Gossamyr

by Michelle Hauf

  "Yes, blight you!"

  "Bone! That is anger. What of pain? What will you do to show me your pain? Kick me? Knock me down with your mighty staff?"

  "I—I will do you no harm."

  "Nor will you step from your safe past to be. To feel! Gossamyr, feel! Be! Dare to be like me, a mere mortal who wants and needs and aches. What if I were to kiss you? Right now?"

  "You speak nonsense." She stumbled but caught herself against the rough wood wall and slid to the right, closer to the ladder. The man followed, relentless in his futile mortal ramblings.

  A kiss? That had naught to do with the angry emotions of which he spoke!

  "I hunger, Gossamyr." He gripped her. His fingers splayed about her shoulders—revealed by the low-necked gown—claiming her in a way that added a shiver to her frightened heartbeats. "I hunger to take you right now. To pour my grief into you. Just.. .to share a part of me that aches. Can you understand?"

  She shook her head. What had mortal lust to do with pain and grief? He was acting the devil he appeared.

  "You hurt, Gossamyr. You ache. You weep. You can love. Show me! Show me your loss!"

  "I have loved! And I have vowed never again to cry for such a loss!" She slipped from his touch and rushed to the ladder.

  "All that pain," he called as she exited the room, "it gets caught

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  up inside you, Gossamyr. It must come out sooner or later. It should have been sooner for me,"he cried. "Mayhap Rhiana would still live."

  Skirts lumped up about her waist, Gossamyr thundered down the ladder and outside. She did not break stride until her palm connected with the rough bark of a chestnut tree coved into the miniature courtyard out back of the house.

  Huffing and blinking, she forgot to keep back the stream of tears relentlessly stinging. Salty liquid splat her nose and lips and seeped down her throat.

  What had he done to her? She was not like Ulrich. He carried useless emotions for an event that could not be changed. The past would ever remain untouchable. He could never bring back his daughter. And yet he punished himself with hopeless desires. There was no sense to that!

  Smearing the back of her palm over her cheek, she then stared at the wet on her flesh. Crying? No! She had expended that fruitless emotion long ago.

  / know how tojeel. 1 have loved!

  And she had vowed to never again feel for someone so strongly...

  From the corner of her eye she spied Avenall. Why did he not flee?

  "Father, I—"

  "Silence!"Shinn moved his gaze from Avenall to her, down her face and over her robe, which she clutched between her breasts. Could he know? But Jor the telling color ojAvenall's wings he must know! "This man 1 havefor-biddenjrom seeing you stands in my home?"

  "Forgive me, lord—"

  "You have begged my forgiveness once, Avenall.. .of Rougethorn. I thought to respect your humility, but I see it was Jor naught. You lied to me when you promised you would not continue to court Gossamyr.You have debauched my daughter?"

  "No, I merely—"

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  "We were but kissing, Father,"Gossamyr offered hastily. "Nothing more."

  Shinn tilted his head. Hard violet arrows shot through Gossamyr's heart. Betrayal, they spoke. You have betrayed me. His disappointment hung in the air like a choking cloud.

  "I... "Avenall managed. "I will leave."

  "You will"Shinn spoke,"be punishedjbr this betrayal. You swore you would not seek my daughter's favor"

  Gossamyr cringed at the command. Rarely did Shinn raise his voice. Please, do not hurt him, she thought. Do not wound him.

  "For betraying my trust,"Shinn continued in the same abrasive command, "banishment!"

  "No!"

  Gossamyr spun to Avenall. The Rougethornfee stiffened, caught within Shinn's mighty glamour. He cried out as the red pinpricks of banishment bore through his flesh, circling his left eye and for ever marking him.

  And with a sweep of Shinn's hand, Avenall was carried away, over the balustrade, up into the crystal sky, andfinally he twinclianed in a minute shimmer.

  Aghast and completely stunned at her father's quick and cruel punishment, Gossamyr stood there shaking, staring off into the sky. Her jaw hung open. She could not comprehend. Avenall had been here, in her arms, kissing her, loving her—now he was gone.

  "No,"she murmured, and swung to beat her fists against Shinn's chest. "Bring him back! You cannot send him offfor loving me!"

