Street Fair (Fair Folk Chronicles Book 2)

by Jeffrey Cook

  “Oh, I'm sure it didn't just cost the papers,” Lani said. “Any more than that goblin doctor just had you sing a note once. Whatever academic career was based on that PhD has likely been eliminated from all human records.”

  Megan was trying to listen. She was. She'd taken her medication that morning and everything. But the morning was a long time before, and the emptiness-singularities of torn-down tents caught the corner of her eye more and more.

  Ashling was just as bad when unable to verify for herself that her favored floral haberdasher was gone.

  Lani noticed. “Cassia, why don't the five of you go check out the clothing section just in case? We'll go to the picnic area so Megan can have a snack and her meds.”

  While they were gone, Lani sat down with Megan on the grass and handed her another bottle of water. Megan drank, ate some granola, and took her multi-colored pills, wondering if doing so in the Market would affect things. Justin stood next to them. The sword wasn't in the instrument case, but he kept it in its sheath, at least, his hand still going to it occasionally as he kept a very careful eye out.

  She was feeling ready to talk when Cassia, Ashling, and their boys returned. "So, I'm guessing Falias is sort of like Findias?"

  "Sort of like it, yeah," Cassia agreed. "Except that where Findias used to be a place full of art, and music, and bright stuff, Falias started out all kinds of dark and gloomy."

  "I thought you kind of liked that stuff?" Megan said.

  "Violent dark, sure. But I'm not a real fan of necromancy. Undead just kind of ruin the party."

  "So, it's full of undead things? Is that why you all left?"

  Ashling made a number of attempts to clarify for Cassia, including covering the fact that party hats didn't help the festive spirit of skeletons and wights at all, and describing bits of the city, but Cassia interrupted again before she'd gotten off on too many tangents. "Once it got out of hand, sort of, but there had always been some nasty things there. The Sorcerer Kings of Falias were supposed to use all their dark power to make sure the restless dead stayed quiet and underground. Someone needed that kind of magic, so the Gods sort of put it in their hands. Records say that they actually did just that at one time, but in most of the stories the folks old enough to have lived there tell, occasionally those dark powers were put to use making wights police the city and walking bones deliver their tea.

  "Okay, so that might explain the wights a little, if he has something to do with that. So he's trying to raise an undead army or something, you think?"

  "Maybe," Cassia said. "Which would suck, but we've dealt with a few undead before."

  "Or he could be trying to upgrade from Doctor," Ashling suggested.

  "That whole line is either dead, or so diluted it doesn't matter," Cassia said.

  "What whole line?" Megan asked.

  Justin said "I think I understand. You're talking about the Lia Fail, right?"

  Ashling pointed at Justin, putting one finger from her other hand on her nose, in a mixture of 'right on the nose' and obscene gesture. Megan was pretty sure the pixie would either claim it was an accident, or probably meant to simultaneously tell Justin he was right, while giving her opinion on O'Neill.

  "What's the Lia Fail?" Megan asked.

  Lani said "An artifact that was enchanted in Falias, hence, Fal Stone. Supposedly, when the true King of Ireland... or possibly Scotland; there's been some debate... stands on it, it will sing or call out his name or something. But I thought that was in Ireland, where it was brought thousands of years ago."

  “Unless one believes those Scots who say the Stone of Scone is the Lia Fail,” said Justin. “Then England took it in the war, last I heard.”

  “Yeah, you're a little behind on that, Justin,” Ashling said. “But the replica at Tara is better than the replica at Scone, I think. Even if they propped it upright where it's pretty hard to try to stand on. Doesn't matter, though. Brian Ard-Ri-Wannabe O'Neill needs the original.”

  “There were copies?” Justin asked.

  “Well, yeah,” Ashling said. “You think they were just going to leave the original mystical artifact around to get busted in half by 6th-Century temper tantrums or fouled up by 21st-Century vandals? That's why there was discrepancies in the legends and arguments as to which was the Lia Fail. Both are and neither is. But the one that does the singing is in Falias."

  "That would do the singing, if the true Ard Ri ever stood on it,” Cassia said. “But he won't, because after Daithi, there were no more. Not real ones, anyway."

