Roel paused in his duel with the air and cocked an eyebrow at his raven-haired sister. “No spark?”
“He does not move me,” said Avelaine.
“Move you?”
A look of exasperation filled Avelaine’s blue eyes.
“He does not stir my heart.”
“Ah, I see,” said Roel, returning to his battle with the invisible foe.
Avelaine sat in glum thought, gazing at, but not seeing, their two horses placidly cropping grass nearby. Finally, she heaved a great sigh and said, “Oh, I wish I were anywhere but in this time and place.”
“Take care, sister of mine,” said Roel as he continued to slash at the air, “for you know not what magic these old ruins might hold.”
“Oh, would that they did,” said Avelaine, “for then I would be gone from here.” She hopped down from the stone block and turned to look at the tumble, nought but a vine-covered wrack with thistles growing among the remains. As if seeing them for the first time, Avelaine strolled around the remnants, circling widdershins in the light of the early-spring midmorning sun.
Roel paused and watched her walk away; then he resumed his cut and thrust at the air. He had just dispatched the unseen foeman when as from a distance he heard Avelaine faintly call, “Roel.”
He turned to see her standing there, now nearly all the way ’round the ruins. Pale, she was, almost ghostly, and she reached a hand out toward Roel as if pleading.
Just behind and to the left stood a tall, black-haired, black-eyed man in an ebon cloak limned in scarlet. Over his left arm something draped, as of wispy dark cloth featherlight. A sneer of triumph filled his dark aquiline features as he gazed at Avelaine.
Roel shouted and raised his sword and rushed forward, but in that instant the man embraced Avelaine and whirled ’round and ’round and ’round and vanished, taking Avelaine with him, and when Roel came to the place where they had been, he found nought but empty air.
“What do you mean she’s gone?” demanded Laurent.
“She and the man both vanished,” said Roel.
“Did you not engage him in battle?” asked Blaise.
“Even as I went for him, he spun like a dervish and disappeared and took Avelaine with him,” said Roel, on the verge of tears. “I searched and searched, but they were truly gone.”
“Well, if I’d been there,” said Laurent, “I would have-”
“Oh, leave the boy alone,” cried Lady Simone, again bursting into tears, even as she stepped to Roel and embraced him.
But Roel would have none of that, and he disengaged his mother’s arms and defiantly faced Laurent. “You would have done no better than I.”
“Pah! You little-”
“Laurent!” snapped Sir Emile. “Enough! We are here to deal with the problem and not to dole out blame.”
“But what can we possibly do?” cried Simone, wiping her eyes with her kerchief and then using it to blow her nose.
Emile knitted his brow, pondering, and then said, “I do not know, my lady. Mayhap Avelaine is lost forever, for it is clear that a powerful being has abducted her, most likely the Elf King, for ’tis said he captures mortals by stealing their shadows from them. No doubt he has taken her to Faery.”
“Faery!” exclaimed Simone. “Oh, what a horrible place!” Once more she broke into tears, and Emile embraced her.
Roel took a deep breath and said, “Sire, we can consult with Geron the Sage. Perhaps he will know what to do and where to go.”
Emile nodded. “Ah, you have hit upon it, my boy. One of us must seek him out.”
“I will go, Father,” said Roel.
“Pah! You?” sneered Laurent. “You are nought but a child, a mere squire. I will go instead.”
“No,” said Blaise. “I will go.”
“I am the eldest,” said Laurent.“Hence it is mine to do.”
“I will not accept this blame,” said Roel. “I am the one to find him.”
Emile called for quiet and said, “Laurent is right. He is the eldest, so he is the one to go.” The next morning, arrayed in his fine armor and armed with the best of weaponry, Laurent mounted up on his caparisoned steed and said, “No matter what Sage Geron tells me, whether he has any aid or not, still will I seek Avelaine. It might be a lengthy quest, yet surely will I find her.”
Roel paused in his telling and took a long sip of tea.
Celeste remained silent and waited for him to continue.
