The Prince of Two Tribes mp-2

by Sean Cullen

  “Not all!” a voice called from the crowd.

  “Who speaks?” Ariel said sternly. “Show yourself!”

  “Gladly!” There was a murmur from the Faerie throng that swelled as a path cleared to allow a single person through. “Give me a moment. I’m not as young as I once was.”

  The crowd buzzed with excitement as Merddyn clambered up onto the stone. He was dressed in the same tweed suit he’d worn in the doughnut shop. He looked every inch a doddering, elderly man afraid of a fall that might break his hip.

  Brendan sprang forward to offer his hand to the Ancient Faerie.

  “Thank you, dear boy.” Merddyn gratefully took the proffered hand. His knotty hand was surprisingly strong. Brendan realized that any show of frailty was just that: a show.

  “You were never young, Merddyn,” Pukh quipped. “But you were always a little feeble.”

  “I enjoyed your test, Pukh.” Merddyn smiled back. “Test the boy and do some spring cleaning at the same time.”

  “Well, Merddyn,” Ariel said, recovering from his shock at Merddyn’s surprise appearance. “I wish you’d told us you’d be here. You could have presided over the Proving. You are the most senior.”

  Merddyn raised a hand. “Not at all. You’ve done a wonderful job. I wouldn’t have dreamed of usurping your place.

  No, not at all. I think everyone has performed their duties extremely well. Kitsune, very entertaining display.” Kitsune bowed slightly, hands pressed together. Her guards bowed with her. “Deirdre, very moving. Love a good song!” Deirdre nodded and smiled. “And Pukh, crafty. I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

  The crowd watched the old man’s every move. He made a small circuit of the rock, his head down, seemingly deep in thought. Finally, he stopped in front of Brendan. The sky-blue eyes locked onto Brendan’s. They were as kind and as deep as Brendan remembered from the night they’d met in the doughnut shop. Merddyn gave him a wink and turned to the throng.

  “You have done very well, Brendan. These tests were difficult and you have passed with flying colours. I, however, would like to claim my right to test you. I am the most senior here. Are there any who dispute my right?” Silence greeted his query. None would dare question the renowned Merddyn. He smiled. “Excellent.”

  Merddyn stood blinking at the crowd, his eyes watering, as though suddenly confused about what he was doing there.

  “Any time, old fellow,” Pukh called. There was a smattering of laughter. Pukh smirked and acknowledged his admirers.

  Merddyn puffed out his cheeks and blew out a breath. “Quite right. A Proving, is it? What shall it be?”

  “How about a memory test?” Pukh suggested, winning more titters.

  Merddyn chuckled. “Indeed. Not very spectacular, however. People love a show. How about fire?”

  He raised a hand and a sheet of flame leapt up from the ground to surround the rock. The crowd scrambled back to avoid the fire. Brendan felt his eyebrows singe. Just when Brendan was having difficulty breathing in the baking heat, Merddyn dismissed the flames with a flick of his wrist.

  “Too gaudy, I think, eh, Pukh?” The crowd laughed. Pukh was silent. He gave a little shrug, obviously annoyed.

  “Lightning?”

  He raised a hand and out of the overcast sky, a fork of purple light scorched the air, slamming into the stone platform between Brendan and the old Faerie. The sonic boom as the lightning struck was deafening. Brendan had trouble keeping his feet, and many in the crowd were knocked to the ground or threw themselves down, covering their heads. Brendan’s nostrils sang with the metallic smell of ozone.

  Merddyn stood completely unaware of the effect his display was having on the crowd. He shook his head slightly. “No, too heavy-handed. Can’t savour lightning. It’s over too quickly.” He looked at Brendan, his blue eyes no longer the watery orbs of an aged man but instead sharp, clear windows to a well of impossible power. Brendan dreaded to contemplate what the old man might finally decide on.

  Finally, Merddyn snapped his fingers. “I know. A test of stone.”

  Merddyn clapped his hands once, sharply. Suddenly the stone beneath Brendan’s feet became like water. In a split second, he sank into the liquid rock. He barely had time to snatch a lungful of air before the fluid rock closed over his head. Once he was submerged, the rock solidified once again, encasing him in a pitch-dark tomb of stone. He couldn’t scream. He couldn’t even breathe. Brendan felt the icy rock pressing in all around him and prepared for the end.

