“For the most part, no,” Ariel said. “Only those we allow to see us for what we are know of our existence, and those are rare indeed. They must be trusted with our great secret, and so we only reveal ourselves sparingly. Some suspect our existence but cannot confirm it because we live among them and hide ourselves with glamours to keep our existence secret.”
“Glamours?” That word again.
“Manipulations of the Earth’s energy… you might call it magic.”
Brendan recalled all the strange experiences he’d had over the last couple of days. He thought about his ability to use the birds for his defence and what Kim had said about him Compelling Orcadia. What other explanation was there besides magic? “What are the Arts?”
“Ah,” Ariel laughed and shook his head. “Another question that is impossible to answer without an age of time. Some say I am the wisest of my kind, but even so, I would not be able to give you an answer you might understand.”
“Why not?”
Og piped up, “Explain the wind! Explain the sea! Explain the stars in the sky. The Humans would try and break them down and tell you ‘The sea is a body of water’ or ‘The stars are balls of gas’ or some such. True enough but it doesn’t explain the power of the sea, the way the stars affect our souls. Faeries don’t label these things. We try to experience them on a deeper level and manipulate the energy they represent.”
Ariel nodded in agreement, adding, “A crude explanation but accurate.”
“I’m nothing if not crude.” Og grinned and raised his glass of amber whisky. “And I am sometimes accurate.” He knocked back the whisky in one gulp and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
“Og is too humble,” Ariel said softly. “He is one of the greatest Artificers our people have ever produced. That requires steady hands and a keen mind.”
Brendan looked sidelong at his professed uncle. “An Artificer? Kim mentioned them. What is an Artificer?”
“One of the disciplines of the Art. Artificers craft objects. In the past, Faeries like Og would forge magical weapons, rings of power, armour of invulnerability. Nowadays, our needs are different.”
“We Faeries don’t like the metal, see. It can hurt us,” Og said, waving for another whisky. “In strong enough concentrations it can kill us. In alloys, it can make us sick or give us allergic reactions based on the amount of iron in it. So I and people with my Talent, we make items for our folk to use out of proper materials. Lately, the Fair Folk have been fascinated by Human technology like… those televisions. Artificers find a way to make them work without being harmful to us.”
“So you made Kim’s cellphone?”
“Och, not me. I prefer more exciting items.” Og’s eyes lit up. “Engines! That’s what I love!”
Brendan said, “Like Kim’s scooter?”
“Aye! That’s one of mine.” Og beamed. “She’s my pride and joy.”
Brendan gulped. He would rather not be around when Kim revealed what had happened to the scooter and Brendan’s part in it.
He changed the subject. “But how could I be a Faerie? I mean, how could I have been a Faerie all this time and not known it?”
Ariel nodded. “An excellent question. Until recently, you had a scar upon your flesh. Am I right? A curiously shaped scar.”
“Yeah,” Brendan admitted. “But it’s gone now.”
“That scar was a Ward, a Glamour of Protection. There are many kinds of Wards like the one that hides this place from the eyes of the People of Metal.” He swept a hand about him, taking in the whole pub. “The Ward allows the Swan to exist right under their noses without them suspecting a thing. Once upon a time, the Ward covered all the Islands, but over time, we’ve pulled it back to this little corner. It’s all we really need. 73 Woven by many powerful people of our kind, it is maintained by the desires of all who wish to remain hidden. All of us who choose to live in the Human world must bear Wards that hide our true nature and make us appear outwardly as Humans. The Ward that hid your nature from those around you and yourself was the work of one very powerful Faerie of the Skyclan. He was your father, Briach Morn.”
The name sent a shiver through Brendan. My father? My real father? Up until last night, he had believed his father was the man he’d grown up with, eaten dinner with, played Monopoly with on rainy afternoons. Now everything had changed. Had it only been a day since his parents had revealed the truth to him in the kitchen?
“I can take it from here.” The voice was cool and feminine, and Brendan recognized it immediately from his dream the night before.
“You!” Brendan gasped.
Deirdre D’Anaan stepped out of the shadows, pulling a silken shawl from her face. She wore a shimmering cloak that was beaded with rain. She shook out her hair and smiled at Brendan as she stepped toward the table. The crowd parted for her.
“Oi, good to see you, my dear sister,” Og bellowed, sliding over and scrunching Brendan into the bench. “You look ravishing as ever.” Og patted the bench beside him in invitation.
Deirdre ignored Og. She stood by the table, looking down on Brendan. Her eyes were as powerful as he remembered from the concert the night before, burning with cold grey fire as she held his gaze. Her tiny winged servant, Fith, sat on her shoulder. The Faerie licked raindrops from her hair with its small black tongue.
“I see you made it unscathed despite Orcadia’s best efforts,” Deirdre said with a welcoming smile. “Well done.”
“No thanks to you,” Brendan said, trying his best to sound angry, but in the shadow of her beauty, he was finding it difficult. “These people tell me you stripped my only protection away. You could have gotten me killed.”
Deirdre opened her mouth to retort but she was cut off by Kim’s voice.
“Well, look who’s here!” Kim snarled, appearing suddenly at the top of the wooden stairs. She descended, her field hockey stick over her shoulder and a steaming mug in her hand. “Deirdre D’Anaan, who can’t keep her nose in her own business.”
Brendan was so relieved to see Kim, he wanted to jump up and hug her but Og’s beery bulk prevented it. Instead he beamed a smile at her. She sneered playfully in return and sat down beside Ariel. She still didn’t look completely well but at least she was sneering again.
Deirdre scowled. “It is my business. He’s my nephew.”
Kim laughed harshly. “What a kind auntie you are, too. It’s a wonderful way to show your affection, removing the only protection he has and leaving him at the mercy of that psycho out there.” Kim jerked a thumb at the window where rain pelted the glass and lightning flashed. “What a sweet coming-of-age present. What will you give him for his birthday? A rabid wolverine? One of the Metal Folk’s hand grenades?”
“What? I’m your nephew?” There was too much information for Brendan’s reeling mind to process. “You’re my aunt?”
“And she’s me sister and Bob’s-your-uncle! Hee-hee-hee! I need a drink!” Og pushed himself to his feet. “Anyone need anything?” Everyone ignored him so he staggered off to the bar.
“I can’t believe it,” Brendan said, his elbows on the table and his head in his hands.
Deirdre ignored Brendan and sneered at Kim. “Better he knows who he is so he can make choices. We need to guide him!”
“Guide him?” Kim sneered back. “Or control him?”
Ariel raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Peace. What is done is done. We must work together now. Put aside what cannot be changed and let us discuss how to move forward.”
“He must be initiated immediately,” Deirdre said. “It’s the only way he will be safe.”
“Agreed,” Kim grunted. “As soon as possible.”
Brendan slammed his hand on the table. “Hey! Quit talking about me like I’m not here! I want to know what’s going on! What initiation? Start talking or I’m going to leave and go back to my home, and you people can blow it out your… ear!” He would have said something harsher but his mum hated when he cursed.
Ariel, Kim, and Deirdre stared at him. Finally, Ariel indicated that Deirdre should sit. “You are the Weaver, Deirdre. You should tell the tale.”
Deirdre nodded and took a seat. Saskia returned at that moment with a cup of steaming dark liquid, which
