“What is this place?” Gold whispered finally, his voice low not through fear of being overheard, but rather through simple, overwhelming awe. The huge scale of the corridor made him feel like a child trespassing in the world of adults for the first time.
“This is Caer Dhu, the last castle of the Faerie, home to the Unseeli Court and all the elven kind who still exist. It’s the land beneath the hill, the path that cannot be walked twice. The last holding of the shining ones. Don’t ask me how old it is; I don’t think even they know any more. It’s older than Shadows Fall. Older than humanity itself. The Faerie are a dream that Nature had, but not for long. They were too splendid for the common world, and it passed them by.”
They walked on. Massive statues stood everywhere, of elves and men and astonishing creatures, some disturbing and disquieting in their lines and details, as though drawn from the kind of dream one chooses not to remember upon awakening. Wondrous machines stood abandoned in corners, huge and intricate beyond any hope of human understanding. Great suits of jointed armour moved slowly through simple movements, repeating them over and over without end.
Gold and Morrison turned a corner, and came upon a group of elves gathered around a great pit in the floor. They made no sound, staring down at what the pit held with unblinking eyes. Morrison stopped, and gestured for Gold to take a look. The elves paid him no notice as he cautiously eased his way through them, and stood at the edge of the pit, looking down. Two elves were fighting at the bottom of the pit, cutting and hacking at each other with a knife in each hand. Their bodies ballooned and shrank, leapt and distorted, to follow the fighters’ needs. They made no attempt to defend themselves, accepting terrible injuries to inflict worse ones. Golden blood ran briefly from wounds that healed themselves in seconds.
The two elves fought in silence, the only sounds in the pit their explosive breathing and the continued dull impacts of steel cutting into flesh. The watching elves were silent too, but Gold could feel their tension as they followed each attack and counter-attack with rapt attention. They were all smiling, but there was nothing of humour in their faces. Gold started to back away from the edge of the pit, sickened by the almost palpable feeling of bloodlust all around him, thrumming on the air. The sheer intensity of the emotion was overwhelming, concentrated and held at an inhuman level. He eased his way out of the crowd, trembling slightly like someone who’d just witnessed a really bad street accident. One of the elves at the edge of the crowd turned to another and offered him his hand. The other elf produced a knife, took hold of the hand, and cut off one of the fingers. Gold stumbled backwards, his eyes fixed on the blood pouring from the mutilated hand. Morrison grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away.
“What the hell was that all about?” Gold said shakily as he followed Morrison along the corridor.
“That was a duel,” Morrison said easily. “It’s not actually as impressive as it looks. Elves can’t die, except by extremely severe magics or destruction. Their wounds regenerate in seconds. The pain’s real enough, but no elf ever gave a damn about that. Honour is everything. I’ve known fights like that to go on for hours, long after both fighters are exhausted.”
“And the bit with the hand?”
“He lost a bet. Elves love to gamble, but gold and silver have little meaning here. They wager pain or service or humiliation. The finger was a small thing. It’ll grow back.”
“That’s crazy. Sick.”
“No. Those are human judgements, and the elves aren’t human. Not being able to die changes how you view things. Pain and injury are passing things. Loss of face and honour can last for centuries. That’s why we can never really understand the Faerie. They take the long view. They think in terms of centuries, and the passing moment of the present doesn’t have the importance for them that it does for us.”
Gold tried to visualize a life planned in terms of passing centuries, freed from the terror of death, and had to stop when it made him dizzy. “How long do elves live, as a rule?” he said finally.
“As long as they choose. The only things that can kill them are certain powerful magics and sorcerous weapons, both of which are extremely rare.”
“Wait a minute. What about children? If they’re immortal…”
“There are no children. New Faerie are born fully grown, created through sorcery to replace an elf who’s died. And yes, I know that raises a whole bunch of new questions, but I don’t have the answers. Some things the Faerie won’t discuss at all, and that very definitely includes the origin of their species. I’ve got a feeling if we ever did find out, we wouldn’t like it at all.”
