Under the Pendulum Sun

by Jeannette Ng

  “Otherwise, I assume.”

  “Otherwise, yes, yes.” He made a clucking noise at the back of his throat. “Did not mean they are, so yes, otherwise. But nonetheless, full. On the Pale Queen’s orders.”

  “Did she–”

  A shiver of fear contorted him as he nodded.

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “The brother is speaking and she wants them to see him.”

  “Do you think she wants them to convert?” It was clear she was trying to make a point with his presence here, but what that point was eluded me.

  “She wants them to see him. Is not quite the same.”

  And then came the Pale Queen herself.

  She wore a dress of snow-white feathers and even whiter fur. It trailed for yards behind her and yet remained impeccably, impossibly pristine. White down framed her pale, flat face and on her brow was a strange wooden coronet with a carved wing stretching sharply above each ear. That and her round yellow eyes briefly reminded me of an owl.

  I studied her face as she swept in, wondering if she was capable of keeping a madwoman prisoner.

  She seated herself at the back of the chapel and, leaning over her white hand, she watched my brother with rapt attention.

  My brother looked impeccable in his surplice and stole. He stood before the lectern, an unreadable calm upon his features. The lectern was held aloft by the wings of a pelican feeding its own blood to its savage-beaked young.

  He did not look towards me.

  My brother’s sermon began quite simply. He had taken my advice after all and his subject was the kingdom of heaven, or rather its bewildering nature. The thirteenth chapter in Matthew was nothing but a long series of parables about the kingdom of heaven, laid down by Christ Himself, and each one was more gnostic and opaque than the last.

  “I will open my mouth in parables; I will utter things which have been kept secret from the foundation of the world.”

  He began by asking us to bear in mind the paradoxical nature of parables, that they are riddling by design and yet are meant to convey the mysterious with clarity. Jesus once explained that it was so that some may seeing, see not and hearing, hear not.

  “The kingdom of heaven is like unto leaven, which a woman took, and hid in three measures of meal, till the whole was leavened.”

  I had missed my brother’s sermons, the controlled cadence of his voice and the beauty of his words. I had always thought him a great orator when we were little and I would demand that he give voice to the generals of our toy soldiers and perform the soliloquies that I wrote.

  And yet, hearing him again filled me with an inexpressible sadness.

  Arcadia had changed him. Perhaps it was simply a nervousness or his desire to temper his teachings for fae ears, but he spoke with a bitterness and an absence of consolatory gentleness.

  “Again, the kingdom of heaven is like unto a merchant man, seeking goodly pearls: Who, when he had found one pearl of great price, went and sold all that he had, and bought it.”

  The unfocused nature of the parables gave him little structure. He was in command of his own subject but he was sprawling; there was too much he wanted to say. He had too long been alone with his own thoughts. He cited Bede in one breath and then Aquinas in the next. He made Calvinistic allusions to reprobation and predestination, and then Newmanian arguments for bodily privation and chastisement.

  “Again, the kingdom of heaven is like unto a net, that was cast into the sea, and gathered of every kind: Which, when it was full, they drew to shore, and sat down, and gathered the good into vessels, but cast the bad away. So shall it be at the end of the world: the angels shall come forth, and sever the wicked from among the just, And shall cast them into the furnace of fire: there shall be wailing and gnashing of teeth.”

  I had an acute awareness that the passion that fuelled his eloquence was drawn from great depths where moved troubling impulses of insatiate yearnings and disquieting aspirations. I did not know if he was always this way and I had simply never noticed or if the years as a missionary had inspired these impulses within him.

  “The kingdom of heaven is like to a grain of mustard seed, which a man took, and sowed in his field: Which indeed is the least of all seeds: but when it is grown, it is the greatest among herbs, and becometh a tree, so that the birds of the air come and lodge in the branches thereof.”

  He ended the parable of the mustard seed and spoke of the many identities given to the birds that nested among the branches of the tree. Many had guessed whom Jesus could have meant and more have argued it didn’t matter.

