by Frewin Jones
“That’s it, Cordie,” she crooned, wrapping her arms around her. “Nothing to be scared of. Everything’s going to be all right.”
But although Cordelia allowed herself to be held, her body was rigid, every muscle tense as a bowstring. And the trembling did not stop.
“How fares my daughter?”
Tania looked up at the sound of Oberon’s voice. Her arms were still around Cordelia, but her sister’s breathing had calmed to a low rasp. Her eyes were closed now and her head was resting on Tania’s chest.
Tania looked into her father’s face and saw his agony as he gazed at Cordelia from the doorway. She knew what he must be feeling. It was only a few short weeks since Zara had been killed, and now death threatened another of his children.
“Can she be lifted to the bed?” asked Oberon.
Tania nodded. She kissed the top of Cordelia’s head and smoothed her hair. “Cordie?” she crooned. “I need you to get up now, just for a moment or two. Will you do that for me?”
Cordelia’s head snapped up. Her eyes were insane and her body rigid. She hissed, her fingernails digging into Tania’s arm. Tania winced but tried not to flinch away.
“It’s all right. It’s me.”
“Tania?” The voice was puzzled. “Have you walked with me into death?”
“No. No one is dead. I need you to get onto the bed. You’ll be more comfortable there.”
Tania got slowly to her feet, drawing Cordelia up with her. Suddenly Cordelia lifted her face and sniffed the air. A confused, startled look came into her eyes, and she turned her head to the doorway where the King stood.
“Ahhh!” she breathed, her eyes widening, her body trembling from head to foot. “My lord…the noble beast…eagle of the mountain, lion of the vale, stag of the forest…He has come for me…. He will lead me safe into the Great Darkness, where my furred and feathered and scaled brethren await me.” She pulled away from Tania and stumbled toward Oberon, her hands reaching out for him.
He opened his arms and gathered her to him, holding her against his broad chest, lowering his head to kiss her hair. “Daughter, mine!” he murmured. “I am not the harbinger of death. I am your father, and while I have breath in my body, I will stand forever between you and that deadly portal.” His arms tightened around her for a moment. “Sleep now, Cordelia, and awake to the eternal bliss that is your birthright.” His voice rumbled. “Sleep!”
Tania watched as the golden light came threading out from his fingers, writhing and braiding in the air, encompassing Cordelia’s quivering body, surrounding her with its gentle glow.
Cordelia’s feet lifted from the ground, and she turned slowly as the cocoon of the Gildensleep knitted around her. Tania saw the desperate animal light fade from her eyes; tranquillity suffused her face as her eyelids peacefully closed.
The golden cocoon floated to the bed. Tilting and adjusting so that Cordelia was lying now on her back, it came lightly to rest on the mattress.
Tania stared at her father. “Will she recover?” she asked. “I mean, will she get completely better?”
She was thinking of what Hopie had said about Cordelia’s animal spirit. The sickness has set her animal spirit loose. She is lost in it.
“I know not,” said the King, standing at the bedside. “I have done all that I can for her.”
Tania turned as she heard others coming into the room: Bryn and Hopie, with Edric close behind.
Bryn looked at Cordelia, and tears ran down his cheeks. “Be well, my darling, in good time,” he murmured. “I will not leave you again.”
They stood in silence around the bed. Hopie was the first to speak. “I must away,” she murmured. “Farewell, Cordelia, for the moment. I go to seek a cure.”
“And I must also go,” said the King. “Sickness stalks the corridors of this place, and there are others who need release from the turmoil of the plague.”
They departed together.
Tania was acutely aware of Edric standing at the foot of the bed with his head bowed. She glanced at him, hoping that maybe he would look at her and hold out a comforting hand, that he would offer her some small moment of love or shared grief or understanding.
But it didn’t happen. He walked silently from the room.
Bryn knelt at Cordelia’s head.
Tania heard him singing softly to her.
“And I will guide you there
Beyond this shallow land
What lady is more fair
What lord to take your hand
As ever on we dance
Among high heaven’s host
And I see at every glance
The one I love the most.”
