Crashing Paradise

by Christopher Golden

  When she had returned to the human world, she had crafted a tenuous alliance with the elemental spirits of this place. Air, Earth, Water, and Fire—and all of the spirits that comprised the elements—were her allies when she walked the land of her birth. In Faerie, the elemental forces were still almost pure; primeval. But there was a reason the Fey called the human world “the Blight.” Nature here was tainted.

  At first, the elemental spirits in this world had been hesitant when she reached out to influence them. She could force them, but if they resisted, her sorcery would have been diminished at best, and dangerously volatile. But the elements of the Blight were tethered by ancient kinship with Faerie, and Ceridwen was an ally to nature.

  The elements served her willingly.

  Now those spirits carried her on a traveling wind she had summoned to transport her to the Arizona desert. Fire and ice danced on the wind as it whirled around her. Weightless, she slipped through a magical, elemental passage in the world.

  The wind in Boston delivered her into the grasp of the hot, Arizona breezes.

  Her feet touched hardscrabble earth, and Ceridwen opened her eyes. A shudder of pleasure went through her as the living cyclone of elemental winds spun around her. Dust rose from the ground. The wind began to diminish so that she could see the shapes of figures gathered around her and a ridge of cliffs jutting up from the earth not far away. Her thin cotton dress clung to her body and swirled in all the hues of the ocean around her legs, then swayed gently as the wind dissipated.

  The last of the dust her arrival had raised swept down off the hill on a breeze. Ceridwen touched the bottom of her rowan staff to the ground, and the traveling wind was gone.

  The top of the staff was a sphere of ice, within which danced a ball of fire.

  All around her were gathered the women who called themselves Daughters of Ceridwen. Though she was young compared to many of the Fey, the sorceress had been alive for centuries. Still, how strange it was for her to have women who appeared far older than she to call themselves her daughters. Arthur had teased her about it many times, calling her his “old thing.” But it was gentle teasing, full of love. And as she regarded the faces of the dozens of women gathered around her atop that hill, she felt full of love and adoration, both that which they gave her and that which she returned to them.

  Some of them were unfamiliar to her—women who had devoted themselves to her but whom she had neither met in person nor seen in a scrying pool. Others she had known for many years, and they were precious to her. The tiny redhaired Moya, from Edinburgh; the Canadians, Emmy and Kiera, who had met because of their devotion to her, and recently had become lovers; young, willowy Seraph, from Norwich, England; voluptuous Arielle, from Phoenix; Katie Matthews, the bookseller from Boston. There were more than ninety of them, all together, beautiful women of varied age and shape and race. Their faces glowed with benevolent feeling, and they watched her expectantly.

  Off to the left, behind two older women from Vermont, stood a woman with dark ringlets of hair and freckles splashed across her deeply tanned face. Unlike most of the others, she seemed almost too shy to look up.

  “Guinivere,” Ceridwen said.

  The psychic raised her eyes and smiled sheepishly. She had become such an asset in a short amount of time. Sensitive as she was—both to the human heart and to the elements—Ceridwen had understood immediately how valuable she could be. They had not met in person, but through scrying pools and candle flames they had looked upon one another and talked of magic and love and the future. Conan Doyle had even forced Ceridwen to use the phone to call her several times, though the lack of any spiritual connection in this mode of communication had troubled her.

  As she had with many of the other women who had devoted themselves to following Ceridwen’s example, she had given Guinivere guidance in learning small bits of elemental sorcery. It was important that these women know how to tap into nature, to offer their respect to those spirits, and thus earn their goodwill.

  Ceridwen walked over to Guinivere. Seeing that the sorceress’s eyes were focused on her, the others moved aside.

  Ceridwen brushed several dark ringlets away from her face and bent to kiss Guinivere on the forehead.

  “Daughter,” she said. “It is a great pleasure finally to meet you face-to-face. If all of your sisters truly wish to be of assistance to me—and to this world—in the difficult times to come, then you will have a significant role to play in that effort.”

