by Frewin Jones
“The King is weary, Tania,” Titania replied. “As are we all. The strain of keeping the plague victims in the balm of Gildensleep is draining his strength.”
The Gildensleep was a mystical cocoon of spun golden light within which those folk suffering from the plague could be held in peaceful stasis—fending off death for a while—sleeping in gentle oblivion. But King Oberon paid a heavy price for creating and maintaining the glimmering cocoons; only while he denied himself sleep could the Gildensleep cocoons exist. Tania had lost track of how many hours—how many days the King of Faerie had forced himself to remain awake.
“But there is good news,” Titania continued. “Eden has worked hard and swiftly to bring the Gildensleep to all those who ail, and now we believe we have a way of making all of Faerie safe—for a while, at least.”
“A cure?” breathed Tania, hope igniting that she would not need to embark on the quest the Dream Weaver had demanded of her. “Have you found a cure?”
“No, alas that is beyond us,” said the Queen. “But we are gathering all those of the House of Aurealis into the Throne Room with the King. The Earl Marshal Cornelius, your uncle, is there and the Marchioness Lucina and their sons Titus and Corin. Hopie and Sancha are also with us, and soon Eden will return. When all are gathered, we will unite our powers to put the Realm of Faerie under a single cloak of Gildensleep. From Leiderdale in the south to Fidach Ren in the far north—all our people shall be protected.”
A flicker of uncertainty showed in Titania’s eyes. “At least that is our hope. But, heed me, Tania. If the cloak of Gildensleep is to be strong enough to cover the entire Realm, it will need the power of all the children of Aurealis. Alas, Cordelia is too ill to aid us, but we cannot do this without you and Rathina.”
“You mean you want us to go back to Veraglad?” asked Tania. “But what about the Divine Harper?”
“No, your quest is vital; you must not turn from it,” said Titania. “We can link ourselves with your spirits from afar, Tania, if you are willing.”
“Of course!” Tania exclaimed. “Whatever you need.”
“It will weaken you—you and your sister. It will drain you of strength. Not in a steady flow, but you will feel your power wax and wane as we call upon your spirits.”
“That’s fine; I can live with that,” said Tania. “And I don’t even have to ask Rathina! You know she’d do anything to make amends for . . . for . . .”
For causing so much suffering in the past. For loving Gabriel Drake and for letting him use her to harm Faerie. For setting the Sorcerer King free.
Tania gasped as a horrible realization dawned. She hadn’t known the awful truth until this moment— but the seeds of this plague were sown when Rathina loosed the Sorcerer King of Lyonesse from his amber prison. This was all Rathina’s fault! She must be tormented by it!
“I know what is in your mind, Tania,” said Titania. “It’s a fearful burden for your sister to bear, and it may be that the rest of her life will be spent in remorse. But do not cloud your own heart with thoughts of blame.”
“I don’t blame her,” Tania said bitterly. “I blame Gabriel Drake—and I blame the Dark Arts that made him into a monster.” She gripped the rim of the granite bowl till her knuckles were white. “But none of that matters now. I can’t change any of it, but I can try and put things right—and I can make sure that Rathina is at my side when I do it.”
“Well spoken,” said Titania, a gentle smile of pride touching her lips. “Seventh daughter of a seventh daughter, you do not know yet what power there is within you. But I fear that your quest will test you to your limits.”
“You do your part and we’ll do ours,” said Tania. She frowned as a thought struck her. “Will I be able to speak with you like this when I get to Alba?”
“No, that is not possible,” Titania replied. “But the bond between you and your sisters is strong; you may be able to forge links with their spirits and ask for their aid in need. But do not look for mystical help. What skills we have will be poured into the Gildensleep; there will be little left to offer.”
“I understand,” said Tania.
“We hope to raise the shield of Gildensleep tomorrow,” Titania said. “As soon as the sun fills the sky. Those it touches will fall into deep sleep. You must be away from Faerie by then, Tania, or you too will succumb to the dreamless slumber.”
“Then we’ll make sure we leave before dawn,” Tania said.