  Looking Mab very directly in the eye, he said, “But unlike all others who have asked that question, I have before me a parliament of owls.”

  There was a moment of stillness as my brother allowed his words to settle. Mr Benjamin, who sat in awe beside me, unclasped his hands to cross himself, taking his eyes off my brother to glance heavenward. Laon had found a place for the fae in the Bible and it was not in the ancient past nor in the angels and devils, but in the very parables of Jesus. It was, in its own way, a powerful, resonant truth.

  Mab threw back her head and laughed.

  It was a sound that filled every nook and cranny of that tiny chapel and squirmed its way, writhing, under my skin. Reverberating, it shook the foundations of the stone and shivered through my bones, like a note through a tuning fork.

  And then, she stopped.

  The Pale Queen smiled wide, showing her teeth, her gaze fixed upon my brother. She said: “What now, mortal?”

  “W-we sing.” Laon swallowed. I could tell he was hoping no one had noticed his stutter, but the fae were already leaning towards one another. The gossip rippling through the pews, passing from feather-veiled beak to sandy, hand-covered mouth.

  Chapter 18

  The Other in the Snare

  Jesus shall reign where’er the sun

  Does his successive journeys run;

  His kingdom stretch from shore to shore,

  Till moons shall wax and wane no more.

  Behold the islands with their kings,

  And Europe her best tribute brings;

  From north to south the princes meet,

  To pay their homage at His feet.

  There Persia, glorious to behold,

  There Elphane shines in illusory gold;

  And barbarous nations at His word

  Submit, and bow, and own their Lord.

  Where He displays His healing power,

  Death and the curse are known no more:

  In Him the tribes of Adam boast

  More blessings than their father lost.

  Let every creature rise and bring

  Peculiar honours to our King;

  Angels descend with songs again,

  Earth and Fae-realm speak amen!

  Perhaps one of the most interesting occasions on which this hymn was used was that on which the newly baptised King Siaosi of the South Sea Islands gave a new constitution to his people, exchanging a heathen for a Christian form of government. Under the spreading branches of the banyan trees sat the some five thousand natives from Tonga, Fiji, and Samoa, on Whitsunday 1831, assembled for divine worship. Foremost amongst them sat King Siaosi and around him were seated old chiefs and warriors, as well as the benevolent agents of the South Sea Company.

  Who so much as they could realise the full meaning of the poet’s words? For they had been rescued from the darkness of heathenism and cannibalism and they were that day met for the first time under a Christian constitution, under a Christian king, and with Christ Himself reigning in the hearts of most of those present. That was indeed Christ’s kingdom set up in the earth.

  Joseph Hale, Hymns Ancient and Modern, illustrated

  with biography, history, incident and anecdote

  After the hymn was communion, the consumption of the Eucharist. Laon blessed the bread and wine and called forth the divine presence. Watching him reminded me of all the tim
es I had seen him perform in our own stark church. It brought to mind all the times I had seen him practise nervously the night before services. The cadence of the ritual brought me comfort; it felt like home.

  I am the living bread which came down from heaven: if any man eat of this bread, he shall live for ever: and the bread that I will give is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world.

  This was a mirror of that promise made by the son of God, a recreation of that scene. In my mind, I always imagined him furtive, desperate, casting about something to make sacred, the way Laon and I would swear promises on handfuls of broken heather. But perhaps that was too human an assumption. It was a bite of forbidden food that cast Mankind from the garden, perhaps it is only right that a bite of the sacred should return us.

  And then, hesitation. Laon’s hands faltered as the Pale Queen laughed, this time a far brighter, lighter sound.

  “Have you forgotten the salt, Reverend Helstone?” came her voice.

  I did not turn to look at her, but I could imagine her taunting smile. The fae that filled the pews did not take this as a cue to laugh with her so there was brittle silence as she waited for my brother to respond.

  He said nothing but his hands were shaking as he sprinkled salt onto the body and blood of Our Lord. It was an intrusion, but a necessary one.