  ^ 62 Hearing Deirdre D’Anaan sing is one of the greatest pleasures in the Human or the Faerie world. Her rare recordings and live performances for the People of Metal are treasured, though she is careful to weave glamours into her music that discourage the attention of critics and award committees. Even among Faeries, her voice is a legendary force. It is said that she can split stone or call down lightning with a well-turned melody.

  PART 4

  Proving

  Yet Another Note from the Narrator

  Oh my! Brendan is trapped inside a stone. That wouldn’t be fun, would it? I went through a similar experience once. I was trapped in a closet at my parents’ house. My sister, the one who is now in prison, locked me in after telling me to search for hidden Christmas presents. She locked me in there for three days, feeding me only pita bread, a food which can be easily slid under a door. When I was thirsty, she trickled water through the keyhole. Not very pleasant. The water tasted of keys. So, Brendan is trapped in a stone and his friends and his sister are trapped in a tent. I’d prefer the tent, as I’m sure you would, too. I don’t like camping, though. I have bathroom issues. Another thing I don’t like about camping is that bears have easy access to you. Whereas bears would never trouble you in your thirtieth-floor condo suite, they tend to find tents quite irresistible. The canvas of a tent, in my opinion, is like a giant tortilla wrapper with the human inhabitants as the delicious filling. If I go camping, I usually suspend myself from a high tree branch to sleep. As a result I rarely sleep, and therefore I try not to go camping.

  Why not never camp at all? I’d love it if that were possible, but camps have campfires and I’m often called on to tell tales around them. It’s a part of my job I don’t enjoy. Still, one takes the good with the bad.

  I suppose you’d like to get back to the story now. I understand. There’s a lot going on. I just thought you’d like to spend some time with me. I get lonely, you know.

  Where were we. Oh yes! Brendan has found a way to pass all the tests and looks to be in the clear. He’s had a little psychic powwow with his father and earned Dawn Cleaver, a very awesome sword. Just when everything seems to be smooth sailing, up crops Merddyn with a final test. Brendan is trapped in a stone! Will he escape? And what about the little party of spies captured by Pukh’s minions? What of them? We have quite a few unravelled threads to wind up. Let’s not waste any time! Onward!

  THE ORDEAL OF STONE

  Brendan’s first instinct was to panic. He wanted to thrash and scream, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t even open his mouth to make a sound because the stone had sealed around him like the plastic wrap his mother used to vacuum-seal leftovers.

  The darkness was complete. He was physically trapped. The only part of him that could move was his mind. He had to get his thoughts under control, quash the animal terror at being buried alive, and find a way out of his tomb.

  Think! Think! Think! This is the test. You have to figure it out or you’re finished!

  He pushed aside the urgency that was building in his lungs as the breath he’d taken was leached of oxygen. Merddyn wouldn’t have done this to him if he couldn’t survive. There had to be a way.

  He tried to remember their conversation in the doughnut shop.

  “The universe is full of energy. It’s alive with it,” Merddyn had said. “We could tap into it readily and manipulate it to do anything we wished.”

  Energy? Brendan’s mind grasped at that straw. It seemed to be important. Is
that it? Everything is energy. Every leaf and flower. Water and air? Stone?

  Brendan was really in need of a breath now. He had no idea how long he’d been encased in the stone. It could have been a second or a minute. He had to figure it out.

  Calm. Calm. Think… The stone. His mind snagged on the memory of the Snoring Rock. If a rock could speak, could he speak to a rock?

  Worth a try. I haven’t got any other options.

  He focused his mind and shouted. Hey!

  Nothing.

  Hey! Hey! In his mind, he was screaming.

  His lungs were burning now. He was seeing spots of colour in his eyes, though no light could exist in the centre of a solid rock. He knew he was failing.

  Hey!

  Something stirred. A heavy, leaden presence blearily prodded the edge of his mind.

  Mmmmmm?

  Brendan’s heart skipped. Was he actually talking to a rock?

