I realized Ryan and I had clutched at each other instinctively after the blast of thunder and released him, stepping away, moments from saying something snippety when I noticed the rider had a woman’s head cradled in the nook of the creature’s arm, right beside a rather unmistakable pair of breasts.
Horsewoman. Headless horsewoman.
Yay, equality.
“Damn, I was hoping I’d have more time,” Ryan said, under his breath. “Play along, be polite, and keep quiet.”
“Have ye met me?” I asked, my voice a hushed whisper. “Who is she, anyway?”
“She’s one of the Dullahan. A headless rider.”
“A Chancery member, then?”
Ryan scoffed. “Not even close. The Chancery would never let one of the Dullahan put down roots in Boston—too powerful, and too unpredictable. Anyway, try not to draw her attention. She’s by far the most mild-mannered of her kind I’ve ever met, but that doesn’t mean it’s safe. Oh, and whatever you do, don’t give her your number.”
“Why would I—”
“Cassandra,” Ryan interrupted, speaking over me. “It’s been a while.”
“And you, Riann O’Rye.”
“They say it Ryan, these days.”
“Psh, who can keep up with the way Manlings talk?” Cassandra scoffed. “Everything they have to say is nonsense, anyway.”
“Cassandra here is in charge of media relations,” Ryan remarked, bringing me into the conversation. “She keeps track of traffic—how often we’re mentioned, what is said about us, that sort of thing.”
A media specialist? I had no idea the Fae cared what we said about them, much less kept track of it. I could only imagine the headache involved in weeding through social media posts day after day. “That sounds…exhaustin’,” I admitted.
“Ah! An Irish girl, that explains it,” Cassandra said, leaning forward onto the pommel of her horse’s saddle. “I wondered why Riann was dallying with a human, even one as gorgeous as you are. Are you two together? Like, officially?” Cassandra winked at me, squeezing her head against her chest in a way that might have been suggestive it wasn’t so completely off-putting.
That said, I had to admit she was attractive, in a headless sort of way, with bright blue eyes and hair the same inky shade of black as her horse—a massive stallion which neighed in greeting before pawing at the pavement with one of its hooves, sending sparks flying.
“She’s a friend,” Ryan said. “That’s all.”
“Oh, well then…good to know. But yes, to your point, my job can be exceedingly dull,” Cassandra confirmed. “I thought it was going to be a cushy gig, at first, back when all you Manlings had was word of mouth—you had nothing interesting to talk about back then, either, but at least you weren’t so pretentious about it. Then along came the printing press and Shakespeare—the most annoying brat I ever met in my life—and now you have the internet and you use it to watch live video feeds of grass growing and Loch Ness in hopes of seeing Nessie—as if she would ever set flippers back in that lake after what you all put her through with your cameras and your tourism.”
I gaped at the horsewoman; she hadn’t taken a single breath during that whole tirade. In fact, she’d said it all so fast that I’d missed part of it.
“Don’t let Cassandra fool you,” Ryan said, turning to me, “she really does love her job, or she wouldn’t keep doing it. They’ve tried to bring in other people—”
“They’ve tried to fire me! As if anyone else could do what I do. Do you know what most Fae think when they hear the word ‘Manling’?” Cassandra asked me.
I shook my head.
“The same thing you think when I say ‘monster,’” she explained. “But at least you lot have a basic understanding of the do’s and don’t’s. See a faerie? Be careful what you wish for. Turn your clothes inside out. Iron, lots of iron.”
“Gold,” Ryan added.
Cassandra shot Ryan a glare. “Hush, Riann. The women are talking,” Cassandra said. “Anyway, as I was saying, at least you all get things right from time to time, even if you don’t always believe. But our lot? Most are convinced you’re all sadists and slavers, metal-worshippers with all your skyscrapers and flying machines and such.”
