Bigfootloose and Finn Fancy Free (34 page)

“You are in the Colloquy,” the man said. “In my private quarters. I am Ganel te'Chauvelin, Proxenos for the Greatwood. And if you have newly arrived, and clearly not where expected, that begs the question of whether anyone knows you are here? And more to the point, from what I know of your reputation, Alynon Infedriel, Knight of the Silver Court, I wonder if anyone would miss you should you never arrive?”

As Chauvelin said this, a second man the size of a professional football player who'd eaten a professional weightlifter appeared in the doorway, wearing nothing but a loincloth and a grin.

“Uh,” Alynon said.

I moved to the edge of the balcony and peered cautiously over it. We were in a tower that appeared to be made of some black, rough stone at the base, and blindingly white alabaster at the top, with a slow gradient of brightness and smoothness between. And unfortunately, we were at least a dozen stories above the rainbow fractal landscape that swirled below.

“But come, such concerns are yours, not mine,” Chauvelin continued. “We are here at the Colloquy to foster good will among our Demesnes, are we not? So let us guide you safely back to where you belong, and we will consider this only a minor infraction of Colloquy Law, worth barely a mention. And of course, you will owe me only the smallest of obligations.”

“Of course,” Alynon said, and sighed an unhappy sigh. “Perfect. Thank you.”

“Do not mention it,” Chauvelin said. “And to your human companions, my utmost respect and welcome. May I be so bold as to ask your identities, and what brings you to the Colloquy?”

I hesitated before responding.

I didn't trust Chauvelin, utmost respect or not. The Greatwood was what the Shadows called their forest. And the only Chauvelin I knew of was Armand Chauvelin from
The Scarlet Pimpernel
, a ruthless, fanatical patriot and politician.

Chauvelin was a fictional character, but he had clearly lived in enough detail and richness within someone's memory for that memory to form the basis of a Fey's identity. In fact, there might be a thousand Armand Chauvelins running around the Other Realm, each unique due to the mix of other memories they'd incorporated and their own actual experiences.

Hence the te'Chauvelin, to announce the root of his identity, a kind of self-proclaimed heritage, without claiming to be
the
Chauvelin. In the end, though, I still found it easiest to drop the “te'” and think of a Fey as the person they most represented. Unless I knew them as individuals, or had to deal with multiple Fey of the same origin at once, it just made life easier.

And regardless of how unique a snowflake this particular Chauvelin might be, a Fey who chose to look and act like Chauvelin and represented the Forest of Shadows was not someone I would trust with the life of my pet rock.

I've come to speak with some of the Aalbrights here,
I projected at him.

“Obviously,” Chauvelin said. “That is the purpose of the Colloquy. But if you give me some clue as to your purpose, I may be able to help speed your success.”

I'm pretty worn out from the transfer and all,
I said.
I'd rather not discuss official business until I have a chance to recover.

“Of course. Though I did not catch your name?”

I hesitated, then replied,
Phinaeus.
I didn't want to risk a lie even to Chauvelin, not when I had come here to ask the Fey to take me on my word.

“Well met, Phinaeus. And your beautiful companion?” he asked, turning to Silene.

“Silene Treebright,” Silene replied, her tone proud.

“Indeed? A tree bright. I should have realized. Well, this is a most unusual party that has appeared upon my doorstep. Come.”

Chauvelin stepped aside, waving us through the doorway. Silene and I both looked to Alynon, who stood up straight and tugged at his paisley waistcoat before giving Chauvelin a quick bow of the head and proceeding through the doorway.

Chauvelin led us through chambers furnished in a Spartan fashion with dark wood furniture and silver fixtures. But there were clear signs we were no longer in Kansas. A lava lamp floated in the air, slowly turning. A harp played itself beside the crackling blue fire in the silver fireplace. And gods, was that a nude painting of Chauvelin on a bearskin rug? Winking at us?

Yep. Evil.

The barbarian warrior trailed behind us, not quite herding, but still uncomfortably close.

