by Ryk E. Spoor
Erik’s gesture had included his own party — Zenga, Ruggedo, Polychrome of course, Ozma, Dorothy, the Wizard, Glinda, and Nimbus. With Zenga, of course, came Ugu, and Cirrus.
Polychrome wasn’t quite sure what to think of Cirrus. On the one hand, he wasn’t really one of the Sky Faeries of the realm, except in some macabre way from his origin, but at the same time he really was the person she’d come to know and been betrothed to, and he seemed to be exactly the same as when she had known him. Which meant he was so ashamed that he refused to meet her gaze.
The little party followed Iris to his throneroom, where the Rainbow Lord caused another, smaller table to appear, with matching chairs for all. “Very well, Erik Medon, you have called us here. Speak.”
Erik drew a deep breath and stepped forward. “First things first. This isn’t the way we do it where I come from…but I’ll bet it’s the way it works here. Iris Mirabilis, would you approve… Gah, that’s not the way…” He trailed off, and Polychrome noticed there was a tiny upturn to her father’s mouth, as though he was restraining a grin. “Never mind, I’ll just say it. Iris, Polychrome and I are going to be married, if she’ll have me, and I hope you approve. Not that it’ll stop us either way.”
Iris burst out laughing. “Indeed, Erik Medon, that is not quite the way it should be done here; yet to expect you to ask my permission would be to expect you to be other than you are. And, in truth,” he looked fondly at her, and she felt the warmth of his affection wash over her, “I never could either tell her what to do, or deny her anything she truly wanted.” He rose. “Polychrome Glory, do you truly wish to marry this Mortal man?”
Erik looked at her with wide eyes, and she realized that part of him still could not believe what had happened, as he said, “Yes, Poly — it’s your choice, not anyone else’s. I… don’t know how long I’ll live, and as I’m pushing fifty I know I’m not much to look at already, so I –”
She stared, then burst out laughing, shaking her head. She danced up, and suddenly delivered a gentle slap to his cheek. He blinked, startled. “You are…so adorably idiotic sometimes, Erik, I almost think it’s an act. I didn’t fall in love with a face, even if you did — at first.”
His face flamed crimson again, and his gaze dropped.
“And one of your worries…he doesn’t know?” She addressed the last to Ozma.
The Princess of Oz looked surprised, then nodded. “Of course, he would not. To the celebration directly, cleansed by magic… When has he had the time to really examine himself?”
“What the heck are you talking ab—” Erik broke off suddenly as a shimmering mirror appeared before him, and he stared at the man in the mirror — a young man, much less than thirty, perhaps no more than twenty. “What… How?”
“You burned your soul away, Erik Medon, for the sake of Faerie. You did this knowing it might — almost certainly would — mean your death, and you did it gladly and without stint or hesitation, for the sake of your fallen lady and for my realm, my people, and all of Faerie. What that means for you now — whether you have extended your life by in effect turning back the clock, or simply thrown away those years, whether you remain mortal at all, or are something new never seen, we cannot say,” Ozma answered gently. “But I was determined that at the least you would gain one thing; your body now mirrors the age of your soul, as it did before you began. Your soul is younger; so, now, the face and body.”
He brushed at the hair that hung down in his face and laughed suddenly. “Well, that explains my sudden sheepdog problem. My hairline’s moved forward two inches!” He was suddenly serious again as he looked at Polychrome.
She took his head in her hands and drew his lips down to hers. “I would marry you, my love, if I knew we both would die the moment after, and never regret it unless we were separated in the Eternity to follow.”
Iris bowed. “Then so it shall be. To you goes what, in the old way, is the greatest treasure of my kingdom; yet I am well pleased, for I had thought to lose it all, and never have I been so happy to find a prophecy had been wrong after all.”
Erik raised his eyebrows, and she recognized the analytical look he gave Iris. He’s thinking again. “As you mention it…what were the missing verses, Iris, the ones you knew and that I didn’t?”
