by Prue Batten
the faeries dance in the meadow
and the leaf crowned Nacken
plays his fiddle in the silvery brook.’
Indeed trickling by the side of the Highway was a rill of beauteous qualities, musical and entrancing. Adelina had no doubt it was eldritch... there was a frisson. Sometimes Travellers picked up on these strange phenomena, unlike fellow mortals who would plunge onward, chasing the diamond glitter of the stream until some water wight caught them unaware.
Thus it became necessary to drag out the silver bells, charms and amulets to protect the journeymen as they travelled and camped. Liam watched the preparations with little animation, he couldn’t help - silver was as repugnant to him as any Other. He was forced to sleep further from the caravan than Adelina and Kholi liked because of the self-same talismans, so Kholi erected the pavilion, denuded of bells, and Liam slept like a desert man in his canvas quarters, deeply drugged with Jasper’s medication, amidst silk and satin cushions and under a huge woolen throw Adelina had found and reversed her shrinking spell upon.
Luther had reported back to his employer. His skills as a spy, thief and assassin stood him in good stead with his mistress and she had an implicit trust in him. He was like a familiar shadow - sometimes she even wondered if he subtly led her rather than the other way round. In any event, what impressed her was his lack of guilt and the way he approached life with cold equanimity. His face barely sustained a flicker when he stabbed or garroted, poisoned or strangled. She appreciated that. If he had been highly strung it would have itched her like fleas in her bed. She had found him in a secret sojourn down the darkened canals of Veniche not long before her husband had died and she reminded herself constantly to thank Behir for the discovery.
As they galloped through the trees and tracks behind their quarry, Severine was not much taken with the beauty of the Luned Forest. Her mind had no time for frippery and she travelled lightly. She had a saddlebag and her ambition - it was enough. She reined in her horse, glancing at the sky and the surrounding leaf cover. ‘Luther, we’ll camp. It grows dark and tomorrow we’ll ride faster and close the distance. I want to confront them well before the marshlands. The Marshers may give them shelter.’
The surly fellow dismounted and began to build a fire. The coney he'd killed earlier in the day was spitted and roasting in the blink of an eye and he pulled out bread and some spicy paste to spread upon it. They drank water as they ate, saying nothing to each other, and then each wrapped themselves in heavy riding coats, using saddles as pillows and the fire to warm them, falling asleep easily. Severine slept the guileless, innocent sleep of the baby who knows all its desires will be met on the morrow. Luther took a little longer, reminding himself to sharpen his knife blade and check the garrotte that was in his own saddlebag.
In the honey coloured stone manor through the Ymp Trees, Jasper sat looking at the mirror. Thinking of Liam he watched but was confronted by a black expanse and when he touched the glass it was freezing. He shivered and walked to the fire, throwing on another log and sending sparks flying out onto the hearth-rug. Stamping them down with bad temper, he poured a mug of ruby wine and re-seated himself in the chair. The mirror remained black.
The fire crackled and sparked and the room warmed. The wine spread through Jasper’s veins and he felt himself melting into the comfort of the red chair, his lids growing heavy. He was not a young man, thus the journey to Star and the rampant emotion of his time there had left him a little frail - feeling his age he said to Margriet on his return. On that journey he had wracked his brain on how to entice Liam back to Faeran, back here to Jasper’s home, to safety. For there was no doubt that at the funeral he had passed something dark and savage and without conscience and he feared not just for Liam but for all of Faeran. He must scry and find out what it meant and act accordingly. As his eyelids shuttered down, he glanced at the mirror. By Aine, nothing.
The fire burned and the room was cosy. From the red chair came the sound of gentle snoring. Jasper's eyes were firmly closed as the black mist on the mirror vacillated and wafted, parting and closing, parting and closing. The Forest of Luned glimmered with the lights of the Teine sidhe, the tiny will o’ the wisps who could cause such angst to mortals. Lying on the ground was the husk of a body and in the flickering lights, as the Teine Sidhe darted from one side of the a rill to the other, back and forth, a pale face was illuminated.
A log collapsed in the fireplace with a crack and Jasper woke to find himself staring at the mirror as it revealed its images. ‘On my soul’, he gasped. ‘No! Wait, I’m coming...’