  I’m stuck in here, he thought as loudly as he could. I need to get out!

  There was no response save for a grinding rumble. If anything, the grip of the stone tightened. Brendan’s ribs creaked. The threat of suffocation was compounded by the possibility of being physically crushed.

  Now that he had the rock’s attention, he was finding it hard to concentrate. The claustrophobia threatened to shred his will. The cold weight of the stone all around him was overwhelming.

  You’re crushing me! I need you to let me out!

  Once again, there was no response, no words in his head, but he thought he sensed interest, the ponderous thought process of an infinitely slow and patient mind considering what he was saying. He imagined the mind of the stone, sitting for centuries in one place with only a dim awareness of the passage of time. Such a mind would take a long time to stir. Brendan had to waken the rock somehow.

  His eyes were open within the stone but there was nothing to see. Coloured spots began to swim in his vision. He was being asphyxiated. He caught himself slipping into unconsciousness and willed himself to stay awake, to stay focused. Brendan thought about Merddyn and their conversation in the doughnut shop. All things are connected. No. Not just connected, they are one. An image blossomed in his brain: a doughnut shifting its shape, becoming a pebble, becoming feathers, becoming a flame.

  He mustered his last shred of energy and refocused on the stone. He forced his thoughts to reach out and see it. The rough hardness of the rock filled his mind. He willed himself deeper, like flipping a magnifying lens in front of his thoughts, and saw the minute structures that made up the stone, the glittering crystals stacked and linked. He pushed deeper and saw the structure within those crystals, infinitely tiny bits of matter vibrating slowly as they hung in space, a universe of atoms. Brendan saw what he must do.

  What is happening? The rock’s voice suddenly filled his head like an avalanche, almost shattering his concentration.

  Don’t be afraid. Brendan sent the thought laden with soothing emotion. I must do this to continue in my existence. You will not be harmed.

  It is… strange.

  Satisfied that the stone wouldn’t interfere, Brendan returned to his task. He saw the tiny particles of matter dangling in space. With a finger of thought, he reached out and tapped one. That particle collided with the next, and the next. A cascade of tiny collisions rippled out from a single atom, a wave of movement that changed the state of the stone.

  This is disturbing, the stone’s voice quavered. I fear it.

  Brendan, on the other hand, was no longer afraid. The stone’s grip was loosening. He pushed against the stone and it gave way before him.

  What is happening? The stone’s panic was evident in Brendan’s mind. I don’t like it.

  Be calm, Brendan found himself saying. All things change and all things stay the same, for all things are one. He didn’t know where that thought came from but it felt right.

  The stone flowed around him like dense syrup, clinging to his limbs. He leaned into the resistance and forged ahead. Presently, a dim, golden light grew in his path. He pushed harder, throwing himself against his prison. Abruptly, all resistance was gone. He was falling forward onto his hands and knees in the cold mud of the Faerground.

  His lungs heaved in air in great gasps. His ears were roaring. Gone was the peace he’d felt locked within the stone. Grey stone dust showered from his hair and clothing. He felt completely drained. Unable to hold himself up anymore, he fell onto his face in the mud.

  He must have fainted for an instant because he opened his eyes and someone was cradling his head. A girl was speaking to him.

  “Brendan? Can you hear me? Brendan?”

  He couldn’t focus on her face. “Charlie?”

  His vision cleared and he saw it wasn’t Charlie but Kim, her face full of concern and a little hurt.

  “It’s only me,” she said. “Are you okay?”

  “I don’t know,” Brendan said, looking up into her brown eyes. “I’m glad it’s you.”

  Kim smiled her crooked smile. A shadow fell across them. Brendan looked up and saw the wrinkled, kindly face of Merddyn. The old Faerie raised his bushy eyebrows and gave a nod. “I am satisfied.”

  Brendan sat up as Ariel mounted the platform and cried, “It is Proven. Brendan is one of us! He must be assigned to a Clan.”

  The crowd erupted into hoots and cheers.

  Kim helped Brendan to his feet. He was still feeling a little woozy. Suddenly, Og was there, crushing him in a bear hug.

  “Och, didn’t I just know ye’d do it? Didn’t I just?”

