by Ken Altabef
“Impersonate? For what reason?”
“To find out what they’re planning and, be it revolution, to stop it.”
“And what becomes of the original colonists?”
“I don’t know. Nothing good, I imagine.”
“A transatlantic crossing?” asked Theodora. “Think of the danger. And for what? The British don't understand faeries at all. We’re far more likely to support a revolution, not hinder it. Do we have anyone willing to make that journey, to devote themselves body and soul to the King’s cause?”
“Hardly,” said Eccobius, “But willingness has nothing to do with this. The subject has no choice in the matter. That's what conscription means.”
“Theodora, I don’t know what to do,” said Moonshadow. “I’ve never forced anyone to do anything. That's not our way.”
“Of course not. Damn, this is a problem. And maybe I’m responsible for this. We made promises, Eric and I. We said our people would behave as regular citizens. That we'd be loyal to the king. I never thought…”
“Well of course we should be loyal to the king,” said Eccobius. “And that should include supporting his efforts in the new world. This could be good for us. We could do well to establish a foothold there. If these two men are prominent, we could use their identities to further our own interests. A new world for us, too.”
Theodora was not interested. “Oh Moonshadow, what have we done? Don’t you see? It won’t end with just two. We’re too valuable to them. Conscript. They’ll use us all, if we let them. Faery corpses will litter their battlefields from Boston to Williamsburg.”
“Surely it won't be as bad as all that,” said Eccobius. “And all the more reason to prevent a civil war. If our agents are successful there will be no revolution, no bloodshed. Let’s keep a level head about this. There really is no other choice.”
“What happens if we refuse?”
“That's just it. We can't refuse. If we don't prove ourselves loyal subjects then what are we? Adversaries? Invaders? Traitors.”
“Rabble,” Theodora said. “Abercrombie called us that.”
“Useful citizens,” said Eccobius. “That’s what we want to be. We're completely surrounded here. Landlocked. Nowhere to hide. One squad of lobsterbacks in our midst is bad enough, but if the King sends his military against us in force...”
Theodora squeezed Moonshadow’s hand. “We should stand united and refuse. Simply refuse. This is our home. We have our own culture, our own legacy. If they want war, we’ll fight them. See how they like that.”
Moonshadow shook her head. “We won’t be able to fight them.”
“Of course not,” said Eccobius. “You want to raise a beautiful city here? They’ll burn it to the ground in a single day. And then they'll find their way underground.”
“We’d have to run again,” said Moonshadow. “We’d have to hide. It'll start all over again.”
There was silence for a beat as all three considered the same thought. They will hunt us down again.
Eccobius broke the silence. “We must cooperate.”
“I feel like such a fool,” said Theodora. “I should have expected this. We were so intent on getting out of the shadows, so fixated on establishing a place of our own. We just didn’t think.”
“So,” Eccobius asked Moonshadow. “What should I tell the Prime Minister?”
“I don’t know,” she replied. “I just don’t know. How long can you hold him off?”
“I don’t know.”
Chapter 22
The two combatants stepped forward. A small circle, not more than twenty feet across, had been cleared in the snow.
The brothers had wasted no time in issuing their challenges. Earlier in the day the Winter Court had buried their father, Og-Sethoth, the former king. In typical faery fashion the funeral involved no casket or embalming, nor any attempt to preserve the body. The departed was placed flat in the earth, arms outstretched to embrace the recycling efforts of the green. Welcome worm and beetle! Welcome hungry root! A sapling was planted atop the mound, an elder tree to join the others in the hidden witch-wood behind the cemetery at Newcastle-upon-Tyne. The entire Winter Court had assembled to pay their respects, drawn all from their woodsy houses and barrow holes in the surrounding county.
And now, on a chill night with a full moon, they had assembled again to witness the fight for succession.
Greenier was the elder son, Crow the young upstart. Both seemed eager for the fight.
