Chains of Gaia

by James Fahy

  Robin grinned, coming around a little and taking the present. “How did you guys even know it was my birthday?”

  “Your aunt told us,” Henry said smugly. “She found out. You know she’s no good at human customs and things, but she tries, bless her. Fourteenth of September. That’s today, and you’re fourteen now.” He poked Robin in the side of the head accusingly. “Any minute your voice will drop like a stone and you’ll stop looking like such a beautiful delicate damsel.”

  “Shut up, you idiot.” Robin pushed his messy blonde bed-hair back from his eyes and shook the box experimentally.

  “Your Aunt Irene was quite put out actually,” Karya said, with a thoughtfully raised eyebrow. “When she found out, I mean. You didn’t celebrate your day of birth last year, Scion. You didn’t even tell anyone about it.”

  Robin shrugged amiably. “Well, I didn’t really know much about anything,” he said. “I’d only been at Erlking for two weeks at the time. I didn’t know anyone really, and with Gran just dying … I didn’t feel like celebrating, it’s no big deal.”

  “It is a big deal, moron!” Henry chided. “You can’t just level-up into a teenager and not make a big deal out of it. You’re so weird sometimes.”

  “I was busy turning into a Fae at the time,” Robin pointed out. He looked around at his friends. “A lot’s happened since then, that’s for sure.”

  “Yes,” Woad nodded sagely. “You have stretched.”

  “You are a bit taller I suppose,” Karya allowed. “Growing like a weed. Still as skinny as a starved redcap though. You need to eat more.”

  “Yes, mother.” Robin rolled his eyes, propping himself up on his pillows. “So, what is it then? Is it going to explode?” He eyed the gift with suspicion.

  “No,” Henry promised. “But it’s one of two. I’ve got you one for last year too, seeing as you went all thirteeny without telling us. It’s downstairs. Thought you’d like to spread out the loot through the day.”

  “I got you something too, Pinky.” Woad said. His eyes narrowed. “But … it escaped. Don’t worry though, I will catch you another one.”

  Robin thought it wise not to pursue this. This was often the wisest course with Woad. Instead he tore the wrapping from the oblong package, revealing a heavy leather-bound volume in bright red bindings.

  “It’s a book!” Henry revealed, happily stating the obvious. “We, that is, Karya mainly, said you’d like a book, because you know …” He shrugged. “…you’re bookish and that.”

  Karya nodded rather proudly.

  Robin turned the heavy book over in his hands, reading the golden lettering emblazoned across the front.

  “'Legendary Places and Loathsome Deeds,” he read aloud. “A collection of folktales fair and foul from the deepest Netherworlde's, by Marias Goldenbough.” He grinned, flicking through the pages. It was heavily illustrated throughout. “Thanks guys, this is ace. You know I love this stuff.”

  “We figured by now you have read Hammerhand’s Netherworlde Compendium cover to cover at least eighteen times,” Karya said drolly. She nodded to the book in his hands. “These are old wives’ tales, but some of them are fun.”

  “Does it have the tale of the Bubbling Bog Hag?” Woad asked her, excitedly. “I love the tale of the Bubbling Bog Hag!”

  “I believe so,” Karya replied with a thoughtful frown.

  “What about King Jeremy and the seven sprites?” Woad chirped. “Or The Scarlet goose? That one’s creepy!” He turned his head to Robin, wide-eyed. “Oh, oh! Even better, The Cursed Custard of Cerydrwyn! Does it?”

  Robin rested the book on the covers, grinning at Woad’s excitement. “Tell you what, Woad,” he said. “How about I let you borrow it after I’ve read it, eh?”

  The faun made a face. “I’m not so wonderful with the squiggly reading,” he said. “I never really found time to figure out all the lines. Important … faun … stuff … to do, you know?”

  “I’ll read to you then,” Robin smirked.

  Woad grinned widely and flipped backwards from his precarious perch on the bed knob to land deftly on the rug. “Yes! And to Inky too!” he insisted. “Inky likes the scary stories.”

  “You keep that bloody pet kraken of yours away from me,” Henry grumbled. “I swear, it might not be bigger than a kitten, but it’s got it in for me. Every time I see it, it’s hissing and banging away on the glass of its jar with those rubbery little tentacles. It’s started to freak me out.”

