Unfallen Dead

by Mark Del Franco

  “I still think it’s a simple cause-and-effect metaphor. Something happens and causes something else. Your metaphors tend to be pretty simple.” Meryl was a Dreamer. She had visions in her sleep that told her things, sometimes things about people, sometimes things about the future. The visions tended to be littered with metaphors that mean something only to the people who have the dreams. Meryl was one of the few people who could consistently interpret her dreams. Mine started after my accident, but I never understood them until too late.

  “What about the figures?”

  She twisted her lips in thought. “Two many possibilities. You’ll have to Dream more to understand if they’re your generic symbology or a distinct message. They could be two sides of an argument or two real people or a past memory or a future struggle or . . .”

  “Okay, okay, I get it. I have to figure out my own personal metaphors. At least I’m not seeing dead bodies this time,” I said.

  Meryl looked skeptical. “As far as you know. There is screaming involved.”

  I slumped in my seat. “You always have a way of looking at the bright side.”

  She shrugged. “Can’t help that. It’s my sunny nature. What are you going to say at the hearing?”

  I pursed my lips. “Pretty much what I know. I think the part they’ll be most interested in is the part that I don’t remember.”

  Meryl leaned back again. “Lots of politics in that room. Briallen and Nigel Martin have a battle of wills going.”

  Before she became my friend, Briallen was my first mentor on the druidic path. Nigel took over after her. I used to think he and I were friends. Now I’m not so sure. “Briallen and Nigel have been bickering as long as I can remember.”

  Meryl grinned. “Pretty much everyone is angry with him except, ironically, Eorla Kruge.”

  “Eorla Kruge’s at the hearing?”

  Meryl’s eyes gleamed with mischievous pleasure. “You didn’t know? She got the Guild Director position. It’s driving Ceridwen nuts. Eorla refuses to testify or recuse herself from the hearings.”

  That didn’t surprise me. Nigel made some kind of deal with Eorla in exchange for her help at Forest Hills. When Eorla’s husband was murdered, she became the most powerful elf in Boston. Even though she was a high-ranking member of the Teutonic Consortium, her politics were nuanced enough to let me like her. She had the deft ability to anger her elven comrades as often as their fairy opponents and still get what she wanted. I respected that.

  I glanced at my watch. “Speaking of hearings, I have to go.”

  Meryl rocked out of her chair. “I’ll walk with you. I need to go upstairs and get some supplies before anyone finds out the budget is being cut.”

  Out in the corridor, I slipped my hand onto Meryl’s back and gave it a soothing rub. She didn’t pull away. The elevator arrived empty, and she hit the button for the next subbasement up. I hit 23. “How do you always know so much about what goes on around here?”

  She eyed me meaningfully. “Because the people upstairs always treat their assistants like crap, and they tell me stuff while they’re waiting for research.”

  Once upon a time, I was one of those people upstairs. “You are never going to let me live that down, are you?”

  The door opened, and Meryl stepped out. “Not yet.”

  That was when I had my oh-shit moment. “Meryl?” She turned with a smile. “I forgot to mention—I left an angry boggart in your storeroom.”

  She swept her hands up under her bangs, as anger flooded her face. “I am going to kill you.”

  The door started closing as she stepped toward me. There was no way I was going to stop it. “Sorry! I owe you one!”

  Her sending slammed into my mind. Oh, you will owe me more than one. Trust me.

  5

  The twenty-third floor of the Guildhouse existed in two different towers connected by a sky bridge. One tower held meeting rooms and the main elevator shaft, the other a few private temporary offices with a separate elevator for executives to whisk in and out. When the main elevator opened on the public side, Guild security agents blocked my way. With a queen of Faerie in town, they went for the full security package—Danann fairies in black uniform, chrome helmets, and take-no-crap attitude. I didn’t pretend to be oblivious to the process. I flashed my badge and the subpoena without waiting to be asked.

