The Prince of Two Tribes

by Sean Cullen

  “Sorry, Brendan. You’ve got to get up to speed. You have to practise.”

  “Why? What’s the big rush? Faeries live a really long time, right? I have years to practise. Decades! Centuries!” They crossed the street into Queen’s Park. The trees were stark and bare now. No snow had fallen yet, but Brendan could sense the winter in the rawness of the wind as it rattled the dead leaves around their feet. One of the benefits of being a Faerie was the way his senses were heightened and tuned to nature in a way he’d never imagined before the glamours that concealed them had been lifted.

  “See ya ’round. Get some sleep tonight. Or better yet, work on your meditation!” She gunned the motor and took off across the park.

  “Oi! I’m trying to get some shut-eye here!” a little voice cried. Brendan unzipped his jacket to reveal BLT stretching her tiny arms as she stood in his inner pocket. Ever since his uncle Og had gifted the Lesser Faerie’s services to Brendan on his Quest for the missing amulet, she’d been his constant companion. She had a taste for sweets that bordered on addiction. Blinking, she looked up at Brendan and flapped her gauzy wings.16 “What’s the racket?”

  “You shouldn’t sleep so much in the day,” Brendan scolded. “You end up being awake all night.”

  “What can I say? I’m a night person.” She yawned and burped.17

  “Well, I’m a sleep person. And I want to get some. So try to shift your schedule.”

  BLT scowled. “What am I supposed to do all day while you’re in that idiotic Human school?”

  “What did you do before you were assigned to me?”

  “Sleep.”

  “Oh brother,” Brendan groaned.

  “Who are you talking to?”

  Brendan nearly jumped out of his skin. He spun around to find a girl standing on the path. Thin and pale, she wore an oversized black leather motorcycle jacket over a Weezer T-shirt and tattered black jeans. Her black hair was gelled up into a spiky mohawk. On her hands, she wore black woollen gloves with the fingers cut off, revealing black painted nails.

  “Sorry.” She laughed. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “You didn’t,” Brendan said quickly. “I just didn’t see you there.”

  “Of course you didn’t.” She smiled. “Nobody sees me unless I want them to.” Her blue eyes sparkled. They were a blue that Brendan had never seen on any person before: sapphire shimmering with deeper shades of violet. He realized then that she was a Faerie like him.

  His heart raced. He’d been told by Ariel, Greenleaf, and Kim to be wary of any Fair Folk who approached him without a proper introduction. After his experience with Orcadia, that seemed like sound advice.

  The girl stepped closer and held out a hand. “I’m Charles.” She pronounced it “Sharles.” “My friends call me Charlie. You can, too, if you like.” She spoke with a soft accent. She sounded French or maybe Quebecois.

  Brendan stared at the hand but didn’t reach for it. “Charles? That’s a boy’s name.”

  “Real smooth.” BLT had crawled out of her hiding place to sit on Brendan’s shoulder.

  “Shut up, you little pest,” Brendan said.

  The girl dropped her hand and shrugged. “It’s my name. I’m a girl. That makes it a girl’s name, doesn’t it? Don’t I look like a girl to you?”

  “Uh, yeah. I guess so,” Brendan said dumbly. She was a little punk for his taste. Still, he could see that under the makeup, hair, and shredded clothes, there might be a pretty cute girl. He pushed the thought away. He had to concentrate. This could be a potentially dangerous situation.

  He looked around for Kim but she was long gone on her scooter. He had to deal with this on his own.

  “What’s the matter?” Charlie pressed. “Am I scaring you?” She laughed, crinkling up her nose. He felt sure she was mocking him. “You look a little worried.”

  “I’m fine.” Brendan didn’t know what to do. He knew other Faeries lived in the city. He saw lots of them in the Swan and sometimes on the street, going about their business like ordinary citizens. He sensed them. More accurately, he felt they were different, like him. They never approached him, however. They nodded or smiled and went on their way. Ariel had laid down the rules where Brendan was concerned, and the Fair Folk in Toronto followed them. He was not to be approached, and his Human family was off limits.

  In spite of the rules, here was this Faerie stopping him on his way home from school. He didn’t know what to do.

