by Ryk E. Spoor
She won that match, too, managing to get my arm twisted up behind my back and me pinned in a way that didn’t allow me the leverage to get her off me without giving her the chance to break it. “Yield!”
“Ouch! I yield!” I smiled at her as I got up. “That’s more like it. Now let’s get some dinner; that sure worked up an appetite.”
The sun was now down past the mountains and the light starting to fade. We returned to the little fire we’d built before starting our sparring match, and I got out a round-bottomed pan something like a wok and the bottle of oil. Quick-frying or roasting was pretty much the rule on the road, unless you just ate jerky or waybread. We were carrying enough stuff to live on for a while, and if we ducked in and out of Gilgad territory we could probably catch some game or maybe buy something from farmers or woodcutters along the way.
Zenga watched with approval as I stir-fried a mix of vegetables, some dried, some reasonably fresh, some dried meat, and a couple of sliced potatoes, then added just enough water to let it cook for a bit, moistening the meat and dried veggies. I’d also made sure to bring along a few packets of dried spices; I like flavor in my food. “I’d heard that many countries consider cooking to be women’s work,” she said finally.
“Used to be the case where I came from. That actually mostly changed in my lifetime. But I’ve been cooking for most of my life; my parents always said that if I didn’t like what was for dinner, I’d better cook it myself.”
I served up the stir-fry, which hadn’t turned out badly at all given the improvisation I’d had to try with the mix of ingredients, and we ate in silence for a few minutes.
This was the first night we were truly in the wilderness; up until now we’d always been able to find a family, a cabin, somewhere to stay for the night. Without anyone else to distract me, I found myself looking at Zenga more. Which made me distinctly uncomfortable. There was no denying she was very much worth looking at, but she also appeared to be considerably less than half my age, which was definitely putting me into dirty old man territory. Yeah, Polychrome didn’t look much (if any) older, but after spending a year around her I knew that it would be entirely wrong to view her as being anything like an ordinary girl her apparent age. Zenga, on the other hand, did still strike me as a teenager, or at best a very, very young woman, albeit with some considerable hardheaded common sense and discipline.
“So now we are undoubtedly alone, Lord Erik,” Zenga said, breaking me out of this uncomfortable reverie, hopefully not because I’d been staring at her too hard. “Can you tell me anything new? About this key, or about the advantages you’ve talked about having in this enterprise?”
Ah, a reasonably safe topic of conversation. “I can certainly tell you some things. As your father mentioned, I am a True Mortal — not even just a distant descendant, as you are or as were those other outsiders who came to Oz and surrounding lands over the years, but someone with, as far as any can ascertain, not a single drop of Faerie blood in him.” I summarized how I’d come to Faerie — how Polychrome had come to me, tested me, and how I had learned that I was a True Mortal, and the advantages this gave me, with Zenga asking a few questions that showed she actually grasped the ideas quite well.
When I was done, she was looking at me with new respect — and an almost appraising look that brought back that uncomfortable feeling. “Now I do indeed understand why a single man can be so important, Erik.” She moved slightly over around the fire, closer to where I sat. A part of me had the impulse to scoot around and keep my distance, but I rejected that as just plain stupid. “What does this Prophecy say about what you are to do, though? For you have — I think quite rightly — kept much of that to yourself, but if I am to travel with you to the end, as I intend to, I would think I should know what to expect.”
She has a definite point. Well, I don’t have to tell her everything, but I can summarize that, too. I tried to soft-pedal my own potential downfall, but I couldn’t avoid the concept entirely. I’m generally a terrible liar.
She looked at me with wide eyes. “But… how can you possibly hope to win, sir? Ugu and Amanita have spent centuries mastering their powers, and you — as a True Mortal — can’t even try to use magic until… that one crucial moment. At least if I understand you correctly.”
“You’re correct,” I said, smiling slightly.