  "Love?" Shinn spat out a vicious snort of laughter. "Go to your room, daughter. Be gone from me now."

  He actually shoved her from his body. And Gossamyr, lost in the devastating rush of the moment,fled from her mother's study.

  But oh... it did ache there... right in the center of her chest where Ulrich had touched her bruised heart. Gossamyr clutched at the gown, her fingers filling with the soft brown fur. Seeing Avenall in the market square had shaken off the shroud of indifference she had built up. Emotions were mortal. Unnecessary.

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  Truly?

  You fear loss of family.

  She was all alone. So far from Shinn. To Be seemed the greatest challenge.

  That Shinn had banished a Rougethorn... The only reason her father had the ability to banish one not of his tribe was because Avenall had lived in Glamoursiege since he was very young. He had lived in Glamoursiege longer—and so he was considered a citizen.

  Avenall. The one man who had loved her had looked through her as if she did not exist. The Red clouded Avenall's vision.

  Yet Ulrich saw her clearly.

  He touches a part of you that does feel, the mortal part that knows emotion before your fee instincts ever could.

  It would be simpler if she were completely fee.

  Youfit into the air here. No one looks uponyou with a disdainful sneer.

  Sliding down against the tree trunk, Gossamyr squatted and caught her forehead in her palms. Tears flowed through her fingers and dropped to the ground, wetting the soil.

  Ulrich pushed away from the small triangle smoke hatch where he watched Gossamyr struggle with tears. He was halfway to the stairs, determined to rush outside and comfort her, when he stopped, and returned to the window.

  "Let her cry," he whispered. "Let her feel the pain. It is good. You are learning, Gossamyr of Faery. Disenchanted? It is bone."

  EIGHTEEN

  As they gained the bell tower of St. Genevieve, Ulrich sprawled across the stone floor to rest. He had chosen the cathedral for, set upon a hill, it offered one of the highest lookouts in Paris. Excellent view of the entire city.

  Having sprinted up the last dozen or so steps of the tower, Gos-samyr closed her eyes and tilted back her head. The air up here was even lighter than on the ground. Sounds of humanity, the rush of horses and carts and carriages wobbling across cobbles, segued into but a hum. A nest of hawfinch chirped nearby, tucked away beneath the chin of a sooty gargoyle.

  And there on the snout-nose of the gargoyle perched the fetch, its wings folded upward, obliquing in the midday sun. Always there, her father. / have not lostfamily.

  She wondered now how Rhiana felt when she had thought of her missing father. To wake one morning and never again know the comfort of his presence? And, if she was ill thought by her mother, as Ulrich had explained, it must have been a lonely existence.

  No, not gone, my family. Who then was she to claim such pain?

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  But it did pain. For she was alone, and the uncertainty of her return to Faery would not rest.

  She must defeat the succubus and—then what? Would she Passage back to Faery? Where to find a Passage? Surely Shinn could merit a trip to Paris to retrieve her.

  What if he were injured, or worse, the staunch Faery lord was killed battling the revenants? She would not know. Mince may not know where to find her. Had Shinn told Desideriel of her task? Certainly, the marshal at arms would never come for her.

  Each day spent in t
his mortal realm challenged her beliefs. Where did she belong? And why had her conscious so suddenly altered?

  "I hadn't realized there were so many steps," Ulrich huffed. He tipped over the saddlebag he'd carried up the spiraling stairs. "Must be hundreds."

  "You are winded," Gossamyr said as she leaned over the stone balustrade and cast her eyes across the city.

  "Not at all! Just—" puff, puff"—breathing in this fresh clear air. A man's got to do such, you know, for to tread the city, all close and dirty, tends to make one's humours sluggish."