Roel then set his cup down and said, “With tearful au revoirs, we watched Laurent ride away, my brother the knight quite magnificent on that great horse of his.” Roel sighed and said, “But then three years passed, and we heard nothing of Laurent or Avelaine.
“By that time I had won my own spurs in the lists and in one-on-one combat as well as in the melees. Then war came, and over the next months both Blaise and I acquitted ourselves with honor on the fields of Valens.
“But when we returned home, Blaise set out to find Laurent and Avelaine, and he rode for Sage Geron’s cottage to seek advice. I would have gone with him, but my sire was in ill health, and there were yet foemen wandering the land. So, to guard my sire and dam, I stayed behind at the manor.
“Another three years passed, and there came no word of Blaise, Laurent, or Avelaine. My sire had recovered his health, and now I would go to find my missing kindred. Mother objected tearfully, for she would not lose all her get in a futile search. My sire, too, was reluctant to let me go, yet in the end he acceded, for I was a true knight, and he could not, would not, gainsay me, his third and last son, in this honorable quest.
“As did my brothers before me, I set out to seek the advice of Sage Geron, and a moon or so later I arrived at his cote, there nigh the edge of the mortal world, the cottage but a fortnight from the twilight walls of Faery.
He invited me in and made tea, and we sat at his table and spoke. . ”
“I’ll tell you what I told your brothers,” said Geron.
“Contrary to popular myth, ’twas no Elf King who took your sister, but the Lord of the Changelings himself. Ah, he resembles the Elf King, yet is another altogether. He stole Avelaine’s shadow, cut it free from her, he did; hence he captured a key bit of her essence and has her in his thrall.”
“Then my sire was right about someone stealing a shadow,” said Roel, “but was wrong about who did it.” Geron nodded.
“Then that was what he had draped over his arm?
Her shadow?”
Geron nodded again.
Roel sighed. “I thought it but a wisp of dark cloth.” The sage shook his head. “Nay, lad, ’twas her shadow, stolen away. The Lord of the Changelings at times seeks out a fair demoiselle to capture, and he does so in this manner.”
“Speak to me of this Changeling Lord.” Geron replenished his cup of tea and offered some to Roel, who with a gesture declined. The sage took a long sip and set the cup aside and leaned back in his chair. “Though they are rather Elflike, these beings are not true Elves, but a race set apart, a race called Changelings.”
“Changelings,” said Roel. “I’ve heard of them: babes exchanged at birth for another child.”
“Oh, non, non”-Geron shook his head-“that’s but part of the truth. You see, Changelings are not only babes, but adults, too. And there is this, my boy: they are called Changelings for they can alter their shapes.”
“Shift into something they are not?”
“Non, shift into someone they are not, but always whoever they become, at heart they are still a Changeling.”
“Say on, Sage.”
Geron took another sip of tea. “Just as the Firbolg and the Sidhe, or better yet the Seelie and the Unseelie, there are two factions of Changelings, in appearance difficult to tell apart. Yet though they might be different from one another, they are closely akin. Regardless as to whether it is one race or two, both factions take humans for their own, for now and again they need the strength of mortal blood to restore the vitality of their kind.”
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br /> “Mortal blood? You mean they mate with humans?”
“Oui. Only in this way can they remain a vigorous folk.”
“Tell me of these two factions.”
“One is ruled over by a queen, and she is proud and terrible.”
“Terrible? Evil, wicked, you mean?”
“Non, non. Terrible in her power, in her abilities, and she does not gladly suffer the follies of humankind. E’en so, it is she who lures men unto her bed. She does not steal shadows to do so, but uses her charms instead.” Roel nodded. “I understand. What of the other faction?”
“Ah, they are ruled by the Changeling Lord, and he is also terrible, not only in his power, but in his wickedness as well. It is he who steals shadows of those he would bed.”
“He would lie with my sister?”
Geron sighed and nodded.
Roel jumped up and began pacing. “My sister will never mate with that evil being.”