I willed my blob-hand to form into a point, discreetly. Nothing happened. Blast it. It seemed I truly had no more control over my Fey body than I'd had in exile, which is to say, I could move around by willing it, but that was about it.

As we passed through the chambers, Chauvelin looked back at me and said, “I noted you admiring this building's structure. You may be interested to know that it represents the Creation, when all that was light and pure rose to create the Aal, and all that was, shall we say, less light and pure sank to create the human realms.”

Very impressive,
I said with less sincerity than a senator apologizing for an affair with a televangelist.
Build it and Fey will come.

Chauvelin looked confused, but gave a curt nod.

We exited the chambers into a hall of white marble that curved slightly in either direction. Light appeared to come from the marble itself, illuminating everything in an even, soft glow.

“Now,” Chauvelin said, glancing back at me and Silene as we walked the hallway, “your first time to the Colloquy, I sense?”

Yes,
I projected back.
Though I would be missed if I did not arrive.

“You wound me,
monsieur
. I was merely asking out of politeness.” He waved at the hallway. “The Colloquy is a mighty achievement indeed, a monument to the power of the Fey citizens who cried out for true governance.”

It's a regular Ministry of Love, I'm sure,
I replied.
But I don't need a tour, really.

Silene quickly added, “Excuse him, Bright Lord, like all arcana he has little appreciation for the accomplishments of anyone not human. I would like to hear more.”

I held in my protest.

“Happy to oblige,” Chauvelin said as he continued to lead us down the hallway. “The Colloquy was established to negotiate trade and truces between the Demesnes, discuss together issues of common interest or concern, and settle disputes or matters of justice that extend outside our own Demesne. Many of our greatest diplomats reside here, if I may be so bold as to say so, as well as great heroes of our wars who lend status and influence to their Demesne, such as Volruk there.” He motioned to the tower of barbarian muscle behind us. I could only assume Volruk had been the champion, or perhaps myth, of some tribe whose shaman traveled into the Other Realm long ago.

The walls changed. Where once they were smooth, now they were covered in bas-relief figures of thousands of Fey, each about six inches tall and incredibly detailed.

“I am interested in politics myself,” Silene said.

“Indeed?” Chauvelin said. “Fascinating. Please, tell me more. We have so little opportunity to speak with our brightblood vassals directly.”

Silene,
I tried to send to her in a warning tone.

“I don't know that—” Alynon began.

“Come,” Chauvelin said. “I have always said the reason we cannot hear the needs of our cousins more clearly is because we do not allow them their own voice.” He looked at Silene. “But if you feel foolish or ashamed about your interests, you need not speak of them.”

“I have no need for shame,” Silene said defensively. “I am happy to speak of my cause with any who will listen.”

“Then please do,” Chauvelin encouraged.

Silene spoke to Chauvelin of her awakening and decision to fight for fairer treatment and the equality of her brightblood cousins. She spoke for several minutes until Chauvelin stopped, and raised a hand.

“Pardon me, but this is our destination: Nibiru, what you would name the Room of Arrival.” He stood before double doors ornately carved with hundreds more of the small Fey figures. “Do you like the doors?” he asked me. “A bit more decadent than I typically enjoy, but nonetheless, quite lovely work, no?”

Yes, very detailed,
I projected back.

“Each one of the figures here, and along the hallway, represents one of the Vale's Aalbrights that were lost to the terrible arcana weapon that ended our last war,” Chauvelin said. “Observe.”

Chauvelin placed his hand on one of the door handles of woven silver bands. It glowed bright for a second, and then the light rippled out from it, sweeping across the doors and out along the walls. All of the figures touched by the light cried out in silent agony and then melted away, leaving the wall smooth.

“A bit dramatic, perhaps,” Chauvelin said as the first figures erased by the door handle rose up out of the wall, reforming, followed in a slow wave by the figures around it. “But it does serve as one small reminder of why we are here.”

To avoid another war?
I asked.

