Faerie Lord fw-4

by Herbie Brennan

  Suddenly she couldn’t get the idea out of her head. Undeads were rare. Since they couldn’t reproduce, they teetered as a breed on the edge of extinction. Yet somehow they always managed to rebuild their ranks from the bodies of their victims. Was something stalking her? Had she become prey for a vampire or a grint?

  The sounds came again, closer this time. Whatever was trailing her might be trying to keep quiet, but stealth was clearly not its natural mode. Which meant it had little fear of attack. Logically it was likely to be something very, very dangerous.

  Some Thing very, very dangerous, her mind corrected her.

  Blue drew the Halek blade from her belt and slid into a narrow crevice in the wall of the passageway. Her plan had formed itself. She would hide here until the creature stalking her passed by, then emerge and stab it with her lethal knife. She was taking an enormous risk. If the thing glanced in and saw her, she was trapped and with scarcely enough room to wield the blade. If the thing really did turn out to be undead, she was far from certain even the energies of a Halek knife would destroy it. Furthermore, she was well aware, as everyone was well aware, that if a Halek knife shattered, its lethal power turned against the person holding it, killing them instantly.

  But this was another situation like the catsite – what else could she do? If she ran, her footfalls would alert her pursuer at once and she had no guarantee that this passage was not another dead end.

  She held her breath and waited.

  Whatever was pursuing stopped and snuffled, as if sniffing the air. Blue closed her eyes briefly. If it caught her scent, she was finished. But then it was moving again, no faster than before. Abruptly it occurred to her that the curious clicking noise might be the sound of claws on the stone floor. If so, the thing had a deliberate tread. It certainly didn’t seem to be rushing in for the kill, at least not yet. Perhaps it hadn’t detected her. Perhaps…

  It was so close now she could hear its breathing. Then suddenly there was a large bulk passing her hiding place. Moving on pure instinct, Blue stepped out of the crevice, raised her blade and…

  ‘Don’t,’ said the charno.

  The flooding of relief was so extreme that Blue simply stood there shaking and panting as she tried to catch her breath. Eventually she said angrily, ‘What the hael do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘Following you,’ the charno said.

  ‘Why?’ Blue demanded. ‘Why? I said you didn’t have to. I can’t use the stupid hammer. Midgard Serpents eat charnos; you said so yourself. So why… did you have… to frighten the life…’

  ‘Thought you might like the company,’ the charno said.

  ‘The Purlisa put you up to this, didn’t he?’ Blue said on sudden insight. ‘The Purlisa and the Abbot?’

  The charno nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘They wanted you to make sure I came in here!’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then why did you try to persuade me not to?’ Blue demanded.

  ‘Reverse psychology,’ the charno said.

  For a moment she thought she’d misheard. Then she said, ‘What do you mean?’

  The charno shrugged. ‘The Purlisa said you were perverse.’

  This time she was sure she’d misheard. ‘What?’

  The charno gave a patient sigh. ‘One of those people who always do the opposite of what they’re told. He was worried you might decide your Henry person wasn’t down here.’

  ‘And he told you to make sure I came in anyway?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘By telling me not to?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Blue’s eyes were like saucers, part from surprise and part from fury, much of which came from the realisation that the Purlisa was absolutely right – she did have a perverse streak. ‘And is Henry down here?’

  The charno shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘What about the serpent thing?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said the charno.

  ‘And I’m supposed to fight it?’

  The charno shook his head again. ‘No, you’re supposed to be captured by it.’

  ‘Well you and your precious Purlisa can forget that, for a start!’ Blue snapped. ‘The only reason I’m standing here is that I thought I might have a chance to rescue Henry. If you’ve all lied to me about Henry, then there is absolutely nothing in the Faerie Realm that would make me stay down here a minute longer.’ She blinked her eyes twice to reveal the luminous filament, ‘I’m going back to the surface.’

  To her absolute astonishment, the charno transformed itself into a grinning clown, ‘I’m afraid it’s much too late for that.’

  Seventy-Six

  ‘Get him back!’ shouted Henry in sudden panic. All very well to say he had to rescue Blue, but from what? And when? Was she in trouble right this minute, or was this something Mr Fogarty saw in the future? Was she ill? Had she picked up the time fever thing? And, most important of all, where was she? He needed to know more! But the stupid ark only sat there, silent and inert.