Tania couldn’t bear the sorrow that bled through the lovely melody. There was a pain in her chest like stones grinding her heart as she made her way into the corridor. She went back to her own chambers and lay on her bed, utterly exhausted. When had she last slept? Not for two nights now: one long night with Mallory, the second aboard the Cloud Scudder.
But how could she sleep when all around her people were succumbing to the plague that she had brought on them? How could she ever hope to sleep again?
When she awoke, the bedchamber was full of shadows and there was the steady patter of teeming rain.
She sat up. Beyond the tall open windows the sky was dark. Not the beautiful starry, velvet blue of a clear Faerie night, but the deep, brooding gray of rain clouds. She got up and walked to the window. The sill and the floor were wet from the windblown rain that pricked cold on her face.
Not for the first time she wished they had clocks in Faerie. It was disorienting never to know the exact time of day—and for all she knew she may have slept half the night away.
She lit a candle and caught her reflection in a circular mirror above the washstand. She leaned close, looking into her weary eyes. The sadness in her face startled her.
She remembered her dad’s words. What happens on the morning after happy ever after?
“Well? We’re there now, that’s for sure,” she said to herself. “So what’s the answer? What happens now?”
Her reflection shook its head and said nothing. She straightened up, listening to the endless rain. She could hear no other sound.
Out of nowhere a sudden panic gripped her: the terror that she was the only person left alive in the whole of the palace—the overwhelming conviction that the plague had taken everyone else in Veraglad. That she was surrounded by corpses.
She ran for the door. The candle fluttered and went out. She paused, breathing heavily, trying to calm herself. She turned to the nightstand and relit the candle. This time she moved more slowly, cupping the flame. She opened the door to her chambers and stepped out into the corridor.
The hallway was bright with candles set in crystal sconces all along the walls. Someone must have lit the candles; someone must still be alive.
She snuffed out her own candle and walked to the curved gallery that overlooked the main entrance hall to the palace, five floors below her.
Voices drifted up. Almost breathless with relief, she leaned over the banister. The hall far below her was awash with candlelight and movement. Figures were gathered there. She saw the King and the Earl Marshal Cornelius as well as several other folk of the royal court. They were greeting a tall silver-haired man clad in a heavy, rain-soaked black cloak. His deep, powerful voice came up to Tania. It was a voice she recognized, and the sound of it made her shiver.
“Ill met on a storm-wracked night, my lord Oberon,” said Lord Aldritch of Weir, father of the Great Traitor Gabriel Drake. “Are all yet gathered? The summons of the Queen was most urgent. The great lords of Faerie have stern work ahead, I deem.”
“Greetings, Lord Aldritch,” replied the King. “Not all the earls have yet arrived. Lady Kernow came with us from Dinsel, and Lord Tristan is with us, as is Fleance of Gaidheal. Marchioness Lucina and Lord Brython are also in attendance.”
“How fares Earl Valentyne?” asked Aldritch.
“Then time presses hard on us. Let us to Conclave ere all is lost.”
“We await the arrival of Lord Herne and Lady Mornamere,” said Cornelius. “Conclave cannot commence until all are present.”
“Then let us wish them good speed in their journey,” said Aldritch. “Who will deputize for Earl Valentyne?”
“Princess Eden, if she can be spared,” said the King.
“That is well. But I have given thought to our plight. I have summoned one who may be the surcease of all our woes.”
Tania leaned farther out, listening intently. She had begun to get used to the courtly manner in which the Faerie folk spoke to one another. “Surcease of all our woes” meant Aldritch believed he had found a possible cure for the plague.
“Of whom do you speak?” asked the earl marshal.
“His name is Hollin. He is a Healer, a wise and skillful apothecary.”
“I have not heard of this man,” said Cornelius. “Whence comes he?”
Aldritch’s voice was sharp as he replied. “I will vouch for him, Earl Marshal,” he said. “And if the lords and ladies of the House of Aurealis traveled more often in the north, then perhaps his name would not be unknown to them.”
