Elfland

by Freda Warrington

  “I’m very sure you’re a trickster,” she called back. “Ask yourself if Maia left you for a reason, and doesn’t want to be found.”

  Her Estalyr-self was flying again, tossed on high winds and gazing down on steep mountains and jeweled roofs below. She saw the temple with its curving seashell chambers. She saw the silent eternal wood, the sacred glade with trees standing like columns around the Mirror Pool. There was a figure at the water’s edge . . .

  She folded her wings and went into a dive, saw her own reflection coming at her in the water; a great angel-demon carved from the night sky, full of whorled galaxies. She stared into her own alien eyes of liquid gold.

  “No!” called a voice.

  At the last moment she swerved aside and tumbled onto the bank in a heap of silken wings like a broken kite. The small, milk-white face looking down at her was that of Estel, the doe girl, the Lady of Stars. The crystal heart was still around her neck. “No, you mustn’t kiss the water yet,” Estel said softly. “It isn’t your time.”

  “Sam,” said her Estalyr-self, suddenly knowing why she was here. “Have you seen him?”

  “No, sweet sister, he hasn’t come here,” said Estel.

  “Then where . . . ?” She was on her hands and knees, the awful cold pull growing worse by the moment. “Not the Abyss . . . ?”

  “Go back to the human world,” the doe girl said gently. “Live your life. Don’t waste it on hopeless searching. Your Estalyr-self sees everything. Your fylgia will show you the way.”

  Rosie saw the small silvery shape of a wolf, indistinct and far below her as she swept into the night sky for the last time. The landscape rushed and tilted beneath her. She thought of nothing, simply kept her gaze fastened on the running wolf below. And sometimes it seemed there were two wolves, the other darker and gold-tipped, guiding her onwards as she flew, tired now, towards the dawn.

  “Where are you going?” Lucas asked, falling into step beside Jon. They followed a narrow, starlit path through a forest that swayed like anemones around them, blue-green on violet.

  “To see my mother.”

  “Can I come?”

  Jon looked sideways at him. “Why? Haven’t you got to go and be ceremonial?”

  “There’s nothing else for me to do,” Lucas sighed. “Iola’s looking after everyone. I came away when the Great Dance started—as Gatekeeper, I can’t go into some mad trance, and anyway I’m not ready, and it was all just too . . . intense. I need space to think. Someone said they saw you leaving and I had to see you.” It was harder to explain the compulsion he’d felt to follow the path itself. It was a pull, an unheard voice calling to him. He kept glimpsing the small dark cat shape of his fylgia, leading him on. And Jon’s: a shadowy brown hare.

  “Come on, then,” said Jon.

  As they descended into the valley, Ginny came through the trees to meet them, stunning in a long amethyst dress with her black hair loose. Lucas felt awkward as she embraced Jon; but when she looked at him there was only warmth in her expression. She hugged him too, then linked her arms through theirs and said, “I hoped you’d come. I knew you would.”

  The rush of water grew loud. Lucas saw the waterfall pouring into its mossy cup at the base of the rocks, the shining ribbon of the stream. Stars and planets washed the landscape as bright as day. And there was someone there, hard to see against the white frothing veil of the waterfall.

  A tall man in simple ivory shirt and trousers, his hair stark black against the foam.

  Lawrence.

  Lucas and Jon stopped in their tracks, but Ginny coaxed them on through grass and ferns until there was no doubt. Lawrence looked straight at them. It wasn’t exactly a smile on his face, more a radiance. Years had fallen from him. His face was relaxed, his posture one of complete peace.

  Lucas ran forward and flung his arms around him. Lawrence staggered a little under the impact, proving himself solid and real. His hands came up to embrace Luc in return, and to hold Jon too as he came more hesitantly to join them.

  “Oh my god, Dad, how the hell did you do that?” cried Lucas.

  “And Sam?” said Jon, his voice hoarse. “Where is he?”

  Lawrence said nothing. Ginny, turning pale, only shook her head. Then Jon almost fell and Lucas had to help him sit down on the mossy rocks by the waterfall pool. “What happens to each of us is different,” she said. Her voice cracked and tears spilled down her face. “If his essence fled his body and went to the Mirror Pool, we will not see him for a very long time . . . if ever.”

