From the opening, cinematic sequence of that bright, innocent leaf sweeping out of the sun and into the shadow, we enter a world both alien and hauntingly familiar. All the power Carolyn brings to creating believable aliens carries us into that most mysterious of ancient mindsets, only one step removed from our own, a mindset that holds all the psychological seeds to what we are and what we believe, yet defying all twentieth century logic and philosophy.
There’s nothing standard or safe about this Celtic-based fantasy. It holds nothing sacred, not the ancient beliefs as archeologists understand them, and certainly not the modern one-step-short-of-angels approach to elves and fairies. Faery is as faery was: dangerous. Things that go bump in the night.
Even as we follow Caith on his geas-enforced mission— as we see him used and manipulated by both the forces of Faery and those practitioners of more ancient magics, those who call on the gods of blood and water and fire— a part of us, that twentieth century individualist we all carry in us, resists being swept up in fate and geas and godly whim. Our modern selves, steeped in self-determination, insist Caith has to win.
Caith has no free will; he lost that when he made his pact with Faery.
We resist that concept. We seek a happy ending for Caith, a man ‘cursed and doomed to do Faery’s dirty work,’ a man in a constant struggle to understand which decisions are inevitable and where he has the ghost of a choice.
But is fey-fated destiny all there is to Caith, a.k.a. Faery in Shadow? Not by any means.
Caith has his own opinion, and even prideful Faery, just occasionally, has to compromise.
The Making of
Faery Moon
by
C.J. Cherryh
The larger part of this story was originally published by Ballantine-Del Rey as Faery in Shadow. And Dubhain must have presided over its birth, since if anything could go wrong in the writing of this book, it did.
First, I lost my editor: Lester del Rey unexpectedly died, to my great distress, and the new editors, arriving after a little time gap, wanted a copy of the rough manuscript before I had had a chance really to edit it, because DelRey Books was in crisis, the whole production schedule was behind and they wanted to hit the ground running. I never let out copies of my roughs. But I wanted to be cooperative. I sent what I had.
They absolutely hated it.. But it was already in schedule. They disapproved of the dark tone, to say the least. I think they expected nice fairies.
They offered a face-to-face meeting— to get to know each other. The lunch meeting was not auspicious, though cordial, and they clearly thought anyone who wrote dark elves was not their kind of people.
Worse happened. Lighting struck, literally: a charge from a passing thunderstorm ran down an iron girder, surged through our house wiring and took out my computer, leaving the new editors with the only entire copy in the whole world of that book. I phoned them in some agitation and told them not to lose it, silently hoping they wouldn’t burn it.
At this point I’m sure they added crazy to their estimation of me.
I spent the next while desperately trying to recover something of the file from the trashed hard disk, and got back most of it.
But by this time the book was going into print, and into print it went. The file I had at home was missing large sections of the book and the ending. At a certain point one becomes overwhelmed in a copyediting situation and just doesn’t know what to do. They changed things. I let things ride. And there was yet another glitch. With all the chaos in the New York office, the British book came out first, and is technically the first edition. American distributors didn’t understand that, to say the least, so American distribution was abysmal. The book sank like a stone...in America, thus vindicating my new editors’ opinion.
So the situation sat for a number of years. My British editor loved the book— the one bright spot in the story. And eventually I recovered the rights, but never brought the book back into publication— until now.
And once I launched into the project of bringing it out as an e-book, I had two choices before me: scan in the extant published book, and work from that— or go from my file and try to do what I would have done had I had the chance.
I looked at both, and found my damaged file to be, in many ways, fresher and more direct than the published work. I liked it better. It was the story at a slightly more primitive stage, before the editorial mesalliance that took charge of it.
So I lit into it in full re-write mode, meaning nothing was safe, not a letter, not a comma, and certainly not the semicolons, which are really hard to see in modern typeface. I had, in short, the chance to make it the book I wanted it to be, with what I know now.
