Everbright

by Ken Altabef

  He straightened up.

  “There’s only one way out,” he said. “You have to forgive her. Willowvine. You must forgive her. It’s the only way to get rid of this poison. Trust me. You can do this, I know. I know. You’ve been abused and betrayed and you hate them. But we aren’t in the cellar any more, nor in Deepgrave. We are in Everbright. Everbright!”

  Damn it, he wasn’t getting through. He glanced around and saw that the scene had changed. The roof of the cavern had gone. He was at the center of a smoldering pit, open to the night sky. What new hell was this? He pulled himself up, scrabbling against the falling earth and ash as he climbed and lifted his head to peek above the rim. The pit was in the middle of Everbright. A sense of total doom descended upon him. The shining ideal that Everbright had meant to achieve was dead, the city itself a burned-out husk, with not a living soul left to tell the tale.

  “No. This won’t happen. This won’t happen.”

  The vision of a burned-out Everbright persisted. It was all gone. His knees buckled under the crushing despair. He lost hold and slid back down into the pit. And then the little girl’s laughter again. James turned round to see Gryfflet, as the young girl, laying atop the slab. Rosy cheeked and cheerful. Perhaps he was not too late. He rushed to her. But she was still, too still, empty eyes staring, unmoving. He reached a hand to shake her and her body crumbled away. It was only a paper-thin rind, an empty husk, with nothing left inside. Gone. Gone!

  The childlike innocence upon which Gryfflet had thrived for so long was gone, and it wasn’t coming back. She could not forgive. He was too late.

  “Too... late...”

  He didn’t have the strength left to argue. It was all for nothing, he thought. I will lay down beside her, and rest here.

  But the slab was only wide enough for one.

  “For… one…”

  He opened his eyes with a muffled scream. He was back on her cot, in her little apartment. He tore his hands from her face.

  “Gryfflet!”

  Her eyes fluttered open. And cast him a weary look. She tugged at her bedsheets, drawing them across her bony shoulder as she turned away.

  “It’s alright,” he said. “We’ll try again later.”

  But he knew she was beyond his reach.

  Chapter 25

  “For the record,” Theodora said, “I don’t believe you can actually do it.”

  Meadowlark stopped walking, put a hand to his heart as if mortally wounded. “Then whyever, pray tell, did you follow me all the way out here?”

  Theodora shrugged. “Nice day for a walk.”

  “That it is.”

  And indeed it was. A nice day to get away from Everbright and all of its aggravation, unexpected complexities and headaches. Och, better not to think of it. Better to walk and breathe and take in this lovely day. Theodora had visited this heath outside of Barrow Downes many times before. And now, in early summer, the grass on the gently rolling hills was a stunning emerald green, sprinkled with yellow dandelion buds; the sky shone clear blue all the way to the horizon, where the little farming town of Wolsingham lay to the west, just now opening its sleepy eyes to the cock’s crow. The meadow was dotted with trees, spaced in little handfuls like gossiping old folks huddled together for privacy.

  “This is one of my favorite places,” Meadowlark said, “just to walk and think.”

  “Mine too.” That Meadowlark could appreciate the quiet solitude of such a place as this surprised her. Theodora had never thought of him that way.

  “Right, then,” he said, with a smile. “Without further ado, a demonstration. Stand back a bit if you please and be amazed.”

  Theodora took two steps back.

  Meadowlark unfurled his wings through slits in the rear of his red jacket. Theodora seldom had occasion to see her friend’s wings. They were finely shaped, thin and translucent. The summer sunlight caught them magnificently, painting a shimmering rainbow across each. They were exquisitely beautiful.

  “Now,” he said, “take a deep breath. Concentrate. No, wait. Leave off! That’s what I’m supposed to do.”

  He made quite a show of it, with several deep breaths and an intense look of exaggerated concentration to the point where Theodora became convinced again that this was all merely a joke at her expense.

