The Prince of Two Tribes mp-2

by Sean Cullen

  Charlie stood in the shadows, watching as the light in the attic went out. It was chilly but she didn’t feel a thing.

  “He’s going to sleep,” she said softly, seemingly to herself. No one was with her in the lane. “He still does that. It’s very strange. He’s so tied to his Human habits. It’s sad but kind of sweet, too, his feelings for these people.”

  There was a rustle of wings. A hawk with snowy white plumage lighted to perch on the fence beside Charlie. The bird of prey blinked bright blue eyes and hooted softly.

  Charlie nodded. “That’s true. His attachment to his Human family is the way to get close to him.”

  The hawk flapped its broad wings and the air around it smudged and smeared. The shape of the bird stretched and its plumage darkened. The next instant, an old man stood leaning against the fence. He wore a rumpled tweed suit and a flat cap. “It’s his greatest weakness but perhaps his greatest strength, too. That’s the key to his passion. It’s what will set him apart.”

  “He’s very reluctant to let me in,” Charlie explained. “He distrusts strangers.”

  “Few could resist your charms, my dear Charles.”

  “He’s doing just fine,” she snorted, hanging her head.

  The old man raised Charlie’s chin and looked into her eyes. He smiled. “Show him how wonderful our world can be. You will succeed, I’m sure.”

  Reluctantly she nodded. “I have an idea that might work.” Her brow furrowed. “Have you found out any more about my family?”

  “No,” the old man said sadly. “I haven’t given up, but the trail is centuries old. It will take some time.

  “Now, I must be gone,” he said. “Don’t worry. You will wear him down.” As he raised his arms, his form melted down and collapsed. The bird sat in his place on the fence post. The hawk clicked its beak and rose with a powerful snap of its wings, throwing itself into the frigid night sky.

  “Yes.” She nodded and held out her bare arm. A weasellike shape stretched from her elbow to her wrist, etched into her skin with black ink. The tattoo shivered, writhed, and then detached itself from her skin, thickening and expanding until the creature it depicted had become a separate entity, dark as the shadows under the fence. The creature chittered softly and swarmed up her arm until it wreathed her shoulders like a living scarf. “Yes, Tweezers. It’s time to take the gloves off.”

  ^ 27 I think most brothers would agree that sisters are terrifying and to be avoided until at least the age of forty and then approached only with great caution.

  ^ 28 All Faeries have glamours or magical disguises to hide their true nature from Humans. While Greater Faeries take the Human form to move among us, as Brendan does, Lesser Faeries are forced to take on appropriate disguises for their size: mice, insects, birds, etc. BLT, being a contrary sort of individual, settled on an ugly, hairy fly, but she could have been a butterfly or a hummingbird. I think we agree that wouldn’t be in keeping with her personality.

  PART 2

  The Shadow Dancer

  Another Note from the Narrator

  Ha! Things are certainly heating up. Mysterious hawks in the dark of night! Sisters spying on brothers! Chocolate chip cookies! Oh, what a tangled web of intrigue and deception.

  The story is really starting to get rolling now. The pieces are in place, as it were. Who is the mysterious old man? Old men are always interesting. In stories, they fall into one of two categories: Wise Old Sage or Mad Old Weirdo. I prefer the old men characters that are a little bit of both. Old Mad Wise Weirdo has a nice ring to it.

  So, Brendan is having a crisis of sorts. He is alienating his friends and failing in his training, and an annoying girl is trying to weasel her way into his life. Little does she know he already has an annoying girl in his life.

  I have come under criticism from readers for Delia being unreasonably mean to Brendan. But anyone who has a sister will not find fault in my portrayal of Delia, for they’ll know I am more than likely not being harsh enough.

  Sisters can be extremely annoying. I have a sister who is never satisfied until she’s driven me slightly mad. When we were children, she used to sneak into my bedroom and glue my pyjamas to my bedsheets. Very annoying. Then there was the time she mailed me to France. What can I say? I’m a very deep sleeper. I woke up in the mail-sorting office in Paris. The supervisor almost choked on his croissant.

