by Ramy Vance
“Ready?” I said, looking out the window at the continuous snowfall. It was looking pretty ominous out there.
“How can one ever be ready to meet their hero?” She offered me her hand.
Taking it, the two of us walked downstairs to what I was sure was going to be an extremely boring lecture.
For me, at least.
↔
The lecture hall was designed for about forty people, and given that it was literally just Deirdre, Remi, Freol, Jack and me, the room felt empty. Not that that deterred Orange’s enthusiasm any. He clapped as we entered, gesturing for us all to sit at the front of the room.
Jack the giant sat in the center, which was a good thing. His massive stature blocked anyone on the stage from actually seeing how empty the room was. Thank the GoneGods for big giants and small miracles.
With us seated, Orange skipped to a side door and opened it. The blind girl from earlier, guided by her black dog, walked in and made her way to the stage. Once she was seated, she turned her head toward us, giving us more of her left ear than her eyes. “Today we have the rare and long overdue pleasure of righting great wrongs once done. Too long have myths been told with human bias, and with the help of our guest of honor, we will be able to set the record straight. But you don’t want to hear that from me, do you?”
Remi cupped his hand over his mouth and said in an exaggerated tone, “Bring out the End.”
Laughter sounded around the room as Sarah smiled. “Very well, then. Without further ado, I present to you: Oighrig End.”
Everyone clapped as a balding man with a terrible comb over, an outdated tweed blazer and black jeans walked onto the stage. Based on how loudly Deirdre clapped, I could only assume that was Oighrig End.
↔
Oighrig End sat on the other chair, and from the coy smile he wore, I could tell he was basking in the applause. I could also tell from how he scanned the empty room that he was disappointed to be performing for such a small audience.
Once the adulation died away (which boiled down to the moment Deirdre stopped clapping, as the others had stopped as soon as he’d been seated), he raised a hand and said, “Ciamar a tha a h-uile duine?”
Humph. Scottish Gaelic for “How is everyone doing?” Granted, my homeland was a hotspot for fae activity, but it was still strange he didn’t say it in Elvish.
The audience, however, didn’t find it strange because they all laughed, responding with “Iontach.” I guessed I missed some inside joke.
Deirdre, seeing that I wasn’t laughing, leaned in close and said in an exuberant whisper, loud enough for everyone to hear, “It means ‘wonderful’ in Irish. It is funny because he is using the mortal dialects of the lands from which we hail. Very clever, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” I whispered, wondering if everyone could also hear my cheeks boiling over into a blush. “Now shush.”
Oighrig End gave me a curious look. “A new fan, I see. Human, too. How rare.”
“Not that rare,” Remi said, and there was more laughter.
“Indeed. First of all, welcome, and thank you for braving this terrible storm. I hear we’re expecting another ten inches this evening. I hope the true guest of honor arrived unimpeded … the goose.”
More laughter. When I didn’t laugh again, Deirdre whisper-shouted, “Goose is the traditional celebratory bird from the United Kingdom. It shall be our meal tonight.”
“First of all,” I whispered back, “I know. I’m Scottish. Secondly, please stop explaining things to me.”
“Oh,” Oighrig End said, pointing at Deirdre, “I don’t know if you need be so shy, dear. This is an intimate setting, and the cradle-robber is only helping.”
At the words “cradle-robber,” everyone chuckled. Everyone except Deirdre and me, who kept our mouths shut. This time Deirdre didn’t try to explain the joke—not that I needed her to. Changelings were famous for infiltrating enemy camps by kidnapping children and using magic to change their appearance to look like the child they’d taken.
Deirdre’s non-reaction meant his distasteful joke had hurt her feelings. Deirdre might once have been a powerful warrior for the UnSeelie Court, but now she was a kind, gentle creature who could no more hurt an ant than a child.
The only consolation prize for Oighrig End’s joke was that the other fae only gave him a polite chuckle, evidently not finding the joke funny, either.
I mentally assigned a strike one in Oighrig End’s column.
