And though the things they wrought were beautiful to behold and the music of their lyres and bows comely and sweet, Aperion trusted not Cupeldain's words, for he had seen the use of such things in the hands of the Dragonkind. So he went away from Cupeldain full of misgivings. Secundur, watching and listening from the shadows, followed Aperion as a murky cloud and whispered to him.
"O, King of the Faere! Why trouble over the toys and pastimes of your fellows? Their hands were made by Beras, were they not? And so all works spring from him."
Then to Cupeldain Secundur went and suggested, "You answered wisely, Cupeldain, and yet perhaps you should assert yourself more than you do, for Aperion grows weak and you grow strong."
This troubled Cupeldain, and he flew to the sunlit plains where he knew Secundur seldom went. There he pondered all that had come to pass while he drank from the flower-cups of nectar and gave himself over to sing with the larks and to ride gaily on the backs of antelope as they danced across the plain.
Secundur did not follow, for on the plain the face of Sir Sun, ever the servant of Beras, shined unbearably. But he was satisfied with what he had said to Cupeldain. That night, Secundur went unto Kalzar, the new king over the Dragonlands.
"You have done well, Kalzar, and your sires, the dragon-gods, are proud and pleased with your rule. What say you to those Faere who north of here in the green mountains make sharp weapons and build great castles? It is not for each other they do these things, but to come and take back these places that have been given from them to the Dragonkind by Beras."
"Why do you come to me? Are you not one of them? Like them, your spirit is dark to me and arouses me from my peaceful sleep to pace the night in troubled thoughts. Go from me! You are not welcome, and your words do not bring comfort to me!"
Full of anger at the rebuff, Secundur left Kalzar, and he brooded in the deep caverns of the mountains. He prodded, for spite's sake, the ancient beasts of Morgasir who still survived in the deepest recesses. With skills taught to him by Morgasir, Secundur conjured the old dragons to breed demons, and these he set loose to bring pestilence and torture to the Dragonlands and to any place they might roam.
"It is not meet for I, who am Firstborn, to be shunned. It is Beras himself who strikes my heart, and I shall strike his! It will be my place to remake the world. To gain from all the Faere and all the Dragonkind their prideful spirit and their knowledge and turn it against the plan of Beras!"
And for a long time, Secundur was not seen or heard, but his followers, those Faere who bent to his will, gathered themselves unto him and did his bidding. And though seldom seen or heard, his hand has ever since been felt in all the world and no doubt it was he who somehow provoked the first war, and sundered the Faerekind one from another, and caused the Fallen Ones, the Elifaen, to be in the world as they now are.
• • •
When Ashlord finished this part of his tale, he paused. His companions, all except Ullin who still rode some distance ahead, had drawn as close as they could to hear his voice. But they sensed there was more to tell, and had no questions, not even Billy, who listened all the while with squinting eyes and a cocked brow, his lips pursed in consideration. So Ashlord continued with the second part of the tale, which went like this:
• • •
This is how some legends tell of these things:
In the grand White Palace that Cupeldain built, there stayed a Faerekind by the name of Alonair who was skilled in the making of stone likenesses of animals, trees, and even of his own kind. These he would place around the Faere city that Cupeldain had built, and Alonair made them upon the porches and in the gardens. These sculptures were a marvel to all who saw them, so lifelike that, especially in the moonlight, they seemed to move and breathe, sometimes even turning their heads. Alonair's fame spread throughout Faerum and even far away to the Dragonlands. Even Aperion was amazed at the skill of Alonair. Those of the Faerekind who never before went to the city now did so to see the works of Alonair. The visitors, from the plains and from the forests, were amazed at all the doings of Cupeldain and his people, at the grand structures and temples, the fantastic gardens and fountains, and the boisterousness of those who lived in the city. And especially were they filled with wonder when they laid their hands on the statues of Alonair and felt them to be warm to the touch. But the statues spoke no word, the stone of their making was silent, and the visiting Faere understood this not at all, for never had any material of nature been silent to them before.
When Kalzar heard of these statues, he marveled at the tales and sent emissaries to Aperion asking if Alonair might carve some statue for Kalzar in exchange for some similar boon.