***
Later, much later, I was to wonder how Jasper missed the fact the duck-feeder was a spy. Was the healer so absorbed in Liam’s problems, he was blind to anything else or was it just that he was a frail, old man beset with fatherly concerns? Or perhaps it was Fate playing with the lives of those in the game? Whatever mysteries may have caused such a monumental lapse in his awareness, Luther and Severine were now close on our tail.
Thus the story continues.
Follow the bees again until you come to the castle. It’s easy enough to locate with its white pennoncels flying in the breeze. I stitched the castle on needlepoint canvas, with real windows. Well, they are actually the clear carapace of a beetle I found, but it works. Necessity, you see, is the mother of invention.
Can you see Rapunzel in the tower with her long yellow braid? Follow her plait to the castle gate and reach your finger round inside the walls and there you will find a book, a thick one which will expand hugely. And secreted amongst a forest of thickly worked Pymm knots, you will find another journal. You must remember when you return this book to its hiding place to use a dull needle and tease the knots back into shape. It is a hiding place after all.
Chapter Thirty Four
Kholi and Adelina made love to the sound of birds. They made love silently for fear their wretched friend would hear, and with a desperation to their coupling, as if in the moment of sheer abandon they could lose themselves in the physical heights they climbed. Where there is no thought, no emotion, just a sensation of freedom. For that small moment after, when lying still with hearts pounding and sweat dripping, their minds registered nothing but exhaustion and pleasure.
Liam was aware of none of the heights being sought in the caravan. He had arrived at that point between awake and asleep where the mind tries to decide if the day is worth waking for. He stretched, registering the far off trills of birds and for a single moment there was absolutely nothing wrong with the world. But then a wave of awareness flooded his brain, threatening to engulf him in its churning depths. His stomach contracted, his heartbeat became a racketing gallop and his eyes flew open as he realised Ana was gone. Crushed, bruised and dead. Worse than that, ashes to ashes and dust to dust. She was now blowing along the shelves and peaks of the Celestine Stair. She was a grain of insubstantiality, a speck of nothing. She had ceased to exist and like her, he wished he could render himself into nothingness. For not only did the loss of what could have been the love of his life suffocate him, but guilt at her untimely, terrible death squeezed at his lungs. The final throttle was the thought she died without knowing that he had, indeed, loved her. He spent moment after moment breathless with loss, to the point where he wondered if another breath would even be forthcoming. And if it wasn’t, did it really matter?
The thought took on great appeal. Why does one continue when there is nothing worth continuing for? Surely oblivion is better. He narrowed his eyes. Thank Aine he was no longer bound by the infinite coils of immortality. Outside the pavilion he heard footsteps and then the door flap was folded back and Kholi looked inside. ‘Ah, my very good friend, you are awake. Were you able to sleep at all?’
‘Yes, Jasper seems to be making sure of that. Is it late?’ The mundanity of his words hit him like a blow on an anvil. It was as though he existed on two planes, the filthy grief-stricken one and then the one where he related, albeit forlornly, to his friends.
‘No, early yet. Stay where you are. Adelina has made some porridge and will bring it to you. You must rest, my friend. There is nothing to do.’
Liam lay back. Truthfully, he could hardly be bothered to get up. At least lying here on his own he could indulge himself. At the moment he was content to travel with Adelina and Kholi for a day or two. It gave him time to think. How to put an end to it all? Because that was the solution. An end. And then if what the Elders said about souls was true, he would see her again. This time nothing would part them and he could tell her what he wanted her to know.
Light footsteps sounded outside and he dragged himself back from the abyss.
Adelina brought her glowing countenance into the tent along with steaming porridge. ‘Liam, good morning to you. Look, I found some early strawberries growing by the hedgerow, they have the taste of summer.’
He took the food from her, uninterested in it and completely careless about approaching seasons. ‘When do you want to leave?’ He took a mouthful of the porridge and sat waiting for her to answer. His chest was bare but he pulled the covers closer to his waist.