“Of course, that is it,” Chauvelin said, and pulled the left door open. “Now, I will leave you to announce your arrival officially. And may I be the first to say, welcome to the Colloquy. I hope your visit is of value to all.”

Uh, thank you,
I said.

Chauvelin turned to Silene and gave a small bow and flourish of his hand. “I look forward to our next encounter, lady.”

“As do I,” Silene replied.

“And Alynon Infedriel, Knight of the Silver Court,” Chauvelin said. “Should you find your homecoming as … disappointing as your departure, you are always welcome in the Greatwood.”

“Thank you for your kind offer,” Alynon replied with a curt nod of his head. “But I have sampled the Shadows' hospitality, and it left a bitter taste.”

Chauvelin gave a sad shake of his head. “Do not let the unfortunate difficulties of your situation color your views. Should you join the Shadows, what cause or power would any have to deny you your happiness?”

Alynon did not respond, but just looked away, his jaw clenching.

“Well, farewell friends, until we meet again.” Chauvelin gave a courtly bow, and departed, Volruk lumbering along in his wake.

What was that all about?
I asked Alynon.

“My affairs are no longer yours,” Alynon said. “Let us get this over with.”

I pulled open the door, and we proceeded inside.

The Room of Arrival had, I could only assume, been created in an attempt to make a space humans would find familiar for traveling between worlds.

A counter divided into five stations greeted us as we entered, with numbers floating in the air over each station. A ticket dispenser to our right distributed numbers that I assumed went with those floating above the stations, and looked suspiciously like one I'd seen at a Department of Motor Vehicles. In front of the counter was a waiting area. It looked very much like the Milk Bar from
A Clockwork Orange,
or perhaps had been inspired by a memory of Caligula's party room, with sculpted naked figures of white marble bent over and laid out as tables and decoration. Maybe the Fey had intended to make humans feel comfortable while waiting, but lacking context they had been about as successful in their intent as an uncle giving a
Penthouse
magazine to his eight-year-old nephew for Christmas.

If
Logan's Run
had an airport scene, it would have looked something like the remaining room behind the counter, where a half-dozen freestanding doorways like metal detectors each stood before an obelisk with a different color crystal on top. Silver doors lined the wall between the obelisks.

Only one person stood behind the counter, his skin and long braided hair both as white as the marble forms of the waiting room. He smiled at us with teeth that flashed gold, and said, “Greetings, travelers! I am Ulfrik te'Heimdallr. Take you a number, and quickly shall I send each on his way.”

Uh,
I projected.
We're not here to travel anywhere. We just arrived actually, and kind of got lost.

“Oh, I am quite aware of who you are and how you arrived,” he replied, his tone disapproving. “Now, please take you a number and have a seat.”

We took numbers, and were called up one by one. Alynon was sent off through one of the silver doors for a debriefing of some kind. Silene received a bracelet and was told to wear it at all times, then returned to the waiting area.

“Here,” Heimdallr said as I stepped up to the counter, holding out a silver band. “Hold out your arm.”

I hesitated, then lifted the blob-like extension that was my arm. Heimdallr locked the band around it, and after a second my body transformed to resemble my real-world self.

“That is better, is it not?” Heimdallr said. “Now, your name?”

“I thought you knew who I was,” I said, distracted as I flexed my arms and legs. It was better than better, it was awesome beyond words to feel like myself and not the shapeless form I'd been trapped in for twenty-five years.

“I know who you are,” Heimdallr responded. “But it is always good to make sure
you
know who you are, especially after leaving your true body behind.”

Fair enough. “Phinaeus Gramaraye.”

“Well met and welcome back, Magus Gramaraye. I would not have expected you to return to our realm, especially after the way in which you left.”

“I never intended to come back, especially after the way you all treated me like a memory vending machine for twenty-five years. But here I am.”

“Indeed. And what purpose brings your return, may I ask? Though you used an ARC password, I received no official notice as to your purpose.”

“I'm here to warn the Silver Court of a serious threat to their safety and the safety of their brightbloods.”