  An unusual array of the fey worked the hallway outside the conference rooms. Danann fairies and the lesser clans clustered in groups well away from elves and dwarves. True to their name, solitary fey kept to themselves. Neither the Celts nor the Teuts controlled or cared about them, the outcasts of the fey world. Fey on all sides sported visible injuries from the aborted battle at Forest Hills a few weeks earlier. Every time an elevator opened, all eyes shifted to the newest arrival, seeking a potential ally or noting a potential foe.

  I had no time to suss out how the proceedings were going. Within minutes of my arrival, a brownie security guard escorted me to a table outside the door of the hearing room. “Weapons must be left here,” he said.

  Without my abilities, physical weapons were my only defense. I understood the protocol. Security was security. I pulled a dagger from each boot and placed them on the table. One was a simple steel throwing knife I had owned for years. The other was a druidic blade, laced with charms and spells, that Briallen gave me last spring. “I suggest no one touches these,” I said.

  The brownie wasn’t particularly impressed with the suggestion. Everybody probably told him the same thing. He announced my name and escorted me into the hearing room.

  A hearing at the Fey Guild didn’t resemble a U.S. court-room proceeding. The room typically had seats in the back for spectators, a lone chair in the middle for whoever was being questioned, and a raised dais in the front for hearing officials. If the person questioned had an advocate, the advocate stood. Fey folk seeking help subjected themselves to the will and word of High Queen Maeve at Tara. Maeve’s law could be cold and nasty. Sometimes that was good. When it wasn’t, it wasn’t good at all.

  The first clue that my hearing wasn’t ordinary was the absence of spectators. The only people present sat on the dais and were among the most-high-powered fey in Boston. Since I wasn’t being charged with anything as far as I knew, no advocates were present. I hadn’t requested one, figuring it would look like I had nothing to worry about. For now.

  Ceridwen was, in a word, a babe. Most people found Danann fairies irresistibly attractive. Part of that was glamour, spell-masking that enhanced their best features. Part of that was their Power. The Dananns considered themselves the elite of the Celtic fairies. Without a doubt, they ruled with that attitude. They were a damned attractive bunch with the firepower to cinch it, and Ceridwen was no exception.

  She sat tall in the center of the platform, her diaphanous wings undulating on currents of ambient essence, points of light flickering gold and silver in the faint veining. Auburn hair burnished with gold highlights fell in waves down her back. Her eyes glowed amber with an intensity and depth that would humble anyone. Those eyes sent a shiver of awe through me. In a many-ringed hand, she held an ornate spear, intricately carved applewood worn white with age, tipped with a sharply honed claw. A silver filigree depicting leaves and apples wrapped the whole of it. On the shaft near Ceridwen’s hand, ogham runes glowed and formed the words Way Seeker.

  On her right sat Ryan macGoren, enjoying his status on the Guild board. We had had run-ins in the past that left me with a less-than-ideal opinion of him. Even other Dananns considered him ambitious, including Guildmaster Manus ap Eagan, who sat on the other side of Ceridwen. Manus looked in rough shape. He had contracted some kind of wasting disease that baffled the best healers known to the fey. Manus’s suspicions of Ryan had drawn me into the investigation that had exposed the coup plot at Forest Hills. Accident, to be sure, but a damned good one. Given that he was suffering from accusations of failure, I had no idea if Manus blamed me or not.

  To the left of the D
ananns, Nigel Martin and Briallen studiously ignored each other. I suppressed a smile. Those that follow the druidic path by their nature were prone to debate. Briallen and Nigel epitomized those debates. They had been sticking me in the middle of their arguments as long as I could remember. I considered myself lucky to have had them as mentors, but I would be hard put to explain which of them influenced me more.

  On the right of the Dananns sat Eorla Kruge, the new elven director. Eorla made eye contact with me and nodded slightly before returning her attention to the papers in her hand. I admired Eorla’s intentions but doubted she believed she’d have much success at the Guild. It was and remained Maeve’s creature, and no elf ever truly influenced the course of Guild policies in their favor.

