Smells Like Finn Spirit

by Randy Henderson

  I sighed, and raised my hands in a show of peace. “We come as allies to the Silver.”

  “Set you down then all weapons,” the knight replied.

  I looked at Dawn. “I think he means Cotten again.”

  Dawn frowned, but set the guitar down and said to the knight, “I’ll tell you what I told the other guys: if you damage her, you’ll regret it.”

  One of the knights stepped in from the side and snatched up the instrument, then returned to his position. The first knight said, “You are here in violation of the PAX, bearing illegal weapons. State your names and purpose, or face immediate penalty.”

  Déjà vu.

  “I’m Phinaeus Gramaraye,” I said. “You might know me from such movies as Saving the Elwha Brightbloods, or Host to Alynon Infedriel. And this is my lovely partner, Dawn ‘boom bard’ Taylor.”

  The knight frowned as I spoke, then said, “You bear the spirit of Alynon Infedriel?”

  “Yes. Unless you’re one of the many beings he’s managed to annoy, in which case, maybe?”

  *Nice,* Alynon muttered. *Thanks.*

  A smile quirked up the corner of the knight’s mouth before he restored his stern glower. “You know him well indeed. Follow us, and do not stray.”

  He began marching back toward the castle, and I felt a tug on my collar, forcing me to follow.

  Alynon sighed in my head. *It’s not too late to try your skeleton key and run.*

  My skeleton key! I felt like an idiot. I hadn’t even thought about using it in the Forest of Shadows, again conditioned by all my years of exile to operate on will alone here.

  But fleeing would get us, literally, nowhere.

  Yeah, I responded. I think it is too late, actually.

  I took Dawn’s hand as we continued moving in the direction of the castle walls. The walls were made of silver stone, the bright, uneven surface traced through with darker veins of tarnished silver. And before the walls ran a reflecting pool with a large star-shaped platform at its center, out of which rose a golden crystal-like monument. It took me a second to recognize it as the monument from the Justice League’s Hall of Justice.

  My eyebrows rose, as did my hopes. Why is there a Justice League symbol here? I asked Alynon. I thought the Silver Court was modeled more on Camelot than anything.

  *Insomuch as my father’s core persona is King Arthur in his prime, our Court has been shaped thus,* Alynon replied, his tone subdued, distracted. *But this is the Demesne of justice and wisdom, and you will find many manifestations of those ideals here, not just the one.*

  Something occurred to me that never had before. If you’re the son of Arthur, your core persona isn’t Mordred is it? I asked.

  *No,* Alynon said, without elaborating.

  Well, that was good at least. So there’s a chance your father will listen to us?

  Alynon was silent a second then said, *Let us but hope my father is in a listening mood, and that my brother is away chasing some sport.*

  You think your brother wouldn’t help us?

  *I think my brother would see us in chains. His grievance was key in my leaving, and ever was my brother one to remember a wound and the one who gave it.*

  Shazbot.

  “There’s no gates or anything,” Dawn said as we appeared to be walking right for the unbroken wall.

  “No,” I confirmed. “You know those deep-sea fish that have the little glowy ball things floating off their head that they use to lure in prey?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What you’re seeing is kind of like that glowy ball thing. It’s what the Silver Court projects as a result of its existence. But the real Silver Court is hidden, like the giant fish.”

  “So, we’re about to be eaten?” Dawn asked.

  “Hopefully not,” I replied.

  As we approached the wall, a blue light flickered to life above our heads where four stones intersected, and then shot out along stone seams to form a rough arch. With a brief flash, the stones inside the arch disappeared, and what looked like a throne chamber became visible on the other side.

  *No small talk, no foreplay, just right to the being screwed,* Alynon thought.

  Hey, I thought back. At least try to be optimistic. They might be happy to see you after all this time. You did help save them from a Shadows conspiracy, after all.

  *No, you uncovered the conspiracy. I nearly defected to the Shadows to be free of you.*

  I was trying to be generous, I thought back. I know how hard it can be to deal with family after a long absence. Especially when you left under a dark cloud.

  *La, but that I left under a mushroom cloud,* Alynon replied as we were led through the gateway.

