Beauty

by Sheri S. Tepper

  I stood up and walked away.

  Mama was beside me. “When our fairy children are reared here, they do not find our habits strange,” she said with a little tinkle of laughter which did not cover her distress. Her tone was as it had been sometimes in Chinanga, when she turned remote and still. “Grown-up children have too much of the world in them. Perhaps, in time…” She patted me on the arm and went away, leaving me to walk among the flowers.

  Thomas walked there, too, evidently as discomfited as I at the naked licentiousness of Faery. He glanced at me, but did not offer conversation. After a time the fairy folk came to get us, and we went into the palace, to our own rooms, to sleep on beds where soft moss grew instead of mattresses, and coverlets sewn of rose petals kept off the drafts. If there had been any drafts, which there were not. Fountains played in that place, and their music was an unending melody. I was glad to be left alone.

  The blue of the sky seemed to deepen, only a little, as though in awareness that most of us slept. The stars crinkled and winked, as though talking. I lay awake, lost in wonder. After a time there came a scratching at my door. I went on silent feet and opened it, and it was Thomas the Rhymer there. He touched me on the arm.

  “I did not dare speak to you in the gardens,” he said, softly as a whisper, with great longing in his voice. He stared at me closely. “It’s true, you’re human!”

  I let him in and shut the door behind him. I was dressed in a full, silky robe. I needed only imagine what I wore, and it was there, around me. It had sleeves that fell away from my arms, floor long panels that wafted like spider silk. “I’m half human,” I told him. “Elladine is my mama, but my father is human.”

  He nodded. “I saw those of Faery at the pool, lusting after you. You have a fine smell about you, one that arouses them. You smell of fecundity. They are almost sterile, you know. They seldom have children of their own anymore. They must steal children from cradles, or consort with mortals to bear them.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I do not know. It has something to do with the way they were made, at the beginning of time.”

  “My mama is disappointed in me.” It hurt to say that, but I was sure of it.

  He nodded at me soberly. “You noticed that, did you? Well, it is because you are older than most children the Sidhe get. Most half mortals are stolen as babies or are born here, and they can become like the Sidhe, almost entirely. It is too late for you, however. You will never be one of them, and Elladine knows it. Though she longs to love you, she will not let herself become too fond of you. They lust after mortals, but they do not let themselves love them much.”

  “Not even her own daughter?” I cried in anguish.

  “Not even their own children, no. Long ago, at the beginning of time, it was a different matter. They were noble and mighty then. They did not reject the nobility of suffering for love. But things are different now.”

  “Why?” I cried. “Oh, why?”

  “Because they are diminished from what they once were. Or if not diminished, changed. They do not say so, but one learns of it, listening to what they say and do not say.”

  “I thought only the trooping fairies were diminished.”

  “Now. As these will be later. Once these were great as gods, but Faery is dwindling, even now. When it becomes small enough, perhaps I could step out of it, but it will be too late for me.”

  He sounded anguished. There were tears in his eyes. I started to ask him why the diminution of the Sidhe, but there was a sound in the courtyard outside my window, and he slipped away, closing the door behind him. I heard Mab’s voice, asking him where he had been, and he told her he had been walking in the courtyard.

  “In the courtyard, Tom-lin?” Her voice was like honey and silk, like fire and gall.

  “If it please you, Your Majesty.”

  “You know what would please me, Tom-Lin.”

  “I cannot, Your Majesty. Such an honor is not for me.

  “I could put a spell upon you, Tom, so you’d think it was your Janet you were making love to.”

  His voice rasped as he said, “Then it would be my Janet I was making love to, Your Majesty. In my heart.”

  I peeked out through the window. She stood there in all her loveliness, beautiful as a goddess. If she was diminished, it did not show, not in that moment. “If I cannot have your heart and your seed, Tom-lin, then you cannot have your Janet.” She turned and went away from him and he stood there in the silence, his shoulders shaking.