They walked the rest of the way in silence, each occupied with his own thoughts, and finally they came to the Unseeli Court, the Gathering of Faerie. Two vast doors swung open unassisted as they approached, revealing a great chamber packed from wall to wall with the highest of the elven kind. Tall, lean and imposing, they dressed in complex robes of bright and furious colours, and every one of them wore a sword on their hip. Every face and form was perfect, without defect or blemish. They were beautiful, graceful, burning and intense. The sheer pressure of their presence was like facing a blast of heat from an open furnace. They stood perfectly still, inhumanly still, like an insect poised to attack, or a predator watching its prey to see which way it will run. Some wore masks of thinly beaten metal that covered half their face, while others wore the furs of beasts, with the heads still attached and resting casually on the wearer’s shoulder. Strange perfumes scented the air, thick and heady and overpowering, as though someone had crushed a field of flowers and captured their essence in a jar. But most of all there was the silence, perfect and complete, unbroken by any murmur or whisper of movement. Gold and Morrison looked at the assembled elves, and the Faerie looked back, in a moment that seemed as though it would last for ever.
And then the elves at the centre fell back, opening up a path through the middle of the Court. Morrison stepped forward, calm and confident, and Gold went with him. The elves slowly turned their heads to watch the two humans walk among them, and Gold had to fight hard to repress a shudder. He could feel their gaze like a physical pressure, and there was nothing of friendship or welcome in it. Morrison had made it clear early on that they had no guarantee of protection. Whatever the Faerie did, no one would or could call them to answer for it. Morrison might have been here before, as a bard and honoured guest, but that had been at their summons. This time he’d come unannounced and without invitation, and brought a stranger with him.
Anything could happen.
Gold and Morrison finally came to a halt before a wide raised dais, on which stood two great thrones, intricately carved out of bone. Shapes and sigils and glyphs of all kinds patterned the fashioned ivory, detail upon detail, complex beyond hope. And on those thrones, two elves. The man sat on the left, fully ten feet tall and bulging thickly with muscle, wrapped in blood-red robes that showed off his milk-white skin. His hair was a colourless blond, hanging loosely about a long angular face dominated by eyes of an arctic, piercing blue. He sat perfectly still, as though he had waited patiently there for an age, and would wait longer still, should it prove necessary. The woman sat on the right, dressed in black with silver tracings. She was a few inches taller than the man, lithely muscular, with skin so pale that blue veins showed at her temples. Her hair was black, cropped short and severe, and dark eyes watched thoughtfully from a heart-shaped face. She held a single red rose in her hand, ignoring the thorns that pricked her. Nobility hung about them both, like a cloak grown frayed through long familiarity. Gold didn’t need to be told who they were, who they had to be. Their names were legend. Morrison bowed low to the King and Queen of Faerie, and Gold quickly did the same.
“My Lord and Lady, most noble Oberon and gracious Titania, I greet you in the name of Shadows Fall.” Morrison paused, as though expecting a response, but the silence dragged on. He smiled winningly, and continued, practically oozing charm and goodfellowship. “I apologize for this
intrusion, this uninvited appearance, but matters of great urgency have arisen which lead me to impose upon your friendship and esteem. If you will permit, I would like to introduce my friend Lester Gold, a hero.”
Gold didn’t need to be prompted to bow again, and did so as decorously as he could. It wasn’t something he was used to, and he suspected it was one of those things you needed to practise a lot before you could bring it off really successfully. He straightened up to find neither the King nor the Queen had moved or acknowledged him in the slightest. Morrison stood at his side, smiling calmly, obviously waiting for a response. But the silence still dragged on, gathering a kind of weight and momentum that was both disturbing and dangerous. The endless stare of the packed Court seemed more and more threatening, and Gold had to fight to keep his hand from edging closer to the gun in his shoulder-holster. For the first time in his long career, he knew he was facing something that couldn’t be stopped by naked courage and a well-placed bullet. Morrison smiled easily at Oberon and Titania, but Gold could sense the effort it took. The bard had been prepared for outright refusal, but the continuing silence that denied his very existence was getting to him.
