by Sean Cullen
70 As if weird things weren’t happening all the time.
71 There have been many short overachievers: Alexander the Great, Napoleon Bonaparte, and Billy Joel are just three examples.
THE SWAN
The first thing that struck Brendan was the overwhelming noise. A palpable wave of sound assaulted him, a mixture of music, shouted conversation, braying laughter, and the drone of television commentary.
The next thing that registered was the smell: a combination of flowers, heavy spice, and wood smoke. The mixture was unlike anything he’d ever smelled. The closest comparison would have been what his house smelled like on Christmas Eve when the fresh scent of pine mixed with the spicy cinnamon and cloves his mother used when she made mulled wine. Add to that the warm earthy smell of gingerbread, and you were getting close.
His eyes adjusted last. After the darkness outside, the brightness of the pub was blinding. Yes, pub, for indeed, the Swan seemed to be a pub.
The decor was typical of the pubs he had been in on his family trip to Ireland a couple of summers ago. Framed ads for Guinness stout were displayed on the walls. The ceiling maze of rafters were hung with a bewildering array of ornaments, dried flowers, glowing crystals, candelabra, and strange antique tools whose purpose Brendan could only guess at. The room before him was jammed with small round wooden tables ringed with little three-legged stools, and these tables were in turn jammed with people enjoying a variety of beverages. Around the walls, large booths were also crammed with patrons. A massive stone fireplace dominated the wall to his left, a fire burning merrily. Little insects chased each other in and out of the flames, catching the updraft of warm air and tumbling out into the room only to dart in again. Brendan’s mouth dropped open when he realized the creatures weren’t insects: they were Lesser Faeries! Diminutives, he corrected himself. They darted in and out of the flames like moths, chattering and laughing.
Brendan tore his eyes away from the fire. A wooden stairway led up into the smoky rafters on the right. On the far wall, a long mahogany bar glowed under the light of torches jammed into sconces on the wall. The rustic atmosphere was slightly marred by the TVs hanging over the bar and the giant flat screen in the centre of the wall to his left. He looked closer and saw that the frames of the TVs were all ornately carved out of wood. The screens flickered with sporting events, news broadcasts, and infomercials largely ignored by the patrons. He was about to turn away from the screens when a familiar face flashed on the news channel.
Chester Dallaire’s face sneered from the screen. The picture was taken from a class photo. A caption underneath the photo read LOCAL BOY MISSING! HAVE YOU SEEN HIM?
Brendan groaned, “Oh, no! What have I done to Chester?” A sudden burst of music distracted him from his misery.
A small band occupied a booth in the corner. Crammed elbow to elbow into the tiny space, they managed to strike up a lilting reel. There was a fiddler, a man playing a harp, and another beating on a flat drum with a two-headed stick he held in the three middle fingers of his left hand. They were in mid-song, banging out a lively reel. The people at the surrounding tables and booths were clapping along, and one person was on top of a table doing a complicated dance that seemed to involve only his feet. The clapping and shouts of encouragement were almost drowned out by a DJ standing in the opposite corner of the room at a table on a raised platform. She was mixing heavy beats and tribal rhythms that wouldn’t have been out of place in any of the clubs downtown. Her ears and nose were pierced with studs, and her hair stood up on end as if it were frightened of her scalp. Some people had cleared away a few tables, and they were gyrating to that music. The two musical sources and styles were totally at odds, but as Brendan listened, they seemed to resolve into a complementary counterpoint that was a melding of the old and the new. He wished his father could hear this music. He would love the beautiful chaos.
The most startling thing about the Swan was the clientele. Everyone was a Faerie. Every table was taken up by Faeries of every description, crammed into tables, leaning at the bar, staring up at the TV, where a hockey game was underway. The air was full of tiny Faeries, flitting in swarms through clouds of wood smoke, sitting on the rafters, their wings drawn up against their tiny backs.
Brendan shook his head in wonder. He thought the scene couldn’t get any weirder and then … a cellphone rang. A Faerie with hair an unnatural shade of green fumbled in her handbag while everyone pointed at her and jeered.