  Surely, my sister was an extreme and sadistic case. (She is currently in prison serving five years for mail fraud.) But the stakes are high for Brendan, and a nosy sister is the last thing he needs. He is keeping a lot of balls in the air, and those balls are of different weights and sizes. Every once in a while, another ball is tossed to him and he must react swiftly or risk dropping everything. Sometimes he has to pass one ball under his leg or behind his back…

  All right. I’m exhausted with this juggling metaphor. Shall we continue? Let’s throw some more balls at Brendan.

  EVISCERATION

  The next day, Sunday, Brendan awoke to find BLT tapping at the window. The temperature had dropped and snow had fallen overnight, the first of the season. Christmas was just over a week away. He let the tiny Faerie in out of the cold.

  “About time!” BLT grumped.

  “It’s not like you feel the cold, anyway,” Brendan pointed out.

  “Not the point!” She shook snow off her wings and burrowed under his duvet, refusing to respond to his apologies.

  It was one of those rare days when both his mother and father were home. He joined them for breakfast at the kitchen table while listening to them making their plans for the day.

  “We have to get the tree put up,” his mother said, referring to her to-do list on the table in front of her. “And I need you to get the decorations out of the bins in the basement.”

  “Absolutely, dear,” his father answered absently. He was preoccupied by the highlights from last night’s game on SportsCentre. The tiny TV on top of the fridge held at least half of his attention. “Decorations.”

  “Hey, Dad,” Brendan interrupted. “Did they win?”

  “Lost in a shootout.”

  “Bummer.”

  “They played hard, though.”

  “Sure.” Brendan shook his head. Part of being a Toronto Maple Leafs fan was hoping against hope that this season would be better than the last, though it rarely was. Still, you stayed with your team through the good and the bad. When they actually did win, the victory would be worth waiting for. That was his father’s philosophy, at least. Brendan thought it sucked to be a Leafs fan, but his father had left him no choice. He’d been indoctrinated since he was a baby.^ 29

  “What have you got on for today, Brendan?” his mother asked.

  “I’m gonna try and get together with Harold and Dmitri. And maybe do some Christmas shopping.”

  “That’s good. They were really down when you didn’t show up yesterday.” His mother raised an eyebrow. “Friends are important, Brendan. And not just girlfriends, either.”

  “Mu-um.” Brendan was pleased that his mother seemed to be buying the girlfriend ruse, which might give him a little more time to work with Greenleaf and Kim in the days before the Challenges. “Where’s Dee?”

  “She said she had some errands to run. Probably shopping at the mall with her friends. She left a few minutes ago.” His mum stood up and put her coffee cup in the sink. “I’m going to take a shower and then we’re going to get a tree.” She waited for her husband to respond. “Edward?”

  “Hmm?” His father tore his eyes from the television. “Oh, okay. Fine. I’m ready any time.”

  Satisfied, Mum kissed Brendan on the forehead and went upstairs, leaving him alone with his father. Brendan chewed his toast, watching the game highlights in silent companionship with his dad.

  Finally, the show ended and his dad turned off the TV. “What a miserable shootout. Our goalie couldn’t stop a beach ball with a piano tied to it,” he said glumly.

  Brendan had a sudden thought. “Dad,
can I ask you something?”

  “No,” his dad answered flatly. Brendan looked at him in confusion until his father laughed. “I’m kidding. What do you want to know?”

  “Just some advice, kinda,” Brendan said.

  “I’ll kinda try and help if I kinda can.”

  “Right.” Brendan thought for a moment then struggled to form his question. “When you’re doing something difficult like, say, trying to learn a new song… ”

  “Yeah?”

  “Have you ever just not been able to do it, no matter how hard you tried? I mean, for some reason, no matter what you do, you can’t play the song or whatever?”

  “You mean, like having a mental block?”

  “Something like that.” Brendan nodded. “In fact, exactly like that.”

