Faerie Path #6: The Charmed Return

by Frewin Jones

  “Yours is a labyrinthine destiny, to be sure,” said Sancha. “But you should not despair.”

  “It’s like I’m forever running around having to put stuff right,” said Tania. She gave a forlorn smile. “When do I get to be just plain Princess Tania, Sancha? When can I quit saving Faerie and take a vacation?”

  Sancha smiled pensively and began softly to sing.

  “When the moon comes down to earth to lie

  And fishes in the air do fly

  When the sea doth freeze on midsummer’s eve

  And spiders unto flies shall cleave

  When love comes easy as the dawn

  And there grows a rose that has no thorn.”

  Tania looked thoughtfully at her sister. “I get it,” she said quietly. “Never, is that it?”

  “You are not made for leisure and languor, Tania,” said Sancha. “You are the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter.” She rested her cool palm against Tania’s cheek. “You think you have been tested, my sister?” she whispered, shaking her head slowly. “You have not been tested yet, but it shall come . . . upon swift and shining hooves.” Sancha’s eyes grew strangely earnest, her voice dropping almost to the point where Tania could no longer hear it. “List, Tania, list—can you not hear it? The dark steed gallops apace and will soon be here, shaking his great mane, his eyes full of the darkling moon.”

  “What’s going on, guys?” Jade’s penetrating voice broke the eerie spell that Sancha’s words had woven around Tania.

  She glanced at her friend. “Oh, nothing,” she stammered. She looked back at Sancha, but the weird intensity had gone from her eyes. “We should go. I guess you’ve seen enough books for the time being?”

  “Way more than enough,” said Jade.

  “Go you into the gardens,” suggested Sancha. “Eden works her arts to create a fitting monument to Cordelia. It will be beautiful, I believe.”

  “Yes, we’ll do that,” said Tania.

  She left with Jade in tow. It still didn’t seem like the right time to tell her friend that she may never get to go home. Let her enjoy Faerie for the time being. If the barriers could never be taken down, Jade would have a whole lifetime to deal with the truth. And for the moment Tania also preferred not to dwell on the fact that she would suffer the same fate.

  Coming out into the gardens, Tania could hear that the bells of Faerie were still ringing. Her restored childhood memories were full of adventures and balls and festivities and explorations along the whole length of the immense palace. And now it sounded to her as though every bell tower of the Royal Palace resounded with its own sweet clarion, all the way from the western rising of the River Tamesis in the Vale of the Singing Swans to Fortrenn Quay in the east, where the running waters emptied at last into the sea.

  From all the secret places and hidden corners of the palace, the beleaguered people of the Faerie court were emerging, like children waking from a nightmare to find a new dawn had arisen.

  Messengers had been sent out to spread the tidings, and as Tania watched them gallop to the north and the west, she knew that the carillon of the Royal Palace would be taken up in villages and hamlets across the land.

  But on every side she saw that the joy of the newly liberated Faerie folk was braided with sorrow and loss.

  A woman sat on a stone bench, an open locket of white crystal cupped in her two hands, her downcast eyes on the miniature painting of a man’s face.

  She looked up as Tania and Jade passed. “You have saved our Realm, my lady.” She sighed. “But my sweet Ardil will never return.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Tania, briefly touching the woman’s bent shoulder.

  “Is all love but the overture to sorrow?” asked the woman.

  “I don’t know.”

  Aching from the sadness in the woman’s voice, Tania led Jade to Princess Cordelia’s menagerie.

  All the creatures were gone now, and the empty huts and hutches and paddocks and ponds had a forlorn look about them. Tania could see vividly in her mind the image of her dead sister rolling on the ground with puppies gamboling over and around her.

  “Where are the animals?” asked Jade.

  “I don’t know.” Tania sighed. “I guess they went away when Cordelia died.”

  They came to a still, sky-reflecting pond. Eden was there, standing knee deep in the water, facing away from them, her ash white hair hanging to her waist. She was chanting softly under her breath.

  “Hi there!” called Jade. “Nice weather for a paddle.”