  The chamber looked like Camelot on Krypton. Great crystal columns supported the vaulted ceiling, light radiating from them, and braziers spaced around the room held glowing flower-like crystal formations. Blue and silver tapestries hung at intervals from the walls, depicting scenes much like those in the Shadows tapestries. And across every visible surface of the floor, the walls, the ceiling, the columns, fine silver script ran in branches like interwoven lightning, light pulsing along the script and changing it in chains and cascades, as if a million possibilities were being explored and updated and recorded in a cross between Elvish script and flow charts.

  There were no golf trophies here, instead owls roosted atop pillars and along a ledge that circled the room, their eyes all turning to fix on us as we entered. I heard a familiar metallic whirring and whistling, and looked up to our left to spot Bubo, the golden owl, flapping his wings at us.

  From the archway where we entered, it was a straight march along a blue and silver carpet to the foot of the dais on which sat two male Fey, and one lady Fey.

  The center Fey had to be Arthur, for above his throne a silver grail floated in a halo of golden light, rotating slowly. He matched the image of Fey royalty I’d imagined as a young man, dressed in chain over a blue shirt and wrapped in a red and gold cloak, and wearing a woven silver crown. He looked part Arthurian legend, part Tuatha Dé Danann, nobility and grace exuding from his features, though he sat now looking somewhat bored and lost in his own thoughts.

  To his left sat a Fey Lady who I guessed was queen, her appearance clearly Egyptian. A loose red linen dress left her bronze shoulders bare, a shawl of green feathers hung from her arms, and a gorgerine of red, black, and turquoise stones covered her chest. A silver headband that was a thinner version of the king’s crown held a single ostrich feather, standing straight up. The goddess Ma’at, goddess of justice.

  And to the king’s right sat a haughty-looking young man, a loose white robe held over one shoulder by a brooch leaving his well-muscled arms and chest exposed. Between his perfect physique, olive skin, sharp nose, and the crown of silver laurel leaves holding back his wavy brown hair, I would have guessed him a Greek god, and the fact that he sat plucking casually at a lyre confirmed him as almost certainly an Apollo. His apparent disinterest in us was betrayed by the rigid tension that radiated from his body. He appeared ready to leap from his seat.

  A fourth Fey stood before the dais, a white-haired man in voluminous blue robes that I guessed was some version of Merlin. As we approached, he announced, “Phinaeus Gramaraye, Dawn Boom Bard Taylor, and Alynon Infedriel. Welcome you to the Silver Court. You face Inerius te’Arthur, king of the Silver Court, forger of the Great Truce, shining hand of Justice. His Queen, Nyria te’Ma’at, fourth bonded to Arthur in time and first in the light of his eyes. And William te’Apollo, First Prince of the Demesne, first heir to the throne, and voice for the king.”

  Shazballs.

  I gave an awkward bow, and said, “An honor, your majesties.”

  The queen gave a small, gracious nod of her head. The king frowned, and I was reminded of my own father’s expression when his confusion was upon him.

  *Oh no,* Alynon said quietly in my head.

  Please not oh no, I thought back.

  Apollo leaned forward in his chair. “I
n what way, honor?” he demanded.

  “Uh,” I said, and mentally rolled a 1 on eloquence.

  Dawn said, “An honor to meet such gracious and polite royalty, of course.”

  The queen laughed. “Well said. Apollo, be not rude.”

  Apollo gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “These are not ambassadors or allies, Nyria, they are invaders bearing with them one who has brought naught but pain to this court.”

  Care to say anything? I asked. We could use some help here.

  Alynon remained silent, and I began to fear he would remain so—a fear I never thought to have—when he finally said in a soft voice, *Ask what happened with Velorain. Why did he not marry her? Why did he not keep her safe?*

  I frowned, but said, “Alynon would like to know what happened with Velorain, why you didn’t marry her?”

  Apollo stiffened. “Velorain te’Uriel left of her own choice. I am convinced that her entire purpose here was to lure my foolish brother into betrayal, and to make me appear equally the fool.”

