by Frewin Jones
Chapter XX
Eden’s voice broke through the murmur of astonishment that filled the hall in the wake of Raphael Cariotis’s revelation.
“I had not heard of the Pure Eclipse before this moment,” she said, and her voice was sober. “But if Master Raphael is correct, then we must do all that we can to lessen the chaos that such an event will create in the Mortal World.”
“Eden is right,” said Titania. “The people of the Mortal World are not equipped to confront the reality of Faerie—it would overthrow their minds.”
Jade shot her hand up. “Uh—excuse me!” she called out. “Mortal person standing right here!” She seemed unfazed as everyone turned to look at her. “Mortal person with her mind in one piece, by the way!”
Titania smiled gravely. “Your point is well made,” she said. “But you have come here with a loving friend, and of your own will. Do you think the millions that inhabit your world would react so calmly to see the walls and battlements of the Royal Palace appear suddenly among them or to have the wild unicorns of Caer Liel a-gallop along their High Streets?” She turned to address the others. “’Tis true, a single Mortal can have great wisdom and forbearance, but as a mob, they are uncontrollable—and when the sights and sounds of Faerie enter their world, they will become a frightened mob, be most assured.”
“Well, okay, I guess you’re right about that,” Jade admitted.
“And what will happen here if we get invaded by thousands of people all carrying metal?” asked Tania. “And I’m not just talking about ordinary, everyday metal things—they have guns and knives, too. And worse weapons. Much worse.” It was almost unbearable to think of the damage a slashing knife might do to Faerie flesh—not to mention the devastating effect of a bullet or a flung grenade.
“Tania speaks the truth,” said Eden. “This confluence bodes ill for both realms.”
“The lore masters of Faerie must come together to debate this thing,” said the King. “A way must be found to lessen the effects of the Pure Eclipse in the Mortal World and in Faerie. Sancha—I charge you to call a council of the wisest of the court. Master Raphael has told me that the Pure Eclipse will strike at noon in five days’ time. You have until then.”
“It shall be done,” said Sancha. “Master Raphael, I would speak with you—we must choose those most fitted for this endeavor.”
Raphael Cariotis bowed to the King. “By your leave, sire, I would say one final thing before I depart.” He turned to face the hall again. “As ominous as the Pure Eclipse may be for the denizens of both realms, I deem it also to be a great and portentous event for Faerie,” he said. “The alignment of the stars is most favorable upon that time for great endeavor. By the will of the King, I would recommend that he set sail to his tryst with the Divine Harper on the evening of that selfsame day. All that I see in the skies tells me that success will mantle such an enterprise undertaken at such a time.”
“So be it,” said the King. “Admiral Belial! Go you now to Fortrenn Quay to prepare the Cloud Scudder for a great voyage.”
“By your will, sire, I shall,” said the Admiral, bowing and then sweeping from the hall with several other lords at his back.
“And now,” continued the King, “I would have you good people depart, to congregate again at sunset in the Royal Gardens, where proper observances will be done for those who fell to the plague.”
Wardens opened the double doors and the people began to filter out.
“Eden, Rathina, Tania, accompany me and the Queen to the Privy Chamber,” said Oberon. “There we have a more ill-favored matter to discuss.”
“That sounds nasty,” said Jade. “You go—I’ll take a stroll around and hook up with you later.”
“Try not to get into trouble,” said Tania lightly, although the King’s words had worried her.
“You know me!”
“Exactly!”
The Privy Chamber was a small wood-paneled room with wide glass doors flung open to reveal the delights of the ornamental gardens. The air wafted in sweet with the scent of alyssum and phlox and tuberose. Tania noticed that men and women were moving outside among the sad graves, covering the raw earth with sheets of white silk.
An oval, white marble table dominated the Privy Chamber, circled with chairs. As Tania and Rathina arrived, several lords and ladies were already seated with Eden and the King and Queen, and others were finding places at the table. Tania recognized them as members of her Father’s inner council. Their faces were solemn.
