The Last Stitch (The Chronicles of Eirie: 2)

by Prue Batten

  ‘But Liam was your brother, he was the heir to Faeran when it was thought you were dead. Have you not a responsibility to take up your legacy?’

  ‘The world of Faeran functions without me and from what I have heard, functioned without Liam as well, as he was as keen as I to live amongst mortals. At any rate my friend, I have made my decision and shall not be moved.’

  The hob caught a handful of blossom and sprinkled it from his fingers, watching it float like a dream to the ground. ‘I can understand. I would go with my Lady right now if I could.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I just hate goodbyes. It was bad enough yesterday with the souls. Death always smacks of the worst goodbyes. Sink me, I feel quite depressed.’

  ‘I thought it was one of the more gentle things I have experienced in this world of Others. It reminds me that not all is bad.’ Phelim’s face, dour and drawn since the events of the trial, mellowed as he remembered.

  They had been at Jasper’s house for a night and a day, and as the afternoon drew a curtain of dusky cloud across the sky, the sun casting indigo and gold shadow over the gardens, Jasper invited them to follow him to a large lake. Phelim watched the hob and the healer ahead of him, listening to their dulcet tones as something poignant drifted on the evening air. He looked back at the house and visualized Adelina resting, suspended in some Other induced state of slumber, restoring she and her babe. He would like to have sat by her but she had not met his eyes when he ventured to her room earlier in the day and he felt the air of resentment and disillusionment settle on him like a frost and had turned away from the cool encounter.

  His long legs covered the mossy path in the wake of Jasper and Gallivant and he joined them as they stood surveying the lake. Secrecy emanated in misty vapours from the watery sward and a welkin wind of unusual warmth rattled the beech leaves and sighed like a mother longing for the return of her prodigal child. It was as the self-same draught caressed his own cheeks that he noticed a tableau of such wretchedness he could not help but feel anguish.

  Liam and Elriade lay twisted as if they were two corpses afflicted with the worst rigor mortis. Elriade’s face screamed with unimaginable suffering, her eyes wide with profound fear, her hands clawing at her middle. Liam lay huddled over his waist as though he had shielded himself against a fatally deep swordthrust, his eyes screwed tight, his mouth set in a flat line from which Phelim imagined a cry would have longed to emerge if he had let it. But no, his brother would have been too proud and if the story were true, too relieved to be on his journey to the Afterlife and Ana,

  to give Severine even the remote satifaction at the pain and suffering she wielded. Phelim’s throat clutched. His brother. He walked as close to the platform as he dared, confronting the truth of a Faeran blood tie.

  ‘Touch him, Phelim.’ Jasper spoke quietly by his side. He hadn’t even heard the man approach, so lost was he in whys and wherefores.

  He reached out his hand and touched the hair, felt its thickness, awed at its wine colour. The hob stood on the other side of the platform and laid a crown of daisies on Elriade’s head, the beautiful mahogany curls dancing up in the breeze to lace through the decoration as if it had belonged to her forever.

  Jasper unknotted the stained chamois bag, pulling at the cord, opening it wide, holding it over the two bodies, silent, not a word spoken - just the music of a dusk chorus of the sweetest birds, accompanied by harp-strings from some unseen player on the other side of the lake.

  A milky skein of vapour emerged from the bag, the scent of lemons and lily of the valley. The vapour looped around Jasper and then undulated over Phelim’s shoulders and down his arm. Later he would swear his brother had tried in some way to clasp his hand. A fanciful enough notion and the action itself was a speck in the infinity of time - there then gone, so that he had no time to react. In minutes the vapour had poured itself over the two bodies and for moments nothing happened but then the bodies drank in the dewy cloud like moss soaking up raindrops. They softened, straightening out with audible sighs, faces sweetly relaxed. The mist from the lake glided upward and shrouded the platform so that everything was shielded from view, the harp music hypnotic and gentle.

