by Sarah Hoyt
But Gabriel’s mind was spinning dizzily over this duel, if it had happened. “Seraphim fought you? For my honor? But… what did my honor have to do with your practice of necromancy?”
He got back a level stare. “No. Idiot. Not the necromancy. Our… friendship."
“Oh. But–”
“Don’t ask me to explain what goes on in His Grace’s mind. I’m sure I couldn’t tell you anymore than I can bring the moon down to Earth. I’m common as dirt, remember. He informed me in no uncertain terms that if I ever had any other contact with you, next time the bullet would go between my eyes.”
“The bullet?”
Marlon pulled his shirt casually down to reveal a puckered red scar on his shoulder. “As you see.” Then suddenly the tired blue eyes danced with devilish amusement. “As soon as I’d recovered enough, I sent you the letter with my coordinates. Because I was not going to let him win.”
Gabriel had to cover his eyes for a moment, because it was impossible to think coherently through the desire to laugh and cry at once. “And yet, you’ll help me rescue him?’
“Naturally. He’s your brother. But for a price, remember?”
“How could I forget? Now to return to the paths into Fairyland.”
“The famous Darkwater acumen returns!”
How could he, Gabriel wondered, at the same time admire the man and want to punch him unconscious within the space of less than ten seconds? How was it possible that Marlon would both be willing to help the people who had mistreated him, and yet not be able to keep from mocking Gabriel himself?
“Indeed,” Gabriel said, keeping his own temper under control. “Now if you please, to speak plainly. You said there was no way in, only– only what?”
Marlon sighed. “Only there might be. I get a feeling what is keeping us out is not a shutting charm. I don’t think they could do that against someone of mixed blood, anyway. Those with blood of Fairyland can always go back, can we not? I have the strong impression what is keeping us at bay is… a cat’s cradle working.”
Gabriel poured tea for both of them again. The cup he pressed into Marlon’s hands was picked up without comment, and then Gabriel himself took a sip of his tea. The magical worlds – and Avalon was one of the more magical ones – all had lines of power which wrapped the world in a tight shroud of magic. Into these lines of power, smaller and more mobile lines of power were attached. Each magic user had his own, and through his life he wove a pattern upon the surface of the world. Those powerful enough changed the nature of the power with their design, and those powerful and active could even move one or more of the lines and alter the nature of the world’s magic forever. This was why necromancy was forbidden. Because it could make the bright lines dark, and blight whole areas of magic.
A cat’s cradle working was managed with the lines of magic themselves, which were intertwined and twisted in such a way that someone with normal magic could not follow them. “The major lines or the minor ones?” Gabriel asked. To twist the minor lines was what was called a fate work, not savory, exactly, but often employed by village witches making love spells, or by well-intentioned Hearth wizards making it so that a sailor would return from the sea or a soldier from war.
It wasn’t good magic as such, because it restricted the will power and actions of others, and it could be dark magic, depending on what fates you were twisting or why. But to twist the major ones would take both an immense amount of power, which would snap back at any moment, without warning, and it would probably cause a deformation in the magic.
If the Cinderella story were true – and Gabriel doubted it, because it was far easier to lay a spell on coachmen to take someone to a ball in a borrowed carriage than to spell mice, and WHY pumpkins? – the change back in coach and mice would be what happened when lines snapped back. The question, though, was how long it would take to snap back.
Marlon squinted, as though thinking. “Both I think,” he said. “And before you tell me how dangerous it is, remember I used to teach magic. But it’s entirely possible it’s only minor lines that are involved, just so many of them and so strongly bound that it feels like major lines.”
Gabriel nodded. “So you are saying, if we can unwind the lines of fate – all the fates – we can discover a way to get into Fairyland.”
Marlon made a sound that might be laughter, or else it might be a cough. “Indeed, but–”
“But?”
“The lines include those of the king. And my father, and your brother, Seraphim, who is in this other world we might not be able to access.”
“Your FATHER?”
Marlon’s face went blank, almost wooden in its lack of expression. “Indeed. My very honored father.”
“But I didn’t know– that is, I know he never recognized you, which is why–” Which was why the official name Marlon used was Elfborn, the name of every bastard kicked out of Fairyland, and attached to a certain stigma, to a definite untrustworthiness. That he’d managed to get an education, much less to become a tutor, despite all that, had been one of the things Gabriel admired about him. And perhaps that was one of the reasons that Marlon had been tempted into necromancy. If everyone assumes the worst of you at all times– But no. Damn it. He would not find excuses for the man. Marlon had chosen that one dark path of his own accord.
At that moment, Gabriel realized the expression on Marlon’s face was ghastly enough that Marlon himself could have been many years dead. The smile that contorted his lips was closer to the grimace of a corpse. “Oh, but he did recognize me, Gabriel. I made sure of it, though it almost killed us both. Legally I have my father’s name. For all the good it did me, since I had to go into hiding that same week. I had hoped– Never mind that. I chose not to publicize his name, though I owe him no respect and little gratitude. I had to force his hand to recognize me, to threaten to reveal that what happened to my mother was not consensual but the result of dark magic and of entrapping a Fairyland creature and then–” He shook his head. “My father would kill me, if he could. It is a good part of the reason I’m still so fiercely hunted these many years after, when my acts of necromancy amount to a resurrection spell said two seconds too late.”