What resulted had to have a new copyright and is not the old book. So I gave it a new title, and did a revision of the Brothers, the short story from which it originated, as part one of the new edition.
When I started this story, in the long ago, I used the Celtic elements that Tolkein, according to what I’ve read, rejected as too dark— or as just not to his liking, or perhaps even as a little too common to his world. But I like the Celtic creatures, and find poetry in them. So that’s what I used.
Celtic elves are forces of nature. You can’t call them bad or cruel— they just are, like a windstorm or a bolt of lightning, and are mostly concerned with their own plans. If you cross those plans, it’s your misfortune. So Caith’s love-hate relationship with Nuallan is founded on a little misunderstanding they once had.
I took another chance on the language: you’ll notice that Dubhain’s accent is broader and older than Caith’s, by a little. Dubhain is older than Caith by, oh, the age of the world, though he doesn’t look it. Or act it. And the others in the story are younger than Caith by considerable, though he doesn’t age since his encounter with Faery. I asked my British editor if I had gotten it right, and he thought so. So I felt a little safer. And I hope you’ll enjoy ‘hearing’ the lilt of the language.
I’ve included a dictionary of the less common words and concepts at the end, but you may want to look up some of the names further on your own: they’re very interesting.
FAQ
Faery Moon
Q: What is the symbolism behind the gods at the start of Faery in Shadow ?
A: (And by the way, this isn’t a spoiler of an answer. The incident in question happens early on in the book.)
Caith, the protagonist, enters a new valley, loses his companion Dubhain, who’s a pooka in his spare time, and somewhere into the bargain stumbles into a god overgrown with weeds...
A number of things then follow, and the meaning is as follows:
He’s in a new place. He’s found the god neglected.
This is the Celtic god of the wheel, who is perhaps Lugh, the sun, or occasionally Taranis, the god of lightning. The symbolism of either is fairly evident. Either is a god who does take blood sacrifice...and if you look either up in Celtic reference, the symbols go right back to the dawn of anything we know of European history.
This is what Caith has met. This is why he jumps back and takes his hand off the image: the god of light and a dangerous one, buried in vines and neglect, forecasting things out of joint in this vicinity. If Dubhain hadn’t gone missing, Caith might have climbed right back up the fells and gotten out of the place.
But Dubhain is missing, and it is clear that nothing is right with the area. Caith has to pay to get Dubhain back, and pay in a very minor way, but— while it is very minor; it conjures the harm in the place at the same time. They’ve stirred matters up, the Sun god is overthrown here by other powers, and Dubhain being himself a power of the darker sort, his mischievous nature rises.
Dubhain was damned by faery for a good deed in events recorded inThe Brothers. Being a pooka, he’s supposed to drown his riders in the nearest body of water, but he had an attack of curiosity or kindness toward Caith, and consequently has to accompany Caith in his wanderings. His name means Dark or Black, which I think a fine name for a pooka.
Caith on the other hand was prepared through decades of faery revenge on a cruel and wicked house to be the downfall of his clan. Faery didn’t expect the final son of this house, Caith, to be a man of honor— which proves that the best laid plans of men and elves gang aft a-gley, and that some power doesn’t let even the elves get too smug about their righteousness. The elves put themselves in a terrible position, having engineered a doom— and having to bring it down— on a fairly innocent man.
The elves knew when they had been chastised by Something Higher, and Caith having double crossed faery by doing what he did for selfless and true reasons, and the pooka having turned out to be Caith’s salvation and not his death, well, the two of them have thus placed faery in a very bad position. Caith might eventually be redeemed. Though exactly what the redemption is for a pooka who’s failed to be bad is up for grabs.
I’ve seen a lot of Celtica based on the Mabignogeon, but I went back to archaeological sources as well. It’s a fascinating period. There’s quite a lot of new archaeological work being done on this era, and I hoped to inspire some curiosity about the really old relics, going all the way back to the bogs and the country legends of powers resident in these areas. If you’ve been out in such places late by twilight, you know what I mean when I say anything’s possible.
