All this was baffling to me. The name of Mathilda carried a huge weight here that I would never have dreamed of. The old Fae was knowledgeable and a good friend, but this was like learning that she was a myth come to life. I glanced at Sinjin who shook his head, then at Dureau and saw that his jaw had dropped in disbelief.
“How do we know he’s telling the truth!” came an anonymous heckle from the crowd.
Finvarra’s venerable head turned to look where the voice had come from. “I see you there, Gwyllion. You can leave now and get back to your mountains or you can be silent. Your choice.”
The woman who had spoken shrunk back in embarrassment.
“No Fae,” Finvarra continued, “would invoke the name of the lady of World’s End in a falsehood. The Fir Darrig has returned.
Odran?”
Odran bowed again. “We did battle with the Darrig at Kinloch Kirk
—that is to say, Queen Jolie an’ her soobjects did. Ah was trapped beneath the waves by the Darrig.” He shook his head. I knew how hard it must have been for Odran to confess this ignominy to his court. “The changeling has gone boot the Darrig kept the bairn. The child is here, in Faery, boot we know not where. Ah have come with mah friends, and with Dureau Chevalier—
whom ye all respect—to search for the Darrig an’ to bring back the child. Ah am here to today to ask for the help o’ the Seelie Court in this task. In mah Daddy’s day, ‘twas the Seelie Court that banished the Darrig, an’ it pains me to say that it is in mah day that it has broken that banishment oonder our very noses.
We have nae duty to put right the Darrig’s evil, boot it is the honorable thing to do. Sooner or later, we will face the Darrig again, so let oos make it sooner, an’ as we put this creature down once and for all, we can also rescue an innocent child. Ah come before the Court, not as a King to command, boot as a humble soopplicant, beggin’ for help. Thank ye.”
Odran resumed his seat and I took his hand in mine to squeeze it; it had been a generous speech.
“Thank you, King Odran,” said Finvarra. “The Seelie Court will adjourn to deliberate. We shall reconvene when the gong strikes.”
With nothing else to do, Sinjin and I went back to our room, but we returned in a very different frame of mind to that in which we had left. The few days of our Indian summer of love were over—not because anything had changed between us, but because something more important had interposed. Odran had explained to me how the Faery air enhanced what we already felt. That desire to be together was no longer our predominant emotion, now we were tense and worried. We sat together on the bed, arms around each other, taking comfort in the other’s presence.
“What was that about Mathilda?” I asked, more to pass the time than anything. “The Lady of the World’s End?”
“I know.” Sinjin shook his head. “She was always just Mathilda to me.”
“I have heard the title in my travels. I always thought it was a legend. Though I have since learned that just because something is a legend, does not mean it does not also exist.”
“What do you know about her? About the legend ?”
“Precious little,” Sinjin admitted. “She is, as I understand it, not so much powerful, as important . A symbol or some such.”
The gong rang, its echoes reverberating through the body of the tree around which the castle stood. We looked at each other.
“Whatever happens…” Sinjin began.
“Agreed.” I wouldn’t let him finish the sentence, but I knew what he meant.
“Welcome back,” Finvarra spoke once everyone was seated. “The Seelie Court has come to a decision and I will now read it.”
He took a folded leaf from the arm of his chair and unfolded it.
I thought I saw a flicker of something pass across the High King’s face as he read what was written there, maybe it was anger. “It is decided. The Seelie Court of Faery will not help King Odran or his friends in the search for the Fir Darrig, nor the rescue of the Elemental-vampire child. Court is ended.”
FOUR
BRYN
For a moment I could n’t quite believe what I’d heard and so struggled with how to react to it. During the verdict, Sinjin and I had been holding hands and I now felt him squeezing mine as though to offer comfort.
It was a devastating blow and he knew how upset I ’d be. Although I was devastated and upset and on the verge of crying, that emotional response was, for the moment, held at bay by the white hot cauldron of anger that boiled inside me. There would be time for tears later, right now I wanted to pin down every member of the Seelie Court who had voted not to help us and rip them a new one.