Iris smiled faintly. “You all deserve to hear it, I suppose. Following the verse warning of the consequences if you failed to show my daughter a mortal glory and beauty, that ended:
For mortal heart has withered, and Faerie has no friend.
There was this verse:
Hero’s ways he now must learn, of strength and sword and will
Bring to the fore what lay within, and both will pay the cost;
For Rainbow’s Daughter teaches, the Prophecy to fulfill
And though she knows it not, her heart is forever lost.”
Iris’ smile faltered for a moment. “And just before the final verse, was this:
With him then the Rainbow’s Daughter
Sees love where once was friend;
But win or lose, your favorite child
Shall come home not again.”
Erik nodded, then laughed. And in a voice that was an uncanny imitation of another voice, one that — Polychrome realized with a chill — Erik could never have heard, the mortal said, “He never makes a mistake!”
Several of the others present recognized both the voice and the words, and stared at Erik Medon. “How… Erik, you couldn’t have met the Lavender Bear, you jus’ couldn’t, so how could you know his voice…?” Dorothy said after a moment.
Erik looked mildly surprised. “That’s the voice I always used when I read him out loud. Just like I always used to give the Wizard a slight English accent — as he appears to have.” He nodded slowly. “But that might be significant.”
“How do you mean that he — by which you must mean the Pink Bear — never makes a mistake?” Iris said finally.
“You could ask him yourself,” Erik pointed out, “but it’s simple. Prophecies play games with literal and figurative — as everyone here knows. That’s what finally bit poor Ugu on the ass,” he nodded at the erstwhile King of Oz. “Your favorite child will not come home again. Polychrome might have been, in a way, described as a child when she came down to get me. She’s not a child in any way, shape, or form now.”
Iris blinked, then whirled to face the tiny pink shape that sat in the shadow of his throne. “So you tricked even me.”
“You tricked yourself, Iris Mirabilis. Yes, I knew it would be so. But those words could have been more literally true — and nearly were.”
“I have a question, if I might.”
Polychrome was startled, for the deep, resonant voice was that of Ugu, who had been completely silent — and thoughtful — throughout the party.
“Go ahead,” Erik said after a moment.
“During our battle, when you unraveled Amanita’s hopes that you would burn yourself out immediately, you said you understood exactly why you had to be chosen. Would you be able to explain that?”
“Well, you obviously got part of it, but sure. The requirements for the Hero — once we got to the end of the Prophecy and saw all the things that had to happen — got to be terribly specific. It had to be a man — since Poly isn’t interested in girls as far as I know.”
Polychrome blinked and blushed. What? Is that … possible? Or… well, I suppose it is. How would he even think of … I’ll have to ask him. Later.
“So right there you cut the candidates in half. Then you have to really cut it down because you need the True Mortal blood. That has to be really, really rare.
“After that, you needed someone who was already a fan of Oz, because if they weren’t, they couldn’t recognize Polychrome when she arrived, and thus wouldn’t speak her name. Now you’re really cutting the numbers down — Oz just isn’t as popular as it was, and most people know it from that darn movie. Then — as it turned out — you needed someone who didn’t really have the hea
rt to kill anyone if they could help it, but who was willing to fight. And they had to be someone who would fall in love with Polychrome — not that that’s hard — and who could afford to do that. I mean, if I had been married, I couldn’t have been your hero; the kind of man who’d dump his wife and possible kids to follow her, even to save Faerie, isn’t a hero type you want.
“And then, finally, you had to have someone who was all of these things…and who had been a fan of Oz for many years, decades, so that he had a lot of years to burn, and yet who still wasn’t so old that he couldn’t somehow survive the training he needed in order to fight his way through what he’d run into.” Erik grinned and tried to look self-deprecating as he gestured to himself. “Follow all of that, and even starting with six billion people your field of choices has just gotten really, really small.”
