Got Hope

by Michael Darling

  “Sounds better than the alternative. If I were you, I’d look terrible in a bikini.”

  “Ha ha. Fáidh said it was hard for you to even think about a girlfriend and it might take a while for you to have feelings for me. But you’re a good guy. I can be patient and go with the flow. I’ll be a Taoist.”

  Aha. The conspiracy revealed.

  Hope stopped the back-and-forth and looked at me with eyes that had gotten shinier. If that was possible. “Fáidh told you about my mother and grandmother, right?”

  “No, she did not. She told me she didn’t. Maybe you should start from the beginning.”

  Hope rolled her eyes. “Fine. Faith is my mother and Charity, my grandmother. I see them in dreams and they tell me things.”

  “Like following your heart? And meeting a man with burning hands? That is, if I took a spectacularly wild guess that nobody mentioned to me.”

  Hope shook her head before she nodded. “Yes. I’ve always been close to them and everything they’ve ever told me came true.”

  “That’s a very special relationship.”

  “Uh-huh. And I’ve been really happy today. They told me today’s an important day.”

  I didn’t want to interrupt her. She took a big breath and put her hands behind her back. “There’s a reason you and I met,” she said. “Today I find out why.”

  This was important to her. I felt happy for her. I rested my hands on her shoulders long enough to feel her trembling. I pulled her in and held her because I didn’t have words for something like that.

  She snuggled her cheek into my shoulder. “I don’t know what will happen after today and it doesn’t really matter. Everything’s going to work out the way it’s supposed to. We’re meant to be together. I keep using the word happy but it’s true. I’m happy.”

  I pictured us as a couple. Hiking the south end of the Appalachian trail. Visiting her dad. Watching the Dolphins from the cheap seats. We wouldn’t have children, but that was okay. I couldn’t entirely erase the image of Fáidh and Blake from the background of a life together with Hope. But I was better able to keep the image of Hope and I creating a life together as a possibility I could accept.

  “I’m happy too,” I said.

  Hope gave my waist a squeeze then she backed up and punched me in the gut.

  Oof.

  “All right, before you get all mushy, I’m going to go check out the arena so you can take a bath in private. Then you can go walk around and I’ll take a bath too.” Hope went to the door. “I promise I won’t peek. Not on purpose.”

  “Hope.”

  “Yes?”

  “Flirty.”

  Hope smiled, unrepentant, and closed the door behind her.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine: Gifts

  While the tub filled with hot water, I investigated the room. The cupboard held fresh undergarments and riding clothes exactly my size. Last night’s painkilling leaf was wearing off but rubbing down with a hard bar of soap was just as good. I washed my hair with the soap as well and emerged from the still-steaming bath feeling like a brand-new prince.

  The new riding clothes were less provincial than what I’d arrived in and I dressed to the sound of the bathtub draining. The new breeches had the padding I’d grown to appreciate but the tunic and doublet had a trimmer cut. The door opened as I was pulling my boots back on.

  “The arena is incredible!” Hope’s face was flushed with cool air and excitement. “You should go check it out. Unless you want to help me wash my hair.”

  I mumbled an “excuse me” and went to the door.

  “Hurry back!” Hope called.

  Flirty. Impetuous.

  I walked down the corridor to the arena. The walkway near the top of the spectator’s area offered an excellent view of the floor far below. Like an ancient Greek amphitheater, there were no seats to speak of, just steeply stair-stepped terraces that wove in and out of the rock. The terraces were covered with hundreds of cushions and pillows in rust and silver. The elegantly planned spectator sections were interspersed at random with uncut slabs of rock that retained their rugged natural beauty, and only a few of those ran all the way up from the floor to the top. Most extended only a few levels.

  The combination was beautiful.

  The floor was just as impressive. Instead of a flat field, the ground had been left in a natural state. Pillars of stone brooded over dark, gaping pits and a grove of oak trees held court around a deep, blue pond. It was easy to imagine warriors fighting each other here while bloodthirsty spectators watched. The echoes of rallying shouts and the groans of the dying could almost be heard still, as if the noise of fear and death lived in the rocks.