‘Oh, in an hour or two, maybe longer. Take your time. Kholi has gone hunting for meat and while he is gone I shall tidy my van. I’m afraid I stood at the door and threw things in when we were packing. Besides, occasionally I find a burst of tidying calms any troubles that I have. If you want, you can sit with me as I believe there are things of yours under my rubble. Buckerfield brought them down to the mews saying you shouldn’t have to be worried by mundane things.’
As Liam scraped out his bowl, the porridge soothing the empty belly if not the empty heart, he thought of the big innkeeper. ‘Adelina, you have all been more than kind.’
‘Oh la! It’s what friends are for. No more now. Rest for the moment and arise when you are ready.’
She took his bowl and he lay back on the pillows. Friends, he thought. Ana had brought him friends. Loyal, kind friends. Was life worth living just for that? These mortals functioned on a different level to Faeran, finding joy in tiny things and fellowship in like minds. Could he ever find that again? Would it be enough?
A vision of Ana floated before him, lying back on Jasper’s linen after making love, beads of sweat between her breasts. She could have been the mother of his children. The thought clanged like the clapper of that giant bell, ringing in his head, setting up a hideous vibration throughout his entire body. He threw back the covers and jumped from the bed. No, nothing would ever be enough! There was no one to reconcile the mental turmoil he felt. He had, in the fierce desire to lose his immortality, become victim to those most feared of all mortal emotions - guilt and grievous loss.
Kholi had tracked a quail through the lush undergrowth at the side of the rill and before long the unfortunate bird was caught, gutted and plucked, ready to be returned to Adelina for one of her herb-filled stews. The early morning sun filtered through the trees, shafts of gold light falling onto the floor of the forest. The canopy cast dancing shadow, so different to Trevallyn and the Barrow Hills where winter’s long, cold fingers had plucked every leaf from every spinney and coppice. Here, the arboretum warmed with a perennial spring and glamour wafted in unseen vapours between the boles of the trees. The foliage dripped with dew and spider-webs draped from frond to leaf to twig with the self-same dew dancing along the filaments and sparkling in the light.
He wended his way back along the edge of the rill that trickled by his feet and the noise of water chuckling over pebbles reminded him of shards of Venichese glass being rattled and shuffled in a small bucket. It was a sound he wished he could share with Adelina. He had described the fabriccas of the Venichese glassmakers to her in detail as to him it was nothing short of an enchantment the way they spun glass and blew it into the most exceptional shapes. When he left her earlier she said she would tidy the van, but more importantly, she had whispered, ‘I want to keep an eye on Liam.’
He could not help the concern that simmered over Liam. There was a dark side to him that threatened like a storm on the horizon. One could see occasional flashes of lightning and hear ugly grumbling as bulbous clouds tossed and turned. Sometimes when Liam talked, Kholi felt there was a chance his friend might pull through his sorrow to the other side. But when he lapsed into that dangerous silence, a condition more prevalent than any, Kholi could barely think of the consequence.
Many a mortal had lost a loved one. Many a mortal had sunk so deep into the sea of melancholy they quite simply drowned. Kholi feared this was happening to Liam. He had not shared his disquiet with Adelina because she was sunk in her own misery, grief to be sure, but also a misplaced sense of guilt. No, best he worry and watch for them all. Rounding a root-trailing tree trunk, he pulled up short. He spied his love bending and floating her hands to and fro through the crystal waters of the rill. Her garments in their autumnal russet and amber shades wafted in some welkin wind so that the folds danced around her hem and shoulders. ‘My dove,’ he said, ‘I thought you were wanting to stay with Liam.’
She looked up at him and smiled, raising her shoulders in a small shrug. Her eyes swallowed Kholi and when the golden figure held out a wanton and dangerous hand, he went to her.
Adelina emptied her baskets on the floor and began sorting all the supplies she had taken to Buckerfield’s. Fabrics were folded and each time she had a bundle she would touch it with the little wand and say ‘That is all, be small.’
‘It is unusual for a mortal to be able to use Other charms.’