These were the ‘good’ Fae? The best this realm had to offer? That really put into perspective just how selfish and cruel the rest of them were. The Fae had always thought they were better than everyone else—it was in their nature—but turning down a plea to help a kidnapped child?
They were scum.
And I was n’t the only one who was furious.
Odran had stood to hear the judgment of the Court, and he remained standing now, though the judgment had been given and the Court was already starting to break up and go their ways.
“You… bastards.” He did n’t shout, and yet his voice carried to every corner of the room, echoing among the vaulted branches that formed the roof.
“Odran,” Finvarra, interjected , “conduct yourself with respect in this chamber. You are still a king here.”
“And whit, exactly does that mean?” spat Odran vehemently. “Whit does it mean to be king among sooch as ye? Ah’d sooner be a king amongst cockroaches or rats than king o’ this nest o’ vipers.”
“The Seelie Court has made its decision,” Finvarra tried to mollify the infuriated king.
“Ah know that verra well,” Odran scoffed. “The court made a decision to suit itself an’ hang anyone else. We inflicted the Fir Darrig oopon the world. Our negligence in securin’ it in its banishment allowed the beastie to roon loose. Ah am as responsible for that as anyone o’ ye, but Ah stand here to take mah responsibility. The rest o’ this chamber has decided to bury their heads in the earth an’ pretend not to hear the pleas o’ a childless mother!”
“Odran, you are,” Finvarra started but Odran silenced him by holding up one of his enormous hands.
“Ye know that one day the Darrig will come for ye an’ yours, an’
ye are happy to defer that day by lettin’ it ruin the lives o’
others. Ye are afraid to stand oop an’ set yerself against the Darrig because ye fear its vengeance. An’ ye should. ‘Tis a terrifyin’ foe. But if ye are nae willin’ to stand oop for what is joost, then ye have nae right to call yerselves the Seelie Court.” His head sunk to his chest, a deeply furrowed frown etched on his features.
“Odran,” Finvarra started again.
Odran shook his head, signaling that he wasn’t finished blasting them yet. “An’ Ah willnae be part o’ a Court that would make sooch a cowardly an’ selfish decision as the one Ah have witnessed today—mah Daddy would have spit in yer faces.” His head rose, his face set and proud—I thought I’d never seen Odran look stronger or more handsome. “Ah hereby renounce mah crown. Ah am nae longer a king here in Faery. I renounce with it all my properties in Norroway an’ Kinloch, all o’ my rights as lord there, an’ mah seat in this chamber. This is nae Seelie Court that Ah recognize, an’ so Ah willnae sit in it.”
With that, he turned from the crowd and strode out of the room, every eye on him. Even in righteous anger and making a very noble sacrifice, Odran was still a showman who liked to be the center of attention.
“Should we follow him?” whispered Klassje.
Sinjin nodded. “I do not think we have any reason to remain here.
Clearly, these are not our friends.”
Maybe Odran’s abdication was an empty gesture of impotent rage, but it also galvanized all of us. We had come here looking for help and we hadn’t gotten it. Well; screw ‘em. We would go
and
take on the Darrig ourselves and get Sinjin’s and my baby without the help of the Fae. It would have been easy to wallow in self-pity and wonder what we were going to do next and how we would ever find, let alone beat, the Fir Darrig, but Odran’s courage spurred us to face this crisis with action.
We were packed and ready to go within the hour. We met at the great gates of the Castle. As the tree trunks that formed the gate parted to let us through, I touched Odran’s hand.
“Thank you, Odran.”
He brushed it off. “There’s nae need to thank me. Ah havenae done anythin’. Ah am thoroughly ashamed by the behavior o’ mah kinfolk.”
“Here, here,” added Dureau.
“Boot,” Odran added, firmly, “if today ye have seen the worst o’
the Fae, then I swear Dureau an’ I will do our best to show ye the best. The Court may not be with ye, boot he an’ I will be.”
“Damn right,” Dureau concluded.