  After all, it was just bread and wine. No different than the food and drink we consume each day. The rules of Arcadia did not make exceptions for our faith.

  Only Mr Benjamin and I came forward to receive the sacrament.

  I did not see my brother after the service.

  The Pale Queen was exuberant in attentions towards me and invited me to her rooms for tea. She insisted that one of her silent servants with owlish eyes and flowing robes fuss over me and lead me there whilst she thanked her pet missionary one more time.

  I bristled at the term pet missionary, but I did not correct her.

  The silent servant placed a taloned hand onto my shoulder as they walked me to Mab’s rooms. They did not speak, but neither did their heavy robes rustle nor their feet click against the floorboards. I heard only my own echoic footsteps. It was like being guided by a shadow.

  The door opened into an airy set of chambers dominated by a four-poster bed, carved of darkest rosewood and extravagantly curtained. The foundation of the bed was carved in mimicry of fallen leaves and gilded in shades of gold and brass. The drapes fell in heavy folds; the pattern of their brocade suggested strings of feather-veined leaves. The tableau was made complete by the gnarled and treelike posts, the illusion of bark having been worked again into the wood, a tree masquerading as itself.

  The sheets upon the bed were simple in contrast. They were a tumble, giving the impression of a discarded cocoon. They were white linen with faded green ribbons.

  I remembered attaching my green ribbons to our old sheets. They had been our mother’s in her dowry, and when Laon had inherited them I had sewn on the green ribbons on an extravagant whim. I had worn those ribbons in my hair running through the moors. I remember him trying to snatch them from me as we rolled about in the heather.

  Those were Laon’s sheets on Mab’s bed.

  My mouth was suddenly very dry. There was something blushingly inappropriate about being in here. My heartbeat stuttered and I felt as though I was intruding, as though I was seeing something not for my eyes.

  But there was little I could do. I sat down on the red divan and sorted through my knitting basket, trying not to take in too much of the room. My basket had been fetched by one of the silent servants and I had assumed the Pale Queen wanted me to show her how to knit.

  It didn’t mean anything, of course, those sheets. My mind turned back to that dream of my brother and the pale woman, even as I knew this meant nothing. It was not proof. I had packed him a linen chest when he departed England a missionary. And sheets were meant to be used.

  Mab’s visit was meant to be brief so there was no reason to empty the room of his winter clothes. I saw them in the half-open wardrobe, the distinctive sleeve of his greatcoat peering out. He did not need those clothes.

  My eyes turned upwards and I saw the wrought iron chandelier hanging up on elaborate chains, its branches replete with stout candles. Drab nightingales flitted about, perching on the pendants of the ribbed ceiling. Nightjars flashed their white-streaked wings.

  The ceiling was painted a brilliant blue and scattered with gold and silver stars. This false sky was interrupted by the gilded ribs that held it aloft and ornately moulded pendants.

  No, not held aloft. The lines of the room were wrong for that. Another architectural illusion.

  I was counting my stitches for the third time when Mab swept into the room.

  She shed her cloak of feathers, revealing a brown and white dress. The skirt was made of vast petals patterned like the wings of an owl butterfly, round black yellow-rimmed eyespots staring and dappled with the mimicry of layered feathers. Still, it was unmistakably a butterfly as I could see the veined segmentation of the wings and that distinctive smudge of colour where the pattern breaks down at the base of the wing.

  I dipped a curtsy.

  She arched a smile and all I could think of was that dream with the willow-bordered brook and how close her lips were to my brother’s ears, his cheek, his neck. Flushing, I looked away.

  “I did so enjoy your brother’s sermon,” she said. “You shouldn’t be shy about that.”

  A man of sand brought in a tray of tea things and set it upon the table between us.

  “You wanted to learn to knit, majesty?” I said.

  “Why so distant, little one?” she said. She sat closer to me and as her dress brushed against mine, like the wings of a butterfly, her skirts shed a pale, dry dust.

