Tithe to Tartarus

by John C. Wright

  Like a fire arrow, like a shooting star, Luel darted from Yumiko’s trembling hand toward the amber doors of the chamber. The key had been left in the lock. The brightly shining fairy girl thrust her foot into the bow of the key and whirled about it like a ballerina executing a spin. There came a chime of noise when the lock opened.

  Luel raised her other foot and placed it between the leaves of the door. There came a spray of sparks, like the tail of a skyrocket, which pushed against the other leaf of the door while sending her shooting backward, and this forced both leaves wide open. Then, laughing and kicking her legs, she broke the key in the lock, so there was no way to turn or fasten it again.

  Ither stood and drew his dirk. “Surrender! Yield!” He shouted.

  Yumiko said, “I yield. I have no wish to–” but her voice was weak and thin, her head was light, and shadows were pulsing at the edge of her vision, threatening to drive her unconsciousness.

  But at the same moment Luel swooped down, swelled from insect size to doll size, picked up the bow and arrow Yumiko had dropped during the moment of darkness, and thrust them into Yumiko’s hands.

  Ither, seeing the bow in her hands, roared and leaped. Yumiko was shocked at how swiftly he moved. He slapped the longbow out of her hands and pinned both elbows behind her back with one arm. She squirmed, trying to get her feet under her, to find some leverage. The blades in her shoes popped open, but she was in no position to slice or cut his feet. Blades along her forearms opened, and stiffened, and cut his silk sleeves, but they scraped against the mail sleeves underneath. Now he put the dirk at her throat. She struggled, wild with fear, but the teenage elf held her as easily as a grown man would a child.

  Her earlier fight with the human men had deceived her. She was as strong and fast as they were, but she was not as strong and fast as a male of her own race. And the elf was not her race. He was a thoroughbred whereas she was but a half-breed. For the first time, she wondered if the arrogance of the long-lived elves toward the Moths and Cobwebs and other half-humans was justified.

  2. Fairy Nicety

  Yumiko brought the wirepoon pistol out of its hidden wrist-sheath and shot the barb of the grapnel into and through Ither’s foot, pinning it to the floor. At the same time, she clicked the tongue control inside her mask to deploy the snorkel, which came out of the top of her mask with a rubbery pop of noise and struck him neatly in the eye.

  The knife blade scraped against the collar of her suit, but the young squire did not use enough force to penetrate an unexpectedly metal-hard resistance in what had been soft as leather a moment before. She flexed her shoulders, deploying the glider wings into a stiff, metallic shape. Retracting the forearm blades also made her arms suddenly thinner in his grasp. His grip slipped, and she writhed out of it, sleek as an eel.

  Across the chamber she somersaulted, but landed in the palm of Batraal son of Barkayal, who had grown to an even larger size, and thrust his hand up to the elbow into the chamber.

  He closed his fingers, crushing wings against back and arms against sides. Her legs were kicking in midair below his pinky. Her shoulders were trapped in a shrug in the circle of his forefinger. He put his thumb with menacing gentleness on her crown between the pointy fox ears of her headgear. He need only straighten this thumb to snap her neck.

  Luel once again darted across the room, picked up the dropped longbow, and came to where Yumiko’s pinned hands were wiggling and scratching against the thighs of her boots. Luel hovered at her left hip and thrust the bow into Yumiko’s surprised fingers.

  Yumiko gasped to Luel, “Help me! Get me out of this!”

  Ither was kneeling, yanking at the barb impaling his foot. He gasped to Batraal, “Slay him! Slay Winged Vengeance!”

  Batraal said, “Feels kind of soft and slight to be him… I do not think this is Winged Vengeance. For one thing, he looks like a crow. For another, we are alive.”

  Luel landed on the nose of her mask and curtseyed. “I have helped you, just as you said! I have neither maimed nor slain you or any; opened the doors specified in the time and fashioned specified, nor can they be locked shut again, and your bow is in your hand. You are allowed to shoot and have my permission. It is no doing of mine that you lack the present ability to act on that permission. No more was asked.” She ticked off each item on her fingers, and when she was done, she clapped her hand with her fingers spread and jumped up and down on the mask nose.

