Elfland

by Freda Warrington

  Sam smiled thinly. “Well, you’re entitled to your opinion, and I’ve had a few moments with Dad and Jon myself, but there are two sides. Jessica’s a pretty strong lady; I can’t see anyone, even Lawrence, persuading her to do anything she didn’t want. Same goes for Rosie. You ever asked yourself why she kept jumping on me, if she was getting what she needed from kilt boy?”

  The chair scraped and Matthew came flying at him. Sam stepped aside and Matthew’s hand landed instead on the boiling kettle. He recoiled with a yell. Sam grabbed the sides of the dressing gown and pushed him backwards, gently but firmly, against the marble lip of the island.

  “It’s a shame about Alastair, but I did not kill him,” Sam said firmly. “He chose that himself. All Rosie and I did was discover a mutual taste for incredible, hot sex. Yes, it was wrong, but did it really deserve three deaths in revenge? Is that a fair exchange, d’you reckon? Don’t you wish they’d had kids, so he could have killed them too? Yes?”

  “No.” His rage blurred into doubt. He whispered, “Deaths?”

  “The world moved on while you were having your tantrum, Matt. You haven’t once asked me about Lucas.”

  Matthew’s face changed. A whole reality he’d forgotten on his rampage unveiled itself and dazzled him. He looked like a terrified twelve-year-old. “Is he . . . ?”

  “Alive. Recovering.”

  Matt stared. “I don’t trust you,” he said gruffly.

  “It’s the truth. I can’t be bothered to torment you. But where were you, when your family needed you?”

  “Looking for my wife.”

  “Hunting her.”

  “Where is she?”

  “You saw where she went,” said Sam. “However, for all your fangs and bluster, you were too much of a coward to follow.”

  Matthew tried to lash out again, but his strength was gone. “Come on.” Sam hauled the dead weight of him onto the chair and tucked the duvet around his shoulders. “Have you quite finished? Good man. Hot chocolate okay?”

  Defeated, Matthew sipped at the mug Sam handed him. When he spoke, his voice was weak but lucid. “You’re not going to redeem yourself by playing the boy scout. I don’t like you, Sam. You’re a villain.”

  “And you’re such a great judge of character. Must be right.”

  “I knew it, from the moment we met. First thing you did was attack my sister, for god’s sake!”

  “I know, and I’ve been wearing a bloody hair shirt about it ever since. But didn’t it occur to you that Rosie and I were capable of sorting it out ourselves? She got her necklace back. She even forgave me.”

  Matthew made a fist, then flexed the strawberry-red fingers, wincing. “I should have got it back for her. I failed.”

  “Oh, is that what this is about? Your failure.”

  “I spent my life trying to keep my sister away from people like you.”

  “You can’t control your siblings. They never thank you for it.”

  “Away from people like me.”

  “What, self-important twits?”

  “Aetherials! Monsters like me.”

  “You’re not a monster, Matt. You’re not nearly scary enough.”

  “Everything’s a joke to you, isn’t it? Even Rosie’s marriage.” Matthew pulled listlessly at his sleeves. “This force that takes us over—it’s obscene.”

  “Hence, let’s play humans? Pretend it’s not there and it’ll go away? And terrifying the life out of poor Faith?”

  “She deceived me.”

  “You moron!” Sam cried. “Who the hell do you think you are? You’ve got a wonderful wife who adores you and you don’t even see it. She’s been terrified for years, in case you uncovered her little secret. You should be ashamed of yourself. God, this makes me so mad I can’t speak.” Matt was staring. Sam went on, “She’s not your property. She doesn’t exist to shore up your illusions. Notice your first question, ‘Where is Faith?’ Not, ‘How is Faith? Is she all right? What about Heather?’ No. She’s done nothing wrong. You should love her, no matter what. You should be on your knees begging forgiveness. Yet all you think about is yourself. You’ve got a loving wife and darling daughter and you don’t even care. You don’t deserve them! If you’d seen how frightened that little girl was—fuck, I can’t speak to you anymore.”

  He turned to leave, but Matthew said in a small, gruff voice, “Sam? Are they all right?” His face was blotchy with tiredness and confusion.

