Faerie Tale

by Raymond Feist

  The guide bobbed from side to side, and Sean wished the thing could speak or somehow communicate with him. Then a thought struck the boy, as he remembered how it had answered his first question back on the sunlit hill. “Are you asking me if I want to go in?”

  The ball bounced up and down vigorously. The thing could answer yes or no! Sean said, “Should I go in?” The ball wobbled a little. “You don’t know?”

  The ball bounced up and down again. “Will it help me find Patrick if I go there?” Again the indecisive wobble. Sean was then struck by something Barney had told him. “Is it dangerous in there?”

  The ball bobbed up and down again. Sean said, “Let’s go. Take me to Patrick.”

  The ball hesitated, moving in circles. Sean understood then. “It’s a shortcut!” The ball bounced up and down. “Will it save a lot of time?” Again the up-and-down motion. Sean swallowed hard and said, “Then we’ll go this way.”

  The ball of light moved toward the door of the great wooden house and the door opened without being touched. Sean gripped his dagger and followed after.

  35

  Sean stood a moment in awe. The house was a single room. But such a room! The floors were polished wood of grains so deep and rich they seemed a flowing river of dark and light lines. The boles of the mighty trees that formed the corners of the room had been carved, the columns describing people, and other creatures, in every conceivable undertaking. Sean let his eyes follow the bas-relief and saw every event in life: birth, death, lovemaking, warfare, discovery, healing, acts heroic and craven, pastimes mundane and extraordinary. He didn’t know how he understood what the carvings represented, he just knew what each signified and he was sure of that knowledge. The ball moved slowly through the vast room, as if fearful of making noise.

  The walls of the building were white, golden-veined marble, which struck Sean as odd considering that, outside, the building had looked like nothing so much as some giant wooden cabin. His eyes were enormous in silent wonder as he moved after the ball. There were six doors in the room, the one through which he had entered, another opposite at the far end of the hall, and two on each side. The side doors were of even size, but each had its own unique design. He reached the first pair and halted in fear as they both suddenly swung open.

  Sean halted, his heart pounding, as he glanced from right to left, taking in what he saw through the portals. He knew that if that door opened through the wall, a forest of vast size would be revealed. But instead he saw a light woodland, greeting his eyes with a riot of every hue as trees splendid in their magnificent autumn colors stretched off into the distance. A crisp, nutty woods scent greeted the boy’s nostrils as he looked into the beautiful vista, while a tiny red squirrel chattered a scolding at a thieving jaybird over a purloined hickory nut. Into Sean’s view came a man and woman, each with grey hair but otherwise erect in their bearing. They wore fashionable clothing, the woman a tweed skirt and jacket and walking shoes, and the man a corduroy coat over a turtleneck sweater. Both carried walking sticks, which seemed more for effect than infirmity. The man halted and tipped a jaunty little cap at Sean, while the woman smiled and motioned for the boy to approach.

  Sean knew he should move on, but the desire to go see what these two nice people wanted was overwhelming. He began to take a step when a bird’s chirp caused him to spin and look behind. Through the opposite door he saw a lovely meadow, mantled in deep, almost emerald, green. Flowers speckled the hillsides and fruit trees were in full bloom, their white blossoms playing host to a thousand nectar-gathering honeybees. A robin in a branch near the door was in full song. Sean sighed. He didn’t know what this place was, and he was frightened of it. He moved toward the far door where the Quest Guide patiently waited. A red ball bounced into Sean’s field of vision and two children, a boy and girl, scampered after it. Both wore simple tunics, straight white cloth cut above the knees, and sandals. They each grabbed the ball at once, and a struggle ensued. As the tugging began to approach conflict, the girl, almost perfect in her childish beauty, saw Sean through the door. She let go of the ball and pointed at him. The boy was dark of hair and eyes, but as fair in features as the girl. He regarded Sean with something akin to distrust, but the girl smiled and waved and beckoned for Sean to come play with them. Sean felt a sudden desire to abandon his journey and go play. The two children seemed to be having such a wonderful time.

