by Gavin Green
15
Cora McCarthy busied herself with household chores to forget her worries, at least for a while. Those fretful thoughts would not be denied, though, and made it more of an effort than normal to keep her home presentable. Maintaining focus was a struggle, whether at home or at her part-time position at the village library; neither place offered refuge.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the long mirror attached to the closet door in her and Liam's bedroom. Allowing herself a moment of vanity - every woman's entitlement - Cora tolerably approved of her reflection. True, time had made itself known, but for a middle-aged woman she was still in reasonably good shape; Liam certainly had no complaints.
But then Cora noticed the wrinkles in her face. They were obviously known to her, especially when she chose to apply make-up, but now she noticed them from across the room. Creases in her brow from angry scowls, frown lines from years of misplaced disapproval - they were self-inflicted wounds from flawed bitterness; scars of regret.
Soon to be added to those accrued wrinkles would be new ones from worry if Cora couldn't find a solution to her distress. Trouble was coming, she knew - trouble and danger for her children. Concerns for her personal safety were a distant second. In fact, those thoughts were nonexistent with them in mind. Her girls knew more - much more - about what was to come, yet did not come to her for any council or comfort. What advice could she give them, anyway? What words of support would be any help? The McCarthy matriarch had no control or even influence in the supernatural matter; all that was left was mystification and fear for her children who weren't prepared.
Cora thought of Jane as a bright star, but blissfully unaware that stars could fall. Kate took after Liam's nature to be composed, although years of brow-beating turned it into meekness. Even though their relationship had mended, it was still a shameful pill for Cora to swallow. Her son Jack was like her in her youth, full of life and fire. Children and a good wife had dampened his reckless flame to embers, but that fire could still be seen in his eyes. It was a glimmer of spirit and barely-bridled emotions in his dark eyes, a spark that he shared with his actual grandfather.
Just as Cora finished putting fresh sheets on her bed, she heard a soft scratching at the screen of the open window facing the back garden. Sitting on the outer frame was a squirrel; it sat calmly on its furry haunches and seemed to be looking right at her. She stopped and stared at the little creature's odd behavior. It then used its tiny paws to scratch at the screen again, but gently. Cora started around the bed to approach it, unsure of her own intentions to either shoo it away or take a closer look.
She stopped when the squirrel darted off the window and out of sight. Before she could resume her chores, the squirrel was back in the same spot, this time with a bright red autumn leaf held in its mouth by the stem. "But it's spring," Cora whispered to herself. "How could..." Her eyes suddenly widened with realization. She turned and rushed out of the room toward the patio door in the kitchen, muttering her father's name as she hurried along.
Pulling the glass door open, Cora saw her true father. Standing in the late-morning sun, Aldritch of the Old Wood looked like a fantastical giant who casted an even larger shadow across her back garden. She had formerly applied the word 'unearthly' to him, but that was incorrect; the tremendously tall fae nearly personified nature and weather. He reminded her of a venerable oak - strong, stoic and proud, wearing the colors of fall but vibrant with life. He exuded the air of ancient secrets and time forgotten. His scent was of rich soil and ozone before a rain.
Cora expected that a literal force of nature such as he would be disappointed with an ungifted child; the notion made her feel contemptible in his presence.
"Daughter," Aldritch said, low and somber, "I would have words of consequence with you, if you are amenable."
"Y-yes, of course," Cora replied quietly. "You are welcome to come in, if you like."
"You have ever been gracious to offer your home to me. In truth, I prefer the sky above me. Would you rather join me here, where the warm sun and cool wind meet? If it is yet too brisk, I could gather some minor warmth for you..."
"Em, no - that is, I'll be warm enough, thank you."
Aldritch gestured to one of her lawn chairs and waited until she was seated before he sat cross-legged on the grass just off the patio. They looked at each other for an awkward moment; with his thick brows relaxed and his mouth pressed into a straight line, Cora thought that his expression was as close to a smile as her father could make. "Many are troubled with events to come," Aldritch began, "and as well they should. You, however, are my only current concern. If for no one else, I would attempt to assuage your fears."
"Oh, and I, em, I'm appreciative," Cora said, obviously unsettled. "If you've come to assist someone, though, I-I'd rather it be my children. It's them I fear for."
"A noble request, although it may be for naught. Your eldest has been kept unaware. The middle child, Kate, has a gifted champion, and young Jane has a powerful means of escape as well as a sworn defender. You, my daughter, stand in harm's way with what you know."