  “Yes. They’re safe and fine. Whether they want to be found is another matter. You want me to call Oakholme?”

  “No! No. I don’t want them to see me like this.” Matthew bent over and put his head in his hands, tears dripping between the fingers. “The beast that takes me over—I can’t endure it.”

  Sam handed him a paper towel. “I see that. How long’s it been happening?”

  Matthew blotted his face and began to shred the damp tissue. “I must have been seven or eight . . . I’d go into the Dusklands and the change came so easily—the world turning dark and weird, like a dream. I wasn’t even afraid at first, but as I got older the horror grew—because it felt wrong, and I couldn’t control it.”

  “Didn’t Auberon tell you, it’s an Aetheric trait?”

  “I never told him. I was too horrified. Instead I learned to avoid the Dusklands. Tried to keep Luc and Rosie out, too.”

  “But we all have a tendency to transform into something other than our everyday selves. Some change a little, others a lot. Other realities reveal different aspects of us. It’s normal, apparently.”

  “Normal?” Matt gave a hollow laugh. “I knew the theory, of course, but it bore no relation to reality. It was so extreme. So animal. I thought, if this is being Aetherial, I want no part of it.”

  “So you turned a blind eye,” said Sam.

  “I thought Faith was human and then I saw . . .”

  “I can see that must have freaked you out, but . . .”

  “You’ve no idea how relieved I was when they said the Gates were locked, end of story. Best thing for everyone. That helped to stop the change happening . . . but if the Gates are open again, what will happen to us?”

  Sam hesitated. “I don’t know. There’s nothing wrong with you. You can learn to control it.”

  “I thought I had.”

  “No. You suppressed it. That never ends well.”

  “But it doesn’t happen to you, does it?”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “Only a glow under your skin. You don’t become a beast. Why don’t you change?”

  Sam shrugged. “Maybe it’s because I’m not having an identity crisis.”

  Matthew’s laugh became a convulsion of sobs. “Not long ago I thought I’d rather slit my own throat than ask you this,” he said roughly, “but Sam, will you help me, please?”

  Sapphire looked out of a hotel window at snow whirling in the streetlights. Soft white layers muffled the city. The roads were clogged with stranded vehicles. She and Lawrence were trapped here, as if in a spun cocoon.

  They had made love, for something to do. Lawrence was not cold-skinned and passive like Jon, but skilled and athletic. As long as she closed her eyes and pretended she knew nothing about him, he was a wonderful lover.

  Afterwards, she rose from bed and came to sit at the window, leaving Lawrence to his thoughts. His stern face, the eyes that looked into the distance with a near-psychopathic glitter—she’d almost grown to hate him. Still, there was a strange addiction in being close to such a man. So close, yet not touching what lay inside. If that carved, emotionless face were the very last thing you saw as you realized you were about to die—how terrible. The thought gave her a violent shudder.

  The snow was a catalyst. No situation could endure forever. She felt changes in the cosmos, like the shifting of great ice floes.

  Lawrence was never going to change. He would go on using her for as long as she let him. She thought, Should I forget my mission and stay the polished, quiescent wife he wants, running h
is life and business so he’s free to brood on his demons? Or should I take what I can and walk away? Or should I force him, finally, to tell me the truth?

  A touch on her back made her start. Lawrence was behind her, wrapping her pashmina around her shoulders. “You were shivering,” he said.

  “Lawrence,” she said carefully, “why haven’t you seen Lucas since he came round?”

  “What can I say to him? I offered to switch off his life support. I only meant that if it had to be done and they couldn’t face it, I would do it. Auberon, however, believes Lucas heard and misunderstood. Since they’re all determined to think I’m the devil, it was inevitable. I decided it would be tactful to keep away.”

  “It’s easy to project such beliefs onto someone who never reveals his true thoughts,” she remarked acerbically.

  His hands on her shoulders felt like claws. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not a life belt to hang on to into the darkness, Lawrence, but that’s how you’ve treated me.”

  His hands dropped. She heard him sigh. “I know. You’ve been so patient. I should not have dragged you into this. Forgive me.”

  She turned and reached up to touch the angle of his cheekbone. “Do you actually want me?” she asked quietly. “The only way we have a chance is if you agree to be honest with me.”