"Alonair may decide for himself if he is to do this," Aperion said, "and the measure of his reward, too."
And Aperion summoned Alonair, but when he arrived, Alonair's heart was darkened against the Dragonkind, and he thought to himself, "I will agree to Kalzar's wish and ask a boon of great price of him, for his people walk the land where once I played with deer and where I once danced with the ram. Kalzar's land of sand once was full of green fields and forests that gave to me the juice of their berries. There, the chorus of leaves once spoke back to the beat of my wings as I passed through, and thus the trees sang as Sir Wind moved his fingers through their branches. Yes, it will be a great price."
So Alonair agreed to come to Tyrsharat, the city of Kalzar in the desert plains, and to make for him a statue like no other, and to ask in return a favor of his own choosing.
"But first make ready the stone that I will carve. Cut it twenty times the height of Kalzar and the same in its width and breadth. Quarry this stone in a single block and make a place for it in the center of your city. When it is there and all is ready, send for me and I will begin the work of carving this thing for you."
"In what likeness may we tell Kalzar that you will carve this statue?" the chief emissary asked.
"You may say that it will be in the likeness of what once was but is no more, of what will be but has not yet come to pass."
When Kalzar received the emissaries back at Tyrsharat and they told of their meeting with Alonair, Kalzar asked, "Did he say no more? Did he not say what likeness he would carve?"
"No, Mighty One, only: 'It will be in the likeness of what once was but is no more, of what will be but has not yet come to pass."
"And did he not say what boon he would ask?"
"No, Son of Dragon, he never did."
Kalzar pondered this for a day and a night, then he ordered the preparations to begin. The Dragonkind labored long, and an entire generation was born into the task, for once the massive block was cut from a mountain, it had to be moved over a hundred leagues to the city Tyrsharat. Many of his people grumbled, saying it was impossible to move such a stone, as big as a hill, as heavy as a mountain. But Kalzar would have the thing done, and so he raised armies to conquer all of the Dragonkind and to make of them slaves. And he raised a great host of workers to pry away the stone, to forge tools for sliding it across the sands and gravel of the desert. When they faltered, Kalzar's taskmasters whipped the workers. When his counselors said the task was too great and cost the empire too much, Kalzar had them put to death. When at last the Dragonkind Empire grew weak from the task, Secundur emerged from his place of sulking and went to Kalzar and stood beside him on the high balcony of the palace. There, Kalzar cast his gray eyes over the city, beyond the place prepared for the stone, and outward across the moonlit desert toward where, far beyond sight, the stone still moved, inch by agonizing inch.
"Surely Alonair's gift has become a curse upon you, Kalzar," Secundur said in his ear. "The Faerekind delight in the sufferings of your people and rejoice in your vanity. You do not have the power, as do the Faerekind, to converse with stone and sand, and they resist your will stubbornly. Only the Faere may move this thing here, and this they know. While your empire falters into ruin, the cities of Cupeldain flourish and grow in beauty. Your numbers were once vast, but the oc
ean of your people recedes, while the Faere grow in number."
Kalzar thought about this and passed the night through with Secundur at his ear until morning when Kalzar walked out into the sun and Secundur departed.
"What power have I to do this thing?" Kalzar cried out at the blazing sun. "Have we indeed been tricked by the immortal ones who may wait with patient ease for our self-destruction? No! I shall not be treated so contemptuously!"
Then he gathered his generals and ordered them to make an army and to go north into the greenlands, fearing not the Faere. There, this army was ordered to capture as many of those who lived there and could be brought back to be chained to the Great Stone and to pull against it. To take the fruit of the lands, too, and all the animals they could find, and to destroy what they could not sack, forest, field, and city alike.
