Everbright

by Ken Altabef

  “Where will you go?”

  “Away.”

  “James!”

  He’d stood there contemplating the ash heap long after Willowbane had gone. At mention of his name he turned round to find Moonshadow fast approaching. “James, I need your help.”

  “Gryfflet is gone,” he said. “Threadneedle too. People are leaving here…”

  “Something is happening. Things are changing.” Moonshadow clucked her tongue at that last idea. “This is the City of Everlasting Change, isn’t it? How could anyone expect anything else?”

  “I’d prefer some change for the better.” James looked down at his purple hands, the thick black fingernails.

  “Perhaps there is some good news in all of this,” Moonshadow said with a forced smile. “That’s what we have to find out. I need your help.”

  A few minutes later found them hurrying through the bowels of Barrow Downes. The caves below ground contained dozens of secret and hidden places, many unknown to most of the faeries themselves.

  Moonshadow led James to a tunnel he’d never seen before. She dispelled an illusion of a stone wall blocking their way and they entered a large semi-circular cavern. It looked like the remains of an old Roman amphitheatre, with curved rows of low benches of pure white stone. Many had long ago crumbled away to ruin, leaving jagged gaps in the smile. At center of the semi-circle of chiseled marble seats was no stage, but rather a small round pool inset into the floor. A carefully carved opening overhead allowed a thin beam of moonlight to enter and illuminate the still waters with a shimmering silver glow.

  “Moon Dancer found this place,” Moonshadow explained. “She built Barrow Downes around it. As you see it’s quite old. Older than all the rest. We call this the Scrying Pool.”

  James leaned closer. The water was smooth as glass, the moonlight making it appear much like a mirror. He saw his new face looking back at him. Purple skin, tall pointed ears, enlarged teeth, antlers. He wasn’t used to looking at himself like this but, thrown back in the silvery light, he thought it wasn’t completely ugly.

  Moonshadow’s reflection joined his in the pool’s mirrored surface and, in contrast, she was truly beautiful. Her hairless head had an elegant curve to it and accentuated the charms of her lush eyelashes. Her skin naturally threw off a mild silvery glow and her eyes shined with a vague purplish sparkle. She wore a lacy white wrap of spidersilk that drew his eyes to her breasts, the tops of which were visible above the line of the wrap. She was slender and athletically built, and her breasts were small but perfectly shaped.

  “I can’t get used to seeing myself like this,” he said.

  “Well, I don’t know what you think. But to a faery it’s a very attractive look, James. Natural horns are a sign of strength and,” she chuckled softly, “virility. Has Willowvine seen you like this?”

  “Willowvine is dead.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know. You had a chance to speak with her? Did you still love her?”

  “Love never dies, I think. I couldn’t forgive her, but I will always love her.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been. It’s a very rare thing, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose. I don’t really know.”

  She smiled. “Well, I shouldn’t worry if I were you. That new look will attract many offers around here. You’ll have your pick of women in Everbright.”

  He continued gazing at her in the mirror. Her smile aroused him in ways it had never done before. He didn’t dare turn around for fear of what he might do. He wanted to tear the spidersilk from her perfect body, to kiss her perfect mouth. This flushed feeling, these strong lustful urges were new to him, another uncomfortable aspect of his recent transformation. And completely at odds with his strict, almost puritanical, upbringing. Moonshadow was his mother’s sister. Or half-sister anyway. He’d always considered her an aunt, though practically the same age as himself. It had all become very confusing now. He couldn’t resist continuing the flirtation and said, “Too bad I missed Midsummer’s Eve, then.”

  “There will be plenty of time.”

  Time for us? he wanted to ask, but didn’t.

  She continued, “You’ve grown into an impressive faery. There, I said it. Faery. Full blooded. Don’t shy away from it James. It suits you.”

  “You didn’t bring me down here to seduce me?” he asked with a smile.

  She laughed pleasantly. “No. No, not today anyway. We’ve work to do. It’s about this pool.”

  Not today? What did that mean? He would really like to know. In any case she’d already moved the conversation onward. He couldn’t press the matter. “What is this place?”