  “I’ve got to be going,” he said and started walking away.

  She trotted after him and matched his stride. “You don’t want to meet me?”

  “No thanks.”

  “You’re very rude.” She pouted.

  “Just leave me alone, okay?” Brendan said, trying to walk faster.

  She matched his pace easily. “Don’t you like girls?”

  Brendan stopped and faced her. “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.” As soon as he said it, he felt like an idiot. “Just leave me alone, all right?”

  “He’s right! He’s not supposed to talk to you!” BLT confirmed. Somehow, a tiny person sticking up for him made the situation seem even more childish and humiliating.

  “Lose the big idiot and spend a little time with Lord Chitter, yer ladyship!” came a voice from below. “I can certainly appreciate a pretty girl.” They looked down to see a tiny man dressed in what appeared to be the fur of a grey squirrel. He held a minute spear in his hand. He blinked his glossy black eyes and grinned. Chitter bowed low, sweeping off his little cap. Brendan had made Chitter’s acquaintance only a few short weeks before on the fateful day he’d spent running from Orcadia. The Lesser Faerie ran with the squirrels of Queen’s Park, pilfering picnic baskets and generally making a nuisance of himself.

  “You’re the idiot,” Brendan shot back. “And you’re only five inches tall.”

  “You’re the idiot,” Chitter retorted, “’cause you ain’t interested in her.”

  BLT fluttered into the air, pushing up her sleeves. “Don’t you call Brendan an idiot!”

  “Or what?” Chitter stuck out his tiny chin.

  “Or I’ll thrash you, you furry little creep!”

  “He’s an idiot and that’s the truth.”

  BLT snarled. “All right. You called down the thunder!”

  “Hold on, there!” Brendan quickly grabbed BLT before she could launch herself at Lord Chitter and stuffed her into his jacket pocket. BLT shrieked and struggled but Brendan zipped up his pocket, trapping her safely inside.

  “Now look what you’ve done!” he snapped at the strange girl. “Just leave me alone.” Brendan turned on his heel and marched away.

  The girl caught up with him as he reached the far end of the park. “I don’t want to cause you any trouble. I just want us to get to know each other.”

  Brendan whirled on her. “I’m not interested, all right? I can barely keep the friends I have. I don’t need any new ones.”

  “I want to help you,” she said. “I know the training is hard for you.”

  “And you’re making it harder. If you really want to help, just leave me alone.” His voice rose to a shout. A couple walking by stared. Embarrassed, he simply turned and walked away.

  Charlie didn’t follow. When he ventured a look over his shoulder, he saw her standing at the edge of the park, watching him. She gave him a cheeky little wave. Brendan sneered and turned toward home.

  14 Of course, Harold has met Dmitri’s babka, but that day was erased from their memories. Again, read the first book. If you haven’t yet, why are you reading this one, you strange, strange person?

  15 Artificers use their Faerie powers and skill at working with their hands to create functional works of art. They harness spirits to build motors. They place extraordinary power within ordinary objects. They also reproduce Human technologies in forms that Fair Folk can use. Faeries adore Human gadgets: cellphones, MP3 players, DVDs, and computers are all fascinating to them. Sadly, because of the Faeries’
strong magical affinity, most Human technology won’t work for them. That’s where Artificers like Og come in. They build items that function just like the Humans’ versions but run on the natural ambient energy of the Earth.

  16 Faeries are only one of many different types of what Humans might call Magical Races. The Faerie world is divided into two major types of Faerie: Greater and Lesser. Greater Faeries are of normal Human size and possess various kinds of powers. Lesser Faeries, or, if one is more politically correct, Diminutives, are small enough to sit in the palm of one’s hand. They come in a vast array of physical forms. Some resemble birds. Some are mammalian. Some look like insects. Many but not all varieties of Diminutives can fly. Some even live in and breathe water. BLT’s real name is Basra La Tir, but Brendan calls her BLT because he found her hidden in a sandwich.

  17 Greater Faeries, unlike Humans, require very little sleep. They replace sleep with short periods of silent, trance-like meditation. Lesser Faeries, however, are like Humans in their need for sleep. No one knows why. One theory is that they burn more energy, like birds. Another is that they’re too high-strung to meditate. Yet another is that Lesser Faeries are just too lazy to learn how to meditate. I’d subscribe to the last theory.