  Yet Gossamyr fancied she could leap from this tower and soar, so light and perfectly fit into this air stood she. Had she wings, flight would not require thought. One leap and she would soar over the kingdom, come hunting hawk or mighty dragon, naught would bring her down.

  o

  Dissected by the Seine, the city spread wide and vast. Narrow streets barely stitched demarcations between the dwellings. Stuffed tight within the bounds of the fortressed city walls thousands upon thousands of buildings fought story by story to reach into the sky for a breath of the light air. Great spires and towers and banners proclaiming royalty, religion and wares populated the sky. Sun glinted on red tile roofs and glittered upon the river. Great conglomerations of buildings hugged the cathedral, looking more to

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  support than actually surround. Packed tighter than a honeycomb, the city, and as bustling and productive as a queen's hive. People were but gnats in colorful bits of fabric. Shopkeepers clopped about on red wood sabots. Archers bore a deer hung by its quarters from poles through the spiderweb of streets. Laundry flagged the stretches of cord from window to rooftop. And everywhere children scampered and dodged and shouted.

  Surprising how a different perspective designed the city most beautifully. The intricacy of it all marveled. "Be that the royal palace there at the end of the island, where your king lives?"

  Ulrich tilted his head, honing his directions. "I believe so. I don't much answer to King Henry myself. He is English."

  "You mean the drunkards and—"

  "And tails, my lady, indeed! One country isn't enough for him; he's got his grubby mitts on Paris, as well. Pray either the vulgar Burgundians or bloodthirsty Armagnacs take this city soon."

  "You don't care which of the two?"

  "So long as they are French, no. Though I do favor the Armagnacs, simply because our unseated French king sides with them. The village I am from is under his reign. He's a good king, so far as kings go."

  Gossamyr propped her elbows on the balustrade behind her and eyed Ulrich's sorting about in the saddlebag. "Glamoursiege has been a place of peace since I can recall. Unlike the Netherdreds we value peace."

  "Sounds like your Netherdreds would get along well with the Armagnacs. That is the tribe the Red Lady hails from?"

  "So far as I know."

  "What was the tribal name of your Avenall?"

  "Rougethorn." She pronounced it as Avenall had. Rogue—Torn. A cad's dashing mannerism.

  She looked down into Ulrich's expectant gaze. Stirring within the pale whites of his eyes swam a glitter not unlike mirth. It be-

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  guiled Gossamyr. Change had crept between them. In addition to being fascinated by her surroundings, Gossamyr found Ulrich held interest. A man alone and on a heartfelt quest. Of the tribe Mortal. An intriguing race.

  "What the hell is that?"

  She followed Ulrich's gaping stare to the gargoyle's chipped nose. "The fetch. You've seen it before. I've explained—"

  "Yes, but you said it was a dragonfly." He stood. The sudden movement caused the fetch to flutter its wings, so Ulrich stilled. He embraced the air, pointing, but uncertain whether to let out a cry or swallow back a shout. "It be a dragon!"

  "The size of a fly," Gossamyr said with a shrug. "What troubles you?"

  "You! Faery! Tiny dragons and man-eating frogs?" He drilled his fingers into his hair and stretched out the curly strands. "What next? A hornless unicorn?"

  "If you are vigilant."

  A sigh preceded his accepting nod. "Indeed." He propped his elbows on the balustrade aside Gossamyr. A glance to the fetch— both summed up the other. "What wonders I have known and wish to ever erase from my eyes."

  "The fetch is not so remarkable."

  "So say you, lady from Faery."

  She stretched her hand before her to encompass the city. "Here be true wonders. So many eating, sleeping, dancing, making love."

  "Fighting, killing, maiming."

  "Skipping, birthing and growing."

  "Dying."

  "Ulrich."

  "I know. You see the wonders of a new world. I have closed mine eyes to all but strife."

  "Anon," she offered. "Your heart will change if you see her again?"

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  He swung a bemused look at her. "Yes, anon."

  Stretching out her arms, Gossamyr tilted her body forward. Standing on tiptoe, she moved with the sway of the air. Flight, she had never before known the sensation.

  "Faery Not!"

  Groping for the balustrade, Gossamyr teetered forward as Ul-rich caught her ankle, catching her from a sure fall.

  "What in all of Hades? Think you to fly?"

  "Of course not." She smirked and made show of clutching the balustrade for support. No, and yes. Flight? What a dream.

  Sighing, she knelt beside Ulrich to watch him sort through the various items within. The wrapped alicorn remained tucked inside the leather bag. After defeat of the Red Lady, there was the matter of returning the sacred object. Could she convince Ulrich to hand over the alicorn to her? Had she any right? It was his find. Only he held the power to claim his wish. And what a wish it was. Faery owed Ulrich for his stolen years. Haps 'twas intended the alicorn fell to Ulrich's hands as repayment for his suffering?