“That is good,” said Titania. “But one last word, my beloved child. I can give you little insight into the realms through which you must pass to reach the Divine Harper. But I can offer some advice to guide you in Alba. It is many centuries since I was a young woman in that fair land, but things may not have changed so very much. When you make landfall, seek out the home of my ancestors: the beautiful palace of Caiseal an Fenodree. Any traveler you meet upon the road will know of it, I am sure. It is a white palace set in an enchanted lake. There you will find both an ardent welcome and, hopefully, aid in your further travels. And use these words to ensure that you are greeted as friends. Speak the words ‘caraid clainne.’ Remember them, Tania.”
“Caraid clainne. I won’t forget.”
“I must go now. I sense that Eden has returned. We must foregather and brew the enchantments of Gildensleep. Farewell, Tania. The hopes of all the Realm go with you on your quest.” The image of the Queen began to fade as the gossamer light dwindled. “Farewell.” Her fading voice was like distant bells.
Tania reached down to touch the water a final time. The surface broke into rippled rings. The Queen was gone. Tania was alone in the courtyard and the night wind was cold on her face.
Chapter Four
The carved wooden sign creaked in the wind that howled down the narrow street. The sign hung above a thick oak doorway studded with black crystal depicting a small ship with a single sail. A figure stood at the prow gazing forward. Carved upon the hull of the wooden ship were the words THE BLESSÈD QUEEN.
Tania lifted the latch and stepped into the inn. She found herself in a long dimly lit room, standing in deep shadow. Subdued firelight played on ivory walls crisscrossed with black timbers. The ceiling was low and hung with jugs and hunting horns. The walls held similar trophies: crystal harpoons with wooden shafts, hanks of tarred rope, framed pictures of seascapes and ships and leaping fish.
There was a scattering of wooden tables and benches—but the room was empty save for three figures sitting close to the roaring fire. A man was singing, his voice high and fluttery but tuneful nonetheless. Tania paused to listen.
“As I was riding through Weir so fair
I met a maiden raven of hair
I said young lady, will you marry me?
There’s room at my side for a large family
Oh, no, said she, I will not marry you
You’re a traveling man and you’ll never be true
You’ll never be true, for you are betrothed
And a jealous bride is the open road
“My mother is the road and my father the sky
But my love for you will never, never die
So come with me and lose all care
In a caravan through Weir so fair
I’ll take you near, I’ll take you far
Our only guide a shimmering star
So come with me, I’ll give you my ring
And I’ll teach you the song that the travelers sing.”
There was applause as the song ended. Tania stepped into the light, clapping along with Rathina and Connor.
Hearing her, they looked up, their faces showing relief at her sudden appearance. Both Rathina and Connor had steaming bowls in their laps filled with a thick, aromatic stew.
The third figure, the singer, was a thin man with a friendly, wrinkled face and wispy gray hair. He wore a long white apron over a plain brown tunic and leggings that were tucked below the knee into gartered stockings.
“You took a fine long time to join us, Tania,”
said Rathina. “We were debating which of us should quit the hearth and seek you out.”
As Tania walked toward the great stone fireplace, the warmth of the room enveloped her, seeping into her limbs, making her fingers and toes tingle.
The man stood up. “Princess Rathina and Master Connor have told me the tale of your journeying, both in Faerie and between the worlds, Princess Tania,” he said, his aged voice like wind through reeds. “You are all most welcome. My name is Elias Fulk, and I am landlord of this inn. I apologize that your greeting could not be more merry.” His eyes fixed on her face. “You are the very image of the Queen!” he said breathlessly, dropping to one knee and bowing his head. “It is long since your mother rested in this place, my lady, but we do not forget her—not even in such fearful days as have come upon us.”
“Please,” Tania said, embarrassed by this show of deference. “Don’t do that.” Hurrying forward, she helped him to his feet again.
“As your ladyship wishes,” Elias Fulk said, stepping away from her as if the contact made him uncomfortable.
“The stew is great,” said Connor, shifting along the bench so Tania could sit beside him. “I didn’t realize how much I wanted some hot food inside me till Elias started dishing up.”