Of course, the Faere saw these preparations. Many still flew the skies that once covered their homes of leaf and twig, looking down at the now-parched lands. They saw the many fearsome creatures below, scorpions and basilisks, which the devastated lands had spawned. And these Faere watched the building up of the Dragonkind and the rise of their cities. They saw how the desert dwellers made fields along the few rivers still flowing there, and how they slaved and toiled and fought and were beaten down by the sun and by the whips of their masters. They saw, often enough, Kalzar himself and his retinues, going forth in glory upon elaborate sedans to survey the movement of the Great Stone or to review the gathering of his armies with his many sons and wives and all the high members of his court. But those Faerekind that flew high overhead and watched did not speak to those creatures below, or those people or those rivers, or to the rows of wheat that they grew in some faint semblance of the grass that had once sprouted there. Rarely did they allow themselves to be seen, except in the distance, perhaps, safe from the bite of the high-flung arrow. To Cupeldain they returned to tell of what they had seen. As the marching armies came toward them, all of the Faerekind in Cupeldain's city watched in horror and disbelief. Some went to Aperion and cried, "What shall we do? For they are grim and vast in numbers, and they have murder upon their faces."
"They cannot fly into the air as we," said Aperion, "nor do they abide upon the earth but for a short while. They are weak creatures and are cursed with all manner of pain and longing, springing from their lowly bodies. What is there to fear of them? Let them be as they are and have what they wish, for all will return to Beras after a time, as is His intent, and we will see their passing away."
"What of our cities? What of our gardens that we made with our hands and that give us pleasure?"
"It is not from such made things that we sprang, but from that which made the stone of your cities, and from that which made the flowers that grow in your gardens, and we sprang also from the water that runs across your terraces, and from the air that blows the scent of your blossoms. The Dragonkind cannot unmake Beras, nor can they stay his Intent."
"But it is cruel, what they do. If we are but the hand of Beras, then surely it is an offense to him that the works of his children are cast down and trodden to dust."
Aperion then understood that many of his own kind had become attached to the things of the earth and to the objects made by their hands, and he saw that they no longer felt as strongly the Force behind those things.
"Beware that you do not act as those you fear," he said to them, "lest you take up their ways and become as they are."
But Cupeldain and the others with him understood little and heeded less of Aperion's words. From their high places in the cities, they watched the armies hack through the forests and swarm through the mountain passes between the Dragonlands and Faerum. Deer and elk, docile and tame, they slaughtered to eat, and birds for their feathers, and the bear for his skin. In horror, Cupeldain watched from the tower of his castle, his eyes stinging with tears. And when the armies came to his city, the Dragonkind were at first baffled, for there was no road into the city and no gate. But what use are these to Faere who are lifted up by their wings over the walls of their cities and who need not tread the ground or crush a leaf with their feet? Here, the Dragonkind camped and made engines of wood and stone and iron, the smoke of their fires and forges choking the air along with the sound of anvils, mallets, and drums. Strange and cumbersome devices they made, dark of purpose, and with them they came again unto the walls of the city. They pounded the walls with the great battering hammers they had made, slung by ropes from carriages and scaffolds. Day and night, they smote the walls, and day after day and night after night, until at last they made cracks in the statue-covered ramparts until they crumbled away into rubble and ruin.
It was then that many of the Faere, still innocent and without understanding, were taken by the intruders. And when Cupeldain saw them murdered, he cried out and fetched his sword and flew into the midst of the enemy and cut down all the Dragonkind that he reached. Others joined him and in their fury they put to death all they found, soaking the ground with the blood of the Dragonkind, those that fought against them and those that tried to flee. But few Dragonkind escaped, and the fey defenders of the forest lands flew across the desert and, coming upon Tyrsharat, wreaked such blood that Kalzar himself was in fear and joined the battle.
Then, as the height of the battle was reached, and Cupeldain plied with Kalzar, sword against ringing sword, darkness fell upon the earth. Torch fires gave no light, nor did Lady Moon or any of her retinue of stars look down from the heavens. And a great fear came over all, Faere and Dragonkind alike, so that they paused in their killing.
Aperion's voice, full of the might and spirit of Beras, parted the black silence.
"Come!" he commanded. And the wings of all Faerekind moved and flew of their own accord, obeying some higher master than the bodies to which they were attached. Away they flew from Tyrsharat, and from all other parts of the earth, over the blackened desert and through the blinded sky and beyond the lightless forests and onto the wide plains where Aperion waited. All the Faere of all the lands of the earth were called, those in battle and those who knew nothing of it. Those of the forests, and those of the rivers, and those of the sea. All were gathered on the plain in a vast host, and they saw each other in the red light of Aperion's golden anger.