  His father frowned. “That’s happened before, sure. Sometimes, for whatever reason, your mind just can’t absorb something. I remember trying to learn ‘American Pie.’ Long song. Lotta words. Kind of annoying. I had to perform it at somebody’s wedding and I didn’t have it down the night before.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Well, I’d been killing myself trying to get it perfect and I’d spent hours and hours poring over the words, but I just couldn’t play it through perfectly. So… I convinced them to let me play another song.”

  Brendan had been anticipating some words of wisdom. His face fell.

  “Again, I’m kidding,” he laughed. “Although I think ‘American Pie’ is a pretty lame song for a wedding. I mean, you want to immortalize your union by singing a song about a guitar player who died in a plane crash? Buddy Holly’s great and everything, but come on. Turns out they’d met to that song and so… ”

  “Dad!”

  “Sorry. Yeah, okay.” His dad smiled. “You know what I did? I did nothing. I stopped practising. Obviously, it was all there in my head and I was so worried I was going to fail that I was making myself fail. I put down the guitar and didn’t touch it until right before the ceremony.”

  “Did it work?” Brendan asked. “Did you get it right?”

  “Turns out I forgot a verse but they didn’t notice. Love tends to preoccupy people when they’re getting married. And the fact that they’re trying not to wet themselves with terror. My point is, you have to trust that you’ve done the work and let it go. Does that make sense?”

  “Sure.” Brendan nodded, but inside he was disappointed. His father had no idea what the stakes were. Brendan couldn’t make any mistakes or they might be his last. There was no room for error. He didn’t want to worry his dad, though. “Thanks, Dad. I’m gonna get dressed and go out. See ya later.”

  “Okay,” his dad answered, reaching for the paper. “What are you so worried about? What do you need to learn? Can I help?”

  “Nothing,” Brendan replied, heading for the stairs. “Just something for school. Later, Dad.”

  Brendan showered and dressed quickly, but by the time he came downstairs, the house was empty. His parents were gone. He’d called Harold and Dmitri but got their voicemail. He’d left apologetic messages for both and begged them to call him back. Pulling on his parka, he headed out the door.

  He walked down the street to wait for the streetcar. BLT was content to nestle in his inner pocket out of the cold. Brendan felt his spirits rise a little bit. His breath gusted out in a white cloud. He liked the cold, and he especially liked the first big snowfall. He loved the way the entire city looked clean and fresh. He loved how all sound seemed muffled by the layer of white. He contentedly scuffed at the fluffy snow, sending puffs of flakes in front of him, savouring the squeak of the compressed snow beneath his boots. Snowflakes drifted in front of his face, and with his acute Faerie Sight he could see the intricate shape of each one. He could almost hear the tinkling as they collided with the ground.

  “Beautiful,” Brendan breathed softly.

  “You can keep it,” came BLT’s tiny, grumpy voice from his coat. “Cold. Wet. Blah!” She snuggled deeper.

  Brendan was looking forward to spending the day doing normal (and by normal, he meant Human) things. He hadn’t been able to set aside any time for Christmas shopping. He wasn’t really sure if Faeries observed Christmas, but he decided he would get gifts for his new family, too. That meant double the gifts that he’d had to buy last year. Luckily, he had a little extra money saved.

  He took the streetcar to Queen Street West and wandered in and out of the shops, searching for the right things for everyone on his list. His dad was easy: CDs. Mum was easy, too: she always wanted some new tool for the kitchen. Delia he could fob off with a gift card at a clothing store. The real difficulty was buying for his Faerie family. What did one buy as a gift for an immortal? A tie? Some tea? Nice-smelling soap?

  He searched and searched but came up empty. The sun was already going down when he headed back to the subway. He was frustrated and tired from fighting the crowds, but most of all, he was a little worried. He couldn’t shake the feeling that somebody was following him. He found himself looking over his shoulder, stopping and turning around suddenly or even ducking into shops and watching the people passing by on the street. But no matter what he did, he couldn’t catch anyone tailing him. Perhaps the anxiety and pressure of the coming Challenges were making him paranoid.

  He’d just decided to let go of his fears and head home on the subway when he came out onto the platform and found Charles waiting for him again.