  *Tell him that jealousy ill suits him.*

  Dude, I really don’t think—

  *If you want me to speak, then repeat what I say, or don’t ask at all.*

  “Uh, Prince Apollo, Alynon says that jealousy ill suits you.”

  Apollo stared at me a second in surprise, then laughed. “Jealousy? May well as claim I envy the lowest beast of your realm. What cause, jealousy, when I am me, and he is but a disgraced and displaced voice?”

  *Because Velorain loved me. And until my brother was so quick to believe the worst in me, I loved him. Nobody made a fool of Apollo but Apollo.*

  I repeated Alynon’s words, and Apollo shook his head, sinking back into the chair. “Ever you spoke of love as if it were some power that erased all reason or reality, that it was the highest form of good. Yet it was in the name of your love that you betrayed me, our father, our Demesne, and Velorain. In the end, you loved only yourself.”

  Alynon snorted in my head. *As if anyone could love themselves more than him,* he said.

  “As if—” I began.

  *Don’t repeat that!* Alynon said. *Are you addlepated?*

  Well excuse me! How am I supposed to tell the difference?

  Alynon sighed. *Say this: I was framed by the Shadows. The real betrayal was how easily you believed their lies. But I forgive you.*

  I took a deep breath, and repeated Alynon’s words.

  “Framed by the Shadows you now claim?” Apollo asked. “Deception ever came easily to you. It is no wonder that you offered to defect to the Shadows. And now you would betray them as you betrayed us.” He shook his head. “Careful brother. You shall soon run out of Demesnes to betray.”

  *Forget it,* Alynon said. *He is so full of himself, there is room for naught else, especially reason.*

  This is kind of important. Can’t you just be nice and make up long enough for us to rescue Fatima and get us out of here? If not for me, then so we can stop whatever the Shadows and my grandfather are up to?

  *La, of course. I’ll just convince him the way you convinced Mort.*

  I winced. Okay, maybe we were screwed.

  Still, I had to try.

  “Look,” I said, raising my hands. “I’m sorry, Prince Apollo. Obviously, you and your brother have some bad blood, or, uh, bad bright? And while I am happy to be your go-between—I owe him that much—we really just want to leave.” I looked to the king and queen. “We only came because our two worlds are in danger.”

  The king squinted at me, then shrank back and shook his head violently as though I’d dared him to lick the men’s toilet in a troll high school on Taco Tuesday.

  *Oh, Father,* Alynon said.

  What’s going on?

  *He is unstable. He must have branched again after I left, and given too much—* Alynon fell silent.

  The queen prompted, “Of what danger do you speak?”

  I blinked, and looked from the king to her.

  “The, uh, Shadows are being used by some other Demesne, and you are being played by them both, and it is all tied to some plot by arcana extremists to use exiled spirits as a weapon.”

  Apollo rolled his eyes. “Your words are so vague as to be useless. As well say the ARC wishes more magic. Ever there have been plots and pacts, and plans for war.”

  “This is different,” I said. “Whoever tried to pit your Demesne against the Shadows—the plot that your sister Athena died to help expose—they’re still manipulating the Shadows. The Shadows think they are merely playing along, but—”

  “Athena died, and yet you and my brother escaped unharmed,” Apollo said. “And as reward was your own brother installed Vice-Archon among our vassals. In truth, I see as much reason to suspect you as the Shadows. For wherever you go, trouble follows, and few seem to benefit but yourself.”

  Now he really does sound like Mort, I thought angrily.

  But part of me also heard something my mother used to say: “When one person says you are wrong, you must weigh the value of their opinion. When everyone says you’re wrong, you must weigh the value of your own.”

  If everyone I knew felt in some way or another that I had made their lives worse these past few months—

  *Do not listen to him,* Alynon said. *And tell that pompous ass that Athena gave her life not to save you, but to save him, this Demesne, and our brightblood vassals because she at least had the wisdom to trust you and to see the true threat.*

  I don’t know—

  *Say it!*

  “Um, Alynon says to remind you that Athena didn’t sacrifice herself for me, she did so for all of you, because she trusted me and she saw the real danger.”

