Feast of the Elfs: The Green Knight's Squire Book Two (Moth & Cobweb 2)

by John C. Wright

  “It is not magic if, by that word, you mean breaking the laws of nature or trafficking with dark powers. But in the same way federal law at times overrules local ordinance, there is a higher law my gift calls upon. The badge is imbued with starlight, so it will drive the mists away, and you can find or summon my door. It is well trained. Not like some doors I know.”

  “What was that about sleeping?”

  “I have other duties, so if you are wounded, and find my door in an hour when I am absent, enter the dark room, and an enchanted sleep will fall upon you. This will alleviate your pain and prevent the wounds from bleeding or getting worse. And I like to keep my floor clean of stains.”

  That did not sound very reassuring. Gil said, “I have another question. I put a drop of blood on my tongue from the monster I slew.”

  “I know.”

  Gil frowned in surprise. “How do you know?”

  “I can hear the truth in your voice.”

  Gil said, “That’s my question. The officer who arrested me did not hear the truth in me. Why is that?”

  “What makes you think he did not? He brought you here and held you until I could arrive. You did not want the whole crowd of everyone in earshot to hear about elfs and monsters, did you? They would all end up imprisoned in madhouses, and Winged Nightmare would disorder their brains with alchemy to make sure that each and every witness in the crowd went stark mad, just to keep up appearances. No, I am pretty sure he believed you and acted quickly.”

  “Who is Winged Nightmare?”

  “The witch-king in charge of madmen. He has never been defeated, except by Winged Vengeance. And I cannot call on Winged Vengeance any more, nor heal madness, so you must tell no humans the truth about our world.”

  “Who is Winged Vengeance?”

  “Someone who parted from me not on speaking terms. A foe of the anarchists.”

  “Do all policemen believe in elfs?”

  “Not consciously. You might say that a metaphysical policeman is allowed a certain degree of authority over physical policemen. But–” and now the jovial tone grew grim and serious “–but you have been granted a great gift and a terrible weapon you carry on your tongue. Use it with wisdom and discretion! The wise grow sad when told more truths than their hearts can hold, and fools grow vain. And, in any case, if you speak a truth too unbelievable to be believed, but your tongue forces your human listeners to believe it anyway, it may go badly.”

  “Badly…?”

  “For one thing, they might think you insane—because they can hear in your voice how you truly believe something they know cannot be true—and throw you in an asylum. Madhouses and churches are the targets of the darkness the elf kings serve. The three folk the enemy does not want to see get better are madmen and sinners.”

  “That is only two.”

  “The third is knights, for they return to combat upon recovering their strength.”

  “Thornstab told me how to find the kings at feast under the mountain.”

  “The Champion of Air and Darkness will be at that feast.”

  “Then who should I fight? Him? Alberec and Erlkoenig are both evil.”

  “Do not blame the elfin kings over much. They are trapped by a maze of oaths without a thread to lead them free. No, there are darker powers at work here: seven who would overthrow all laws of God and angel, elf and man, hollow out the world, and collapse all into Hell! But it is too soon by far to speak of them. The closer foes must be conquered before those from deeper, darker worlds are known. You are meant to fight giants, my lad. But you must first be trained! You must seek a knight to train you beneath the mountain.”

  “Why there? Do you have any knights on the force who can train me?”

  “At the moment, my department is small.”

  “How small?”

  “Quite small…”

  “How small?”

  “It consists of three: one is missing, one is a deserter, and then there is you.”

  “Wait… what was that?”

  “On to other business! Your best bet is to ask the enemy to train you. If you handle the matter correctly, their oaths will require it of them even if it seems…”

  “Wait a moment. You mean I am fighting all the forces of evil… alone?”

  “I am glad you are eager to begin! Since the crime scene is the entire planet, and the suspects are several races and clans of supernatural beings, I do not need to provide you with any clues, leads, or witnesses. The theft of all human life, the human world, and human happiness is a felony large enough to occupy your time until I contact you with further instructions.”

  “Go back to the part where I am fighting all alone. Your department is just you, in this room…?”

  “When you wake, you will be healed and whole.”