Q: Why did you make The Brothers have such a grim ending? I wanted Caith to marry the young woman and settle down.
A: No, no, no. Certainly not that young lady! Besides, he’s on the run from the current love of his life...to whom he’s hardly ever spoken.
Caith, in The Brothers, was shown a vision that he would be responsible for the death of his best friend, marry his widow, and have everything he’s ever wanted...by destroying everything he loves.
So he’s fled all temptation.
And because Dubhain, in assisting Caith to rescue his brother, had done a good deed, violating the laws that govern pookas and the other dark Sidhe, faery sentenced Dubhain to go with Caith. Nuallan the elf decided it would keep the two of them honest.
Now, granted, the High Elves don’t come off too sympathetically here. But one of the things often left out of modern fantasy is that the elves were not uniformly kind. Tolkein had them so, while hinting at their other behavior, or covering it very remotely. I decided to create an elf of the older vintage.
But Nuallan’s not a bad elf. He does have a sense of responsibility. I think what the modern stories miss is that elves are elemental creatures, responsive to nature, no more kind and no more cruel. Nuallan is the one responsible for Caith’s plight, and he’s really putting Caith through so much grief so he can be redeemed— and telling Caith so would make it impossible to redeem him, because then Caith would know and modify his behavior.
Caith, who was brought up by pirates, isn’t interested in being redeemed. Just warm and dry, thank you.
You’ll have noticed, he’s a wee bit proud.
And he’s a human not afraid to let a High Elf know his opinion of his treatment. Loudly. He’s also not above giving Nuallan back a dose of his own medicine.
Caith is spooked when he finds the old statues at the first, because these are gods, not elves: what’s more, they’re old and hungry gods, and he fears them. And that’s why he s anxious to save Nuallan. Nuallan is a nature spirit, and must be destroyed or dominated by the gods to let gods rule the place. The witch can’t work through elves, as, being against life, she can’t work through nature. So she has to work through gods, to gain power over the elemental spirits like Nuallan. And what she would do is not a good thing.
That’s why Caith knows he has to help Nuallan, to overcome a witch who’s going to make a deal with gods that aren’t friendly to the power (Nuallan) that is the patron of himself and Dubhain.
So in that sense, there’s no unhappy ending. Caith’s much better off. Bruised, but much better off.
Secretly— he’d miss Dubhain terribly. Who else would understand him? And vice versa, though you’d never get Dubhain to admit it.You’ll notice Dubhain does show up when the going gets worst.
But in faery, things happen in threes, and a curse once set off has to run its course. Remember when Dubhain is seized by his ‘fit’ at the beginning?
The bane of the valley has affected Dubhain’s dark nature, and he struggles to warn Caith against the forces that are trying to draw him to the dark side. It’s a serious battle for the wight against powers very much akin to him, and though he jokes about it, he’s fighting for his pooka soul against a Power that’s trying to claim him.
Caith early on encounters the god in the vines. This warns him this is a place of Old Powers. Danger, danger, danger. He’s lost Dubhain. Dubhain is a Dark Power— not evil, mind you, but dark: there’s a difference. Dark means drawing its strength from mother Earth, and a time before Men were on the earth. Dubhain will resonate to any Dark Power in the vicinity, and all Old Powers except the Sun and Moon are Dark. You’ll have noticed it’s night at this point in the story.
Caith of course runs for it, and overcomes the first Faery Test, by getting out of the creature’s reach. And he calls Dubhain.
Who now, finally, can answer him. Why? Because the immediate conditions of the geas that held Dubhain from helping Caith are satisfied. Caith has rescued Dubhain in that sense, or Dubhain might have been lost both to Nuallan and to Caith. Faery, dark or bright, has to play fair: there’s an over-all Balance that has to be kept, in the faery realm, and there are laws to any act of magic.
Note the places in the story where Dubhain comes and goes. The threat is working hard on him. And he’s struggling to do another Good Thing, pooka though he is.
