Misfortune of Time

by Christy Nicholas

  “Oh! No offense. I sometimes forget you aren’t actually Fae.”

  “I took it as no insult.” She placed her hand on the Flidaisínn’s blue one, which earned her a sweet smile.

  “Let’s take a break from glamor magic. Come to the garden with me.”

  Flidaisínn’s garden looked nothing like Étaín’s garden at her farm. It didn’t grow garlic and root vegetables, nor chervil or rosemary. Instead, it grew twinkling bluebells, cherry blossoms, and apple trees. Elegant soaring willow branches in rainbow colors swept across the pond’s surface, tickling the orange lily pads with tender feathers. Purple non-butterflies flitted across each blossom, tinkling as they flew like tiny bells. None were quite like their mundane counterparts in Étaín’s world, but they came close enough for her to identify them.

  A soft breeze blew the flowers, and the sweet music wrapped Étaín’s mind in peace and joy. She closed her eyes to enjoy the melody.

  “Now, come touch the apple tree. See where the branches split here? Do you notice anything unusual about the juncture?”

  Étaín examined it, running her fingers over the smooth bark. It felt smoother than she expected, almost slick. Bark bubbled at the split. The bubbling gurgled and moved, startling her.

  “Yes, exactly. That’s where I grafted it.”

  “Grafted it?”

  “Yes. We took a branch from another tree and put it against a cut in the wood. We encouraged it to grow into the cutting until it took hold. Soon, it grew on its own, drawing life from the trunk.”

  Étaín examined it more closely.

  “But it’s a different tree. How does it accept the new one? And how long does it take?”

  “In Faerie, a short time. In your world, I would recommend holding it with some artificial sling, as you would probably be unwilling to hold it for several moons while it takes.”

  Flidaisínn showed Étaín how to infuse a trickle of power into the wood to help it grow, to graft, to embrace the new piece. With some hours of experimentation, she saw a visible improvement and whooped in exultation.

  “I did it! I did it!” Étaín danced around, twirling and laughing, while both Fae looked on, smiling with proud satisfaction, and perhaps a good dose of amusement.

  A flurry of wings broke their interlude and Tawnith cawed in alarm. The air became full of dozens of enormous birds. White, brown, black, red, blue, green, all colors and patterns filled the sky. Étaín ducked and covered her head with her arms, but Flidaisínn stood straight, unflinching. Almost as if she was a warrior on duty.

  Adhna came out of his roundhouse, back also straight, eyes forward, unmoving.

  Eventually, the avian onslaught settled and one enormous bird stepped forward. The raven’s feathers were pure white with one stripe of the darkest black down its spine, and it stood taller than Adhna.

  It spoke with a chilling, raucous voice which scratched every nerve in Étaín’s body. “Adhna. It has come to the Court’s attention you have acquired an alien pet. You are to bring it to Court immediately.”

  Adhna visibly gulped and nodded. “Yes, my Queen. We shall do so at once.”

  The birds disappeared. They didn’t fly away or flutter into the distance. They vanished in a flash of bright light with a painful jangle of bells.

  Flidaisínn collapsed like a ragdoll, though Adhna moved to catch her, more quickly than Étaín would have given the old Fae credit for. Étaín herself couldn’t move. She tried to lift herself from her defensive huddle, but she remained absolutely immobile.

  Panic set in, panic far greater than any she’d ever felt at Airtre’s hands. Her terror increased when she tried to ask Adhna for help, for her voice had also been silenced. She couldn’t even move her tongue. She could breathe, and for that, she gave thanks to any gods who might hear her in this realm, but no voluntary actions were possible.

  Adhna helped Flidaisínn to a sitting position, and the Fae girl opened her eyes. Adhna made her drink wine and then glanced at Étaín. He seemed more flustered than Étaín had ever seen him before.

  After pacing several times and pulling on his beard, he glanced at Tawnith. Then he looked skyward with his arms wide. “My Queen! We shall be at Court more quickly if the pet is permitted to walk.”

  Suddenly, Étaín could move again, but now had no desire to do so. It meant she must go to the Court and meet the Faerie Queen and King.