“I have news of Weir,” said the King as soon as everyone was settled. “It is not good. Since Lord Aldritch declared himself no longer subject to my rule and quit the Conclave of Earls to return to his homeland, he has raised a Mystic Wall along the borders of his earldom. I was not able to send my mind into Weir, but I felt great anger and hostility fermenting within.”
“The Mystic Barrier confounds all attempts at piercing it,” added Eden. “Aldritch has raised it so that we will not know what he intends.”
“Has Aldritch not always repudiated the Mystic Arts?” said one lord. “Whence comes the power he now wields—and do you fear he will turn it upon us?”
“It is true that Aldritch has never used the Mystic Arts,” agreed Eden. “But there are sanctums in Caer Liel where mystical presences have long slumbered. In a deep dungeon lies hidden the Spellstone of Weir. He has awoken the powers of the Spellstone, I deem.”
“But does he mean us harm or not?” asked the Queen. “Could it be that he merely sought to cut Weir off from the rest of Faerie so that the plague would not destroy his people?”
“I have spoken of this with Master Cariotis,” said the King. “He fears that Aldritch is massing an army behind the barrier—that he means to lead an assault upon us.”
Tania felt a shiver run through her. “Because of me?” she said. “Is he going to attack us because he wants me dead?” She remembered all too well her last encounter with the lord of Weir. It was impossible for her to forget the venom in the words he spoke to her.
“I have no doubt but that you do us great harm! Were it not for you, Tania Aurealis, my son would still be alive! You are a sorcerer and a corrupter of men’s hearts—and I will have nothing more to do with a court that seeks to defend you!”
“Aldritch fears you greatly, sister,” said Rathina. “But surely we do not need to fathom his motives in order to defend ourselves against him. If Weir desires war, then let us prepare for it! Are there not knights enough in Faerie to throw back whatever force Lord Aldritch can send out upon us?”
“Only those who have not known the full horror of war can speak so lightly of it,” said the King. “And know this, Rathina, beloved child, I would pluck out my right eye—I would sever my right arm from my body—if I thought it would prevent conflict in this realm.” His eyes glowed. “Weir is part of this kingdom. The people of Weir are our kinsfolk and friends, no matter how the storm clouds gather above us at this time.”
Tania shivered. “Could we negotiate with Aldritch?” she asked. “Couldn’t we send someone to talk to him?” She swallowed. “I could go there,” she said. “Perhaps I could prove to him that I’m not a threat . . . that I’m not the bad thing he thinks I am.”
“’Tis a brave offer, but foolhardy,” said one of the ladies. “To put into his clutches she whom he wishes gone from this world? I think not!”
“And yet Tania has some wisdom in this,” said Eden. “Belike an emissary could be found? Someone whom the lord of Weir might trust? Someone he would listen to?”
“And how would this person enter Weir when the Mystic Arts bar the way?” asked another lord.
“Oh, be most sure, any that come a-knocking upon the borders of Weir will not go unseen by Aldritch,” said Eden. “The trick will be to have him allow them entry for parlay.”
“We will think further on this,” said the King. “One shall be found among my people. This is good counsel.”
“And yet,” murmured another o
f the ladies, “are we to rely solely upon cool words to soothe hot hearts? Should we not also prepare for the worst that Weir might throw upon us?”
“I will speak to Master Cariotis on this subject,” said the King. “But I believe that prudence dictates we call upon the knights of Faerie to muster once more upon Salisoc Heath.”
Tania didn’t like the sound of that—she had been involved in one battle already, and although they had been victorious over the Sorcerer King, she had hated the dreadful waste of it. The thought of war breaking out between Weir and the rest of Faerie was too heartbreaking to contemplate.
A soft knock sounded.
“Enter,” called the King.
