by Brom
A field of wildflowers spilled over the banks of the pools, filling the air with the sweet perfume of nectar and evening dew. Wild faeries and sprites perched upon every reed, lily, and stem, some even straddling the backs of bored-looking bullfrogs. They filled the dusk with their song as they watched the Lady pass.
The Lady and her procession approached the archway and two young elves pulled the tall doors open. The boys bowed to the Lady, giving Peter curious looks as he passed.
They entered a short passageway of polished, iridescent stone, the palest shade of green. The walls were framed by stone pillars in the shape of trees that looked to have grown right from the floor, their branches weaving into a spidery canopy. Music drifted along the corridor, accompanied by raucous laughter, squeals, and grunts. Peter glanced down the hall and saw a tall, handsome boy with a heavy brow and dark, brooding eyes striding purposely toward them.
“Someone does not look pleased, my Lady,” Drael whispered.
The Lady sighed. “When ever does he?”
The boy was much taller than Peter, eye level with the Lady. Peter guessed him to be several years older than himself. His dark hair was cropped in a bowl cut just above his ears, oiled and shiny, not a strand out of place. He wore a quilted jacket, trimmed in gold, with long puffed sleeves, made from a finely woven fabric. He had on black stockings and gold shoes with pointed toes. Peter could not find a speck of dust, nor a trace of dirt anywhere on the boy.
The tall boy dismissed Peter at a glance and addressed the Lady.
“Modron, you were supposed—”
“Ulfger,” the Lady interrupted. “Not today. I do not need this from you today.”
“You were supposed to be here hours ago,” he continued, his voice stern and serious. “Have you forgotten your duties?”
“No, Ulfger,” the Lady said with noticeable irritation. “I have not forgotten my duties. And I will not be drawn into this today. Not today.”
“The fate of Avalon hangs in the balance, yet the council spends its time drinking, gossiping, and exchanging rude riddles.” He stared accusingly at the Lady. “They need leadership.”
“Ulfger, it is not your place to tell me—”
“It is my place, Modron,” he said, making no attempt to hide the contempt in his voice. “This frivolity and buffoonery…it is why Avalon is dying.”
“Oh, Ulfger. Why must you do this? You’re a boy. You should be having fun, running wild, getting into mischief. You—”
“No! That, Modron—that is the very problem. Avalon needs order and discipline.” He clenched his hand into a fist. “Needs an iron hand to combat men-kind’s aggression. Without it we are destined to become extinct.”
The Lady looked at him sadly. “Those are your mother’s words. Even at death’s door, she can’t keep her long nose out of things. And look what she has done to you. At an age when you should be at your most carefree, you are bent beneath the weight of her nettling and conniving.”
Ulfger flushed. “No, that’s not true.”
The Lady shook her head. “This is my fault, I should have stood up to her, should have insisted you live in the forest with your father. Your mother has done everything in her power to kill the wildness within you. I am fearful the Horned One will not know his own son.”
Ulfger’s eyes fell to the floor. He turned away, but not before Peter caught the wounded look on his face.
The Lady took Peter’s hand; they pushed past the handsome boy and strolled down the hall.
THEY PASSED BENEATH another arch and entered a great domed hall. A small circular pond lay at the center of the hall, cut into the stone floor. The pond glowed brightly—the very water was phosphorescent—filling the whole hall with a soft, greenish glow. A crescent moon, stars, and winged fish were carved into the dome. The light swirled over the designs, making them appear to swim around the ceiling.
A dozen curved tables circled the pond. Plates and bowls of wild game, bread, boiled carrots, beets, and potatoes littered the pitted, well-worn surface, their spice filling the chamber. Peter inhaled deeply and his stomach grumbled.
“I believe someone’s hungry,” the Lady said.
Peter grinned up at her and nodded.
