What I saw took my breath again.
Remember that crack about Moria? What we’d stumbled into wasn’t too far off. A great, wide, echoing hallway lay before us, walls of silvered stone flying so, so high. Bright globes of light adorned the tops of mighty, graceful pillars running in twin rows down the centre of the hall. The ceiling, what I could see of it, was painted with murals the colour of moss and amethyst; long, darkened windows glittered sombrely in the pale, intense light.
‘Right,’ croaked Jay, and almost dropped Mother. ‘Uh. Where are we?’
‘If I’m not mistaken,’ I said, drifting a step or two farther into the hall, ‘we’re in what the non-magickers might call fairyland.’
4
‘Why do I feel like this isn’t going to be nearly as nice as it sounds?’ said Jay.
Fairyland does sound lovely, doesn’t it? The word conjures up sweet, diminutive creatures with gossamer wings, flower gowns and stars in their hair, living in buttercup houses and feasting upon ambrosia and honey.
Most of this is nonsense. Look farther back; listen to the tales the trees tell, that the lakes and the stones remember. The Fair Folk, as they are always called in their various ways, are as diverse — and, in their own ways, as destructive — as humankind. Tolkien made bright, noble heroes of them, and sometimes that is exactly what they are. Sometimes (as with humans), the fair façade hides a rotten core.
If one is unwise or unlucky enough to set foot in Fairyland, one ought to remember this simple principle: tread with infinite care.
Having feasted my eyes upon the seductive beauty of that echoing hall, I turned them, with less satisfaction, upon my mother. She, alone of the three of us, did not seem surprised. Nor did she seem either sufficiently awed or sufficiently wary for my taste. ‘Mother, dear,’ I said. ‘Would you like to tell us what we are doing here?’
She looked sideways at me, a shifty look if ever I saw one. ‘Why, we are here to explore.’
‘By accident or by design?’
She gave a short, huffy sigh, and looked up at the ceiling. ‘Always so suspicious.’
‘Rightly so, in this case?’
‘Yes, if you must know.’
‘I thought you were on Sheep Island looking for a lost gnome village.’
‘So we were. But the fact that we were doing so in Cumbria was not by chance. I’ve devoted years to digs across this county, hoping that, one day, I’d find a way back.’
‘A way back? You’ve been here before?’
‘When I was approximately your age.’
I gave a sigh, too, and sat down near to her. Jay stood looming over us, hands on his hips, glowering in a way that ought to have disconcerted my mother if she had an ounce of feeling about her.
She didn’t.
‘Where are we?’ I demanded of her.
‘We are in the halls of the Tylwyth Teg, specifically one of the kingdoms of the Yllanfalen,’ said my maddening parent. ‘At least, I hope we are. It looks right.’ She cast another glance up at the long windows, through which twilight and starlight softly shone. ‘More specifically than that I couldn’t yet say, but I hope we’re in Ygranyllon.’
‘Is Ygranyllon deserted?’ I said, casting a meaningful look at the echoing emptiness around us. ‘If so, I’d say the signs are favourable.’
‘Parts of it. Their monarchy fell when King Evelaern passed, and for reasons best known to themselves they have never chosen another. They live principally out in the valleys, now, and edifices such as this are used only for occasions of ceremony.’
I nodded along with growing impatience. ‘Very well; and why did you want to come back here?’
‘Those pipes,’ she said, looking suddenly at me. ‘Do you know anything about them, Cordelia?’
‘I know that they are classified as a Great Treasure, and that they are accounted too precious for the likes of me,’ I answered, feeling obscurely nettled. ‘But I received them from the hand — so to speak — of a unicorn, and since Milady has always been in favour of their remaining with me, I do not consider myself an unworthy guardian.’
‘I do not question your right of ownership,’ said my mother, rolling her eyes. ‘I asked if you know anything about them.’
I took a breath, counselling myself to patience. ‘I know that they saved our backsides from the lindworm just now, and from griffins before that. They’ve performed similarly at other times, in the past. But principally I use them to summon Addie.’
Her head tilted at that, questioning.
‘Adeline. The unicorn who gave them to me. She brings friends, sometimes, if I ask her to.’
