Midwinter

by Matthew Sturges

  "Mother fucker," Broward roared. He pulled the trigger and Hereg's head snapped backward. He fell to the ground in a spray of red.

  "Fucker!" shouted Broward. He stepped through the sphere, screaming.

  Only six people remained on the Fae side of the sphere. The two Schrabe girls knelt on the ground, their faces buried in the dirt. Linda clutched her daughter Rachel to her chest, looking horrified toward the sphere. Her son, Jamie stood by her, his hands clenched into fists. Satterly was riveted to the ground.

  "Mom, what do we do?" said Jamie. It was the first time Satterly had heard him speak. "What do we do?"

  "Go through, Jamie. Go through. We'll figure it out."

  "What about Rachel?"

  "Go!" she shouted. Jamie winced and ran, slurring through the Hole and onto the street.

  Framed by the sphere, a small crowd was forming in the deceptively near street. Homeowners were pouring into the street to watch, jaws hanging, as filthy, long-haired people kept appearing from nowhere. Meyer and jenny were shouting something from the other side that couldn't be heard. Paul had Meyer by the shoulders, holding him back. Jenny stumbled and fell to the ground.

  "Go through, Rachel," Linda said, through tears, pleading. "Please, go through."

  Rachel stepped forward, reaching out with her hands, her feet moving slowly. Her fingers penetrated the barrier of the Hole and she stepped through. She did not reappear on the street. Instead, she passed through the sphere just as Polly and jasmine had and stood forlorn on the other side.

  Linda shrieked. She sank to her knees, uttering unintelligible sounds. Flecks of Hereg's blood were smeared on her face.

  Satterly looked from her to the Hole. It was beginning to dim, to fade slightly around the edges. For an instant he considered just leaving, stepping through that strange doorway and back into the world that he knew and that knew him. He almost took a step toward it but at the last second turned backward and looked toward the now-empty settlement. Mauritane was the only one of the three in the cage standing. His arms were crossed over his chest, his face was pale, his expression grim.

  Satterly looked at Mauritane. They regarded each other across the distance. Satterly let his gaze fall to Linda. He knelt beside her and cradled her to his chest. She sank into him, sobbing uncontrollably. The Hole fluttered and sparked, shrinking rapidly until it became a mere pinhole of light against the battered snow.

  Part Three

  The High Priest: Let us begin our discussion with the topic of the Gifts, as you call them. If they are gifts, who has given them? And if not, then from where do they come?

  Alpaurle: You seek to trap me in an answer, as do all those who claim to provide answers rather than seek them. The truth is not a fish that can be caught. It is the ocean in which we swim. Is a gift not a gift if the giver is unknown?

  The High Priest: You seek to tangle me in words.

  Alpaurle: No, I seek to unravel you with them.

  The High Priest: What, then, is the nature of a Gift?

  Alpaurle: I will ask you this question: when a man rides a horse up a mountain, do we say that he has climbed the mountain?

  The High Priest: Of course. That is obvious.

  Alpaurle: And yet the man has done nothing. The horse has climbed the mountain.

  The High Priest: Again, your words grow out of your mouth like weeds strangling the sunlight.

  Alpaurle: But is this not exactly how we speak when we speak of the Gifts? Do we not say that Stilzho has turned water into beer, when what we really mean is that Stilzho's Gift of Elements has done this thing?

  [A weak analogy here, Alpaurle's line of reasoning is supported more thoroughly in The Magus, Canto II, Verse 4.1

  The High Priest: How can you say that the Gift and the man are separate?

  Alpaurle: I speak the words, but you cannot hear them. What is the man? What is the Gift? If a man uses a Gift, then how can he also be the Gift?

  The High Priest: A man may use his arm, but we do not say that the man and the arm are separate.

  Alpaurle: No, you are correct. We do not say that. Let me ask you another question, since you are so wise in matters of the body. If a man's arm is cut off, he is still a man, is he not?

  The High Priest: Of course. That is a foolish question.

  Alpaurle: And by your reasoning, the severed arm is also a man. Am I correct?