  “And an Ard Ri is...?” Megan was trying to keep everything straight.

  “High King,” Ashling answered.

  “Okay.” Megan thought for a moment. “...This might explain the 'mortal majesty' thing that Robin said. I mean, what if someone did have the right lineage?"

  Lani nodded. “And with a well-connected last name like O'Neill...it's enough to worry about, at least.”

  “But what harm can actually being king be?” Megan asked.

  “...well, the Ard Ri was what they call a sacred kingship.” Ashling explained. Megan suspected there was something to what she was saying, because Cassia didn't interrupt her this time, on a topic Cassia obviously considered important. "Sure, he can't just show up and disband the government because he claims a rock sung when he tap danced on it. These days, people would laugh at him. But, see, then he'd call a lightning bolt on their heads, or have a giant serpent eat the laughing people. Because a lot of really ancient, really powerful things listen to the Sorcerer Kings if they know the right spells."

  "Like wights and other undead things?" Megan asked.

  "Well, those specific wights followed the Fomoire, so they were technically on the other side. But on general principle, sure," Ashling said. "Especially if he decided to rule from Falias."

  "And you said sacred kingship. So, what Robin was saying about needing sacred things to wield sacred power...?”

  "Yeah, he did say that, didn't he? Huh."

  “He said it about the Balor-shrouds.”

  “Yeah.”

  “We're in trouble, aren't we?”

  “We so are.” Lani said.

  Chapter 30: Gods and Monsters

  They sat in silence for just a moment before Megan heard footsteps.

  “If I may make a suggestion, dearest,” said her father, as lightly as his rich, dark voice would allow, “You could use a rest. According to what I've heard from your chef friend and a few others, you've had a busy day.”

  “It's worse than they think, Dad.” She told him everything. Ashling occasionally tried to out-talk her, but Lani would help steer things back when the pixie went overboard.

  Megan's father listened to this all intently, jotting a few notes on a scrap of paper. “You definitely need some honey tea, a hot bath, and a good night's sleep. Ashling, Counts-to-18, please take this—” He handed the scrap of paper to the mounted pixie. “—to the Ballroom at An Teach Deiridh. Cassia, I would suggest you return to Fremont immediately and check on your friend the art model. Miss Kahale, Sir Justin, you'll probably want to join us as we get started on that honey tea.” And Riocard started walking

  “Okay, Dad, I just want to check,” Megan said as she followed him to the tea stand. “Are you not talking about it because you don't think the guy who might have the wights might be trying to make himself king so he can have a zombie army, and he might be doing all kinds of weird stuff with Balor's shrouds so that he'll have something kinda-sorta-but-not-divine to draw his king-stuff from? Or are you not talking about it because you want to encourage random people to go King of the Zombies hunting?”

  “I'm making suggestions in the hopes that you'll get out of here before the place closes, ask your mother if you can stay with Lani a few days—perfectly honest; I'm sure she's not going to leave your side when you go to Faerie—and get some rest before everything else gets started. I promise you, dearest, some of the least random people I know will be heavily involved. There'll be no
stopping them.”

  “Like the Queen?” Megan asked as they arrived at the stand. And her father ordered the tea. “Won't she be all twitchy because Balor scarred her face?”

  “Orlaith's experience at Mag Tuired was a little more complicated than that, dearest. Vanity hardly drives the pain of the memory so much as the... perhaps the best word is helplessness... of being one of the, essentially, 'junior varsity' players in a battle for everything, and suddenly being faced with the biggest, in every sense, of the gods' opposite numbers.”

  Megan listened and sipped her tea. “Did one look really burn off the general's arm?”

  “And a very good wardenwood shield, as well,” came a ringing voice from behind her. “Lost a fine wood spirit that day, among all the other casualties.”

  Megan nearly spilled her hot tea on herself. She was not entirely sure how long General Inwar had been standing there, looking down calmly, but clearly dressed to smite. Megan steadied her drink. “Um … Sorry your shieldghost died, General.”