  She was leaning against a pillar, a latte in her hand, smiling.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” she said.

  “So you were following me!”

  She frowned in confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Leave me alone,” Brendan said flatly, walking past her.

  “But I like you,” she giggled, following him.

  “Well, I don’t like you,” Brendan snarled.

  “You have to get to know me,” the girl said, tossing her empty cup in a trash can. “I’m really quite fun.”

  Brendan felt the rush of air that announced the arrival of the subway train. Light shone from the tunnel and the squeal of metal wheels on the tracks filled the air. He whirled, waving a finger in the girl’s face. “I’m not interested in getting to know you, and I don’t like being followed.”

  Before Brendan could pull his finger away, the girl nipped his fingertip.

  He yelped in pain and snatched his hand back. “You bit me.”

  “It’s not polite to point!” She smiled, revealing strong white teeth.

  The train arrived. Brendan stepped through the doors as they whooshed open. He turned and said angrily, “Leave me alone.”

  She frowned prettily as the doors closed.

  “That ain’t no way to talk to a girl.” A homeless man sitting on the train, bulging shopping bags piled around him, gave Brendan a reproachful look.

  Brendan ignored him. No one else was on board so he had his pick of seats. He plunked down on a bench facing the platform, well away from the homeless man. The train started to roll. The girl jogged along until she was even with him, waving as she ran alongside. Brendan tried to ignore her. The train picked up speed. The girl kept pace, running with ease and grace. She puffed out her cheeks and pretended she was having trouble keeping up. Despite his annoyance, Brendan found her performance amusing. A small smile tugged rebelliously at the corner of his mouth.

  Suddenly, she threw up her hands in alarm and dropped headlong from sight. Brendan leapt up to see if she was okay, pressing his face against the window beside the homeless man. The girl popped up and banged on the glass, scaring Brendan so that he staggered back and fell in his seat. She pointed and laughed, once again keeping pace with the train. Brendan rolled his eyes. She stuck out her tongue.

  The end of the platform loomed. The girl waved goodbye and dropped back out of sight. Brendan didn’t wave back.

  The homeless man had been watching the whole thing. “She can sure motor,” he said, eyes wide. “That’s som
e girl, there.”

  “Yeah,” Brendan had to admit.

  He took the subway north to Spadina. Rather than take the streetcar from the station, he decided to walk home through the softly falling snow. People were bundled up against the weather, but Brendan hardly noticed the cold. The sun was low in the grey sky.

  By the time he got to what he’d taken to calling the Snoring Rock, it was already dark. Brendan came level with the black stone and found himself compelled to stop. Lately he’d avoided this place. Something about the monolith sitting in the schoolyard made him uneasy. He read the little brass plaque that decorated the stone.

  THIS BASIC IGNEOUS ROCK WAS FOUND AT A DEPTH OF TWELVE FEET DURING THE COURSE OF EXCAVATION FOR THIS SCHOOL. THE COMPOSITION IS OF A VERY RARE TYPE AND IS ASSUMED TO HAVE BEEN CARRIED HERE FROM CARIBOU LAKE NORTH OF PARRY SOUND BY A GLACIER DURING THE GREAT ICE AGE 12,000 YEARS AGO.

  Brendan could barely imagine the force required to transport a stone over such a distance and bury it so deep in the ground. Thinking about it made him uncomfortable, perhaps because the rock reminded him of the first terrifying and confusing day when he’d stumbled into his new life. He and Dmitri had been walking past this very spot when he’d heard the stone “snoring.” He remembered the harsh warning the stone had barked in his mind, telling him to stay away.

  So why was he here? He could have easily taken another route. He stood in the yellow light of the street lamp with the snow gently falling around him, staring at the mottled black surface of the stone.

  The world faded from his awareness. The surface of the stone swam before him. What at first seemed to be a chaos of bumps, gouges, and cracks began to shift and resolve into patterns. Brendan struggled to make sense of the markings, but their meaning was just beyond his perception. He felt that if he could just concentrate a little more, he’d be able to puzzle them out.