Mistress of the Gods (The Making of Suzanne Book 2)

by Rex Sumner

  “Riofach and Fionuir live in the teaching trees too, while Orlaith and I live with our parents,” said Fainche, sitting on Susan’s bed where Riofach joined her while Fionuir inspected her wash clothes and cosmetics and Orlaith started fingering her hair.

  “What have you done to your hair?” Orlaith ran her fingers through it, ignoring Susan’s attempts to move her head away. “It is beautiful and fine; you should let it grow.”

  “I had to cut it,” Susan muttered, hoping that would be enough.

  “Ooh,” squealed Riofach. “Did you sleep with lots of men, so the priests cut your hair? I heard you humans do that.”

  Now she mentioned it, Susan recalled hearing the same story and flamed with embarrassment. Before she could speak, Fainche interrupted.

  “Is it a trick? How you got into the teachings? Maelbelenus does not take everybody, and with your hair you look like the fairy goddess, what is her name?”

  “Aine,” said Fionuir. “She was so tiny she could sleep in a rose bud, but her magic let her become as big as a lady and no man could resist her charms. The Kingmaker, she cast down King Aulom by biting off his ear as he took her by force. She seduced the High Druid himself, sworn to Danu, and the Mother Goddess in her anger imprisoned her on the Isle of Dreams, guarded by the dragon god Fiotr. When he sleeps she is able to escape to lure lovers to her lair, never to be seen again.”

  Silence fell as the girls regarded Susan with curiosity, while Susan stared at Fionuir in fascination at this wonderful tale. She noticed Riofach looking uncomfortable, so she whirled around and plucked a rose from the vase of flowers, a gift from her landlady. She turned around, the rose held to her nose and inhaled deeply, her eyes shut. They shot open, so wide white was visible all around the pupil, the brilliant blue flashing even in the low light, and she blew pollen from the rose at Riofach.

  “Come, come with me to the Isle of Dreams and meet Fiotr, my Dragon lover, and sate his desire for Elven maids.” Riofach’s jaw dropped open and she screamed, falling off the bed when Susan threw the rose at her. Fainche sat up straighter on the bed, while Orlaith backed away, her pale colour managing to become even whiter. Fionuir threw back her head and let out a peal of laughter.

  “Oh wonderful, I am going to like you,” she said, giving Susan an impromptu hug. “Don’t mind Riofach, she’s a nice girl just speaks without thinking.” She whispered these last few words in her ears. In moments all the girls were laughing, except for Riofach who gave Susan a baleful look as she picked herself up.

  “You really scared me,” she complained as she brushed down her dress.

  “I’m sorry,” said Susan with complete lack of sincerity. “Oh, your dress is so pretty. What is it made from and how did you get that divine colour?”

  Riofach perked up. “I love it! My mother gave it to me last week. It is from the thread we take from our caterpillars, dyed with snails.”

  “Snails?” Susan blanched, wondering if she had misunderstood.

  “Yes, from the sea to the south west. My mother visited once and said it is very smelly, they boil them for ten days, but it creates these wonderful purple colours and they don’t fade.” She held out a sleeve for Susan to feel.

  “Oh, it is wonderful! This is silk, and such pretty colours. I have never seen such fine cloth; it is worth a fortune in Bresol or Praesidium. I didn’t know you produced silk of such quality.”

  “We don’t make much, it is too much hard work,” said Fainche. “We only ever make enough to use ourselves. It is hard to get the Sea Elves to make the dye, which is why her mother went to try and get more. If we don’t go down there and stay for a while, they won’t make enough for us.”

  “Of course not,” said Fionuir. “We’re Elves, we would rather dance and get drunk than do any work.” There was an undertone in her voice, which the other girls missed but Susan picked up with a narrowing of her eyes. Fionuir raised her eyebrows at her, as Orlaith laughed.

  “Yes! The dance, it is tomorrow night. We must make sure Soo Zann has proper clothes, ones that show off her body nicely. You have a big bottom, the boys will like that.”

  Susan bristled, she so did not have a big bottom.

  “She hasn’t got anything to wear,” wailed Riofach, going through Susan’s wardrobe with no regard to propriety, causing the other girls to join her.