  I fell onto the bed, deeply disturbed by what I had heard, sure I would not sleep. The next thing I knew, it was morning, or so much morning as ever comes in that land. Mama and I drank little glasses of something warmly sweet and honey-smelling, then rode out in procession to attend a session at the King’s court.

  “Does the King have a name?” I asked Mama.

  “Some call him Oberon,” she told me. “Some Finvarra. Some call him the King of Golden Halls. Some, the King of the Hill People. Some the King of the Good Folk or the Gentle Ones. We call him He Who Endures, and we know when he is gone, so will we be.” I heard in her voice again that slight remoteness I had heard once or twice in Chinanga, though now, having spoken to Thomas, I thought I understood it.

  When we came to the King’s court, the news came out to meet us that a delegation was soon to arrive, people of another sort. It was not Faery, according to what they said, and yet it was.

  “It is not heaven nor earth,” Mama told me mysteriously, “Nor any hell, so it must be Faery, and yet it is not the Sidhe.” She would not tell me any more, but merely laughed. None of the folk of that place seemed to take this delegation seriously, yet when the time came for them to assemble in the great hall and hear the words of those who came as envoys, everyone was still and courteous and grave. The glamour lay about us so thick that I could smell it. Mama was on the dais among the royalty, and I stood along the side in dagged velvet and cloth of gold to watch the envoys come in.

  Ah, but they were horrible. Hairy and twisted, fanged and dewlapped. Some among them were better-looking, more nearly straight, but as a general rule they gave the appearance of half-made things. One had long toenails that scratched upon the marble floors. One had an eye in the middle of his forehead. Some had batwings and others had rat teeth.

  “Who are they,” I whispered to my neighbor, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

  “The Bogles,” he replied. I knew the voice and turned in surprise to find Thomas the Rhymer standing close behind me. “Has your mother taught you to use the power of sight?” he whispered to me, seeing the fear in my eyes.

  I shook my head at him.

  “Narrow your eyes, and wish to see them true,” he said. So I did, slitting both eyes and concentrating on the wish. In the moment I saw them differently, shorter, stouter people than those of the Sidhe, and darker-colored, but certainly not hideous. Somewhat like those who had ridden at the rear of the procession, though more open of face.

  “They appear ugly to keep men at a distance,” Thomas said. “Unlike those of the Sidhe who appear beautiful to make men come nearer. To men’s eternal loss.” His voice was bitter, though only a whisper, as he fell silent in order that we could hear the speeches.

  My first view of them had been human sight, obviously. But once I had seen them true, I could not bring back the former vision of them. Most surprising, I had seen their leader before, every now and then when I was a child. He was my old friend, the pointy-eared boy! Of course! Puck.

  “You’ve one among you seven years now,” he challenged them. “Taken from human kind, Queen Mab. Time’s near come for the teind’, and you have him still. We’ve come to see the treaty complied with.”

  “It is no affair of yours what I do,” the Queen replied in a silky voice. “Be back about your swamp dancing, Puck. We’ve had this talk before.” I didn’t know what a teind was, but his voice made it something serious.

  “There’s a new one come, as well,” he we
nt on in an even voice. “And she’s none of yours,” and he turned and looked at me with a wry look as though to say, “Fancy seeing you here.”

  Mama rose on the dais and beckoned to me. I stepped forward uncertainly. Puck watched me with his green eyes, like water over stones. He had a brown face with great bushy brows and a wide mouth. My old acquaintance. I started to greet him, then, warned by something in his eyes, did not. Still, I was so taken with his familiar face I almost didn’t hear what Mama said. “She is ours, Puck. My daughter. Beauty. Borne by me to a human noble and come to Faery to seek her mother.”

  He looked saddened by this, though why should he? He knew who I was, who I’d always been. Who had sent him to watch over me, back at Westfaire? I had always assumed it was Martin, or maybe Mama. Obviously not, but then who? Carabosse? He shook his head at me and turned to those on the dais. I stepped back to feel Thomas’s hand rest lightly on my shoulder.