  There were hundreds of tales of the Court of Faerie. Few resulted in anything good for any visiting human.

  Adhna had explained the Faerie organized their society much like human courts. Several queens and kings ruled over the various areas of Faerie, with nobles who served the Court, troops of warriors, solitary gentry and peasants. Each class of Fae had a corresponding level of magical abilities. Adhna and Flidaisínn were of the gentry, and therefore much less powerful than those in the Court. They had enough power and status to live as they wished, but not enough to be wasteful with such power, and they preferred to live simply. While it became possible to grow your magical ability with the patronage of one of the nobles, it remained rare.

  Queen Medb and King Finbheara ruled over this area. It was unwise to cross either or to keep them waiting.

  Adhna helped Étaín to her feet, and Flidaisínn gathered several things before they walked away from the now deceptively peaceful homestead. Étaín stole a look behind her, wondering if she’d ever again see the place.

  Chapter 10

  The towers loomed over the horizon long before Étaín saw the entire palace, an edifice unlike any structure she had seen. Descriptions in the tales paled in comparison the reality rising above the swaying trees.

  Impossibly tall, thin branches woven in to perfect cylinders rose in elegant shapes, at the same time precise and natural. Étaín couldn’t tell if the walls shone white, or with some pearlescent sheen, as the light emanated from the towers, rather than shining upon it.

  She tried to count the towers, just for something to keep her mind from gibbering in fear, but the number kept changing, shifting in her sight. The change lived, fluctuating as soon as her eyes moved to a different section. Some towers appeared topped with leaves in brilliant colors, and others looked dark and stark with bare, black branches. One sported wicked sharp white branches tipped in dark red, while another had puffy miniature clouds around the ends.

  Because she stared at the palace, Étaín stumbled before catching herself on Adhna’s arm. “Have a care, Étaín. Do you remember your instructions?”

  She nodded. “Do not speak unless asked a direct question. Short answers, simple and straight. Do not look or stare at any creature. Take nothing offered, even if apparently freely.”

  He gripped her arm. “And? What else?”

  “And… do not let anyone or anything touch me.”

  “Not even a finger. Not a feather. Not a whisker. Remember, many Fae morph into animal forms as easily as you brush your hair. Don’t pet the cute kitten who walks up to you with soulful eyes, nor the butterfly who alights upon your hair.”

  “How can I stop a butterfly from landing in my hair? If I shoo it away, isn’t that rude as well?”

  “It cannot land without your permission. Just don’t give it, implicit or explicit.”

  Étaín tried to slow her breathing. The panic grew once again in her belly, and she swallowed hard to keep it from taking over her mind. If she kept her mind blank, she might not betray her terror.

  As they crested the next hill, more of the palace came into view. The grounds around the structure became difficult to focus on. Étaín thought bushes swirled in labyrinth shapes, but every time she tried to concentrate on one, it would shift. Nausea rose to join the panic, and she briefly closed her eyes to quell the queasiness.

  Sounds ceased as they passed. Insects landed, and creatures stopped to stare. Étaín became acutely self-conscious and wished Adhna had been able to teach her basic glamor, so she might hide her obvious humanity.

  The palace entrance rose in a g
raceful arch, seemingly formed of enormous cat’s whiskers, so delicate and white the branches. Not a true white, though. A pearlescent shimmer of purples and blues glinted in the ever-present light, a further contribution to the illusion of movement that everything in this place had.

  The arch appeared braided and woven more intricately than the most detailed illuminated gospel page she’d ever seen. Étaín tried to trace one branch through the structure, but failed miserably. A jerk on her arm brought her back to task. Adhna pulled her along as she continued to look up at the architecture.

  Once inside the palace, the light didn’t dim. The walls looked translucent and almost immaterial. They’d been braided like the arch, but with more shimmering white branches. The green-blues of the forest glimmered in through the holes, making it difficult to determine what lay inside and what remained outside.

  Through twisting, open passages their escort led them, until the murmur of voices in conversation and song twinkled down the corridor. Laughter so beautiful it made her cry mixed with raucous sounds unfit for human ears. Étaín put her hands over her own ears to block out the assault, but it did no good. The sound attacked her bones and her blood, and she found no escape.

