Caroline Spector - Worlds Without End

Then I heard the faint, delicate tones of music. A flute and recorder, I thought. Perhaps a viola thrown in there.

"Ignis fatuus," I said. "Will-o'-the-wisps."

The flower necklace I'd made while we were walking The Burren was waterlogged, but still ser- viceable. I'd rescued it from my coat after we'd reached the car. Now I put it around my neck.

"I can't believe you're using that," Caimbeui said.

"Whatever works."

"Primrose necklaces to reveal faeries?"

"Yes," I said. "And you'd better put yours on. I don't want to lose you."

He snorted.

"I know it hasn't occurred to you before. Harle- quin," I said. "But you don't know everything. Some magic isn't complex-some is made up of simple things. And sometimes, that's the most potent magic. Because it's so obvious that everyone over- looks it."

"But I thought this was to allow humans to see fa- erie," he said.

"Oh, come now," I replied. "How many humans were ever able to see faerie without their permission, help or no? No, this magic is from before hu- man memory."

He pulled the necklace from his pocket. It was wilted and droopy. With a sigh, he slipped it over his neck. It hung there limp and pathetic, faded green and pink against his black leather jacket.

Sucker.

I hid my smile and went back to following the lights. Every time I thought we were about to catch up, they moved away. This went on undl my pa- tience began to wear thin. Then, all at once, we were at the top of a hill.

A group of oak trees stood to one side, their leaves mostly gone. A circle of toadstools ringed around the trees. Inside the ring, the lights flickered and bobbed about. They melted and changed shape, and eventually I saw what I had come for.

Dancing around the ring were an assortment of the strange and fearful creatures of faerie. Please, no laughing. I know that in recent times the idea of faerie has come to mean something other, and much more pleasant, than what it really was. But since the Awakening, I suspect that Disney notion has flown out the door.

For the most part they were dressed in rags or pieces of plants. Their thin, sinewy bodies were pulled and bent into grotesque shapes. With their mouths opened to smile, they revealed rows of sharp, pointed teeth. Some sported wings while oth- ers had antennae flowing back from their brows. They all had the pointed ears that we elves share. Giving rise, no doubt, to the rumors that they are our descendants.

Spriggans danced with leprechauns while fir darrigs tripped the unwary. Goblins and pixies tried to swing each other out of the circle. They whirled and danced and laughed. The shadows they cast flickered and strobed. It was Dante's vision of Hell.

One of the dancers broke from the group and ran over to us. It grabbed my hand and pulled me forward.

"Welcome, mother," it said. "We've been waiting for you."

"What of my friend?" I asked

"He is of no account right now."

We were in the center of the ring. The sharp, wiz- ened faces of the faeries jerked in and out of shadow. I had thought they were much smaller than me at first, but now I saw we were the same height. Or perhaps I was shrinking. Like Alice.

My feet moved along with the music now. I looked down and saw my jeans and sweater were gone, replaced by a long flowing gown made of silver silk. We spun around and around and sud- denly…

I am on the deck of a large ship. It floats in the sky. Magic propels it. Magic that brings both good and evil to this world.

I'm dancing here.

Dancing with trolls. We sail through the dark night sky, laughing and dancing like children. One of the trolls is old and wizened. He wears a long robe embroidered with patterns. His flesh is wrin- kled and thick like an elephant's. But he is kind. And he is my friend.

The faces of these trolls flash before me, the memory of them clear and bright as day. I'd thought I'd forgotten them. But no, that was just a story I told myself.

Now I'm standing'on the deck of the ship. It is the afternoon. The ship is in the middle of a battle. The trolls are fighting, but where is my friend? I go to look for him.

I find him below-deck lying in a pool of blood. He's broken his leg. I have some knowledge of healing and I try to help him. But I've brought more than my healing magic along on this trip. I've brought him: Ysrthgrathe.

I know what happens next. I've played it out in my head so many times that I think I've grown numb from it.

But I'm wrong.

There are some things you never get used to.

The faeries danced around me, laughing. Cruel tricks are their stock and trade.

"Did you like the dance, mother?" one of the spriggans asked.

I couldn't answer because there was no breath in my chest. Tears stung my eyes. But I kept dancing.

I couldn't stop.

There's a car. She's driving it through rain-slicked streets. The headlights make yellow beams against the oily pavement. There's no other traffic. Every- thing is deserted.

She stops for a red light. There's a tap against the passenger-side glass. She looks up. A pockmarked face appears at the window, broken fingernails trail across the wetness down to the door handle. Too late, she realizes that the doors are unlocked.

She can't keep him out.

Where was Caimbeui?

I couldn't stop dancing now. This was part of it. Part of the test. And perhaps a bit of revenge at the same time. I know they thought they had just cause, but that was part of the past, too.

I looked down and saw that my dress had changed again. Glamour. Nasty tricks of the first water. I wore a long white dress made of rose petals. Not un- like the ones Alachia had favored in Blood Wood.

I open my eyes. The faeries are gone. about, I notice that the trees have died. nothing more than hollowed-out stumps.

As I look They are It's cold.

Colder than it should be this time of year. Or any- time in Tfr na n6g.

Looking up, I see that the sky has turned the color of old oysters. And the air smells of burnt flesh.

I start to run down the hill, back to the town where Caimbeui and I left the car. The fields I run through are fallow, dead, and brown. Where there was once a cobblestone road, now only small jagged pieces of stone show against the dun-colored earth.

A stillness hangs in the air. But this is not the si- lence of a quiet afternoon.

The buildings I pass are crumbling. Finally, I come to the tavern where we stopped for lunch. No vehi- cles are parked outside. The windows are boarded up, but the door hangs open, listing on one hinge.

I go inside.

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dark. Broken chairs litter the floor. Glass crunches under my feet. There's no one here.

I walk outside again.

All around me, everything crumbles to dust.

And I am alone.

Tears streamed down my face. The spriggans grabbed my hands and spun me about harder and faster. The world revolved around me until all I saw was a blur of light and motion. Shutting my eyes, I tried to block it out.

I open my eyes.

We spin about under the azure sky, hands locked with one another.

"Faster," he says.

"You'll make yourself sick," I reply.

"Faster."

So we turn and turn until we both fall down onto the soft grass.

"The sky is spinning," he says.

I put my hand on his forehead. He is warm, but not unusually so. My hand looks so large against his tiny forehead. I can hardly believe that this creature, this small boy, came from me.

He pushes my hand away, impatient again to be going. In a flash he is up and off and running. Chubby legs pump and I see he's beginning to lose his baby fat. In another few months he'll be a little boy, a baby no longer. And I find I can't bear the idea of his growing older. I would keep him like this forever.