A man set down his goblet, pushed back his chair, and propped a cloven hoof on the edge of the table. He wore no clothing, only a thick leather yoke with large brass bells. His small, boyish body appeared to be that of a shaggy goat from the waist down. His skin was blood-red, his hair black. A long, pointed goatee curled upward off his chin and two short horns poked up from his sloping forehead, each with a small gold bell jangling from its tip. “You’re late,” he growled.
“And a good end of day to you too, Hiisi,” the Lady said, a smile pushing one corner of her mouth. “Nice to see everyone waited.”
A boar with long, curving tusks, dressed in a brilliant crushed velvet tunic complete with ruffles, held up a drumstick. “Like one swine waits for another,” he said through a mouthful of food, then snorted.
There were at least forty folk in attendance, mostly elves, their thin, spindly bodies draped across their high-backed chairs, their movements and gestures elegant and graceful. There were many other strange beings that Peter had never seen or imagined. Four plump men—easily as wide as they were tall and not a one larger than a chicken—with big red noses and cheeks and tiny black eyes that looked like they’d been pushed into their faces, sat upon tall stools wearing outlandish feathered caps and passing a large jug of wine back and forth. A flock of winged faeries sat crossed-legged on the table top, sharing a bowl of fruit. These were different than the ones Peter had seen in the forest; foremost, they were clothed, wearing britches and jackets or wispy gowns, and were well-mannered as they ate from tiny plates and sipped from tiny cups.
There were various other impish creatures, some more beast than manlike. Peter noticed two elven women, one with skin as black as coal, the other pink as roses. They lay coiled in each other’s arms, their eyes closed as they kissed and licked each other’s mouths, their hands lost beneath each other’s dresses. A child—an infant really—with a single red horn jutting from its forehead puffed away on a pipe, his eyes heavy as though lost in a dream. There were at least three faerie folk passed out on the floor, one of them snoring loud enough to be heard even over the ruckus.
Sour-faced servants moved in and out of the chamber, carrying trays, pouring wine into goblets, and complaining loudly to each other all at the same time. Over in one corner four stout faerie folk with bristly beards that fell all the way to their knees were playing flutes and plucking at string instruments, creating a whimsical melody.
Several servants came in and hastily laid out a table setting before an elegant, high-backed chair. The chair was by far the tallest in the room, formed of delicate white roots and branches. It appeared to have grown straight from the floor, its limbs reaching upward, weaving together into a symmetrical arch that nearly touched the top of the dome. The uppermost limbs sprouted into an umbrella of draping leaves. Tiny sprites played in the leaves, their multicolored lights blinking on and off.
The Lady leaned over to Peter. “Wait here with Drael.” She strolled to the chair. The band stopped playing and most of the attendees rose as she was seated. The Lady smiled and inclined her head. The dinner guests dropped back into their chairs, returning to their food and conversation as though nothing had happened.
Hiisi, the red-skinned man, sat on the Lady’s left. He leaned over. “My Lady, Tanngnost has asked to speak.”
The Lady let out a sigh. “Can I not at least eat first?”
“He’s just returned from the lands of men-kind. If he doesn’t get to speak soon, I fear he will simply burst.”
“Oh, dear. I wouldn’t wish our beloved Tanngnost to burst, not here in my chamber anyway. I guess we have little choice but to let him say his bit.”
Hiisi stood and banged his fork against his goblet. Most everyone ignored him. “Tonight, Council,” he said. �
�A dear old friend has graced us with his pungency. I’ve composed a rhyme in honor of this most un-notable occasion. Shall I?”
Several heads shook in dire disapproval, but the Lady smiled. “Why yes, dear Hiisi. By all means, proceed.”
Hiisi smiled, flicked his eyebrows, then cleared his throat. “I bestow a special troll. One who is dear to heart when he is apart, and hard to bear when he is near. But his lack of charm does no harm. Yes, the harbinger of doom and gloom is back in the room.” He inclined his head across the table to a tall figure cloaked in long, tattered gray robes. “Back from his daring jaunt across the lands of men-kind, I give you no other than—Tanngnost.”