“Then… I don’t understand. Any warrior knows that sufficient skill can overcome even a vast disadvantage in strength, and even if you claim the power of Ozma herself and her connection to Faerie, still will they have great powers of their own, and hundreds of years of skill to pit against you.”
I grinned. “Imagination is the key, Princess Zenga. And of all the things I have brought from my world — of all the knowledge and skills I have ever had — that one is the greatest I have.” I remembered having a similar conversation with Poly, months ago, and for a moment I felt a terrible pang of loneliness despite Zenga being nearby. I wanted nothing more than to see spun-gold hair and violet blue eyes laughing, talking to me, even for a moment, even though I would never dare tell her the truth. “The Prophecy promises that I have a chance to win, and so the essence of it comes down to my being able to envision ways of using that power that is given to me. You’re perfectly right; if I just try a sledgehammer without any control against them, it’s almost certain that they’ll have more than enough finesse to beat me. But… where I come from, leisure time has gone far beyond anything you know. It’s become an artform, many artforms, all devoted to entertainment. Some of these… involve a lot of imagination. And I was and always have been darn good at imaginative games. Plus…” I patted my pocket where my inhaler sat. “That kept me pretty much housebound as a child. I did very little other than read, and I read a lot of books of imagination, including of course the books of my world that dealt with Oz. So I not only have my own imagination; I have the accumulated imagination of a thousand others, and more.” I looked up into the sky, seeing the patterns watched by a hundred cultures; the might of the Zodiac as seen through a dozen sets of eyes. “And that is a weapon that none of them have ever seen.”
Zenga frowned, brows drawn down in concentration. “But how can that work? That is, surely we are not all unimaginative here.”
“Not at all,” I assured her, “but you’ve never codified it, so to speak, to the point that it was as valuable a commodity as food or weapons; it damn near is, where I come from. And when… it happens, I won’t be learning to do magic, I will become magic. Magic held in a case of mortal essence, but basically pure magic to be directed by thought and will. That’s the only answer that really makes sense of the Prophecy, you see.”
Her eyes lit up. “Oh! That does make sense.” I noticed that somehow she seemed to have moved a bit closer without my noticing. “And what exactly are we doing here? Where is the ‘key?’”
I looked at the mountains, which were now just pure black silhouettes against the dark sky. “Somewhere out there. We need to find him.”
She blinked, something I could see clearly because she was quite nearby. “Him? Your key is a person?”
“Yes.” I looked back out into the darkness, and it struck me suddenly how isolated we were. If we’re attacked here, it’ll be just me and Zenga, and I don’t have much experience protecting anyone else. Part of me very much wished I could have left her behind. Sure, the Prophecy had led me to believe I’d find a companion there, but it didn’t state that outright. Maybe I should have considered asking someone else — say Huru, he’d have been overjoyed — to accompany me and sent Zenga back.
I glanced back at Zenga, who was waiting to see if I’d say anything else. The fact she was leaning slightly forward did not help me stay focused on the matter at hand. Why the hell did Inga send her out with me, when –
And then I remembered Polychrome, and her story of Cirrus, and Inkarbleu’s laugh, and it suddenly all made a terribly comedic sort of sense. “Oh, Jesus H. Particular Christ on a pogo stick. He did not do that.�
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“I … beg your pardon, Erik?”
Whoops. Mr. Evil Overlord, Sir, you’re monologuing out loud again! I shook my head. “I… have suddenly had a rather disconcerting thought as to why your father and mother might have allowed you to come with me on this mission, when it could easily get you killed.” I looked up, and suddenly she was quite close. Very close.
“Disconcerting?”
“Um…” Dammit, I am not very good with words in this kind of thing, not that this kind of thing has ever really happened to me, but I know what I mean! “That, well, you’re a Princess, and if I manage to keep from dying in this mission, I’d be… well, a most eligible bachelor, so to speak.”
“And that’s disconcerting?”
I took a deep breath, which might have been a mistake, because it brought her scent to me — some sweat, but mixed with a coconut sweetness and something warmer, spicier. “Dammit. It’s disconcerting that a girl might be sent out to basically possibly get married to me because it would be a political advantage!”