  “WAIT!” cried Gil, leaping to his feet. But a warm and fuzzy sensation was already making his limbs heavy and making his thoughts float away. He realized that the black room was very dark, but now he was aware of a reddish light coming from somewhere. Or perhaps that was just the sunlight shining on his closed eyelids.

  6. Police Dog

  He opened his eyes and was immediately rewarded with the sensation of a dog licking his face. Gil snorted in surprise and sat up. He was wrapped in his long gray cloak against the cold, dressed in his quilted tunic and hose, lying under a leafless tree in a little copse of woods. His sword was at hand, tucked into the cloak with him.

  Ruff was with him, barking excitedly, jumping, and wagging his tail. Gil’s hauberk was hanging from the branches of the tree, with the gauntlets hanging from branches to either side, the boots below, the helm dangling from a leafless branch above. The shoulder plate had been repaired, and all the broken links of his mail made fast and whole once more.

  Ruff barked, “You’re up! You’re up!”

  Something was odd. Where were all the pains and aches of his wounds? Gil said, “Was that a dream? Or what just happened?”

  Ruff said, “You are a policeman now! Does that make me a police dog? Police dogs are brave! I think I will like being a police dog!”

  Gil shook his head, rubbed his shoulder, and then felt his legs. He felt his nose. Nothing was broken. Nothing was torn or even bruised. But he could feel the scars of claw marks in his leg.

  The linen had been scrubbed clean of bloodstains, but not perfectly. He could see tiny flecks of brown here and there. Rips in the fabric had been sewn neatly with a green thread with fine, small stitches.

  He pulled the tunic off and looked at his shoulder. The stitches made by the nurse practitioner were gone, but the hairs of his skin were missing in a set of parallel stroke-marks from his enemy’s claws, and the skin in those lines was pale and thick.

  Ruff put his nose to Gil’s pouch, which was lying on the brown grass by the roots of the tree. “He left you some food. Cheese and bread. There had been a sausage, also, but, ah, something happened to it.”

  “What happened?”

  “I had to impound it as evidence of a crime.”

  “What crime?”

  “Someone stole the sausage. I saved the cheese and bread for you. You like cheese.”

  “No,” Gil said, talking more to himself than to Ruff. “What happened to me?”

  “Eat up! We are in Buncombe County, about seventy miles west of Brown Mountain, and Christmas is only four days away. You told Thornstab. The Necromancer’s little son. I was outside the window. That is where we are going, right? So you can arrest people and stab them? When do you get a horse? A police horse! Like a Mountie!”

  Gil looked at the big dog intently. “And how do you know I am a policeman now? Can you smell it?”

  Ruff wagged his tail, his tongue lolling. “Yes! Yes! Also the fact that you have a policeman’s badge hanging on a lanyard around your neck.”

  Gil looked down. It had been tucked under his tunic. In the sunlight, it looked like it was made of solid diamond, or some other impossibly hard, clean, and precious substance. Th
e word SCATHE was written along the top. At the bottom was the motto THE LAST CRUSADE.

  Gil stared down at the badge in his hands. He was not sure what to think. “Was that all an illusion? A joke? A trick by some elf? Or am I Arthur’s man now?”

  Ruff said, “Can’t you see through tricks now? If you saw the king, he was the real king.”

  Gil looked up. The sky was clear and blue, and the winter sun was dazzling bright on the clouds, but gave little heat. “Then I must fight all the dark powers of the world alone.”

  Ruff’s ears drooped. “Hey! You are not alone. I can be a police dog. I can.”

  Chapter Three: Alone on Christmas Eve

  1. Carrion Bird

  The county seat was far from Brown Mountain, and Gil and Ruff were in the county north of there, so the mountain was closer to him than his house. Gil did not even try hitchhiking; if anyone questioned him about his weapons and armor, Gil was unwilling to say he was in a stageplay or visiting a Renaissance fair, but neither was he willing to mark innocent people to be captured and sent screaming to madhouses.