  Meadowlark had dressed for the occasion in a beautiful dinner jacket of crushed red velvet with a narrow waist, a flouncy shirt, black trousers and high buccaneer-style boots. He stretched up on his toes, as if to make himself look as tall as possible. And then slowly, almost imperceptibly, the toes of his boots began to rise up off the ground.

  “Don’t forget to be amazed,” he said.

  To Theodora’s astonishment he went up and up, reaching a height of about twenty feet in the air. He spun slowly around, hands outstretched, then drew his knees up and shot out across the meadow. His flight was wild and barely controlled, resembling an autumn leaf blown haphazardly on the wind, but he righted his ship and executed a series of flips and barrel rolls before coming to rest again on the ground just a few feet from Theodora.

  “Show off!” she said.

  “Well, if you’re going to do a thing, why not do it in style?”

  Theodora laughed. “I still can’t believe it. How is it done? You can show me?”

  “I can deliver all, as promised.” He presented her with an apple blossom he’d surreptitiously plucked from one of the trees while in flight.

  “Let me sit for awhile,” he said, plopping down on the grass. “If only we’d thought to bring along a picnic.”

  “Never mind that.” She sat cross-legged opposite him. “I’d prefer an explanation.”

  “The Quintessence of the world,” he said.

  “I’ve heard Trask speak of this. He calls it the Fifth Element, saying it encompasses all of the other four—fire, air, earth and water. Some kind of mysterious supernatural presence that suffuses the entire world.”

  “Not supernatural. Quite natural.”

  “You do know that Trask is a little bit insane?”

  “Good for him, then. You should be too. It really helps with the flying.”

  Theodora sighed. “The Quintessence?”

  “Like as you said, ‘tis a spirit that fills the entire world. It’s too huge to comprehend entirely and that’s the problem. That’s also the solution. To our problem of flight, that is. Understand, fair lady, that we are practically insignificant to ‘It’. People think much too much of themselves you see, and all this self-importance sticks us to the ground. All we have to do is send a sign to the Quintessence, a word which signifies that we are too small, too tiny, too terribly insignificant to bother keeping hold of.”

  She would have thought this, too, to be one of Meadowlark’s merry pranks, if she had not just seen the proof. Of all the Summer Court faeries only Moonshadow could defy gravity in that way, and she just barely. “And the word?”

  “The word is Numalae.”

  “And what does that mean?”

  “It means, roughly translated from the original Avalonian, ‘I am nothing more than the flutter of a butterfly’s wing as it lands atop a wart on the ass of a sow that buries her snout in the mud. Pay no attention to me at all.’ ”

  “This is ridiculous.”

  “Of course it is. Of course it is! Faeries can’t really fly, can they? I mean, you didn’t see me do it just then did you?”

  “It’s some kind of a trick. If you brought me all the way out here for a jest, I am not amused.”

  “Of course it’s a trick. I told you that. A trick against the world itself! You have to trick the world into letting you go. Just try it and see.”

  “Alright. How do I get in touch with this Quintessence?”

  “Ah that is the trick. It’s rather hard to explain at that. I can’t put it into words exactly. I’d have to show you.”

  He held his hands out across the gap between them.

  “Now wait a minute,” she said. “Seriously Meado
w, if this is a trick to get me to, you know, merge with you…”

  Meadowlark squawked his innocence. “Your suspicious words are razors to my wounded heart. This is nothing but completely chaste, my lady. There will be none of that funny carnal business I assure you. You simply have to trust me.”

  And she did. There was something about his easy, earnest smile, something she had never seen before. She lay her hands in his. She meant what she’d said, keeping their interaction as limited as possible and taking it very slow. He forced nothing, letting her set the pace as she opened up her consciousness to his just a little at a time. The connection formed between them, centering at first on the thoughts they both shared—the beautiful day, the sweet-smelling apple-blossom air, the peaceful meadow. Theodora sensed that he wanted more but she kept any sexual connotations buttoned up tight, like a dark veil between them. Meadowlark did not push. He expanded his consciousness, embracing the Quintessence of the world and taking Theodora along for the ride.