  “And her sacrifice is honored,” the queen said in a gently reproachful tone toward Apollo.

  “I do not question Athena’s wisdom,” Apollo said. “Nor the reality of the danger that she prevented, only your role in it. But that danger has passed. And the Shadows are paying wergild.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “Doesn’t that set off any alarms, that they would do that so easily?”

  “And what alarms should it raise?” the queen asked.

  “There’s something wrong with the exiles they’re sending you as wergild,” I replied. “Or at least, there’s something more going on. They were chosen by—”

  Apollo held up his hands palms upwards, and moved them like scales as he said, “Which would wisdom recommend us? That the Shadows would jeopardize our pact even as they lend us greater strength, and whilst they are under the close watch of the Colloquy? Or that you and my ever-inconstant brother, known to have some enmity of the Shadows and having gained some small reward for uncovering past plots, have returned to paint the Shadows as enemy once more, hoping to draw further reward like a fool seeking to milk Glas Gaibhnenn dry?”

  Dawn looked at the queen. “I thought this was the Demesne of wisdom. If Finn is saying you’re all in danger, doesn’t it make sense to at least look into it? I mean, better safe than sorry, right?”

  Queen Ma’at gave a slight nod of her head. “Well said.”

  Apollo glowered at Dawn. “Ill said, I say.”

  “Come now, Prince,” the queen replied. “Let not the pain of past hurts divert you from the Silver Path. While we must yet judge the truth of his claims, wisdom teaches that we all are bound together, and any disturbance in the harmony between Demesnes or with the arcana will affect the order of our Demesne in some way.”

  Apollo waved his hand. “And let not your compassion blind you to my brother’s tricks. His nature is as like to Chaos as any from that Demesne. What I do, I do to protect the Silver, from him.”

  Ma’at put a hand on the king’s arm. “And what I do, I do to protect the Demesne and the dignity of your father’s legacy. And I suspect your resistance ’gainst your brother’s words has as much to do with protecting yourself from further injury as protecting the Silver.”

  “You trespass well beyond the borders of your knowledge or right where I am concerned
,” Apollo said.

  “And you act with less courage than your brother and your Demesne deserve,” the queen replied.

  A flash of anger crossed Apollo’s face, but he looked away a second, then laughed. “How can I have less courage than you, who would challenge me so?” He stood, gathered his white robe in one hand, and walked down the dais to me, his stride regal and confident. But when he faced me, there was something of uncertainty on his face, or was that fear? He looked into my eyes for a second, then said, “Brother, why? These long cycles have I thought long upon this question, and still the answer does elude me. It … bothers me, no matter how I wish it not so.”

  I met his stare uncomfortably, wondering if he could see Alynon behind my eyes, and waited for Alynon’s response.

  And as I stood staring into Apollo’s gold-flecked brown eyes, his power emanating off of him, I saw a touch of vulnerability there—

  *Tell him … tell him I state clear and simply that I was not in league with Chaos, that I was not in league with the Shadows, that I had no intention of betraying Velorain or him. I swear upon the Aal that it was a Shadows conspiracy.*

  I relayed Alynon’s words. Apollo looked even more troubled.

  “Is it possible, brother, that you have gained the ability to speak outright lies?” Apollo asked thoughtfully. “Was that always your ability, your birthright? Or can I trust these words, and in trusting know that I betrayed your trust?”

  *You did as your nature dictated, and I chose not to give you any reason to do else, not then. But now, with Velorain gone and danger present, I beg you to—*

  The doors behind us swung open once again, and two Silver Guards each escorted a Fey into the chamber.

  The first Fey was a man with bushy gray sideburns dressed like a Victorian lord in black suit and high-collared cape sewn with arcane-looking symbols in gold thread. He carried a silver-headed cane, and a ruby-encrusted dagger glinted at his side.

  At least it wasn’t Mort. I hoped.

  The second Fey—well, I’m rarely attracted to the supermodel type. The more “perfect” a girl’s features, the less they seem to hold my interest. Maybe I just found perfect symmetry boring, or maybe I’d met too many beautiful girls growing up whose beauty went only skin-deep. Who can control all the reasons for attraction?