The bartender shouted, “No cellphones in here! House rule!” And rang a bell. The crowd began chanting and pounding on the tables.
“No cells! No cells! No tweet, twitting, bleeting bells. No cells! No cells! Curse them to the seven hells!”
“One more time, Edie, and you owe us all a round!”
“Turn it off!”
“Sorry!” She pulled out a slim piece of wood that was glowing and pulsing. She keyed the power off. When she was done, she held it up to jeering applause.
Brendan looked around at these faces and realized they weren’t so completely removed from his world. He might have a kinship with these people. Then Leonard’s deep voice bellowed, cutting off all conversation and bringing the music to a sudden halt.
“People, he is here! The Misplaced Prince has arrived!”
There was a sudden hush. After the initial din, the silence was deafening. All eyes shifted to Brendan as he stood just inside the door of the pub. He didn’t know how to react. He shifted from foot to foot, tried to lean Kim’s stick against the wall but only managed to drop it with a clatter to the polished hardwood floor. He swallowed hard and finally raised his hand and waved lamely to the throng. “Hey?”
A rich, jovial voice boomed out, “Sure it is himself, the Prince of Neither Here Nor There! In the flesh!”
A great barrel-chested man dressed in a three-piece suit about two sizes too small for him burst through the crowd, his arms spread wide in greeting. His face was florid, cheeks red, and eyes bright blue. “There he is and isn’t he just a picture.”
Brendan was lifted off his feet and crushed in an embrace that smelled of whisky, pine, and some muskier scent he couldn’t identify. When Brendan thought his ribs would finally break, the man released him from the bear hug. The man’s grimy, calloused hands clasped Brendan’s upper arms as the watery blue eyes looked him up and down.
“And isn’t he just a fine figure of a man, I ask you? Could he be any better?”
“Sir …” Brendan started to speak but the man cut him off.
“Sir! Did you hear it? ‘Sir’ he calls me? Me being his very own uncle? Sir indeed!” The man laughed and smacked Brendan so hard on the shoulder that he staggered against the wall.
Brendan recovered his balance and looked at the man. “You … you’re my uncle?”
“I surely am! On your mother’s side. Say hello to your uncle Og.”
Brendan didn’t know what to say. He studied the man’s face. Could there be any resemblance? The eyes maybe? The shape of the face? “I don’t know what to say. This has all been a bit crazy.”
Og bent over double laughing at that. “Crazy? Yes indeed, it is crazy! Mad! Mad as a bag of otters! Ah you’re one of us, through and through, me old son! Come now! You’ll have a drink!” He began hauling Brendan by the arm toward the bar. Brendan didn’t resist. He couldn’t have if he wanted to. Uncle Og’s grip was powerful and his calloused fingers were begrimed with oil. “Whisky fer the lad!”
Finally understanding Og’s intention, Brendan dug in his heels and resisted. “Thanks. No! I don’t drink. I’m only fourteen!”
Og found this hilarious as well. “He’s fourteen! Fourteen, he says.” Tears streamed down the man’s red cheeks as he laughed again. “Only fourteen and such a terror ye’ve wrought up and down the city entire. We’ve been watchin’ yer progress on the local news!” Og beamed down at Brendan.
“On the news? They saw the chase on the news?” he breathed.
“Och, they didn’t know w
hat was happening, sure enough. They put it down to hooligans and freak weather systems! They always explain us away. Makes’em feel more comfortable if there’s a logical explanation for the shenanigans we get up to, bless’em. Are ye sure you won’t have a drink?”
“I was told that if I came here I’d get some answers.” Brendan suddenly stopped and gasped, “Kim! She’s been injured!” He turned to look for her but she and Leonard were gone.
“Do not worry. She is being seen to as we speak,” Og assured him. “She’s tough as nails, our Ki-Mata. She’ll join us in short order. Peace!” He laid a hand on Brendan’s shoulder again and guided him toward the booth, and he let himself be led. “It’s answers ye want, is it! Ho! Ho! A curious lad, just like yer uncle Og! Answers indeed!”
“The boy’s right.” A mellow voice cut through Og’s wheezing mirth. “He has a right to an explanation.”
