Throne

by Phil Tucker

  “You will serve,” she said, “As the others do. As the catalyst for my coming, you shall herald my might, and lead the battle against the Seelie.”

  Murmurs from the ranks. She ignored them. Stared at the small and terrible figure.

  Her voice grew low, husky. “For I am the Queen of Air and Darkness, and your realm is but part of mine. I claim you as my own.” And then, quicker than the eye could follow, she leapt down from the rocks, fell upon Kubu, and skewered him through the chest.

  For a moment the little demon did not react, but simply stared at her, face blank, and then he grimaced, scowled, and closed his eyes. No blood poured from the wound, but he began to thrum, to vibrate, and Maribel leaned forward, staring down at his face, a smile carving across her features. Kubu continued to writhe, the movements so rapid and increasingly violent that it was only the sword that kept him in place, and then he flew apart, as if he had been composed of a dozen ghostly versions of himself which now had finally broken away from each other.

  The ghosts of Kubu fled into the ranks, leaving only his robe behind, and he was gone. Maribel straightened, withdrew her sword, and looked about. Waited. Goblins and ogres and worse gaze about in confusion, fear, and then a figure stepped forward, hulking and foul, and she knew that her plan had worked.

  Built like a refrigerator, clad in white robes and with hands like baseball mitts, the creature drew hisses from those around it. A cowl fell about its face, the face of a baby, cheeks pitted, mouth a twisted rosebud, eyes tiny, forehead and cheeks bulbous. There was something leprous about it, something damaged and foul, but its strength was evident. Another similar figure stepped out from the Host, and another, until some twenty or so identical forms, all clad in ivory robes and with idiotic, cruel and hungry expressions gazing at where Maribel stood.

  She felt a chill rush through her as she met those blank gazes, dark fairies infused with the essence of Kubu, and then laughing, she flung out her arms. “The city awaits us,” she cried, “This Island is our playground, ours to mold and to shatter. Go now, and revel as we have not reveled in long ages!”

  And, as one, as if released from a binding spell, the Host exploded outwards, howling and shrieking and loping and running, taking to wing, striding off on long legs and short, some disappearing into shadow, others diving into the pool and not surfacing again. Within moments, all had departed, all had departed but for the phooka who now held Antonio’s chain.

  She ignored Antonio’s calls as she leapt up into the sky, a frisson of excitement passing through her at a new realization. She would kill him later, she decided. When he had seen enough to either lose his sanity or admit his abject ignorance. The thought pleased her, and with another laugh, she launched herself into the night once more.

  Chapter 18

  Jimmy Squarefoot ran. With grim determination, he made his way south down the Isle of Apples, his every bound fueled with fear of the blades wielded by their pursuers. But even those steeds could not keep up with his springs and leaps, and by the time they reached the Brooklyn Bridge, the knights had been left behind. But Maya was concerned with a wholly different race. Time. She couldn’t see Kevin from her position, but she knew he was bleeding out. Bleeding into his own stomach. Were any major organs ruptured? Was he dead already, head lolling in Jimmy’s arms?

  They took the bridge in three prodigious leaps, and then they were moving through downtown Brooklyn. Stupid man, she thought. What kind of idiot attacks a knight with a crowbar? On they leapt, Jimmy grunting now with each bound, worn out, his leaps growing shorter, slower.

  Finally, they bounded over a low, stone wall and were in the park. Grass and snow stretched out before them, a curtain of trees in the near distance. A band was playing to their right, crowds of people drifting toward it, something melodic and infused with strains of synth pop, filling the air with its rhythmic beat. Maya gazed down at the people heading in that direction, some holding thick blankets, others bags of groceries or bottles of wine. A night concert, part and parcel of life in New York for those fortunate enough not to have to think of anything else. She closed her eyes, rested her forehead against Jimmy’s back.

  A few minutes more, and then Jimmy stumbled, stopped, fell to his knees. Maya blinked open her eyes, slid from his back. Her legs were stiff, the inside of her thighs in agony from having gripped his sides for so long. She hobbled around him, and stopped. Stared. Gaped.