Ugu pursed his lips, then shook his head. “And still you leave out one of the most vital points. The Hero would have to win against such vast powers and could only do so by having a mind of great quickness, personal inventiveness, and — as you made clear — the ability to recall, and visualize — not merely with your mind, but with your heart and soul — the weapons of the imagination that your society provided. A rare talent indeed. Now, truly, do I understand.”
“Which brings us to one of the important questions I have of you, Erik Medon,” her father said. He looked grimly down at Ugu. “He is here because he has given his…parole, I suppose you would call it, and because Princess Zenga has taken responsibility for him, and for…Cirrus, I suppose we must call him. It is your duty to decide his ultimate fate, and I do not wish to wait long for that decision. The longer he remains alive yet neither punished nor set free, if that be your will, he is a potential focus of unrest and even violence from those whom he has wronged.”
Erik’s face grew serious, and he walked up to study Ugu for a long moment. “They say you apologized to Ozma voluntarily, and you protected Cirrus here at the risk of your life.”
“I apologized to the Princess and Queen of Oz for many of my actions,” Ugu said after a moment. “Not for my beliefs in some ways, but for the ways in which I sought to redress what I saw as wrongs. And I did protect Cirrus from what would have been a terrible wrong.”
The blond-haired man looked into the older man’s dark eyes, and she could tell that he was measuring what he saw there. “I understand, I think. A shame it took this long to sink in, but at least you’ve figured it out.”
Ugu’s laugh was humorless. “A self-righteous anger can make one proof to nearly any reason.”
Erik turned, and she saw something new in his stance. He was straighter, head held just a slight bit higher. He looks…like Father. Like King Inga, like Princess Ozma. He’s taken the responsibility for a decision that affects us all. “Iris, Ozma…Ruggedo,” he nodded to the old Nome, “for I suspect that when you return home, Kaliko will happily hand the crown back. My Lords Assembled, in our travels across Oz we learned some few things about the Usurpers, and one that struck us all was that there were many who did not speak ill of Ugu. Many, indeed, who had words of praise for his fairness, for his considered efforts to control his Viceroys and direct the efforts of the countries. Yes, there were also many who had grievances…yet the reports were not of the oppressive tyrant we had expected.
“And when I confronted him…I was struck by the difference between Ugu and Amanita. His Queen was insane; Ugu…was not. And even in our confrontation, he showed human feeling, even — I realize now — a consideration for his defeated enemy. Most people know the old saying that ‘power corrupts,’ but there is another version that says that power reveals. There are two moments when you will come to know what a person is really like: the first is when his back is to the wall and he has nothing left but desperation. The other is when he has everything, and need fear nothing, when he can gain anything he wishes simply by reaching out. Some people this makes worse. Others — like Ugu — it can make better, because no longer are they driven to action by fear that others will prevent them from acting. Without fear, they act according to their basic natures.”
Ozma looked confused, which echoed how Polychrome felt. She noticed, however, that Glinda was thoughtful and grave, as was the Wizard. “But…what did Ugu have to fear in the beginning?”
Erik shook his head. “Wait on that for a moment. Ugu the Unbowed!”
The once-King of Oz dropped to one knee, realizing judgment was on him — and clearly accepting that this man had the right to judge.
“You have shown the potential for good. You have taken some steps in that direction. Yet none, not even you, could argue that by your actions — and your assistance of Amanita Verdant — you have done great evil, caused much destruction, many deaths, disrupted in one way or another the workings of all of Faerie.”
Ugu nodded.
“I spared your life, and the others here have allowed that choice to stand. I would not waste the potential you have shown. It will be your task to assist in the rebuilding of Oz, to help track down and defeat those of the rebel forces that remain — your Viceroys, General Guph and the remains of your army, any other forces you may have had. You have vast magical knowledge, perhaps equal of any others in Faerie; this you will put at the disposal of those you deposed, and what remains of their treasures you will find and return to them.” He paused, then continued, “I will be watching.”
Ugu nodded again. “You are merciful.”