I smiled at my friends and looked up at Sinjin. He disliked Dureau and wasn’t a huge fan of Odran either, but I think even he was now quietly impressed by the loyalty of the two Fae we had chosen to accompany us. I certainly was. While my emotional reaction to the judgment itself had been overwhelmed by my own fury, I found now that I could almost have cried with joy and relief at having such loyal friends who were willing to stand beside me and walk into danger for my sake and that of my daughter.
At least I thought the baby was a girl. Because Jolie was convinced she was.
“Where now, then?” asked Sinjin. I was sure he felt similar emotions to me but he deliberately hid them and remained outwardly practical. As he always did.
All eyes turned to Odran.
“When the Darrig was first banished,” the ex-king said, thoughtfully, “it was to the fringes o’ Faery. Ah remember mah Daddy sayin’ there was tell o’ him in the ice mountains, that border the realm with the lost lands beyond the edge. ‘Tis a vasty area to search, boot it’s a place to start, an’ if we head in that direction, then perhaps we can find others who have heard tell o’ him. A creature like the Fir Darrig is sure to have made an impression wherever it is hidin’.”
“The ice mountains it is,” said Klassje, with resolve.
After a hard day, we were all keen to put on a brave face and stay positive, but that was going to be tough. To search a mountain range and not even know if we were going the right way…
As night fell, the sky dissolving into dark blue and rich purple, we made camp. Odran built a fire and we sat around it, chatting and trying to keep each other’s spirits up. Sinjin was mostly silent, which was not unusual for him, but I sensed a despondency behind his silence that went beyond his usual dislike of idle chatter. I held him close, comforting him with my presence. Then, suddenly, I felt him stiffen against me.
“Someone is coming.”
We all looked into the darkness. There, from the direction in which we had come, a shadowy figure was approaching. And when I say ‘shadowy’ I don’t mean in any metaphorical sense. The figure moved like smoke, billowing in a concentrated cloud that more or less formed the shape of a tall, hooded man.
It wafted towards us and, as it reached the circle of firelight, the smoke resolved into solidity, the insubstantial mist becoming flesh and clothes until, standing before us, was the imposing and noble figure of the Lord of Knockma and chair of the Seelie Court, High King Finvarra.
“Your Majesty.” Dureau leapt to his feet and bowed low with a courtly flourish.
Odran was slower—until today he had been a king and now was just another Fae, which took some getting used to—but he still stood and bowed. “High King.”
“Odran,” Finvarra inclined his venerable head, his grey beard brushing his chest. “And your friends.” He spread out his gnarled hands to take in the rest of us. “I apologize for disturbing your repast.”
“Would you liked to join us, High King?” asked Klassje. This irritated me; although Finvarra, as chair of the Court, had to remain neutral and had therefore taken no part in the judgment itself, I still felt anger toward him by association; he had delivered that awful verdict.
But Finvarra shook his head. “Thank you, but no.”
“ Wh at can we do for ye, High King?” asked Odran, his face curious.
“Nothing,” replied the old Fae. “I came to offer my apology—
meaningless though I am sure it is. If I had been an active part of the Seelie Court, I would have fought blood and bone for a different to decision to the spineless one they forced me to announce to you today.”
Odran could not keep a grudging smile from his lips. “An’ Ah nae doubt ye would have carried the day. Mah Daddy told me ye were the greatest warrior o’ the Daoine Sidhe; feared from Hy Brasil to Tir Nan Og.”
Finvarra’s thick facial hair moved to suggest a smile, the w rinkles around his grey eyes creasing in pleasure. “That was many years ago, before your time and even before your father’s. Though it pleases me to think that people still remember, and I like to believe I would still hold my own in a brawl.”
“Thanks for your apology,” I spoke more coldly than I intended but, frankly, he was right; it was meaningless.
The High King turned to me and bowed deeply, still graceful in his old age. I had never been bowed to by a High King of the Fae before, and I felt embarrassed.