  Puck tried again, “So, sad though it be, she’s here by her own will, Mab. Still, there’s Thomas the Rhymer who is not here of his own will. He’s not been lastingly harmed as yet, but what use will you make of him?”

  “I say it again, Puck. Take your Bogles back to the swamps and the streams. Get back to the crossroads. Tell your brownies to get to their sweeping, your leprechauns to their shoemaking, your kobolds to their mines. There are enough humans out there for you to cosset without worrying over mine.”

  “He isn’t yours,” said Puck, something strained in his voice. “Queen Mab…”

  “All that is mine is mine,” she chanted. “And all that is yours is mine as well. If I so choose.”

  “I beg you not to choose,” he said to her holding out his hard, square hands. His words were an entreaty, but she merely laughed, then went on laughing with those about her as the Bogles conferred among themselves. Puck threw up his hands, then turned to leave, the others coming behind him. Except for one very small, plain one with a scythe over his shoulder, who slipped out of their ranks and took me by the hand.

  “I am the Fenoderee,” he whispered. “If you have need of a friend, call me.” Then he, too, was gone.

  Thomas spoke in my ear. “Unless you wish to see the Fenoderee destroyed, do not tell anyone he offered to be your friend.”

  “I won’t tell anyone but Mama,” I said.

  “Then he is surely dead,” Thomas said.

  I turned on him angrily, but he had gone back into the crowd. Looking at Mama on the dais where she laughed with Queen Mab, however, I decided I did not need to tell her about the Fenoderee. I had not called for a friend, and the little Bogle’s offer did not necessarily warrant mention.

  The audience seemed to be over. The nobles were coming down off the dais, talking with one another in careless voices. Curiosity would certainly not be out of place, so when Mama came down to me, I asked her what all that had been about.

  “Puck and his following tend to be officious,” she said with her remote, careless look. “They have taken it upon themselves to be protectors of man.”

  “I thought angels were the protectors of man,” I said in a puzzled tone, remembering things Father Raymond had taught me.

  “Well then,” she laughed, with a nasty twist to her amusement. “Puck has taken it into his head to become an angel. It’s an old argument, going far back into time.”

  I hoped she would tell me more, but Oberon came up just then, and we both fell silent as we made our deep reverences to him. He invited us to join him in the hunt, and we went out to mount horses already standing ready in the courtyard. This was in accord with something I had already noticed about Faery. Food was always ready when one was hungry. Horses were saddled and bridled when one wanted to hunt. Water was hot when one wanted to bathe. Possibly the most altogether magical thing about Faery was that we did not have to wait about for other people to do things before we could do the things we wanted.

  We rode out, the horses’ hooves making a steady drumbeat as we crossed the bridge and came onto the road of velvety dust. I thought that all the soil of this place must be soft, else the silver shoes on the horses would not last. Mama rode up beside me and hissed, “Riding clothes, girl! Have some manners!”

  I looked up see everyone clad in riding clothes with high boots and flowing skirts on the ladies and their hair done up in narrow caps with veils flying behind. As soon as I saw it, I was dressed the same as they, but it had taken my perceiving them to do it. I had done it myself. This gave me a momentary exultation followed by a shiver of fear. If I’d been a child when I came here, I’d have done it without even thinking. What else could I do, just by thinking about it?

  We hunted white deer that day. Two of them, a stag and a hind. They fled like the wind, and we pursued like the gale. They fled like the hawk, and we came after them like the eagle. They fled like the flame of candles, and we burned their trails like the fire in a forge. At last they wearied and we came up to them. Oberon shot them both with bright arrows, and the huntsmen cut off their heads. When the heads came off, I had a momentary vision of something not right, something frightening and horrid. I turned away only to find Thomas’s eyes on me, as though in warning. The huntsmen put the carcasses over a horse, and we returned to the castle, our horses’ equipment jingling, a lutist playing, the people singing. When we came near, I had fallen a little behind, and Thomas rode up beside me to say, “Do not eat of the venison served tonight.”