The troll, who didn’t look as though he appreciated his introduction in the least, stood up to a spattering of weak applause. He appeared more beast than man, much taller than the elves, taller even than any man Peter had ever seen. He was stooped and appeared ancient but not frail; solidly built, like a stag. His legs were those of a great woolly elk, while his upper body resembled that of a man. A mane of sand-colored hair rolled down his shoulders in thick tangles, framing a long, goatlike snout. Golden, intelligent eyes peered out from beneath thick, drooping brows. Broad horns curled outward from the sides of his head, and thick tusks jutted from his mouth.
Under most circumstances, such an imposing beast would have frightened Peter, but something in this creature’s bearing spoke of graciousness, even refinement.
The troll bowed to the Lady, cleared his throat. “I am at your service,” he said in a deep baritone. “It is truly an honor to attend the ever-fair Lady Modron, daughter of Avallach, Great Lady of the Lakes, Goddess of—”
“Yes, yes, don’t you start with all that silliness,” the Lady said, waving her hand as though shooing a fly. “You’ll not flatter me. You want something or you’d not be here my dear Tanngnost. Something besides the feasting; which I see you’ve done your share.”
The troll dropped a guilty glance at the five dirty plates stacked before him.
“What ill tidings do you bring today?” she asked. “Go on, spill the beans. Get it over with.”
Tanngnost inclined his head. “Lady, you mustn’t slay the messenger.”
“A very wise old saying indeed,” Hiisi interjected. “Unless of course that messenger so happens to be a minder, meddler, and manipulator of other people’s business.”
This brought plenty of snickers from around the tables.
Tanngnost gave the Lady a long-suffering look. “Modron, if I may be so bold? How did the visit with your father go today?”
The table fell quiet and all eyes turned to the Lady.
The Lady’s face clouded.
Tanngnost let out a regretful sigh. “I see.”
Somber murmurings hummed around the tables and several folk began to speak at once.
“Why has Avallach abandoned us?” the boar called out, his words slurred. “Why now, when we need him most?”
“Why does he not hear us?” an elf demanded.
“He is dead,” shouted a smallish gray man with donkey ears.
“No, not dead. Avallach cannot die you ass. He is just gone.”
“We’re lost without his hand,” someone cried from under the table.
“We’ve angered him,” added a peevish green man with leaves for hair.
“We must placate him.”
“A living sacrifice!” a rosy-cheeked lady cried out.
The plump folk all raised their mugs and cheered at that. “Blood, blood, blood.”
“AVALLACH IS GONE!” the Lady spoke, her voice commanding, not loud, yet somehow rising above the ruckus. She came to her feet, eyes gleaming, her shadow growing tall, darkening the room. She looked both beautiful and dangerous, and for a moment, Peter was afraid. The room fell quiet. “It is time we all accept that.” She looked from face to face, daring any to challenge her. “We are his children. But do we wish to be children forever? It is time we face our trials on our own.”
No one spoke for a long minute.
“Aye,” the boar said, setting a hand on the table to steady himself. “That’s very stoic and all, my Lady, but where does that leave us? I mean really? What are we supposed to do with that?”
“It means it’s time to stop waiting for Avallach to save you,” called a boy’s voice.
All eyes turned to find Ulfger standing in the doorway. He walked in and stood next to the Lady. “It’s time to end the decadence and debauchery. To think about something other than wine and lust and song. It is time for Avalon to embrace order and discipline or die.”
The boar dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “With all due respect Lord Ulfger.” The boar let out a short burp. “I’d rather not be preached to by a boy.”
“Maybe it would do you some good to give him a listen,” the troll said.
“Those are not even his words,” the boar stammered as he refilled his goblet. “We all know he’s merely a mouthpiece for his mudder, muther—his mother.”
Ulfger stiffened and the Lady set a hand on his shoulder.
“And where is your father, Lord Ulfger?” the boar growled. “Where is the mighty Horned One? Why does he not come and talk with us?”
“That is not his way,” Tanngnost said. “You know that well enough.”