Cora sat straighter in her chair. "Do you mean to say that my Jack has no - he is ungifted? I was told otherwise... although I can't recall by whom or what gift he may have."
Aldritch nodded once. "The information you were given is correct, and his gift may draw interest. Nonetheless, few know of his abilities. He is not in breach of the Enigma; the chances of him being targeted are low."
"But there's still that chance," she replied fretfully. "I won't take chances with my children." The simple talk of danger for her children reminded Cora of her own harrowing experience of abduction.
"And unless you forbid it of me, neither shall I." Aldritch rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together. "Cora, forgive my candor, but if you endeavor to protect your progeny, you would be ineffectual. Moreover, your futile attempt on behalf of any of them would place you in grave danger."
"Do you think I honestly care about that?" There was a hint of temper behind her words. "If there was one chance - one in a million - that something I did helped them escape or won out, then that's exactly what I'd do."
"I understand."
"Do you?" Cora's tone held no scorn. It sounded more like lost hope.
Aldritch looked down at his hands and continued. "I come here fully aware of the discomfort I cause you. You had different - better - expectations of your sire, expectations of what the connection between father and daughter should be. I am a creature apart from you, of another realm, and therefore cannot fathom the relationship you would have preferred. In that, I can offer you no solace." He then raised his head and met her eyes. "In the matter of this cleansing of your village, however, I find myself of the same mind as your declaration of sacrifice for your children. I would see you out of harm's way so that I may better watch over your progeny... my grandchildren."
Cora held her head high when she said, "If I am able to help my children, then I will."
Aldritch's frown was from consternation, yet appeared to be one of stern disapproval. "As I have said, any intervention on your part would be a wasted effort and only put you in peril. Your children would not want that, nor would I." He peered up over her head, toward the high roof of her house. "There is another way," he said distractedly, still looking beyond her.
Cora turned to see what had caught her father's eye, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. She turned back to him and said, "What other way?"
He looked back to her. "Were you aware your home was under watch?"
"Is that - what? Did you say under watch?" Cora asked, thoroughly confused.
Aldritch nodded. "When I arrived, there were two harpies - that is, low-borne fae - perched on your roof. Their presence was unexpected, and not of my doing; I currently have no harpies pressed into my service. That race is rarely seen in the mundane realm, save to act as messengers and scouts. They both left with haste at my coming, but one has bravely returned just
a moment ago."
"Is - is that good or bad?" Cora asked nervously.
"We shall see soon enough; since they presumably went for reinforcements or to alert their master, I will learn the truth of it shortly. But not until we have finished our discussion - I would still have private words with you, Cora." He slowly stood and his huge, warped staff inexplicably appeared in his hand. Leaning on it, he said softly down to her, "Please avert your eyes; I am aware how distressing a display of fae ability is for you."
"Yes... em, thank you," Cora whispered as she dropped her head and studied her hands intently. Even with her eyes focused downward, the sudden disappearance of his giant form and accompanying shadow still registered in her peripheral vision. A gasp escaped before she clamped her lips together.
Removed from Verden awareness, Aldritch took a few steps backwards on the mown grass to have a better view of the harpy watcher perched up on the crest of the roof. Her strange and oddly attractive features did not brighten his darkening mood. "Know this, harpy," he called up to her with restrained ire, "I am Aldritch of the Old Wood. Your continued presence here tests my patience. I hope your wisdom matches your nerve, and you heed my words. If you do not leave my sight and this locale immediately, I will smite you from the sky with malicious intent. After you explode, I will gather your bright feathers and wear them around my neck as a warning to your cohorts."
The low-borne fae did not hesitate; giving no reply, she took wing and swiftly flew off to the north.
Aldritch returned to near the same spot he'd been sitting and crouched down, holding his staff for added balance. Allowing himself to be seen by mundane sight once more, he said to Cora, "All is well, daughter. If you hold no objection, I would like to resume our talk."
Cora raised her head slowly and looked at him. "Yes, em, you mentioned another option. If it doesn't put my children in further danger, I'm interested to hear it."
Thinking of no eloquent way to put it, Aldritch simply said, "I could fog your memories." From her look of confusion, he explained. "I could make you forget, taking all the memories of any fae meeting, sight, or knowledge. I would be unknown to you. Jane's suitor would be a mere human to you. Shared awareness of your children's gifts would be erased, including any conversations thereof. Most importantly, it would remove you from being in breach of the Enigma; you could continue your life without worries or alarm."
The hesitation could be heard in Cora's soft voice when she responded. "Not that your option doesn't hold some appeal, at least for my own safety, but what would happen to me if I was still in violation of your, em, Enigma law when the invaders come?"
