Elfland

by Freda Warrington

  “I did.” He shrugged. “I was sick of it. Sick of the old me, really. Does it look awful?” He shook the butchered hair, loosening it to a silkier mass around his face. He looked sideways at her. He hadn’t lost the angelic beauty that had ensnared her young heart.

  “It’ll be fine when you’ve had it styled,” she said. “And when we’ve got used to it.”

  Jon offered her the wine and she took a mouthful. He put his head back to look at the stars. “We should have got together, you and me,” he said. “We missed out, somehow.”

  Rosie’s jaw dropped. “What?” she mouthed.

  “I sort of wish we had, now,” he went on, blithely oblivious of her disbelief. “Why didn’t we? I can’t even remember.”

  After a couple of hollow gasps, she managed to speak. “You found me hideously unattractive, apparently.”

  “No, I didn’t,” he said with a frown. “I just never thought of you like that. My mind was on other stuff. If only I’d realized . . .” He put his hands around his knees. “You might have saved me from going off the rails.”

  “I doubt it. You’d have dragged me off with you.”

  “Still.” He gave a slight smile, bitter nostalgia. “I feel like we missed out on something because I didn’t appreciate or even realize it existed. You did like me, didn’t you?”

  “God, Jon, I worshipped you,” Rosie said candidly. “In my own defense, I was very young and didn’t get out much.”

  He laughed. The painful heave of her heart shocked her. It wasn’t anguish for her present self, but for the dreams and disappointments of the young girl she had once been. Those feelings, or the memory of them, could still be taken out and unfolded like an old love letter.

  “I loved what I thought you were,” she added.

  “Ouch.” Jon sounded genuinely wounded. “That’s harsh.”

  “Wasn’t meant to be. It was all about what I wanted to see in you, but the fact that it wasn’t real, or that you didn’t feel the same—it’s no one’s fault. You weren’t obliged to like me back, were you? I got it wrong, too. I need to be passionately wanted. Not to trail around like a groupie after someone who’s staring at the distant horizon.”

  Jon smirked. “Yeah, you’re right, I am like that. I’m lazy. It was weird at school, people used to follow me around like I was some messiah and I didn’t care, I just let them believe it, but they never knew what a screwed-up mess my life was in.”

  “Sapphire?”

  He pulled a sour face. “Among other things. Gross, isn’t it? I should have stopped it but I wasn’t strong enough. If you’d known about that, Rosie, you wouldn’t have thought I was quite so wonderful, would you?”

  She answered honestly, “I suppose at fifteen or sixteen, I would have found it hard to understand. Although it might have helped me realize you were only human, so to speak.”

  “Yes, to have had something pure and sweet instead, that would have been so much better . . .” He trailed off. “You’re right, though. I’d have been no good for you, Rosie. I am passionate, but not about the same things as you, obviously.”

  “So what’s brought on this orgy of wishful thinking?” she asked, and knew the answer even as she spoke. “Oh. Oh. This is about someone else, isn’t it? Not about ‘us’ at all.” He sighed. His head dropped. After a pause, she said, “It’s Lucas, isn’t it?”

  “Why do you assume—?” Jon snapped. Then he groaned. “Yes, okay, of course it’s him. I’m such an idiot.”

  “Why?” His honesty startled her.

  “Because I treated him horribly and he’s so loyal. I never realized how I really felt until I saw him with someone else—not messing about but serious. Hers. No one’s ever got to me like he has, male or female, and now I’ve lost him—god, sorry. Sorry. Not good at tact.”

  “It’s all right,” she said gently. “We have to bear it, somehow.”

  “Aren’t you going to give me the ‘he’s your brother’ lecture?”

  “Why, would that make you feel better? No, I’m not.”

  “I took him for granted,” Jon went on. “I thought we’d always be together. I didn’t even think, I assumed. Suddenly I wake up and he’s gone, like it never meant a thing.”

  She touched his shoulder. His pain pierced her. “He does love you, Jon. Lots of people do.” She smiled. “Even I still do, in a strange way. You get under people’s skin.”

  He scoffed. “Like a splinter. What do I have to offer back? There’s only one thing I’m good at and that’s drugs.”