  Gil divided his bread and cheese into four parts and ate no more than one part a day. Marching in winter in a heavy hauberk used a lot of energy, and he was hungry and weak most of the time, except at night, when he was cold and wet.

  It snowed. Gil had not seen the end of the tournament between the Winter Knights and the Summer, but since the North Carolina December was not supposed to look like a Pennsylvania February, Gil’s guess was that the forces of the Summer elfs had been trounced.

  Living off the land was not impossible in the cold weather, but it was pretty close. It was not much fun, but no one seemed inclined to offer him a ride, despite the holiday season.

  On the second day, Gil found a squirrel that was willing to share some nuts. Ruff wanted to eat the squirrel, but Gil forbade it.

  On the third day, Gil had nothing to eat beside his horded morsel of bread.

  On the fourth day, they entered a small town and found a dumpster behind a fried chicken stand, where Ruff was astounded at how many perfectly good bones had been thrown out, with meat and gristle attached. Gil was only slightly more hygienic than the dog when it came to what he was willing to eat out of other people’s garbage, but he was surprised at how many kids threw out perfectly good cole slaw still unopened in its Styrofoam cup.

  On Christmas Eve itself, he was tramping through a small town north of the national park, wrapped in his gray cloak, jangling with each step. Cheerful plastic stars, neon candy canes, and foam rubber Santas glittered from the lampposts and storefront windows, but no one was on the street.

  Gil stopped and stared mournfully at a payphone, which was gray and dull under its cap of snow. “I wish I had a dime. I wish my mother had a phone.”

  Ruff said, “I think calls are a quarter now. Or fifty cents. Or maybe a dollar.”

  A coal-black crow landed on the phone box. His voice was sharp and crisp. “Your mother is doing fine. She is lonely, but otherwise she is okay. She prays each night for your safety to the angel that stands outside her window with a drawn sword.”

  Gil said, “You know her?”

  “All birds know her. But of her we never speak.”

  “How do you know her? Why don’t you speak of her?”

  The crow tapped the box of the payphone intently. “Bah! Never any insects in this sort of tree! Sorry, what? I cannot speak of why we do not speak of her without speaking of her, can I?”

  Gil pushed back his coif and plucked a silver hair from his head. “Bring this to her. If she sees it, she will know I am alive.”

  Ruff said, “Or bald.”

  The crow looked carefully at the silver hair Gil laid on the top of the hood of the payphone, first with his right eye and then with his left. Then, he put one foot on it. “Nice! Can I keep it after she is done looking at it?”

  Gil said, “On one condition! You also have to help me with one other thing.”

  The crow said, “I would have helped you anyway. Some of us are rooting for you. But, since you offered, I’ll take the hair, just to be sociable. What do you need?”

  Gil said, “First, what do you know about me that you are rooting for me?”

  “You are her son.” The crow shrugged. “Birds remember the way. That is our talent. We don’t get lost on long trips, do we? You were about to tell me what you need.”

  Gil said, “I am looking for a willow tree from which no felon has ever been hanged. Do you know the trees around here?”

  The crow turned his beak to one side to fix his beady black eye on Gil and said, “The trees whisper about the Christmas tree of Blowing Rock that sacrificed himself to aid you in your fight and was burned. Oak and Ash and Thorn-tree are displeased with you, for these trees were worshipped as sacred things in pagan days, and Willow is the witch’s tree. Do not fear them! They are asleep this time of year. But Dogwood favors you, for obvious reasons, as do many tribes of conifers and pines, and those trees that do not die in winter. When you walk through these woods in winter, you are surrounded by well-wishers and protectors. The unseen foes do not know where you are. The Cobwebs seeking your life lost sight of you after you were taken into the police station, and the evergreens have used their influence to hide you and lured the Faceless Searching Things far astray.”

  2. The Witches’ Tree

  A cold wind blew, stirring up the ground snow. Gil shivered and said, “It is weird to think I was in some sort of danger and did not know it.”

  The crow said, “Why do you seek a Willow? It is an unchancy tree.”

  Ruff the dog said, “Some of us think crows are unchancy birds!”

  Gil said, “What does ‘unchancy’ mean?”