A maid opened the door, bobbing on the threshold. “By your leave, sire,” she said. “Her royal highness the princess Hopie sent me with a message for Princess Tania.”
Tania turned to look at her. “What message?”
“My lady, it was simply to tell you, ‘he is awake,’” said the girl.
“How long have we been up here?” asked Tania.
“I have no idea,” Edric replied. “Do you want to go back down?”
“Absolutely not!”
They were together alone upon the battlemented rooftop of a high tower that overlooked the gardens. A long winding stairway separated this lofty aerie and the rest of the palace.
The sun was low. The long Faerie afternoon was sinking into a golden dusk. The shadows were full of color, and the air was drowsy with birdsong and flowers. To the east and west the thousands of linked buildings and baileys and courtyards and halls of the palace stretched away beyond sight, following the meandering course of the River Tamesis. To the south turrets and spires and walls blocked the view; to the north all was rolling purple-hued hills and downs with forests beyond, leading into the heart of Faerie.
Edric was gazing north, his hand warm in Tania’s.
Birds soared, climbing the sky in liquid flocks. Swifts and martens darted from rooftop to rooftop, doves gathered in sumptuous gray clusters on the battlements, their cooing as soft as a lullaby.
Tania noticed that many birds were flying around a particular tower away to their left. The square tower was of plain gray stone, its upper windows shuttered, its walls veined with strands of red ivy. The steep roof of the tower was so thick with the birds that, when one landed among them, another was dislodged from its perch. And all the time more birds circled the top of the tower, calling shrilly.
Tania had the vague feeling the tower should mean something to her, but she could not remember what. Another hole in her memory. So annoying!
“What do they find so fascinating there?” Tania wondered aloud, gazing at the tower.
“Don’t you remember?” Edric asked. “Birds have always congregated there—it’s because they’re never disturbed. The Dolorous Tower hasn’t been used for a long time. Not for hundreds of years.”
Tania frowned. “Should I know that?” she said. “I guess I should. I still have gaps.”
“I’ll help you to fill them in time,” Edric said. “But if you don’t remember, then let me warn you—don’t go near the Dolorous Tower. It’s falling to pieces; it isn’t safe. Remember that!”
“I will,” said Tania. “Edric? Look at me.”
He turned his face toward her.
She smiled, squeezing his hand. “Your eyes are brown.” She sighed, stroking his cheek. “I prefer them brown.”
“So do I.”
“And you feel . . . completely okay?”
“I feel a bit tired,” Edric admitted. “But that’s all. Princess Hopie mixes a powerful potion, and Princess Eden’s charms have sent the bad voices packing.”
Tania frowned. “Did you hear them all the time?”
“No, not all the time. They came and went.”
“I hope you never have to use the Dark Arts again,” Tania said vehemently. “I don’t like what they do to you.”
“Neither do I.”
She looked into his face, wanting desperately to trust him again. Could she? Had he really survived the Dark Arts unharmed? Unchanged?
He smiled and touched her hair. She pressed against him, clinging tight.
“I hated it when we were apart,” she said, his breath on her cheek, his arms strong around her back. “Let’s not do that anymore.”
“We shan’t,” said Edric, stroking her hair. “You and I—together now for all time.”
She smiled into his face. “Exactly.”
“Never to part.”
“Never to part!”
They kissed, and for a brief time Tania lost herself in Edric’s embrace.
Chapter XXI
The sun lay on the western horizon, cradled in coral-colored skeins of cloud. The shadows were long in the Royal Gardens—shadows of trees and bushes and of people gathered there in silent reverence.
It seemed to Tania that most of the people from the palace had congregated on the lawns and pathways of the gardens, some grouped together, others standing alone. Children kept close to their parents, their gossamer wings folded, their faces heartbreakingly solemn or wide-eyed with incomprehension. Some men and women held babes in arms, but none of the infants cried out or made a fuss.
Tania was with Edric and Jade and Rathina and Eden. Sancha stood close by, as did the King and Queen, under the shade of a tall rowan.