“And if Weir showed a warmer welcome to wayfarers on the northern roads, then perhaps it would not be perceived by so many as a nest of darksome secrets,” said another lord.
“Hush, Fillian,” said the King. “Weir is our ally.” He turned to Aldritch. “Speak on, my lord. What of this man?”
“I have bidden him and those acolytes that follow him to come here with all dispatch,” Aldritch replied. “They left Weir upon a swift ship and if the wind is fair, they should be with us by dawn of tomorrow’s tomorrow.” He gave a formal bow. “It is for you, Lord Oberon, to judge his merits. If you find him wanting, then dispatch him whence he came.” He put a hand to his chest. “But upon mine honor I do believe he may find a firm footing in the mire upon which we stand.”
“So be it,” said the King.
“You are sure that this man has the craft to battle the plague?” asked the earl marshal.
“Nothing is certain till it be tested,” said Aldritch. “But it may prove so, my lord earl. The knowledge of Hollin is deep and subtle.”
“Then may the spirits of the wind and of the sea speed his arrival, my lord,” said Oberon. “But come; you must be weary after your long journey. There is food and drink in the Star Chamber.”
The King led Lord Aldritch away out of Tania’s sight. She stood, still leaning over the banister, the rail digging into her stomach.
The last time she had heard that sepulchral voice had been in Caer Liel in Weir. Lord Aldritch had been speaking to his son and agreeing not to come to the King’s aid in his fight against the Sorcerer King of Lyonesse. Queen Titania had insisted that Aldritch was not a traitor—but all the same Tania still feared and distrusted him.
But he had spoken of a Healer. Could there really be someone in Faerie who would be able to prevail against the illness?
She heard footsteps along the corridor.
It was Rathina. “You look as pale as aspen leaves, Tania,” Rathina said, scrutinizing her face. “What’s the matter? Why are you not abed? Has sleep deserted you as it has me?” A flicker of fear crossed her face. “Or are you unwell?”
Tania shook her head. “I’m not ill,” she said. “Lord Aldritch has just arrived.” She shuddered. “I’m sorry, but he gives me the creeps.”
A bleak smile curled Rathina’s lips. “’Tis a good phrase,” she said softly. “Aye, there is something about the lord of Weir that makes the skin crawl, I cannot deny. But you should not fear him. Were our father in any doubt, Weir would have been excluded from the Conclave.”
“I heard him say something about a Healer—a man who might be able to deal with the illness. He’s already on his way.”
“Glad tidings, indeed, if it proves so,” said Rathina. “But I shall not dance on a needle’s point till the deed is done.”
Tania looked into her sister’s face. “Rathina…I know this sounds weak,” she murmured. “But I need a hug…. I need it really badly right now.”
Wordlessly Rathina moved close to Tania and folded her in her arms. It was a comfort for Tania to close her eyes and rest her head on Rathina’s shoulder, to feel her sister’s long, thick dark hair against her face, to smell her, and to relax into her embrace.
“These are hard times for all,” Rathina murmured. “The disease strikes us down like a quarter-ball at pitch-pin, and none may feel safe.”
Tania lifted her head. “Like a what at what?”
“A quarter-ball at pitch-pin. ’Tis a game, Tania. The purpose is to roll a wooden ball and strike down the pins. We played it often as children.”
Tania nodded. “Bowling. I get it.” She moved out of Rathina’s arms. “It does feel a bit like that—except that I’m the one who rolled the ball. I set all this in motion and now I can’t stop it.”
Rathina raised an eyebrow. “You would speak to me of guilt?” she said. “Sister, I could trade you guilt for guilt ten times over and leave you groaning under the burden of my misdeeds.”
Tania didn’t have an answer to that. She pulled back the sleeve of her gown. There were four small crescent-moon marks on her forearm, dark red with dried blood. The wounds of fingernails. “Cordelia did that,” she said. “She was so frightened, Rathina.”
“As are we all, sweet sister, as are we all.” Rathina linked her arm with Tania’s and drew her along the high gallery. “But we shall banish melancholy with naughty deeds.” She gave a sly grin. “Would you visit in secret the Chamber of the Conclave of Earls?”
