King of the May

by Myers, Karen

  Angharad dismounted easily, and he steadied her, holding his horse negligently by a long rein.

  Georgia embraced her lightly. “Should you be riding, dear?”

  Angharad smiled. “It’s very early days yet. You can be sure I’ll take no chances.”

  Benitoe began unharnessing the horse once the wagon was stopped at the garage. They could load it there and bring the horse back to meet it, when they were done.

  George’s grandfather came over to give him a hand. Benitoe eyed his gait. Walks like a horseman, he thought approvingly. They worked their way down the harness buckles together on either side, each of them spare of movement.

  “I’m afraid I invited myself along to the family party because I was curious,” Benitoe said. “George is the only human I’ve ever met, and I knew my auntie would want to hear about what it’s like here, and about his family.”

  “Happy to have you, son,” Gilbert said. “You’re the first of your kind we’ve met, too.”

  They stared at each other frankly and Gilbert broke the ice first. “How old are you, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Twenty-eight, sir,” Benitoe said. “And you?”

  “Seventy-seven and still going strong,” he boasted.

  Benitoe was stricken and worked hard to keep it off his face. He knew humans were short-lived, but this man would clearly not see a hundred years. He’d never seen the marks of age like this on a fae. Such a one would be older than Beli Mawr, he suspected.

  He glanced at George. Such a short life for him, too?

  While they waited for Benitoe, George pointed out the main house and stables of Bellemore, just visible through the bare winter trees.

  Georgia said, “Sometime you should all come have a look inside. I can show you around. You can’t tell from here, but that stable is shaped like a ‘U’ and holds twenty-four horses. My father always had an eye for a good horse.”

  “Did you grow up here, great-grandmother?” Maelgwn asked.

  Her face worked for a moment at the unexpected title. “Yes, dear, with my father.”

  George thought, it was the right thing to do, to bring both parts of my family together. They’re all trying, for my sake. He blinked, and tried to mask the welling up of affection, but Angharad smiled at him and laid a hand on his arm in sympathy.

  He looked up as his grandfather approached with Benitoe and the wagon horse and thought he saw a nod of approval from him.

  He knew from Mariah that her stable had only six stalls, but she’d turned her horses out into a paddock for the day and made up four stalls for the visitors. She hauled the hanging door sideways along its track, and led them inside.

  As she walked past the light switch she casually flicked it on. Both Maelgwn and Benitoe jumped as the lights came on, high and bright, as if by magic. Even Angharad was visibly startled. George couldn’t help teasing them about it.

  “Welcome to electricity,” he said.

  Maelgwn walked over to the switch, leading his pony, and moved it slowly up and down. Then Benitoe elbowed him aside and did the same.

  “Not magic?” Benitoe said, trying to get close to an unlit light bulb to see how it worked.

  “No, not at all,” George said. “Don’t stare at a lit bulb, you can hurt your eyes.”

  “Why can’t we do this, then?” Benitoe said, intently, his mind visibly working.

  George tried to explain. “It’s like turning on the water in the faucets in the huntsman’s house. It looks easy, but all that plumbing had to be laid and the balineum built to collect the water from the spring to ensure an even flow on demand.” He checked—Benitoe was following him. “It’s a similar kind of thing, electricity. You make it at one place and then distribute it. You’ll see tall poles holding wires that do it. It’s not hard to do, but to make it commonplace requires a lot of work. We’ve done that work, but you would have to start from scratch.”

  Benitoe was thoughtful. “Auntie will never believe this.”

  George had a vision of his aunt Maëlys's Golden Cockerel inn awash with electric lights.

  Gilbert Talbot was feeling a bit light-headed. His wife’s father had always seemed somewhat uncanny to him, and he believed George’s tales of what had happened to him, how could he not, but somehow nothing had quite driven it home to him until now. He wasn’t sure if it was their obvious unfamiliarity with electricity and their wonder at it, or maybe just the lutin.

  Gwyn and Angharad were polished creatures, more like foreign dignitaries than different beings altogether. You could forget that they weren’t human. But Benitoe was like nothing on earth. From a distance he had seemed first like a boy and then a small man or midget. But up close he was somehow just… other, a different nature. Like an alien, in some ways, in that he didn’t have an exact human counterpart, though appropriately dressed he would be inconspicuous. And yet his surprise over the lights was comical, and his intent inquisitiveness afterward very human indeed.

  This was his grandson’s family now, and one of his friends. What a very strange turn life had taken for him.

  He turned to George thoughtfully after they finished putting the horses up. “How about a ride in a car? I brought the old Suburban, you’d all fit. Do you have time for that?”

  That stopped him in his tracks, to Gilbert’s amusement.

  “No,” George said. “Too much, too quickly. I wonder if they’d like that some other time, though. Let’s spend the day visiting instead.”

  What’s a car, Maelgwn wondered, overhearing his foster-father’s conversation. He’d positioned himself to keep an eye on him, after the surprise of the stable lights. Benitoe’s questions about “how” didn’t interest him. He wanted to know “what” instead—what could you use it for, what could it do? Was it a threat? Clearly it wasn’t dangerous here, by the way all the humans behaved.