  Ginny and Lawrence sat on a boulder facing them; her arm around his waist, his around her shoulders. His lips touched her hair. Lucas felt Jon trembling beside him and put a hand on his arm to steady him. “What happened?” said Luc. “We thought you . . .”

  “The Abyss was tempting, it’s true,” said Lawrence. “But there’s a blinding moment when you see the lies of the dark predator in the psyche for what they are. I couldn’t let it win, could not let Albin’s lies win. When I confronted and reclaimed the shadow, it ceased to exist. I could have fallen in self-loathing, but Ginny was there to draw me back.”

  “Self-loathing, why?” said Lucas, his throat on fire.

  “It took my son, as it threatened.”

  “But he gave himself for you,” said Jon. “He was always doing that. And always going too far.”

  “I should have given my life for his,” said Lawrence.

  “But you did!” said Lucas. “Don’t argue with me. Rosie told us everything.”

  He could see the subtle changes of Lawrence’s expression, as if he were continually remembering things he’d forgotten. “Rosie, where is she?”

  “Last saw her in the Great Dance,” said Luc. “She just threw herself in, as usual.” He looked anxiously at Ginny. “She will come back from it, won’t she?”

  “No guarantees,” said Ginny. “I hope so. For every Aetherial, the Estalyr experience is different.”

  “Everything’s changed,” Lucas whispered.

  Jon looked at his mother and father. “You’re not coming home, are you?” he said, the bare truth dawning.

  “No, dear,” Ginny answered. “We belong here now. Where I hope we will see you often.”

  “If you can forgive your wretched father for the utter wreck I made of our lives on Earth,” Lawrence said quietly. “My jewelry business, I sold some time ago, when I knew I couldn’t go on. I donated the money to build a school in Ecuador. You, my dear sons, don’t need it, and it would be no compensation for the lost years.”

  “And Stonegate?” Lucas put in. “Will it be sold? I can’t bear to think of strangers living there. It would be so wrong.”

  Lawrence laughed. “Lucas, I don’t own Stonegate. It is held in trust for the Spiral Court through certain intermediaries on Earth. It is the home of the Gatekeeper, whoever he or she may be. It’s yours now. You will be content there, won’t you?”

  “Yes. It’s all we want,” Lucas answered, astonished.

  “You and Iola,” said Jon.

  Lucas turned to him. “You don’t have to leave, you know. It’s your home too.” They held a long gaze, sharp and painful as knives. Then Jon gave a faint smile and looked away.

  “Thanks, Luc. I know, but I’m going to stay here, just for a while.” He went on with fervor. “You know, everything I did was aimed at finding you, Mum. I screwed up gloriously in the process, but that’s what it was all for. I knew you were here!”

  Virginia looked back at him through tears. “I hope it’s not too late. I’d do anything to change things, Jon, but childhood is long over and can’t be relived.”

  “There’s time.” Jon gave a tired grin. “We have more lives than cats, don’t we?”

  Rosie’s last memory was of crashing through tree branches, rolling painfully over roots and stones. She came to herself, lying in a grove of silver birches, her black velvet dress soaked with dew and a violet dawn dazzling her. Every sinew and bone of her body ached. She had no idea whe
re she was. Raising her hands to her face, she saw that they were her ordinary, human hands once more.

  Dazed, she got to her feet. Pain clamped her head and she seemed to have the worst hangover in history, yet she remembered every detail of the previous night, sharp as crystal and as painful. She started downhill and after a minute or so heard the rush of water beyond the trees.

  Emerging from the birch grove, she found herself in a valley. To her right, a waterfall rushed down a rock face. The shining ribbon of a stream ran between gentle banks until it vanished to her left in front of a cottage half-hidden behind masses of foliage. She was in Ginny’s valley.