Gabriel looked towards the corner “Is that why–”
“Damn it,” for the first time there was fury directed at Gabriel in Marlon’s voice. “What did you think it was?”
“But– But then why didn’t you–”
“Kill him again? Don’t push Gabriel. There are things you should understand without being told.”
And Gabriel, who understood nothing at all, could only take a deep breath, wondering what he should understand. That Marlon couldn’t kill Aiden? But surely Marlon could see that tattered soul attached to the not-quite-alive body? Surely he could see its suffering?
Then suddenly he did see. If what Marlon said was true, then the magician had been born of rape. That meant his mother had gotten expelled from Fairyland, as well as Gabriel’s mother had, but that she had never wanted to leave. He’d never asked Marlon exactly what his mother was. There were many creatures in Fairyland, from elves to centaurs, from the high-powered and princely sovereigns and noblemen of elves to the naiads and dryads and centaurs that the Romans had mistaken for minor divinities. Depending on what Marlon’s mother had been, she might not have lasted long outside of Fairyland. And, regardless of what she had been, she might very well have abandoned her human child behind and gone back, to face whatever punishment would allow her to be part of the magic lands again. “Your mother.…”
“Never met her,” Marlon said. “Not consciously.” He rubbed at the tip of his nose, and seemed to be oddly confused about the turn in the conversation. “I was raised in an orphanage for magical children.” He made a face. “What does that have to do with any–”
But Gabriel’s mind was still following its own thought. Orphanages for magical children ranged from the very good to the appalling, and he wasn’t going to guess which kind it had been. Marlon h
ad survived childhood, so it couldn’t be one of the very worst ones. Unless Marlon had been lucky. Gabriel refused to pursue that thought. Marlon had never belonged to anyone. He’d had no family, no kin, and probably no friends either, because even weres were afraid of half-fey magic.
Gabriel thought of the fear that had met him in the eyes of the servants, the looks of dread, when he’d first gone to live with the Darkwaters. He imagined growing up with that, living with that, your whole life, unremitting.
Then there had been Aiden Gypson, who had been– “You were friends with Aiden for a long time.”
A face. “We were both charity pupils at his majesty’s charity school for magically gifted young gentlemen. I think we were twelve when we became friends. What are you getting at, Gabriel?”
Nothing, Gabriel thought. Nothing at all save that your foolishness has epic proportions to it. But then, why should I be surprised? Do you not do everything, always, larger than life?
“I think we should sleep,” Marlon said. “Because unraveling these fates will take us off into each of the places the people involved are. And you know, and I know, that we’ll have to do a major working, which should not be undertaken as tired as we are. We’ll need some hours of sleep at least. And you know time in Fairyland doesn’t run at the same rate, so your brother’s fate is not as urgent, or it’s perhaps more urgent than–”
“Who is your father?” Gabriel asked. It had to be someone despicable, if he’d taken advantage of a female elf bound in a working, yet it had to be someone important enough to be enmeshed in this working – whether important in the human or the magical world.
“My dear Gabriel! What does it signify? We must rest and then we’ll do our working. You are very odd asking me where I met Aiden, and then asking who my father is. It makes me feel like you’re some girl in her first season, or else the girl’s mama checking on my antecedents. I assure you when I said we should sleep I meant just that. There is strenuous magic to be done, and I–”
“And you speak a great deal of nonsense, Marlon. Who is your father? If he’s involved in this working, we must understand how and why before we start.”
“The fact he’s involved has nothing to do with being my father. Far more to do with his being an ambitious man.” Marlon tried to smile, but it didn’t quite work and he sighed. “Has anyone ever told you, my dear Gabriel, that you have the most unpleasant habit of fastening on to irrelevant details and holding onto them buckle and tongue? First there was your calling the authorities merely because I lacked the cour– because I kept Aiden about. And now this obsession with my father. And you’re not going to let me go up to bed until I tell you, will you?” He looked up into Gabriel’s eyes, and whatever he read there made him sigh again. “Very well, Prince. If you must know, my father is Lord Sydell, His Majesty’s spy master.” And then, with a near sneer, “There, are you happy?”
Waking And Dreaming
“Don’t worry about it,” Arden was saying, his voice very steady. “Don’t worry about it, Barbara. The girl will be fine. She’s full of determination, that one. The strongest of our children, and she had to be the girl. What a boy she’d have made.” And then, with a smile. “Or perhaps not,” he said. “Imagine all the duels he’d have fought and how many liaisons he’d have embroiled himself in.”
Barbara, the dowager duchess, looked at her husband, walking by her side, in this path in Fairyland, and wondered what to make of his presence at all. He was dead. She knew he was dead. She remembered the study, and his corpse, and blood everywhere. It had taken them weeks to remove the blood stain from the floorboards, using all magical means available. She remembered the shock, and the pain at knowing she’d never see him again, in the flesh, no matter how much grief he’d brought into her life. He’d brought joy too.