  Each end of the arena had a plateau, elevated as high as the first row of terraces. A wide, sturdy bridge spanned the middle of the field, connecting the two platforms. The north plateau was barren. The south plateau is where I found my friends.

  Both Asaliompair, bearing our gifts for the Máithrín, had been led to the bottom of the coliseum where Sir Siorradh supervised the off-loading of the crates.

  “The gifts are ready, milord,” Siorradh said. The crates had carried more decorative boxes which had been carefully unpacked and stood now in a neat, multi-colored row at the front of the plateau. The silver ribbons appeared to be real silver and the gold tassels real gold. One box looked like it was made of obsidian so perfectly mirror-like I could shave my face while looking at it. The box alone was probably worth more than the house in Miami.

  “I didn’t ask what’s inside them,” I finally replied. “Anything I should know about?”

  “The gifts are sealed and the Alder King wishes for them to be opened by the Máithrín only. Or her designated representative.”

  “No nasty surprises then?”

  “Gifts between monarchs are often trinkets, milord. Intended to amuse. I think when you have amassed a wealth of power, you look for distractions from responsibility and for recognition. Those things are more important than goods you already have in abundance. This has also been true in the mortal realm, has it not?”

  I guess so.

  “I’d like to think taking care of people is most important.”

  “An admirable goal, dude. But, sooner or later, you just want to get in your fast car and take a drive to get away from it all.”

  Yeah.

  Wait.

  “How did you know I have a fast car?”

  Siorradh extended his gauntleted hands and gave a ghost of a shrug, as if to say, “Duh.”

  “I get it. Single guy in his late twenties. No mortgage. Of course I have a fast car.”

  Fáidh appeared at my elbow. “The gifts are pretty.” I turned to look and my eyes didn’t want to stop looking. Fáidh’s gown was a rich, deep plum color that set off her green eyes like a midnight ocean beneath a pair of emeralds. Her hair was tousled and full with delicate silver chains braided into it and she appeared almost leonine, with a barely-contained wildness. My heart remembered to beat after admiring the view.

  “The gifts are the last bits of junk at the end of a trailer park yard sale, next to you.”

  Fáidh smiled, adding more electricity to her appearance.

  Sir Siorradh cleared his throat. “I have instructions from Bromach,” he said.

  “Of course you do.”

  Siorradh must have caught the bitter tone of my voice. “Are you displeased, sire?”

  “Nothing against you, sir knight. You are doing an excellent job. What did he say?”

  Siorradh nodded, his helm catching the last light of the day. “He said to keep your remarks brief. Tell her majesty that you’re honored to be here and offer the gifts to her.”

  “Done.”

  “As for placement, Bromach insists on presenting a strong front. You will take a central position and be flanked by the armored members of our company with myself at your right hand. Our archers and unarmored fighters, including Rós, will stand directly behind you. This will show the Máithrín that you ar
e a warrior, aligned with our most powerful forces.”

  I held my hand up to stop him. “That’s not going to work.”

  If Siorradh had a face, it no doubt looked perplexed. “Sire?”

  “Are you a Valley Girl?”

  Siorradh paused. “Like, no. Gag me with a spoon, dude.”

  I laughed. The hollow sound of his voice, falsetto in a bucket, was hilarious. “Exactly,” I said. “Like you, I can’t be someone I’m not.”

  “You come from a line of warriors that has existed for centuries.”

  “I grew up in a foster home full of outcasts. Literally cast out from this realm.”

  Siorradh didn’t move. For ten full seconds. “Then who are you, Tao-man?”

  That wasn’t easy to answer. To add distraction, Hope came down the walkway like a girl just finding out she’d been picked to be Miss Universe. Smiling, a little shy, very pretty in a creamy white gown with light blue accents and an intricately-crafted silver belt around her narrow waist. Her hair had been pulled back and braided in a pattern that incorporated different styles woven into each other to make a beautiful artwork.

  Hope noticed me noticing. She brushed the braid with her fingertips. “Do you like it? Mátrún did it in less than ten minutes. I’m taking her home with me.”