  Old Man Oak’s glade was filled. It was as if all the creatures and beasts of the land of fae were gathering for their own concert. Ringed around the vast and mighty tree cavorted and stood endless impossibilities, rank upon rank of them. Knights on champing chargers, multihued pennants hanging limp from their lances, their armor similar to that of those who had chased them but emblazoned with noble animals, hearts and arrows, owls and rising suns. Young women clothed in impossibly gauzy and translucent wraps, their languorous bodies the idle dreams of perverts everywhere. To the left of the trunk, close to its base, stood a griffin. As large as a tractor, its great eagle head stared fiercely down at her, its bronze plumage ruffled about the nape of its neck, massive tawny lion flanks settled in a sitting position. Great claws, its fierce beak—Maya’s heart stopped, stilled in awe at its terrible beauty.

  “Ach, quit your gaping, girl,” said a voice, and she looked down to see a hideous, little man scowling up at her. He was wearing a coat of black, steel links over his body, and a wicked looking hatchet hung from one hand.

  “Tim Tom Tot,” cried Maya, and leaned down to envelope him in a hug. He spluttered and cried out oaths, and wriggled free of her grasp. Righted his chainmail, adjusted his green cap.

  “Never,” he yelled, “Hug a brownie. Never!” He stomped his foot.

  Maya smiled, and then felt something like an icy bolt run through her. Kevin. She whipped around, saw that Jimmy had laid him out on his side on the dead grass. He lay limp, eyes closed, skin incredibly pale, veins visible in a horrible tracery beneath his skin.

  “Your friend is badly wounded,” said Tim Tom Tot, stepping up next to him, rubbing his chin. “Were you fond of him?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I was.”

  Voices and whispers, and the things and creatures closest to her parted as somebody approached. Maya looked up and saw Old Man Oak himself, moving with long, stiff strides. His face was grave, his eyes blazing with power and energy. Everyone except Maya stepped back. She simply watched him, trying not to hope.

  “Hrmm,” said Old Man Oak, looking down at where Kevin lay. Maya remembered how annoying Kevin had been when they’d been here last. She stepped forward.

  “He got hurt protecting me,” she said. “I’d be dead, otherwise.”

  “Hrmm,” said Old Man Oak once more, and leaned over the fallen man. Bent right at the hip, ninety degrees, and extended his sinewy, bark covered arm. Between his thumb and forefinger he held a small brown object. A nut. No, realized Maya. An acorn. Without ceremony or fuss, Old Man Oak pushed it into Kevin’s mouth, straightened, and looked down at him.

  Kevin stirred, moaned, and then choked as he swallowed something. Gasped, gagged, face scrunching up in pain. Leaning down once more, Old Man Oak took hold of the sword’s hilt, and drew it free of Kevin’s body in one clean draw. Blood spurted out onto the grass, but not much. Old Man Oak took the sword and snapped it in twain over his knee.

  Maya knelt by Kevin. His eyelids were fluttering. He looked ghastly. His curly, brown hair smeared across his face, blood leaking from his long nose. “Will he get better now?” she asked, looking up at Old Man Oak, who simply reached down to pick him up, turned and began to walk to the tree.

  Maya rose, looked at Jimmy. The pig man was lying on his side, legs kicked out, wheezing. “Thank you, Jimmy,” she said. “You were very, very brave.” Jimmy looked at her, too tired to respond, but slowly closed his long lashed eyelids. A smile curved up his broad snout, and, with lips pursed, Maya turned to follow the group to the base of the tree.

  Past
armored men, past great, gray furred hounds. Past tiny men sitting on the heads of cats, bright red top hats gleaming like rubies. Past centaurs and laughing children, eyes older and wiser than the oldest person Maya had ever met. Past a band of fierce eyed women in crimson armor, their hair long and unbound, their lips red as if anointed with blood. Up and past the griffin, to where Old Man Oak had set Kevin down, and was now scooping water from the pool onto his brow.

  Tim Tom Tot had followed them up, and she saw that a man with a thick, salt and pepper thatch of hair was seated on one of the roots. Something about him was familiar. His vulpine expression, the predatory gleam in his eye. He was attractive, striking, but she didn’t quite trust him. He rose to his feet, and swept a bow. “Maya,” he said, and she realized it was Guillaume, “Welcome back.”