  Lawrence moved away. She heard the chink of glass as light from the minibar spilled briefly into the dark room. “What do you want to know?”

  There it was. A chance for them both to end the cold game they’d been playing for years and begin a genuine relationship at last. Sapphire shivered; the prospect was more frightening than she’d imagined—perhaps for them both—yet wildly thrilling, like standing on the edge of a precipice.

  “Two things. Is it possible for a human to enter the Otherworld? And that old enemy of yours, Barada, whom you said disappeared—is it possible that he went through?”

  Lawrence was silent for a while. The snow continued its thick, weightless descent. Eventually he murmured, “In theory, an exceptional human might pass through, if they had the will to do so. But Eugene Barada, no. I shot him dead.”

  Rosie needed space to think, and the snow gave her that. While snowplows worked their way along main routes, the lanes of Cloudcroft remained impassable. For three days, more snow fell and winds blew fresh drifts across any path that had been cleared. Snow-light filled the house with a flat pearly glow.

  At least they knew Matthew was safe. Sam had phoned to say he would be staying at Stonegate until the weather lifted. Auberon was ready to go straight there until a combination of blizzards, thigh-deep snow and Matthew’s own insistence dissuaded him.

  For now, life was suspended. They spoke to Lucas every day, promising to be at his side the moment the roads were clear. Lawrence and Sapphire were stranded in a hotel in Leicester. Phyllida was staying at the hospital itself, so Luc had his aunt there at least.

  Strangely peaceful, those eerie days inside the snowbound house. Rosie entered a state of tranquillity. In the afternoons, she and Jessica would sit cuddled up on the sofa, looking out at the bleak snowscape of the garden. “We’ll be reduced to tins of soup by the time they dig us out,” said Jessica. “I can’t wait to get everyone home.”

  “Me, too,” said Rosie. “That’s all I want, life to be normal again. But it can’t be. It’s all changed.”

  Jessica asked cautiously, “Has Sam called you?”

  “We’ve spoken,” Rosie said with a sigh, “but we haven’t actually talked. Neither of us quite knows what to say. We’re trying to be dignified. He said he might leave altogether, claims it would make my life too difficult if he stayed . . .”

  Jess gave her hand a squeeze. “I’m trying to ask without sounding nosy—was it a mad fling, or serious?”

  Rosie hesitated. “Mum, it was so exciting—but that might not be a basis for anything.”

  “That happens,” Jess said dryly.

  “He’s flippant, caustic, hotheaded and drives me crazy. And I can’t stop thinking about him. When I used to visit him in prison, we’d talk and talk. He’d always wind me up, but I was sort of addicted to it, you know? Searching for Luc, he was so courageous. Never left my side, never flinched. I miss him.”

  “Tell him, then. The real question is, can you trust him?”

  “The problem is I don’t trust myself.” Rosie groaned. “My judgment’s shot. I’ve been grossly mistaken about everything. I thought Jon was my angel and soulmate, but the truth was the complete opposite. I thought Alastair was a decent and steady human being—how did I get that so monumentally wrong? He was right there in front of me, but I wasn’t paying attention! I had Faith in her little box with a label—how blind could I be? I believed Sam was a malicious sadist who got off on tormenting me. Wrong again. Turns out he’d walk to the ends of the Otherworld for me. Every single belief I held turned out to be false. I can’t trust my own judgment, Mum. Now I know what she meant.”

  “Who?” Jessica leaned forward, puzzled.

  “Estel, the doe lady. She said that it was my own mind that had shaped the Claws, the thorn creatures. Only it wasn’t my fear—it was my buggered judgment. My lack of belief in myself. I realized that when you enter the Spiral, ideas can become solid and claw you to pieces.”

  Her mother’s frown deepened. “I didn’t know you felt like this.”

  “Mum, I’m not blaming anyone or asking you to fix it. I didn’t realize the problem until it crashed in on me. Now I see that the Greenlady was trying to open my eyes, but I was sleepwalking and didn’t wake up until it was too late.”

  Jessica’s eyes narrowed. “Rosie, I know you. There’s nothing wrong with your heart or your instincts. When you heard me singing, it was your own voice you were hearing. The voice of your fylgia, the pure instinct which ties you to the Otherworld and only ever tries to show you the right path.”