If Oighrig End thought his joke was distasteful, he made no show of it. Instead, he pulled out some cue cards from his inner jacket pocket and said, “Long has it been that history has been written by humans. And, as sad and confusing as the gods’ departure may be, one boon has come from their absence: We finally get a chance to set the record straight.”
At this, everyone clapped. Even Deirdre, her exuberance returned. Evidently she had forgiven this man much faster than I could.
That was part of what made her so wonderful.
“How sneaky it is of us humans”—Oighrig put a hand on his chest—“to praise the conniving miller’s daughter when she snuck into Rumpelstiltskin’s home to steal his name. What of Hansel and Gretel, and how they burned the poor witch to death after trespassing onto her lands? And don’t even get me started on that bitch Little Red Riding Hood …”
Everyone laughed, and even though I didn’t find that comment funny (after all, wasn’t Little Red Riding Hood just defending herself? And how often did I play wolf when I was a vampire?), I forced a fake laugh. Deirdre nodded approvingly.
“And so, in an effort to apologize for my species’ unfairness, I humbly offer my services to the Other communities, choosing to examine these stories and tell them as they truly happened.”
He paused expectantly, waiting for more claps, and much to my surprise, the only one who did was Deirdre. Everyone else was surprisingly quiet. More pointedly, Sarah, who had been smiling earlier, pursed her lips in displeasure. I had no idea what had upset the halfling, and from the way Deirdre behaved, neither did she.
This rattled Oighrig End, who flipped through some cue cards before saying, “Ahh, yes … the latest myth I am exploring is that of Sinbad and the horrid crime he committed against—”
“Arabian mythology,” Remi interrupted. “If you don’t mind, we are all fae or friends of fae here. Can we hear those stories instead?”
Oighrig End’s eyes widened before he nodded. “I haven’t prepared, and I fear my memory isn’t what it once was, but if you are willing to indulge a few plot holes, as it were, then yes. Which story or stories did you have in mind?”
“Let us aim high. Tell us of the Red Cross Knight and his escapades within the annals of Spencer’s Faerie Queen.” There were several nods, and Jack the giant put his hands together in what sounded more like thunder than claps.
“Indeed, one of the most famous stories. Which part shall we explore?”
“Well,” Sarah cut in, “since we’re talking about The Faerie Queen, I was curious about Archimago. He was a human, I believe.”
“He was indeed,” Oighrig End said. “A sorcerer of such infamy and trickery that it is quite literally a crime he is no longer with us so that we may not bestow modern justice on him.”
“Hear, hear,” Orange said.
I looked over at Deirdre, who solemnly nodded in agreement. This Archimago was one evil human sorcerer, and even though every wrong he did to the fae world was centuries ago, I guess they all still held a grudge.
“He was one of the few humans who could freely travel the human world, as well as the lands of the Seelie and UnSeelie Courts,” Oighrig End said.
“And he was a rabble rouser who tried to start a war between the fae and human worlds,” Remi added.
“Ahh,” Oighrig End said, wagging a finger in a condescending manner, “indeed he did. Both humans and fae wrote this, but I fear both may have gotten it wrong. Understandable, really: among the handful of traits fae and humans share,
bias is one of them,” he said, arrogantly looking at his nails. “I propose that Archimago is a far more complex character than how he is portrayed in myth and history. A unifying force who wanted to marry the two worlds, not divide them.”
“That sounds like a myth, my dear Professor End,” Remi said, to the delight of the others.
“Perhaps, but I will make the argument nonetheless in my latest book.” He set a hand by his mouth and said in a stage whisper, “Shameless book plug.”
No one laughed, and an awkward silence filled the room. Sarah cleared her throat. “Speaking of dividing worlds, I often wondered about Archimago and his role in King Orfeo’s story. After all, the fae version tells a different story than the human one.”
Oighrig End clapped his hands. “That is a myth I hold dear to my heart. In it, King Orfeo traversed the lands of the UnSeelie Court to rescue his wife Heurodis from the evil Elf King, who had kidnapped her.”
