Everbright

by Ken Altabef

The grove of stroiata-arbae had been magically grown sometime recently. They now stood much taller than they had when Meadowlark had performed for Theodora, having attained a mature height of about ten feet. Kissed by the moonlight, the long silvery leaves each took on a shadow of color, some blue, some violet, some green, a promise of the music to come.

  Moonshadow squeezed Theodora’s hand. She was so obviously excited, enthralled by the idea that Dresdemona might bring them something of their long-lost heritage. Theodora thought her a starry-eyed fool.

  “She wants to gain our trust,” Theodora said.

  “Maybe she deserves it.”

  “Be careful, Moonshadow. People don’t change.”

  “Don’t they? What about yourself? You’ve gone from militant faery to aristocratic English Lady and back again.”

  Theodora frowned. “I was never aristocratic.”

  “But Dresdemona was once an Effranil, wasn’t she?”

  “And then the Dark Queen…”

  “And perhaps now an Effranil again. Let’s just give her a chance and see what she can show us.”

  “People don’t really change,” Theodora insisted.

  “Then she must still be Effranil. Shhh! She’s ready to start.”

  Dresdemona ran through the different sections of the dance in her mind. It had been a long time since Avalon. She didn’t want to make a mistake here and look the fool. She wanted the song to be pure like the Effranil; she wanted to show them what she had to offer. If she could promise them the music of the Effranil, they would follow her anywhere.

  And then they would follow him. Oberon. Her son would be the king of all the faeries. She would not rest until it was so. With Aldebaran gone, courtesy of Theodora, the Lady Changeling, there was very little left to stand in the way. Once she won the support of the people here, she would soon be called Queen again. She felt certain she could sway enough of the Summer Court faeries. From what she had seen they were a directionless, empty-headed lot. There would always be a few she could not reach. But what about him? The only one she really wanted. Threadneedle. He wasn’t even here to watch the performance—he’d rushed away to London on some mysterious errand for the Graysons.

  Of all the things she had lost, and gained, and lost again, the heart of Threadneedle meant more to her than any of the rest. He had been her first love, her only love. All the rest had been pretend and cat’s-play. Now fate had brought them together again. There must be a way to bring him back to her side. She would find it.

  Now, to the dance. She ran through the order of the first few steps again. The crowd was becoming restless; she must start.

  “To the Effranil, all is music and music is everything,” she announced.

  She suddenly felt a perverse urge to change the programme. What if, instead of the perfect and breathtaking Effranil song she performed her own tune—that off-key disharmonious dance she had first composed a century ago? Her own song? It was still with her, as always. That wild song. Of course, that would ruin everything. She mustn’t…

  She spread her arms wide. “Music is beauty,” she said, “and beauty is truth.”

  “Enough talk,” someone muttered.

  True enough. She must begin. She would do the Effranil piece and she would do it flawlessly. Because the perfect piece was the most perverse of all. She would use its beauty to conquer them.

  She leapt forward, striking a few low-hanging leaves of a tree in the first row. The note sounded strong and sure—a perfect C. The long, droopy leaves perked up slightly, glowing bright yellow, the color of anticipation and joy. She circled the slender trunk and caressed it again and the emotion began to build. She spun round, tapping three other trees in rapid succession—perfect notes, flashing colored lights. As the waves of emotion surged from the trees the crowd gasped with pleasure, feeling exactly what she wanted them to feel.

  James watched the performance from the fringe of the crowd. His exertions of the day before during the healing session with Roderigo had left him feeling weak and depleted. The sense of euphoria had left him sometime during the night, taking with it the parade of bizarre taste impressions. The patch of purple skin on his palm had faded back to an inconspicuous tan. He’d been tempted to stay in bed and sleep the day away but had not wanted to miss this dance.