“It’s true,” Ryan interjected, ignoring Cassandra’s withering stare. “When I first got here, I was terrified. We’re told so many horror stories about Manlings when we grow up that few ever cross over.”
“Well, that was the case,” Cassandra added, “until several months ago. Now we have invaders and war on our hands and Fae jumping ship left and right. It’s gotten so bad we’ve had to call some of our people back. Like Riann, here. Although, to be honest, I never thought they’d send me to collect him—when King Oberon banishes you, it rarely comes with an expiration date.”
“Ye were banished by a king? For what?” I asked, immediately intrigued.
“It’s a long story,” Ryan said, this time glaring at Cassandra, who had turned her head around in her hands to look away.
It wasn’t exactly subtle.
“Anyway—” Ryan began.
“It’s really not that long, if you tell it right,” Cassandra interrupted. “And I’ve had a day. I could use a laugh.”
“A laugh?” Ryan asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Yes. It’s a funny story,” Cassandra said.
“The story where I get exiled from my home, and never get to see my family again?”
“Well, I didn’t say it was a funny story for you to tell…” Cassandra admitted.
Ryan sighed. “Fine.” And then he told us a fairy tale, “Once upon a time…”
Chapter 32
Once upon a time…in another plane of existence, where time is measured not in minutes or hours, but in seasons…there was a child born into a prestigious noble family which had loyally served the Summer Court since before the Old Gods stepped away from the world of Man to build their own realms.
The boy was bright, beautiful, and fair. He had an infectious laugh, and everyone—even the Unseelie, who tend to destroy cute things on principle—loved him. This, more than anything, made the boy the perfect candidate to become a changeling—a child sent out into the world of Man to replace a Manling of similar appearance and age.
The principle behind the changeling raids, as they would later be known, was to raise the stolen Manling child among the Fae. Once it was old enough, the Manling would be sent back with stories to tell—fantastical, unbelievable stories. Some of these men and women you have heard of, I’m sure. The stories they told have become legends, steeped in fiction, but containing very real truths. Tales like those of King Arthur and his Round Table, Alice in a Wonderland through a Looking Glass, Peter Pan and his Lost Boys.
In a way, the raids were a bridge, allowing Manlings and Fae to glimpse each other’s worlds without wanting to conquer them. The two races viewed each other with both fear and fascination. But, over time, things began to change. The Manlings closed themselves off, embracing their fear and rejecting wonderment. The raids slowed, and soon only the bravest, or stupidest, Fae were tasked with switching out a child.
But, with a boy like this one, even an inexperienced raider could perform the swap. With a Fae child like him, you could take any baby in the world from its mother and she’d never even bat an eye—she might even thank you.
Enter Riann O’Rye, the black sheep of the O’Rye family and house servant of Oberon, King of the Faeries.
Like many spoiled youths, Riann was tired of being treated like a child, and felt he was meant for bigger and better things. So, when he heard about this child, he came up with a plan—a way to improve his stock. Well, not a plan, per se. More like an idea.
A monumentally stupid idea.
Riann bribed the raider responsible for taking the child into the Manling realm, then did just that. Of course, having never been there before, Riann found plenty to distract him from his original mission.
Riann witnessed many wonders on
their journey: Roman roads and Byzantine cathedrals and Italian bathhouses. He saw other things, too, of course: cruelty and savagery and sorrow. But, with the growing, precocious child as his companion, he found plenty to keep him happy.
In fact, over time, Riann realized that the child had become precious to him. That he didn’t want to part with him, even though it was the duty he’d signed up for. So, in the end, he took the boy aside, not far from their intended destination.
Riann confessed his plan, and his reasons, to the boy. He asked that he be forgiven and insisted they return home. But the child, having also experienced the wonders of the Manling’s strange world, refused to return.
“Are you sure?” Riann asked. “If the Manlings ever discover what you are, you could be killed. And do not forget that they are cruel, even to their own.”