“My Lord and Lady, have you nothing to say to me? I have been your bard in days past, sung your history and your praise before audiences both human and elven. In turn, you have honoured me with your friendship and your ear, and I need them both now more than ever. If I presume upon your patience, it is only because necessity drives me. Something has arisen that threatens humanity and Faerie alike, and I fear the town cannot hope to stop it alone. Your highnesses, will you not speak to me?”
A short, stocky figure appeared suddenly between the two thrones, grinning unpleasantly. Gold stared. It was the only elf he’d seen who wasn’t perfect. The elf was easily as tall as the two humans, but the thrones and their occupants made him seem smaller. His body was smooth and supple as a dancer, but the hump on his back pulled one shoulder down and forward, and the hand on that arm was withered into a claw. His hair was grey, his skin the faint yellow of old bone, but his green eyes were alive with mischief and insolence. At his temples there were two raised nubs that might have been horns. He wore a pelt of some animal whose fur melded uncannily with his own hairy body, and his legs ended in cloven hooves. He laughed suddenly, and Morrison flinched at the naked contempt in the soft sound.
“Back again, little bard, little man, little human? Back to trouble us with your wit and worries, your passing consequence and transitory worth? And speaking of urgency, and matters arising, as though the frantic tick-tocking of your mortal span had any interest to us. You forget your place, little human. You come when you are summoned, at our pleasure and at our convenience. You do not intrude upon our Court and our business as and when the spirit moves you.”
“My Lord Puck,” said Morrison easily. “A pleasure, as always. The harshness in your words pains me greatly. Am I not the bard of this Court, this Gathering? Have I not sung for you in this very hall, not six days past? You honoured me then with your praise, and gave me drink and bid me call you brother.”
“I never liked my brother,” said Puck, spinning casually on his hooves with surprising grace. “Though I like humans well enough. They make such easy prey. They run with such touching desperation, and squeal so pleasingly when they are run to ground. The smallest things please them, and they’ll fawn endlessly for a smile or a pretty word from their betters. They sniff at the rump like a randy dog, and kiss our perfect arse and think that makes us friends. You come at a bad time, human. Take what is left of our good will and leave now, while you still can.”
A brief movement went through the ranks of the Court, and Gold could all but feel the tension on the air. The weight of so many eyes, fixed and unblinking, was almost unbearable. Morrison didn’t seem to be feeling any strain, but it was all Gold could do to stand his ground. Part of him wanted to turn and run, and keep running till he was safely back in a world he understood. The thought steadied him somewhat. He wasn’t going to run. He was a hero, and heroes didn’t run. Though they did sometimes withdraw, for tactical reasons. He glanced casually behind him, checking how far it was to the doors, and how many elves were in his way. He thought again about the gun under his jacket, but kept his hand well away from it. There were hundreds of elves, and he had only a handful of ammunition. Besides, he had an uncomfortable feeling these majestic beings wouldn’t be much bothered by anything as simple as a gun. He decided to concentrate on standing very still, and doing his best to look calm and unconcerned.
“Something has happened,” said Morrison flatly. “Something has happened here, in this Court, in this land, since I was last here. But I have not changed. I am still your friend, your bard, your voice in the world of humans. I have not forgotten the gifts you gave me, or the nature and responsibilities of my position. It is a bard’s duty to say what must be said, be he welcome or no. I have come from the town to speak with you, on a matter most vital, and I will be heard. The land beneath the hill is bound to Shadows Fall by oaths as old as Time itself. Am I now to understand that the word of the Faerie has become worthless, and all agreements null and void? Have the elves forsaken honour?”
Another brief movement went through the Court, and Gold could feel the subtle change from menace to anger. Morrison ignored them all, his unwavering gaze fixed on Puck. His voice had not risen once from its calm and reasonable tone, and his arms were folded casually across his chest. The imperfect elf leaned forward, his hooves clattering quietly on the polished floor. He glared at Morrison, all trace of smile and mischief gone, but the bard didn’t flinch.