“Hardly.” That sharp grin was on his face again. “You will be forced to confront every one of your mistakes, to correct those which can be corrected, to apologize for those which cannot. As you have gained a conscience, Ugu, the pain you shall inflict upon yourself will be far more than any others could ever manage.”
Ugu acknowledged that truth with a bitter smile. “You speak truly. Yet…I still count this as a mercy, for by the time you had arrived, I realize I had wished for the chance to do just that. Still…there are…questions remaining for me.”
“I think I know what you mean,” Erik said. “And I have a few more questions of my own. Give me a day or two to read certain archives which I only got to skim while I was being trained, and I think I will have answers…though not the answers some of you will expect.”
“What do you mean, Erik?” Polychrome asked.
He touched her arm gently. “I’ll explain later. And to everyone once I’m sure.” He turned back to Iris. “And as all the guests are already here…can the wedding be soon?”
At the sudden turn of the subject, Iris laughed anew. “A practical reason to rush so important an event! You are a man of contrasts, Erik Medon. Yet what you say is undeniably true, and the year you spent here was, as I already knew, your courtship of my daughter, though neither of you realized it. So shall it be; in two days shall you be wed, and I shall myself perform that ceremony, on Caelorum Sanctorum, for the Above themselves should witness this, as they watched your struggle and victory.”
Two days? Polychrome wanted to protest, say she hardly would have time — but she looked at Erik, and knew that at the same time she would almost rather it were now. He may be Faerie more than human now…or he may have only a few years left to live. Not even Princess Ozma or my Father can say for sure yet. I want to spend as many days with him as I can.
Two days. Let them go by swiftly.
Chapter 58.
“Lords of Faerie. Mortal allies. All peoples of the Rainbow Kingdom, all those assembled here upon the Mountain of the Heavens before the eyes of the Above, we are here for one of the most joyous of events,” Iris Mirabilis said, his voice echoing across the mountaintop, through the vastness below and above.
I glanced to my side, and the beauty there could have blinded me. I still can’t believe it. It has to be a dream. I’m going to wake up any minute now…and then I will cry myself back to sleep.
Because it was more than just her beauty — although for her face and form alone I’d have done anything at all. It was for who she was, and that sh
e did love me as I’d come to love her, ten times more than I could have imagined even when first we had met. That year together — when I hadn’t dared speak of what I felt and thought, and when she hadn’t imagined the possibility of what was now about to happen — that year, that incredible, terrifying, grinding, precious year, had made us more than a dizzily-infatuated couple drunk on the first surge of attraction; it had made us friends. And my father had told me that what had kept him together with my mother for all their years was very simple: “I married my best friend.”
If I wake up now…I won’t just lose a teenager’s fantasy. I’ll lose a friend, a companion, someone who risked everything for me, as I was risking all for her and all her people, who put herself through just as much as I. For a moment, I shuddered at the very thought. If this is a dream, I very seriously mean it when I say never let me wake up.
“Lord Erik Medon has asked my daughter, Polychrome Glory, to marry him, and she has agreed, with joy and certainty,” Iris continued. “Though it may seem abrupt, know all assembled that they came to know each other well in the year he spent in my kingdom, for Polychrome guided him in his learning of our world, aided his seeking in understanding, and in the end followed him to the final battle to do what must be done.
“And so I call them forth, the Hero and Heroine of the realm, the Mortal Man and the Heir to my Kingdom, to speak their vows before us all.”
We stepped out of the royal tent to the accompaniment of cheering that nearly deafened me. It’s a wonder my cheeks aren’t suntanning from the inside, with the amount of blushing I’m doing. I kept my eyes focused on the mighty form of Iris, because I knew if I looked at Poly right now I’d just stop and stare like an idiot until someone kicked me.
We reached the very peak of Caelorum Sanctorum, facing Iris who stood somewhat below — so that his great height brought his eyes just slightly above mine. We stopped and waited until the cheering died down.