  He had no love for Dresdemona, particularly considering all the trouble she’d caused his family in the past. But to witness a song of the Effranil—it was too tempting to pass up. Seeing her now, as she twisted and turned among the emotion trees, the very picture of grace and elegance, it was hard to hold a grudge. The light show was as incredible as promised. Dresdemona urged the trees to greater and greater displays of color and tone. The music filled the park at the heart of Everbright—a song of strict order and detailed perfection as it progressed from emotion to emotion. This was indeed very different from the mostly chaotic artisanship that characterized the songs of typical faery-folk. There was no doubt this indeed represented a higher form of faery existence. The indescribably beautiful melody evoked a feeling of pride in his soul even though he was only half-fae. He wondered what exalted heights the others must be feeling.

  His admiration of Dresdemona was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder. He turned, feeling a bit miffed at the rude interruption. His eyes fell upon a strange faery woman. Her hair was honey blonde, much like his mother’s. Her skin had a slightly yellow cast that transitioned to a pretty orange above her eyes and across her lips. She had a mature and elegant bearing, a thin, athletic build. Over all, she was very attractive.

  “May I speak with you a moment?” she said.

  “You’re her, aren’t you? You’re Willowvine?”

  “Yes. I couldn’t stay away.”

  James stepped apart from the crowd and Willowvine followed, walking a bit deeper into the park where they might not be easily so overheard, nor disturb the others.

  “It’s been you all along?” he asked.

  “Yes. Me. I just want you to understand.”

  “I think I understand pretty well. At first I thought you had turned on the Summer Court and joined the Winter Court in their scheme to take over the throne. But that’s not what happened. You’re no traitor. You were on the other side all along, spying for them.”

  “I wanted the same thing you did, for the faeries to be free, to be able to stop hiding. We have that now.”

  James wanted to try and understand. It was always better, he thought, to understand rather than villainize, but there were a lot of problems with her story. “But you took it a bit far, didn’t you? What you did to Gryfflet—that was just wrong. She’ll never be the same.”

  Willowvine’s golden eyes narrowed and her lips turned down in a pained expression. “She made me do it. Dresdemona. She makes people do things.” There was a far-away look in her eyes that James found kind of pathetic.

  “Is she still?”

  “Controlling me? No. Not here.”

  “And when you stabbed Moonshadow. Was it the Dark Queen made you do that, too?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” She struggled to answer honestly. It would be all too easy to blame everything on Dresdemona, but Willowvine was not seeking the easy way out. “More likely I did it for the sake of Deepgrave. For my people. But you see that doesn’t matter anymore. Not here. Barrow Downes. Deepgrave. We are all one here. One people. Like it was meant to be. There shouldn’t be anything to come between us. That’s what Moonshadow wants. We’ve already spoken about it. She forgives me for what I tried to do to her.”

  “Kill her, you mean? She’s a very forgiving person.”

  “And so are you, James. I know. Because I know you.”

  “But I don’t know you.”

  “Yes, you do. Everything we shared. It was honest, it was real.”

  “You came here and replaced a child. Took her away from her family?”

  “Arabelle did very well at Deepgrave I’m told. One place is not so different than the other. You live underground at B
arrow Downes, we live beneath the cemetery. From what I’ve heard she has no complaints.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Forty-nine. I was twenty-five when I came here.”

  “And pretended to be a child, pretended to grow up, year after year.”

  “Yes. That I did for Deepgrave.”

  “Pretended to be Arabelle.”

  “There was no pretense between us, James. When I replaced Arabelle she was just a small child. I had to take her appearance but I couldn’t have copied her personality even if I wanted to. I never knew her. I was just… me. All that time. When I was with you it was really me. No pretense. Arabelle is a completely different person. Yes, I took someone else’s appearance. So what? We faeries do that all the time. I can appear any way you want. Would you prefer me with dark hair, with large breasts? What does it matter? I’m still the same person inside. I only deceived you with a glamour. That’s all. Surely you can forgive that?”