She pulled back slightly. “Lord Erik, do you have an objection to women?”
“No, no, not at all.” Far from it. “But I think they should be entirely able to choose who they marry, or even just who they want to spend time with, not be ordered into it.”
She leaned back towards me. “Lord… Erik, you are correct that my mother and father partially agreed to this because of careful consideration of what our position could be if the Usurpers are defeated. But I am not a child, no matter what you may think, and the decision is entirely mine to make. And in the few weeks we have travelled, I have decided that there are many far worse choices I might make.”
She was very, very close now, and her eyes were firelit pools of ebony, like the hair that tumbled over smooth chocolate shoulders and trailed down towards shadowed curves…
Chapter 30.
Polychrome stood with a jerky haste uncharacteristic of her, and Iris looked at his daughter with a raised eyebrow.
“Well!” she said, a bright and brittle smile on her face. “I… don’t think we should be prying into any private life of our Hero!” She gestured to close the viewing pool as she walked quickly away. “I… I really should be practicing. Nimbus says I need more training!” The doors of the Rainbow Throneroom closed behind her.
I do not know whether to be relieved, or worried. Or furious. It was not usual for the Lord of the Rainbow to be indecisive. He turned back to the Pool, which despite Polychrome’s gesture had remained open; Iris Mirabilis intended to see the truth for himself. Did I misread the Prophecy? Is he something other than I thought? Less constant, or weaker, or simply with a weakness all too common for Men?
The beautiful Princess of Pingaree was leaning close to Erik Medon, and one of his hands was slowly reaching out, touching the night-blackness of her hair, so different from the golden sunshine of Iris’ daughter.
And in that moment the hand pulled back, Erik rolled to his feet, and backed off, muttering a curse from his own land.
Zenga looked shocked, and not a little disappointed, even hurt. “Lord Erik –”
“Sorry. Sorry, Zenga. And believe me, part of me will be and already is telling me how stupid stupid stupid I’m being… but I can’t. I just… can’t. I… you’re beautiful. There’s nothing wrong with you at all, I mean, you’re like any fantasy a guy like me might have…” he trailed off. “Damn, that doesn’t sound good either. I…”
Iris felt a chill stealing back over his heart. No relief. No reprieve.
Zenga rose slowly and looked at him, hurt and disappointment giving way to real concern. She could see that whatever was bothering the older man was not some random impulse or anything having to do with her. “Are you all right?”
Erik laughed hollowly. “No, I’m stupid, that’s what I am. I’m here in the wilds of Faerie with a talented, smart, beautiful princess who can match me stride-for-stride and who’s just told me that she likes me enough to make a play for me that even I can’t miss, and I go throw it in her face for… for what? Some fantasy that’s impossible even here?”
Gradually, Zenga’s expression changed from concern to a sort of tragic amusement. She giggled and then clapped both her hands over her mouth, but that still didn’t stop the giggles.
Iris watched as Erik’s face registered hurt puzzlement. “Hey, come on, this isn’t all that funny to me!”
“I… I’m sorry, Lord Erik, but…” another unladylike guffaw came from her, “… oh, by the Pearls themselves, you poor man. You’ve fallen in love with the Daughter of the Rainbow!”
Erik stood frozen in position for several seconds before he finally bowed his head. “It’s that obvious.”
“With what you said — and didn’t say — in your description of how you came here and learned of your power… yes.” The Pingarese Princess brushed strands out of hair from her eyes, pearl-and-gold bracelets chiming slightly.
“I don’t see what’s so funny about it, though.”
“It’s not really…” Zenga seemed to be struggling to figure out a way to explain it. “It’s just that… Erik, a Faerie Princess like her, a true Faerie, they can’t fall in love with a Mortal.”
“What? Then how is it there’s so many mostly-Mortal, part-Faerie types out there?”