  “I- I am not distant at all.” I brushed the dust from my skirts, calling attention to how close to me she sat.

  She exhaled a long, breathy sound that might have been a laugh. I wondered then as I had before if that was the laugh of a being who could steal a child and imprison them. I remembered the low keening sound of the woman in black, its desperation and its sorrow.

  “Pour me tea, at least,” said the Pale Queen. “Whilst it is still hot. It is only polite.”

  I nodded and did as she bid. I poured the tea and sliced the cake that had been laid out for us.

  “What has delayed Miss Davenport?”

  “I’m afraid she won’t be joining us today. You will have to forgive me. I do know how much you like the company of your own kind.”

  “But Miss Davenport, is she not–”

  “No,” she interrupted, correcting me. “Not exactly.”

  Her tone was one that brokered no argument, so I did not press for an explanation, however bewildering the remark was. I enquired her preferences for sugar and lemon and milk, a ritual that seemed to calm her.

  “One sugar, but no milk, if you please,” she said. “I cannot bear milk, though I suppose it’s more that it cannot bear me.”

  “Of course, majesty.”

  “It spoils in changelings, don’t you know?”

  As she held daintily her teacup, the Pale Queen gave me a wide, open smile. “I have been thinking about your brother’s sermon. Because it is given unto you to know the mysteries of the kingdom of heaven, but to them it is not given them. Have you ever thought who the you and who the them are?”

  “What do you mean?” I sprinkled a little salt over the pound cake and took a bite. I passed her the unsalted slice.

  “I mean, little one, that for there to be an elect, for there to be those who understand, there must be those who do not. Your Jesus speaks in riddles to utter things which have been kept secret since the foundation of the world. He speaks in riddles so that some may understand, but more importantly, so that some may not.” She took a sip of her tea before stirring it with her finger and then daubing the sweet liquid onto her tongue. “Do you not see? Things can only be a secret if someone doesn’t know it.”
/>   “So… you mean to say that we need ignorance?”

  “No, Miss Helstone. What I mean is that you need someone to be different. It doesn’t matter who they are, just that they are. Different. Be it the heathens or the pagans, the Catholics or the Papists… Or, really, the fae.”

  “The fae?”

  “Those who take shelter upon the leaves of the church but are not part of it. We who give you definition, meaning, purpose. We who are your opposite.”

  “I wouldn’t say you are the church’s opposite…” I tried a nervous laugh.

  “Opposed, then, perhaps?”

  “No, not that.”

  “But what are you without us?”

  “Human.”

  Her grin was only getting wider as she watched me with unblinking, yellow eyes. “But you did not truly know what it meant to be human until you looked upon the fae.”

  “I know who I am.”

  “You know who you are not. That is not the same thing.”

  I looked away, biting my tongue. I was trembling in suppressed frustration; she was taunting me.

  “Did you not want to learn how to knit?” I said, quite desperate to change the topic.

  She laughed again, this time a slightly human noise, though it was breathy and rumbling. “I am capable of pity, Miss Helstone. So show me,” she commanded. “Show me how to knit.”

  Obediently, I demonstrated to Mab the basics of knitting, hooking the yarn back and forth over my needles.

  She stood and moved behind me, leaning very close to peer at my work. My eyes flitted to her and I noticed what she wore around her neck. Dangling from rough cord was a stone with a hole in it.

  “You are admiring my treasure,” she said, a note of pleasure in her voice.

  “Yes, it is quite…” I floundered for words. “Special.”

  “Oh, it is very special.” She smirked at me, her sharp lips arching wide and thin even as the left side was smugly weighed down by a secret. “I keep it as a memento from a child I knew. We became very good friends.”

  “A child?”

  “Well, a child no longer. They do grow so quickly. I am not good with time, but she looks the same age as you.” She held the stone in her hand, turning it so that the light played iridescently off it. “Some believe lesser minds are so fascinated with such stones that they become unable to carry out their larcenous designs. But you and I know that to be untrue, don’t we?”