  A murmur went through the gathered women. Moya stepped toward Ceridwen and bowed her head. “All of our faith is in you, majesty. Whatever help we can be, you’ve only to ask.”

  Many of the women nodded. Katie opened her hands and spread her arms.

  “We’re all here for you, Ceridwen. For the earth and the air, for the water and the flame.”

  In unison, they repeated the words. “For the earth and the air, for the water and the flame.”

  Ceridwen took a deep breath of the warm desert air, rich with the smells of the earth and clay. She glanced beyond the women at the thousands of people gathered on the land that spread out at the bottom of the hill for the Equinox Festival.

  Among the scrub brush they had created a tribe on the red earth, in front of the face of the red rock cliffs. Their flags fluttered in the breeze, and their songs filled the sky.

  These people were the heart of the world.

  The smile faded from Ceridwen’s face. It filled her with joy to have the company of these women, but there was darkness on the horizon, and the news she carried was not at all pleasant.

  “My friends,” Ceridwen said, the warmth of the sun enfolding her. “Thank you for coming, and thank you for your faith in me and in the earth beneath your feet. Knowing that you would all be gathered here today, I felt compelled to come and speak with you. I wish I had come only to see and touch you, to share with you the hope and beauty of the equinox. But as many of you already know, even as we speak, whispers travel, and the worlds tremble with dreadful anticipation. A terrible power threatens your world, and my allies and I believe it represents a danger to all of the realms connected to the—”

  She’d been about to call their world the Blight. Ceridwen tried to avoid using the term with these good women. They were among those who wished to alter the Earth for the better.

  “To this plane of existence,” she said.

  “The Demogorgon,” Katie Matthews said.

  “Goddess,” Emmy whispered, shuddering. Kiera put an arm around her and held her close.

  Ceridwen nodded. “Yes, Katie. That’s correct. Some of you are already aware of this and know what that could mean. Others are perhaps hearing the name for the very first time. Suffice it to say that the Demogorgon is called by many names, one of which is the Great Devourer. It exists, and it has turned its horrid attention upon this world.

  “It is the equinox, when we celebrate the rebirth of spring, and fertility, and all of our hopes for the future. I am no different from any of you in that respect. I have my hopes for the future, just as you do. I love, and am loved in return. I have everything to lose.

  “I tell you this not so that you will lose that hope, or so that you will cease your celebration. That would mean a catastrophic loss of faith. Instead, I want you to hold that hope close to your hearts in the coming days and months. It may be years before the Demogorgon arrives, but I fear we do not have that kind of time. When the Devourer comes, I and my allies will stand against it. Some of the most powerful mages and monsters in this world will defy the Demogorgon.

  “On that day, will you stand with us?”

  Arielle reached down and caught Katie’s hand in her own, but she lifted her chin. “Of course we will, Ceridwen. You know we will.”

  A chorus of assent was raised. The benevolent smiles had gone from their faces, and the women nodded grimly.

  Ceridwen turned to Guinivere, whose gaze seemed to be searching for something. “And what of you, Guin? Will you stand with
me?”

  The woman glanced away a moment before meeting Ceridwen’s eyes. “You know that I’m devoted to you. It’s just that this thing . . . it seems so huge. You’re a sorceress, with all of the elements at your fingertips. What can we do against something like the Demogorgon? I can barely wrap my mind around the idea of something so terrible.”

  Ceridwen laid a comforting hand on Guin’s shoulder.

  “What can you do?” She looked around at the women who had gathered on that hill to greet her and knew that all of them were thinking precisely the same thing. “Some of you have already begun to commune with this world’s elemental spirits, to connect your hearts and souls to the natural forces of the Earth. Among you there are those with the potential for real magic. I will not say that you can perform the kind of sorcery that is possible in my world, but you can tap the power that is here. And with that magic, and the valiant hearts I know that you all possess, you can fight.”

  She turned to Guinivere again. Their shadows stretched across the red earth of the hill, merging into one, all of those women standing together.