  A mortar and pestle rolled to tilt against Gossamyr's toe. Tucking aside her skirt, she lifted the heavy polished bowl and smoothed her fingers inside the convex stone. "No wonder you're exhausted. This weighs half a stone!"

  "Only now is the woman aware of the suffering I endure for her." He gestured she hand him the mortar.

  "You suffer naught for me. It is for your distressed damsel whom you quest, and that is the proof of it."

  "Indeed." He emptied a cloth bag of flaked herb into the bowl, but paused. "Do you think it wrong?"

  "Most certainly. You cannot bring back the dead."

  "And yet, you implied earlier it could be done."

  "Be it possible to bring back the dead does not make it right."

  Ulrich nodded. "And you can kill a soul sucker in the name of Faery, but that doesn't make it right, either."

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  "I will kill her. And it will be right. She threatens Faery, Ulrich!"

  "And how do you plan to stop her murderous rampage? That stick of yours tends to only knock a man out for a time. She'll bounce right back up and suck out another soul from your Disenchanted brethren."

  Leaning back on her palms, Gossamyr toed the base of the stone baluster. "I hadn't considered the method I would use to stop her."

  "Truly, my lady, you continue to astound me. What was your father thinking to loose his spoil—"

  "Don't say it. You do not know the truth of me."

  "True, I do not. Yet, do you know the truth of yourself?"

  "Of course I do. I am Gossamyr from Glamour siege."

  "Merely a title. You quest, fair lady. But not for blood. You seek. We all seek."

  "There isn't a thing to be sought." And do not go on about my lack of emotion, she thought. She wasn't prepared to descend into strange territory this day; she must focus on finding the succubus.

  From a tiny piece of twisted leather Ulrich dumped some fine shavings into the bowl of herbs. Had he intention to—

  "You cannot!" Gossamyr slapped a hand over the bowl of glimmering shards. "It is sacrilege."

  "Gossamyr, it is blasphemy merely to
stand atop this cathedral and perform magic. On the other hand, magic and the church have a secret liaison far stronger than any Inquest will allow you to believe."

  Cringing away from him, Gossamyr clung to the stone balustrade. Magic! A fee who participated in the deed participated in the destruction of the very Enchantment that was their life.

  "You know magic harms Faery?" she whispered. The soul shepherd did not regard her as he continued to sort through the items. The black cloth was tilted over the mortar to sift the particles of alicorn into the mortar. "No!"

  She leaped to slam her hands over the mortar.

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  Ulrich gripped the bowl and met her defiance with a leer of his own. "Now come, I cannot press it back onto the alicorn and hope it sticks."

  "It is forbidden for a fee to dabble in magic."

  "That is well and fine, for I am no faery. Let go! You needn't watch if that is what troubles you. Do you not want to find your Red Lady? Just a little magic to locate the succubus who threatens all of Faery?"

  She relented and sat back on her haunches. Clamping her palms to each opposite elbow, she remained stiff. Surely it would be fine to tap a bit of Enchantment so the entire realm of Faery might be saved?

  Would that she had stopped him before such destruction. He'd shaved the bits from the alicorn at his uncle's house; likely when she had been passed out—er, sleeping.

  Always the Rouge thorn tribe had been tolerated, but Shinn had never chosen to join troops for a tournament. Tainted, they were, for their dabbling. Yet, Avenall had been just like any other fee who had lived in Glamoursiege.

  Ulrich ignored her, whistling quietly as he went about his magic. He was but one single man, and he had claimed to merely know a bit of magic. He be not a wizard or mage.

  Gossamyr's curiosity got the better of her. She broke her stiff pose. "This spell will track the Red Lady directly to her lair?"

  As he began to pulverize the mixture to a fine powder, Ulrich nodded. "I shall perform a discovery spell. It will track and mark any with Faery ichor in the city."

  "What if there are more than the one?"

  He shrugged. "Are not all Disenchanted?"

  "Yes, but their ichor remains Faery."

  "Your Red Lady is Enchanted bethanks to those stolen essences?"