  Ither and Batraal continued to argue.

  “Smash the other bottles!” gasped Yumiko.

  Luel pouted. “I did what you said! You said you wanted to shoot arrows into the bottles with the door open! There is the open door! There are all the bottles with my sisters in them! There is your bow! You said nothing about smashing before. What is wrong with you?”

  “Free them! Free Elfine!” cried Yumiko.

  “I hate the daughters of Eve!” Luel clenched her fists and clenched her teeth. “They never want what they ask for! Even if you listen carefully, with both ears, and do everything exactly as they say!” Luel gave an energetic dance of frustration on the nose of the mask, as if she were about to kick Yumiko in the eye, and this made Yumiko by reflex jerk back her head, and this snapped the mask open and flung Luel overhead and back out of sight.

  Luel circled back like an angry wasp, glowing red like a ruby star. “I did as you said and just as you said! My debt is gone! I have already forgotten you!”

  Ither yanked the grapnel out of his shoe, and the bloody metal hook retracted, hissing back into the pistol in Yumiko’s right hand. He took up his knife and came limping across the floor toward where she hung in the Nephilim’s fist.

  Yumiko said desperately to Luel, “Wait! I said you had to wait until I specifically said to close the doors again!”

  The light surrounding Luel turned a brighter shade of crimson. “You did not! You said I had to make sure they stayed open until you said otherwise. Since I broke the key off in the lock, they will stay open forever up until the moment you say that word and thereafter. I have done all! No changing your mind! No taking back what you said!”

  And with that, she dwindled to a mote, a speck, a bright atom, and she was no more to be seen.

  Ither came near and flourished his knife. “Flick your thumb, Batraal! We can use the assassin’s head for a hurling ball! Why do you wait?”

  A low and solemn voice said, “No. Hold your hand. Slay her not.”

  Yumiko craned her neck to turn her head and peer through the crystal sides of the cauldron. Garlot was seated on the far side. He had not moved, but now his open eyes were awake.

  3. Vengeance Is a Girl

  Ither was now just below her, looking up. “Batraal! Winged Vengeance is a girl! Most unexpected. Look! There is a light caught in her eyes. She is of the lineage of Amaterasu of the Sun. Her face is bright and full of passion. Hold her nearer! Hold her still! I will kiss her.”

  Garlot said, “Do not kiss her.”

  Ither looked over his shoulder. “But, master, she is so pretty, she must be a Moth. They are said to be sweet on the lips.”

  “Would you shame my name, squire? Take no untoward advantage of any lady.”

  “But she is a Moth, not a lady! And she stabbed me in the foot.”

  “She is the Foxmaiden, who slays the women Winged Vengeance is too proud to slay. She no doubt has a spring-loaded poisoned switchblade hidden under her tongue and will stab through the roof of your mouth into your walnut-sized brain if you molest her. Prepare the hook and winch to fish Althjof out of the cauldron. Batraal, place her in the chair facing me.”

  Yumiko was pushed in the chair. The huge hand held her there. The amber substance of the back and the armrests turned to liquid for a moment, and came about her like lariats of glass, and solidified again. A chair leg snared her ankles.

  4. The Red Knight

  Garlot turned his bloodstained eyes toward her. As he spoke, his words were slow and labored, as if his wound pained him. He never stirre
d so much as a finger but held completely still as he spoke. “I offer you a trade. You will forgive the discourtesy of my affectionate chair, and I will forgive your trespass into this chamber, where none of your race may come. Do you accept?”

  “Yes.”

  She spoke without hesitation. She was not sure what penalty or curse normally accompanied any trespasser caught in an elfin treasure chamber. No doubt it was worse than anything she could do to him in retaliation for trapping her in a magic chair. It sounded like a good bargain to her.

  He said, “Are you here to free my collection of fairies?”

  “Yes.”

  “That is unwise. Two of them granted you boons to repay your kindness. Were you satisfied?”

  Yumiko said, “Pardon me. I do not know what that question means.”