  “Those among you whom I’ve already begun to teach, I will continue to visit as often as possible. And you will all have to help one another to nurture whatever touch of magic you can find within yourselves. Guinivere is going to be my voice among you.”

  “What?” Guin asked, a shy smile on her face as she looked down. “Me?”

  “You have a gift, Guinivere. You can feel the hearts and thoughts of others, and you sense the other worlds that exist so close to your own. You can see into those worlds if you focus enough. You’ve told me so yourself. I will guide you as best I can,” Ceridwen said, turning to survey the formidable women arrayed around her once more. “All of you. But there are other threats to be combated, and I will not always be able to be with you. Guinivere will guide you. She is the axis upon which all of our efforts must turn. Learn what skills you can. Love one another and share what you learn. If there is any way to turn the Devourer away before it reaches this world, it will be done. And if there is no way, then I will stand with you all on our darkest of days.”

  Ceridwen fell silent. For long moments none of them spoke. Music rose from the festival below, with voices and laughter and the whisper of the wind. The sun played upon the ragged cliffs, bringing out myriad shades of red and white from the clay and rock and earth. In that place of quiet beauty, Ceridwen felt sure the quiet that had come over them all was a moment of prayer.

  “We’re with you, majesty,” Guinivere said, her gaze steady and strong. Ceridwen had known such courage was in her.

  “I’m a princess of the Fey, Guin. But here, I’m just Ceridwen. We stand together. I offer guidance, but from among you, not above you.”

  Guinivere smiled.

  Ceridwen nodded, proud of them all and satisfied that she had set something in motion. Fear danced along her spine, but she stood tall and did not let it show upon her face. The Demogorgon would come, and the world’s most powerful mages would stand against it, alongside sorcerers and warriors of Faerie and all manner of creatures. If the battle was so desperate that these bright, good-hearted women were needed, the world would probably already be doomed. But she would never give them the slightest hint that she harbored such doubts. For on that day, when so many would undoubtedly die, there was no telling what might happen. And if they had to die, at least this way they would die fighting. It was a gift she was giving them, really—a noble death, and a chance to make a difference, in the end.

  “Your courage gives me strength,” she told them, walking among them now, her dress flowing around her legs, the blues and greens startlingly vivid against the rich, red soil.

  The women reached out for her as she passed them, and Ceridwen touched them as she moved, brushing her fingers against their hands and arms and faces, bringing the peace of Faerie to them all, at least for a moment. Their eyes were alight with love and determination, and the fire of purpose.

  She stopped to whisper congratulations to Kiera and Emmy on the love they’d found with one another, and again to apologize to Katie for not having visited, since her bookstore was in Cambridge, not far from where Ceridwen lived with Arthur Conan Doyle in Boston.

  When she had passed a word or a moment with them all, she paused and glanced out across the extraordinary landscape.

  Much of Faerie was lush and green, but the lovely serenity of this place reminded her of home. She felt as though she could see the ghost of the primordial world, here, out across the rough landscape. It was nothing but ancient land, as far as her eyes could see.

  “Ceridwen?” Guin ventured.

  Shaken from her momentary reverie, she turned.

  Guinivere had been made the voice of these women, and already she inhabited the role.

  “Yes?”

  “What of Faerie?”

  A sad smile came to Ceridwen’s face. “You all would know better than I,” she said, and raised her staff. “Gather round, sisters. For that is what you’ll be from now on. Not Daughters, but Sisters of Ceridwen. Gather round.”

  They did, moving closer, shuffling together until their circle was intimate, in spite of their numbers.

  “You’ve all brushed up against Faerie in some fashion,” she continued. “Some of you have seen the Fey in those places where my kin sometimes cross over. Others, I know, have known the street fairies, my distant cousins who’ve chosen to live in this world. Most of you know Faerie only through me, and through the stories you’ve heard and read and breathed in, and the truth you’ve found for yourselves. But the whispers are out there, with the street fairies and other creatures who keep one foot in the doorway back to my world. Some of you have told me of rumors you’ve heard on the street or on the Internet.