  [Alpaurle here has committed an error in logic, first noted by Raenia of Ves in the Fourteenth Stag in Lamb. The error is known as the false-converse nature of attributes.]

  The High Priest: Anyone can see that what you say is false.

  Alpaurle: And so is your suggestion that the man and the Gift are one.

  The High Priest: Again you have tricked me with your quick tongue.

  Alpaurle: You have tricked yourself, because I have only asked these questions of you for my own learning.

  The High Priest: Fine, then man and Gift are not the same, as the followers of Aba have claimed. And yet do the Arcadians not speak falsely when they claim that the Gifts must be sanctified in their use?

  Alpaurle: You must tell me the argument. Why do they claim the Gifts must be sanctified?

  The High Priest: They claim that the Gifts are from Aba, and that whatever comes from Aba must be used to serve Aba.

  Alpaurle: They claim also that Aba is the embodiment of the Good, do they not?

  The High Priest: They do.

  Alpaurle: Let us assume that they are correct for the moment.

  {The remainder of the argument begs the question.}

  If something contains only goodness, then nothing but good can issue from it, correct?

  The High Priest: It seems obvious, but I suspect another trick.

  Alpaurle: Then if the Gifts have come from Aba, must they not also be good?

  The High Priest: That follows from your previous assertion.

  Alpaurle: I have not asserted anything, but I think I understand your meaning. Will you not also say that what is good and what is holy are the same?

  The High Priest: I had not thought of it, but it seems obvious as well, for that which is holy must always be good.

  Alpaurle: And do we not sanctify what is holy?

  The High Priest: Of course.

  Alpaurle: So, by your reasoning, one can do nothing else than sanctify the Gifts! As you have said, that which comes from Aba must only be good, and therefore holy, and therefore sanctified.

  The High Priest: You have deceived me again!

  Alpaurle: Certainly it cannot be so, since you have made the assertions yourself. I merely asked questions of you…

  Alpaurle

  from Conversations with the High Priest of Ulet, Conversation XXI

  Edited by Feven IV of the City Emerald

  Chapter 30

  sylvan

  Sylvan is the only city in all of the Seelie Kingdom that remains green in Midwinter. Beneath the snow, their slow motions hampered by hanging threads of ice, the grass continues to grow and the trees retain their leaves throughout that dark season. In rooftop gardens and tiny courtyards, delicate flowers of jasmine and honeysuckle exhale their fragile breath into the gauzy morning air. Hot springs lace the air with steam; mist roils in the city streets, warring with the cold, bathing the cobblestones and lampposts in milky white.

  In Sylvan, only the Temple Aba-e stands above the mist. From its foundation on the Mount of Oak and Thorn, the grand edifice rises in three massive stone tiers. The bottom tier covers the entire mountaintop, its sides blackened by thousands of years of dirt and grime, the carts and hovels of the peasantry pressed against it. Its face is dappled with thousands of white dots, the prayers of commoners written for a few coppers by bored scribes, folded and pressed into cracks in the stone. The second tier is open to the air, composed only of columns and archways of stone, massive clear glass windows. A bridge leads from the Common Road to a gallery on this tier, where Fae from every station come and stand in the shade during hot summer days,
gazing into their reflections in the dim silent pools, contemplating the statuary crafted by innumerable generations of Arcadian coenobites.

  The third tier, that one is a mystery. Permanently shrouded in clouds, its shape is difficult to discern. Sometimes, at odd points during the day, a laboring farmer or strolling alderman will look up and see the clouds pierced by a shaft of golden light and, for an instant, he will see the Temple Aba-e in its entirety. But those moments are rare and unpredictable and have yet to yield a reliable account of the complete structure.

  The rest of Sylvan bends toward the temple like flowers toward the sunlight. The Mountain of Oak and Thorn describes the city's western boundary, beyond which are the barren wastes where nothing survives. Sylvan nestles in a valley at the base of the mountain, her stained-glass spires and dizzying cobblestone streets winding up the hillside toward the temple. The garden villas and castles of the nobility line the rim of the valley's bowl, and the accommodations descend in rank proportional to their altitude. At the valley's floor, where the fog is thickest, the lowborn and outcast of Fae society mix in poverty and anonymity. The streets are narrow there, and the inns and bordellos display no signs or markings of any kind. From the City Center it is a long way to the silver-shrouded peak of Oak and Thorn, though they reside in the same city, and the one is but a few hours walk from the other.