  It cleared then and the lakeside three could see a barge of great beauty, its passengers lying serenely in its hull, disappearing across the lake toward a group of shimmering people. And because the hob and the healer and Phelim were Other, they could observe the seelie spirits who waited to meet their brother and sister and to take them away. The harp continued until the lake waters had stilled and the misty people had gone and Phelim knew that amongst the beauty and tranquility of such a thing, Liam would find Ana and he was content for him.

  ‘Indeed. Sad and beautiful, even breathtaking. So you see it’s not really all grim and awful, is it? Sink me, look at me, I’m nice.’ The hob elbowed Phelim in the ribs. ‘Aren’t I?’

  ‘You are a veritable gentleman.’ Phelim smiled. ‘But what of her, how does she do?’

  ‘She sleeps. Jasper says it is necessary for she and the babe to rest as much as she can be enticed to. I suspect he will encourage her to stay here until the child is born and for myself I think it will be a sensible thing to do. I couldn’t deal with birthings and such on my own.’

  ‘You plan to stay with her then?’

  ‘I’ll stay as long as she wants me.’

  ‘Sometimes I think you are like a nervous prospective father yourself.’

  The hob heard the envy in Phelim’s voice but tactfully ignored it, saying, ‘I suppose I am and having said that I shall see how she sleeps, it’s getting late. Shall you come with me?’

  ‘No, I wish to sit for a while. My mind needs smoothing. There’s much to reconcile and I’m not proud of my actions.’

  Gallivant patted the sitting man’s shoulder. ‘Don’t be so critical of yourself. Sink me man, you did what you thought was right. Besides, we all had bad thoughts!’

  ‘Ah yes. But yours were only thoughts, Gallivant. Mine were actions.’

  The hob said nothing but squeezed the broad shoulder again, then walked away through the blossoms, leaving Phelim alone with the iniquities of his guilt. He lay down in the grass watching the sky darken and the moon slide across the sky with her courtly progression of stars dancing attendance around her. Here a shooting star, there a sparkle. He named the stars in his mind and wished he could be as far from his guilt as those galaxies.

  He had made choices between right and might and his innocence had shattered utterly. Even when he had become the Ganconer with the girl, he had redeemed himself. But this time redemption had not even a foot in the door and as the Far Dorocha, he had wanted to stab Luther to death and to seduce Severine into the midst of insanity. Choices he made willingly with never a care for right and wrong.

  A voice sounded behind him, above him, maybe to the side and he sat up quickly. ‘Everyone lives with duality, Phelim, just as everyone lives with destiny. Life is constantly the making and taking of choices - between love and hate, good and evil, happiness or sadness. Our destiny propels us to make choices between the dualities. Ultimately our Fate is arrived at one way or another.’

  Phelim looked at the ageless face of great beauty crowned by the pale, moonlit hair waving in the welkin wind, sparkles of diamonds icing through the tresses. Her midnight gown lay over his toes as she sat by his side, stars and moons wafting and waning. ‘Lady, everything you utter is an enigma. Do you mean that I can forgive myself my choices and that I have arrived at my wretched Fate?’

  She chuckled, a sound that cosseted Phelim. ‘I am sure you thought your motive was pure, that you sought to protect a woman and her child. The baser side of your acts will be something you may have to learn to live with. As to your Fate, perhaps you have arrived there. Leastways you will know when you have. But I would tell you this. You walked with two men on two roads most recently. One almost overtook you and he has a hold on your coattails still. I will tell you this much also - his is the way to Faeran. The choice you make i
s the one that may lead you to your destiny.’

  ‘Shall I have what I most want then? That which I thought I would lose forever?’

  ‘Destiny Phelim, and you would know this as well as any, is not necessarily having what you want or finding what you have lost.’

  ‘But you said I would find what I had lost.’

  ‘And you may. But only you can choose. I would not do it for you.’

  ‘Lady, nothing you have said helps me. All I want is my home, the small things, to see Ebba talk to the wind.’

  ‘Then choose that way. It may be that is your destiny. But Phelim, truly the son of Ebba that you are, examine your heart carefully. Ask yourself, is that all you want?’ She reached over and opened his palm and lay something soft in it and then he heard her chuckle, like an arpeggio of harp chords and he became lost in midnight blue with flickering stars and moonlight.

