Elizabeth Hand - Winterlong

And He is there, green eyes shining with malicious joy as He sights me: a shimmering figure like something made of motes of light. The torches shine right through Him. I exhale and blink, try to clear my vision so that I can see the stage with its Players backlit by guttering lanterns. Waves of light ripple in the air before my face. Fabian lifts his head to greet me:

“ Lo, now, lo!

Here comes a spirit of his, and to torment me …”

He stutters over his last line because suddenly he sees that there is something in the air between us: a spectral form, with hair like clear water and eyes that outshine the dying torches, a beautiful boy’s face and body turning from me to extend a white hand to the terrified actor. From the audience come gasps and muffled cries. Toby’s curses turn to loud amazement, and I hear Miss Scarlet cry my name.

I laugh, take a step toward the radiant phantasm commanding center stage. In the audience the Zoologists hush their Paphian guests. They are delighted, certain they are seeing some miracle of stagecraft engineered for their Regent’s birthday.

For a moment everything comes to a halt: the actors have forgotten their lines, the audience waits impatiently. On the hillside the grass rustles as the lazars creep toward the stage, and I hear the deep cough of the aardmen breathing. The Boy too waits, hand cupped coyly beneath His chin, emerald eyes winking.

And just when it seems that something terrible must happen—an aardman will leap from the underbrush to rip out Rufus Lynx’s throat; the Boy will take Fabian’s hand and lead him to suicidal despair; Mehitabel will shriek and ruin Miss Scarlet’s next entrance—just when I think I will collapse into a seizure and force the whole spectacle to some awful conclusion—

Justice strides onstage, so white with terror that his pale hair seems dark as blood in the firelight. With shaking voice he cries, “ ‘ What’s the matter? Have we divels here?’”

A relieved sigh from the audience. The hidden figures in the trees grow still. My voice rings out as I shamble toward the glittering spectre, “ ’ This spirit torments me!’”

Scattered applause from the Zoologists. Paphians call on the Magdalene with slurred whispers. I try to make eye contact with Fabian. It is hopeless. He stands frozen, hands raised to fend off the ethereal creature suspended in the air before him, gazing with cold yet proprietary calm upon the amazed audience.

Then, despite his own terror, Justice recites Fabian’s lines as well as his own, stumbling through his speech. I crouch and strike at the air, as though there are demons there, and reply:

“ ‘ His spirits hear me;

For every trifle they are set upon me; sometime am I

All wound with adders, who with cloven tongues

Do hiss me into madness. Art thou afeard?’”

With unsteady voice Justice calls back, “ ‘ No, monster, not I.’”

The Boy turns to regard me, His eyes glowing with merciless delight as I continue:

“‘ Be not afeared, the isle is full of noises;

Sometime voices

That if I then had wak’d after long sleep

Will make me sleep again; and when I wak’d

I cried to dream again.’”

And as Justice replies, and Caliban groans and shouts, and finally Fabian breaks in with a line (not the right one), the Boy stares past them to me, then slowly disappears.

The audience erupted into applause. For a quarter-hour all was in an uproar. Toby and Miss Scarlet took the stage to try to bring some order. I bowed and lurched offstage, then raced to where I could scan the surrounding hillside. The lazars and aardmen had fled, presumably to bear news of this marvel to their master in the Cathedral.

All but one of them. She stood brazenly in sight of the audience below, her tousled blond hair aflame by torch light, her face raked by scars but no less recognizable to me now. Laughing softly she raised one hand and waved, calling out in a low voice:

“Hallo, Wendy! They killed Andrew, you know, and Merle and Gligor and Dr. Leslie and Dr. Silverthorn and everyone but me, everyone but Anna!”

Anna glanced over her shoulder, then called down, “I’m glad they’re dead, Wendy. Dr. Leslie lied to me, Andrew lied to me, they all lied to me, and now they’re dead, and soon I will be too.”

The wind brought her sweet cold laughter, and I shivered. She slapped at her face, as though an insect had stung her, then stared dazed into the empty air before recalling me and looking back down.

“Listen to me, Wendy!” she said. “You should be careful. They weren’t nice Doctors after all. That man, the Aviator—he’s looking for you. He’s crazier than Dr. Leslie was at the end. He knows you’re with those actors—

“Be careful, Wendy. Stay away from the Masque at Winterlong—”

She grimaced and brought her hands to her temples, as though she might scream with pain; but before I could call out to her she turned and stumbled into the darkness.

I returned to the amphitheater, stunned. Toby had calmed the crowd sufficiently for us to complete the play. I remember little of the performance. Several minor scenes were skipped, due to Mehitabel’s refusal to be onstage with me; but as Jane had told us that morning, no one noticed. And while thunderous cheers greeted me When I took my final bow, the faint sour odor of disappointment tainted the scene. There had been no further sign of the Gaping One. The Zoologists crawled over the stage searching for wires or other evidence of technological sorcery, but found nothing. I felt let down as well. My final speech went poorly, and my head throbbed. Worst of all was the memory of Anna’s sudden appearance, but I said nothing of this to anyone. Only Justice’s delight at having salvaged Fabian’s scene made the next few hours bearable.

I left the private party that followed as early as I could. While only Toby’s troupe and a half-dozen Zoologists and Paphians were present I was beset by questions, from Players and our hosts alike. Toby in particular was anxious to preserve the illusion that the spectral appearance onstage in Act Two had been carefully planned by himself. I revealed nothing, to Toby or anyone else. Piqued by my surly mood, Justice finally turned his attentions to Mehitabel. I reverted to sullen silence, then finally left. The party’s raucous laughter chased me out into the night, and I walked angry and alone about the Zoo grounds.

The night had grown cold. The rest of the masquers had retreated to the Lion House for the masque proper, whence streamed music and brilliant candlelight and more loud laughter. I avoided that part of the Zoo and headed down a narrow road. Overhead shone a three-quarter moon, dappling the barren earth with gray and white. I kicked dispiritedly among dead leaves and feathers fallen from avian costumes. I wondered why, if I was suddenly capable of feeling things, all I could feel was unhappy.

My rambling brought me at last to the huge gates of the Zoo’s entrance, now chained shut. In front of them reared the Regent’s Oak, a massive tree centuries old, gnarled and ominous in the moonlight. Through the iron barriers I saw the Engulfed Cathedral atop Saint-Alaban’s Hill: a grim black shape glowing with subtle colors, as though another, older moon cast its light upon it. I turned from this disturbing vision to lean against the Regent’s Oak. I rested my cheek against its rough skin and sighed.

I would leave now. It would be easy to scale the gates; I would make my way to the Cathedral and find certain death there. Miss Scarlet would be heartbroken, Toby furious at losing his prize actor. Perhaps Justice would blame himself for wasting this last evening with Mehitabel …