  “Maybe it just wants a hug?” Robin teased. “You’re so approachable, Henry. You know we all have to restrain ourselves from hugging you constantly.”

  “I certainly don’t,” Karya said, folding her arms and smirking. “I’d rather hug the kraken.”

  “Oi!” Henry glared.

  “Enough talk.” Karya stood away from the dresser. “Everyone out. I don’t care how exciting it is that the Scion has lived long enough to get a shiny new number next to his name, it’s still painfully early in the morning and we have to get breakfast ready. Give Robin some peace so he can get up and dressed and …” She looked at him critically. “… Do … something … with that hair. Honestly.”

  Robin ran a hand through his blonde mop a little self-consciously. It was indeed sticking up everywhere. He sometimes suspected that Woad snuck into his bedroom at night and back-combed it for his own amusement.

  “Why are we making breakfast?” he asked, confused. “Where’s Hestia?”

  “Out,” Henry said, stepping away from the bed and starting to usher the others toward the door. “Our joyful and sweet-tempered housekeeper set off early with your dear old aunt. Before sun-up even. I saw them go from the window.”

  “Go where?” Robin's interest was piqued. It was unusual for his aunt and Hestia to go out together, especially unannounced.

  “Dad mentioned something about it at dinner last night,” Henry explained. “Someone’s coming to the house today and your aunt wanted to meet them personally down in the village.” He shrugged. “Not like Lady Irene to run errands like that, but I’m guessing it’s someone important if she took her lady-in-waiting along. All very formal.”

  “I’m sure we’ll find out in an hour or two when they’re back,” Karya said. “Now come on, downstairs. It certainly isn’t often we get the free run of the kitchens without Hestia’s eyes on us. Let’s make the most of it. We’ll meet you down there, Scion.”

  Everyone left. Robin heard their voices bickering good-naturedly as they travelled down the stone spiral staircase from his tower room to the house proper, and smiled to himself, stifling a happy yawn.

  He glanced at the red book happily, sitting on his bedcovers in the golden morning sunlight. “A new year for me,” he mumbled to himself, sliding out of bed and crossing to the dark chest of drawers atop which lay his mana-stone. He slipped it around his neck as he did every morning, the seraphinite stone resting on his chest with comforting familiarity. “The mighty and all powerful Scion of the Arcania takes another bold step towards adulthood,” he muttered, smirking. “Right after breakfast that is.”

  He got dressed quickly, worried at leaving Woad at large in the kitchens for too long, and dragged his fingers through his pale hair, staring at himself in the long mirror which hung on the inside door of his wardrobe. Karya was right, he really did need a haircut. It was hard to believe he’d been at Erlking more than a year. So much had changed since then.

  But not, he thought firmly, my love for Pokémon pyjamas.

  COLD BREAKFAST

  “What the devil is this?”

  Mr Drover, Henry’s father and handyman of Erlking, entered the sunny breakfast room, shrugging off gardening gloves and peering around with raised eyebrows. He was a large, heavy-set man, with a kind face and small, sparkling eyes the same shade of hazel as his son's. These eyes were currently surveying what could only be described as a culinary battlefield.

  “It’s breakfast, Dad,” Henry said, waving a fork at his father. “What does it l
ook like?”

  Drover bristled his moustache, shaking his head a little. “What it looks like, lad, is that the kitchen threw up in the breakfast room.” He pulled up a chair and dropped into it with a chuckle, rubbing his large hands together briskly. He had been out weeding dead strangleweed in the gardens since dawn, and the autumn air had chilled his bones. “Old Hestia's liable to have all your heads on spikes when she gets back. Won't that make a nice addition to the front lawn, eh? Might scare the squirrels off at any rate.”

  The large wooden table, around which the four children and Mr Drover sat, was covered in food. Pancakes, bacon, eggs, sausages, stacks of ham liberated from the pantry, muffins filled with dubious concoctions of various fillings. There were at least five different pots of jam, all opened, and drinks haphazardly filling any spaces between the plates.