  “Thank you. She knew her duty; she knew the stakes, and she knew the girl she was saving, if only a little.”

  “Oh. So... how'd you get the new arm?”

  “Fortunately,” Riocard said, “One of the smith gods—a fine fellow with whom I had the treat of a drink once or twice—was around long enough to make him an excellent prosthetic.” He nodded to Inwar, who nodded in return.

  “Pure silver, perfect articulation,” Inwar agreed. “Let it not be said your gods never showed any appreciation for assistance, even if only the assistance of distraction while Lugh readied his spear.”

  Megan looked back and forth between them, eventually focusing on her father. “What was hanging out with a god like?”

  “A good time. He was a minor god, more down-to-earth, sort of a very exalted working-class artist. But you should have seen his mother.”

  “Riocard certainly did.” Inwar added.

  "Tell me about her?" Megan asked.

  The response surprised her, mostly in that her father didn't have a quick, casual answer. For a few moments, his eyes even looked unfocused, and his expression softened. "She looked at me, and then she was gone."

  "Wait, you spent time with her son, but she hadn't looked at you before?" Megan said.

  Riocard's eyes settled back on Megan. "To the Gods, at least the older set, the fae were often, well, how mortals see us. We helped them, certainly, and with a lot of ritual, or numbers, we can fulfill their roles now. Such as the dance now managing the turn of the more mystical side of the seasons. The Dagda, well, he used to handle that from his chair. Four notes on the harp, and worlds were in tune."

  Inwar nodded, and for the first time, Megan saw some hint of similarity between her father and Inwar, at least in terms of their recollections of the gods. "A great deal changed when they left us to do their jobs."

  Riocard smiled, but it didn't have the usual devil-may-care joy behind it, indeed, it was almost sad. "She left last of all of them, mourning and keening for her lost child. She walked across that bridge, and looked back once. I stood watch at the start of the bridge. She took one last look at the world, and then at me, and she smiled. And then she was gone."

  "She didn't say anything, or..." Megan trailed off.

  “She was in something of a hurry,” Inwar said. “Leaving for the safety of the world and all.”

  Megan thought for a moment. “Wait, so if they'd already gotten all the remaining Fomoire frozen in a lake, why did they decide they had to leave?”

  “Because we're talking about magic on a level of power where any barrier is permeable, when blood calls to blood,” Riocard said. “And the blood of the gods and their enemies was so wrapped up, the ice would have melted in the back-and-forth charge. For the seal to hold, the gods had to find somewhere else to be.”

  Megan listened. “Is that why the ice is cracking? Because O'Neill is trying to do something with a kindasortanotreally god?”

  Inwar raised an eyebrow. “We'll have to talk about that,” he said. “Preferably tomorrow, on the way to Falias.”

  "We?" Megan asked. "So, you're not sending me home and getting me out of harm's way?" she asked, more than a little surprised.

  Riocard shook his head. "You need to be there."

  Justin finally spoke up. "You have far stronger forces, and she's been through a lot already."

  Inwar and Riocard exchanged a glance, the General frowning, and Riocard looking more thoughtful. "Robin Goodfellow took time out of his busy schedule of knitting and arson," Riocard said. "I choose to believe that's not for nothing, and bring you along. But, of course, Sir Justin, she's going to need her knight."

  "Then I'm coming too," Lani said.

  "I had assumed as much, and will prepare suitable transport for all of you. But first, baths, and a night's rest. Ashling will fetch you in the morning."

  Megan managed to convince her mother to let her stay at Lani's. Mrs. Kahale didn't care for the idea of the teens going along to the lost city but didn't argue with Riocard's judgment either. The family's good-nights were, Megan noted, much more lingering and extra-huggy than usual. That made sense. Just in case.

  Justin laid out his chainmail for the morning, though he placed the hat with it. Despite the events of the day, as she settled in, thinking about going to war alongside the faeries, and storming a city of the undead, Megan was positive she'd never get to sleep. Five minutes later, exhaustion caught up with her.

  Chapter 31: Mobilizing

  Kerr had apparently been up all night. When Ashling brought Lani, Megan, and Justin to the castle, Cassia meeting them there, a spread was laid out of every breakfast food Megan could imagine and possibly a few she couldn't have.