‘Has it not occurred to you how absurdly rare it is to have the power to whistle up a unicorn? Or how absurdly blessed you are in possessing it?’
‘Frequently.’ And it had, but not so much in recent years. I suppose I had grown used to it, and I ought not have.
Mother cast another, long-suffering look towards the ceiling. ‘There is an old story in these parts,’ she began afresh. ‘About a pair of Treasures of extraordinary power, wrought by the hand of King Evelaern himself. One was a lyre, made from something they called moonsilver and strung with enchanted waters from the King’s own pools. And the other, Cordelia, was a set of syrinx pipes crafted from skysilver, said to have the power to whistle up the winds themselves.’
I blinked. ‘Uh… oh.’
‘Oh indeed. While I have no proof that the pipes which, so fortuitously, fell into your hands ten years ago, are the same as King Evelaern’s skysilver syrinx, I consider it highly probable. For the Tylwyth Teg were known for the close fellowship they enjoyed with the species we call unicorns.’
‘Uh.’
‘Furthermore,’ she said with a quelling look at me, ‘King Evelaern had a principle mount, long ago, or so the stories said. The unicorn of his particular choice was an ethereal creature, pale of hide and hoof, said to shine, at times, like skysilver itself. Now I grant you, white or silvery unicorns are hardly uncommon in folklore. Nonetheless, does not something about this description strike you as familiar?’
I could only nod wordlessly around the dropping sensation in my stomach.
Giddy gods, was Adeline used to hobnobbing with fae royalty? What in the world had she been doing all these years hanging around with me?
I cleared my dry throat. ‘She likes chips,’ I offered.
‘What.’
‘Adeline. If that’s any help.’
Mother levelled a cool look at me. ‘Does it appear likely to you that ancient legend and song might find occasion to mention the King’s Mount’s fondness for chips?’
I had to grin at that, inappropriate though it was. ‘If they didn’t, they should have.’
‘I will submit your corrections to the bards.’
‘Right, then,’ interrupted Jay. ‘If I’m following your line of thinking correctly, we’re here for the lyre.’
‘I caught a glimpse of it, I believe,’ said my mother, with a wistful note unusual for her. ‘Just the once. It looks like… well, if we are lucky, we will all find out what it looks like in some detail, soon enough.’
‘Why’s it so important?’ said Jay, rather sternly. ‘As grateful as I am for Ves’s pipes, as they have indeed saved our behinds, is this lyre worth the deaths of your friends?’
My mother’s eyes flashed fire at that. ‘If you imagine, Mr. Patel, that I do not bitterly regret those losses, or that I shall not continue to reproach myself for their deaths for as long as I shall live, you are much mistaken.’
Jay spoke in a softened tone. ‘I did not mean to imply any such thing.’
She clenched her jaw, and took a few moments to speak again. ‘We had no warning of the lindworm. We’ve never encountered such a beast anywhere in Cumbria before, we heard no rumours of such… it was a terrible, awful misfortune. But.’ Her voice hardened. ‘I shall not be deterred. If they died for this quest, then I must finish it. Anything less would be a disgrace.’
I wanted to point out t
hat she had very nearly honoured Hank’s memory by feeding us to a lindworm straight after, but something about my mother’s expression stopped me. Her eyes were too bright.
Delia Vesper never, ever cries.
I looked around at all the chill stone and glass surrounding us, at its undeniable beauty and its aching loneliness, and sighed. ‘I’ll say again, Mother, I wish you’d told me some of this on the phone. I would’ve brought Pup with me, too.’ Having no notion of what to expect when we tracked down my wayward parent, I had elected to leave my disgraceful Robin Goodfellow with Alban. I didn’t want her getting into the kind of trouble that might prove permanently detrimental to her health. But now I regretted it, for who better to help us track down a priceless mythical lyre?
I expected some enquiry as to the identity of Pup, and when none came I grew suspicious again. Just how much had Milady told her about my recent doings?
Why did the possibility aggravate me?
‘I was pressed for time,’ she said instead, and waved her arm at me — the one with a ragged, lividly cauterised stump where her hand used to be. ‘I was still bleeding.’