  The Quintessence was all around them, in every blade of grass, every beetle and worm plying the soil and even the dirt, the air, the rocks themselves. As Meadowlark had described, the Fifth Element was so enormous and implacable it did not acknowledge their presence and Theodora worried it would not hear their message.

  “Worry not, fair lady,” he whispered. “All is proceeding as planned. Release yourself.”

  It took a moment for her to realize what he’d meant. Her wings. She might soon have need of them. Theodora hesitated. Release of one’s wings, for a faery, was an odd sort of intimate act. She would have liked to break the connection between them before she did so, but did not dare interrupt the ongoing process.

  There was nothing for it but to relax and let fly. Her wings were not part of her physical being. They were forms of shifting light, emotion and energy. Theodora felt the mild erotic surge as she released them, knowing that Meadowlark must feel it too.

  “Concentrate,” she warned.

  “Just so,” he replied, as if nothing had happened.

  With Meadowlark’s sure hand to guide her, Theodora began to feel the Quintessence, a distant but simmering presence, like an aloof grandfather she had never known. It’s real. It’s there.

  “The word,” Meadowlark urged. “Now.”

  “Numalae.” Theodora whispered the Avalonian sigil in the most respectful tone she could muster. The change was immediate. Her entire body felt light as air, the sudden change roiling her stomach a bit.

  She drifted up from the emerald meadow, still holding Meadowlark’s hands.

  The pair circled slowly in the air. Theodora’s spirit felt as light and breezy as her body. Looking down, she saw nothing beneath her feet but summer air. She let go one of Meadowlark’s hands but continued to hold the other as they steadied themselves in the air, about ten feet above the blooming sward. The mild telepathic connection they shared persisted. She felt an intense excitement and he mirrored her pleasure.

  They flew for a while, swooping and gliding. Theodora struggled to steady herself with wings that weren’t used to such exertions. Meadowlark was not much more experienced and, holding hands, they performed an impromptu and clumsy dance in the sky. He remained respectful and protective and Theodora considered these were aspects to his personality she had never noticed before. Maybe he had changed. Little boys have to grow up sometime, even though they still pretend otherwise. She wanted to know more. She considered the gauzy veil that separated their souls, screening her innermost thoughts and feelings and desires from him. She had an urge to draw it aside, though doing so would initiate a further intimacy between them. She wanted just a peek behind that curtain, nothing more. She reached for it, pushed it gently aside.

  They swooped wildly in the air, falling precipitously, and suddenly their full attention was required simply to stay aloft. They twisted and turned, struggling to allay the forces of gravity but it was no use, they were too far gone, and laughing like two children at play, they managed to bring themselves down aground without serious injury.

  Theodora was delighted. Meadowlark was not.

  “Are you alright?” she asked.

  Meadowlark, having tired to shield her fall at the last minute, had landed sprawled on his back, both feet sticking up in the air at awkward angles. He maneuvered himself into a more comfortable position with a groan. “Unharmed and uninjured,” he replied, “though the years do take their toll. Perhaps not the best idea to experiment with flight in one’s second century of life. We are both well over a hundred, Theodora. Where did the time go?”

  “A perfect time to fly,” she said. “I thank you for the lesson, Meadow.”

  “Welcome,” he said, panting a bit. “You don’t mind if we rest a while before trying it again? You’ll get better at it in time. Once you can recognize the Quintessence for yourself, you’ll be fine.”

  “I think you’re right. And a wonderful teacher you turned out to be. Moonshadow tried to show me once, but she can barely do it herself. Now I wish we had brought a picnic lunch.”

  “Me too. I’m famished!”

  “We should head back to Everbright, then. If you’re a good boy I’ll fix you lunch.”

  “Air,” he said still panting. “Air is what I need, then food.”

  “How did you learn that? How did you learn to fly?”

  He paused and she knew that look. He was deciding whether to tell her the truth or not.