“It is to you, mistress Bryn,” Finvarra continued in his rich bass voice, “that I owe my deepest apologies. I cannot countenance the acts of my fellow Fae, but I am also powerless to alter them. When I was young we were the wild kind, we fought for sport—and killed too—but we still believed in things and there was such a thing as honor. Today they remember only that we were wild, that we drank and whored and slaughtered, and they forget what we did to earn that wildness. They dress up cowardice and selfishness as the elevated and aloof nature of the Fae. They pretend we are too good to help the likes of you, but it is just a front for their self-interest.”
I wondered how old Finvarra was, how many changes he had seen in Faery in his lifetime, and how hard it must have been to watch all the values he and his comrades fought for eroded by time. The problem with making life easier on your children and grandchildren was that they grew up taking your sacrifices for granted, never understanding the cost.
“Thank you,” I said again , and meant it more this time.
Sinjin had so far remained silent and I assumed he was still sullen and angry at the High King, but now he spoke. “I believe you may have come here for a different reason that to offer an apology, High King Finvarra. Am I wrong?”
Finvarra’s grey eyes twinkled in the firelight as he looked at Sinjin. “A wise vampire. I thought your people were all blood and instinct. But I see you are old for your species and perhaps have had the chance to learn patience.”
“Have you met many vampires?” asked Klassje. She seemed almost mesmerized by the quiet authority Finvarra radiated.
“I have killed many,” admitted Finvarra with a shrug. “Back when war was my way. And they killed many of mine. And when the war
was done, then a few of us were able to sit down and drink together. Not the same drink,” he added, with a mischievous smile.
“Why are you here?” pressed Sinjin.
“I cannot reverse the decision of the Court,” said Finvarra as he nodded. “And if I were to try and raise and army of my own to help you, it would rend the Seelie Court forever.”
“That does not sound like such a bad thing,” muttered Sinjin.
For the first time, Finvarra showed a flicker of anger. “You do not know what this land was like before the court, boy. Do not speak of things of which you are profoundly ignorant. Humans would have no peace from ill-minded Fae were it not for the Seelie Court, and I will not see it broken. Besides,” his ire relaxed again, “the Fir Darrig would see an army coming, a small group has more of a chance.”
“Like in Lord of the Rings,” I said, and they all looked at me with
total incomprehension.
“Are ye joinin ’ oos?” asked Odran, sounding like an excited fan-boy.
Finvarra chuckled and shook his head. “My fighting days are behind me. You do not want an old man trailing along with you.
But if I cannot help you fight the Fir Darrig, then perhaps I might be able to help you find it.”
We all sat up sharply. If Finvarra could narrow down our search even a little then it would greatly increase this expedition’s chances of success, which had been starting to seem pretty grim.
“How?” asked Odran.
“The child is of the Elemental and the vampire, yes?”
“That i s right,” said Sinjin. He had leaned forward now, his handsome features thrown into flickering relief by the firelight.
“No other such child exists in our world,” said Finvarra.
“Not in any world,” added Sinjin.
“Unique,” mused Finvarra, stroking his beard, “is easier to find, especially when we have the parents here. Your child…”
“Our daughter.” I don’t know why it mattered to me that he get it right but it did.
Finvarra smiled and inclined his head. “Your daughter. She is of both your blood, and with your blood, I may be able to track her.”
It was a simple enough piece of magic for a Fae like Finvarra —
but there were not many Fae like Finvarra. The High King drew a dagger from his belt. The blade was almost black with age and notched by who knew how many fights, and yet it had been kept to an exquisite sharpness. Finvarra held it in the fire to sterilize it, then passed it to me.
“Into my palm, if you please.”
Clenching my teeth, I drew the blade across my thumb, then squeezed so the blood dripped down, into Finvarra’s waiting palm.
“Vampire.”
Sinjin took the knife and placed it in the flame again.
Unflinching he drew it across his own thumb and I watched his blood drop into Finvarra’s other hand.
The Fae closed his hands to fists, squeezing our blood, his eyes tightly closed as if he were listening to the blood in his hands.
The Lost Child Page 4