  “Keep listening. That’s all I ask, right now. And when you hear things that are worrisome, let me know. My focus is here, now; in this world. This is the battlefront. If we cannot hold against the Demogorgon here, there is no hope for Faerie. My uncle would have me return, but I cannot, no matter how many whispers I hear of trouble brewing, or what kind of cryptic messages the Harper brings.”

  Moya gasped. “The Harper?”

  Ceridwen frowned.

  “He’s real?” Katie asked.

  “Yes,” Ceridwen said. “He’s real. And just as handsome as the legends say.”

  A ripple of nervous laughter went through them, lightening the mood.

  “Now, then,” she went on, “I’ll count on you all to let me know whenever you hear anything of Faerie. Meanwhile, you’ve all got a difficult task ahead, tapping the elements, learning from one another. This may be the single most important thing—”

  Guinivere cried out as though a dagger of sorrow had been thrust into her heart and fell to her knees on the rough ground. Arielle and Seraph reached for her, but Ceridwen was quicker. She crossed the space that separated her from Guin as though she herself was the wind and knelt by her side. Guinivere had one hand covering her eyes.

  “Seer, what is it?” Ceridwen asked, one hand steady upon her staff, while with the other she clutched at the woman’s arm.

  When Guin looked up, her pupils were fully dilated, despite the sun, and Ceridwen felt as though the seer was looking right through her.

  “Goddess, I’ve never felt such malice.”

  Ceridwen felt it, then, a presence spider-walking up the back of her neck and along her arms. She stood and spun toward these women who’d put such faith in her. Blue mist and orange flame spilled out from the sphere at the top of her staff, and she scanned the crowd gathered around her.

  “Go!” she commanded them. “Run from here. I’ll find you all soon. But now you must go!”

  Eyes wide with fear, they began to stumble away, to hurry down the hill toward the festival below, where revelers continued their celebration without any inkling that trouble had arrived. Most of the women she knew well—those with a particular affinity to the elemental spirits of this world—hesitated.
>
  “Run!” Ceridwen roared, raising her staff higher.

  The wind swirled around her, lifting her several inches off the ground, even as the hill began to tremble. Loose soil shifted, and cracks spread across the red earth of the hill. Kiera stumbled backward and fell. Emmy gripped her by the arm and pulled her up, and the two of them began to hurry away. Moya followed, though she kept glancing reluctantly back up the hill.

  Katie and Arielle helped Guin rise, but they stood with Seraph, brave but foolish, perhaps thinking they could help. Why could they not understand that the best way for them to help was to live through the day?

  The ground erupted as something burst from beneath it.

  Red dirt swirled on the wind, then, a moment later, Ceridwen saw the creature whose malice Guin had sensed. He stood a dozen feet tall, with bright gold eyes and long, copper hair, run through with a streak of white. His flesh was like rough brown leather, and his ears as pointed as the three-inch incisors that jutted up from his lower jaw. Tribal markings were tattooed above his left eye and on his left arm, and he wore black-red chain mail and thick wool trousers.

  In truth, he looked just the way he had the last time Ceridwen had seen him. Half-Drow and half-Fey, he had once been her greatest enemy.

  “Duergar!” she snarled, hovering on the wind.

  Before she’d even gotten the name out, Duergar lunged at the women who had not yet fled. Quicker than Ceridwen remembered, or could have imagined, he grabbed Seraph in his enormous hands and lifted her up. Ceridwen screamed and sent rippling elemental fire arcing toward him, but she was too late. Duergar broke her up in his hands like dry kindling and tossed her aside.

  The fire struck him, and he roared, but there was no pain in that sound. The fire seared his face, but he grinned through its ravages. It had been a battle cry.

  The rest of the women Duergar ignored. He had come for Ceridwen.

  Hatred filling her heart, she rushed to meet her ancient enemy.