  The noise had been nothing compared to the vision which unfolded as her escort pulled her through the final arch.

  At first, she only saw a riotous kaleidoscope of swirling colors. Hues past imagining twisted and spiked on the edge of her vision. She closed her eyes in confusion and turned her head away.

  Adhna’s voice whispered in her ear, a pleasant, familiar salve to the chaos. “No, child, you must look. Open one eye, just a slit, and gaze upon me.”

  Étaín did as he bid, and his craggy face made her smile.

  “Now, turn to the right. That’s right, leave one eye closed. A little at a time, like stepping into hot water.”

  She spun slowly, her left eye screwed shut, and her right eye barely open. The shadow of her eyelashes filtered the madness into palatable images. The twirling cloth and wings and horns resolved itself into a perfect dance, a complex spiral of grace and elegance.

  “When you are comfortable with what you see, open a little more.”

  Comfortable? How would she ever become comfortable with this? Despite the filter, shades and tints flashed past with sickening speed. She hadn’t even been able to steady her gaze on any one creature, just the mélange of movement. She closed her eye once again.

  His hand on her shoulder, Adhna pulled her to the side. “You cannot tarry, Étaín. You must acclimatize to the sight. If you are ill or rude to the queen, she can destroy you in an instant. She will have no regret or conscience for her action. It will be as thoughtless as you flicking an ant from your meal. Do you understand? A summons from the Court is not to be delayed for any reason, particularly human frailty. You must do this, and quickly!”

  She glimpsed white within the storm and steadied her gaze. A Fae woman, impossibly tall and thin, with hair like translucent icicles rising into the air, danced in elegant circles. Her skin appeared slightly green, or maybe blue. It shifted as she moved. Her face, longer than any Étaín had seen, seemed harsh and angular, while her eyes burned a deep blood red. Next to her stood a much shorter creature, brown and black and round. His face could only charitably be called ugly as if carved out of dung. He grinned at her as the couple passed, his teeth crumbling like rotted wood.

  Étaín gulped and found another dancer to concentrate upon.

  Her gaze fell on a rainbow creature dressed in black cloth. The creature’s skin—Étaín couldn’t tell if it was male or female—looked striped like a cat’s, the stripes shifting and merging into new colors. The slitted eyes sparkled emerald green and glowed with inner light.

  She glanced back at Adhna, reassured he stood there and still looked relatively normal, despite his tangled beard and gnarled hands. Flidaisínn’s blue skin looked homely and restful compared to this crowd.

  With her friends beside her, Étaín walked with more confidence and nodded that they should proceed. Each took an elbow and steered her around the dance floor.

  After stumbling several times, Étaín realized the ground itself danced. The flagstones writhed over the roots beneath, shifting as the ethereal dancers did. She tried to step carefully so as not to trip, but she relied upon her companion’s balance far more often than she liked. Above her, the beautifully braided elegant towers swayed to the music.

  The crowd before them parted slowly, rhythmically, as if part of a pre-choreographed dance. The aisle widened with each step as they grew closer to a nebulous, dark structure at the end of the hall.

  Étaín didn’t want to stare at it. She didn’t even want to glimpse it. Instead, she concentrated on placing her feet on the shifting stones. As a result, her downcast gaze appeared properly demur and subservient. The noise of the crowd, both pleasant and horrific, ebbed and then ceased as they approached.

  When Étaín, Adhna and Flidaisínn arrived at the base of the throne of the king and queen of the Faerie Court, the entire hall grew silent as death.

  No foot shuffled, no creature coughed, no bird sang.

  The voice which destroyed that silence splintered it into a thousand fragments. The voice sounded female, but no dulcet or gentle tones caressed the space. The harsh words crawled into Étaín’s mind and wrung her soul into a quivering mess. She shivered and fought the fierce compulsion to run, to hide, to dive behind anything she might find to escape the terrible speech. “You took overlong. I summoned you some time ago.”

  The relief to Étaín’s entire body when the voice stopped came delightfully sweet and sudden, almost a sexual release.

