Dark Magic (45 page)

Epilogue

“You cheated me,” said Hob in a most severe tone.

“Not at all,” replied Oberon smoothly. “Your boon has been granted, in every detail.”

“I asked for every widowed elf maid to become my—the consort of a goblin. You have brought none of your fine daughters. Not a single one of them.”

“Exactly. My daughters are all betrothed.”

“And how did you manage that with such a deficit of living elf males?”

Oberon gently explained his arrangement with Brand. In one year and one day, his daughters would have their husbands.

Hob’s knobby forefinger came up, stopping him. “But what if no human males come? What if they reject your spinsters?”

Oberon laughed. “What human male wouldn’t give up his life and limb to lie with one of my lovely daughters?”

Hob made a sound of infinite frustration. “This will not be forgotten, elf!” he shouted as he glided away into the night. “You add insult to injury, preferring the dirty hands of the River Folk upon your daughters to one of your own goblin cousins.”

“Exactly,” said Oberon, smiling. But Old Hob had vanished into the infinite starry night skies.

End of
Blood Magic

Translated from the
Teret,
the compendium of Kindred wisdom:

I write this passage in response to those who claim we Kindred are secretive and ill-mannered. When questions are posed to the Kindred, individuals such as myself who’ve seen many centuries of life do not always give clear answers. We are thus labeled evasive, and are quickly accused of secrecy, duplicity and even conspiracy. As the Clanmaster of the Talespinners, I heard the complaints constantly.

Our detractors come from every possible group: the River Folk, the Wee Folk, the Dead and even the Fae in their myriad forms. To those who would mutter and grumble I say they would do better to hurl their insults into a mirror! It is always
they
who suspect
us
of great wrong-doing. The slander and whisperings are too numerous to count, but I will point out the worst here: We are known to many as the Battleaxe Folk, but we do not account ourselves as warlike. In times of strife we often withdraw into our mountain fortresses, but where is the crime in doing so? We are called secretive, but no characterization could be less accurate! Among the Kindred, there are no secrets. We may not care to share our lives with random outsiders, but that is only due to natural caution and hard-won wisdom. On this basis, I will continue to routinely reject the probing of foreign dignitaries without a qualm!

…after hours of quiet deliberation and healthful jacks of ale, I’ve decided to relent somewhat. In the interests of coexistence, I will pen a limited response to commonly made queries here. I will focus only upon our sacred text, which is known to us as the
Teret,
and upon our corresponding beliefs. The meaning of the word Teret in the language of the Kindred translates as “circle” or “cycle”. The Great Book is the core of our collected wisdom, gathered while watching the world beyond our stone halls for millennia.

One fundamental observation I can share with all: this world’s history should not be viewed as a linear sequence of events, but rather as cycles of repeating occurrences. Among all mortal beings, one cycle takes the form of birth, life and death. Among the Kindred specifically, we go through long periods of dithering and sleepy, pointless behavior—eras that often span centuries. But, when a monarch is selected from among us, the nature of the Kindred undergoes a drastic change. Like swarming creatures we become a people apart from ourselves, bent upon a single purpose. Peaceful dithering followed by frenetic activity, this is the cycle that defines us.

The world at large is driven by other cycles. Events of the past often seem eerily similar to those of the present. Although individuals are not destined to suffer the same fate as their ancestors, they
are
destined to suffer similar trials when caught up in one of these elemental loops of time. Slaves become masters and masters become themselves enslaved. The greatest creatures of the world sleep, awaken and then drift off to sleep again periodically. Their behavior is as cyclical and predictable as the routine-driven lives of our Mechnician clansmen, who are unsung heroes among the Kindred. They oil the clockwork devices which give our underground world life and sustenance. Their tireless repetition of appointed tasks aids us all, providing us with breath, heat and light in the depths of the cold earth.