  Euphrosyne smiled and nodded. ‘Soon, En Ri,’ she said.

  Henry felt like shaking her, but didn’t. Instead he said firmly, ‘No – now!’

  ‘It is not possible now,’ Euphrosyne said calmly. She was still smiling, but there was an absolute finality in her voice that stopped him dead.

  Henry felt his panic deflate like a punctured balloon. Euphrosyne would help him if she could. Every one of the Luchti would help if they could: they might be primitive but they were about the nicest people he’d ever met in his life. But he wasn’t going to get anywhere by shouting at them. He needed to know what he was doing, needed to ask intelligent questions, needed to show them how they could help. He had to stop feeling so much out of his depth. He needed information. Most of all, he needed information about Mr Fogarty and how, incredibly, he was able to talk to these people as their god after he was dead.

  ‘Euphrosyne,’ Henry said. ‘That was Charaxes I just talked to, wasn’t it?’

  Euphrosyne nodded enthusiastically. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And your people have talked to Charaxes for centuries, haven’t you?’

  She nodded again. ‘Yes.’

  Out of the corner of his eye he noticed other members of the tribe were approaching, Lorquin among them. Even at a distance, he could tell they were happy. However confused he was now, he seemed to have muddled through the business of their ceremony. To Euphrosyne he said, ‘How was Charaxes able to talk to you centuries ago?’ Mr Fogarty wasn’t dead centuries ago. Mr Fogarty wasn’t even born centuries ago. So how did Mr Fogarty get to be the god of the Luchti?

  Euphrosyne said happily, ‘With the ark.’

  ‘Yes, I know with the ark, but Charaxes wasn’t there centuries ago.’

  She looked at him blankly. ‘Charaxes is always there, otherwise how could we be here? How could you be here, En Ri?’

  ‘You mean Charaxes created the world?’ Mr Fogarty as a creator god was more than he could cope with. There was something badly wrong here. He wasn’t understanding what was going on.

  ‘Oh no,’ Euphrosyne said. She looked almost shocked. ‘The world was created many billions of years ago in the Great Explosion that caused the universe. Charaxes had nothing to do with it. They were not born yet.’

  They? There was more than one Charaxes? It had never occurred to him that the word might be plural. ‘Euphrosyne,’ Henry said, ‘who are the Charaxes?’

  ‘Our ancestors,’ said Euphrosyne promptly. ‘Was that not your illustrious ancestor you just talked to, En Ri?’

  Well, it wasn’t, but a lot of things were clearer now. The ark wasn’t some religious object like the Ark of the Covenant designed so the Luchti could talk to God. It was a device that helped you get in touch with dead relatives. Mr Fogarty wasn’t a relative, but he was certainly dead and he was a lot closer to Henry than either of the grandfathers Henry had never even known. He gave a relieved sigh. Now he understood, he might be able to get things moving.

  ‘Is there any way,’
he asked, ‘any way at all that I can get in touch with my Charaxes again? Like, now, I mean?’

  ‘I can help you, En Ri,’ said a strangled voice behind him.

  Seventy-Seven

  Henry turned to discover the voice belonged to Ino. The tattooed shaman looked awful. His eyes were still glazed and his legs were so rubbery that he had to be supported on either side by burly tribesmen. There were angry scratches on his torso as if he’d been attacked by a cat – heaven alone knew how he’d got those. The blue of his skin had taken on a greenish tinge, a particularly bilious combination that made him look like a standing corpse. But he grinned cheerfully at Henry, ‘I can call up your Charaxes,’ he said.

  Henry glanced from Ino to Euphrosyne and back again. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

  ‘I set the song-lines,’ Ino slurred almost inaudibly. His legs gave way again so he sank down in the grip of his companions.

  Lorquin pushed himself to the front of the group now surrounding Henry. ‘Setting the song-lines is very difficult,’ he explained. ‘Only a clever man like Ino could manage it. Now he wishes to help you, En Ri. He knows you want to speak again to your Charaxes.’

  ‘Yes, but is he all right?’ Henry hissed. He drew Lorquin to one side and said quietly, ‘How can I ask him to help me – he looks ghastly.’