  Winter gloom filled the windows, but inside the ward fluorescent lights blazed and the heat was tropical. Lucas sat beside Jon’s bed and they looked at each other. There were wispy lines of worry around Jon’s brown eyes. “Hey, you’re supposed to visit me,” said Lucas. “I’m the one who nearly died.”

  “You’re on your feet. I’m in plaster.”

  “You’re malingering. Apparently I should be facing months of rehabilitation. They refuse to believe I’m fine, but I am. Aetheric constitution, Jon. I bet you any money your broken bones have healed already.”

  Jon looked down at his hands, hair falling around his face. “If you’d died, I wouldn’t have wanted to live.”

  “God, don’t be such a drama queen. I’m alive. What Sam and Rosie did was amazing.”

  “What was it like?” Jon’s voice was husky. “The Spiral?”

  Lucas struggled for words; all he could find were terrifying, haunting images. “Weirder than any trip. So vast, you can’t get your mind around it. The Abyss . . .”

  Drawing up his uninjured leg, Jon rested his arms and head on his knee. “When Sam and Rosie talked about going through, I was paralyzed with fear. I didn’t dare go with them. I’ve never been so grateful in my life for a broken ankle. I’m such a useless coward.”

  “Jon, we were all terrified.”

  “It should have been me that saved you.”

  “Why? Not exactly the heroic type, are you?” Lucas said it without malice, realizing too late it was not the most tactful remark he could have made. “I didn’t expect it. Don’t beat yourself up.”

  “No, you don’t get it. What am I going to do? Years, I’ve devoted myself to breaking through the Gates. Now what’s left to strive for? Nothing. They’re open, and I’m frightened to go through. That’s the whole purpose of my life, up in smoke. What the hell am I going to do?”

  Lucas gasped. “You’re scared? How do you think I feel? Don’t you understand, I’ve had this power landed on me and I don’t know what to do with it! Jon, you don’t know what I saw in there . . .” He stopped, because his throat had closed up.
Vivid memory hit him: the colossal statue on the cliff face. The way it had slowly turned its head and looked at him . . . He caught his breath against a sudden image of falling.

  Jon was staring at him, spooked. “What?”

  “I saw Brawth.” Luc struggled to describe the statue, but words weren’t enough. “Estel dismissed it as something that had always been there. Estel, the Lady of Stars . . . first conscious spark out of the Abyss . . . the goddess to end all goddesses . . . She was there, and even she didn’t realize.”

  “I know who Estel is,” Jon said, frowning. “But people don’t just meet her. You sure you didn’t dream it?”

  Lucas gave an impatient laugh. “While I’m tripping, you’re telling me it’s real, and when I see something real, you tell me I’m dreaming? The point is that even Estel didn’t recognize the danger, and neither did the Spiral Court. That’s why they’re ignoring it. They don’t realize that Brawth could wake at any moment. It’s still waiting for the Great Gates to open, and Lawrence has only kept it quiet by sealing the Gates . . . oh my god, what have I done?” He glanced outside at the iron sky. “This snow is the start of it, Jon. It’s the ice giant breathing through the Lychgate as it starts to wake up. Oh god, I must have woken it—it saw me—I have to close the Lychgate, but I don’t know how!”

  “Luc, stop it,” said Jon. “This is really disturbing. You’ve just come out of a coma. Don’t get worked up. You need to relax and take your mind off it.”

  “What do you suggest?” Luc retorted. His heart was beating too fast, the sense of peril so strong he couldn’t express it. “A game of Scrabble?”

  “No, but we could talk about the future. We could start up the band again.”

  “And lie around in a haze of drugs? I can’t go back to that. All that ever did was to suck the spirit out of us!” Once Jon had seemed glamorous and wise, a guru; now he looked scared, diminished, helpless. Luc had flown far ahead of him, into a realm he’d never wanted to see. Despite the heat, he was shivering. He saw Albin’s cold white face and heard him whispering, The cold of Brawth will pierce your brain and strip the very skin from your bones. “This is real, Jon. I found something real and you don’t believe me.”