“My boy, she has no shadow, and thus little will of her own.”
Roel stopped pacing and turned to Geron. “Why did he choose her?”
“First, she was near the temple ruins, where she made a wish, one overheard by the Changeling Lord. And second, she suited his needs, for he requires someone virginal, someone who has not lain with a man nor an Elf nor any other male.”
Roel threw himself into his chair. “Then he has already defiled her?”
“Perhaps, perhaps not, for lore says not only must she be a virgin; it further declares he cannot force her, for unless she enters his embrace without resistance, the seed will not take. Yet if she resists, in time she will come to his bed, her will sapped, her defiance at last gone.”
“How much time?”
“That, I do not know.”
“Then perhaps I am already too late.” Geron shrugged. “Mayhap.”
Roel slammed a fist onto the table, Geron’s teacup and saucer rattling in response. “Nevertheless,” gritted Roel, “I will free her.”
They sat in silence for a moment, and then Roel said,
“What of the children of these matings?” Geron straightened his cup in its saucer. “The Queen of the Changelings, she woos her humans and they go willingly to her bed. And the children born of their matings are blessed.”
“And the Lord of the Changelings?”
Geron shook his head. “He does not woo, but instead steals shadows, takes something of the soul; hence children of these matings lack full souls of their own.” Roel groaned, “And when these babes are swapped for human children. .?”
“Both factions exchange their newborn offspring for humankind newborns, and they raise the human children to live among them. In the queen’s realm, some become bards and poets and thespians and artisans beyond compare, and others become warriors and they protect the queen’s borders. Some, a few, return to the mortal lands and become folk of renown. For those who stay in the Changeling realm, eventually they take mates, and thus the populace is strengthened for a while. But for some reason I do not understand, at last the vigor wanes, and more humans are required to restore the vitality of the Changelings, and so both the Queen of the Changelings and the Changeling Lord must bring in new blood.”
“I see,” said Roel. “And what of the babes who are raised by the minions of the Changeling Lord?”
“Ah, those,” said Geron. “Even though they are human, hence have the souls they were born with, most are raised to become frightful warriors or other dreadful beings, and those who return to the mortal land live in infamy.”
Roel sighed and then said, “And what of the Changelings who are raised by humans?”
“If it is a blessed child from the queen’s realm, then only good things come to those whose lives they touch, but if a nigh-soulless child from the lord’s realm, then dreadful things befall not only those in that foster household, but all who come in contact with the Changeling.”
“Then, if my sister has mated with the Changeling Lord, the chances of her child turning out good are. .?”
“Lad, you do not want to believe her children will be evil, yet I say unto you they will be.” Again Roel slammed a fist to the table. He sat in brooding silence for a while, but at last he said, “And you are certain that it was in fact the Changeling Lord and not the Elf King who stole my sister away?”
“Yes, Roel, I am certain. Let me tell you what he looked like: he was tall and had black hair and black eyes, and his features somewhat resembled those of a hawk.”
“How dressed?” asked Roel.
“Dark clothing, an ebon cloak limned in scarlet.”
“Limned, or instead lined?”
“Limned only,” said Geron.
Roel sighed. “You have described him exactly as I remember.” Geron nodded. “It is as I say: ’twas the Lord of the Changelings himself.”
“How know you this?” asked Roel.
“I myself saw him long past when we sages banded together to destroy that temple of his, the place where he captured your sister.”
“Those ruins were once a temple to the Lord of the Changelings?”
“Oui,” said Geron, nodding. “A most wicked being, he was and is.”
“Then that is why people avoid those ruins?” asked Roel.
Again Geron nodded, but then shook his head in rue.
“Other than a handful of sages such as me, I suspect no others yet live who know it once was used thus and still holds remnants of power. Hence the ruins are now avoided out of tradition rather than from sure knowledge. It’s unfortunate you didn’t know better than to loiter about such a place. Unfortunate as well your sister made a wish there.”