  INSTRUCTION

  “Concentrate!” Mr. Greenleaf’s crisp command rang in Brendan’s ears.

  “I’m trying,” Brendan grumbled, his breath steaming in the cold, clear morning air. “It isn’t easy, you know. And I’m tired,” Brendan said pointedly. Greenleaf had called him at 6 A.M. and demanded a training session that morning, despite the fact that it was Saturday. Brendan had made his way grudgingly to the ravine Greenleaf had specified, an out-of-the-way spot in High Park where they could train without anyone about.

  “Don’t bother answering me! If you’re talking, you aren’t concentrating,” Greenleaf chided.

  Brendan bit off a reply. He was losing his cool with his teacher and with himself. Greenleaf was wrong. He’d been concentrating so hard for the past hour that he felt the beginnings of a headache blossoming in his skull. He had to make a conscious effort to unclamp his jaws. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t maintain his focus for long. Greenleaf had been uncharacteristically stern when Brendan had arrived at the training session. Usually, the dapper Faerie was mild-mannered and affable. He had a seemingly inexhaustible reserve of patience. Today, he was harsh in his criticism and testy in his comments. Brendan had never seen him behave this way. I imagine I’d be sick of teaching me after a few weeks, too, he thought to himself.

  Brendan tried to calm his mind, once again bending his will upon his current test subject.

  The brown chickadee hopped about the clearing oblivious to Brendan’s efforts, following the desires of its tiny brain and ignoring Brendan’s attempts to influence it. Brendan could sense the staccato thoughts of the jittery bird just at the edge of his perception, but he couldn’t read them clearly or manipulate them in the slightest. It was like trying to read the pages of a book through a pane of frosted glass while riding on a train. What he’d done effortlessly while fleeing from Orcadia, communicating with the birds, using them to help him escape, now seemed completely impossible. The failure was both exhausting and infuriating. After another moment of futile mental strain, Brendan threw up his hands in frustration and disgust.

  “It’s hopeless.”

  “Nothing is hopeless. You’re just lazy, that is all.” Greenleaf leaned against the thick trunk of an oak tree at the edge of the clearing, his arms neatly crossed, a picture of composure. As always, he was impeccably dressed. Today he was wearing an exquisitely tailored three-piece suit18 of sage green fabric that showed off his lean frame to perfection. Over his suit, he wore a three-quarter-length grey topcoat that hung open. Though the early winter morning was crisp, he was unaffected by the cold. He scuffed the dry leaves with his foot in a show of impatience. “You must concentrate and stop wasting my time.”

  Brendan and Greenleaf were in an isolated clearing in High Park, the vast forest in Toronto’s West End. In mid-December, few members of the public were taking advantage of the park. After training almost exclusively on the Ward’s Island in the Swan of Liir or thereabouts, Greenleaf had thought that getting away from prying eyes and the spectators that Brendan tended to attract might be a welcome change and give him a different perspective. “A change is as good as a rest,” the dapper teacher declared.

  “A rest is also as good as a rest,” Brendan grumbled. Greenleaf merely laughed and ignored his student’s griping. Which annoyed Brendan even more.

  He’d wanted nothing more than to relax at home the night before, but his mother had other ideas. She recruited him as an escort and baggage handler on her trip to the mall. Christmas was great. Brendan wasn’t one of those people who hated the holiday, but fighting through the crowds at the mall to get that special gift at that special price wasn’t his idea of a good time. He wished he could turn on his Faerie speed and whip through the job in a minute or two.

  Unfortunately, not only would his mother have seen him for what he really was, but he was also completely unable to conjure up his Faerie abilities whenever he wanted to. For some unknown reason, he was having trouble connecting with his gifts and practising the Arts with the ease other Faeries could manage. There were many theories about why. Greenleaf and Kim believed he was having a mental block because his Faerie nature had been suppressed by his father’s magic for so long.19 Briach Morn had woven powerful glamours to hide his son in the Human world. Perhaps they had stunted his abilities. Og thought that his skull might be a little too thick and offered to drill a hole in Brendan’s forehead to let the energies escape more easily. Brendan graciously declined that offer. Whatever the real reason, Brendan had to endure endless training sessions, which was why he was here, in the damp, misty park at ten on a Saturday morning instead of wrapped up in his bed, sleeping in like a normal teenager.