  “It’s a sort of communication device. I don’t completely understand it. Neither did Moonshadow. There are faery settlements in several other countries, you know, not just our Britain. Moon Dancer and I used this pool to contact other settlements that have their own pools like this one. I’ve spoken with faeries as far away as India if you can believe it, and also in the New World, though they don’t always call themselves faeries in those places.”

  “Now I truly am interested,” he said, then caught himself and added, “Not that I wasn’t before. How is it done? Does it take two people?”

  “Just one. But I didn’t want to go by myself, and your mother’s too ill to help.”

  “Go?”

  “Not physically. Our bodies will still remain here but… well, it’s sort of difficult to explain. Best if I just show you. Are you willing?”

  “Absolutely. Where are we going?”

  “Avalon.”

  Chapter 56

  Moonshadow took James’ hand. Her touch was so soft and tender and those weird sexual thoughts started up again. Not now, he told himself. You’ll ruin everything. I want to see Avalon.

  “Just relax,” she said. “You seem so tense, James. Concentrate on the moonlight.”

  “Right.” He forced himself to relax.

  “I spent our holiday communing with Mother Moon,” she said, “instead of chasing after pleasure, like some others. I’m quite full of Her power right now, so this should be relatively easy.”

  “Mother Moon is real? You see her, you talk with her?”

  “No, not like that. But I know she is there and I feel her power, don’t you?”

  “No. Not yet. Maybe with this new change… maybe…”

  “Maybe. I’ll try and help you with that. Later. But now we have to try and reach out to Avalon. It’s a very, very far journey, unlike any I’ve undertaken before. I’m not at all sure I can find the way.”

  They knelt at water’s edge and leaned forward to stare into the pool.

  “I’ve an idea,” she said. “I think Dresdemona may have given me the key. That song she performed with the emotion trees. It’s a song from Avalon and it’s a part of Avalon. If I can remember it well enough… maybe…”

  Moonshadow centered herself, head bowed in concentration. Then she began to hum the tune slowly and carefully, restarting several times till she felt she had got it right. Her voice was high and sweet and gave James a shiver. So beautiful. As her confidence began to build she sang the notes stronger and faster, putting nonsense syllables into the melody to fill the gaps. James felt himself falling into the song. It was mesmerizing. A perfect song, rendered in a perfect voice. Oh, that voice did things to him deep inside.

  He tried to concentrate on his reflection in the pool, but it had grown so foggy, as if a silver mist pressed up against the underside of the water’s surface. The song went on and the touch of Moonshadow’s hand sent little sparks of excitement into his palm. He lost all sense of time. His vision grew dim. He became immersed in one single solitary moment where all he heard, all he experienced was that incredible song.

  The vision in the pool cleared and he found himself staring into his own face again—his old face, tan skin, sandy hair, completely human. Had he changed back? He glanced down at his hand but it was still a dusky purple. The spell was broken; he was still next to Moo
nshadow, staring at their reflections in the pool. But they were standing now and the pool had become a tall mirror, a perfect oval of water held somehow in a silver frame standing upright.

  They were in Avalon.

  They stood under the open sky but it was unlike any he had ever seen before. The sky was made of ribbons of light in a multitude of coruscating colors. Shooting stars criss-crossed the dome in miraculous patterns. The air itself was hung with pockets of swirling emotion.

  “Good lord!” James exclaimed.

  “Dresdemona says she can bring this to us at Everbright,” Moonshadow said. “Can it be possible?”

  James could not answer. He gazed around in amazement. Avalon appeared to be abandoned. They stood on a broad plain of multicolored rocks and grasses. Amazingly, he could taste them from here. Each colored patch of grass had a different savory flavor. Incredible.

  Ancient ruins littered the field—columns and palisades, half-crumbled away. “Is it supposed to look like this?” James asked.

  “Only inside the pool.” An unfamiliar voice.

  James turned round to find the most unusual person he had ever seen. Obviously a faery, he was so tall and dignified James thought immediately he must be royalty. His face resembled that of a hawk, with light feathery hair, a hooked nose and the predator’s incisive gaze. A high forehead and delicately pointed ears marked him as one of the Effranil.