  Then he snickered at himself and said, “I learned it from Dresdemona, actually.”

  “Oh? Somehow I can’t seem to picture the Dark Queen giving you flying lessons out in a beautiful field on a sunny day like this one.”

  “So right. It wasn’t like that. I picked it up by accident… when we were…”

  “When you were merged? Making love?”

  “She doesn’t make love. She joins with you, but only on her terms. She makes you do whatever she wants.”

  Theodora didn’t like the look in his eye. He’d grown far too serious.

  “What happened between you two?”

  “She made me do things.”

  “You didn’t want to?”

  “It’s a horrible feeling, that. I might’ve wanted to, if I’d had a choice. But she makes you her puppet, and she doesn’t just pull at your strings, she yanks them as hard as she likes, she twists them. And you’re just helpless.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “No bother.” He smiled, but it was a fake smile. There was real pain behind it. “Someone played a joke on old Meadowlark, that’s all. And I’ve played many in my day too. I learned something from it. That’s the main thing.”

  Chapter 26

  “This is exciting,” the Vicar said. “Skullduggery in the middle of the night! A longstanding tradition among Papists you know, but not so much us Anglicans.”

  “The men are looking forward to it too.” James said.

  They had reached the base of the great ash tree. Where two of the heavy roots crossed above the ground, a shallow depression lay full of wild primrose. “This is where we’ll be going down.”

  James kneeled among the pale, cream-colored flowers. Vicar Desmos peered over his shoulder. “I don’t see anything.”

  “The access points are all hidden to human eyes. And locked up tight.”

  The Vicar nodded solemnly. Dressed in his black cassock, and with cap and dark beard, he faded into the night perfectly.

  James pressed a hand to the patch of flowering primrose and whispered.

  “A word that unlocks the portal?” asked the Vicar. “I should hope it is not some heathen incantation?”

  “You didn’t say it,” James remarked. “I did. I have no such qualms.”

  “Ah, yes, but I should not profit from such—oh my! Look at that!”

  With the seal lifted, the portal had become visible to his eyes. James saw it as a circular aperture, limned in a bright purple glow. He did not know exactly what the Vicar saw.

  “Come,” h
e said. “There’s a small wooden stair below.”

  “First, before going in I feel I should ask. Does Miss Moonshadow know we are doing this?”

  “Not quite.”

  Desmos hesitated. “Well, then, perhaps we shouldn’t…”

  “You let me worry about that. The men are waiting.”

  “Yes, the men. Quite right.” The Vicar surreptitiously took a sip from the carafe of wine he’d brought along for the sacrament. “Carry on. A stair you say?” He peered down into the hole.

  James thumbed the tin sprocket wheel on his lantern, opening the beam wide, and they went down.

  The Vicar trailed James along the broad, subterranean avenues of Barrow Downes, gasping every so often in surprise at the marvels he witnessed. Faery houses, so tall and elegant, stretched from floor to ceiling of the cavern. These towering arbors of vines and woven thistle merged imperceptibly into the vast hodgepodge of woody things covering the walls. Mushrooms littered the ground almost everywhere, wildly colored in red, yellow and blue. Some had grown to gigantic size, with windows or doors cut into them. Small amber globes of faery light, drifting up and down on currents of the air, helped illuminate the way.

  The streets were lined with greenery such as no human eye had ever seen. These plants, grown by faery light, had silken leaves and wispy fronds that seemed to move of their own accord in a sort of burlesque dance, flashing a peek at shy, delicate blooms. Vicar Desmos recognized quite a few varieties of exotic herb among them. He bent to inspect a few, a shamelessly gleeful look on his face.

  “Mule fern, adders-tongue, moonwort—oh my! Golden saxifrage and sowthistle too.”

  James grew impatient. “Vicar, the men?”

  “Yes, yes of course. Pardon me. You must pardon me, sir. It’s all so fascinating. I’ve spent quite a bit of time studying such things, you know. I fancy myself a sort of amateur botanist. I could lose myself for days down here.”