  “Heaven punishes mortals by letting mortal wishes be granted to instruct each fool to know that earthly life has nothing an immortal soul craves. Heaven punishes fairies by letting them recall their old obedience. This is to instruct them in thanksgiving, a source of joy unknown to melancholy elfs.”

  “I was not satisfied with the boons they granted. What obedience?”

  Garlot said, “In the first days, before the Tree of Life was felled, the sons of Adam were sovereign over nature. Storms grew calm at the command of Cain; Seth trod on scorpions and dragons unhurt; Abel the Just ascended up on high, beyond where eagles fly, and builded him an altar in the clouds. Rumor says Sarras once stood on the same spot in the middle air.”

  This seemed to be saying that fairies and elfs originally were made to serve mankind, not to rule them. Yumiko said, “If I command you to release me, will you?”

  “Interesting question. In whose name would you ask if you were to ask?”

  “In the name of Arthur.”

  “He is king no longer. He died.”

  “They say he sleeps.”

  “Do they? Do they really?” A hint of amusement hid in his voice.

  “In the name of Christ then.”

  “Even more interesting. Are you baptized? By what right do you call upon that name?”

  She stared at his impassive face. His eyes were heavy, his lids were half closed, and he showed no expression, nor did he blink. She found this unnerving. She twisted her wrists and ankles but could not dislodge them.

  She said, “I don’t know if I have the right.”

  He said, “Then I don’t know what will happen in this place if you call on that name. I hear he killed the Great God Pan, and this was not long after he drove a host of fallen ones out of their house and into a herd of swine, which drowned themselves in the sea. That host, or some horde of evil ones doing work in their name, is in this city. But I notice you do not think to ask me in the name of Erlkoenig, who is my liege and master. Why is that?”

  She said, “Erlkoenig did not send you to fight Sir Gilberec the Swan Knight. Would he be displeased to learn?”

  “You know much,” he said, and his eyes narrowed slightly. “If he learned you have the Ring of Mists, that might well bring on you more trouble than your current playmates, bandits, cutthroats, and Cobwebs with delusions of grandeur. I offer you another trade. You keep my secret from Erlkoenig, and I keep yours. Do you accept?”

  “Yes.”

  “You answer with alacrity. Most folk would ponder longer or be wary of unspoken conditions, clauses, or assumptions. Most would ask to consult their lawyers.”

  “Elfs have lawyers?”

  “Elfs invented lawyers. It is one of the few inventions humans copied from us, rather than the other way around.”

  Something moved in the depth of her buried memory at these words and caught her attention. It was as if something important, something forgotten, was hidden behind the idea. “Elfin life is copied from human life? Why is that?”

  For the first time, he showed expression. His brows moved upward infinitesimally. “All know why.”

  “I do not. Tell me, please.”

  “The Sons of Adam were made in the image and likeness of the Creator, and so they are creative, even in their fallen state. Sons of Air are made in the image of Adam, and we copy him.”

  “But you copy only the Middle Ages?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You have swords and sailing ships, but no atom bombs or moonrockets.”

  “Our hearts delight in the forms Man invented when he was at his finest. When holy saints and chivalrous heroes walked the earth, even the lordliest of elfs feared to meddle with them. Arondight could have destroyed us all, but no atom bomb could.”

  “Who is Arondight?”

  “The blade of Lancelot du Lac, given to England just as Kusanagi was given to Japan and Joyeuse to France. It was struck from his hand by the good fortune of his adultery and his treason to his best loved friend and liege. Praise be to whatever devil tempted him! Do you think these pale and sickly modern men could resist a woman one-tenth as fair as Genevieve? Do you think they would bow the knee to Arthur? Only to gather stones to stone him. Modern man is mostly matter. We are mostly spirit. Only what is deep in dreams is solid to us, and high, fine, and ancient things gather dreams about them which do not die. We do not copy the art and artifacts of dim and dismal days like these, lest our houses look like homes in Hell.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You saw the proud towers in whose shadow we rode to come here. Desolate, arrogant, empty. That is the true appearance of the soul of New York. The spirit of the city is dead, and elfs know the art of walking alive into the dreams where the ghosts of those not yet called to judgment wander.”