  A step toward the door and suddenly Sean felt another tugging. He glanced back and saw that the man and woman had come to the edge of the door and were waving vigorously at Sean to come to them. The boy felt pulled in that direction, and his heartbeat increased. Something magic was happening, he thought. He knew that he must not give in to these odd urges to visit with these people, but must go find Patrick. The thought of his brother seemed to aid him in turning toward the far door and moving away from the four figures waving for him to join them.

  Moving slowly along, he passed between the next pair of doors, and they opened. Sean regarded the right door. Through it he saw an impossibly lovely winterscape. Through the cold air pouring out of the door he heard the sound of laughter. A very old man and woman entered the scene, obviously enjoying something funny one of them had just said. Hair as white as the surrounding snow peeked out from under heavy fur hats, like ones Sean had seen on Russians in the news on TV. They spoke in a language Sean couldn’t understand. They moved past his vantage point without hesitation, Sean’s presence unacknowledged, until, just as they were leaving his view, the man caught sight of him. At once he began motioning for Sean to come to them, speaking quickly in the odd language.

  Sean backed away, fighting the urge to join the elderly couple. He turned and regarded the opposite portal. Through it he could see a beach scene, and his heart ached. It looked like where his folks used to take him and Patrick back in California, up near Point Dume and Zuma Beach. Then a young man and woman dashed through the surf. The woman was as bare-chested as the man; each wore an identical skimpy black thong loincloth that barely covered anything. As they playfully splashed each other, their cries of delight were carried away over the sound of the breakers by a warm summer’s breeze. The scent of salt spray and the feel of summer heat washed over Sean and he cried silent tears of longing as a sea gull’s squawk came faintly through the portal. He wanted to be back in California with his friends, not lost in some terrible place looking for Patrick. Then the young couple were embracing, and again laughing, as the young man pulled the woman to the sand. He kissed her as he rolled over on top of her, and then he looked up, seeing Sean. With a dazzling smile of white teeth against his tan face, the young man shouted out in friendly greeting. The girl rolled over as the young man pushed up, coming to his feet. She stayed on the ground, smiling and waving. Sean felt a hot rush of panic at his urge to go to this place, the most familiar of all four views. Swallowing hard, and focusing his mind on Patrick, he turned toward the far door and made himself take a step. Slowly he made his way to the far door, and when he had a hand upon the handle, he said to the guide, “Is this the Hall of Ancient Seasons?”

  The guide bounced up and down and Sean looked back at the scenes visible through the doors. “I’d be in trouble if I went through those doors, huh?”

  The guide’s agreement was vigorous, as it spun faster on its axis and bobbed up and down. Sean wondered what would happen if he chanced through those side doors. Probably he’d be trapped somewhere, unable to get home. He pushed aside his curiosity and considered the door. Unlike the front door, this one hadn’t opened at their approach. Sean opened it by depressing the large latch and it swung open toward them, ponderously.

  Sean stood motionless for a moment, and even the Quest Guide seemed to hesitate before it plunged into the dark and foreboding woods behind the building. Sean took a deep breath and gingerly stepped out upon a black path, and followed the golden light into despair.

  36

  The woods were now something fashioned from hopeless dreams, vaulted dark trees
so close together their twisted branches seemed woven brown lines inscribed on a black tent, a batik canopy of woeful aspect raised high over head. There was a sense of ages here; Sean glanced fearfully from side to side, as if something might leap out at him at any turn. The trees’ bark was deeply etched, ravaged by time, looking like the leathery faces of ancient men, men who had been tormented for aeons. An echoing wind blew, and the swaying branches seemed to reach toward him, as if threatening … or pleading.