  On Peacock Lane, in the heart of the City Center, Fourth Stag dawned beneath a gray shroud that hid the temple from view. Evelyn Yeoh watched the dim smudge of sun climb above her back courtyard, drinking coffee while the children clambered out of bed upstairs. Morning was her only quiet time. The coffee, black and heavily sugared, was one of the few indulgences she allowed herself, and she exacted the maximum enjoyment possible from it.

  She'd nearly finished her coffee when she heard a light tapping at the door. She approached the front room warily, longing for a world with door chains.

  "Who is it?" she said.

  "Brian Satterly," said a familiar voice from the other side of the door. "Is that you, Evelyn?"

  Evelyn pulled the door wide and rushed to embrace him. She pulled back, holding his hands and looked at him. Could this be the same Brian Satterly that she'd sent from the real world just two years ago? He was tanned and thin, his hair worn long in the Fae fashion, dressed in the winter clothes of an Eastern merchant. You'd have to look twice at him to tell he was a human.

  "Oh God, Brian," she said, hugging him close, "I didn't think I'd ever see you again! When they took you, I was horrified. But there was nothing I could do. You must understand…"

  Satterly stopped her. "It's okay, Evelyn. I knew there was nothing you could do. I just need to know. Did Leila make it?"

  Evelyn looked at him sadly; he'd never known, for all this time. "Yes!" she cried. "Oh, yes! I visited your sister after you were… you know. She was devastated, of course, but little Leila is just fine. I don't think she remembers a thing."

  "Thank God," said Satterly, his shoulders slumping in relief. "Oh, thank God!"

  Looking over his shoulder, she noticed the woman and three children standing behind him. "My, you've been busy," she said, eyeing the children.

  Satterly looked around and smiled wanly. "Very funny. Can we come in? I need to talk to you."

  "Of course! What a silly question. Come in, come in." She pointed to the garden gate, where a strong Fae man stood with a sour expression. "Is your bodyguard coming, too?"

  Satterly looked back. "Mauritane? I think it's best if he wait out there."

  "If you say so." She blinked. "Come on upstairs. You can talk to me while I help the kids get ready. We can probably find some snacks for these three."

  Evelyn knelt and looked at the girls. They were Fae children, dressed in rags, undernourished. "And what are your names?"

  "I'm Rachel," said the tallest of the three. "And that's jasmine and that's Polly."

  Evelyn stood. "Human names," she said sadly. She let them all in and shut the door.

  "That's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about," said Satterly. The woman still hadn't said anything. "This is Linda," he added.

  Evelyn shook the woman's hand; she muttered a quiet hello.

  They went upstairs. The kids, both human and changeling Fae, were in various stages of morning readiness. Some were still in bed, some were wrestling on the floor. The oldest children sat in the southern window seat reading books. The Fae children tended to be more sluggish in the morning; since they outnumbered the humans nearly two to one, the humans tended to rise early to have some time to themselves.

  "Leala," Evelyn said, calling over one of the older Fae girls who was mostly awake. "Please take these darlings and get them something to eat, would you?"

  "Yes, Miss Evelyn," said Leala, curtsying. "Come, we've got some wonderful peonies left over."

  The girl named Rachel looked at the human woman for permission, but the woman was staring into space and didn't acknowledge her. Hesitantly, she followed Leala, as did the other girls.

  "Brian, come over here," Evelyn said. "Tell me what's going on. How did you get here? I thought you were in prison for life."

  "Here's the Reader's Digest version," said Satterly, scratching the three-day beard growth on his cheek. "I was in for life. But I got out in order to go on a kind of secret mission. I can't really talk about it. If we're successful, then we get pardoned. Or so they say, anyway. I don't even really know what the mission is."

  "But it has something to do with this woman and her kids?"