"A new place is prepared, and now we must depart this world to await the will of Beras!" he said to them sternly. "Follow now along the way I go."
But there was hesitation among many of the Faere, who muttered, "Why must we go? We have done no harm to any creature, and our conversation with the earth is not broken."
"We cannot depart and leave our work unfinished!" cried Cupeldain, still breathing with the heat of battle and soaked with the blood of Dragonkind. A rejoin of like sentiment went up from his people, still gripping their swords and anxious to complete their vengeance.
"You have parted yourselves from the intent of Beras and love too much that which Beras gives rather than He who gives it."
"We will not go!"
"We cannot go!"
"Look there!" Aperion pointed at Sir Sun, who was red with anger, and who was retreating with haste to that place beyond the western rim of the world. And very close at his side was his Lady Moon, who covered her face for shame.
"All those who stay beyond the passing of Sir Sun's purple hem shall bear the punishment of their desire. Verily, the weight of their hearts shall be their reward. All those who still rejoice are welcome into our new home."
And so Aperion departed quickly upward into the sky, followed by a host of the Faerekind. But many hesitated, not wishing to leave their lovers or their fathers or mothers or children. Some did not wish to leave their fields or forests, and many spoke to one another, muttering words of wonder that Aperion would leave so, and with him such a host of Faerekind. Those of the deep forest or gentle sea who knew nothing of Cupeldain made to depart back to their homes. And those who wished to resume their battle against the Dragonkind moved to return with Cupeldain to those lands. But as the sun disap
peared, their wings grew weak, and they fell to the ground or into the treetops or upon the waves of the sea.
"Why does my body fail me!" cried Cupeldain as he alit on a high hill. "What sensation is this to be pulled to the earth? This pain that burns my back and this emptiness that grows in my belly? How is it that this sword grows heavy in my hand when it was but a feather moments ago?"
As he pondered these new and curious sensations, his dripping sword became too heavy to hold. The burning of his back grew more painful, the hunger of his stomach spoke loudly. He cried aloud, gathering his wings about him for warmth against the cold night air. But his wings did not obey him, and he pulled them with his hands, feeling the life go from them. And, as everywhere around him the sounds of agony and shock of all the Fallen Ones rose up from the lands, their wings crumbled and fell away as dust.
• • •
That was how it was that the Elifaen lost their wings. They bear the scars of what they lost even to this day, and all their offspring, too. From that day to this one, those of the Faere race who remained in the world have felt hunger and cold. The stone bruises their feet, and the thorn cuts their flesh. For all the days of their lives, they endure the memory of what they lost, yet they are unable to succumb to sickness, or to hunger, or to pain, or even to age. The peace of death comes to them only through violence or, sometimes, through deep inconsolable sadness.
Chapter 15
Highway Robbery
The day stretched on as Ashlord told his tales, and, early in the afternoon, the company descended into a deep wood where autumn had hardly yet touched the leaves. They listened to the end of his telling and rode along in silent consideration. Robby, who continued alongside Ashlord, still had many, many questions. And he longed to tell Ashlord why he needed to go to Tulith Morgair. Tugging at his vest, he also wanted to do as Mirabella had instructed, and show Ashlord the coins she had sewn into the lining of the vest. But he never seemed to find the right moment with Ashlord, away from the others so that he could speak privately with him. And, besides, until he got to Tulith Morgair and saw the place for himself, and saw what proof, if any, there was to the Dragonkind woman's existence outside of his dreams, Robby thought it best to keep all that to himself. Perhaps his worries were making free with his imagination, and his dreams were merely the reflections of a confused mind. So Robby carried on his internal conversations, circling and circling, pondering Lyrium's visit, the situation at home, the plight of Tallinvale, and, now, the tale Ashlord had just related. As Robby was of late often seen to do by his companions, and noticed no less by Ashlord, he shrugged and shook his head. But he said nothing.
The Nature of a Curse (Volume 2 of the Year of the Red Door) Page 38