The joy was now obvious in those green eyes, squinting at her with something like deep and secret amusement. It was the amusement that made her snap back an answer, as she’d so often done when he’d been alive. “Mind you,” she said. “Your boys are not much better. Michael is, I suppose. He wouldn’t get embroiled with anything unless it came with magical gears and perhaps a steam engine. But Seraphim!”
“I don’t think it is what you think, with Seraphim,” Arden said. “At least, I think he and Gabriel found my papers. I’m sorry, Barbara.”
“Your papers… Yes, I’ve for some time now been worried that you were involved in something … something worse.”
“Oh, I was, which is why I’m here,” Arden said.
“You mean dead?” She asked, and her heart beat very fast, afraid he’d tell her, yes, he was dead and that she had now joined him.
But he frowned at her. “You know, I don’t believe I am. No, no, it’s true, this is not my body beside you. I’m not absolutely sure where my body is just now. It doesn’t seem to matter much in Fairyland, and after a while.…”
“But I saw you dead. I saw your body, I–”
“Surely, you of all people know about changelings.”
“Oh,” Barbara said. And then, “I am dreaming. I was just walking with your daughter, and we didn’t turn, we didn’t veer. Only we heard someone crying and.…” She frowned, unable to remember when Caroline had disappeared or when Arden had appeared beside her.
“Yes. That’s her path. Not yours.”
“But we didn’t part.”
“In Fairyland, all paths are alone, Barbara, for those who don’t belong.”
Out Of Time
When Nell had been much younger and read everything she could get her hands on, she’d gone through an old suitcase full of time travel romances from the eighties, stored in one of the farm’s outbuildings.
She now knew they were completely wrong. Forget the big things, such as the fact that in one of those the woman gets to take her tape player and tapes back to the middle ages, and since her music is the only thing she missed, lives there happily ever after – which had left Nell, even at eleven, scratching her head and wondering what they planned to use for electricity or batteries. No, what she hadn’t realized before that what was wrong was how a person from the past would adapt to the present day.
In the books, there were one or two funny incidents, and then the dislocated person started behaving exactly like a modern-day man – it was usually a man – save for one or two run-ins with tech, which were more amusing than scary.
She knew from living in his time that His Grace, the Duke of Darkwater, was not a stupid man. In fact, she’d judged both him and his half-brother to be damnably acute. And she knew, because it had taken her forever to figure out how to navigate it, even though she had the advantage of having read books set in a similar time period, that his social etiquette was far more difficult than anything she’d ever learned. However, she’d never have known it by the way he behaved in this time period.
It wasn’t even the puzzlers – like the existence of toilet paper, compounded by his archaic manners, which made him almost incapable of speaking of that sort of thing – or the fact that, in trying to be independent, he’d in fact managed to melt grandmother’s plastic mixing bowl all over the stove, when he’d thought to boil water in it – it was the fact that he kept tripping over things so basic and fundamental that Nell had learned them before she was conscious of learning anything.
The result was that, over the next few days, she ended up being as much a nanny to him as though he were a two-year-old infant stumbling from peril to disaster. The worst of it, of course, being when he thought he was adroit enough to do for himself, or perhaps even help. She’d barely stopped him using clothes detergent on his hair, and shuddered at the thought of what the people in his world would think if he had to shave his head after turning his hair into a hay pile.
But that had brought her around, after four days, to thoughts she didn’t want to have. She knew the royal symbol of the Royal family of Britannia – the local name for the British isles – in Avalon. And she knew it was the same as the symbol on her me
dallion. She’d just never thought about it. And besides, she thought, surely there were many such royal families in that many worlds. It didn’t mean it was that one.
That in turn had brought her to what a coincidence it was that she should end up in Avalon. And then, with a sick lurch in her stomach, she knew it was no coincidence. It strained the limits of credulity that she’d both end up in the world where she’d originated and be involved in what was clearly an attempt to get rid of the Darkwaters. And the Darkwaters had been involved in something, too.
She looked over at Seraphim, looking startlingly modern and startlingly archaic, both, in a pair of jeans grandma had procured from town, sitting at the kitchen table, sketching the automatic shaver on a cheap note pad and making notes on how it worked. She didn’t know yet whether the fact that his tongue protruded from the corner of his mouth as he sketched made her like him more or less. It was such a terribly undignified habit for a Duke to have.
And despite the jeans he managed to look like the cover of a romance novel, with his obviously well-muscled torso doing violence to one of her white t-shirts, and his dark hair severely tied back.
Instead of dwelling on how he looked, she cleared her throat. “Do you really think your brother will be able to reproduce a shaver with magic? I mean, one that works automatically?”
“It might look quite different,” Seraphim said. “When he’s done. But if he sees the principle of how it works, he’ll probably have an idea for how to do it. And it would be no end of relief for Gabriel not to have to shave me.”