  “It’s lovely,” I replied. Maybe it was crazy but I couldn’t put one woman’s beauty over the other. They were so different and it was both women maximizing their individual potential that made them pretty. I looked at Hope and Fáidh, back and forth.

  “Here’s who I am, Sir Siorradh. I’m a guy who is lucky enough to have friends. I’m not going to fight the universe, dude. I’ll be myself. Action through non-action.”

  “All right. Be that.”

  “Good. I understand there are politics, so Fáidh should be by my side, and for strength, Sir Siorradh, all I need is you.”

  “I am honored.”

  “Hope. I need you behind me because you’re a mortal and I want Rós to stand with you. Don’t be disappointed, okay?”

  “Hey, I’m a cheerleader,” Hope gave a pom-pom gesture and a little jump. “It’s my job to support the stars of the show.” She didn’t sound jealous, which impressed me no end.

  “Anyone else who wants to stand behind us is welcome,” I told Siorradh. “They worked hard to get us here and they deserve recognition.”

  “I’ll spread the word.” Siorradh moved to gather the troops.

  I was supposed to give the leather message holder to the Máithrín so I collected it from my trunk. The sun was setting. I couldn’t see the horizon from the bottom of the arena, but the color of sky and the flat clouds told me it was almost time to meet the Máithrín.

  I think I’m ready.

  And she was here.

  There was no fanfare. I looked at the plateau across from us, then I looked at the sky to see if there were any stray tatters of sunshine on the clouds. When I looked down, there she was.

  Her entire company, with lights and chairs and attendants, appeared all at once.

  Mega-blink.

  No sound other than a massive amount of air being displaced, and that was barely more than a gust of wind that rolled over us and vanished up the terraces.

  I reached for Fáidh’s hand. “Here we go,” I said.

  A man with a tall hat gave a slow bow. Then he straightened and fixed his gray eyes upon us. “Prince Luck, honored guests, the Máithrín bids ye welcome. I am Urlabhraí.” He maintained the air of a disinterested functionary, barely acknowledging our existence. “Prince Luck, step forward and make thyself known.”

  That was my cue.

  I just needed to be a six-foot cucumber and we could all go home.

  I left Fáidh and Sir Siorradh and walked to the front of the plateau. “Honorable Majesty,” I began. “The Máithrín of her people and noble ruler of these lands, I greet thee and present thee with gifts in recognition of the friendship between the inhabitants and lords of our respective kingdoms.” I took a deep breath and ended with a bow.

  My speech was done.

  Across the middle of the north plateau hung shimmering curtains and at first glance, they appeared to be for decoration. Then a hand slid out at the center, drawing the curtain aside to reveal a glimpse of an entire throne room behind.

  The woman who emerged was both youthful and ancient. Her short blond hair was slicked down with silver butterflies clipped in rows over her head. She moved with a casual precision that indicated she had been using her body for a long time and controlled every movement. To normal eyes, she might have appeared lethargic. To me, she demonstrated vast experience and frightening confidence. I noticed her Stains. They were complex green bands with silver and black and they turned more slowly than any Stains I could remember.

  She wore a mother-of-pearl gown immaculately covered in faceted scales of some kind and it was somehow understated and elegant despite its sparkle. When her green eyes fell upon me, it felt like the gaze of something old and reptilian and utterly merciless.

  My instincts jumped to red alert.

  Dad’s right. She’s dangerous.

  “Well done, little prince.” The Máithrín’s voice flowed in a silken stream but flowed as if over cables of steel. “I was told thou hast a habit of letting thy tongue run unbridled. It is well thou knowest when to hold it.”

  There was nothing I could say to that.

  “I see thou hast chosen not to hide behind the strength of the fighters thou hast brought. That is wise, kinglet, for I value other kinds of strength in a man. Perhaps thou wilt be worth our time after all.”

  Bonus points for me. In your face, Wince.

  I walked to the foot of the bridge, holding the leather case with dad’s written message.