I shuddered.
‘Right,’ I said, climbing to my feet. I’d left my satchel behind, too, for similar reasons, and in contrast I was glad of it, for I’d probably have fallen on and broken half the contents by now. I’d brought only a small belt-bag with me, in which I’d stashed my Sunstone Wand, and a few of those restorative phials and such that Rob had given me prior to our adventure into Farringale. I extracted one, a delicate, curved glass bottle filled with a lazily swirling greenish liquid, and gave it to my mother. ‘Get that down you,’ I instructed. ‘Ophelia made it, and she’s our best concoctionist. It should set you up for a bit of proper, old-fashioned questing.’
Mother tossed back the elixir, grimacing at its flavour. ‘I never understand why these miraculous potions cannot also taste halfway decent.’
‘Grumble, grumble. How do you feel?’
‘About half alive, which is an improvement.’
‘Super. As a note to the group, I’ve got only one more of those, so let’s not get ourselves mostly-deaded, hm?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Jay gave me a tiny salute. ‘What’s our inventory otherwise?’
‘Not much else,’ I said.
He did that thing with his eyebrows, the sceptical/long-suffering thing. ‘Honestly. You haul half the contents of Home around for almost every assignment we’ve been on — except this one, when we actually need it?’
‘I thought we were just paying a visit to my mother. Tea and a cosy chat, remember? Did you bring anything useful with you?’
‘Wand.’
‘Me too.’
‘And… that’s it.’ He grinned sheepishly. ‘I always assume you’ve got everything.’
‘Ah well. Whatever we can’t manage to accomplish with two Wands between us is probably not worth doing.’
‘Not to mention,’ said Mother, hauling herself awkwardly to her feet, ‘King Evelaern’s skysilver pipes. Which,’ she added, frowning at me, ‘you appear to have been keeping in your bra.’
‘They’ve been safe there,’ I said, rather lamely.
‘They should be displayed in splendour and security at the House.’
‘But then they wouldn’t be doing anyone any good.’
‘They would be doing the Society a great deal of good.’
‘And I’d probably be dead by now.’
‘Doubtful. Your reliance on those pipes makes you reckless. You’d be less so, if you didn’t have a Great Treasure to get you out of trouble.’
I gave her a sideways look of my own. ‘It’s been six years since we last spoke, Mother. How do you know?’
She looked, I thought, faintly sheepish herself, and gave a stamp with one booted foot. ‘Hmph. Let’s get on, shall we? Before that lindworm comes back for another helping.’
5
In all my decade at the Society, I don’t think I’ve ever been on a proper, old-fashioned hero quest before. Deserted halls! Monsters! An artefact of great power!
Course, when Frodo and Sam set out to destroy the ring, they numbered nine, and one of them was some kind of a demigod. In our Quest for the Lyre we numbered but three, and one of us was half-dead and missing body parts.
At least we weren’t heading into Mordor.
Hopefully.
‘Right, then,’ I said, wand and pipes at the ready. ‘Where’s the lyre?’
‘Good question,’ said mother.
‘I thought you said you’d seen them?’
‘Years ago, and the circumstances were unusual.’
‘Namely?’
‘Well.’ Mother seemed absorbed in the study of her right toe. ‘The Yllanfalen hold great parties.’
‘Parties.’ I think my eyebrows did that sceptical-Jay thing. ‘Did I hear that right?’
‘Last time I set foot in these halls, they were celebrating some kind of summer festival. Music, feasting, etc. A man with eyes like spun clouds was playing the most extraordinary lyre…’ Mother trailed off, apparently lost in memory.
I waited.
‘That music,’ said Mother at last. ‘I’ve never heard its like, before or since. It could move the world.’ She gave a tiny smile, and added, ‘The lyre-player wasn’t half bad either.’
‘Mother.’
‘Sorry. Well, I may have somewhat over imbibed on the ambrosia and nectar, and fallen asleep under a table somewhere. When I woke, everyone was gone. In fact, the place was pristine — you wouldn’t think hundreds of fae had spent the night there in high revelry. All that was left was me, the wind, and the headache from hell.’
‘You aren’t telling me you’ve spent, what, two decades trying to find your way back to a party.’