The owner of the voice was a tall and austere man dressed in a simple yet expensive-looking grey suit of a slightly old-fashioned cut. His hands were long and white and his face was as pale as snow. His features were almost feminine, yet he radiated subtle strength, authority, and power. Looking into the pale grey eyes, Brendan felt from him an overwhelming calm but also a great world-weariness, as if this being had seen too much to ever be truly happy.
“Breandan,” the newcomer said soothingly, “come and sit. Take your rest. It is time to tell tales. Our folk”—he paused and smiled at Brendan—”your folk love tales. You have much to learn and little time so let us not waste another moment.”
“Of course, of course, we should get down to business,” Og agreed.
Rain lashed the windows of the pub and brought with it a renewed sense of urgency to Brendan. “Orcadia is on her way. She’s trying to kill me. We’ve got to get out of here.”
The man rested a hand on Brendan’s shoulder, and immediately Brendan was relaxed and at peace. “Fear not. This is the Ward’s Island. The Ward here is strong, woven by the goodwill and combined Art of all who come here.” He waved a hand to take in the walls of the place. “According to our Law, no Fair Folk may strike at each other within the precinct of the Ward. Orcadia may not risk hurting you because of the dire consequences. She is powerful, certainly, but even she would not try her luck against the assembled will of all those here. Now come. You must be hungry and tired. You will eat and drink while I tell you what you need to know about your history and your situation. Then you must rest for there is much to do.” He extended an elegant hand toward the corner of the room where a booth was hastily being cleared for them.
As he threaded his way through the tables toward the booth, the Faeries he passed reached out to gently pat him on the back or shake his hand. Some simply stared at him like he was a weird, rare animal—a unicorn or a Sasquatch. He found the attention disconcerting. Brendan didn’t respond well to public scrutiny. He prayed that he wouldn’t trip over his own feet and fall on his face. He managed to cross the room without bumping more than a couple of tables and sloshing a few beverages.
With relief, he slid into the wooden bench, and the man sat down opposite him. Og pushed in beside Brendan. A woman appeared beside the table as if by magic. Brendan had not seen her arrive … she was just suddenly … there. She was wiry and lean with the yellow eyes of a wolf. Fixing Brendan with an intense, appraising stare, she grinned, showing gleaming white teeth. “Food and drink, if you will, Saskia,” the man said gently. Saskia nodded once and disappeared. Watching carefully this time, Brendan thought he saw a blur of movement, almost too fast for him to see. Saskia reappeared behind the bar on the far side of the room a second later. Sensing his stare, she cocked her head and winked a yellow eye at him. Brendan gulped and turned away.
“First, I should introduce myself. I am called Ariel. Of all the Fair Folk here, I suppose you would call me the most senior.”72
“So you’re the boss?” Brendan asked. Og giggled at that, which Brendan found a little annoying.
“No. We really have no hierarchy, per se. We operate in a more or less democratic fashion. I am a spokesperson by consent of the group.” He waved a hand to indicate the entire room. Brendan was suddenly aware of how quiet the pub had become. The TV screens still swirled with images but no one paid them any attention. All eyes were on him. The whole room seemed to hold its breath.
“Don’t let them make you nervous, Breandan. They rarely get to see history in the making. You’re a bit of a legend, you see.”
“A legend? Are you kidding me?”
Ariel laughed softly. “I promise, I will never kid you. I’m too old for that.” A smile flitted across Ariel’s face as he leaned back in his seat. “I think the best thing to do is let you ask whatever questions you want to ask. I will try to give you answers as best I can. We can move on from there.”
Brendan found himself at a loss. Where to start? There was so much he didn’t understand. Although he was curious about his own situation, he decided to start at the beginning. “Where do Faeries come from?”
“Same place Humans come from.” Og laughed raucously and punched Brendan’s shoulder.
“Og,” Ariel said sharply. “He means, what are the origins of the Fair Folk.”
“I know. I know.” Og subsided with a sheepish grin. “Just havin’ a laugh.”
Ariel steepled his long fingers and stared up into the rafters. “My! You have to begin with the most difficult question of all. I will do my best.” He paused for a moment, his eyes closed as he decided how to begin. The audience seemed to gather in around them, and the musicians, responding to the deepening mood, began to play softly.