Crow stepped into the ring, swinging his paired scimitars in a complicated routine to loosen his muscles. He had black hair—a rarity among faeries which Dresdemona shared—that hung straight just beyond shoulder length. If the dark hair had not been enough to merit his nickname, he dressed all in black from head to toe. His build was slender and agile, his features pale and grim.
Greenier stood a few inches shorter, with a stout build that carried the extra heft around his belly that so often marked middle age. Typical of the Winter Court faeries, his skin and hair were green. A pair of short black horns projected from his brow, an indication of his noble heritage and stature. His skin was such a mottled and mossy green, it bore the semblance of soft pulpy flesh. But that impression would soon be proved wrong. His sinews were nothing if not hard and toned, his hideous strength undeniable. His weapon of choice was a long halberd with a wicked blade at its tip—a weapon that matched his fighting style—artful and swift with a penchant for deadly precision.
The two brothers faced each other as the crowd cheered. Their cries were a blanket encouragement to fight, while carefully avoiding naming a favored candidate. It would not do to show oneself on the wrong side of this battle. Dresdemona watched from the front ranks of the crowd, her sister Annis close at her side. Annis fidgeted nervously with the collar of her blouse, pulling strands of the leafy fabric into her mouth and chewing them. She whimpered softly in anticipation. Soon she would watch one of her brothers die.
Without further ado the brothers engaged. Greenier’s weapon had the benefit of greater range and he swept the halberd in carefully controlled arcs in front of his brother. He would not make the mistake of sweeping too wide and allowing one of the deadly scimitars to do their work. Crow deflected the halberd’s blade time and again, seemingly without effort. It was apparent that the two brothers had sparred many times over the years and were quite familiar with each other's tactics.
The two fighters took a moment to rest. As if on cue, they released their wings from beneath the folds of skin on their backs. Greenier had four membranous wings in the manner of a dragonfly. Crow had only two but his were sturdier, unfolding as they slipped through tailored slits in the back of his black leather jerkin.
A light snow began to fall.
And now, the preliminaries over, the battle joined in earnest. Both combatants took to the skies. Crow shot several feet into the air, going nearly straight up. Greenier soared up and to the side. It appeared his added bulk would not serve him well in aerial battle.
They can fly, thought Dresdemona in wonder. They can really fly! Not even the fabled Effranil could do that. But of course the haughty faeries of Avalon weren't willing to trick the world into letting them soar. They were too intent to live with it in harmony.
The two brothers disregarded all pleasantries now; they attacked each other with unrestrained ferocity. Crow swooped and lunged, spinning in the air, weapons flashing. Greenier held him off with the long halberd. His great rumble of a laugh drifted down to the crowd below.
“Why?” said Annis. “How can he… why… why is he laughing?”
“Probably to set his brother off guard,” said Dresdemona. “To mock him, get him angry and sloppy. He knows his brother well.”
Crow redoubled his attacks. He was certainly the more maneuverable in the air but Greenier’s defenses seemed impenetrable. As their blades clanged and clashed, flashing faery lights lit the night sky like Chinese fireworks. Red and purple, yellow and blue, each flash was so i
ntense they left painful after images in their wake.
Dresdemona had never seen two arch faeries batting each other at the height of their powers. The Winter Court were at their strongest during the season of the winter solstice and the full moon only enhanced their powers. As she watched, she grew certain she could not hope to defeat either of them in direct combat. She would have to find another way. But then again, after tonight there would only be one brother left to deal with.
Greenier employed a new tactic, using a glamour to distort the sky around his brother. Dark blotches appeared at various points between them, looking like oil slicks in the air. Thus distracted, Crow failed to deflect a killing stroke from the halberd. Only a twist at the last moment saved his life, but the thin blade sliced through his left thigh. He spun backward, purple faery blood spraying from the wound like a pinwheel.
Annis squealed with fright, grabbing Dresdemona’s arm just below the shoulder. In her terror she raked Dresdemona’s skin with her long black nails. Dresdemona shook her off, saying, “Buck up, sister. You know how this must end.”
“But not Crow! Not my beautiful Crow.”