“Are we allowed?”
“Nay—that is the whole point. ’Tis a place most solemn and private, and none but the earls may enter. Come.” Rathina began to run, towing Tania along with her.
They passed many closed doors. Tania wondered about the folk who filled those silent rooms. The palace was full of people, but were any of them able to sleep, or were they all lying wide-eyed in the rain-filled night, dreading the coming of the plague?
She was sure at least that Hopie and Sancha and the Queen would not have taken to their beds. The most they would have allowed themselves was a brief nap to sharpen their wits. Tania wished she could be with them—wished she had some knowledge that would make a difference.
But she didn’t. Oberon had hoped she would be able to help, but so far that hope had proved in vain. For all the use she was being she may as well have remained in London with her mum and dad.
Tania soon lost track of where she was as her sister pulled her along the maze of corridors, but at last they came to a pair of tall white doors of carved crystal.
Rathina lifted a candelabrum from its wall sconce and pushed at the doors. They glided open into a large dark space. Tania followed her sister through, sensing immediately that this was a place where she should tread lightly and speak in whispers. The sound of pattering rain echoed off the walls.
Rathina closed the doors behind them and held up the candelabrum.
The Chamber of the Earls Conclave was a lofty, circular room made entirely of glass. Tall pointed windows swept to a high vaulted ceiling, their dark faces stippled and streaming with the rain. The thin spires that framed the windows were a milky color, hardly seeming substantial enough to hold off the pelting rain.
But most extraordinary and unnerving of all was the floor beneath Tania’s feet. It was of a glass so clear that Tania felt as if she was standing on nothing.
“Oh!” she gasped, and clutched at Rathina, suddenly realizing that she was looking through fathoms of rain-lashed air to the dimly visible sea far below. The chamber overhung the cliff, and there was nothing but the thin veil of glass under her feet to prevent Tania from plunging to her death.
Smiling at her unease, Rathina took Tania’s arm and walked her in a s
low circle around the chamber. Set in crystal niches around the walls were simple, high-backed chairs made of smooth white stone.
“These are the Thirteen Sieges of Faerie,” Rathina explained. “Ten are reserved for the lords and ladies of the ten caers, and two for our father and mother.”
“You said thirteen,” Tania said. “Who sits on the last one?”
“No one,” Rathina replied. “It is always empty: It is called the Siege of the Lost Caer, but I have no notion why it is so named, for there is no such castle in all of Faerie.”
Tania noticed that there was a symbol carved in the crystal above each seat. She recognized the radiating sun of the King and the full moon of the Queen, but there were many others: a bird, a coiling dragon, a tree, a unicorn—a different symbol for every chair save one. The Siege of the Lost Caer.
For some reason Tania felt a shiver run down her spine as she stood in front of the thirteenth chair.
“As soon as Lord Herne of Minnith Bannwg and Lady Mornamere of Llyr arrive, the Conclave will commence,” Rathina said. “Earl Valentyne will not be able to attend; Eden will take his place and represent Mynwy Clun, if she can be persuaded to leave his side. Lord and Lady Gaidheal were killed by the Sorcerer King, so their son Fleance, a lad of but ten summers, will represent their Earldom. And of course there is no lord nor lady of Caer Regnar Naal, nor has there been from time immemorial, so our uncle the earl marshal shall sit in the Siege of Sinadon.”
“And where will Lord Aldritch sit?” Tania asked.
“Under the charge of the wild unicorn of Caer Liel,” said Rathina. “Dinsel is represented by the leaping salmon, Minnith Bannwg by the stag—each of the Earldoms of Faerie has its own charge. For Gaidheal the oak tree, for Talebolion the sea horse, and for Sinadon the two crossed keys.” Rathina looked at Tania. “’Tis shame indeed that we come here on a stormy night. When the sky is clear, the stars do shine so very bright!”
“Sorry? What were you saying?” Tania had been staring at the Siege of Weir, seeing in her mind the thin, dour face of the sinister old lord.