  “We couldn’t decide on what to have,” Robin explained around a mouthful of pancake. “Karya wanted French toast, but Woad doesn’t like eggs once they’re cooked. Henry said pancakes were the best, as any food you get to throw in the air has to be a good thing, and I–”

  “Alright, alright.” Drover held his hands up. “I don’t even want to know what the kitchen looks like. Just pass me some of that toast, will you? No, no, not the one with maple syrup, the one that’s just got a whole pat of butter on it, by the looks of things.”

  “You should be conscious of your blood pressure, Mr Drover,” Karya said conscientiously. “A man of your years and physical condition, butter can be a murder weapon.”

  Drover gave her a sly look, pouring himself a cup of tea. “Ain’t nothing wrong with my physical condition thank you, young miss. Fit as a fiddle. A badly tuned fiddle, mind, but one that can still hold a tune or two.” He slurped his tea. “And the only thing bad for my blood pressure in this house is you four rascals. Especially …” He glanced over at Woad, pointing a triangle of toast with mock-menace, “…this one here. Little blue terror.”

  Woad looked affronted. Or as affronted as it was possible to look with cheeks smeared with glam-glam jam. “What have I done?” he said innocently. “I am a model citizen!”

  Drover laughed. “Oh dear me, if you could smell lies, I’d have to open a window right now, you little troublemaker.” He balanced his elbows on the chaotic table, between the sugar pot and a stack of bacon. “Perhaps you’d like to tell me why there’s a creature of the deep rolling around in the main hall in a bubble, eh? Tripped right over it. With an armful of logs I did, almost went flying. I could have done myself a mischief.”

  Woad looked guilty, but also a little proud. “I didn’t know Inky could get up and down the stairs in that bubble. He's as resourceful as he is charming, it seems.”

  “That, I’m afraid, would be my doing, Mr Drover,” a soft voice said behind him. A tall and willowy woman had entered the room, drifting like a ghost in a soft rainbow-hued gown. Her long pale hair floated softly around her, as though underwater, as she turned her head to calmly inspect the gastronomic destruction of the room.

  “Your doing, Madame Calypso?” Drover coughed a little on his toast, startled by the nymph’s appearance. Robin and Henry sat up a little straighter in their chairs, trying to look less like feral ravenous slobs. Karya shook her head almost imperceptibly to herself. Nymphs, she blew on her cup of tea, they had a way of fogging the male mind.

  “The bubble,” Robin’s tutor explained, closing the door softly behind her. “The faun was carrying that creature around in a jam-jar everywhere, it didn’t seem kind. Creatures of the water, such as I, we need freedom. To go as and where we please.”

  “It was my idea actually,” Robin said proudly. “I was thinking how people who have hamsters and hamster-type things, they get a little clear plastic ball, don’t they?” He mimed holding a little ball above his plate. “And the hamster goes inside, and it can go anywhere then, but still not get eaten by cats. If you have a cat.”

  Henry nodded in ardent approval. “Zorbing,” he said, raising his glass in a toast. “It’s called zorbing I think. Cracking idea. Genius that, Rob. Inky loves it, murderous little demon that it is.”

  “This is just my humble opinion, but kraken-zorbing might not go down too well with some of the ladies of the house,” Drover said to Calypso. “That’s all I’m saying. It’s one thing for a critter to go rolling around wherever it pleases in a magic watery bubble and all. Who am I to judge?” He stroked his bristly moustache. “But when ‘wherever it pleases’ ends up being underfoot, well then …” He crunched his toast decisively. “Let’s just say there are less patient feet than mine to get under in this household, that’s all.”

  Calypso nodded dreamily. “I understand your concern, human servant. Woad, you should make efforts to confine your companion to the upper levels of the house. Especially when Lady Irene's guests arrive.”

  Woad nodded ruefully.

  “Would you like to join us for breakfast?” Karya asked. The nymph examined the packed table silently for a moment.

  “I think perhaps not," she said. “It all looks absolutely horrible and badly made.”

  “Actually, some of this toast is salvageable,” Drover said happily. “You can see where they’ve scraped all the really burnt bits off. Just gives it a gritty texture. Think of it as a bit of a challenge.”