“I know he’s not here,” the boar said. “Just what does it take to bring him out of his deep dark forest cave?”
This was met with expectant nods and lively quibbling, and again the chamber disintegrated into bickering.
The Lady’s shoulders slumped and she sat back into her chair. Her eyes drifted away as though she were somewhere else. She looked very sad to Peter, and he wanted to go to her, wanted to do whatever he could to cheer her up. Then her eyes found him and she smiled. She came to her feet. “Today I was sent a gift.”
The room quieted as one by one the occupants looked her way.
“Maybe it came from Avallach, maybe it sprouted from a cabbage. Either way, a most wonderful delight.” She pointed to Peter.
All heads turned to Peter. He blushed and slid behind Drael.
“This boy fell into the clutches of Greenteeth herself,” she said. “Did he wait for Avallach to save him? No, not him. This brave child singlehandedly burned out the witch’s eye and escaped from her very lair!”
An astonished gasp came from every attendee at the table. Several stood to get a better view of Peter.
“Lord Ulfger is right. We can no longer afford to wait for Avallach. Like this boy, we need to save ourselves. We need to take all the wonderful gifts that Avallach has bestowed upon us and make good use of them.
“Peter,” the Lady called. “Don’t be bashful. Come here and sit beside me.”
The old elf nudged Peter and Peter dashed over to the Lady’s chair. The Lady pulled him into her lap.
“Where did he come from?” the boar asked.
“From the lands of men-kind,” the Lady said. “Through the stones.”
Hiisi poked one of Peter’s feet. “What is he?”
“A human boy, I think,” the Lady said. “But look.” She flipped back his hair, exposing the pointed tips of his ears. “He seems to have some faerie in him as well.”
They all leaned forward.
“Modron,” Ulfger said. “What does he have to do with—”
“Tanngnost?” the Lady asked. “How can such come to be?”
“Most curious,” Tanngnost said. “I’ve never seen the like. Have you?”
The Lady shook her head. “I didn’t know it was possible.”
“Does he not remember his parents?”
“Not his father,” the Lady said. “His mother was human. It was she that left him to die in the forest.”
“Men-kind are such cruel beasts,” the boar huffed.
“So, the faerie in him comes from his father,” Tanngnost remarked absently and stroked his hairy chin.
“Modron,” Ulfger said. “This is exactly why nothing ever gets done. We need to discuss—”
“Maybe one of the satyrs,” the boar suggested, and everyone looked to the red-skinned, horned man.
Hiisi grinned. “Well, I’ve certainly fucked my way through every young maiden I could catch. But to my knowledge, all I’ve ever left behind in those sullied maidens was the flush of orgasmic delights.”
An old faerie lady with drooping wings and powdered cleavage nudged the boar. “If the satyr’s seed could sprout, why we’d have a couple million pointy-eared mongrels running about. Aye.” She winked at Hiisi and let loose a cackle.
“He can travel between the worlds?” the troll asked.
The Lady cut the troll a suspicious look. “Tanngnost, don’t start your scheming. I’ll not have you using this boy toward your ends.”
Tanngnost looked taken aback. “My Lady, I would never dream such.”
The Lady laughed. “Of course not, and Hiisi would never diddle a virgin.”
This drew several snickers.
“Besides,” the Lady said. “You cannot have him. He has told me he wishes nothing more than to serve in my Guard.”
“You’d be lucky to have one so brave,” said Hiisi.
“I would. Not only is he stouthearted, but talented as well,” the Lady said like a proud mother. “Peter, let them hear the forest.”
Peter beamed, drinking in all the attention, their curiosity making him bold. He started with a frog’s croak, then the chattering of a squirrel, a hooting monkey, then lifted his head and howled, the sound resounding off the dome. He played through a dozen birdcalls and ended with a rooster’s crow.
The hall burst into laughter and applause. If Peter had grinned any wider his face would have split in two.
“Modron,” Ulfger growled. “Please, there are important matters to—”