  A flurry of dismay filled her. “Oh, no, Jon, don’t go down that road again.”

  He grinned at her, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean that. I meant, I’m great with plants and potions. If I learned properly, I could do something constructive, like botany or pharmacology.”

  “Oh,” she said. “At university?”

  “Maybe, but there’s Earth knowledge and Spiral knowledge. When the Initiator fired that brand into me, it must have been dipped in a perfect drug, one that tears down barriers and shows you a truth you weren’t expecting. The Aelyr must have the most incredible store of herbal wisdom. I might stay in the Spiral to learn.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Or I might just become a famously debauched rock star.” He gave a quick, soft laugh. Almost on the same breath he added, “How do you not break down?”

  “Just can’t let myself,” Rosie answered steadily. “If I did, I’d never get back up. We have to believe that Sam’s always with us, wherever he is.”

  “Told you he’d fight to the death for you.” They were silent, then Jon added, “Anyway, first I’m going to spend some time with my mother.”

  “Ginny’s an amazing lady,” said Rosie. “When are you going?”

  “Right now,” he said. “You want to come with me?”

  The words, thrown down so lightly, snared her heart. How easy it would be just to sneak away with Jon in the dark . . . She glanced down at the pool of light and revelry below and her eyes blurred. “No,” she said. “Thanks, but I need my family now. You go. Take care.”

  He turned his head and smiled at her. “Give me a kiss, Rosie. To wish me luck.”

  She leaned in and kissed him on the mouth. It was the first and last time. Jon’s lips were soft, dry and gentle; the kiss sweet and warm. When it ended, they put their arms around each other; his body felt lean, almost birdlike within the press of her arms. “I love you, too,” he said. He kissed her on the cheek; then he rose and slipped away into the night, turning to give her a brief salute as he went.

  She wondered if she would ever see him again.

  He’d left the wine bottle in the grass, so she drained the last few honeyed mouthfuls. Leaning back, she took a deep breath of Otherworld air. It was too fresh and potent, filling her with strange sensations. Elysion appeared gently pastoral, then seized you with sudden dark coils of revelation. A serpent lurking in the vines.

  Rosie stood up, light-headed, and picked her way downhill. At last she found her group seated on the grass; Faith and Matt, her parents, Lucas, Iola and Phyll. She’d almost reached them when the band fell quiet and everyone’s attention was drawn to the center stone. Comyn was on his feet there, his glass raised in the air.

  “A toast,” he shouted. He was swaying, the faint taurean glamour over his human shape making him seem more Aelyr warrior than the farmer she knew. Rosie had seen him in an interesting variety of grim moods, but never before exuberant. “Let us drink to victory, to the overthrow of dictators, the unseating of those dark elements who would place barriers between Aetherials and their birthright! A curse on them! Victory to us!”

  There were cheers, but Rosie was struck by pure outrage on Sam’s behalf. Dazzled by fury, she strode up to Comyn, landed a punch on his jaw and felled him.

  Uproar. Younger Aetherials whooping and laughing, the older ones exclaiming in muted disapproval. Comyn was flailing to get up again, rubbing at his jaw, stunned and gasping in indignation.
Auberon was on his feet, hands raised, trying to command their attention.

  “Everyone—let’s not forget that to bring us back here, Lawrence gave his life. He struggled for years with a darkness we can’t begin to comprehend. No more toasts. Some respect, please.”

  Meanwhile, Rosie turned and walked away. She slipped into the cover of a beech wood with only the thinnest deer track to lead her, starlight gleaming softly between the trunks. She breathed the fragrance of sap, herbs and wild-flowers, aware of how very easy it would be to get lost, how seductive. This was where it all unraveled. She couldn’t hold it together after all, had been mad to think she could . . .

  Someone was following. She swung round, expecting it to be Auberon—but it was Comyn there, breathing hard, dark eyes glittering. Blood flowered from a split lip and he fingered the contour of his jaw. “I hope you feel better for that, Rosie.”

  “It was for Sam, not me!” she said. “If you don’t get it, Uncle, shame on you.”