  “Shh!” Tania hissed. “Don’t break her concentration. Remember what Sancha said—she’s making something.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” Jade stared at Eden’s back, then brought her lips close to Tania’s ear. “Like what? I don’t see anything.”

  “Watch the water,” Tania said, a frisson of excitement fluttering under her ribs. Out in the middle of the pond the water was beginning to churn, as though stirred by an invisible stick.

  Eden lifted her arms and the whirl of rippled water began slowly to rise from the surface of the pond, sparkling and glittering in the morning sunlight. Gradually it grew upward in the air till it was a tall column of spinning water shedding shining droplets.

  Eden began to call out incomprehensible words that made the air shiver.

  The pillar of gyrating water began to bend and sway and expand and split and take on new shapes.

  “Ohhhh . . .” Tania gazed wide-eyed at the rippling central figure. The clear column of water swirled and rolled, reshaping itself, forming sinuous hollows and curves until a recognizable form was created. Its surface streamed still with restless white water, but its shape was now that of her sister Cordelia—her hair cut short at her shoulders, her mouth spread in a wide smile, her back bent as she stooped to pet the animals gathered at her feet.

  “Far out!” murmured Jade. “How does she do that?” She flicked a quick glance at Tania. “Can you do stuff like that?”

  “No,” Tania replied, her eyes riveted on the dogs and goats and small southern unicorns that surrounded Cordelia, on the swans and squirrels and otters and fawns and other creatures, all made of moving water but all perfect.

  Eden made a final pass with her hands to fix the liquid statues in place, then turned and waded to the bank. As she stepped onto dry land, Tania noticed that her sister’s ankle-length gown was dry and that her feet shed no water as she moved toward them.

  “’Tis little to do to honor such a great spirit,” said Eden. “But it will suffice, I hope.”

  “It’s perfect,” said Tania.

  “Uh . . . could you show me how to do stuff like that?” asked Jade.

  Eden smiled solemnly at her. “Would you give five hundred years to the study, Mistress Jade?” she asked.

  “It takes that long?” said Jade. “Maybe not, then.”

  Tania looked at her oldest sister, bracing herself before speaking. “We met Zara—in the Mortal World,” she said in a rush, unsure of what impact such a revelation would have.

  Eden stared at her in surprise “Is it so?” she said. “In dreams?”

  “No, she was real,” Tania said.

  “Did you speak with her?” said Eden breathlessly. “What purpose did she have there?”

  Before Tania could reply, the air was filled with a musical sound that soared louder than the unending chime of the bells. Eden lifted her head, her eyes bright. “’Tis the call to Courtmeet,” she said. “Come, Tania—and come you also, Mistress Jade—to the Great Hall. Things will be spoken of there that will concern all, I deem.” She linked her arm with Tania’s as they walked back to the palace. “And as we walk, you can tell me more of Zara. I have not heard of any that ever returned from Albion.”

  “Well, the thing is,” began Tania, “she never actually went into Albion. . . .”

  Chapter XIX

  The doors to the Great Hall stood wide as Tania and Eden and Jade approached. Many others walked with them: the lords and ladies, knights, w
ardens, and serving folk of the Faerie court, summoned here by the call of the King’s crystal horns.

  Tania looked from face to face, her newfound memory helping her instantly to recognize many of them. There was Lord Adriano, seneschal of Trembling Bells. And Lady Hippolyta, mistress of the Royal Stables. Lady Rosaline and Lord Ross, margrave and margravine of Forestgate. Mistress Mirrlees, dressmaker to the Royal Family, trotting along with a gaggle of other ladies at her back. And there were wardens to the King in their uniforms of dove gray, and palace servants all in sky blue livery. And she saw Admiral Belial, the captain of the Cloud Scudder, tall and gaunt and forbidding.

  “The plague was deadly indeed,” Eden said as they made their way through the doors of the Great Hall. “But many more survived than fell—and that’s a thing to be grateful for.”

  “But what will happen to the ones that died?” asked Tania. “I saw the graves. . . .”

  “And you feared they would never find Avalon?” said Eden. “Nay, have no fear. Words will be spoken, wrongs will be righted. All shall savor that blessed place.”

