. “She is alone in there. She will not even speak with me.”
Tania pressed her ear against the door. “Cordelia?” she called. “It’s me. What’s wrong? Open the door, please.”
There was no reply.
Hopie rapped on the door with her knuckles. “Cordelia? What nonsense is this, sister? Come now, open the door and let me in. I shall not harm you.” She listened for a few moments then shook her head and turned to Bryn. “Does she have the symptoms of the plague?”
Bryn’s voice shook as he replied. “All was well but then she became pale and complained of a tightness in her chest. She collapsed onto the floor, clutching at her stomach and coughing. There was blood on her lips. I tried to help her, but she screamed at me and tore at my face. I ran for help. When I returned, the door was barred against me and Cordelia would not speak.” His eyes were full of dread. “I fear she is too sick to respond.”
“But why bar the door?” asked Hopie. “No matter. Edric, Bryn, use what force you must.”
The two young men hurled themselves at the door. Once it resisted, the second time Tania heard wood splintering, and the third time the door burst open. Hopie was the first into the room, Tania close behind her.
They came into a white chamber with open windows and silk curtains flying in the wind. But there was no sign of Cordelia.
They moved quickly into the bedchamber.
“Cordelia!” called Hopie. “You must let us help you.”
Tania noticed that the bedclothes had been torn from the mattress. An odd, sick feeling grew in her stomach as she walked slowly around the bed. She swallowed hard.
“She’s here,” she said. Cordelia was huddled in the corner of the room wrapped in sheets and blankets so that only her face was visible, flushed and running, with sweat. There were flecks of blood on her lips and chin. Her eyes were strained wide open.
Tania knelt in front of her and reached out very slowly. “Cordie? Don’t be scared. It’s only me.”
The feral eyes focused on her, and Cordelia’s mouth twisted into a bloodstained snarl. She shrank away, pulling the covers closer around herself.
“Why is she like this?” murmured Edric. “No one else is showing these symptoms.”
“None other have animal spirits so deep in their souls,” said Hopie. “Her gift of empathy with the beasts of Faerie runs through her like the blood in her veins, and the sickness has set her animal spirit loose. She is lost in it.”
Now Tania understood. She’s acting like a sick animal would.
“Cordelia, my love?” Bryn moved closer to her, a hand reaching tentatively out. “Have no fear—”
<
br /> “Touch me not!” Cordelia’s voice was guttural and savage.
“No, Cordie,” Tania said. “Don’t be daft. It’s Bryn. He won’t hurt you. He loves you, remember?”
Cordelia’s face turned to her.
“Tania…?” she said hoarsely, a glimmer of recognition igniting. “Leave me, dearest sister. Leave me now. I would die alone.”
“Listen to me, Cordie. You’re not going to die,” Tania said. “Hopie will give you some medicine—and if that doesn’t work quickly enough, the King will come and put you in a lovely deep sleep.” Cordelia still stared at her, but her lips had relaxed and the manic snarl faded.
“You stay….” Cordelia rasped. “It is acceptable. You are not of Faerie born. But the others must go—” She spread her hand over her face. “They cannot see me die.”
“No!” cried Bryn. “I won’t leave you.”
Cordelia’s mouth opened wide and she let out a shivering, wailing howl that chilled Tania to the heart. There was nothing human in that howl; it was the wretched screaming of a trapped and dying animal.
“You’d better go!” Tania cried. “All of you. I’ll make sure she’s okay. Get Oberon.”
“Come,” said Hopie. “Do as she says. Master Chanticleer, fetch the King, and quickly!”
Hopie and Edric went, but Bryn stood hesitantly in the doorway, reluctant to leave his new bride.
“I’ll look after her,” said Tania. “I promise.”
His face misshapen by grief, Bryn turned and left. Cordelia’s howling died away to a harsh, grating panting, but her eyes still brimmed with a wild light.
“They’re gone now, Cordie,” Tania said, her voice soft and low, using a tone she would have used on a frightened cat or dog. “Come on, there’s no need to be scared. I’m here. No one’s going to hurt you. It’ll be fine.”
Very slowly Tania drew the covers back. She saw that Cordelia was still wearing the blue-and-gold wedding dress. Fear filled Cordelia’s eyes. She was taking quick shallow breaths now, her whole body trembling. Tania shifted so that she was beside her sister, holding her against herself, pressing Cordelia’s head to her shoulder.