  “As tempting as that is … no,” Robin's tutor said. “The very idea is mildly repellent.” She glanced dreamily across the table. “I’ve only come to tell you, Robin, that in light of it being your birthday, and of house-guests arriving imminently, I have decided to cancel your training until after the weekend. You will have four days free.” She gave Robin a small, distant smile. “Happy birthday.”

  Robin grinned at this. He had come a long way in his studies in the Tower of Water, but Calypso was an absolute slave-driver when it came to lessons. September was creeping along, and the lake was certainly not getting any warmer. Four days with no responsibilities sounded like heaven to him.

  “Excellent,” he said, saluting her with his orange juice. “Thank you.”

  “I considered getting you an actual present,” she said, with a tiny frown. “But then … I didn’t.” She gave a small shrug.

  Robin wasn’t offended. He was used to his tutor’s manner. She wasn’t really interested in much when it came to human affairs. It was enough for him that she’d even actually considered it at all.

  “These guests,” Karya asked, in as light and airy a tone as the young girl could manage. “Do you know who they are?” She looked from Calypso to Mr Drover, sipping her tea innocently as she fished for information. Robin knew that Karya hated not knowing everything.

  “Blowed if I know,” Henry's father said. “I thought it was strange enough that Lady Irene didn’t have me go pick them up myself. That’s my job, that is. Driver. One of them anyway. Most peculiar.”

  “I have not been informed directly,” Calypso said. “So I imagine it does not concern me. It probably doesn’t concern you either. I should occupy yourselves in clearing up this travesty of a breakfast before certain parties return to the house, if I were you, rather than speculating. We don’t want hysteria on such a pretty morning, do we?”

  It was no secret at Erlking that there was little love between Robin’s tutor and Hestia the housekeeper, to whom she was clearly referring. Hestia had disapproved of Calypso since the moment she arrived. The nymph didn’t seem to give two hoots what anyone thought of her, which only made Hestia bristle more.

  “I’ll go and find Inky,” Woad said. “His days of free-roaming parkour are numbered! Trust the word of this honourable faun.”

  “Henry and I will clean up in here,” Karya said, nodding in agreement with the nymph’s plan. “We’ll do more birthday presents in a bit. Robin why don’t you–”

  Robin was already filling a plate with various foodstuffs. “Actually, I’m just going upstairs for a bit,” he said. “Won’t be long.”

  Henry frowned and rolled his eyes as Robin stood with the plate.
“Yeah, yeah, we know. Off to visit Sleeping Broody are you. Good luck, Florence Nightingale … again.”

  Robin made his way up to the second floor, near the rear of the house where it was quiet, the laden breakfast tray clinking as he padded along the carpet of the long silent hallway. He came to a door where he paused for a moment, frowning to himself. Then with a sigh down his nose he let himself in.

  The silent room beyond was a bedroom. One of the many spare and unused suites at Erlking Hall. It was sparsely furnished. Two long windows along one wall let in the bright early autumn light, which fell across the pale floorboards in bright clean bands. The room was utterly silent as Robin kicked the door closed softly behind him and crossed the floor, the boards squeaking under his feet. He set the breakfast tray down quietly.

  “Today would be a good day for it,” he said. “If you’ve been waiting to choose a dramatic moment or anything.”

  He looked down at the bed. It was occupied by a teenage boy, pale as snow with greyish hair, the stiff covers neatly tucked around his bare shoulders. The boy was sleeping and didn’t respond. Robin watched him for a moment, looking for a flicker of an eyelid, a twitch of lips, anything.

  For all intents and appearances, the pale boy may well have been dead. He certainly looked like a pallid corpse, although Robin noticed that the dark circles under his eyes had finally disappeared altogether. If he wasn’t so white, Robin mused to himself. He’d look the picture of health compared to when he’d arrived.

  “Just that … it’s my birthday today,” he said to the boy in the bed. “So … you know. Good a time as any to wake up, right?”

  The sleeper made no indication he had heard a word Robin had said. He was frowning slightly in his sleep. He had been frowning slightly in his sleep for a solid month now.

  Robin watched his chest beneath the crisp sheets for a moment, as he did every morning, just to check he could see their guest was indeed breathing. When he was satisfied this was indeed the case, he slumped into a chair beside the bed with a creak.