  “I haven’t seen any shops,” said Susan. “Where can I get a dress?”

  “Shops? What are they?”

  “We don’t have shops,” said Fionuir. “Here, everyone makes their own or swaps something. Elves don’t work very hard; it is more fun to party. The work we do is tending the forest and the animals, gathering what we wish. The caterpillars give us thread when we sing to them, and we exchange thread with the dwarves to weave it and for jewels and gold. We have to escape quickly, as our mothers will make us weave cloth for our own clothes otherwise. But don’t worry, I have a dress that I think will fit you. You are welcome to borrow it for tomorrow. Can you sew?”

  “Oh yes, my family are tailors, I am good at making clothes.” Susan thought a moment. “Do you girls use face paints? Perhaps I could trade making your face beautiful?”

  “What are they? What do you mean?”

  Susan took Orlaith and sat her on the root that doubled as a chair in front of her washbowl, but turned around to face into the room. The others crowded round behind her, exclaiming as Susan tied back Orlaith’s hair before dusting her face with a light powder.

  “This is just a very fine powdered rock, though the rock is so soft you can scratch it with a knife. I grind it in a mortar so it is smooth. Brushing it over the face smooths everything out and lets me highlight the areas I feel will benefit.”

  She worked with speed and precision, while the girls fell silent as Orlaith transformed, before she put away the talcum powder and selected a dark, sticky one instead.

  “This is another soft stone, a black one we buy from the dwarves, but I mix it with the tiniest bit of beeswax so it sticks to where I want. Just a tiny amount and the eyes become bigger.”

  In just a few moments, she traced around the eyes, highlighted the cheekbones, darkened the skin above her eyes, thickened the eye lashes and placed a light smear of scarlet wax over her lips.

  “For the lips I use a crushed beetle, one we use for dying cloth. I love the scarlet, but it is only in the beeswax so if you eat anything you will rub the colour away.”

  She stepped back, while Orlaith looked at the stunned faces with rising panic.

  “What has she done? Do I look all right? It is terrible, isn’t it? Has she made me like a goblin?”

  The other girls did not answer. Instead, they mobbed Susan, demanding their turn. Fionuir stopped the crush.

  “The dance isn’t until tomorrow. Orlaith, use the water bowl to see what you look like, then wash it off. We don’t want anyone to see us beforehand, this is going to be wonderful. Soo Zann, I’m not going to lend you a dress, it is a gift in return for you making me look like that. And the others will gift you jewels, footwear, food and drink.”

  “Oh, yes,” breathed Fainche as Orlaith squeaked at her reflection. “This is going to be the best dance EVER. We will have our pick of the boys. Those hags from Riverside are going to be so jealous.”

  “Soo Zann, from tomorrow night everyone is going to love you and want something from you. Never mind learning from Maelbelenus, you should open your own school teaching this stuff.”

  *

  Four Elven maids and one human girl gathered in Fionuir’s room, selected as the largest and closest to the dancing glade. The presence of a small mirror, unusual in elven homes, clinched the decision. Each wore long, flowing silken dresses, cut tight to the body, with long sleeves, the cuffs of which attached to the sides of the skirt, allowing the wearer to pull up the skirt in time to the music. The dresses were dyed in the colours of the woods, gr
eens, brown and a hint of blue, patterns mingling the colours in pleasing ways reminiscent of sunlight on the evening leaves.

  Each dress bore a startling slash of scarlet, courtesy of Susan’s small supply, a few lengths of cloth from which the girls fashioned collars, cuffs or Fainche’s great spider sewn across her breast. To Susan, the dresses revealed more flesh than comfort allowed, all backless and plunging necklines. Her attempt to hide her small cleavage with her share of the crimson cloth served more to highlight her charms.

  The Elven girls wore their hair in intricate braids, taking over an hour to create each one, flowers woven throughout. All five had tutted over Susan’s shorn locks, before re-creating Aine’s crown of leaves and flowers, even including blackthorn with its wicked spikes.

  “Useful if the wrong boy gets too close,” said Fionuir with a nod as she ensured the thorns stuck out the sides. “You look the real deal now. Remember to lift your arms a lot, so your dress flares and looks like you have wings.”