  Satterly sighed. "No, we picked them up along the way. They don't have anywhere to go, and I thought maybe you could help them."

  Evelyn laughed. "What do you think this is, a boarding house?"

  "Could you please just do it? For me?"

  Evelyn blew out a puff of air. "I don't know, Brian. I suppose, for a little bit. The kids aren't a problem, but we'll have to find a place for your friend Linda. But I'm afraid I've got some bad news for her."

  Satterly half smiled. "What's going on with them? They act Fae; they even look Fae."

  "Were they born in Faerie?" she asked.

  Satterly nodded. "I think so, yes."

  "Human children born here are a very special case. It's happened before, and your friend isn't going to like what I tell her." She sighed, chuffing the hair out of her face with a heavy breath. "They can never go to our world, Brian. It would be dangerous… for everyone."

  Evelyn and Satterly stared at each other. "How's she going to react when I tell her that?" Evelyn asked.

  "I don't know. She was here with some people who had come to Faerie through a shifting place. She doesn't really know what's going on."

  "I'll take care of her for you. I suppose that's the least I can do. But what about you?"

  "I have to go with that guy, Mauritane."

  "On your mission."

  "Exactly. "

  "I see. Will you come back?"

  "I don't know." Satterly frowned. "If I survive, I think so."

  "You think so. Well, I suppose that's something."

  The inn was smoky and dark; it smelled of urine and cheap wine. A pair of musicians leaned in the corner, banging out sounds that were barely musical but created enough noise to mask conversation. Mauritane and Raieve shared a bench across a worn table from Satterly and Silverdun.

  "We meet Kallmer in the Rye Grove in two hours," said Mauritane. "We don't know what to expect, save that we are expected. I have never trusted Kallmer, though."

  "And we know nothing of his orders," said Raieve.

  Silverdun shook his head. "The Chamberlain's letter implied that he would be the source of whatever item we are to ferry to the City Emerald."

  Raieve frowned. "So why not simply use this Kallmer to retrieve the item, whatever it is? Why are we involved?"

  "Two possibilities," said Mauritane. "One is that we are being used as a decoy for some larger purpose."

  "And the other," said Raieve, "is that Her Majesty needed a courier
who wouldn't be missed."

  "I don't believe so," said Silverdun. "I've been thinking about your experience at Crete Sulace, Mauritane."

  "In the South Tower?" said Mauritane.

  "Surely it was no coincidence that you had such an odd encounter on the eve of our adventure. The two must be related somehow."

  Mauritane narrowed his eyes. "You think that the Queen is after me personally?"

  "I don't know. You were Guard Captain for years. Certainly that puts you well within her sphere."

  Mauritane shook his head. "I've never met Her Majesty personally, if that's what you mean."

  "You were the Captain of her Guard and you never met her?"

  "I'm not of noble blood. All of my instructions and briefings came through the Chamberlain."

  "Could the Chamberlain be involved somehow?" said Silverdun. "Perhaps he's blamed something on you and this is his method of eliminating the evidence."

  Mauritane stiffened. "I've never met a more loyal man than Marcuse. He is above reproach."

  Silverdun nodded. "But is he above bribery? Is he above fault?"

  "He is not involved. He would never be so bold."

  "Enough of this," said Raieve, annoyed. "How are we to approach this Kallmer? What do we do if he's arranged an ambush?"

  "You'll retreat. I'll remain and parlay with him. I am obligated to do so, regardless of the circumstances. You are not."

  "I'm not leaving you," said Raieve.

  "Nor I," said Silverdun.

  Mauritane looked at Satterly, who was listening with his mouth drawn down in a deep frown.

  "It's time to discuss what happened among the humans," said Mauritane.

  Satterly nodded.

  "You tried to escape. I told you I would kill you if you did."

  Satterly nodded again. He looked at Mauritane, a tear forming in his left eye. "I know that's what you said. You have to do what you have to do. But I didn't leave. I could have, and I didn't. I stayed because I knew you all would have rotted in that cell if I hadn't. That has to count for something."

  "You were, however, prepared to abandon our mission, when it was convenient for you to do so."