The Wise Man's Fear

I nodded, understanding. “Beloved by both the Fae and men. Our moon’s a merry wanderer then?”

Felurian shook her head. “not so. a traveler, yes. a wanderer, no. she moves but cannot freely go.”

“I heard a story once,” I said. “About a man who stole the moon.”

Felurian’s expression went solemn. She unlaced her fingers from mine and looked down at the stone in her hand. “that was the end of it all.” She sighed. “until he stole the moon there was some hope for peace.”

I was stunned by the matter-of-fact tone in her voice. “What?” I asked dumbly.

“the stealing of the moon.” She cocked her head at me, puzzled. “you said you knew of it.”

“I said I’d heard a story,” I said. “But it was a silly thing. Not a story of what truly was. It was a f . . . It was the sort of story that you tell a child.”

She smiled again. “you may call them faerie stories. I know of them. they are fancies. we tell our children manling tales betimes.”

“But the moon was truly stolen?” I asked. “That was no fancy?”

Felurian scowled. “this I have been showing you!” she said, bringing her hand down in an angry splash.

I found myself making the Adem gesture for apology below the surface of the water before realizing it was doubly pointless. “I’m sorry,” I said. “But without the truth of this story I am lost. I beg of you to tell me it.”

“it is an old story, and a sad one.” She gave me a long look. “what then will you trade me?”

“The hushed hart,” I said.

“in that you give a gift that is a gift to you,” she said archly. “what else?”

“I will also make thousand hands,” I said, watching her expression soften. “And I will show you something new I have thought of all myself. I call it swaying against the wind.”

She crossed her arms and looked away, making a great show of indifference. “new perhaps to you. I doubtless know it by a different name.”

“Perhaps,” I said. “But if you will not trade you cannot know.”

“very well,” she conceded with a sigh. “but only because you are quite good at thousand hands.”

Felurian looked up at the slender moon for a moment, then said. “long before the cities of man. before men. before fae. there were those who walked with their eyes open. they knew all the deep names of things.” She paused and looked at me. “do you know what this means?”

“When you know the name of a thing you have mastery over it,” I said.

“no,” she said, startling me with the weight of rebuke in her voice. “mastery was not given. they had the deep knowing of things. not mastery. to swim is not mastery over the water. to eat an apple is not mastery of the apple.” She gave me a sharp look. “do you understand?”

I didn’t. But I nodded anyway, not wanting to upset her or sidetrack the story.

“these old name-knowers moved smoothly through the world. they knew the fox and they knew the hare, and they knew the space between the two.”

She drew a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “then came those who saw a thing and thought of changing it. they thought in terms of mastery.

“they were shapers. proud dreamers.” She made a conciliatory gesture. “and it was not all bad at first. there were wonders.” Her face lit with memory and her fingers gripped my arm excitedly. “once, sitting on the walls of murella, I ate fruit from a silver tree. it shone, and in the dark you could mark the mouth and eyes of all those who had tasted it!”

“Was Murella in the Fae?”

Felurian frowned. “no. I have said. this was before. there was but one sky. one moon. one world, and in it was murella. and the fruit. and myself, eating it, eyes shining in the dark.”

“How long ago was this?”

She gave a small shrug. “long ago.”

Long ago. Longer than any book of history I had ever seen or even heard of. The Archives had copies of Caluptenian histories that went back two millennia, and none of them held the barest whisper of the things Felurian spoke of.

“Forgive my interruption,” I said as politely as possible, and made as much of a bow to her as I could without going entirely underwater.

Mollified, she continued, “the fruit was but the first of it. the early toddlings of a child. they grew bolder, braver, wild. the old knowers said ‘stop,’ but the shapers refused. they quarreled and fought and forbade the shapers. they argued against mastery of this sort.” Her eyes brightened. “but oh,” she sighed, “the things they made!”

This from a woman weaving me a cloak out of shadow. I couldn’t guess what she might marvel at. “What did they make?”

She gestured widely around us.

“Trees?” I asked, awestruck.

She laughed at my tone. “no. the faen realm.” she waved widely. “wrought according to their will. the greatest of them sewed it from whole cloth. a place where they could do as they desired. and at the end of all their work, each shaper wrought a star to fill their new and empty sky.”

Felurian smiled at me. “then there were two worlds. two skies. two sets of stars.” She held up the smooth stone. “but still one moon. and it all round and cozy in the mortal sky.”

Her smile faded. “but one shaper was greater than the rest. for him the making of a star was not enough. he stretched his will across the world and pulled her from her home.”

Lifting the smooth stone to the sky, Felurian carefully closed one eye. She tilted her head as if trying to fit the curve of the stone into the empty arms of the crescent moon above us. “that was the breaking point. the old knowers realized no talk would ever stop the shapers.” Her hand dropped back into the water. “he stole the moon and with it came the war.”

“Who was it?” I asked.

Her mouth curved into a tiny smile. She hooted: “who? who?”

“Was he of the faen courts?” I prompted gently.

Felurian shook her head, amused. “no. as I said, this was before the fae. the first and greatest of the shapers.”

“What was his name?”

She shook her head. “no calling of names here. I will not speak of that one, though he is shut beyond the doors of stone.”

Before I could ask more questions, Felurian took my hand and nestled the stone between our palms again. “this shaper of the dark and changing eye stretched out his hand against the pure black sky. he pulled the moon, but could not make her stay. so now she moves ’twixt mortal and the fae.”

She gave me a solemn look, so rare a thing on her fair face. “you have your tale. your who and how. there is a final secret now. so all your owlish listening lend.” She brought our joined hands back to the surface of the water. “this is the part on which you must attend.”

Felurian’s eyes were black in the dim light. “the moon has our two worlds beguiled, like parents clutching at a child, pulling at her, to and fro, neither willing to let go.”

She stepped away, and we stood as far apart as we could, the stone gripped in our hands. “when she is torn, half in your sky, you see how far apart we lie.” Felurian reached toward me with her free hand making futile grasping gestures in the empty water. “no matter how we long to kiss, the space between us is not ripe for this.”

Felurian stepped forward and pressed the stone close to my chest. “and when your moon is waxing full, all of faerie feels the pull. she draws us close to you, so bright. and now a visit for a night is easier than walking through a door or stepping off a ship that’s near the shore.” She smiled at me. “ ’twas thus while wandering in the wild, you found Felurian, manling child.”

The thought of an entire world of fae creatures drawn close by the swelling moon was troubling. “And this is true of any fae?”

She shrugged and nodded. “have they the will, and know the way. there are a thousand half-cracked doors that lead between my world and yours.”