  She took a few unsteady steps forward, only to be assailed by a vision from the previous night, as obscure yet painfully vivid as a nightmare. Her Estalyr-self was circling down towards the stone bier on which Sam lay. He was a perfect wax effigy of death, yet she reached right inside and pulled his Estalyr-self out of him and they floated eye-to-eye and he had looked so beautiful, his eyes liquid gold against the ink of his skin, his hair luminous white-blond. She’d seen her own hand against his face, transparent ultramarine, her fingernails brushed with gold. God, she even remembered that as his head came straining forward to kiss her she’d teased him by resisting, allowing him only the lightest taste of her before she surrendered, giving him full possession of her mouth . . .

  So real, she could still taste the succulence of the kiss. Rosie gasped aloud. Cruel hallucination—what else could it be? Unless she, too, was dead?

  “Rosie?” The voice startled her out of her trance. Virginia Wilder was there in front of her. Rosie was so shocked and so glad to see her that she couldn’t speak, and thought she would pass out from the exhaustion and confusion of all her senses. “My dear, what’s happened to you? You were in the Great Dance, they said. It can be a very exhilarating and terrifying experience . . .”

  “Yes,” Rosie gasped. Then, “Who told you?”

  “Come with me,” Ginny touched her elbow, but Rosie couldn’t move. “Dear, there’s a lot to tell you. Jon and Lucas are here. And Lawrence.”

  “Lawrence?”

  She stood like an ice statue, knowing by the too-gentle tone of Ginny’s explanation that when she added the soft question, “And Sam?”—unable to resist asking, even knowing the answer would be torment—that Ginny’s face would turn pale and her eyes would stream with tears.

  And they did. Ginny grasped her arms and held her up, whispering, “I know it’s not fair. But the strength and wisdom of your Estalyr-self; that will never leave you . . .” She broke off, looking past Rosie’s shoulder. Her eyes became glazed, her face suddenly frozen but for the slow parting of her lips.

  “Hey, sweetie,” said a voice behind Rosie.

  She turned and Sam was there. His hair was a mess, he had the same clothes as when she’d last seen him and he looked wrecked and almost as baffled as she felt. She started to reach out, but stopped, her hand poised in midair. She daren’t touch the ghost in case he vanished. No words would come out of her.

  “What the hell happened to you?” he said. “You were there, and then you . . . Rosie, are you okay?”

  “Oh my god, I thought you were dead,” she gasped, her voice breaking.

  “Do I look that bad?” He reached out and touched her face. The touch was real. “But I . . . I only saw you last night, didn’t I? We changed shape, we were flying . . . Hang on, was that a dream?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It’s a blur. What happened? We were right up there in the night sky together . . . then the next I know, I’m stumbling down some hillside as if I’ve just come round from a drunken stupor . . .” He pushed his hands through his hair, messing it up further. “Fuck! The end of the storm—with Brawth and my father—that was only yesterday, wasn’t it?”

  “Sam, it was two months ago!” she cried.

  He turned white. “Oh my god—time plays tricks here—god, Rosie, I didn’t know—”

  They seized each other and then nothing hurt anymore because he was real and solid in her arms, holding her so tight that the strength of him forced all the pain out of her. She tried to scream but it came out muffled against his shoulder. “You were dead!” The flood of tears broke and Sam held her, letting it all soak into him.

  When she opened her eyes she saw that Ginny was crying too, with her arm around Sam’s back and her forehead leaning on his shoulder blade.

  “I wasn’t dead, I was resting,” he said into Rosie’s hair.

  The last of her sobs turned into a choke of laughter. “But how, what woke you?”

  “Well, obvious, isn’t it? You did. I must have been waiting for you.”

  “But your fylgia led mine to you,” said Rosie. “I saw them—us—two wolves . . .” She was struggling for words; perhaps Faith would find the right ones, in time.

  “Come on,” said Virginia. “Come with me. There are people who want to see you.”

  ___________

  Sam couldn’t remember seeing his mother and father close and touching before, let alone with such easy, deep affection. They sat by the waterfall in the dew and mist, saturated but not caring, because the water of Elysion was part of the healing. He’d never been embraced so many times in his life, least of all by Lawrence. As a family they had never hugged, but that was changing, like glaciers melting. Now Sam’s arms were firmly around Rosie, and hers around him. He’d noticed she was still wearing the crimson crystal heart, his first real gift to her. And that the scar on her throat was gone, healed at last.