  Benitoe had told him Gilbert’s age while they settled their horses, and Maelgwn understood why he seemed shaken by it. The man was so young in years, younger even than Dyfnallt, who was just an ordinary grownup. So this is what it means, when Rhodri told me they don’t live very long.

  But he looks like an elder, and he feels like one, too. Best to treat him that way and forget about the years.

  He surveyed George and his grandfather standing together with an eye used to classifying animals and their behaviors in the wild. He could see where his foster-father got the breadth that made him stand out among the leaner fae, what he called his Norman blood. Was this a Norman, then? He stood tall, despite the white hairs, with the quiet manner of a horseman, something Maelgwn was beginning to recognize.

  And this white-haired woman was the Prince of Annwn’s daughter. He had to keep reminding himself of it. He could see a resemblance in her face, but her manner was nothing like Gwyn’s—open, friendly, warm. He’d bet that was her mother in her. Maybe that’s where his foster-father got his too-trusting nature. Gwyn wasn’t like this.

  I need to learn more from Gwyn when I see him, mealtimes. Learn more about the bearing of a prince.

  And I need to explore this place, with or without permissions, he thought. A shiver of premonition ran down his spine. What about that other way his foster-father mentioned, the one he came through in the beginning?

  He stood there quietly while the others discussed the proposed car ride and cast his way senses out. It wasn’t hard to find the other way, it didn’t seem to be hidden. He should remind his foster-father to change that.

  CHAPTER 8

  George straightened up and looked around the large room built back into the mountainside by the rock-wights. Things seemed to be in order. Rhodri and he had been unpacking books and instruments since early morning, while Rhian took charge of the Sunday hound exercise.

  George had arranged the books by subject matter on the shelves. They were mostly empty, but George expected them to fill rapidly as the rock-wights began requesting more.

  They could hear the sound of voices outside as the other fa
e arrived.

  “Here, come help me,” George said. He’d decided to throw a cloth over the instruments and their associated books to make a surprise gift of them at the end, and the two of them cloaked those items to keep them inconspicuously out of the way.

  “I still can’t believe you didn’t bring me anything,” Rhodri said. “Not even one exotic human instrument for my collection.”

  “Be careful what you wish for,” George said. He shuddered at what Rhodri might do with an accordion.

  He walked outside into the chilly sunlight. Gwyn and Ceridwen were standing by the table that Ceridwen had requested. It supported a small stack of paper held down by paperweights, and an ink well.

  *Greetings.*

  “They’re here,” George said.

  Seething Magma flowed out of the rock-wight’s private way from deep in the ridge. She moved to the side to make room for her sister, Ash Tremor, and her daughter, Cavern Wind. Largest and last, her mother Gravel emerged onto the mountain terrace and came forward to the front of the group.

  Gwyn walked past the table and bowed to Gravel.

  George stepped to his side to interpret as usual, but Gravel moved instead to the table. She opened a small cavity in her body, clearly formed for the purpose, and extruded a pseudopod to take out her own bottle. Sharpening the end of the pseudopod to form a flexible split point for holding ink, she printed, quite clearly, Welcome, Gwyn, Prince of Annwn.

  Gwyn smiled. “My lady, this is wonderful news. We have looked forward to speaking easily with you. Can you all read and write?”

  Gravel wrote, Ceridwen and her helpers are excellent teachers, though we are still students.

  “This makes the next step much easier between us.”

  He gestured at the large door into the hillside. “This station, which we mutually built, is open at all times to your delegates. The front part is a courier and guard post. We can use it for sending messages to each other.”

  Gravel wrote, We offer you a dozen ways in free gift. Six have already been made for you in Dyffryn Camarch. Six more are waiting for you to choose.

  George had been tickled to learn that the rock-wights used a base-twelve number system, not being constrained by man’s ten-finger bias. He’d have to remind them of the difference, or the books he was delivering would make little sense.

  Rhodri said, “We have the master-tokens for the Dyffryn Camarch ways already, my lord, as well as the Rescue Way, the one Mag made bringing Cloudie out of Dyffryn Camarch, which is extra. We’re finally connected directly between Madog’s old court and Daear Llosg—don’t need to go through Edgewood any more.”

  “We are grateful for these favors, my lady Gravel.” He waved George over to the entrance to the rock chamber. “We have friendship gifts for you, too. Please follow George.”

  The cavern carved by the rock-wights was roomy enough for the largest of them, even this group of four, though they would need to stretch their forms to bring them through the opening passage and its door.

  Mag went in first and joined George. He thought to her, why not make yourselves a little way, just between the inside and outside? No reason you have to go through doors, like us.

  *I will suggest that.*

  A moment later, she flowed over to an empty wall and George watched a way opening form in the wall, anchored on her location. Ash Tremor flowed out of it into the empty chamber.

  “What did you do?” Rhodri said. “Oh, I see. Good idea.” He automatically claimed it and left it open, adding it to the list of master-tokens he needed to make.