The boy merely smiled. “I know. But still, I pity them. Their lives are so short, and they burn through them so quickly…and yet so many live in darkness. So many die cold and alone.”
“Then why stay?” Riann asked.
“I will become their sun,” he replied.
Riann followed through with his plan after that, though his heart was not in it; he used his illusions to steal away the Manling child, leaving the boy he’d grown to love behind. When he finally returned to Fae, he did so with a heavy-heart and a dim-witted Manling child in tow.
The child would grow old in Fae, unbeknownst to Riann—far older than most who were taken during the raids. And this because the Fae child Riann loosed upon the world refused to return and fulfill his side of the covenant.
By the time the Manling finally was reunited with his own kind, decades had passed, and he was in ill-health. Despite that, he died a rich and powerful man, surrounded by material comforts and strangers who called him many names, although one was repeated more frequently than any other.
Charlemagne.
I raised a hand to interrupt Ryan’s story, scouring my memory for who Charlemagne was. The name rung a bell, but history was never my strong point; that’s what libraries were for.
Unless they made a movie.
I watched a lot of movies.
“Charlemagne,” Ryan explained, exasperated, “was a Frankish king and general during the Middle Ages who pretty much single-handedly unified western and central Europe.”
“Oh, right,” I said, as if I’d known that all along. “Anyway, ye were sayin’…”
Ryan shook his head. “Anyway, many years before…”
Many years before the man known as Charlemagne passed away, Riann returned home. Riann’s exploits became legendary as word spread that he’d managed to steal a royal child from the Manling realm. Some, of course, were angry. King Oberon, who felt slighted for not being informed of Riann’s plan from the beginning, was one. But, given Riann’s popularity, he had no choice but to promote the young Fae to the honorable palace guard alongside his father - to serve the traditional hundred-year term.
Eventually, decades passed, and the whole affair was gradually forgotten about. The Manling was shipped off to be paraded about in the Summer Court, and no one but Riann thought about the Fae child he’d left behind. But, gradually, the nature of the Fae realm took over and Riann forgot all about his adventures in the Manling world.
Until King Oberon sent for him on his sixty-sixth year of service as a member of the palace guard.
“You have failed us,” Oberon said, from atop his gilded throne.
“How have I failed you, my king?” Riann asked.
“You took one of our people to be raised among the Manlings.”
“I did, my king,” Riann replied, remembering the Fae child’s bright laugh for the first time in what seemed like forever.
“And now we hear that the child you took will never return. That he doesn’t wish to. That among them he is called King, even Emperor, by some.”
In Riann’s heart there leapt something proud and full of joy—the child had become the sun, after all. But King Oberon saw Riann’s expression and leapt up from his throne, mistaking one emotion for another. “Betrayal! You sent him to do this!” King Oberon decried.
“No, my king!”
But King Oberon wouldn’t listen. Instead, Riann was punished, forced to indefinitely guard the halls containing King Oberon’s greatest treasures, suspending his honored position in the royal halls.
Centuries passed, and—away from the distractions of the Court—Riann thought often of his young charge, wondering what the boy was doing. But—after several decades—Riann resigned himself to his duty, which mostly consisted of guarding empty hallways - a far cry from his days among Oberon’s Court.
Thus Riann, the wayward son of a palace guard, became the lone sentinel tasked with guarding the treasures of the Faerie King. It was dull. Very dull. None would dare steal from King Oberon, after all.
That was, until the day—after over a thousand years spent more or less diligently guarding the treasures of the Faerie King—Riann O’Rye fell asleep.
On this particular day, Riann fell asleep without warning, still standing, leaning on his halberd. In fact, that’s how the King and his newest mistress found him: snoring on his feet. He woke to King Oberon’s scream of outrage.