  ‘He always looks like that,’ Lorquin said, ‘It’s the tattoos.’

  ‘It’s not the tattoos,’ Henry insisted. ‘He looks as if he’s about to fall down.’

  ‘He always looks like that too,’ Lorquin said, ‘after setting the song-lines. But if you do not allow him to help you, how will you speak with your Charaxes before next year?’

  ‘Next year?’ Henry exploded. He lowered his voice hurriedly. ‘Euphrosyne said we could use the ark again soon.’

  ‘Next year will come sooner than you think,’ Lorquin assured him philosophically. ‘But if you wish to speak with your Charaxes before then, you must use Ino. It is not so clear as the ark, but better than no speech at all.’

  ‘But Ino is ill ’ Henry exclaimed. ‘He can hardly stand up. I mean, it’s nice of him and all that, but I can’t ask -’

  ‘You are not asking, En Ri,’ Lorquin said firmly. ‘He offers you a gift. Ino is a man as you and I are men, En Ri. You must permit him to act as men must act in friendship. You must trust him to judge his own strength.’

  Henry stared at the child, wondering how somebody so young had managed to become so wise. He looked at Ino, who was swaying a bit, but now contrived to stand unaided. ‘Yes, all right,’ he said. Then quickly, ‘Thank you, Ino. Thank you very much.’

  Despite Lorquin’s reassurances, it wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t all up to Ino either. The entire tribe formed themselves into a circle again; three of the drummers pushed to the front and began to beat out a steady, complex rhythm. The sounds had an immediate affect on Ino, whose eyes rolled back in his head so only the whites were showing. Then he began to shuffle forwards and backwards in short, random movements. After a while he started to drool, then convulse. Henry watched him nervously. The shaman looked much like a B-movie zombie.

  Henry’s nervousness increased when he tore his eyes away from Ino to glance around the assembled tribe. Many – face it, Henry, most – of them had rolled-back eyes now and were swaying in time with the rhythm as if they’d fallen into trance. Even Lorquin looked slack-jawed and dazed.

  Several of the women began to dance again, but it was a wild, discordant dance that sometimes led to their colliding with one another. Several of the men burst into loud, erratic shouts. The whole scene had the feel of something that was gradually getting out of control and Henry didn’t like it. What he liked even less was the fact that the weird drum rhythm was getting to him as well. His eyes felt heavy and his mind kept getting soggy so that he had to jerk his attention savagely to stop himself falling asleep.

  But then the drumming stopped. At once there was a shrill ululation from the women and Ino flung himself violently on the ground to begin spinning like a break-dancer. His eyes were glazed and dead, every limb spastic. Then he started to bang his head on the flagstones. To Henry’s horror, it made a crunching sound.

  ‘I say – ’ Henry put in nervously.

  Ino responded to Henry’s voice as if he’d been stung. From flat on the ground he made an impossible leap high in the air to land in a squatting position. He gave a gut-wrenching scream.

  ‘Charaxes!’ chanted the tribe at once. ‘Charaxes! Charaxes! Charaxes!’

  From his squatting position, Ino glared up at Henry like an angry dog. The resemblance was so striking that for a moment Henry thought he might actually attack; then his eyes closed, his face went entirely passive and his lips began to move. The tribe stopped its chant at once.

  Henry pushed aside his fear and squatted beside Ino. The shaman’s mumbling sounded like a two-way conversation heard through a thick door, but Henry could not make out a single word. ‘What?’ Henry asked. ‘What are you saying?’

  Then Lorquin was by Henry’s side. ‘Don’t speak, En Ri,’ he said quietly, ‘I no talks with your Charaxes.’

  Henry waited. Ino turned to him abruptly, ‘I see him,’ he said.

  ‘See who?’ Henry asked foolishly.

  ‘I see your Charaxes. He wishes you to say why you did not do as he instructed you.’

  Henry looked at the shaman blankly.

  The shaman stared into his eyes, blinked twice and said, ‘He has taken my filament.’ The voice he used was a woman’s voice and Henry recognised it at once.

  Henry went cold. ‘Blue…?’ he whispered. His stomach knotted. Was Blue already dead?

  ‘I can’t find my way back,’ Ino said.

  ‘Blue? Blue, where are you?’