  “Here’s your posy,” said Riofach. “I put a rose in there, and don’t forget to use it when Muirgheal is horrible. I can’t wait to see her face; she’s terrified of magic.”

  “I don’t even know who she is, and I don’t see why you think she will be nasty anyway.” Susan’s reservations to helping Riofach’s vendetta intensified.

  “She’ll be horrible to you because you’re pretty and your bottom is bigger,” said Riofach, unmoved by Susan’s reticence.

  “I do not have a big bottom,” said Susan, her patience snapping.

  “For an elf, you do,” said Fionuir.

  “And it’s beautiful,” said Fainche. “I wish mine looked like yours.”

  “I think we are all ready,” said Susan changing the subject. “We will need to hurry, we are already late.”

  “We need to be at least half an hour late,” said Fainche.

  “We must make an entrance,” said Riofach, twirling on her toes.

  “And we haven’t finished yet,” said Orlaith, pulling a pouch from her bag. “It’s time for the stones.” She poured the contents of the bag onto the bed, a riot of deep, sultry colours causing Susan to gasp. She recognised emeralds, rubies and even a clear sparkling diamond the size of a wren’s egg amongst various other stones: lapis lazuli, topaz, amethyst and opals. All set in silver, tangled up together in careless abandonment.

  “We trade with the dwarves,” said Fionuir at Susan’s stunned face. Jewels were something she was comfortable with, after the king showered them on her, but to see such value in the careless possession of these young teenagers shocked her. There was as much if not more than in the collection she left behind, valuable stones mixed with common pretty pebbles, even amber.

  “I have something special for you,” said Orlaith. “I think this will enhance your magical aura.” She slipped off the flower crown and threaded a fine silver chain through her hair, supporting a diadem hanging down to the centre of her forehead, before replacing the crown. Susan could feel a noticeable weight from the diadem, which seemed to radiate warmth into her skull. The other girls clucked their admiration and Susan glowed, staring at her reflection with the deep red glow from a ruby with mysterious depths, in startling counterpoint to her cornflower blue eyes.

  “See, as beautiful as I expected. You may keep this one, my love, as my thanks for your lessons.” Orlaith beamed at her, and Susan tried to keep the tears back as she hugged her.

  “You have holes in your ears?” Riofach inspected them closely, and slipped a pendant into each lobe. “Pearls from the south west. Beautiful against your skin. These are my present and thank you.”

  “Such a mixture we are decking you in,” said Fionuir with a smile, as she slipped an amethyst necklace around her neck while Fainche attached a large flashing opal to her dress as a brooch. “You’ve been teaching us to co-ordinate our colours, to stick to one shade, and here we are turning you into a rainbow! But you are beautiful and they all suit you, don’t you dare take them off.”

  Now Susan did cry, causing a little consternation amongst the elves who rarely let a tear escape and considered each drop of immense value. They collected every one and sealed them in a tiny vial before allowing Susan to repair her damaged make-up. The stars lit their path to the glade, candles beckoning them forward towards laughing voices and plaintive music.

  The moon rose as they walked, and highlighted their entrance into the glade. Seeing Fionuir’s pleased smile, Susan knew this was planned. Their arrival caused a ripple through the revellers and the music skipped a beat. Fainche led them to the serving tables, head tall and regal, a poise Susan tried to emulate despite her missing height.

  While the other girls surrounded them, welcoming their friends, Fionuir liberated a jug from which she poured a golden liquid, sparkling in the candlelight, into two carved wooden goblets. She handed one to Susan who inspected the carvings, a deer hunt shown in detail, before sampling the liquid. She gasped aloud at the taste, cool, sweet and peppery with a hint of sourness; she closed her eyes, concentrating on the sensations flitting over her tongue and down her throat.

  “What is this?” She breathed deeply, allowing her eyes to open upon swirling colours and the details of the party leaping out of the darkness.

  “Elven mead, mixed with special mushrooms, the Nectar of the Gods. This confers our long life and makes us happy, why we love to sing, feast and dance.”