‘Three,’ said Mother.
‘Three decades?’
‘A little more, even.’
‘For a party?’
She disconcerted me by drawing her arm out of her coat and clinically inspecting the stump where her hand once was. ‘It was a bit more important than that.’
Jay looked hard at my mother, and then, rather narrowly, at me.
‘What?’ I said to him.
‘Nothing. So this party. Whereabouts was it, exactly? Is this the same place?’
‘How should I know?’ said Mother.
‘As the only one of the three of us who’s set foot in here before—’
‘Once, thirty years ago. Actually no, that’s not quite true. I found another portal this one other time, but it led into some kind of mausoleum or something and there were no other exits. So, close enough.’
‘Well,’ I said, suppressing a sigh. ‘We can go looking for the lyre, or we can go looking for the lyre-player.’
Mother looked quickly at me.
‘What? People are probably going to be easier to track down than an inanimate object of unknown location. And since we’re here with little equipment and no food, finding something resembling civilisation might not be a bad idea anyway.’
‘You said they live out in the valleys?’ Jay said.
‘Typically,’ said Mother.
‘If these buildings are still used for ceremonies, the revellers probably aren’t all that far away. Let’s find a way out.’ Jay marched off with that lovely, purposeful stride of his.
‘And if we do find them?’ my mother called, hastening after him. ‘What then? Greetings, fair folk, we come to pinch your lyre, would you mind just handing it over?’
‘Who said anything about pinching it?’ Jay threw over his shoulder. ‘We’ll take a look at it, they’ll tell us this particular model is not for sale, and we’ll go home.’
I trotted after the pair of them. ‘I’m not sure that’s going to satisfy Mum,’ I called.
‘It will have to.’
I’d love to say that we wandered up and down dale (or hallway, in this instance), and happened conveniently upon a faerie town in no time at all. But when is life ever anything less than sup
remely complicated? We wandered and we wandered and we turned ourselves in circles. I can’t say I disliked this entirely, for wherever it was we’d got to was spectacularly beautiful. I could well believe it to have been a royal palace at one time, for it had all the necessary splendour, and the kind of ethereal glory one sees only in faerie halls. Windows twinkled like frosted starlight; bejewelled leaves on airy vines twined in vivid lustre around slender white pillars, and carpeted the floor; one chamber was devoted entirely to a shallow, serene pool of twilight-blue water, its bed littered with delicate, pearly shells.
What we never found, however, included such ordinary arrangements as, say, kitchens. Either the Yllanfalen did not eat (which, by my mother’s accounts of revelry, seemed unlikely), or such mundanities were banished to the lower levels, with the storerooms. None of us wanted to go down there again, if we did not have to.
We didn’t find a way out, either. The nearest thing to it was a turret, high up in the northwest corner (so Jay said, I have no idea how he could tell). We toiled up spiralling stairs and came out at last into fresh, balmy air, all silvered, somehow, and colder than it ought by right to be. Before us lay valleys and hills, as my mother had said, but nothing so ordinary would do for a Faerie Dell. Starry meadows awaited us, strewn with flowers; fronded trees hung with clear lights gathered in copses here and there; and the sky had a tinge of green to it, like cool jade.
‘Nice,’ said Jay.
‘Understatement of the century,’ said I.
He shrugged. ‘My eyes have been out on stalks for hours. I’m jaded.’
I turned about, and spotted, in the distance, a scant shadow on the horizon that might have been a town. ‘People, ahoy!’ I said, and pointed.
‘Maybe.’ Jay scrutinised the view. ‘Want to help me shift some chairs up here?’
‘Up those stairs? Not really.’ The steps in question were narrow, cramped and twirly.
‘Come on.’ Jay took my arm and unceremoniously towed me after him.
‘Be right back, Mother,’ I said with a sigh.
Ten minutes and quite a bit of swearing later, we had three freshly-witched chairs assembled at the top of the turret. They weren’t our first choices. When flying, it’s always best to choose big, solid specimens if you can, with arms to cling to. These were delicate, with narrow seats and spindly legs. Decorative but deadly.
Music and Misadventure Page 3