  “You are still inside the ancient pool. This isn’t Avalon proper, but as close as any can get to it without invitation.”

  Moonshadow stepped toward their guide. “I’m Moonshadow.”

  “I know. My name is Horaus.” He bowed slightly.

  James returned the gesture. “James Grayson.”

  “I see,” Horaus said, though he seemed a bit confused about it.

  “I have some questions,” Moonshadow said.

  “You may enter,” he told her. Then, turning toward James, he said, “You must wait here.”

  “But… he’s with me,” Moonshadow said.

  Horaus’ large bird-like eyes remained fixed straight ahead. “He must wait here.”

  “It’s fine, Moonshadow. I’ll wait.”

  “Well, if you think it’s all right. I won’t be long,” she assured him. “I promise.”

  Horaus led her to another standing mirror, a companion to the one from which they’d just arrived, and the two stepped through. The sparkling water closed behind them, then lay perfectly flat again.

  James looked out across the empty plain, feeling breezes of wild emotion flitter past him—surprise, envy, contentment. He decided to stretch his legs a bit. As he walked, subtle hums of music weaved in and out of his path. He could only hear snippets of each song no matter how still he tried to stand. They moved as if with a will of their own, gliding up and down the sward in their own merry fashion. He could not catch them. The little bits of music were as tantalizing as they were beautiful, hinting at the exquisite delights that only Avalon could provide. But this wasn’t Avalon. What Horaus had said was undoubtedly true. He was still trapped within the portal. Now it seemed he might never get to see that glorious realm.

  After walking a while James noticed a strange quirk of the multicolored plain. He realized that no matter how far he should travel straight in any one direction he would inevitably wind up having made a circle and come to rest once again at the pair of standing mirrors. He decided not to stray too far in case Moonshadow should return and find him out of sight. But he wanted to investigate the ruins. Despite his fine British education and several years studying the classic Western civilizations at Aton college he couldn’t quite identify the architecture, at least not exactly. There were Roman influences but also a style of elegant curve to the chiseled stone that he felt no human hands could ever achieve.

  He took a rest on one of the white stone benches, finding its surface not only strangely warm, but buzzing merrily with a song of its own. To his left was an enormous dragon sculpture cut into stone, its head mysteriously lopped off. He was startled nearly to death when a shaggy face popped up from behind the statue.

  “Greetings and felicitations,” said a gruff, raspy voice. A small man came round from the other side—no, not quite a man. It was a faun. He had the legs and tail of a goat and the head and torso of a rather dark and hairy sort. His hair was long and fiercely curled. An unkempt and particularly bushy beard framed a mouth that held a hand-rolled cigar clenched between yellowed teeth.

  The faun puffed out blue smoke. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  Moonshadow emerged from the mirror pool into a fabulous city of light and song. Avalon. Something inside her shifted, as if her entire body and spirit had just adapted to match the vibrations that hummed throughout the place. She felt unbridled joy. She wanted to sing and dance. Her feet drifted up from the ground to leave her hovering effortlessly a few inches above the golden sand. The city stretched for several leagues in every direction, a bright and shining bastion of faery creation. The buildings spiraled upward, twining with each other, shimmering like colorful glass. She could make out the figures of various people flying in and out of them like bees.

  “It’s more beautiful than I’d ever imagined.”

  “Wait till you hear the music,” Horaus said. “There is a special concert tonight—well, there is a special concert every night, under the Moon.”

  “I have questions.”

  “So you said.”

  “It’s about Dryxlla.”

  “Dryxlla. That’s a name I have not heard in a long while. She was my daughter.”

  “Your daughter? Why did she leave here?”

  The beak-like mouth snickered. “She was poisoned, tarnished, unworthy.”

  “She’s made promises,” Moonshadow said. “She says she can bring Avalon to Everbright.”

  “She can only bring ruin. She can not help herself. Everbright is a toy to her. You should let her have it.”

  “Harsh words for your daughter.”

  “My daughter. My shame.”

  “Well, I can’t just let her have it.”