  “It’s more than that and you know it. How do I know you weren’t using me to get at the Graysons? That’s what faeries do, right? Their favorite pastime. You see, there are so many questions now. I have to question everything that’s happened, everything you say you felt.”

  “When we made love, you knew the real me. There was no hiding anything then.”

  “Except I didn’t know you were impersonating Arabelle.”

  “I was Arabelle. A different Arabelle than the one who left here. That’s all. And as to you being a Grayson...”

  “What information did you transmit back to Deepgrave? About me? You knew everything. All my intimate secrets.”

  “What vital information did you know? Nothing of any consequence.”

  “I was just a silly boy.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way. You know I didn’t. You’re not thinking straight right now.”

  “How can I?” He felt his headache returning with a vengeance.

  Willowvine shook her head. “Let me try again. As to you being a Grayson, James you are the son of an English lord. That isn’t going to change and it’s something that colors your relationship with any woman. Personally, it didn’t matter to me. You might not be so lucky with someone else.”

  Lucky, he thought. Was it lucky to have met this woman, who seemed to be the perfect one for me? Luck, or just part of some Winter Court scheme?

  “I love you, James. Nothing has changed for me. These past two years have been hard. I wanted to come to you, but I was so afraid. Afraid of having this conversation. But I couldn’t put it off any more. I want to feel you again, to wrap myself around you body and soul, just like we’ve done so many times before. Maybe you just need some time. If you think about it, our situation is not all that different from the way your parents first met. Theodora was an older woman pretending to be someone else and they did fall in love. And it was real. Can’t you forgive me, the way your father did your mother?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “It didn’t work out so well for my father, did it?”

  Theodora watched as Dresdemona whirled and leapt among the trees, levitating a few feet above the ground. Her quivering wings fluttered as she danced, bringing the song to its culmination. She played the grove of trees like an ethereal instrument, layering the notes together in such sweet concordance that it was surely the most divine bit of music ever conceived. She created a particular combination of emotion that could only be described as perfect bliss. Theodora struggled against its powerful allure, wanting to remain at least partially detached, to observe the reactions of the others. She must not fall under Dresdemona’s spell.

  Dresdemona generated thicker and thicker waves of emotion as she splashed in pools of liquid light, kicking up sparks in red and blue that in turn burst around her like fireworks. It was a song of the green. The onlookers experienced the joy of the cycle of birth and death in all its myriad forms. They were seeds cast adrift on a chancy breeze, touching light and water they sprouted and burst their casings, drinking air and warmth they grew and divided and blossomed seeking the sustaining light of the sun and the erotic glow of the moon, pulsing with life and desire, spreading heady perfumes as they pollinated, fertilized and burst forth again in seed.

  “It’s so beautiful,” whispered Moonshadow. Her breaths had become shallow and quick.

  Dresdemona flitted and whirled at the center of her pageant of light and sound and emotion, a perfect faery, elegant and sure, as she danced and sparkled in the light, throwing back such colors as none of them had ever imagined.

  Theodora felt Moonshadow’s hand spasm in her grip and cast a glance at her half-sister. Moonshadow’s pale face had flushed, her lips gently parted, her eyes shut tight. A little moan escaped her throat as she squirmed in ecstasy.

  And suddenly Theodora felt a tension in her own loins, an excited pressure building, building so quickly and inexplicably, taking her in just one moment to the point where it became so intense it left her desperate for release. She let out a startled gasp. Release was quick in coming and the orgasm left her panting for breath, totally lost in surprise and rapture. It was over too quickly, leaving a sheen of sweat across her brow. She let go Moonshadow’s hand. She glanced at the faeries to either side, flushed with embarrassment as she shivered again, but they were too involved in their own epiphanies to notice.

  The orgasm shocked her. It had been such a long time since she’d let anyone touch her, or acted on physical desire. She hadn’t enjoyed a sexual release in more than a year, ever since she’d parted from Eric. She glanced around again, still feeling a flurry of pleasant aftershocks throbbing deep within her core.