  “I…I’m sorry,” she said, “I failed, I didn’t manage—,” and then he stepped forward and gave her a great hug before exhaustion and fear caused her to start crying. He smelled of the woods, of dark secret places beneath bushes, of the earth. She stiffened, and then hugged him back. He set her down, and stepped back. Looked her levelly in the eyes.

  “You did the best you could,” he said, and smiled. “This will not be the first time the Unseelie Court gains ascendancy, nor the last. Worry not.”

  Maya rubbed the tears from her eyes and nodded, swallowing hard. Took a deep breath, and then looked around the assembled might of the Seelie Court, and saw recrimination nowhere. She looked at where Kevin lay, at the color that was returning to his face. “What are we going to do?” she asked. “Can we do anything?”

  “That,” said Old Man Oak, his voice ponderous and deep, “Is why we have all gathered here in my glade. A response must be made. The Seelie Court is without its Lady or Green Man, but we have some might yet. What we do with our strength, however, remains to be decided.”

  Kevin spluttered. Old Man Oak stood and moved slowly to his seat, where he lowered himself, placed his back against the vast, craggy wall of the tree trunk, and seemed to meld with it. Tim Tom Tot stepped up, pulled out a tin cup from somewhere, and began to pour small amounts of the pool’s water into Kevin’s mouth.

  “Well, there are so many of us,” said Maya, looking out over the glade. Knights and dwarves, beasts and creatures she couldn’t describe. Perhaps a hundred assembled. A mighty force. “Can we take back the sword?”

  Guillaume moved back to his perch, and sat, one leg hiked up, arm resting on the raised knee. “The Queen of Air and Darkness is back. Already she grows into her own. Soon, she will learn all the abilities of Caladcholg, and then true night will fall upon this city.” He shrugged. “Like I said, it has happened before. We can but weather the oncoming storm.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Maya. “Weather how?”

  Guillaume held her gaze. Did not look away. “Keep our heads low. Avoid confrontation. Wait for the Queen to lose herself, to become less than what she now is, to fracture and become merely mortal once more—and then push for our own ascendance.”

  “Hide,” said Maya. “You mean hide.”

  “The Queen has the sword, her Court has ascended,” said Old Man Oak. “To do battle with her is foolish.”

  “But we can’t just hide,” said Maya. “What about all the people in New York? There’s millions of them! It’s not fair for them to just suffer because we messed up. Because I failed to get the sword. We have to do something.”

  The sounds and conversations around them had stilled. Maya turned, looked out over the upturned faces. Hideous and beautiful, bestial and human, all were watching, listening. With a shock, she realized that whatever decision there was to be made, it would be made here, between her and Guillaume. Between her and Old Man Oak. “Aren’t there others who should… who should be speaking?” she asked weakly, turning back. “Other people who are important?”

  Old Man Oak chuckled, “Each and all are important in their own sphere. But in this matter, nobody has primacy. We are not creatures of war, Maya. The Seelie Court is one of growth, of union, of light and joy. We do not take to battle as our dark cousins do, not with such facility.”

  “Oh,” said Maya. “But you can fight? You can go to battle, if there’s no other choice?”

  “Is there no other choice?” asked Guillaume.

  “Well, I don’t see one,” said Maya. “I’d love to figure out a sneaky way to surprise the Queen and take her sword, but… I don’t know how that would work. Could we take a magic tunnel to her court, and then leap out and take the sword before they could react?”

  Guillaume smiled, shook his head. “Our powers fail when they enter her sphere. She has the sword.”

  “Can we call for help? Get somebody powerful from… from some ancient forest in Europe, or call for the help of the gods or something?”

  Again Guillaume shook his head, but this time he was serious. “No. There are many who now sleep, who ignore the summons. Many who we can no longer reach, but even if we could, they would not come. Our greatest allies only heed the call of the Lady. Those that you see about you are the fae who responded to this eventuality. If they have not come, they will not come.”

  “Oh,” said Maya. “Well, why did they come? Why did you come?”

  “Because there was a potential for Caliburn to be achieved. For the Lady of Light and Laughter to manifest instead of the Queen of Air and Darkness. There were some who thought she might, but… she did not. She is not here. She has not come. So there is no cause to rally around, not potential for power such as the Unseelie Court now enjoys.”