  “But I do.” His voice became gruff with contrition. “I don’t ask that you forgive me, but you must admit that Lawrence had become an obstacle to the flow of life. Nothing would change unless we forced it. You must know that I didn’t intend anyone’s death. I bitterly regret the hurt it caused, but I can’t undo what happened. Can you accept my apology?”

  “That would be for Sam to decide.”

  She was too angry for tears, but Comyn was looking at her with a deep, serious, persuasive expression, just like the one Jessica had worn as she swayed Rosie to come to Elysion. “I understand,” he said, “but come back to the circle, Rosie, please. Not for our sake, but for yourself.”

  “Why?”

  “The Great Dance is just beginning. This is what the Night of the Summer Stars is all about. You young ones know nothing, and you owe it to your heritage at least to be curious. Not everyone is ready, but you are. I want you to understand what the whole struggle was for!”

  Her uncle walked away and, after a moment, she followed him. Through the trees she could see the gathered Aetherials moving in a whirl of color. The musicians struck up a new, intense rhythm. Her anger was spent and there was no emotion left inside her, only an abyss she couldn’t look into, and a sense of fate that drew her into the flow of the dance, careless of how it might end.

  In the glade, Aetherials were joining hands and moving in a huge circle counterclockwise inside the stones. Two Aelyr broke their grip to catch her and pull her in. Now she was part of a chain that was stepping faster and faster, carrying her along. She heard drums pounding, heard her mother’s voice,

  Let the Spiral take us down

  Tread the Spiral, round and round

  Dancing down the river’s course

  Spinning back towards the Source

  Find the mirror at its heart

  Merry meet, and merry part . . .

  Not everyone joined in; she glimpsed Auberon, Matt and Faith with the musicians in the center, and all around the outside of the glade there were Aetherial spectators, clapping and chanting in time to the rhythm. They became a blur as the dance swept Rosie along. All the standing stones began to glow and columns of light rushed up, connecting each stone to the stars. Rosie felt a thrilling fire ignite inside her.

  Only on this night of nights

  Drink the stars and drink the light,

  Taste the fire that sets us free

  As we will, so shall it be

  We kiss the water and fly,

  Kiss the water and fly . . .

  Faster and faster the dance whirled around the center stone. The rhythm grew ever more urgent and now Jessica’s voice became a chant, “Elysiona, O Melusina, O-ah Sibeyla, Naamon-a Asru . . . ”

  Rosie could no longer feel the ground beneath her feet. She glimpsed the faces around her and saw that they were washed in an inky light, their eyes golden. She looked down at her own joined hand and saw that it, too, was turning deepest blue with stars shining deep inside the flesh. She thought briefly that it should have been Sam’s hand joined with hers—then it didn’t matter anymore. The dancers had become a whirling circle of fire, blue, gold and silver. Fire and light-energy filled her. She was airborne, weightless, and soaring up into the sky.

  Beneath, she saw woods spilling onto an open slope with a stream flowing through a gorge below. The folded valleys of Elysion rolled under the vault of stars. In the distance stood the spidery shadow of the Causeway.

  She was flying.

  Others were rising with her but she couldn’t see them clearly. They faded into the night, leaving her utterly alone. She looked around and saw only the glassy indigo of the night sky, the amazing whorls and drifts of stars above her; glimpsed the wonder of her own transformed body. Her flesh was darkest midnight blue and yet transparent, full of stars. She had wings! Great, arching demon wings formed from the universe itself.

  Being alone gave her no concern at all. Like a deity she simply observed and accepted. All human emotion was gone. She felt powerful and all-knowing. And as she tested the muscles and felt the air currents tenting under her strong yet delicate wing tissue, she felt the most overwhelming, soaring ecstasy.

  She was Estalyr—the most ancient form of the first Aelyr.

  This was it. A taste of her deepest nature, her true, primal self. Always there, buried deep inside, never truly experienced until this moment. And she knew why her family had wanted her to come, and yet not wanted her to. Every Aetherial should taste this, even with the danger that they might never return . . .