  “I stayed a long time by the stone biers,” said Ginny. “Lawrence says he heard my voice, calling him away from the Abyss. He opened his eyes and I took his hand and led him here. He was dazed, like a creature newly born, but after he’d bathed in the waterfall, he came into my arms and wept.” She sighed. “All the hostility between us was gone, like spring frost. Absolutely meaningless. We talked, finally, after all these years of misunderstanding.”

  Sam grinned. “It sounds like love.”

  “Many people never get a second chance. We’re blessed.”

  “Now I understand why my parents and Comyn were so insistent that I took part last night,” said Rosie. “It was only by becoming Estalyr that I managed to reach Sam. My best chance, if not the only one. And they knew that, but they couldn’t tell me, in case it gave me false hope.”

  Sam looked at his parents, serene in their surroundings, finally at peace with each other. “You’re staying here, aren’t you?” he said.

  “Yes, we are,” Lawrence answered.

  Sam accepted the answer, but Rosie tensed against him. “Are you compelled to stay in the Otherworld, because you died on Earth? Sam?” She turned her anxious face to his. “Are you trapped here?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, frowning. “If I was, would you stay with me? Or just visit in the winter, like Persephone?”

  She stared at him, her beautiful silver eyes full of light and tears. “I’d stay. If you think I’m letting you out of my sight again . . .”

  He was becoming aware of a change within himself. Nothing tangible, but you didn’t lie for two months on the healing lapis, absorbing the saturated green energies of Elysion, without emerging transformed. Wondrous insights into the humans who might need his guidance? He’d barely begun to explore the feeling. Most of all he felt grounded, more himself than he’d ever been.

  “You’re welcome here, of course,” said Ginny. One corner of her mouth curved. “How can you call it trapped, in a place full of wonders? But no, choice hasn’t been taken from you. The privilege of being semimortal is that we can come and go through the Gates as we please. The Spiral is said to be a gateway to other Spirals in turn. It’s ours to explore. Perhaps it is time for you to move on from Vaeth, too.”

  Sam thought about the Otherworld, so treacherous and gloriously seductive. The scarlet fire of Naamon and the dewy beauty of Melusiel. Running in wolf form, with wolfy Rosie running beside him. The wonder of flesh turning n
ight-blue, translucent and full of stars. The lure of ancient cities, Estalyr secrets. Of Rosie in that primal form, clinging tight and hot around him, her lips and tongue hungry for his, her eyes on fire and her head falling back so that her hair rippled like dark blood . . . he shifted as the memory threatened to stir a physical reaction. What was the surface world, compared with that? Cities full of hopeless louts, corruption and war and climate change . . . it all seemed pointless and far away. He felt spray from the waterfall dewing his hair and skin and it was wonderful, soothing. Maybe it’s the water, he thought, that reels Aetherials in and seduces us like opium. He remembered late sunlight slanting gold onto a mirror surface.

  “Sam?” said his mother. “What are you thinking about?”

  “Birmingham,” he replied.

  She blinked. “Pardon?”

  Rosie was laughing. Sam grinned, stroking her damp hair. “Look, there is a dirty, nasty world out there, full of young offenders and ex-cons and low-life scum who are crying out for me to come and help turn their wretched lives around. Elysion is all very pretty, but does it have a decent pub? No offense, Mum, but I’d be bored shitless in a week if I stayed here. What do you say, Rosie?”

  “I like it on Earth,” she said. “I’m not ready to give up on it. I know Sam likes to get down and dirty in the real world and so do I. That’s what I like about him.”

  “There’s just the small problem of you having told everyone I’m dead,” Sam said wryly.

  “No.” A stray tear fell as she shook her head. “I couldn’t bring myself to say it. I told people you’d had to go away with your father. It was the truth, after all. We can slip back through the portal, Sam, make a new start, and no one will be any the wiser—except us.”