Knowing now this fragment of Kindred wisdom, I ask the reader to look at events and faces around them and compare them to those of the past. What has gone before will come again. What will you do to make your mark upon this world as it spins under all of our feet?

—Queen Gudrin of the Talespinners, written circa the Fifth Era of the Earthlight

Chapter One

The Gift

I need to find husbands for these daughters of mine. More than four score of them.
Brand remembered Oberon’s words, and he remembered staring at elf lord as he said them. A year passed quickly, and when the time came he was ready for the elf’s return. There had been no lack of volunteer husbands, as it turned out. There had been too many, in fact. Brand had held a lottery and the winners were to meet him on the Riverton Common near the Faerie mound tomorrow as the sun fell.

When the big day came, Telyn did not want to let him go. He was her husband now, and her hands clutched at him as he made ready to walk out their door and head for Riverton. It had been his mistake, of course, to make plans to leave her on their first wedding anniversary. At the time, he had not even considered the significance of the date, having been very new to married life.

“It’s been a year and a day, Telyn,” he told her.

She gripped him. “Not yet. That’s tomorrow.”

“But I must go
today
, in order to be at the common in the morning.”

“It will rain. Let him wait a day.”

Brand shook his head. He kissed her gently. “The Fae will not understand. I will have broken my word with them. Who knows what ill they would make of that?”

“This is our anniversary,” she said. She stood with her arms crossed and her brow furrowed. “This is
our
day. It’s
my
day.”

“Listen,” he told her. “I thought we had worked this out? I can’t send eighty men to stand upon the mound alone waiting for the elves to appear. I must guide them and see that nothing horrible happens to them. Think of their mothers.”

“I’ve seen these prospective husbands,” she said. “That gaggle of ruffians doesn’t look like they have mothers.”

Brand chuckled. It was true, most of the men were Silures and Hoots, mixed in with various other ne’er-do-wells and layabouts from all over the Haven. A few were honest men in search of good wives. Most of the latter had lost their own women and were hopeful of new companionship.

Telyn pressed close, and he patted her absently. To him, she seemed overly worked up about this trip.

“Brand,” she whispered. “I’m with child.”

Brand blinked in shock. He opened his mouth, but no sound issued forth. He hugged her, and when he managed to unlock his tongue, he whooped and lifted her into the air. He set her back down again quickly, gently.

“Sorry, sorry!” he said, eyeing her midsection in alarm.

“I’m not going to break!” she said, laughing.

They hugged and kissed for a time. At last, she sighed and let him go. She pouted and demanded that he promise to return. He did so solemnly, then strapped the axe in a rucksack across his back and threw open the door. What he saw there made him stumble back a step.

Oberon himself was on his doorstep. From his posture, he seemed to be leaning close and listening. Brand felt an instant surge of annoyance. The axe upon his back twitched excitedly.

“This is a surprise,” he said stiffly.

“I’d hoped it would be!” said the elf. He bowed to Telyn, somehow sweeping up her hand and kissing it all in one smooth motion. “Congratulations, milady! When will your bounty arrive?”

Telyn reddened. “Early next winter, I should think,” she said.

“Excellent!”

Brand realized as this exchange occurred that Oberon had indeed been eavesdropping at their door and had overheard Telyn’s news of the coming child even as he did. A new flash of irritation swept through him. He tried not to show his anger, however. His face turned to stone. He tried to force a smile, but failed. He knew this was simply a matter of different peoples having different expectations, but still…knowing the elf had listened into their intimate talk disturbed him.

“Have you come to escort me to your lands, then?” Brand asked when he had regained some of his composure.

Oberon cocked his head. He stared for a moment with his very odd eyes. “After a fashion,” the elf said.

“Shall we be on our way?” Brand asked. He noted the elf’s eyes had drifted to the rucksack on his back which contained the axe.

Oberon snapped his eyes back to Brand’s and a smile flickered there. “Certainly! Let me show the way! Long has it been since I’ve entertained a human lord in my lands. I’m not quite sure how to be the perfect host.”