  Rosie flew among stars and planets. The whole of the Spiral unfolded itself to her, and she knew then how tempting, how wondrous it would be to fly free like this forever, never to go back . . . to go back where? There was only this.

  She was gliding over a jet-black city. Its towers stood in powerful silhouette against the stars; and there were great statues of winged beings, looking down from spires and terraces onto the labyrinthine streets. It was the city of Faith’s vision, Tyrynaia, a glory of polished black onyx. In a wave of extreme bliss she felt she’d come home.

  Her Estalyr-self alighted on the wall of a balcony and saw a white figure standing there, as pale as the city was dark. It was Albin—a masculine version of his mother Liliana, hair flowing pure white around a sharp, angular face. She saw a resemblance to Lawrence, the same pitiless beauty. The triangle of blue eyes and blue gem watched her. Those slotted eyes were the coldest she’d ever seen.

  He was speaking, and she felt she’d been perched like a statue, interrogating him for a long time; as if past, present and future all flowed together. His hand came up to touch her face, only it was not a hand but the head of a snake, glistening with silver scales. She saw the glint of its sheathed fangs. Its tongue flicked out, sampling her skin.

  “This primal form—is it not wonderful? You could stay here, experiencing the ecstasy and power forever. All I want is for the Vaethyr to open their eyes and remember where they belong. They’ll always be less than Aelyr. Tainted. Inferior.”

  “Who are you to judge that?” her Estalyr-self asked coolly.

  “How do you think Aetherials took on mortal camouflage? We tasted them, stole their breath, sucked their sap and seed, dissected them. Painted their blood on our skin. Ate their organs. We are thieves, predators, plagiarists.”

  “So are many artists.”

  “But on this night of nights, you can leave all that, come back to your origins and be pure again.”

  In her dream state, her fear of Albin was gone but her Estalyr-self demanded answers. “Is that why you stole Lawrence’s soul-essence?” she asked. “To punish him for daring to leave you and follow Liliana to Earth?”

  Albin responded with the merest tilt of his head that conveyed all the menace in the world. The snake tongue flicked over her mouth. “He told you I did that?”

  “He said you showed him a tablet of Elfstone and claimed you’d trapped his heart, soul and core inside and would hold it hostage unless he came back.”

&
nbsp; Albin smiled. “And you took that at face value?”

  “We had proof. We had the gem. When we returned it to him, he became his true self again.”

  “I did what you describe, it’s true.”

  “How could you be so callous as to steal your own son’s essence?”

  “But I didn’t,” Albin said patiently. “Of course I didn’t trap his soul inside a piece of mineral. How could I? Such a thing would be impossible.”

  “You told him you had, and he believed you.”

  “Exactly so. It was what he believed that did the damage.”

  “Then the effect was the same! You told him a cruel lie, and he trusted you.”

  “He chose that path himself,” Albin replied, unmoved.

  “You punished him for disobeying you!”

  “Haven’t fathers always done that to their sons?” His head shifted minimally and she reread the coldness of his eyes as desolation.

  “You were jealous of him.”

  “Not so. His mother, my beloved Maia, vanished long ago into the Spiral. I needed Lawrence to help me find her, but he turned his back on us, greedy for the riches of Earth instead. I meant only to remind him that his heart belongs here. The symbol I chose was trifling.”

  “No; it destroyed him. I hope you felt he’d been punished enough by the end.”

  “Don’t be so quick to pass judgment.” The snake reared and rubbed its dry cheek across hers. “I tired of the game. It was I who asked Estel to bring you the egg. It took you long enough, with Earth-deadened instincts, to work out its purpose. Child of Vaeth, don’t go back. You may not see your loved ones again, but you won’t care. Caring is a curse, when we live too long, and spend eternity like galaxies drifting away from each other.”

  A cascade of strange feelings spilled through her. A strange coldness tugged her heart, like a distant call, or something urgent she had forgotten to do. The urge to fly was irresistible. Time shifted and she was airborne again, Albin a small pale figure looking up from the pooled shadows below. “Lawrence locked the Gates to protect Vaeth from terrible danger.” His voice was faint as the wind took her. “Are you so very sure that the true danger has yet shown itself?”