  Tania frowned. “Why is it sometimes called Albion and sometimes Avalon?”

  Eden smiled. “The Blessèd Realm’s full name is the Avalon of Albion,” she said. “Thus either name is appropriate.”

  “I don’t want to keep repeating myself,” said Jade as they came in under the high vaulted roof of the Great Hall, “but . . . wow!”

  Tania smiled. The Great Hall of Faerie had been one of the first places she had seen when Gabriel Drake had originally brought her from the Mortal World. And it had been the venue for the Grand Ball that had celebrated her return after five hundred years of exile. But there was more than that now—she also remembered many feasts and festivities and dances taking place here over the years.

  She remembered being five years old, dancing with her uncle Cornelius, her feet upon his as they trod the measure called the Tinternell during the Masque of Winter’s Turning. And she remembered when she had been just thirteen and the hall had been alive with birdsong on Cordelia’s sixteenth birthday.

  There were no windows in the tapestried walls of the Great Hall, and it was lit as ever by two chandeliers suspended from the ceiling, wide as wagon wheels, and by many candles that burned in sconces set upon the walls. The hall was filling with people, and at the far end, under a scarlet awning, the King and Queen of Faerie sat together on two ornate wooden chairs with high backs and velvet drapings.

  “Where is Uncle Cornelius?” Tania asked Eden as they threaded their way to the far end of the hall.

  “He and the Marchioness Lucina and their two sons were imprisoned by the usurper in Veraglad Palace,” said Eden. “As were many others, Lord Brython and Earl Valentyne among them. Word has been sent—they will come tomorrow, ’tis to be hoped.”

  “Oh! I’m so sorry,” said Tania, feeling guilty that she had forgotten about her sister’s elderly husband. “I should have asked about Earl Valentyne—how is he, do you know?”

  Eden touched her forefinger to the center of her forehead. “We have spoken,” she said, obviously meaning that she and her husband had used the Mystic Arts to communicate with each other. “When Lear was banished, the plague soon fell from him, as it did from all others. He is well enough in the aftermath of his ordeal.”

  “And Bryn?” asked Tania, remembering Cordelia’s husband—remembering how the plague had come on the day of their wedding in Leiderdale. “Will he be with them?”

  Eden sighed. “I doubt that, Tania,” she said. “He quit Veraglad within the hour of her death—taking a horse and riding in fury and grief into the north.”

  “Poor Bryn,” Tania murmured. “They were only married for a couple of hours. . . .”

  The movement of people into the hall came to a halt.

  Tania looked around herself, seeing great lords and ladies and simple servants and attendants all mingling together.

  Oberon rose to his feet and an expectant hush came over the throng.

  “Much wrong has been done to this land by my brother Lear,” said Oberon, his voice strong and clear. “But he is gone now, thanks to the faith and endurance of the princesses Rathina and Tania.”

  Faces turned, smiling. Tania hadn’t even noticed Rathina standing quietly against one of the long walls. There was applause for them both. Rathina seemed embarrassed by the attention. Perhaps she thought she did not deserve praise?

  The King lifted his arms and the ovation died away.

  “Also deserving of your plaudits is the captain of Weir, Edric Chanticleer,” he said. “May his recovery be swift and complete.” There was renewed cheering, the Queen smiling at Tania and rising as she joined in the applause.

  Tania winced a little at the mention of Edric’s title—it was because he had been made a captain of Aldritch’s guard that he had left her. She hoped that when he was better, she would be able to convince him to stay here.

  There’s no way I’m letting him walk out on me twice.

  “Shortly I shall set sail upon the Cloud Scudder to seek the Divine Harper of Tirnanog, and to renew the covenant of Immortality!” Oberon called over the noise. “But now is the time for rejoicing, for festivities and merrymaking throughout the land.” He turned to look at a slight, unassuming man who stood to one side of the two thrones. “And who better in all of Faerie to organize and oversee the revels than Master Raphael Cariotis—our chief counselor and most honored Guardian of the Precession of the Equinoxes.” He reached out a hand to the man. “Come forward, Master Raphael—I know you wish to speak of wonders that are to come, greater by far than our earthbound festivities!”