With a pasted-on smile, Brand delicately extricated himself from Telyn’s grasping fingers and followed Oberon out into the yard. For a time, he feared Telyn would trail after them. He glanced back over his shoulder to see her staring, eyeing the elf with stern distrust.

Oberon’s white goat stood waiting just within the trees. The axe twitched on Brand’s back when he laid eyes upon it. The beast turned its head and eyed him in return with one red eye. There was an unnatural intelligence in its gaze. Brand frowned at the creature as Oberon threw a leg over its back and grabbed up the reins. Brand had seen the creature only once before, at his own wedding. Had the beast been red-eyed and intelligent then? He could not recall.

Another thought struck him as he followed Oberon down through his apple orchards. Could this be the same mount Oberon had been riding when he led King Herla into the mountain passages so very long ago? A normal goat would have aged and died a hundred times over…but this one seemed anything but normal.

“I’ll need to take my boat,” Brand said, veering from the path Oberon took.

The elf lord turned and looked at him quizzically. “There’s no need for that!” he said, and laughed musically. “Come, I’ll show you.”

Oberon led him not to the low side of the island, the eastern side that looked out toward the Haven Woods. He went instead to the western shore which Brand and his family had often called the ‘high side’ of the island. On this shore, facing the tall trees of the Deepwood, there was a drop of some twenty feet into the flood of the Berrywine. The water moved faster past the high side as the channel narrowed and became more rocky. The high side was almost a cliff, although a crumbling one.

Trying to seem unperturbed, Brand followed the elf and the white-furred rump of his goat. He wondered if all this was somehow a great joke played upon him. Feelings of anger flared at the thought, and had to be stifled down. The axe was merely tense and looking for trouble, he told himself. He knew its sensitivities and paranoid concerns well by now. Still, he was on his guard.

When they reached the highest point on the western cliffs of Rabing Isle, Brand saw their goal. He stopped walking and sucked in his breath.

“A bridge?” he said in wonderment.

Oberon leapt from his goat and performed a sweeping gesture toward the river. “For you, Lord Rabing! I’ve toiled all night to construct it!”

The bridge was not made of stone, as the Kindred might have done. Nor was it assembled from cut tree trunks as the River Folk would have built it. Instead, it seemed to have been
grown
there, and was formed of a single, looping vine of bright green foilage.

Immediately, Brand thought of Myrrdin. He’d not seen or heard of the wizard this last year. Not since they’d had a falling out and warred with the elves upon Snowdon’s shoulders. Surely, this growth was his work.

“Am I mad?” Brand asked Oberon. “Or is this the work of Vaul?”

Oberon looked at him sharply. He paused before answering. “Not exactly. It is an experiment of sorts. You see, I wield the Red—”

“And Myrrdin wields the Green, yes, I know.”

Oberon continued as if the interruption had not occurred. “This is a blended thing. An intertwining of both.”

Brand blinked at the bridge, trying to absorb Oberon’s words. “You mean…you’ve mastered both Jewels? You’ve worked the Red and the Green together—upon my island?”

“After a fashion,” said Oberon. He hopped back upon this goat as he spoke further. “You see, I grew a seedling…a very special seedling…using the power of the Red and the nodules that the Green naturally produces.”

“So you plucked seeds from the Green? Did it turn into a tree again?”

Oberon turned him a slit-eyed stare. “You know about that, do you?” he asked. He shook his head and made a tsking sound. “Ever was Myrrdin’s tongue loose in his head.”

The elf guided his goat out upon the vine bridge. Huge leaves wavered as he brushed by them. Brand followed hesitantly, feeling his way with wary, shuffling boots. The bridge was little more than a two-foot thick growth that arched over the river. It was worse than walking along a fallen tree. A log was at least straight and had bark to give one’s boots something to grip upon. This vine was not
slick
, but it was freshly-grown and smooth. There were huge triangular leaves thrusting up on stalks all the way along the path as well, obscuring it and providing things for a man to kick and stumble over.