  I started to ask him why, but he rode on, faster and faster, until he came up beside Queen Mab. She turned and smiled at him, and he smiled in return. A very sad, hopeless smile.

  Most of the people went to the hot springs where they bathed. I went to my room. When the door was tight shut behind me, I sat down on the bed and called, “Fenoderee! I need a friend.”

  He was there in the instant, standing beside me.

  I said, “There was something frightening. I can’t remember what!”

  “Ah, weel,” he said to me, “you’ve not the knack of the seein’ yet, and your human sight comes through. It wasna only deer they lopped the heads from there in the wood. It was a man and his wife they hunted down, a man and his wife who’d refused to give their child to Queen Mab when she wanted it.”

  “And they’ll eat them?” I cried, unable to believe it.

  “Ach, no, lass. They’ll eat venison right enough. They wouldn’t kill or eat human flesh, for that would break the covenant. But it was human flesh they enchanted into deer. So, what is it they eat? Ah? Did they indeed break the covenant? They’ll tell you it’s venison, and they’ll tell you true, but you know what you saw, don’t you?”

  “Thomas told me not to eat it.”

  “Then Thomas told you what was good for you.”

  “Then he saw it, too.” What I had seen, that overlay of human flesh when the heads had come off.

  “Aye, he sees. A man so fearful as that will see what’s true.”

  “What’s he fearful of, Fenoderee?”

  Fenoderee turned himself around like a dog trying to find a place to lie down. “He’s fearful Oberon will use him for something forbidden.”

  “And what’s that?” I could not imagine what could be forbidden in this land where cannibalism seemed to be a matter of course.

  “Long ago,” said Fenoderee, “when man was made, the Holy One asked us of Faery to help man out, for he was a witless thing then, barely able to stand on his two feet. Some of the Sidhe assented, a few. But Oberon was King then, as he is now, and he told them to hold their tongues, that the Sidhe would do it only if the Holy One commanded it.

  “‘No,’ said the Holy One, ‘I could command it, true, but I will not. I have not designed this universe in all its unpredictable glory in order to interrupt it with gratuitous commands and arbitrary miracles. If you honor my request, you do it out of your own will, out of goodness, in thankfulness for what you’ve been given.’”

  “What did Oberon say?”

  “He said no, as he’d said before. So then the Holy
One said, ‘I will not command, but I may destroy some parts of my creation if they threaten other parts. So I will make treaty with the Sidhe. It is I who made the Sidhe immortal, and they may remain so only so long as no man comes to lasting harm at their hands.’ And Oberon accepted that.”

  “Who were the ones who said they’d help man?”

  “Israfel and his lot. Oh, and Carabosse. Oberon paid them no attention. They didn’t even go on living in Faery; they went off to Baskarone. Since then, we Bogles have called them our Separated Kindred, or the Long Lost. Oberon calls them something else, but then he’s not a forgiving sort.”

  “But the deer,” I cried. “The enchanted deer! That was surely lasting harm to the man and his wife. To be eaten!”

  “Sneaky the Sidhe have become,” said Fenoderee. “Sneaky and sly. It wasn’t the man and his wife that they killed, you see. It was only deer. Sneakiness like that has been going on for some time now. They’ve kept the letter of the treaty, no matter what they’ve done to the intentions.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they’re proud, lass. The creation of man was a dreadful blow to them. It needn’t have been if they’d put their minds to understanding man rather than just resenting him. But then, after the Dark Lord went off and made his own place, he sent whisperers among the Sidhe, telling them how much their pride had been offended. And some time after the treaty was made, Oberon made another one, this one with the Dark Lord, who pledged to teach Oberon ways to keep the Holy One at bay—though the Dark Lord couldn’t keep daylight at bay if the Holy One didn’t allow it. The payment to the Dark Lord comes every seven years, and it’s what is called the teind to hell, for that is what the Dark Lord has made for himself.”

  “The hell?”

  “The only one I know of,” he said.

  “What’s the payment?” I asked, my throat suddenly dry.