"They would modify your memories as well, but without the discretion and specific care that I would. It is fair to assume that from your first memory of fae to that moment when they take your memories, everything in between would simply be erased. That is, of course, if they make it past me first."
Cora's mouth gaped open. "But - but, I was told by a stranger that my children would be gifted when Kate was just a baby! That - I can't... All of that time, all of those memories... gone? No, I..."
"Listen, child." Her father's words cut through her panic-ridden mind. "I offer a better way - the only other way, save one. And that last recourse is one I know you will reject."
"What - what is it!" Cora's fears were being realized; her desperation left her grasping at vain hope.
"I could take you to the Lore, once and for all time."
Cora looked away, lost in hectic thought. "But Liam... and the kids... I -" She looked back to her father with some resolve in her eyes. "You are correct; that option is out of the question." Her voice gained confidence as she went on. "So too is your offer to selectively remove my memories. Because of all this, I am finally the mother to my children that I always should have been. I am a better wife for my husband." She looked into Aldritch's mint green eyes. "I don't know that I would revert back to my bitter, resentful self, but I don't want to take the chance of the old Cora returning. I don't want her to be the woman that people think of when I'm gone."
"Selfish, and without sense," Aldritch sourly commented. "You would risk your faculties - perhaps your very existence - for a perception."
Cora rose from her chair and stood poised, making her father look up at her. "You really don't understand us mundane folk, do you?" she said calmly. "I suppose it should be no surprise since you've never truly made the effort, not even with your 'progeny'. I do not want this for selfish reasons. I could subject my family to many long years of a cynical woman, leaving them resentful after I'm gone. Or, I could hopefully give them a few memories of the woman they might have hoped for... that I hoped to be for them, letting their reminiscences cause them some joy. Even if my mind is reduced to a stupor from some fae's heavy-handed 'fogging', as you put it, I will still have done that much beforehand. So, you see, father, I don't decline your offer for the sake of my own memories. I do it for the memories of my family and loved ones. I owe them no less, especially my children."
Aldritch nodded, letting silence linger while he pondered her words. He finally said, "A fine speech, Cora, and very magnanimous of you. However, you are overlooking a very important fact."
Trepidation attempted to undermine Cora's determination at his words; it could be heard in her voice when she asked, "And what fact is that?"
"Whether it is some 'heavy-handed' fae - as you put it - or me, your memories will be altered." He stood and looked down at her, fully aware of his looming presence. "Were you any other human, it would already be done. It is because you are my child that you have been given time and choices. It is already too late for me to avoid punishment for liberties that you take for granted - liberties given with my allowance and at my expense. As I admittedly have little comprehension of humans, you have no inkling of fae. We have laws that sustain our existence; I continue to break one of those laws for you." His shadow began to dull into a vague shape as storm clouds gathered overhead. "You reject my kind consideration out of hand, going heedless and proud into a dangerous future."
In looking up at Aldritch, she saw the result of his anger hastily gathering overhead; the swirling clouds were dark and foreboding. "Father," she began with a soothing tone, hoping to calm him, "I know that you came with honorable intentions; I am not tossing your offer out with the garbage. As much as I would like to, I cannot accept. What I didn't know was that you placed yourself in some sort of danger by letting me know the truth of things. It was a kindness on your part, but one I did not request of you. Even so, I'm glad you did. I can't help you with your dilemma, and I won't let you assist me with mine. I now have the relationships with my children I couldn't have dreamed of. Even if those relationships are only temporary, I plan to maintain them as long as possible."
The churning clouds above lost their angry bruising while Aldritch frowned down at his child. He sighed and said, "No matter the consequences?"
"Consequences be damned," she replied firmly. "Thank you for coming to see me once more, father, and for your heartfelt offer. But if you'll excuse me, I need to begin planning my vacation and then invite all of my children over for a family meal. You'd be welcome to attend, of course, but... you understand."
"Yes, of course," Aldritch replied as he glanced up at the parting clouds. "Cora, with your refusal, I will concern myself with watching over my grandson in your stead."
Cora said with a smile, "That pleases me more than you know, and you have my eternal gratitude for it."
Aldritch held his staff away from him and bowed to her. "I will leave you to your chores and festivities. Know that I wish only the best for you and give good fortune on your endeavors, my brave daughter; may the elements be kind."
From her fae father's bestowment of luck, a warm tingling sensation ran through Cora. She looked down and wiggled her slipper-covered toes as the feeling faded out from them. When she looked back up, her father was simply gone.