Dare a pooka hope the High Elves might have a place for him? Far from certain. And Nuallan, the fair, the virtuous— has double-crossed Caith before. Is Nuallan playing fair or not? Dare Nuallan tell all he knows, or why he risks so much for a mortal he treats so badly?
If I have my way, there’ll be more of this pair someday.
Faery Lexicon
ain: own
a-gley: amiss, wrong
Badbh: (BAHv) war goddess: the Battle Crow
bain sidhe: pronounced ‘BAN-shee’, the weeper, a woman in white who washes bloody clothes in a convenient stream and wails about the house walls at night: when she appears, it is an omen of impending death.
bane: harm
barley-straw: symbol of fertility and life. It is also used to make effigies which stand for living beings in sacrifice, a gentler custom than the old days.
Belenos: (be-LAY-nus) The shining god, one of the old gods, god of light and heat.
brae: hillside, slanted ground. As much of Scotland is hilly, there is very much of this kind of ground. ‘High ground,’as opposed to the glens.
Brown Man: a rural spirit, fond of cultivated grain fields. A peaceful fellow. He may help with the harvest if properly respected.
caer: stronghold
burn: a brook
Caith: (keith) means: man from the battlefield
Ceannann: (ka-AN-an: keenan) means: fair
cauldron: in Celtic lore, a symbol of the female principle, death and rebirth. The god of the dead, Arawn, has this cauldron: souls go into it to die, then acquire flesh and bone and go forth to rebirth. It is thus a symbol of death, rebirth, change, and female power.
Celtic calendar: The Celts observed lunar months, 13 to a year. A day started at dusk, carried through the next day, and ended with the next day at dusk. The new year started on the eve after the dark moon of Samhain (s’ow-EEN), which was determined by the rising of the new moon, not by the solar year— hence the habit, perhaps, of starting a day at the rising of the significant moon of what we call the eve of a day. The culture was tied closely to the moon, which they called the Queen of Heaven. More, they observed a Great Year, a long cycle, which was a thirty year cycle of lunar months plus intercalary days, which was observed with religious significance. The wheel often represents a year. It has four spokes, the fire-festivals
of Beltain and Samhain being two of the four. The other two are Imbolc (about February) and Lughnasadh (loog-NA-sah) (about August).
changeling: a faery child of unfriendly nature, left in a crib in trade for a human child desired by faery. It grows up difficult and troublesome and will usually go back to its own kind when it reaches its teens, often after causing a disaster in the house.
Cinnhfail: (KiN-vel) bright ring— Connell.
corrie: (COR-ry) a glacial cirque, or a rounded depression between two heights
crofter: small farmer: croft is a word for a smallholder’s farm, often in the hills.
Dagda, the: the good father, the good god
Danu: the goddess mother, consort of the Dagda
Daoine Sidhe: pronounced ’tHEE-na shee.’ The Fair Folk, the Great Sidhe, High Elves. There is another kind, the Drow, which are the dark elves.
drookit: (DROO-kit) soaked to the skin
dubh: (DU) dark, as in Dubh-lin, ‘dark pool,’ or Dubhain, ‘dark one.’
dun: (doon) fortress, castle
dun na ngall— (donn ne n GAL) misty castle. Donegal.
fay: the fay: the inhabitants of faery.
fey: gifted with the sight, with a destiny.
fiann: (finn) fair, in its several changes of spelling.
Firenne: (fih-REN) means: truth.
glas: (glass) grey
gleann: glen, a glacier-carved long valley common in Scotland . Usually there is a river running down the middle of it, and often a long lake where it reaches some low point.
gorse: (gorss) a low, tough shrub
God of the Wheel: Taranis, Thunderer, a sky god. The spoked wheel he holds is variously held to be the sun or the celestial wheel of the constellations, the latter as the source of lightning— sparks fly from its rim. In ancient ceremonies, burning wheels of brush were rolled downhill to quench themselves in bodies of water, in honor of Taranis, and to bring on the change of seasons. In more ancient times he was known to take human sacrifice.
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