  Last, on the end of the table next to Eorla, was Melusina Blanc, the solitary fey director. Melusina had a strange look, skin unnaturally pale with shades of gray, hair a tangle of silver tinted almost blue, and eyes so light the irises appeared white. Where Ceridwen’s gaze made one look away from amazement, Melusina’s did from discomfort.

  If elves had little pull on the board, the solitaries had even less. At best, Melusina was a token nod to the existence of solitaries. The irony was that since neither the Seelie Court nor the Teutonic Consortium thought of solitaries as allies, Melusina’s vote ended up being particularly powerful in close calls. No fool, she used it to gain help and privileges so often denied to her kind.

  As usual, the dwarven director was absent. For complicated political reasons I never understood, they refused to attend meetings but did not give up their rights and titles.

  Ceridwen stamped the base of the spear on the floor. “We are Ceridwen, Queen. We speak for Her Majesty, High Queen Maeve at Tara. Connor macGrey, Druid, you are hereby sworn to speak truth in matters addressed here. You may sit.”

  I took the forlorn chair facing their table. “Just Grey. I don’t use the patronymic.”

  She gave no indication that she heard. “We have read your statement of the events of Forest Hills. Can you elaborate on what is not in the report?”

  I tried to look innocent so I wouldn’t appear uncooperative. Get in and get out was a good hearing strategy. “Could you be more specific?”

  Ceridwen lowered her eyelids and softened her face with a thin smile. “We are Ceridwen, Queen.”

  I paused in confusion, then realized the subtle emphasis on her title. “My apologies. I’m not used to using royal protocol. Could you be more specific, Your Highness?”

  Ceridwen’s smile flexed slightly higher. “No. Proceed.”

  Cute. Ceridwen was on a fishing expedition. I decided to keep to the details of my original statement. “The blood of a living tree spirit called a drys was used to make a drug. The drug activated a control spell that would bind all essence—all of it, everywhere—to one person. That amount of essence couldn’t be contained, and the spell fed on everything around it and grew. I somehow short-circuited it. I have memory loss from the event and do not know how I did it.”

  Ceridwen remained for a long moment with her head tilted to the side. “Tell us again of this tree spirit, the drys.”

  I shrugged. “There’s little to tell, ma’am. Her name was Hala. She was the physical incarnation of the oak.”

  Ceridwen leaned forward. “And how do you know this?”

  My eyes shifted momentarily to Briallen and Nigel. “I am a druid, ma’am. Sensing essence is one of the abilities the Wheel of the World grants us.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Are we to assume that you believe this tree spirit can govern the use of essence?”

  I saw where she was going. Ceridwen—and probably Maeve and the rest of the Dananns at Seelie Court—were spooked that druids could use a drys to gain controlling power over essence. If druids did, they could trump the power of the Seelie Court and risk the Danann’s perceived superior status. “No, ma’am. I do not believe that. In fact, before she died, the drys Hala was horrified by what had happened. It was the spell that affected essence, not the drys. The drys’s blood was merely the catalyst of the spell.”

  She nodded. “Explain.”

  I felt a flicker of essence from Briallen, as though she momentarily had activated her body shield. Then I realized what was annoying Meryl. Dananns were fey of the air. Ceridwen was looking for druid lore, which focused on organic matter. Even as a powerful Danann, she wouldn’t understand the use of tree essence personified by the drys. I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. The hearing was an excuse for another political fencing game. I answered her honestly. “I cannot, ma’am. I only felt the results of the spell, not how it was created.”

  Twin spots of rose appeared on her cheeks. “I see. Then can you tell us why the effects of the spell remain?”

  I shook my head. “No, ma’am. The remnants of the spell haven’t dissipated yet. Others more knowledgeable than I might understand that.”

  Ceridwen stood abruptly, her eyebrows drawing together. “Druid macGrey, come before us.”

  I glanced at Briallen, but she did not meet my eyes. I did what Ceridwen asked. She positioned the spear between us. “This is the spear Way Seeker, the Finder of Truth. Place your hand upon the spear and answer us.”