“All right… it’s only almost impossible. It’s happened, oh, three or four times. But love among the true Faeries… it’s almost instinct. Usually they don’t meet anyone they love, though they can have lots of friends — I’ve heard Polychrome herself does. When they find the right person, if there is a right person, they’ll be drawn to them by a… resonance, a tie between them. And it’s almost always another Faerie. Even that doesn’t always work out,” she continued. “One of the stories in the library is about Infiernos and Undine — a Fire Faerie who fell in love with a Water Faerie.”
Iris saw that penetrate despite Erik’s personal upset. “Oh, ouch. Neither one’s realm or even personal essence compatible.”
Zenga nodded. “It’s a tragedy. I don’t like reading those much.”
Erik gazed up into the night sky. It seemed for a moment that he was looking straight at Iris, and the Rainbow Lord felt a pang of guilt. “Yeah. A tragedy. I wish I could be sensible about this… but I can’t. I was with her for a year, Zenga. She saw me as I came here, and she brought me to Faerie, and she never said a single word to let me know how disappointed she must have been at first. And she spent I don’t know how long helping me. And…” he shook his head. “I dunno. I just know I can’t accept even a marriage of convenience with someone if every time I see them or touch them I see someone else. If all I can see is her.”
Zenga was looking at him sympathetically, but he turned away. “That’s the truth, you see. I tried to tell her father… but I chickened out. The truth? I’m not going to go out there and get myself killed just because of Oz, even because of my childhood dreams. I’m going to do it for her, because Polychrome is all of my dreams in a single one, and dying to protect her is worth it all, every bit of it, and maybe it’s better that way because I don’t know how I’d live after I go back to my life without her.”
Iris did close the pool that time, because he had truly seen enough. A part of me hoped, indeed, that he was untrue. That he could be swayed, and many men would have been. But I was told differently, and truly here is my proof.
And no one but myself to blame in any case. Who gave her tasks that kept her in close contact with the Mortal? Who encouraged her and advised her in her work with him? No, King of the Rainbows, this is as much your doing as that of any prophecy…
…because you knew, full well, what kind of motive your daughter would be for such a man. You have turned him into a fell and dangerous weapon, one that is driven by the sole purpose of preserving your daughter’s life.
And that, of course, was the key. She would insist on being present at the battle, and risking her life against forces more than capable of killing her. No better protecti
on could he give her than people whose motive to save her life was even greater than his own, and who were — in the cold light of policy and reason — far more dispensable than either his daughter or himself.
He was not sure how long he sat there brooding when the door opened. “My lord King,” Nimbus said quietly. “Might I speak with you?”
“What is it, Captain?”
“I am wondering exactly what has possessed your daughter, sir, that has caused her to injure seven of my men in practice so severely that they have all gone to the healers?”
“What?”
At his startled expression, Nimbus gave a small, wry smile. “I would presume it has something to do with the Hero because she was muttering various disjointed things under her breath. But for whatever reason, she became quite the menace this afternoon.”
“Hmm. Yes.” As I had feared. There is no escaping the ending. “She witnessed the Princess of Pingaree make an… offer of close alliance to Erik Medon.”
Nimbus’ eyebrows vanished into his helmet. “So. And by her reaction we know her heart. I would have hoped Lord Medon be more constant, or at least more considered.”
“He was. Polychrome left at a poorly-timed moment.”
“Ah. The comedy does write itself, I suppose.” Nimbus was silent for a time. “So what do you intend to do about this, Sire?”
Iris sighed and shook his head slowly. “I am afraid… nothing.” He glanced, with a combination of resentment and pity, at the Pink Bear. “I have attempted all the resistance that I dare. The Prophecy seems unaffected.
“So it must play out as it was foretold… and if the best happens and Oz is freed, still will I be mourning in that hour.”
Chapter 31.
“What are we –”
“Shh!” I gave a quick gesture. She was speaking too loudly for this area; the high, steep walls of the valley — almost a canyon — with its nearly bare, scrubby walls and tumbled rock would channel sound all too well.