  Adhna bowed, his beard touching the suddenly still ground. “My abject apologies, my Queen.”

  Étaín noticed he offered no excuses or reasons for their tardiness. She hoped it didn’t mean the queen would speak again. Étaín might give in to the urge to flee if the queen spoke a second time.

  “The human will look at me.”

  No hand touched Étaín’s chin, and yet her gaze rose from her downcast pose. No matter that she wished to keep her eyes closed. They opened of their own accord.

  The queen perched gracefully upon a black-thorned throne, the tangled yew branches of the throne entwined with her own thin, spiraled fingernails. Her skin, white as virgin snow, shone in stark contrast to the black of her hair. Her elegant hands gripped the tangled armrests. Curling horns rose from her temples, and her eyes—her eyes burned like the blackest pits of the deepest earth. Étaín grew faint and fought to keep her balance under such intense regard.

  Another figure sat next to the queen, but Etain’s stare remained locked. The queen’s gaze held her utterly captive, and she couldn’t move so much as a muscle.

  The queen’s blood-red lips curled in a half-smile. “Such a frail thing. Why do you insist on keeping humans as pets, Adhna? They have such brief lives.”

  Adhna hadn’t risen from his bow. “I have a fondness for ephemeral things, my Queen. Flowers, butterflies, and humans have an inner beauty.”

  Étaín crumpled to the ground as the queen shifted her attention on the Fae. “An inner beauty, is it? This insect is beautiful to you?”

  Another voice, as terrible as the queen’s but with a deeper tone, answered. “A fleeting beauty, to be sure, my Queen; nothing to match your own splendor. Come, let Adhna have its folly. The creature can do no harm here.”

  The queen turned back to Étaín, and she felt the full force of this powerful being’s attention. The white-hot eyes bored into her spirit, picking apart each layer of her mind away like so much chaff in the wind. After several moments, Étaín remained bare to her essence, her soul naked for all to see.

  One of the other Fae skittered to the queen’s side. He had milk-white skin and black hair, as she did. He showed his ragged teeth and whispered in her ear. Étaín could not hear what he said, but he watched her with hungry eyes, a gaze which made her skin crawl. The queen stroked his ink-dark hai
r, and he purred, closing his eyes like a contented cat.

  The queen flicked her hand, and the white-skinned male flew away. His departure remained graceful, but the queen had obviously dismissed him and his suggestion.

  Again the queen stared at Étaín. “I suppose I can see the appeal of such a fragile creature. It makes me want to see how much damage it can survive. A pretty experiment, perhaps.”

  Étaín swallowed, knowing full well that Adhna could do nothing to save her.

  “Still, that would take my effort, and I have other desires at this moment. Begone.”

  The queen flicked her hand once again, and Étaín fell into a pile at the foot of the throne.

  Now released from the queen’s power, Étaín glanced at the king. His throne looked similar to the queen’s but made of oak rather than yew. It appeared massive and strong where hers had been delicate and cruel. He also had pale skin, but his looked tinged with the green of the spring glade, and his hair the green of a deep, dark forest, complete with moss and black, gnarled bark.

  Several courtiers stood beside and behind the thrones, a wide variety of Fae both beautiful and terrible. One had bright yellow skin like the sun, so brilliant it hurt Étaín’s eyes to gaze at him too long. Another had white skin and red-tipped nails as if he’d dragged his claws in blood. A third had midnight skin and red hair, smoldering like burning peat.

  The queen flicked her hand once, dismissing all three of them. The crowd closed upon them and blocked Étaín’s view of the thrones.

  She breathed again.

  Adhna and Flidaisínn lifted her and escaped as quickly as possible.

  When they finally reached the solitude and safety of their glade, Étaín collapsed once again, though this time from sheer exhaustion rather than fear or panic. She lay in her cot and never wanted to rise again. Adhna forced her to eat and drink before abandoning her to recuperate.

  * * *

  The Fae Queen’s terrible voice still echoed in Étaín’s head. Especially when she slept, the penetrating sound sliced through her dreams with precise shock. It never failed to wake her, usually with a quickly beating heart and short breath.