  She sighed. “Formal documents, bane of every ruler. Go ahead and read them, kinglet. Lest we upset thy father.”

  I broke the seal and unbuckled the cap. A scroll of parchment waited inside and I unrolled it.

  It wasn’t in English. I knew some Spanish, and a little Farsi and Arabic, but I didn’t recognize this writing at all.

  “The old tongue? I doubt thou wilt be able to read it. Urlabhraí?”

  The cylinder and scroll blinked away and instantly appeared in the Máithrín’s hands.

  That’s cool.

  Urlabhraí’s hands were limned in blue.

  The Máithrín glanced at the scroll, then dropped it on the ground. “How tedious.” She appraised the row of gifts, gesturing at them with a slow sweep of her hand like a snake uncoiling. “What hast thou brought me then? Bring the pretty black one and let us see.”

  No one else moved. I gave a bow and picked up the obsidian box. It was large enough to be a coffee maker, perhaps, or a microwave oven, although there’d be no use for appliances here. I stepped out to the bridge and traversed it at a pace that I felt was confident but not rushed.

  I stopped and she said, “So solemn, my prince.”

  “Just thinking it’s an honor to be here,” I replied.

  The Máithrín laughed, a high-pitched rattling of glass. “Thou art not thinking such. But the sentiment is nice.”

  She plucked the box from my hand. A servant appeared with a small table and placed it in front of her so she only had to move an inch to set the box down. The Máithrín’s fingers moved like the legs of a spider, tapping lightly and delicately on the corners and edges of the box, admiring the construction of the obsidian container or perhaps her reflection in it. She pulled the ribbon and the bow fell away. The lid opened of its own accord.

  Leaning over to peer into the box, she tilted her head curiously as her fingers continued to move with delicate independence. A smile spread across her face. She lifted out a small box with a plastic front. It was a vinyl bobble-head figure, a villainess from a comic book movie.

  “So, pretty.” Máithrín’s eyes danced, enchanted. “Welcome to my collection, wee one.”

  The rest of the box held more dolls, most of them c
heap plastic stuff from the mortal realm, but there was a geisha doll that looked to be centuries old and very fragile. She treated each doll with equal care and delight, cooing and squealing and talking to them.

  “Are you a pretty little girl? Do you have a pretty little dress?”

  What is she? Five years-old?

  The cooing ended and she turned to me. “Tell thy father his tastes are exquisite.”

  I nodded in reply.

  The Máithrín waved two burly men forward. They carried a box between them, six feet long and two feet wide.

  “Here is a gift in return. I think thou wilt find it poetically suitable.”

  The men put the box down with care. The lid was held shut with clasps that the Máithrín flicked open with a wave of her finger, from ten feet away. Everything is magic with her. How much power does she have if she feels free to use it all the time?

  “Open it.” The Máithrín smiled and it seemed she had more teeth than she should.

  I lifted the lid, which pivoted along the side.

  Like a coffin.

  Underneath the lid, there was a glass cover. At first, I thought in contained a life-sized doll. The white satin lining and the silk pillow and the coffin all felt like part of a creepy joke. The doll had black hair and rose-tinted lips with just enough curl at the corners to make you think she was starting to smile. Although her eyes were closed, they weren’t sunken and her lashes were dark and long. The cheekbones and chin were just on the good side of prominent.

  Paintings I’d seen as a child flashed through my mind. This wasn’t a doll.

  This was my mother.

  Out of reverence or shock—maybe both—I knelt at the side of the coffin.

  The Máithrín laughed, then hummed, pleased by my reaction. “I see thou knowest her. The Alder King may tell thee the story of how she was lost, if he has yet to share it,” she said. “From that, thou wilt know what it took for us to find her.”

  Her words barely registered. I knew she’d said something I should remember for later. In the moment, I felt the need to give my attention to the woman who had given birth to me, the woman who had been taken away from me in my childhood.

  Mom.

  I got to look at her for a minute before the Máithrín clapped her hands. “How nice to see my gift is appreciated. I’m happy it touches thy heart. Next! What else hast thou for me?”