A third bowl of stew was resting on a hearthstone. Elias Fulk lifted it from the warm stones and placed it in her hands.
“Thank you,” she said, enjoying the warmth of the wooden bowl in her palms. The rich aroma filled her head, thick and savory and cheering.
“What took you so long to get here?” asked Connor. “I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost.”
“No, I didn’t get lost,” Tania replied, lifting the wooden spoon from the bowl. She glanced at the landlord, wondering for a moment whether it was wise to speak candidly in front of him. But then she remembered that the Queen had said he could be trusted. “There were a few things to talk over, that’s all.” She took a mouthful of the stew.
“Such as?” asked Connor.
“How is our father?” added Rathina. “And Cordelia—how does she fare?”
“I don’t think she’s any better,” said Tania. “But they have a plan to cover the whole of Faerie in the Gildensleep. Our mother thinks it’s possible—so long as everyone helps. Including the two of us.”
“Name the way and it shall be done,” said Rathina. “I would throw myself down a dragon’s throat if it would ease the suffering of but a single child!”
Connor frowned. “You have dragons here?”
“Not that I’ve ever seen,” Tania said, her eyes on Rathina. “Our mother thinks there will be enough power if she can draw on all of our spirits. I don’t know how it’s going to work, but she said it would probably make us feel weak at times.”
“A small price to pay,” said Rathina. “But when does she mean to throw the cloak of Gildensleep over the land? We must be away from these shores by that time.”
“They’re going to raise the Gildensleep early tomorrow morning.” She turned to Elias Fulk. “That means we have to get away before the sun comes up. Is there a boat we could use?”
“I have my own vessel in the harbor, my lady,” he said. “It is used by hirelings to catch fresh fish for the kitchens of the inn. You are most welcome to use her. The Blessèd Queen, she is named. A small vessel, to be sure, but tight-knit and bonny upon the water—if any of you have the skill to sail her.”
“I know how to sail,” said Connor, looking at Tania. “Remember? My dad had a twenty-eight-foot sloop that he kept at Essex Marina. The Wee Tam.”
Tania nodded. She had been invited aboard the sailboat a few times when she had been younger. Yes, she remembered it well: the wind in her hair and salt on her lips, swaddled in a bright orange life jacket and clinging on for dear life as Connor and his father sent the Wee Tam racing through choppy waters.
“Tania, we sailed often together as children,” Rathina added. “We had a yacht named Magnifico. You and I and Zara and Cordelia out on the water—do you not remember? The dolphins would leap and spin while Zara played the whistle.”
Tania saw the grief cloud her sister’s face as the bitterness of Zara’s death darkened the happy memory. Rathina dropped her head, becoming silent, her thick black hair falling over her face.
“I don’t remember, I’m sorry,” Tania said. The loss of the memory of her blissful Faerie childhood ached in her like a wound that would never heal.
“Elias was telling us that the plague has been in Hymnal for several days now,” Connor said, breaking the silence. “The people have locked themselves away.”
“These folk fear the plague greatly,” added Rathina. “That is why the bodies by the bridge have been left unattended.”
“Aye, it’s a bad time to be sure,” said Elias Fulk, nodding mournfully. “By the grace of the gentle spirits, my own family has been spared. But not a patron has set foot over my threshold for two days and nights now.” His eyes glowed with firelight as he looked at Tania. “Is all of Faerie infected?”
“I think so,” Tania said.
Elias Fulk sighed. “And it is at such a time that my lord the earl breaks faith with the House of Aurealis, as the princess your sister has just told me,” he murmured. “Sad times, indeed, my lady, sad and galling times when friends should stand back to back against a common enemy.”
Tania looked carefully at him. “Do you know the name Nargostrond?” she asked.
“Nay, my lady,” he replied. “But it throws a shadow over my heart, like the wraith of a dreadful memory.”
“For me also, Master Fulk,” said Rathina. “’Tis most like to waking from a nightmare, sweating and filled with dread but unable to remember the source of the fear.”
“Collective unconscious,” murmured Connor. “You all have it. Whoever this Nargostrond guy was, he certainly left his mark on you people.”