  “Something forbidden to humans,” growled a male voice in her ear, and she turned to see Maelbelenus beside her, a quizzical expression on his face. “Good thing you are a fairy goddess and already know that.” He turned and disappeared into the throng as Fionuir giggled.

  Susan drank deep and felt the liquor explode in her belly, course through her veins and rush around her body, causing her feet to twitch and her arms to swing. A laugh bubbled from her, before a thought cut it off.

  “Long life? Are you not a teenager like me?”

  “I am the oldest of us four, next year will be my twentieth,” said Fionuir. “Riofach is the youngest, a bare sixteen winters. Why she acts so childish on many occasions. Drink deep, my Aine, and enjoy. Tonight we will dance and if we dance well the Gods will come amongst us. See, in the corner, humans at the teaching trees, wizards come to learn our lore.” Susan peered through the darkness, her new vision allowing her to make out a half dozen men sitting stiffly around a table. They talked amongst themselves, eating from the food on the table and ignoring the passing elves. “They stick together, and they will leave before the Gods come. For generations they have come, and yet you, my Aine, are the first woman to set foot in our teaching trees, and you came alone.”

  Fionuir’s eyes became huge, spinning hypnotically as Susan sipped another draught of her mead, lost in their depths. She leant forward slightly and brushed her lips across Susan’s.

  “Tonight the Gods will come and we shall see what they think of you, for never will they have danced with a human before.”

  “The Gods?” Susan whispered, still deep in Fionuir’s eyes. “Will Aine be there? Will she be mad at me?”

  “Aine? I told you, she is banished, imprisoned on the Isle of Dreams. Her brothers may come. Now eat this, Elven biscuit, to sustain you while we dance.” She thrust a fragment of something into Susan’s mouth; she chewed without thought, finding a biscuit that crumbled under her teeth to melt on her tongue, with a sharp, sweet flavour quite irresistible. The small meal sent energy coursing through her body, and she took Fionuir’s hand to follow her through the crowd, feeling Fainche take her other hand.

  They made their way to a corner of the glade, the ground more moss than grass, a short distance from the musicians. These elves played a variety of instruments: flutes and recorders; a large lute, which she recalled was a viol, placed on the ground beside the musician and reaching above his head; a harp beside him, plucked by a lady elf and two elves almost competing, one with a
lute and the other a gittern with a long neck.

  Beside them stood a choir, three men and four women, all with their eyes closed and swaying to the music, not singing at this time.

  As they moved into position, the elf with the gittern glanced over.

  “Ah, dancers, about time. Ready for some tree dances? The willow in winter?”

  “No,” said Fionuir. “We have a new student, our Aine. Something simple for her to start, the Aspen.”

  The elf nodded, conferred briefly with his fellows and they began a melody with a strong drum beat, and Susan spotted the drummer for the first time, hidden back in the trees with two tall thin drums in front of him. The beat dragged at her feet and she wanted to start, before seeing both girls with their feet firmly planted, their hips shaking and their arms moving. The Aspen, she thought, of course. For the girls did look like the aspen trees in the wind, their leaves shaking and vibrating, and Susan joined them, finding the vibration in the music and following with her body, allowing the beat to thrum through her blood, her feet firm in the ground while her body shook with the music, waggling her hips, bottom and shoulders faster and faster.

  The choir broke into song, with Susan unable to make out the words, more a hum and harmony than an absolute song. After a few minutes, Susan found she followed the harmony, especially the clear soprano of one lady, whose voice thrilled her as it reached the heights, and now there were words, in a language she did not understand.

  The dances followed after each other, swift and non-stop, willows whipping in the wind, birds in flight, till Susan found herself being pulled from the dance. She tried to resist, caught in the magic of the movement.

  “Come,” said Fionuir in her ear. “You cannot do this dance, the dance of the Ruff. Your hair is too short. We will take a break and eat some more.”

  She allowed herself to leave the dancing area, skipping as they worked their way towards the feasting tables. She watched the girls on the floor bend at the waist, arms out like wings but pushing their hair out sideways, looking remarkably like the male Ruff, a wading bird, in his courtship dance. The boys danced opposite them, taking the place of the females, the Reeves. Entrancing, thought Susan, they mimic the birds to perfection.