“Evil?” Sarah said.
“Well, that is the human interpretation. But one can see their point: the Elf King did lure Orfeo’s wife away from the mortal lands. From Orfeo’s perspective, he kidnapped her. A vile act.”
“No,” Deirdre said, “they were in love.”
“Ahh yes, that is what the UnSeelie Court historian would have you believe. I, on the other hand, have interviewed many on the subject, and it seems this is one case where the humans got it right: the Elf King did kidnap Orfeo’s wife Heurodis. And King Orfeo did risk all to win her back. As for your comment, Sarah, in all the pages written by human or fae, there is no mention of Archimago.”
“True, but I believe this might be an oversight. After all, it is not easy for a human to enter the fae world. King Orfeo must have been a sorcerer in his own right to be able to even enter the Elf King’s lands.”
“Good point, young lady,” Remi chimed in. “We know this legend to be true … parts of it, at least. How could a human enter the UnSeelie Court if not by his own power, or perhaps the power of another such as the Archimago? As I see it, either King Orfeo was Archimago, or Archimago helped him enter to cause strife between the two worlds. I don’t suppose you have any insight into the myth? Or perhaps you never considered this before.” Now it was Remi’s turn to be condescending.
“Well, I …” Oighrig End’s face reddened as he flipped through his notes. He was visibly flustered by Remi’s and Sarah’s questions, but there was something more than annoyance in his demeanor. He was also angry. Perhaps at himself, for not knowing the answer. Or perhaps at them, for challenging him. Either way, the human professor did little to hide his frustration.
Orange, sensing the shift in mood, walked to the stage. “Now, now, let’s not press our guest. As knowledgeable as he is, he certainly can’t know all the answers.”
“Actually,” Oighrig said, waving Orange away, “I have investigated this one in great detail.”
“You have?” the ugly elf said, clearly impressed by the human revisionist historian.
“I have. In fact, this very myth features heavily in my next book. To answer Remi’s question, all my research indicates two things. One,”—he held up a finger in Remi’s direction—“King Orfeo’s love for Heurodis was so complete that his heart acted as a compass—or perhaps the better word is a magnet—that guided him to her. Two, when his heart found the border between the UnSeelie Court and the mortal realm, a goblin by the name of Redcap, aided by his trow lover, let the human king in. Why? No one is sure, other than to say that goblins and trow are evil little buggers. Are they not?”
He pointed at Jarvis. I’ve met trows before—they have an unhealthy temper. Well, unhealthy for the person they’re angry at. But much to this trow’s credit, he didn’t react. He simply stared at the professor with calm, even eyes.
Oighrig End sighed. “I fear, my fae brethren, that this is one instance where human history got it right. The Elf King really did kidnap Orfeo’s wife, and the human king really did risk much to save his love.”
“But—” started Sarah.
“I know, I know,” Oighrig End said. “The UnSeelie Court would have you believe that the Elf King loved Heurodis, and that it was King Orfeo who wronged the Elf King by sneaking into his lands and kidnapping her. But the thing about the fae of the UnSeelie Court is: they like to play the victim, and have no qualms about lying. My research, and the inconsistent interviews I have had with several UnSeelie Court members who were part of the Elf King’s court, tells me that the humans got it right.
“Furthermore, the myth of King Orfeo and the Elf King does not end there. It seems that the Elf King was so angered by King Orfeo’s insult—not that unkidnapping one’s wife should be taken as an insult—that he single-handedly attacked King Orfeo’s castle. Legend says he wiped out every last man, woman and child residing there before facing off against the human king. There was a great sword fight between them, and in the end, King Orfeo dispatched the Elf King with a mighty blow, felling the Elf King before dying from his own wounds.” Oighrig End swung an imaginary sword as he spoke.
“But alas,” Professor End continued after his little air battle had ended, “that is the legend. Most likely the Elf King was exhausted, perhaps wounded after having literally taken down a human army by himself, and King Orfeo was easy prey.” Oighrig looked around at the audience who, if they were enjoying this lecture, didn’t really make any indication one way or another.