  Later, dew finally soaked through his coat and the chill woke him, something unusual in Faeran because it is rarely cold and uncomfortable. He stretched his arms away from his face, uncurling the palm on which his cheek had laid. There in the light of the sinking moon curled a copper hank of hair glistening like a promise of dawn sun. He shook his head, slipping the curl in his pocket, and with leaden heart and lost cause, retraced his steps to the sleeping house and tomorrow’s path of duality.

  Adelina opened her eyes. Filling her gaze and hanging from a hook on the door was the stumpwork robe - as glorious, colourful and unique as ever. She stared at it. If it hadn’t protected Ajax at that most crucial time, she knew she would have burned it. But now she had just one more book to finish if she had the energy to write and bind it, and the robe could go to the Museo.

  She languorously rolled her head over the pillow to face the window. Jasper sat on the window-seat, booted feet up and with his attention deep in a book.

  ‘Jasper?’

  ‘Muirnin!’ He shut the book with a snap. ‘Let me see you.’ He took her pulse and placed a strange thing like a hunting horn on her belly, bending to listen and then rubbing his ear ruefully. ‘That young babe, it knows how to kick. You seem well my dear, better than I thought after the troubles. It must be that Traveller’s constitution of yours.’

  ‘The baby? Kholi’s child?’

  ‘Excellent. You had some pain, due more than anything to the tension of your recent experiences.’ He rubbed his ear. ‘As I said, it is a real kicker. Do you think it is a boy?’

  She smiled a watery smile. ‘Kholi would have loved a son.’

  Jasper smoothed a hand over her forehead and into the curls lying around her face. The movement soothed and regenerated the feeling of calm that was so important for the next few months as the babe matured. ‘Adelina. Whilst you may feel anger and hurt toward me for what I did in that ballroom, I had a role to fulfil. If I had not, the crowd may well have taken matters into their own hands and Aine knows where you and the babe would be now. If you can forgive me, it may be as well if you stayed with me till after the birth. I would not like to see you take to the roads just yet.’

  ‘Jasper, I think it must all be in the past. I could angst over it and drive myself mad with recrimination and hate, but what is the point? My Ajax lived because of a promise I made and even though I hardly acted in the spirit of that promise, I shall endeavour to make good as often as I can. So yes, I forgive you if there is anything to forgive, and I would like to stay. I’m tired. Besides, I no longer have a van.’

  ‘Do you forgive Phelim as well?’

  She looked out the window at another golden day, just another to follow the previous perfect one and which would precede the next delightful one. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good, I’m pleased to hear it for the man has much to deal with and your displeasure would wound him and add even more to his precarious load. Now!’ He slapped his thighs. ‘It is settled. You shall be my guest, you, Phelim and the hob. Ah muirnin, I tell you, it is all I can do to get the hob to leave your side for a moment.’

  Chapter Forty Eight

  As the days passed, Adelina spent time listening to the hob and Jasper sparring. She watched Phelim, often lost in thought and often silent, and she was surprised he stayed for his attitude to all things Faeran was patent. She heard about the souls and thanked the Lady for allowing peace to fill Liam’s life. It mattered.

  She visited Ajax and Bottom and the faithful Mogu who clung to Ajax’s side like ivy on a wall. And finally she had the courage to ask Jasper where in the orchard Kholi was buried.

  ‘Muirnin, he isn’t buried. I waited to tell you till you were ready. It occurred to me as Mogu carried him home that Rajis always cremate their dead. And in any case, I thought you may one day like to return his ashes to his home in Ahmadabad.’ He glanced at her and she knew he was seeing sadness write a love story on her face. ‘Come with me,’ he said, taking her hand.

  He led her to his library, a gracious room filled with the odour of parchment and vellum. She followed in his wake to a sturdy oak desk under the window, its patina scratched and polished with years of quills, books and elbows. A vase of white roses spilled petals over a plain walnut box. Jasper said nothing, just gestured with a tip of the close-shaven head.