  Ruff said, “Unlucky. The crow is a bird of ill omen.”

  The crow raised its yellow beak and said proudly, “It is told among the crows that one of our ancestors landed on the tree the corpse of the Christ was hanging on, and the Virgin asked him not to eat her son’s flesh since it was set aside for another fate. My ancestor agreed and fed on the Good Thief instead. Because of that, we crows will be white as doves when we get to Heaven!”

  Ruff said, “Some crows liked the pagan gods better and serve the witches. They will stay black! But all dogs go to Heaven!”

  The crow said, “Really…? The Barghest, Black Dog of Yorkshire, serves the fay, and so the Cu Shee!” The crow clicked its beak in amusement. “Galleytrot? Hairy Jack? Mauthe Doog? The Yell Hound? What about the Black Shuck of East Anglia?”

  “Even Hitler’s dog!” barked Ruff. “It is not too late!”

  Gil was listening, not sure what to make of this. He said, “Do animals really get to go to Heaven?”

  The crow said, “We were in Eden with your first parents. We got kicked out for your sake, didn’t we? So why shouldn’t we be allowed back in with you? The really bad animals were all drowned in the big flood.”

  Ruff said, “Dogs did not get kicked out! Adam’s dog, Celeb, volunteered to go with him.”

  The crow said crossly, “You were not the only one! Goat, Ram, Swine, and Kine also volunteered, as did Stallion and Bee. They say Cat was the last of all to leave Eden and was less afraid of the Seraphim than Lucifer, and for that reason, to this day, is permitted to stare at kings, unabashed.”

  Ruff said, “And the first Crow hung back because he wanted to talk to the snake about death, which was a new invention back then, and find out if it was good eatings! What about that, huh?”

  Gil raised his hand. “Look, that’s nice and all, but I need some information. I need a willow wand to find the entrance to the elf mountain before Christmas. There is a charm I have to repeat.”

  The crow ruffled his black feathers so that they stood up. It was a sign that the crow was afraid. He said, “Better not to! It is an elfish trick.”

  Gil said, “You mean it would not work?”

  The crow said, “Certainly it would work! Work like a charm, as they say! And the next charm would
work also, and maybe the third, but then the demands for sacrifices would start. Innocent and meaningless things you would be asked to sacrifice at first, and then more doubtful things. And soon, without noticing it, you would be doing criminal acts: misdemeanors; then felonies; then atrocities. You don’t think the worshippers of Moloch started with child sacrifice, do you? It is all very gradual, and you ground-bound types never see the bird’s-eye view and never see the final destination toward which your feet are taking you. Gah! Walking on feet is so unwise!”

  Gil said, “But if I don’t obey the instructions exactly, how will I get in? I’ve read fairy tales. You have to obey instructions to the letter in a fairy tale, or things go badly.”

  The crow said skeptically, “You may have bumped into some fairy tale things, but that does not mean you are in a fairy tale story.”

  “So says a talking animal!”

  The crow shrugged. “So? Balaam talked to an ass.”

  Gil looked down at his sword hanging by his hip, remembering what his mother had told him about its meaning. He said sharply to the crow, “I am not going to say that was a fairy tale, so don’t ask.”

  “No, I was going to say I know what it feels like,” the crow said sarcastically. “What makes you more stubborn than him?”

  Ruff said, “More stubborn than which? Balaam or the ass?”

  Gil said to Ruff, “You are not helping.”

  The crow said, “Listen! Aesop interviewed all sorts of birds and creatures back in the day, so I know some of his talking animal tales do not end with the moral of the story being ‘obey the creepy elf no matter what.’”

  Gil said, “Fine. So how do I get into the mountain?”

  The crow said sardonically, “Ask your dog….” And, with his bill snatching up the silver hair lying beneath his foot, the crow flapped away in a flurry of black feathers.

  3. Demi-Something

  Gil stared down at Ruff, saying nothing. Ruff wagged his tail, tongue lolling, but then, under the relentless gaze, the tail wagged more and more slowly until it came to a limp, sad stop altogether. Ruff’s ears sagged, and his eyes were large and dark with sadness.