  “There is a place for you here.”

  This statement stunned Moonshadow. “Here? Avalon? Me?”

  “Do you know what you are?”

  Her head spun. “No, I don’t.”

  “You are a pure faery. As pure as any Effranil. Your mother…”

  “Moon Dancer?”

  He shook his feathered head. “Your mother was Mother Moon.”

  Moonshadow sucked in a tremulous breath. She’d always thought that was just a wild rumor created in response to the silvery shimmer of her skin.

  “You are capable of great things. None other could have reproduced the song of the birds. The song you used to open the portal. We want you here. In time, you could compose songs of your own. That’s a rare thing. You would be adored. Stay with us.”

  Moonshadow gazed at the far-off city, its emerald spires and amethyst shutter panes, its incredible flowers and beckoning tendrils of sweet emotion. She wanted to explore its streets and meet its people and love them. It was a great temptation, not a seduction to evil but an invitation to heaven.

  “I have to go back. I have to try and save Everbright.”

  Horaus sighed and his beak crooked into a semblance of a wry smile. There was a sad little glint in his eyes.

  Moonshadow decided to press her case. “She’s your daughter, you said, your responsibility. Tell me how to stop her!”

  He thought for what felt like a long while then said, “I can show you something. A trick of time known to only a few among the Effranil. Not many have the proper constitution to successfully use the charm, but you do. It will work.”

  “Merrrywhistle, that’s my name.” The faun smiled a very unlovely smile.

  “You already seem to know who I am,” James said.

  “Not entirely, no. But it’s plain as the nose on your face, or should I say the antlers on your brow, what type of fae you are.”

  “And which on
e is that?”

  “Same as me.” He tapped his short goat horns.

  “I’m not a faun. And what are you doing here, anyway?”

  “My kind…” He shook his head, “Well, they don’t let us into Avalon do they? No sir, they don’t. Same way as they don’t let you in. So we live here. Hanging around the edges. Neither here nor there. Not quite good enough, eh?”

  James knew the feeling.

  The faun scratched his scraggly head. “We are more alike than you know. Both disciples of the Horned Man. You know, Herne, the Lord of the Hunt.”

  “I didn’t know,” James said.

  The faun laughed and took another puff. “Maybe you should stop looking so hard for Mother Moon. Maybe you should join the Hunt instead. Just a thought.” He blew out a huge waft of dark blue smoke and when it had drifted away, he was gone.

  Chapter 57

  Lieutenant-Major Charles Brockton had no experience with faeries. He had never truly believed in them. He’d heard the tales as a boy, of Black Annis the blue-faced hag who stole and ate human children, of faery changelings substituted for mortal children who grew up to be unaccountable tricksters and vagabonds. Scapegoats, he thought they were. There would always be scoundrels and miscreants, so why not call them fae, save the King’s bench the trouble of a trial and just string them up? Surely William Pitt had never been above the use of such tactics. But this new fellow, George Grenville—an accountant—he was more a blue-blood and money-man than a warrior. And no subtlety at all. Send a battle-hardened regiment of the King’s army against a few rebels in an obscure Northern town? Ah, what could you expect from a Whig, anyway?

  Brockton glanced back and checked the line. A full regiment of forty men trudged along behind him. Brockton and three other officers were mounted, the others all on foot. He had two supply wagons, pulled by two horses each. The formation was not as tight as he would have liked.

  “Sharpen up!” he roared, and the men glanced at each other and shifted a few steps to one side or the other. The lightly wooded area had forced them into a narrow triple line. It should not be so difficult to keep themselves straight and orderly. Brockton was very fond of order. Order was what made a successful regiment, order kept men from breaking when facing a barrage of rifle fire on the battlefield or when charging an enemy position. And order would be especially important, he thought, when preparing to engage with a force of hostile faeries. Superstition was the real enemy in this upcoming engagement, he was sure. He didn’t believe they could fly. He didn’t believe they could truly change shape, neither. But one thing was for certain—they could create illusions. And the antidote to illusions was a steadfast sense of purpose and confidence. And a strict sense of order bred confidence.