  I stared into Ceridwen’s fathomless golden eyes. I could refuse. Since I was born in the States and had never sworn fealty to Maeve, I was not a subject of the Seelie Court. I wasn’t even a Guild agent anymore, which would have obligated me to follow her request. I brought a slow hand up to the spear. I didn’t think I had anything to lose.

  My hand closed around the spear. The silver plating and heartwood beneath pulsed cold. When I wrapped my fingers around it above Ceridwen’s hand, more ogham runes flared into view below the first set. Way Maker. Another moment later, yet a third set of runes appeared. Way Keeper.

  A subtle touch in my mind warned me I was about to receive a sending. From experience, I recognized Nigel Martin’s deft touch. I see the runes. Say nothing of them. I had trained with Nigel a long time. No one in the room would know by looking at me that he had spoken in my mind.

  Ceridwen cocked her head first to one side, then the other. She might not know Nigel had spoken to me, but she had enough ability to know something had passed through the air. “There is no private communication in our presence.” She didn’t take her gaze off me. “Tell us again, Druid macGrey. What do you know of the taint that infects the essence of this place?”

  The spear glowed with a harsh golden light as essence shot up my arm. Sensing the surge, the dark mass in my head convulsed and deflected it. The essence shot back down my arm, and the spear flared. With a concussive force, the spear jolted itself out of Ceridwen’s hand and threw her back in her chair. Her eyes blazed with light as she leaped to her feet. “You dare!”

  Baffled, I held the spear between us. “I don’t know what . . .” I didn’t get to finish. Ceridwen raised a clenched fist that glowed with white power. She brought her arm back to cast the essence at me. Briallen and Nigel jumped to their feet. With a shout, Briallen threw a protection barrier between us while Nigel held his own hand out with essence forming in it.

  “This man’s essence is damaged, Your Highness. I do not believe he intended anything,” Nigel said.

  Anger suffused Ceridwen’s face. “Leave us. All of you but macGrey.”

  The other directors filed out with a mixture of sentiments on their faces. Eorla Kruge looked curious, while amusement spread on Melusina’s face. Ryan macGoren had paled. Manus hesitated. As Guildmaster, I would guess he could insist on staying, but he bowed to Ceridwen instead. Nigel and Ceridwen locked gazes. She let the power ebb out of her hand. Only then did he do the same and leave.

  Briallen moved closer to me. “Are you all right?” I nodded. She gave my arm a squeeze and walked to the door.

  “Remove this protection spell,” Ceridwen said to her.

  Briallen lifted her chin. Yellow light danced in her eyes. “Remember to whom you speak, underQueen. You have no authority over me, C
eridwen.” With an angry flick of her hand, the protection barrier rolled over and surrounded me completely rather than dissipating. Briallen slammed the door behind her.

  Ceridwen stood in a cloud of essence, a barely contained flame. She held her hand out and said, “Ithbar.” The spear jerked out of my hand and back to hers. “We are bonded to this spear. How did you take it from us?”

  I held my hands out to either side. “I don’t know.”

  She placed the butt of the spear on the floor between us. “Grasp the spear and answer us.”

  The angry demand rubbed me the wrong way. “I’m telling you the truth. I don’t need to be compelled.”

  She took a step forward. “We are not asking, druid.”

  “I noticed. The answer is still ‘no.’ ”

  She took another step, and Briallen’s protection barrier glistened between us. My body shields kicked in as essence built up in Ceridwen’s eyes. Without Briallen in the room, I didn’t know if the protection spell would hold up against whatever Ceridwen was about to do. I decided not to find out. I held my hand up and took a gamble. “Ithbar.”

  Ceridwen’s jaw dropped as the spear wrenched out of her hand and flew into mine. It was almost as tall as I was, with a balance to it that felt like it was carved for me. I pointed it at her. “I may not know how to use this, but I’m willing to bet this nice, sharp point can pierce your body shield before you have a chance to throw that essence at me. Shall we test that theory?”

  Ceridwen went white with rage. “This is treason.”

  I threw the spear to the floor. “I’m not your subject. Threaten me again, Ceridwen, and I’ll give you more than your little toothpick to worry about.”