Crow rejoined the battle. Taking a cue from his brother, he raised a slender curved dagger above his head. Using a glamour of his own, the dagger suddenly appeared as a dozen daggers all hurtling toward Greenier at the same time. Greenier rocked backward slightly but his gaze saw true and he picked the real dagger out of the sky with the tip of the halberd. He came around for another attack.
“He’s moving too slow,” said Dresdemona. “Is he tired already?”
Crow parried his brother’s advance, spiraling under and away, then coming right back from a different angle. He was now close enough to make a real threat of the dual scimitars. Greenier deflected several attacks before taking a wound to the shoulder.
“Ahhh!” screamed Annis. “Not Greenier! Don’t hurt him! Don’t hurt him!”
“Quiet down,” said Dresdemona, “or you will distract him and make him lose. He has problems enough already.” By this she meant that some trickery on the part of Crow was fast catching up to his brother. Dresdemona knew the signs. “He’s been poisoned.”
“No!” screamed Annis.
“All’s fair,” said a faery standing beside them.
Dresdemona wondered when he had done it, how he had done it. There had been thistlewine at the funeral, but she hadn’t seen Greenier with a cup in his hand. He had eaten the roast lamb, but so had she and many others. Won’t matter much in the end, she thought, long as it was done.
And the end would come soon. All the exertions of the battle and the need for flight was speeding the poison’s effects. Greenier barely moved, sitting in the sky like an easy target.
Now it was Crow’s turn to laugh as he hurled another illusion at his brother. Suddenly Greenier was surrounded by sharp yellow spikes that writhed like snakes all about him. Greenier waved dully at them, sending none of them away. His hand passed right through them.
Crow surged forward, a whirlwind of fresh snow trailing in his wake. He feinted left then rolled right. Greenier jabbed with the halberd, striking only empty air. Crow rose up behind his opponent, both scimitars in motion. Greenier grunted in pain as he was cut again and again.
“No, no no no!” said Annis. She tugged at Dresdemona’s arm again, burying her face in her shoulder.
“Leave off!” hissed Dresdemona. She wanted to see the finale.
The ending came swiftly then as Crow drove one of his blades straight into the back of Greenier’s neck. As the burly faery began to fall, Crow ripped one of his dragonfly wings from its socket. He followed Greenier to the ground. Greenier hit the snow with a dull thud and Crow was right on top of him, his scimitar rising and falling, drawing thin streaks of faery blood from his brother’s corpse.
“We have to leave, Dryxlla. We have to leave now. I can’t keep you safe.”
Threadneedle gestured rather pointlessly about Dresdemona’s bedroom. Perhaps he meant to draw attention to the opulence she would be leaving by running away or the loss of status that would ensue, but neither point bolstered his argument. Og-Sethoth’s house was the most impressive of all the Winter Court residences, fashioned from old witch-wood that some claimed was still half-alive. The structure, popularly called The Green Briar, was usually hidden from prying human eyes by a glamour that made it seem just another part of the Tremblay woods. But now that Og-Sethoth was gone, the glamour had dropped away, exposing the house to anyone who might happen by.
“Crow will restore the glamour,” Dresdemona said. “It’s a simple thing, well within his powers, I’m sure.”
“Humans aren’t the problem,” Threadneedle said, “Too much has happened, and too quickly. Things are too unsettled here—in this house. It’s too dangerous.”
Dresdemona scoffed. “Crow views me as a helpless sister, just like Annis. He won’t harm either of us.”
“It’s not Crow that poses the danger. It’s Bristlebane. He’s organizing the Hunt. He’s been whipping their blood up for days now. He intends to use them against Crow.”
“Oh, I see. Why challenge Crow directly when he has the Hunt to do it for him?”
“There’s already fighting in the wood,” Threadneedle said. “Faery barrows burning all along Newcastle-upon-Tyne. Crow doesn’t have enough loyalists to hold them off. This place won’t stand. Not against the Wild Hunt.”
“The Green Briar will stand. A change of ownership won’t bring her down.”