“Mistake or no, what’s done is done,” said Roel, though regret tinged his words. “What is important now is to retrieve my sister. -My brothers as well.” The sage took a deep breath. “As to your brothers, Roel, I would not hold out hope that they are yet alive, for when I told them what they must do, they would not wait.”
“Wait for what?” asked Roel.
Geron got up from the table and stepped to a chest.
He opened it and took from it a sword in a scabbard and turned to Roel and said, “They would not wait for this.”
“And that is. .?”
“Coeur d’Acier,” said Geron.
“Heart of Steel?”
“Oui,” said Geron. “It is a special weapon, years in the making, for there are powerful runes bound in the blade and covered with silver flashing. It was not finished when your brothers rode through.”
“Were not their own weapons adequate?” asked Roel. “They were forged from good steel as well.”
“Ah, but you see, the Changeling Lord lives in Faery, where steel is forbidden except under special circumstance. After all, one must not affront the Fairies and Elves and other such beings therein; else the transgressor might find himself forever cursed.”
“Did my brothers take their steel within?”
“I do not know,” said Geron. “I advised them to trade their arms and armor for counterparts of good bronze.”
“Trade?”
“Oui. You see, from here, the city of Rulon is on the way to Faery, and for a fee the merchants of Rulon will trade bronze accoutrements for those of steel; travellers can then retrieve their own when they come back from Faery. . assuming they come back within a year. Rulon is just one of several cities of such welcomed trade.
After all, good steel is harder to come by than good bronze, and so the merchants gain rather handsomely in the exchange with those who are fool enough to venture into Faery.”
Roel took a deep breath and slowly shook his head, for his brothers had been gone well beyond the required year. Finally he said, “Tell me what I must do.” Geron nodded, and he handed Coeur d’Acier to Roel. “Bear this blade into Faery with you.”
“Is it not made of steel?”
“Oui, it is; yet recall, I said it was steel bound with runes of power and flashed with silver. This blade will not twist the aethyr; hence it is safe
to take into that mystical realm.”
Roel frowned in puzzlement, but then shrugged in acceptance and said, “What else must I do?”
“But for Coeur d’Acier, rid yourself of all iron and steel-as I say, you can trade for arms and armor of bronze. Shoe your horse in bronze as well, and change out the tack-all fittings must be of bronze instead of iron.”
Roel nodded and said, “And then what? How do I find Faery?”
Geron laughed. “Ah, lad, somewhat straight on beyond the city of Rulon you will come to a wall of twilight looming up into the sky. The wall is there whether or no it is day or night, for it is one of the many bounds of Faery. Simply ride through, and you will find yourself in that wondrous but oft perilous place.” Roel nodded and asked, “And once I am in Faery. .?”
“Then seek the port city of Mizon. Therein lies a well-known map which, among other things, purports to show a path to the Changeling realm. It is the only certain way I know of to find that domain.”
“I have one other question, Geron.”
“Ask away.”
Roel lifted Coeur d’Acier. “Why do you give me such a valuable blade as this and ask nought in return?”
“Let us just say, my lad, I was driven by the Fates to do so.” The sage spoke no more of his part in Roel’s quest, though he talked freely of other things.
Roel rode away from Geron’s cottage, and days later he came to the city of Rulon, and there, but for Coeur d’Acier, he exchanged his arms and armor for those of bronze. He had the tack of his horse fitted with bronze, and the shoes replaced with ones of bronze, including the nails therein. As the merchant put away the old gear, Roel recognized Laurent’s steel dagger, and Blaise’s steel helm, but none of their remaining gear did he see.
A day later he espied the great wall of twilight, and just beyond the burnt ruins of what had once been a magnificent manor, he rode through the bound and entered what appeared to be a woodland where spring seemed burgeoning, though the remains of winter lay upon the world he had just left.
Roel drained his cup of tea and said to Celeste, “And so, Princess, that is my quest, and the tale of how I came to be in Faery.”
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