  “You'll want to make sure to have some of the cream-cheese-and-sea-salt eggs,” the brownie said, scampering around the room. “And I've checked that the fruit is all human-safe, but the honey with the corncakes is local, so don't have much if you're allergic to pixie dust.”

  “Wait,” Megan said, looking at Ashling as they all sat down to eat. “Pixie dust is a real thing?”

  Ashling sighed. “Tinker Freaking Bell. Yes, pixie dust is a thing, but it'll only make you fly in the Timothy Leary sense.”

  Megan decided to have her corncakes without honey.

  Everyone ate enthusiastically while Kerr continued scampering around grabbing packages. “Lani, your dad and the rest of the Corps of Engineers have taken all of my chocolate coffee shards, but there's powdered drinking chocolate if you want it. Oh! And oatmeal walnut raisin cookies for the road.” The packages went into Lani's bag.

  Walking out the doors and going from the brownie's kitchen to the mustering grounds for the armies was a shock. Megan stepped out into a swarm of color and the susurration of wings. The wall of rainbow colors banked and turned, then exploded into countless pixies out over the ranks of the Seelie army.

  The next thing Megan's eyes settled on were the unicorns—four in all, moving at a run. It took several seconds of staring at the quartet, moving in unison, to realize that they were pulling a massive chariot, constructed of nearly perfectly white wood and trimmed with platinum. Orlaith stood tall in the front of the chariot, calling to her soldiers, while Inwar, two of the sidhe knights, and a sidhe female bearing a large tome watched over her.

  The chariot circled around a section of flat ground, where troops were organizing into ranks. While some of the Seelie knights had horses, others rode giant stags or great cats, and a small group even sat astride pegasi. Ranks of fae armed with similar weapons, whether spears, swords, or bows, grouped into organized ranks, while each of the sorcerers was given two guards.

  Then there was the battalion of tree-people. Megan had once made the mistakes of calling them 'dryads,' before being informed—more snootily than one tended to get even from the sidhe—that they weren't Greek, if Her Highness would be so kind. She'd spent months trying to pronounce Ghillie Dhu and still wasn't quite sure if it was closer to 'gillydoo'
or 'gillyoo.' Green-haired people were signaling each other with birdcalls among the giant branches of the mobile birch-tree squad.

  The knockers—Megan had been told they were mine-dwelling brownie-kin, and they looked it—were normally a lot friendlier, as much as the Seelie-Unseelie divide, which seemed to capture the feelings of about 80% of each court, would allow. Right now, though, they were busy working at artillery pieces. A dozen massive catapults were the most obvious weapons in the arsenal. Slightly smaller trebuchets and ballistae were being checked, and lined up for deployment. Megan couldn't help but notice that, as they worked, the knockers said not a word. Instead, now and then, they'd rap their hammers in quick rhythms against the metal pieces of the heavy weapons, and others would take note and occasionally shift what they were doing in response to the odd 'language.'

  Kerr headed behind the artillery, where Mr. Kahale, who had apparently been repairing weapons the previous night, waved to them, with frantic reciprocation from Lani.

  Interspersed among the ranks were gnome musicians and brownie bannermen, their instruments and flags attentively at their side as Orlaith and her General surveyed their troops.

  Megan had seen, from the Halloween charge of the year before, how quickly the Unseelie could be mustered if something was made interesting enough. That seemed to be the case here, as more and more Unseelie were gathering around where her father, clad in his briarmail armor except for the masked helmet, stood atop a pedestal of ice. Next to him, a great bar had been hastily erected, manned by a number of leprechauns and the ones that looked like leprechauns—clurichauns, that was it—who were handing out mugs of something or other as quickly as fae gathered. The Unseelie King himself reached for one, the briars winding back to bare his hand. Despite their usual nature, no one was drinking, not even Cassia, who was standing between Riocard's podium and Finn the troll. Every four or five sprites, in their murmurs of white, brown, gray, and occasionally blue, were working together to hold a single mug aloft.