Oighrig End, unfazed by their lack of reaction, smiled. “Again, this will all be in my next book. I do hope you will all purchase it. And tweet about it. Can’t have a successful book in this day and age without digital birds tweeting its praise.”
Festivities? I’d Rather Sleep
I was right about one thing: the rest of the talk did turn into a boring lecture about fae, myths and revisions. I did everything in my power not to fall asleep, and I was so not listening that I didn’t even realize when it was over.
Luckily, everyone stood up to shake Oighrig End’s hand, and I took it as my cue to do the same.
Orange jumped on the stage and said in his overexcited way, “OK, time to retire for a quick rest before dinner. See you all at eight. And a word of caution: seems the storm has gotten worse, so no going outside. We have enough food to survive for a fortnight, so stay indoors. Stay safe.”
I didn’t need to be told twice, and was already at the door before he said “eight.” I turned to see where Deirdre was—at the front, shaking Oighrig’s hand—and opting not to wait for her, I decided to go upstairs … but not before I saw Jack giving me one hell of a dirty look.
He probably saw how uninterested I was in the whole thing. Ignoring the giant, I went to my room.
↔
An hour later, Deirdre walked in my room and I could see the mixed look of adulation and grief. She had met her hero, and he had insulted her. What’s more, he had insulted her kind when he said that members of the UnSeelie Court were seasoned liars.
This is why you should never meet your heroes.
“Dinner is in a few minutes,” she said in a deflated voice.
“I know,” I said. “I think I’m going to sit this one out.”
She nodded, and instead of arguing with me as I expected, she turned toward the door.
“Deirdre,” I called after her.
She paused at my door’s threshold.
“Did you know the Elf King?”
She shook her head. “He ruled over one of the UnSeelie Court kingdoms, but not mine. Still, his story is well known, and although he was not my king, I would have gladly travelled to his lands to fight by his side, to aid him in conquering the mortal realms. That was how terrible the human’s crime was.”
“But you didn’t,” I said. “Why?”
“Because in the end, the dark elf was a wise king. He would not let his desire for revenge draw legions of fae into war. He faced his enemies alone … and perished.”
“Like Oighrig said—died by King Orfeo’s sword?”
“That i
s the human version of it, but we have a different story. One provided by Ankou himself.”
“Ankou?”
“He is our harbinger of death, bearing witness to the end of all fae.”
“Grim Reaper, fae style.”
Deirdre narrowed her eyes in confusion.
“Never mind,” I said. “Go on.”
“Ankou tells us that the Elf King killed them all and then walked into his own death rather than draw us into war. That is the story I have been told, at least.”
“Wise.”
“Indeed,” Deirdre said in a distant voice.
“You know that you are one of the best people I’ve ever met,” I said, out-of-blueish. “And I’ve met a few. Ate a few, too.”
Deirdre’s eyes widened in surprise before softening with a smile.
“He’s wrong, you know. Oighrig End. Wrong about you. You are not a liar, and I’ve never seen you play the victim. And if the other members of the UnSeelie Court are half of who you are, he’s wrong about them, too.”
Deirdre nodded, her gaze turning away from me in humility before she leapt (and I mean leapt) from my door’s threshold to where I was lying on my bed, giving me the biggest hug.
Thankfully it was a short one, because she was literally suffocating me. “I’ll bring you a plate of food,” she said before skipping out of the room.
Alone, I looked at the clock. Ten to eight, which sounded about right for a girl in the prime of her life to go to bed. I turned off the lights and waited for the quiet bliss of sleep.
If I had known what waited for me on the other side of the veil, I would have done everything in my power to stay awake.
Nightmares and Murders
I’ve been around for a long time and had my share of bone-shattering nightmares. On more than one occasion I’ve woken up in a sweat, absolutely positive that what I dreamed had actually happened. Thing is, if you’ve done all the bad that I have, nightmares are something you get used to.