  Sean walked on, remembering the terror of the night Patrick was taken and his own fear. He knew that had it not been for Barney’s fairy stone, he would be a captive along with Patrick. And when the Shining Man had come for them, Sean had been reduced to something less than human, an animal, a thing cringing in fear. Nothing he saw now could match that hopelessness, that surrender of all sense of survival. His youthful mind wrestled with the reality of injured pride and a thirst for revenge and, finding them far different from what he had watched on Saturday morning television, failed to recognize them. But he felt those drives nevertheless, and he knew that once he faced the Shining Man he would act, despite his terror at the prospect. He didn’t reflect on this; he accepted it. Without Patrick, a piece was missing within himself, as that special bond between them—the one that allowed them to share the odd thought, sense how the other felt, know where the other was—that bond had been severed. Without Patrick, Sean was less than before. Fate had given him a chance to redeem his brother, and nothing short of death would stop him.

  The fluting, haunting sound of the wind was torn by the sound of hoofbeats rapidly approaching. The sky darkened ominously, as if night advanced before the nearing horseman. Sean stood, uncertain of his best course of action, to hide, to flee, or to stand. He chose the first alternative and raced to overtake the light. He reached for it and found it solid at the core, an orb the size of a baseball. He snatched it and scampered into the thicket by the roadside, crouching behind a fallen log, and peeked through the tall wild grass, while he hid the light of the Quest Guide beneath his body.

  A horseman raced along the road, a figure of night mare. A glowing white horse stretched out, seeming to fly as long legs moved in fluid rhythm. A fiery mane and tail blew behind as the rider spurred his mount along. The rider was dressed all in black and silver, armor and helm, cape and tunic. His ebon cloak trailed behind like some giant sail blown out and flapping in a gale. His head was held high, as if he was seeking, for black eye slits in the antler-bedecked silver helmet seemed to peer into the woods as he raced along.

  Perched upon his stirrup, clutching his master’s boot, was the Bad Thing, his evil, shrill laughter cutting through the drumming of the horse’s hooves. It seemed to be enjoying its precarious ride. In the space between two terror-stricken heartbeats, the rider was past.

  Sean paused a long minute to allow his heart to slow, then he remembered the guide. He moved off it and saw a dull grey orb of metal, now heavy and motionless. He looked at it in despair, for how was he to find Patrick without the guide? He felt tears coming to his eyes as he whispered, “Please. Don’t die. Help me find Patrick!”

  He repeated the words Barney had taught him, but the orb lay still. At last he had resigned himself to wandering, when a faint, friendly laugh sounded from above. Sean rolled over, scrambling backward as he brandished his silver dagger.

  A boy of fourteen or fifteen dropped casually from the trees, his pale blue eyes fastened on Sean. He seemed unmindful of the dagger, but Sean kept its point leveled at the youth. Then he recognized the boy from his description. “You’re the guy who hurt Gabbie!”

  The youth shook his head with a grin, and like a cat was suddenly moving. Faster than Sean could react the boy knelt before him, reached out, and seized his wrist, immobilizing Sean’s arm. “If I intended you harm, Sean Hastings, ’twould be easy enough a feat. But the fact I can touch you, despite your ward, proves more than words my good intentions.” Releasing the boy’s hand, the youth continued. “I am not the one who troubled your sister.”

  Sean scooted back fearfully. The fact the stranger could have hurt him but didn’t wasn’t all that reassuring. “You look like him,” he said, mustering his bravery.

  With a sigh, the youth said, “With our race, looks are an issue of whim.” He shimmered an instant, with a blue-white light much like the nimbus that had shrouded the Shining Man the night he had come for the boys, then he shifted in form, a dark outline in brilliance, and the glow vanished. The transformation had been only a second or so in duration. Where the youth had been knelt a man, older than the youth, but still young. He wore a funny hat with a broad brim, a beard, and simple trousers, shirt, and sturdy work boots. With a voice now deep and mature, he seized Sean under the arms before the boy could protest and lifted him. “You see what we wish you t’see, you of mortal blood. ’Tis our will that lends us shape. And in this guise could I have taken your sister had I wished.” He smiled in remembrance and said, “That one is among the fairest of your race I’ve beheld in years, but though she would have opened her legs t’me willingly and with joy, I’d not be the one to break the Compact.” He released Sean and again the glow surrounded him, and suddenly a little boy, no more than six or seven years from his appearance stood before Sean.

