A field of wildflowers spilled over the banks of the pools, filling the air with the sweet perfume of nectar and evening dew. Wild faeries and sprites perched upon every reed, lily, and stem, some even straddling the backs of bored-looking bullfrogs. They filled the dusk with their song as they watched the Lady pass.
The Lady and her procession approached the archway and two young elves pulled the tall doors open. The boys bowed to the Lady, giving Peter curious looks as he passed.
They entered a short passageway of polished, iridescent stone, the palest shade of green. The walls were framed by stone pillars in the shape of trees that looked to have grown right from the floor, their branches weaving into a spidery canopy. Music drifted along the corridor, accompanied by raucous laughter, squeals, and grunts. Peter glanced down the hall and saw a tall, handsome boy with a heavy brow and dark, brooding eyes striding purposely toward them.
“Someone does not look pleased, my Lady,” Drael whispered.
The Lady sighed. “When ever does he?”
The boy was much taller than Peter, eye level with the Lady. Peter guessed him to be several years older than himself. His dark hair was cropped in a bowl cut just above his ears, oiled and shiny, not a strand out of place. He wore a quilted jacket, trimmed in gold, with long puffed sleeves, made from a finely woven fabric. He had on black stockings and gold shoes with pointed toes. Peter could not find a speck of dust, nor a trace of dirt anywhere on the boy.
The tall boy dismissed Peter at a glance and addressed the Lady.
“Modron, you were supposed—”
“Ulfger,” the Lady interrupted. “Not today. I do not need this from you today.”
“You were supposed to be here hours ago,” he continued, his voice stern and serious. “Have you forgotten your duties?”
“No, Ulfger,” the Lady said with noticeable irritation. “I have
“The fate of Avalon hangs in the balance, yet the council spends its time drinking, gossiping, and exchanging rude riddles.” He stared accusingly at the Lady. “They need leadership.”
“Ulfger, it is not your place to tell me—”
“It
“Oh, Ulfger. Why must you do this? You’re a boy. You should be having fun, running wild, getting into mischief. You—”
“No! That, Modron—
The Lady looked at him sadly. “Those are your mother’s words. Even at death’s door, she can’t keep her long nose out of things. And look what she has done to you. At an age when you should be at your most carefree, you are bent beneath the weight of her nettling and conniving.”
Ulfger flushed. “No, that’s not true.”
The Lady shook her head. “This is my fault, I should have stood up to her, should have insisted you live in the forest with your father. Your mother has done everything in her power to kill the wildness within you. I am fearful the Horned One will not know his own son.”
Ulfger’s eyes fell to the floor. He turned away, but not before Peter caught the wounded look on his face.
The Lady took Peter’s hand; they pushed past the handsome boy and strolled down the hall.
THEY PASSED BENEATH another arch and entered a great domed hall. A small circular pond lay at the center of the hall, cut into the stone floor. The pond glowed brightly—the very water was phosphorescent—filling the whole hall with a soft, greenish glow. A crescent moon, stars, and winged fish were carved into the dome. The light swirled over the designs, making them appear to swim around the ceiling.
A dozen curved tables circled the pond. Plates and bowls of wild game, bread, boiled carrots, beets, and potatoes littered the pitted, well-worn surface, their spice filling the chamber. Peter inhaled deeply and his stomach grumbled.
“I believe someone’s hungry,” the Lady said.
Peter grinned up at her and nodded.
A man set down his goblet, pushed back his chair, and propped a cloven hoof on the edge of the table. He wore no clothing, only a thick leather yoke with large brass bells. His small, boyish body appeared to be that of a shaggy goat from the waist down. His skin was blood-red, his hair black. A long, pointed goatee curled upward off his chin and two short horns poked up from his sloping forehead, each with a small gold bell jangling from its tip. “You’re late,” he growled.
“And a good end of day to you too, Hiisi,” the Lady said, a smile pushing one corner of her mouth. “Nice to see everyone waited.”
A boar with long, curving tusks, dressed in a brilliant crushed velvet tunic complete with ruffles, held up a drumstick. “Like one swine waits for another,” he said through a mouthful of food, then snorted.
There were at least forty folk in attendance, mostly elves, their thin, spindly bodies draped across their high-backed chairs, their movements and gestures elegant and graceful. There were many other strange beings that Peter had never seen or imagined. Four plump men—easily as wide as they were tall and not a one larger than a chicken—with big red noses and cheeks and tiny black eyes that looked like they’d been pushed into their faces, sat upon tall stools wearing outlandish feathered caps and passing a large jug of wine back and forth. A flock of winged faeries sat crossed-legged on the table top, sharing a bowl of fruit. These were different than the ones Peter had seen in the forest; foremost, they were clothed, wearing britches and jackets or wispy gowns, and were well-mannered as they ate from tiny plates and sipped from tiny cups.
There were various other impish creatures, some more beast than manlike. Peter noticed two elven women, one with skin as black as coal, the other pink as roses. They lay coiled in each other’s arms, their eyes closed as they kissed and licked each other’s mouths, their hands lost beneath each other’s dresses. A child—an infant really—with a single red horn jutting from its forehead puffed away on a pipe, his eyes heavy as though lost in a dream. There were at least three faerie folk passed out on the floor, one of them snoring loud enough to be heard even over the ruckus.
Sour-faced servants moved in and out of the chamber, carrying trays, pouring wine into goblets, and complaining loudly to each other all at the same time. Over in one corner four stout faerie folk with bristly beards that fell all the way to their knees were playing flutes and plucking at string instruments, creating a whimsical melody.
Several servants came in and hastily laid out a table setting before an elegant, high-backed chair. The chair was by far the tallest in the room, formed of delicate white roots and branches. It appeared to have grown straight from the floor, its limbs reaching upward, weaving together into a symmetrical arch that nearly touched the top of the dome. The uppermost limbs sprouted into an umbrella of draping leaves. Tiny sprites played in the leaves, their multicolored lights blinking on and off.
The Lady leaned over to Peter. “Wait here with Drael.” She strolled to the chair. The band stopped playing and most of the attendees rose as she was seated. The Lady smiled and inclined her head. The dinner guests dropped back into their chairs, returning to their food and conversation as though nothing had happened.
Hiisi, the red-skinned man, sat on the Lady’s left. He leaned over. “My Lady, Tanngnost has asked to speak.”
The Lady let out a sigh. “Can I not at least eat first?”
“He’s just returned from the lands of men-kind. If he doesn’t get to speak soon, I fear he will simply burst.”
“Oh, dear. I wouldn’t wish our beloved Tanngnost to burst, not here in my chamber anyway. I guess we have little choice but to let him say his bit.”
Hiisi stood and banged his fork against his goblet. Most everyone ignored him. “Tonight, Council,” he said. “A dear old friend has graced us with his pungency. I’ve composed a rhyme in honor of this most un-notable occasion. Shall I?”