“A change of ownership writ in blood! I don’t understand how you can take this so lightly, Drez.”
Seeing the ineffectiveness of his words, Threadneedle tried another tactic. He took her in his arms. “Listen to me.”
Dresdemona had half a mind to throw him off. She didn’t need his protection. But she appreciated his effort. He did love her. She was a stranger among them, never quite accepted. Og-Sethoth’s pity had gone a long way toward protecting her these past few years but she had no real allies of her own. Except for her handsome young protector. She squeezed him back. He couldn’t resist kissing her, as if their dire circumstances had driven his passions to the boiling point. He kissed her again and again until she finally pulled away.
“The Winter Court is going to tear itself apart,” he said. “Bristlebane will destroy whatever support Crow can muster. You and Annis are targets too. He won’t let you live.”
“You’re certain Bristlebane will win?”
“Absolutely certain, yes.”
“Then you should take his side. Without delay.”
“Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said? I don’t want any side. I only want you. There’s still time for us to get away. I have contacts in Durham and other places. Secret places for us to hide. We can be together. The two of us. We can take Annis too if you like. But only if we hurry.”
“We have to stay,” she said. “I have to stay. After this thing burns itself out, there will be an opportunity for us to take control.”
“Take control? You can’t be serious.”
Dresdemona bristled at that. She wanted to point out that she wouldn’t have set this whole damn thing in motion if she wasn’t serious, but she’d said too much already.
She went to her night table and picked up the kalimba. She plucked a few random notes on the little instrument. “I appreciate the effort, Thread. I really do. But I don’t need your protection. Go to Newcastle. Pledge yourself to Bristlebane. If the Hunt succeeds, you’ll be in a good position. If Crow happens to win, I have enough influence with him to see that you are protected.”
“You’ll protect me?”
“Of course, darling.”
Tink. Tink-tink-tink.
Dresdemona plucked the notes out on the tines of her kalimba. The thumb organ produced a series of sharp tinny notes that she found completely unsatisfying. She heard the song so clearly in her head, as vibrant and frightening today as when she had first discovered it on her wild flight through the emotion trees of Ava
lon. It was bold, chaotic, dissonant, but it was her song. Hers alone.
She had not much time left. News from Newcastle indicated that Bristlebane’s forces, powered by the Wild Hunt, had already crushed most of the Og-Sethoth loyalists south of the Briar and sent the remainders to flight. Bristlebane rode at the forefront of the Hunt, the heads of Crow’s two main lieutenants adorning the runners of his war chariot. As always, the faery raiders left a trail of bloody carnage in their wake. But the victims this time were not the hapless farmers of the northern coast, not schoolteachers and priests fleeing faery vengeance, but fellow faeries. Blood ran purple instead of crimson.
The Tremblay forest burned with scarlet faery fire and Dresdemona wondered if Threadneedle had been correct in his predilections of doom. Would Bristlebane burn the Green Briar to the ground? No, she didn’t think so. Not before he stood triumphant over Crow’s mangled body. He would not let the son of Og-Sethoth be consumed by indifferent flames. Crow must be killed by his own hand. And after that no reason to destroy fabled Green Briar. After all, Bristlebane would have need of a seat of power for himself and this place would do very well by him.
In fact she already heard noises below. The clash of swords, a dying scream. It would not be long, she wagered, before the door to her bedroom was thrown open and fate caught up to her. She didn’t know Bristlebane well and there lay the chief weakness of her plan. She had hoped to serve under him in the Wild Hunt, to get to know him better, to understand his proclivities better, to uncover his desires, his weaknesses. But that was an opportunity Og-Sethoth had not allowed. Dresdemona reckoned it a fifty-fifty chance she would not survive the day.
She continued to pick out the notes of her song. The kalimba made the melody sound so petty and small. Not comforting at all. She imagined it as it should have been played by a full symphony orchestra in the high halls of Westminster. She pictured the elites of British society pressing their hands to their ears, trying to shut out its maddening cacophony. When that day finally comes, she thought, it will be glorious.