  Dresdemona had completed her dance. She knelt in the middle of the grove, exhausted, her head down, one knee touching ground and the other cradling her chin. Her entire body was wracked by spasms of pleasure. She lifted her head and looked straight back at Theodora and Moonshadow.

  Theodora wiped the sweat from her brow. She didn’t know what to feel. She didn’t know what to think. She felt used.

  Just then an alarm whistle rang out across the sward, shaking the faeries out of their delirium. A squad of redcoats came charging across the park.

  Lieutenant Simms reached them first, breathlessly tooting the whistle. One of the soldiers fired off a rifle shot into the air.

  “Break this up!” shouted Simms. “Return to your homes. Do it now!”

  “What’s happened?” Theodora asked.

  “Captain Abercrombie is dead.”

  Chapter 40

  It wasn’t difficult to find Meadowlark these days if you knew what to listen for. Theodora followed the sound of the melancholy pitch pipe. She found him up in a willow tree at the far end of the park, almost completely hidden by drooping leaves as he lay atop a branch at middle height. Only the little bits of melody gave him away. Theodora paused to listen for a minute. She heard loneliness and heartfelt longing. The song was for her.

  She climbed up, making enough of a disturbance he must certainly know she was coming. She sat on the next branch opposite him.

  “You missed the dance tonight,” she said.

  “I’m sure the lovely Deathdemona dazzled one and all.”

  “Meh. To tell the truth, I liked your lightsong better.”

  He chuckled, not really believing it.

  “How long can you keep avoiding her?”

  “She’s easy enough,” he returned, “but she’s set her goon Pox after me too. We may come to blows ‘ere long.”

  “Pox is dangerous. He’s a killer.”

  “I know.”

  She thought she should urge him to go, to run away and be done with the Summer Court, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so.

  “It’s funny,” Theodora said, “She tried to convince me that I was wrong to stop her. That I should have let her take the throne.”

  “Did she?” Meadowlark laughed.

  “Came damn close. She said if not for me faeries would have ruled England, and all of the Old World for that matter.�
��

  “Faeries would have ruled, or Dresdemona?”

  “She’s playing this Effranil thing to the hilt. She says she’ll make us all better. She’ll make us pure.”

  “We both know that’s not true.”

  “Right,” Theodora said. “It’s Everbright she’s after now. And I fear she’ll get it, too.”

  “Well, you certainly upset the apple cart when you got rid of that Nephilim. He was the only thing keeping her in check. They had a strange relationship, those two. Sometimes he took her so rough I could hear her screaming halfway across Deepgrave. Other times she caused him pain, for hour after hour. She was good at that. But the thing is—when he hurt her she resented it, but when she hurt him he liked it. He was definitely in charge. Had been for a long, long time. He would’ve ruled England. You didn’t thwart her, you set her free. Now there’s nothing to stop her.”

  “We’ll stop her,” Theodora said. “We did it once. We’ll do it again.”

  “She has a way of controlling people. That weird sex magic.”

  “You were able to break free.”

  He looked shyly down at his chest and rubbed his upper lip. “I saw you in danger. That’s what broke her hold. My heart is ever at your service.”

  “A woman would run through fire and water for such a kind heart,” she replied.

  “Ahh, that’s Shakespeare. The Merry Wives, is it?”

  “I learned it from my daughter. Tell me how we can stop Dresdemona from controlling us.”

  “There’s no helping it. I doubt I could do it again. I surprised her, that’s all. She didn’t know how much I cared for you.”

  “We can’t let her take you, Meadow, not a second time.”

  “I won’t ever let her use me like that again. I’d die first. When she has her grip on you, you can’t think of anything else but her. More than anything, I wanted to kill her. But once she has you, she has you. One of the first things she does is make it so you can’t hurt her. Any impulse in that direction is just blocked. There’s no way to change it. I dreamt about killing her night and day but I couldn’t do anything. Nothing at all.”