  Still, it was a novelty to be out in the open air. He and Greenleaf were all alone, with no distractions. Maybe that was a good thing after all.

  The clearing they occupied was in a ravine, away from the path. To make sure they wouldn’t be observed, Greenleaf wove glamours all about the clearing to deter casual observers who might wander through. Though they were out in the fresh air, Brendan felt oppressed by his own failure. Greenleaf pushed him hard, and the pressure was starting to take a toll. They’d been working all morning and Brendan was exhausted, with no progress to show for his efforts. On top of that, it was a Saturday, a day for goofing off, not for trying to practise mind control on birds.

  For what seemed like the fiftieth time, Greenleaf demanded, “Concentrate!”

  “Yeah! Concentrate!” BLT echoed. She sat on a branch above, chewing a slice of pineapple with a desultory sneer on her face. Brendan had been trying to get the little Faerie to eat fruit instead of junk food to get her sugar fix, but BLT wasn’t enjoying the switch. Beside BLT sat Titi, the Diminutive Faerie who was Greenleaf’s companion. Titi was altogether more refined than BLT. She sat primly, watching the proceedings with mild interest. Where BLT was rough and ready, her clothes slightly dishevelled and stained, Titi was a proper little fashion plate, fastidiously coiffed and carefully clothed in the finest mini, ultra-fashionable designer wear. How she got such tiny clothes, Brendan couldn’t guess. Perhaps she stole them off Barbie dolls in the super-chic shops of Yorkville.20

  “You can do it, Brendan!” BLT called. “Concentrate!”

  “I’m trying to concentrate! How am I supposed to concentrate with you saying concentrate every five seconds?” Brendan snapped, kicking the tree trunk in frustration. The chickadee, startled by the sudden movement, flitted to a higher branch.

  “That tree never did you any harm,” Greenleaf said dryly.

  “Never did me any good, either,” Brendan retorted.

  “Oh, but it does do you good. It is part of a massive interconnected system that provides you with the air you breathe and the food you drink,” Gr
eenleaf said, stroking the bark of the huge tree lovingly. “You are a part of this tree. We all are. Kicking it is like kicking yourself.”

  “If I could kick myself, I would,”21 Brendan said, slumping to the ground. “I just can’t seem to do anything,” he groaned. “I can feel the bird’s thoughts like an itch in my brain, but I can’t get inside them.”

  Greenleaf studied him for a long moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. He pushed himself away from the tree trunk and stood in front of Brendan. “You lack motivation, that’s all,” Greenleaf said. “You were under duress, fearing for your life at the time. The terror focused your mind. You have to learn to do these things without any threat.”

  “Maybe it was a fluke. Maybe I haven’t got any power of Compulsion. Maybe whatever gift I had got burned up or something … or worn out. Have you ever thought of that?”

  “Interesting theory. Very interesting indeed.” The tutor pushed away from the tree and stood erect. The corner of his mouth turned up into a sneer. “That would mean you are utterly defenceless …” His pale grey eyes narrowed.

  Brendan took a step backwards. The look on Greenleaf’s face was one he’d never seen before. It was dark and predatory. Greenleaf took a step toward Brendan. Brendan backed away, bumping into the tree stump with the back of his legs. “I … I guess so.”

  “And no one knows you’re here,” Greenleaf hissed. “What a foolish, trusting child you are, Breandan! You let me lead you out here into the woods alone where no one could help you. Not even that annoying Ki-Mata can save you now.”

  “What?” Brendan was confused. For the first time, he realized how strange it was that Kim hadn’t come along. She usually didn’t let Brendan out of her sight for long. When Brendan had questioned her absence at the beginning of the session, Greenleaf had said she was busy, and he’d taken that for granted. “What are you talking about, Greenleaf?”

  “Now you will pay for what you did to me!” As Brendan watched in horror, Greenleaf’s face flowed and swam until the handsome features were transformed into the leering face of Orcadia Morn.