“Watch your words, little human,” said Puck. “Words have power. They bind the speaker and the listener. If you would not hear words of power and portent, leave now. I will not make this offer again.”
“I came to speak,” said Morrison, “and I will be heard. Do as you must, Lord Puck, but I’ll not move another step. There are words that must be said, and matters that must be discussed, no matter what the consequence. The next step in the dance is yours, Lord Puck. I’ll not be the first to break the faith between us.”
“So brave,” said Puck. “So arrogant. So very, very human. Speak your piece, bard. It will make no difference. Your words have no meaning here. We do not hear them.”
“I have the right of audience,” said Morrison carefully. “You made me your bard, for better or worse, and whatever falls between us that cannot be undone. I respectfully demand that two ranked members of this Court hear my words, and give judgement as to whether my words have meaning, and shall be heard.”
“Right? Demand?” Puck drew himself up to his full height, forcing his hump and shoulder back as far as they would go. “Does a human dare to use such words, in our Court, in our land?”
“Yes. Their majesties Oberon and Titania gave me that right, in days gone past. Do you now deny their word?”
“Not I,” said Puck. “Never I. Though there might come a time when you will wish I had.” He giggled suddenly, a strange and unsettling sound in the quiet of the Court. He spun on his hooves again, and dropped gracefully into a crouch. “I like your gall, Sean. I always did. You remind me of someone I respect. Myself, probably. So, since you will not be told and you will not be warned, matters will proceed as they must. Lord Oisin, Lady Niamh; step forward.”
Two elves made their way through the Court, and came to stand facing Gold and Morrison, with their backs to Oberon and Titania. They bowed to Morrison, who bowed deeply in return. Gold bowed too, just to show he was keeping up with things.
Puck leant casually against Oberon’s throne. “The Lord Oisin Mac Finn. Once a human, now an elf, of long standing in this Court. The Lady Niamh of the Golden Hair, daughter to Mannannon Mac Lir. They will hear your words. Do you accept them?”
Gold studied them both while Morrison took a long time to say yes. Oisin (once a human?) was six feet tall, which made him seem almost a dwarf when set against the rest of the Court. He had the same fi
erce eyes and pointed ears, the same lithe musculature and natural grace, but there was still something of the human in him. He was perfect, but not on the same scale. Niamh was a good eight feet tall, and looked even taller next to Oisin and the two humans. She had a sharp, handsome face and long golden hair that fell thickly to her waist, pulled back and kept out of her face with a simple headband. Gold found himself wondering, almost despite himself, how much time every day the poor girl had to spend washing and brushing and combing it.
He forced himself to concentrate on the matter in hand. Neither Oisin nor Niamh seemed particularly friendly or unfriendly. But there was something about the Court… the feeling he was getting from the packed hall had changed yet again. The anger and the menace were gone, replaced by something that had the flavour of resignation. As though by Morrison’s insistence they had set out on a road none of them had really wanted to travel. Gold shook himself mentally. It was more than probable he was reading things into the Court’s silence that weren’t actually there. After all, they weren’t human, and therefore weren’t bound to think or feel as humans did… He glanced at Morrison, who had finally stopped speaking. The young bard seemed calm, almost relaxed. But then, he always did. Gold had always prided himself on being calm under fire and cool in a crisis, but that was thirty-odd years ago, and he hadn’t met the Faerie then. Morrison bowed to Puck, crouching half-hidden behind Oisin and Niamh.
“I have my harp with me, to hand. You taught me how to get the best out of it, Lord Puck, and I will do your teaching justice. Hear my song.”
A guitar was suddenly in his hands. Gold blinked. He would have sworn it wasn’t there a minute ago. It would appear there was more to being a bard than owning a pleasant voice and knowing three chords. Morrison strummed the guitar casually, the soft gentle sound filling the quiet Court. Oberon and Titania sat forward a little in their thrones. Morrison began to sing in a strong tenor voice, and the Faerie listened.
Shadows Fall Page 15