Liam sat on the step, watching her move around the cosy space. She smiled and told him how she had acquired the spell, elaborating on the poor looks of the spindly-legged wight. He made no comment, seeming content to watch her as she busied herself. Out of the corner of her eye she glanced at him, noticing the slump to the broad shoulder, the brooding slant to the mouth. ‘You know, someone told me grief is a form of passionate sadness,’ she offered the words as balm to their joint melancholia, surprised when he reacted forcefully.
‘Passionate sadness!’ He jumped off the stoop and strode away, running two hands through his tangled hair. ‘Aine Adelina, this was all supposed to be a game, not some life and death struggle with passion and sorrow!’
The pity that had filled Adelina dried up as surely as if the blazing sun beat upon it. And she replied from the door with anger.
‘A game! By all the spirits, Liam, it’s always a game for the Faeran, isn’t it? And when you win you leave the prize lying on the ground to dissolve into some dreadful half-life between Hades and worse. Better Ana did die smashed into a million pieces. Have you no shame?’ A laugh as empty as a pauper’s pocket touched a further taper to her fury so that she shouted after the back so pointedly turned towards her. ‘Why did you have to pick her?’
‘Be it her or someone else, the results would be the same. It is what we do, it is what we are.’ He walked back and stood looking up at her as the air crackled between the two. ‘I picked Ana simply because she was ripe in every way.’ His cruel reply silenced her. ‘The fact you entered the game was a bonus as I had someone to pitch against. You know shatranj? Ah, I see you do.’ He climbed back up to the stoop and sat down, Adelina retreating into the van. ‘But Ana, so lacking in device and artifice, very quickly turned me into the sarbaz. I fell in love with her, Adelina, and struggle and deny as much as I could, in the end she won. She forced my hand and heart and I lost everything.’
Adelina could barely believe what he was saying and she threw the bundled robe, hitting him in the chest. ‘You lost everything! Aine, she lost her life!’
‘Because she heard you and I talking about death, revenge and murder!’
‘Because she heard you facilitated the grisly murder!’ She spat back.
‘And of course, you had no part in the revelation, did you?’ He whispered this last softly and Adelina was reminded of the serpent around Eve’s neck from a Traveller’s tale.
Her eyes filled and the tears trickled down her cheeks. For a momen
t he sat very still and then he stood and went to her and put his arms around and held her as sobs wracked forth. Eventually the storm passed and he smoothed his hands over her hair, cupping her face in his palms. He ran his thumbs over her lips and gently wiped the tears away and all the while she stood, fixed to the spot with her eyes closed.
And then he spoke. ‘I loved her.’
Adelina’s eyes flew open and she followed his movement as he bent down and retrieved the robe, smoothing it as he had just smoothed her hair. She watched the hands, trying so hard not to visualise them on a woman’s body.
‘What did you intend to do with this, before it became Ana’s.’ He kept his eyes turned from her, stroking the robe gently.
She shook herself, aware she had just stood on the edge of an abyss and something, some greater thing than either of them could have believed, had pulled them both away from a destructive moment. Aine, mother of the world, she thought, flicking three fingers against her heart, thank you. Aloud, her voice a little cracked and hoarse, she answered him, aware he was as shaken as she. ‘Well, I am an artist embroiderer, it’s what I do. Many months ago I was approached by the Direttore of the Museo in Veniche, to submit a sample of my work for exhibition in their embroidery wing. Originally I had planned to submit the cabochon vest but the chance of owning a spell was too much to refuse. So my submission has been somewhat delayed. But when I saw the fabric at the fair, I knew I had found my canvas.’
‘But it became Ana’s robe.’
‘Yes. But I didn’t mind, she was my ‘kindred spirit’.’
‘Well then, you may as well take it. Finish it. Do what you have to do. Perhaps it’s a fitting way to remember her.’
Adelina sat back on her heels, aware of the sick irony in Liam’s voice.
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘It’s an idea. I could dedicate it to her.’ She lifted the wand and the robe was shrunk down to fit in her wall of drawers. Soon all that was left was Liam’s bag lying on the floor, its contents spilling out. Adelina picked up shirts and breeches and folded them, returning them to the bag and as she straightened up to hand it over, she noticed a black feather on the floor. The sun caught hold of the oily hues implicit in the blackness and she reached down to pick it off the floor rug. ‘What’s this? Is it yours?’