At last, Ariel began to speak.
72 Ariel is an ancient Faerie who has made many appearances throughout history. According to legend, he was the inspiration for the character of the same name in Shakespeare’s The Tempest.
TWO TRIBES
“There is a legend among our people about our origins. Whether it is true or not, no one knows. The story goes that at the beginning of the world, the Mother created the world in all its beauty. The stars were so thick in the heavens that the Mother could run her fingers through them, stirring them in the sky like leaves on the surface of the black lake of the cosmos. She gathered great handfuls of stars and formed Sun and Moon, her first children. Sun and Moon were brother and sister, each beautiful in their own way and well loved by their Mother. They were the joy of her heart. They shared the sky and knew peace.
“Next, she gathered more stars and pressed them into a vast ball and this was the Earth. On its surface she sprinkled soil and seed, rain and snow, and then she breathed upon it and so filled it with the potential for life. The Sun and Moon shared the sky and cast down their light upon the Earth and their Mother as she walked. Where her feet fell upon the ground, seeds sprouted and grew. Forests and fields of flowers sprang to life, reaching for the light with eager leaves. She looked upon what she had made and it pleased her heart.
“She roamed the Earth for an age, taking pleasure in what she had wrought, but at last, she became dissatisfied. She longed for someone to share this world with. So she took two fistfuls of sand from the shore of the ocean and she dipped them in the salt sea. Taking great care, she formed the wet sand into two figures, one with her left hand and one with her right.
“With her right hand she formed the first Human, proud and tall. With her left hand, in a mirror image of the Human, she formed the first of the Fair Folk. They were alike, yet different as siblings are wont to be. Yet they both pleased her greatly.
“The Sun and the Moon looked down on what she had done, and they were jealous of the attention she gave her new children. They didn’t like to see their Mother doting over them.
“They were also jealous of each other. They argued over who was most important, who was most powerful, and who held the larger place in their Mother’s heart.
“They became bitter toward each other and that bitterness led them to try to win the hearts of their Mother’s new creatio
ns. Brother Sun whispered in the ear of the Human, filling him with pride and arrogance. He encouraged the Human to mistrust the Fair Folk. He taught him how to dig in the Earth and find metals to make tools to cut the Earth and subdue her. This is why we call Humans the People of Metal.
“Sister Moon likewise led the child of the Mother’s left hand away and taught him that he was most favoured. She showed him hidden mysteries: the rhythm and flow of the Earth, the movements of the stars, the secrets of growing things, and the hidden heartbeat of the universe. So the children of the left hand were more in tune with the natural world, and their empathy gave them long spans of years.
“The other wedge driven between the two peoples was the fact that though the Fair Folk were long of life, they rarely produced offspring. The Humans were very fertile and soon they spread across the green face of the Earth, digging, cutting, and shaping the world to fit their wishes.
“The children of the left hand and the right hand began to dislike each other. Brother Sun and Sister Moon poured malice and bile into the ears of the Humans and the Fair Folk. Soon the two peoples took up weapons, and a war was fought with dire losses on each side.
“When the Mother returned from a journey through the stars, she was dismayed at the rift between them, their quarrelling and hostility. Everywhere was devastation and suffering. She was furious with her children, Sun and Moon, for bringing disharmony to her creation. So she separated the night from the day and banished the Sun and the Moon to the far reaches of cold space, imprisoning them in an endless cycle that held them always apart except for rare times when the Sun and the Moon share the sky. Even then, they try to blot each other out whenever the opportunity arises, for they cannot put aside their jealousies, each blaming the other for their imprisonment.”
Ariel smiled sadly. “And so, the Mother made the Humans and the Faeries lay down their weapons and make a Truce. They would share the Earth and respect each other. Having established the peace, the Mother then went away again beyond the stars, for she had other worlds to tend. Time passed. The Humans dug and cut and burned and bred generation after generation. The Faeries kept themselves apart and the peace held. After thousands of years, the Humans forgot all about the Truce, and Faeries to them became only stories, passed down from generation to generation until the truth was lost.