  “Come you near or go you far,

  light from candle or flick’ring star?

  See what you will, or so you think,

  but is water sweet before you drink?

  Who can know of truth and lies?

  When can a man believe his eyes?

  Suspect what’s known to mortal senses,

  for our nature vaults all mystic fences,

  that stand between that which is and seems,

  and back we are to truth … or dreams.”

  He spoke in an impish, childish, singsong voice. He glowed, and once again the youth stood there. “That is the secret of our power, for what you see you believe, and arms and armor, food and drink, all are real to those who accept them as such. Illusion is powerful when viewed as truth. Why, had you the will to believe, you could live forever from the very life abounding in the air! You wear the green stain upon your eyes and can therefore see through the illusion, not because the stain has power, but because you believe it does.” He laughed, and Sean felt something hot run down his back at the sound. “And you will remember.

  “No, I troubled your fair sister not, lad. Another sought to cause harm, as he has before and will again if allowed, and upon me cast the blame. It was a small revenge upon me for a past deed, a harmless prank that still nettles him.”

  Sean got up, wanting to be away from this disturbing boy. “I’ve got to find my brother.” He said it as a challenge, as if defying the youth to stop him.

  The youth laughed, a ringing, lighthearted peal. “And I’ll not halt your search, Sean.” Looking down the road, as if expecting the rider to reappear, he said, “That one has caused much trouble over the ages, despite the Compact, but this time more than the Queen will tolerate.…” He laughed, as if finding that prospect amusing. Then his tone turned serious. “But beyond the boundaries of the Bright Lands, he is as powerful as she. Find your brother, while the Fool is abroad, then run to the Queen’s court by way of the white path. Should that one overtake you, fight as best you can. Some will aid you, though none of us—not even myself—can match the Fool in power. Only the Queen is his equal.” The youth laughed again, as if all this were but a game. “Still, some of us who are less than the Fool are still more than most.” He reached out and took up the lifeless orb and blew upon it. At once a hot spot appeared upon the side where he blew and blossomed into a glow. With a flick of his hand and spin of the wrist, he tossed the ball, twirling, high into the air and the glow burst into brilliance around the orb. “Revive, little spirit of light, guide on this one’s quest; take him where his heart desires. Find he who is as this one in body with a spirit of another, two from the same womb. Go!”

  The Quest Guide spun around a point above
Sean’s head, then shot back to the road, where it commenced its wandering from side to side as it danced down the road, but faster than before, as if the youth’s instructions had given it impetus. Sean ran after, catching up as the orb spun around a bend in the roadway. He looked back over his shoulder to shout thanks to the youth, but no sign that anyone had been by the road remained. Sean shivered, again forcing aside fear as he resumed his search for Patrick.

  37

  The twisted, barren landscape seemed to last for miles. Sean had long since lost track of time on the path, simply resigning himself to plodding along behind the glowing Quest Guide. He felt as if he had been moving through this desolate place for ages.

  Then they crested a rise, and through the twisted trees they saw another strange house. It faced against a mound, or rather it was part of the mound, for only one wall could be seen. It appeared someone had fashioned a wall over a cave or excavation in the side of the hillock, and voices could be heard coming through the open door. Sean couldn’t understand the language, for it consisted mostly of grunts and bellows, shrieks and mad laughs—accompanied by the sounds of crockery breaking and objects of some weight slamming into walls—and he had no wish to meet the authors of that riotous conversation, so he hurried past.

  Sean moved rapidly enough that he passed the Quest Guide slightly and had to wait until it caught up with him. While he stood waiting, he noticed a strange property of the roadway. By turning his head, he saw it shift back and forth between white and black, reminding him of the illusion given by those “moving” charms given away in breakfast cereal boxes from time to time. To Sean it was clear that both the black path and the white path ran along here.