A stillness came over the land as the sun dipped below the far horizon. Shadows glowed. The eastern sky was rich with the coming night.
Tania’s skin tingled.
“It begins,” murmured Eden.
Tania heard singing. It seemed to come from beneath the ground—a sad, slow song that made the world tremble.
The singing was of hundreds of voices: male voices and female voices, the voices of the old and the very young. As Tania listened, so the song wound through the gardens, the slow melody full of sadness.
But as the sun went down, a new harmony wove its way into the song—and it was full of hope and yearning. A countermelody grew from the original tune, a new theme that was glad and majestic.
Tania felt as if she was surrounded by song—standing deep inside the music of the thousand voices. Edric’s hand slipped into hers.
Faerie stars lit the darkening sky. The white silk sheets that mantled the graves shone like moonlight. The singing rose into the sky like soaring doves.
There was an ache in Tania’s heart as the lovely sound began to fade.
She looked up. From all over the realm, shooting stars were speeding into the west.
The dead of Faerie were going home to the Avalon of Albion.
“Don’t you miss stuff?” Jade asked, leaning up in the large bed and looking at Tania, lying at her side. “When you’re here, I mean? Normal stuff.”
Beyond the open windows of Tania’s bedchamber, the full moon hung low in the night sky. A gentle breeze wafted in, filling the room with the scent of evening primrose and honeysuckle.
Tania looked across at her. Jade’s eyes were almost black in the flickering light of the single candle. “Some things,” she said drowsily. “Mum and Dad, mostly.”
Jade frowned. “What about television and movies and your computer?” She shook her head. “And your mobile phone? Doesn’t it drive you crazy that you can’t text the gang—or call them up—like: ‘Hey, you’ll never guess where I am! I’m in a bedroom in a Faerie palace, and there are these tapestry things on the walls—really nice pictures of the countryside and mountains and the sea. But here’s the thing: they’re alive!’” The same awe came into Jade’s voice as Tania had heard a little while ago when she had first shown her friend the living tapestries that adorned the walls of her bedchamber. “Like, you’re looking at a really cute landscape, and suddenly you notice the trees are moving in the wind. And then a whole flock of birds suddenly goes flying across the needlework sky. You do a double take on the whole lot—and you realize the ship is moving through the water and clouds are going across the sky, and a whole lot of other
stuff besides. It’s crazy!”
Tania laughed. “I’ll have to show you some of my sisters’ rooms,” she said. “Rathina’s is full of dancers. Hopie’s is all wooden carvings, like a forest, but the carvings move and you can see animals padding through the grass.”
Then she remembered Zara’s room with its painted seascapes where gulls flew and the waves rolled. And is it still like that now that she’s gone? Does the tide still come in and out? Are there still ships on the water?
She pushed her thoughts away. “I just don’t miss television or movies,” Tania said. “And as for texting and message boards and all that, I don’t even think of those things when I’m here.”
“Y’see?” said Jade, as though Tania’s comment had convinced her of something she’d already suspected. “You totally belong here, Tania.”
“Well, yes. Half of me does. . . .”
“No way!” Jade said. “All of you does! When you told me all about this place—you know, back when I thought you were loony tunes—you made it sound like you didn’t feel you really belonged here. But you so totally do. I’m here craving my iPod and my mobile phone, and you couldn’t care less about stuff like that. I’m lying here thinking, ‘Hey, I could go for a pizza right now. Shame we can’t give the local pizza parlor a call and have one delivered.’”
“If you’re hungry, we can find something to eat,” Tania said.
Jade grinned. “You don’t get it! I’m not hungry. The point I’m trying to get across to you is that I’m already missing stuff from my real life.”
“Look,” said Tania, feeling a twinge of guilt, “I’m certain we’ll be able to get you back home when the Pure Eclipse hits. You have to put up with this for only five days.”