Oberon pressed ahead, crossing the bridge without concern. “Come along!” he cried over his shoulder. “There is something on the far side that may interest you.”

Brand stood on the vine and grimaced. He looked down into the river, and gauged he could survive the plunge if he went down. He would probably lose his boots and his dignity, but at least none could say afterward that he’d quailed and balked in fear. What was the elf’s purpose? He had to wonder about it. The entire affair could be a matter of idle caprice, or it could be a sinister game with a definite joke to be played upon him at the end.

He took two more steps out, and found the going reasonable enough. As a river-boy, he was not frightened by the water, nor was his balance less than excellent. But still, some part of him was wary and annoyed with the elf for taking his plans and dashing them all from the outset. As he reached the half-way point of the bridge, he thought he should perhaps take charge of this farce. Perhaps he should draw the axe and slash this vile bridge down. A single stroke—that was all that would be required! Fresh green sap would run like warm blood.

Brand shook his head and continued. Oberon watched him from the far side now. Brand increased his pace, wanting to be across it and done with the whole thing.

“What do you think of your unique gift?” Oberon asked him.

“I thank you for the thought,” Brand said as he drew closer to shore. “I would have rather you put the bridge on the far side, however, spanning to the Haven Wood.”

“Of course,” Oberon said. “Unfortunately, that was not within my capacities.”

Brand approached and hopped off the vine with a sense of relief. He stood now at the foot of the tall, dark trees of the Deepwood. Already, the land seemed hushed on this bank. Even the river babbled more quietly in his ears. Brand marveled at the vine, admiring it.

“Quite an amazing thing,” he said. “And I’ve always dreamt of making a connection between the island and the riverbanks.”

“I know,” said Oberon. “I need your help in this matter, you see.”

“My help?” Brand asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Oberon said. “To grow a more substantial bridge would require a fine work, more control. I envision a safer structure, with a dished out center and leaves growing only along the sides.”

Brand stared at the vine. “You could do that?”

“Yes. I believe I could, but as I said, I would need your help. You wielded two Jewels once. None I know who draw breath today have managed to duplicate the feat. I’ve tried, but failed. This beastly thing was one of my few partial successes, you see. Blood and plant can work together, but the results aren’t always as desired, and the greater problem lies in containing both Jewels as they war within one’s mind.”

Brand stared that the elf, who stared back intently. Did Oberon really expect he could describe the process of containing two Jewels in simple words? He’d worn the Blue Jewel Lavatis and carried the axe with Ambros embedded in its head for a brief time, but he’d never tried to work the two together. He’d never tried to get the Rainbow to pick up and swing the axe, for example. He had barely managed to keep from going mad. Just having both the Jewels in contact with his person at the same time had threatened his sanity.

“I bore them, but did not seek to twist together their magic as one might braid hair,” Brand said.

“But how did you even manage that much? Tell me your secrets, if you would.”

“There is no secret,” said Brand, shaking his head. “I think if there is one, it is in the utter innocence of the bearer. By not knowing I could not wield two Jewels, by not understanding what it would be like, I managed to muddle through. Call it beginner’s luck. It was nothing I’d care to repeat.”

Oberon gazed at him, and slowly nodded. “You’ve answered as well as you could. And your insight might not be as valueless as you think. In return, let me show you how I managed to grow this wondrous bridge.”

Brand followed Oberon, who walked to a spot where the huge leaves grew in profusion. They stood at the base of the growth, where a wild spray of greenery erupted. Brand expected to find roots there, tangled and thick. What he saw at first baffled him, and then as understanding sank in, it caused his stomach to roll over in his guts. A pile of furs lay about—but they were
not
furs, they were empty sacks of hide. They had recently been living animals he knew, with their insides leeched away.