  After everyone was inside, the rock-wights occupied about a quarter of the space. The cavernous interior began to feel much less roomy. Well, they could always expand it back into the mountain, or even set up spaces connected only by ways, as long as they had air and light. The rock-wights understand that sort of cavern building better than I do, George thought.

  He walked over to the shelves, mostly bare despite the wagon-load of boxes they had just emptied. “I made an effort to bring you an introduction to some of subjects you might be interested in. These are books for students, many of them, but those students have a different background than you do. These areas of study are very large, and this is just a beginning.”

  “This first little group is the start of a section on languages. We speak many languages, where I’m from, and some of the languages that aren’t alive any more are still languages of scholarship. For now, we’ve provided English dictionaries and grammars, and dictionaries for the dead languages, Latin and Greek, which are used in science. You’ll need these tools to better understand what you read in other books.”

  He went through the basic categories he’d thought about a couple of weeks ago, sitting at Mariah Catlett’s computer. It felt very strange to him, the journey these books and their contents were making and the impact they would have.

  As he’d expected, the books on the earth sciences were of most immediate interest, though astronomy and cosmology ran a close second.

  “We distinguish between experimental sciences and observational ones,” he said. “Geology and astronomy are largely observational, for us. We don’t live long enough to make verifiable predictions. Other sciences, like chemistry, are areas where we can conduct experiments. I included some basic works on the scientific method, for you. But please remember, there are many limits to our knowledge, and the boundaries change and are rewritten with some frequency.”

  He paused for emphasis. “These are not the laws of the universe,” he warned, “only our current best guesses at them, subject to change.”

  *We feel the same limitations,* Seething Magma assured him.

  Ash Tremor asked, *I know you are not a specialist in these fields of study, grateful though we are for your guidance. After we digest these basics, would it be possible to meet the authors, or experts in these areas? I expect we will have many questions.*

  He said, for everyone’s benefit. “Ash Tremor wants to know if they can meet experts later.”

  Gwyn said, “We will do our best to further your interests. There will be complications, based on our current relationship with the human world, where George comes from.”

  George explained, “In other words, the humans don’t know about the fae, much less about you. We would need to find some method that didn’t jeopardize our mutual security. But I am sure something can be arranged.” He had a sudden vision of Ash Tremor tapping a computer keyboard with her pseudopods.

  “For now,” he said, “let’s get as much as we can from books, and I can answer lots of simple questions. I propose we leave a piece of paper out, and you can add books, authors, subjects that you read about that you want more of. Like a shopping list.”

  George continued. “Let’s talk for a moment about fragility. Our books are printed on paper, and while paper is durable, it isn’t strong. It will tear, as I’m sure you’ve already discovered. More subtly, it doesn’t do well in a moist environment, nor in a very dry one. These books can be replaced if damaged, but I don’t know what it’s like where you might be taking them. My experience with caverns is that the temperature may be constant, which is good, but the humidity can be high.”

  “You’re welcome to take these books with you,” he said, “but you might want to consider reading many of them here, so that several of you can have access to the same references at the same time.”

  He could tell by their postures and lack of response that they were probably discussing this among themselves.

  *We will consider,* Mag told him.

  Ash Tremor walked slowly down the bare cases, looking at the small set of books in each and taking one down every so often to look through it briefly. George was astonished at how adept she was in forming her pseudopods for the purpose, nimble and careful. The lack of visible eyes was disconcerting, but her huge rock body somehow conveyed an attitude of concentration. How well could she see, he wondered. Could she focus on finer objects than printed text, perhaps microscopi
cally? There was so much they didn’t know about each other yet.

  To the other three, he said, “Cavern Wind made a request last time we met, and we were very happy to accommodate it. We have a special gift—music.”

  Rhodri and he removed the cloths hiding the instruments and their associated books, and the rock-wights visibly leaned forward in interest.

  George did a brief introduction of each instrument, a repeat of what he’d done for Rhodri as they’d unpacked them. “We have a great many musical instruments that work on all sorts of principles, and I had to make an arbitrary selection. Some of these books will show you the possibilities but, for now, I tried to take into account those I thought would be easiest for you to use or to adapt.”

  “Some of my criteria in choosing were mechanical—I don’t know if you can blow a wind instrument, though we brought a few for you to try. Other issues were materials, both fragility and suitability. Instruments have resonating parts to help them amplify sound. Those are usually made of wood, and wood is like paper in its requirements for relatively stable temperature and humidity. Those not made of wood are often made of metal, but that’s mostly for wind or brass instruments, which I excluded for now.”

  He walked over to the xylophone, a medium-sized instrument with a four octave range, configured like a piano keyboard. “But there are some instruments that make a noise of themselves, when you strike them.” He picked up two mallets and played a simple tune, and the rock-wights froze in position, their attention riveted. “With an instrument like this, you can also play harmonies,” he said, and demonstrated. He set the hook. “In some of our cultures, they use resonant pieces of shaped rock instead of these metal plates. I’m sure you’ve encountered such rock before.”

  He handed the mallets to Cavern Wind, and she grasped them in separate pseudopods, striking one metal plate softly, then another. Rhodri joined her and picked up two more mallets. He started to teach her a tune.