Riann never did find out what had been taken; he’d never been allowed to see the treasures themselves, of course. But, before King Oberon’s Court, he was forced to confess to his negligence. Riann, convinced he would be executed, offered no excuse—what could he say that would make a difference? And yet, when whatever had been taken was never retrieved—not even by the King’s most dedicated hunters, it proved someone or something very powerful had likely been responsible. Therefore, Riann was not sentenced to a gruesome, painful death, as he’d originally expected, but instead banished to the world of Man. For eternity, barring unforeseen circumstances…
“Like an attack on the Wild Hunt by a host of malicious sprites that wiped out a good portion of King Oberon’s army,” Cassandra piped up, before Ryan could finish.
“They what?!” Ryan yelled, whirling.
I guess he hadn’t heard that part.
Chapter 33
Cassandra arced an eyebrow. “Didn’t they tell you what happened?” she asked.
“No,” Ryan growled.
“Oh,” Cassandra replied. “Well, yes, that’s what happened. Your father was with the Hunt that day…” she drifted off.
“He always hated being part of the Hunt,” Ryan muttered.
“You should also know the changeling raids were renewed, many seasons back,” Cassandra added. “You never heard about them, I imagine, with that silly little club you all have here keeping things hush hush.”
“They brought them back? Why?”
Cassandra shrugged her shoulders, her head rising and falling with an abruptness that seemed to disorient her. She glared up at her body, then returned her attention to Ryan. “No idea. The Queens have been busy lately. They’re working together, which I haven’t seen in centuries. But you know what they do with the Manlings they take...it’s possible they wanted something to play with.”
Ryan grimaced. “Sometimes I worry I’ve become too human to go home. Part of me looks at our kind and see children pulling off butterfly wings for fun.”
Cassandra shrugged again, although much slower this time. “It’ll come back to you. You know how it is. This world fades.”
“So that’s it, then?” I asked. “You’re going back? To work for Oberon?”
“King Oberon!” Cassandra snapped. She seemed to be checking the alleyway, lifting her head high and spinning it like the beacon of a lighthouse. “You never know who’s listening, Manling. Best be careful with your words.”
I started to roll my eyes, but Ryan was also looking around cautiously, so I shrugged. “King Oberon, then.”
“To answer your question, yes,” Ryan said. “It seems he needs cannon fodder.”
“Well, that, and he found out you weren’t lying about the whole not falli
ng asleep on duty thing,” Cassandra added, absent-mindedly.
Ryan’s eyebrows shot up. “He what?”
“Oh, right. You’ve been gone,” Cassandra said. “The artifact that was stolen has been found. Not retrieved, but found. I heard about it from one of my girlfriend’s people.” Cassandra lowered her head until it was only a foot away from my own and whispered sultrily into my ear, “She and I like to spice things up every once in a while, if you’re interested. Neither of us are the jealous type, obviously. We’re very good at sharing. And she’s a Banshee…which means she’s a scream—”
“That’s enough, Cassandra,” Ryan hissed. “What do you mean they found what was stolen? Did they get it back?”
Cassandra mouthed the words “think about it” at me before answering. “No, they didn’t. In fact, the Queens went after it with an army and came away reeling. It’s all anyone’s talking about back home.”
Ryan shoved his hands into his pockets. “Why now? After all this time?”
“Oh, come now. Surely you’ve noticed?” Cassandra waved her free hand around in the air. “Something’s happening. Feels like it did before.”
“Before?” I asked. Until now, I’d done my best to follow along, rolling with the various punches—Fae treasures stolen, the changeling raids reinstated, the Wild Hunt attacked—but it was all becoming a bit much. Everything the two talked about seemed too unbelievable to be remotely true.
“Well, I think your kind called it The Flood,” Cassandra replied, putting extra emphasis on the last two words.
“Wait, ye mean like the flood? Like Noah and his Ark and all that?”
“The day the Old Gods left to build their own worlds,” Cassandra explained, as if I were a small child. “Weren’t you listening to Riann’s story?”
“She means,” Ryan said, “it feels like the Apocalypse is coming.”
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