  “Og, you big lummox. Let him breathe.” Deirdre smiled and kissed Brendan’s cheek. “Well done.”

  Greenleaf was at her side, smiling placidly. “See? No need to worry at all. Very impressive! I see you managed to alter the stone. So many Talents.”

  Brendan suddenly remembered the rock, the fear in its voice. He reached out and laid a hand on the cold, wet surface. Closing his eyes, he thought, Forgive me. I didn’t mean to scare you.

  There was no answer. He only felt vague contentment from the stone and took that as acknowledgment of his apology.

  “A drink! A drink is required!” Og shouted. “Follow me!”

  Deirdre rolled her eyes. “What a surprise.”

  Even in the midst of the festivities, Brendan was troubled. Where was Charlie? He scanned the crowd for her, searching for a swatch of black in the riot of colour. He’d given up finding her when he spotted Pukh standing in one of the alleyways between the tents at the far side of the Faerground. He was speaking with someone, his expression tense and a little angry. Brendan followed Pukh’s gaze and saw that he was speaking to Charlie. She had her hood pulled up, obscuring her face, but he was certain it was her.

  What’s she doing talking to him?

  As Brendan watched, Charlie shook her head vigorously at something Pukh said. Pukh’s face darkened. He grabbed Charlie’s arm roughly and pulled her into the alleyway out of sight.

  Brendan wanted to investigate but the crowd swept him on into the open doors of the Swan. He wondered what Charlie was doing talking to the Lord of Tir na nOg and what she’d said that made him angry. He had to hope that she could take care of herself.

  BLT flew in rapid spirals around Brendan’s head. “You did it! You did it! You did it!”

  “Have you been eating sugar?”

  “So suspicious! Can’t a person just be happy?” BLT cried. She beelined ahead and into the open door of the Swan. Brendan laughed.

  The Swan of Liir was absolutely rammed. A DJ, accompanied by a clutch of more traditional musicians, had set up on the upper gallery. The centre of the room was a heavy mass of dancers gyrating to the music. Og forged a path through the patrons to a corner of the bar.

  “Ye’ll have a drink, Brendan?” Og ventured.

  “Diet cola,” Brendan laughed.

  Og shook his head in disgust. “It’ll kill ya, that stuff.”

  Saskia was a blur behind the bar, serving drinks at a breakneck pace.
When she spied Brendan she stopped and smiled wolfishly. “I heard about the handstand. Well done!”

  “He was magnificent, I tell you.” Leonard’s deep bass rolled over them. He was helping Saskia behind the bar, pulling pints of beer and grinning with his gold teeth all the while.

  Kim was silent, standing with her back to the bar and her arms crossed. She sensed Brendan’s gaze and gave him a little half smile.

  “You were amazing,” she said, barely audible over the din of the crowd. “Everybody’s talking about you.”

  Brendan nodded. He leaned in and whispered into her ear, “Thanks.”

  “For what?” Kim asked.

  “For the Dawn Flight. For showing me that there’s a good side to all this weird stuff. For being here.” He took her hand and squeezed it.

  Kim blushed and shrugged, saying gruffly, “Yeah, well. That’s cool.”

  Brendan looked into her brown eyes and smiled. Here in the middle of this hurricane of Faerie insanity, he was at peace.

  Suddenly there was a cry from the doorway. The music staggered to a stop as Lugh pushed his way into the pub, scattering the dancers and opening a circle in their midst. He dragged two figures, one in each huge hand, and threw them to the ground. Close on his heels came little Maya, giggling like a demented child, pushing a boy in front of her.

  “Look what we found,” she crowed.

  “Interlopers,” Lugh growled. “They were trespassing on the Gathering.”

  A fierce cry rose from the Faeries. Brendan was off his stool in a flash and pushing through the crowd, Kim hot on his heels.

  Brendan’s stomach dropped away when he saw who knelt on the floor at Lugh’s feet. Harold, Dmitri, and Chester Dallaire blinked in terror at the sea of hostile faces. Their hands were tied behind their backs, but otherwise they seemed to be all right.

  “What are you doing here?” Kim demanded before Brendan could find any words.

  “We were worried about Brendan,” Dmitri answered.