  Adelina sat in the chair and pulled the box toward her. It felt warm, no doubt from the sunbeams slanting through the window and she ran her fingers back and forth over the box as if she smoothed the hair on a much-loved head. Back and forth, back and forth. A tear pooled and ran down her cheek to fall on the box and lie like a miniature paperweight, reflecting all in its immediate vicinity. As Adelina looked at it, she fancied she saw a man and a woman in a quaint Raji tent. She sat there alone for a long time, communing with the box, Jasper having backed quietly from the room and then she stood with the container in her arms and followed in his footsteps. She found him outside sitting with Gallivant and Phelim, soaking up the soft afternoon warmth and sipping some tea.

  ‘I still hate her.’ She spoke to no one in particular. ‘Despite my promise to Aine, I find it hard to be forgiving. The lives that have been lost, the father my child will never know. How does one forgive that?’ She noticed Phelim look away and felt guilty for causing him undue hardship.

  ‘My child, it is probably not the question to ask an Other,’ Jasper replied. ‘Suffice to say that in time the strength of your emotion will lessen and other things will assume more importance. As to your promise to Aine, I am sure She could see you tried hard. You endeavoured to turn the other cheek, you stepped back from the issue of revenge. She would value that.’

  ‘But I gave Severine to Rajeeb.’

  ‘Well yes, but her Fate was decided the minute she killed Elriade and Liam, Adelina. Very little you could have done would have changed it. You could have wished to forgive her and that would be all very well but an Other would have come along a little later and avenged the deaths. It is our way. I wish it wasn’t but it is and without Others of the calibre of our friend Phelim here, despite his momentary lapse for which we shall forgive him, sadly it will never change. Mind you my dear, Severine’s crimes would have secured her the death sentence in the mortal world as well. Maybe we are, none of us, that different.’

  Adelina shivered but the shiver came from a distance and she knew it was some mesmer of Jasper’s and she was glad of it.

  ‘Adelina, I have a gift from Rajeeb for you.’ He dug in his pocket and pulled out a small parcel and waved his fingers over it and then placed it in her lap. She stared at it, intrigued, and then began to unwrap the crackling tissue packaging. A book slipped out. Its tint was alabaster, the cover almost iridescent in its purity, reminiscent of the silk of the robe. It had a light, a life, all of its own.

  ‘Jasper, it is the most superb thing, the cover is a substance I have never seen. It is neither leather nor paper...’

  ‘It was felt it may suit the robe, the last book to finish the story?’

  She turned it over and over in her hands, the hide surface soft against her fingers, intrigued by the impli
ed oddity of the cover and eager to finish the final words and sew the book into the hands of the bride.

  Phelim found the time with Adelina disturbing and pleasing on many levels. He understood fully that she was the reason he hadn’t left. He suspected Jasper played the card to advantage for he was adept at his own form of manipulation. Walking through the far reaches of the blossom-strewn orchard, thinking the time had come to leave, he saw the pregnant woman as she sat alone on a bench under the pink and white cloud of a spreading crabapple tree. She rested a hand on the large shelf of her belly and her eyes were closed and she was so obviously far away from this very moment that he forbore to bother her and turned, stepping on a twig that snapped loudly in the buzzing and twittering peace of the garden. Her eyes opened and she saw him moving away.

  ‘Phelim?’

  The throaty, sensual tones of her voice were enough to throw him and he took a steadying breath before turning. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to disturb you.’

  ‘You don’t disturb me. I was just taking a moment. I’m heavy with lassitude today.’

  She smiled the enchanting golden smile that had melted another heart. Phelim sat down by her and the pulse in his throat quickened and at that moment he knew he began to love this woman - the woman whose own heart would always belong to a dead man and who at the very least could only offer him friendship. ‘I will leave in a day or two, Adelina. But it is important that I tell you how sorry I am I didn’t inform you of Lhiannon’s death and that I carried the souls. I was and still am unsure of my Faeran skin and a veil of secrecy seems to cover everything I do. On my life I would not hurt you. You need to know.’

  ‘It’s done now, it matters little.’ She smiled her glorious smile. ‘What matters is that we can move on and do whatever we must. It’s strange though that you recognize the secrecy, your brother was of a same.’