  Tania frowned as the man stepped onto the throne dais. She guessed he was somewhere in his late forties or early fifties. He had graying hair swept back off a large wide forehead. He had a lined, thoughtful face, a beaked nose, and a goatee and mustache. He wore plain clothing, unornamented save for an amber crystal that hung from a cord around his neck.

  But what puzzled Tania was the fact that she didn’t recognize him at all. Confused, she turned to Eden. “Who is he?” she whispered.

  “He is as the King announced,” said Eden. “Master Raphael—one of our father’s most trusted advisors. He has been at the King’s side for time out of measure.” She reached out a hand and touched her fingers to Tania’s temple. A shock like mild lightning burrowed through Tania’s brain, making her wince and pull away.

  “Ow! Eden!”

  “Forgive me.” Eden looked deeply into Tania’s eyes. “Are you sure you do not remember him now?”

  Tania looked again at the man, the discomfort quite gone from her head. “Oh yes,” she said as memories of Raphael Cariotis came breezing into her mind. “Yes—of course!”

  How could she have forgotten him? In all affairs of the realm Raphael Cariotis had always been her father’s closest confidant. A good man, and a great counselor to the House of Aurealis. And a friend to all the princesses, of course. Tania had known him all her life.

  “’Tis a thing most curious that you remembered him not for a while,” said Eden. “I deem there are dark places still in your mind, sister. I wonder what other people, places, and events are still lost to you.”

  “I remember him perfectly now,” said Tania. “It was just for a moment there. But I’m sure I remember everything else.”

  Eden gave a small smile. “And how would you know that if the memories are hidden?”

  “She’s got you there!” Jade chuckled.

  “Greetings to all,” came Master Raphael’s voice, and it was deep and soft but very penetrating. “We forgather here in auspicious times, my friends. The lords of the Starlight Dance have come into an unusual and most welcome alignment.”

  Tania looked at him, liking his gentle voice and his quiet authority, now quite sure that it was holes in her own memory that accounted for her not knowing him at first.

  “As you all know, I have studied the skies for years beyond count,” continued Master
Raphael’s compelling voice. “And from observing the recent movements in the heavens, I have learned that a thing is to come that has not happened these twenty-five thousand years.”

  Even by Faerie standards, twenty-five thousand years was a long time—whatever Master Raphael was talking about, the last time it had taken place must have been before Oberon had even gone to the Divine Harper—way, way back in the Lost Times before the covenant of Immortality.

  “The constellations stand ready for the great event,” Master Raphael continued. “The Phoenix falls below the horizon while the five stars of the Singing Dragon rise to the zenith of the sky. All the portents speak of the same thing: We are entering the days of the Pure Eclipse.”

  A murmur went around the room, mostly of bafflement, but Tania did notice that a few faces lit up with surprise and understanding.

  One lord stepped forward. “I have heard of this marvel,” he said. “I thought it was but fancy!”

  “It is not, my lord Dozian,” came Sancha’s voice from the back of the hall. All eyes turned to her. “The Pure Eclipse is mentioned in a few of the older texts and scrolls—it is a most strange and unique event.”

  “Indeed it is,” added Raphael, giving Sancha a small polite bow. “As her royal highness states, there are books that chronicle this event, for those who seek them out.” Once more he had the audience’s rapt attention. “Once in twenty-five thousand years the moon of Faerie passes across the face of the noonday sun and a great shadow falls upon the land.”

  An eclipse? Yes, it was in that magazine back in London, and the cabdriver was talking about it as well. So, it’s going to happen here and back there at the same time. Cool!

  But Tania had no time for further thought as Raphael Cariotis continued to speak. Now his words took her breath away.

  “As the shadow passes over Faerie, so all the barriers between the worlds will melt away,” said Raphael. “And for that brief time, the realms of Faerie and of the Mortal World will flow together and all shall be one.” His voice vibrated with the potency of his words. “Under that celestial penumbra every Mortal will be able to step into Faerie—and everything that is alive in Faerie will learn what it means to walk between the worlds.”