  Yumiko was a little miffed at his dismissive tone. “What about moonrockets? Merlin never built one of those.”

  “Men of this day went to the moon but did not go back. The rockets rot, and the engineers forget their lore. Whereas Arthur did not build half a tower at Camelot, nor fight half a battle at Badon Hill, nor did Saint Patrick drive half the snakes from Ireland. These little men of these little days have conquered more of nature and less of spirit until they have not enough spirit to rule what they conquer. We are long-lived folk, long in foresight and long in memory, and we do not forget. But who are you?”

  Yumiko was surprised. “I thought you knew. I am the Foxmaiden.”

  5. The Maiden of the Moths

  “You are the servant and disciple of Winged Vengeance? He has the last cloak from Sarras, and he flies, not swift and high like a bird, but as a dark angel. If you are she, how can you not know what every child knows?”

  “There is much I have forgotten.”

  “Are you a Moth?”

  “I am. Why do you ask?”

  “I was expecting the minion of Winged Vengeance to be a Peaseblossom.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he is alone. You are alone. Moths flock.”

  Yumiko said, “Elfine Moth is in this chamber. You must release her.”

  “Must I?”

  “Yes.”

  “You seem quite certain.”

  Yumiko did not know, and had no guess, as to why he had not slain her instantly, but she assumed he wanted something from her he could not gain by force or magic. So she did not answer but merely assumed a relaxed posture, that is, as relaxed as a girl can assume when she is pinned in place. She could cock her head to one side with an air of nonchalance and stare at the ceiling.

  He said, “What would you have of me?”

  That was an unexpected comment. He must be in a very bad bargaining position, pressed for time, desperate.

  She said, “All your prisoners in this chamber released, starting with Elfine Luminiferous Moth.”

  “So many fairies in Manhattan? They will cause mischief and madness. It is the high will and command of Erlkoenig that such as these remain in Troynovant, in the Third Hemisphere men never see. By coming here, they trespass. I am in my rights to keep the king’s law. It is finer here than the dungeons of Mommur.”

  “As each is freed, she will offer a b
oon to her savior. Is there no place where they could be free and happy, free of mischief, and Erlkoenig also be happy? We have ten thousand spirits in Japan. We have room.”

  “There is a colony in Cottingley, England, and another in Boxerwood, Virginia. Will that do?”

  Yumiko said, “Unlike the fairies, you understand the spirit in which I ask.”

  “I do not. Sending a Moth to free a Moth—that I understand because you hang together and side with no one. By why do you care about these diminished ones? They will never be grateful. They will not remember. You will gain nothing.”

  “Your boy wanted to molest me, and you stopped him. You gained nothing. How is this different?”

  His eyes narrowed. “You are a vigilante. You live for vengeance. I am a knight. I live for honor, just as bards live for truth and philosophers live for beauty.”

  “You strike men down from behind, unseen. How is this honor?”

  Ither was occupied in erecting a large tripod over the cauldron. Batraal had resumed his former size of merely ten feet or so and was steadying the structure with one hand while Ither lashed the beams in place.

  Looking down from above, Ither said, “Hoy! What molesting, you saucy half-breed wench? A privilege never forgotten! A single elfin kiss makes all mortal kisses afterward more unbearable than kissing a dog!”

  Garlot turned his bloodshot eyes but otherwise did not move. “Silence. The life and death of Althjof hangs in the balance pans on the whim of this Moth lass. If she asks for your head, I will give it to her.”

  6. Well Water and Wine

  Then, the eyes turned back toward her and grew narrow, as if he winced in pain. “My honor is much stained, for I am a bad knight, and where is the flood of the fountain that can wash the stains from my soul, the blot from my escutcheon? Elfs do not forget.

  “But still a knight I am!” he continued, bitterly. “Erlkoenig has no Winged Vengeance to terrify his foes with sudden death swooping from dark clouds. But I am the next best thing. If I am feared rather than honored, then this is drinking well water when the wine is gone. By why free my collection? I am within the law. They are not of your blood.”