  ‘In the dark,’ said Ino clearly. The voice was sounding more like Blue each second.

  ‘What filament?’ Henry asked. ‘Who has taken it?’

  ‘The clown,’ Blue said. ‘He took it.’

  It was making no sense at all. But the voice was Blue’s voice: he was certain of that. Somehow he was talking to Blue through the mouth of the Luchti shaman. ‘What clown?’ Then, more urgently, ‘Where are you, Blue?’

  ‘The serpent will get me,’ Blue said. She sounded dreamy, as if she was half asleep.

  This was getting worse and worse. Henry felt like taking Ino and shaking him, except that one look at Ino’s face was enough to show the shaman was no longer there. His eyes, which had looked blind before, now seemed fathomless and empty. He had sunk down from his squatting position so that now he was seated on the ground, every muscle relaxed like a rag doll. With a massive effort Henry forced himself to be calm. ‘You’re being attacked by a serpent?’ If she was being attacked by a serpent, there was nothing he could do, nothing at all. Even if miraculously she was only half a mile away, he could not get to her in time to save her.

  ‘Soon,’ Blue said in her dreamy voice. ‘The Trickster took my filament.’

  Since clowns and serpents and filaments made no sense, Henry concentrated on the one thing that might. ‘Where are you, Blue. You have to tell me where you are.’

  ‘In the dark,’ Blue repeated; to Henry’s horror her voice seemed to be fading.

  ‘In the dark where?’ he asked desperately. ‘Are you in the Palace? Are you in the city? Blue, where are you?’

  Blue said something, but so faintly now that Henry couldn’t catch it.

  In a mounting panic he reached out to grip Ino’s arm. ‘Where are you, Blue?’ he shouted. ‘Please, darling, tell me where you are!’

  ‘She’s in the Mountains of Madness,’ Ino said crossly in Mr Fogarty’s voice. ‘And don’t call me "darling".’

  Seventy-Eight

  ‘Do you have a diagnosis?’ Madame Cardui asked, buttoning her blouse.

  Chief Wizard Healer Danaus, who had carried out the examination with his back turned, said quietly, ‘I’m afraid you test positive.’

  ‘I have the time plague?’

>   ‘In its early stages, yes.’

  They were in the Chief Wizard’s private consulting rooms. There was a guard on the door and military grade privacy spells were in place. With Queen Blue no longer in the Palace, her Gatekeeper dead and Pyrgus in stasis, Madame Cardui was painfully aware the state of her own health had political implications. She said quietly, ‘What do you suggest?’

  ‘Immediate stasis,’ Danaus said bluntly.

  ‘Impossible,’ said Madame Cardui. She finished adjusting her clothing and added, ‘You may turn round now.’

  Danaus turned his large bulk slowly. He had a sober, strained expression on his face, impossible…?’ he echoed tiredly.

  Madame Cardui said briskly, ‘Until Her Majesty returns, I am needed in the Palace.’

  Danaus shook his head. ‘No one is indispensable.’

  Madame Cardui sighed, ‘I’m afraid I am, Chief Wizard Healer. At least until Queen Blue returns, and possibly beyond then. It is simply impossible for me to go into immediate stasis.’

  ‘Impossible or not, it is necessary.’ They stood looking at each other in silence; then, to her astonishment and not a little shock, he reached out to take her hand. ‘Cynthia,’ he said quietly, ‘Prince Pyrgus is a young man hardly more than a child. You have seen how the fever has ravaged him. Gatekeeper Fogarty was a mature man when he caught the fever. You saw how quickly it killed him.’ He looked deep into her eyes. ‘Forgive me, Cynthia, but you are older even than Gatekeeper Fogarty. You may not feel it, you do not look it, but that’s the simple fact of it: I have your medical records.’

  Madame Cardui extricated her hand gently and turned her head away. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘that’s true. Alan never knew how many years there were between us the difference between faerie and human physiology, of course – and I felt no great need to tell him.’ She looked back at Danaus, her eyes suddenly fierce. ‘But it’s not the age that counts, is it? As I understand this plague, what is really important is the amount of future one has left remaining. Is this not so, Chief Wizard Healer? An eighty-year-old faerie with a hundred years remaining is surely better off than an eighty-year-old human who might be lucky to have ten?’