  “Oh,” said Maya again. Something stirred within her. Something uncomfortable, a possibility. “Was I… was I meant to become the Lady of Light and Laughter? Is that why you sent me to get the sword?”

  Silence. Maya looked from Guillaume to Old Man Oak to Tim Tom Tot. Nobody spoke, and then Old Man Oak sighed, a sound like wind blowing down through the centuries.

  “It was possible,” he said. “There was a chance that you would rise to the occasion, walk the path that would lead you to become her, and she you. But it did not come to pass.”

  “Oh,” said Maya again, and hated herself for it. Oh oh oh, she seemed to say, over and over. She sat down. Lowered her chin. She hadn’t been good enough. They had needed her to become their Lady, and though she had done her best, she had been found wanting. Not like the Queen of Air and Darkness. She had been evil enough to do everything right, get the sword, rule the world. But not Maya. No.

  Tears stung her eyes. Silence filled the glade. She would not cry in front of them. She would not. She was done with crying. She lifted her head. Saw that Kevin was staring at her, eyes bright. She looked at him, and felt something within her tremble. Would he think her a failure too? Sigh and shake his head?

  Instead, he winked and gave her a shaky grin. Surprised, she laughed. “This one time,” said Kevin, pushing himself up a little, “This one time, a friend of mine got beaten to a bloody pulp. He’d been selling drugs down by Red Hook, and stood on the wrong corner or something. Got put in the hospital.”

  Guillaume rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. Raised his eyebrows, listened.

  “So my friends and I got together. We knew the guys who’d done it. We knew where we could find them. So we went down there, and drank at a bar until we got shit faced. Then we went out and found them.” He paused and nodded. Affirming that what he was saying was true.

  “So what happened?” asked Guillaume, unable to resist.

  “We got the crap kicked out of us. Had to catch a taxi home because we couldn’t walk to the subway. Was brutal.” Kevin grinned.

  “And the reason you’re telling us this delightful little tale..?”

  “It’s because when we walked into our friend’s room in the hospital, he looked at us like we were kings. Which might say as much about him as it does us, but we felt damn good. Like we’d done the right thing by our friend.”

  “So you are advising that we fight the Unseelie Court because
it will make us feel better?” asked Guillaume, mild disbelief in his voice.

  “Hell yeah!” said Kevin. “As Gandhi said, there is no better reason to beat the crap out of somebody than righteous indignation!”

  Nobody spoke. Tim Tom Tot was staring at Kevin, brows furrowed. Guillaume was shaking his head in quiet amazement. Old Man Oak was silent, still, expressionless. But something stirred within Maya.

  “I think he’s right,” she said. Guillaume turned his incredulous stare upon her. “Look. I don’t have much to go back to. And I’ve not done a great job here. I seem unable to do anything right. But, one thing I’ve never done is give up. Ever. I might not be the best at anything I do, but it’s not for lack of trying.”

  She stood. Something was growing within her, blossoming. “We’ve lost. Fine. The Unseelie Court has the sword, blah blah blah. But we’ve still got the ability to decide what we do. We can run, or we can stand and fight. If we lose, if we die? Well, at least we’ll die for something we believe in. We won’t be cowards. We won’t be quitters.”

  A strange certainty was growing within her, and she saw in her mind’s eye a green shoot uncurling tenaciously through ice and snow. Thought of the terrible yet tender strength such an act of life represented. “We’re not going to fight because we want to hurt them, or because we want power,” she said, trying to express this new feeling, “But because we can’t let them hurt others. It doesn’t matter whether we win or not, I mean, winning shouldn’t be our reason to go to war.”

  She shot a nervous look out over the massed ranks. She almost had them. Everybody was listening to her silently. They seemed poised, almost with her, but in need of something, something more to push them over the edge. A flash of self-consciousness rushed over her. Did she sound like a fool? She heard a grunt from her side. Looked, saw that Kevin was slowly leveraging himself to his feet. Tim Tom Tot was growling at him to stay seated, but Kevin ignored him. Hand over his stomach, other clutching a root, he stood, swaying. Stepped up next to her, looked out over the Host.