“He must be a great necromancer to do us such harm,” Elias Fulk said. “Greater even than the Sorcerer of Lyonesse.” He reached out and touched Tania’s arm with his fingertips. “I pray that your mission be blessed, my lady,” he said.
“From your lips to the hearts of the good spirits,” said Rathina. “Master Fulk, we are traveling to foreign lands on the morrow. I do not know how the people of Alba may dress themselves, but I doubt that it will be in such garments as we are wearing now— garments brought through from the Mortal World. In your household are there any clothes that we might borrow?” She glanced at Tania. “We do not know what manner of greeting we may receive beyond the ocean—and I would prefer that we move among the folk of Alba unremarked.”
“I have daughters of an age with you and the princess Tania, my lady,” Elias Fulk replied. “I will search out some hard-wearing traveling gowns. But I fear I have little to offer you, Master Connor. My clothes would be too small for you and there are no other menfolk in the house.” He frowned. “In happy days I would knock upon a neighbor’s door and ask for help, but none will answer tonight, I fear. I can offer a goodly cloak, oiled and snug—fit for the cruelest of weather. Wrap that around you and none shall perceive what you are wearing beneath.”
“That’s good,” said Tania. “Thank you. That will be a big help.”
“And I have empty rooms enough for three times your number, my lady,” said Elias Fulk. “Sleep here in peace this night. I will awaken you before dawn and lead you down to the harbor where the Blessèd Queen lies at berth. Food and drink will I give you also, enough to last you many days.” His gray eyebrows lowered in a frown. “How far is the land of Alba, my lady?” he asked. “If my memory remains true, Queen Titania was on the ocean’s face for the passage of many long days before she saw the towers and spires of Hymnal on the horizon.”
Tania shook her head. “No, that can’t be right,” she said. She looked at Connor. “Remember the map from the archives of Caer Regnar Naal? Faerie and the British Isles are almost exactly the same. If Faerie is England and Alba is Ireland, then it can’t possibly take days an
d days to get there.”
Connor frowned. “I’ve been on a ferry to Ireland,” he said. “We went from Fishguard to Rosslare. I think it was about sixty miles. I know we’re probably farther away up here, but it can’t be much more than a hundred miles. On a good day a fast sailboat ought to be able to make that in twelve hours. Even if we have to tack against a hard wind, it shouldn’t take us more than twice that.” He looked at Tania. “If we leave at dawn tomorrow, we’ll be there the day after, no problem.”
“Then I shall provide food and drink for that time and more,” said Elias Fulk. “May the good spirits of air and water protect you on your journey.”
“Aye, sirrah,” said Rathina somberly. “Let us hope indeed that their benison can traverse the wide waters that lie between. And let us hope that the Mortal folk of that land have a kindly way with travelers.”
Tania nodded as they got up. “If not, we’re going to have some serious problems,” she said uneasily. “Without the help of the people of Alba this quest is going to be over almost before it begins.”
Chapter Five
“Morning Star, we touch hands in the pale mist
Morning Star, the night is done
The dawning sky is streaked with white and amethyst
The Morning Star shines upon everyone
“We dwell in the balm of ageless summers
The snow-deep cold of winter’s hoary rime
Gathering the flowers of four seasons
We break the bonds of your measured servant, time . . .”
“Is it you?” Tania asked, speaking into a deep, velvet darkness. “It is you, isn’t it? Dream Weaver?” She reached her arms out blindly and stumbled forward as the lilting voice faded away. “Don’t go! I need your help. . . . ”
She broke through a membrane of darkness and found herself suddenly in a familiar room.
It was night—but not the starlit night of Faerie. It was a Mortal night—a London night—and she was standing at the foot of her parents’ bed in their room in Camden. Beyond the curtains she could hear city sounds. Small noises that went almost unheard when she lived among them—but they were sharp now in her mind after so long a time in Faerie. The rising and falling growl of traffic. The snap of heels on the pavement. Voices shouting in the distance. Doors slamming. Police sirens wailing from afar. A thickness gathered in her throat as she listened—who would have thought she’d miss the shriek of police sirens in the night!