CHAPTER III
SO FAIR BY MOONLIGHT . . .
It was the sound of the music that drew me, music so fair it filled me with a joy nigh sharp as pain. Entranced, amazed, care and caution gone, I wandered nearer.
And I saw them there in the moonlight.
Of course I knew the theory that Cymra was a land where the veils between our human realm and that realm of fear and wonder we call Faerie grew thin, permitting—if one has the eyes and skill to see the way—passage from one to the other. Now, trembling with terrified delight, I watched that theory proven true.
Why should any of the proud Faerie Folk deign to cross into merely mortal woodland? Are you thinking of invasion, cruel conquest of the magickless by those who are the very heart of Power? I don't doubt it might amuse them for a time to appear as warriors, to ride out all fierce and splendid in their shining armor, perhaps even hunting down or enslaving any human foolish enough to attract their fancy. But conquest of a realm of sun and iron—no. Sunlight is a purely mortal thing, unknown in Faerie, fatally burning unadapted Faerie skin. Iron is utterly a metal of the mortal earth, more so than moon-linked silver or sun-loving gold, so alien in essence to those never-human Folk it destroys Faerie magic, Faerie life, at the touch.
And yet, I was to learn, for all its perils, the mortal world is fascinating to the near-immortal Folk, intriguing in the swiftness of its seasons, its cycle of birth and death and birth. This elegant, perilous company before me had come on nothing stronger than a whim to dance amid the ever-changing woodland beneath the ever-changing moon.
Elegant, och, yes. They were tall and slim in tunics and gowns of green or silver or colors of which I knew no names, proud of eye and keen of face in a fierce, sharp, alien way that shook my ideas of beauty to the heart. As I watched, nearly forgetting to breathe for sheer wonder, I saw two Faerie men sport with slender silver swords. The grace, the cold, clear beauty of that swordplay pierced me to the soul, drew me helplessly forward.
They saw me then. Cool green eyes, glowing and opaque, watched me without blinking, the proud, sharp, fine-featured faces cold and hard as stone.
And the moonlight turned chill about me. Foolish, foolish, to forget all my caution. . . . As changing as the patterns of light on wind-tossed leaves are Faerie whims and fancies, and there is true danger for unwary mortals in those fancies, for the minds that think them are never human minds. As my thoughts fluttered about like frightened butterflies, I sought in vain for the words of apology that just might get me out of this whole, in body and spirit.
But as I stood frozen in growing panic, I heard the faintest gasp, almost a soft cry of wonder. A small, slim form slipped through the crowd, and I forgot anything so small and foolish as fear. For me it was as though my heart had stopped and then begun again in a finer, fairer song.
How shall I describe my first sight of Ailanna? I am no poet. If I say she was fairer than the moonlight . . . No, that is stale, cold imagery, fit only for some minstrel who has never loved. I will say only this: she was reed-slender, reed-graceful in her soft, green gown, her long, silken hair—so beautiful!—like a pale, pale golden cloak. The Faerie lines of her face were proud, yet, I thought, entranced, not quite as sharply cut, as fiercely inhuman, as those of her companions. In her clear green eyes was a light of warmth and humor and a touch of shyness that told me she could only be young as me.
She is mine, I thought, she is mine and I am hers . . . I am complete at last.
"Human? Why are you here?"
Wonderstruck as I was, it's a marvel I didn't gasp and stammer like a fool. But no, I heard my voice, though it sounded as though it belonged to another, say almost calmly, "The beauty of your music drew me."
Fool, fool, say something else! Praise her beauty.
But I was no trained courtier. The words just wouldn't come, and I could only stare.
She understood. Faerie or human, some things are the same. The color rose in her cheeks, and she turned aside to speak softly and quickly to the others in the lilting Faerie tongue. They, too, understood what was happening, and if they didn't approve, at least there was a certain tolerant—almost resigned—amusement hinting on the proud faces as they answered her.
Ailanna turned to me again, joy in her eyes. "Now that you've come this far, will you dare stay with us a while?"
I stumbled over my words in eagerness. "Oh, n-need you ask? I would, I would indeed!"
Try though I will, I can remember little of that night. All that remains in my memory is Ailanna, only Ailanna, and the two of us shy and wondering and joyous in each other's company as though within our own small, private world. Had she asked me then and there to go with her to Faerie as a slave forever, I don't doubt I would have agreed without a moment's thought.
But she asked nothing of me. And the night, being only a mortal night, passed too swiftly.
Ailanna sighed. "We must go. The dawn is nearly here."
"But—no! I mean, you will return? Och, you will return?"
For answer, her sweet lips brushed mine in a quick, shy caress.
Dazed and wonderstruck, staggering as though I'd drunk too much rich mead, I wound my way back home through forest so dark with the death of night that only my magician's sight and knowledge of the path let me continue.
The path? I knew every step of it, and yet all at once I couldn't seem to move. . . . Something was drawn in the earth before me, glowing faintly in the darkness by its own faint fight, soft as starlight, a twisting, turning design I must follow and follow with my gaze. . . .
My own magic woke within me, and all at once I knew what was being done to me. With an angry little cry, I tore my glance away, blindly reaching out a foot to erase the carefully drawn lines and break the spell. This was a Rune of Entanglement I was destroying, a charm meant to bind and confuse the will, though one more intricately and beautifully drawn than any I had ever seen.
The spell dissolved, and the faint glow with it. Someone laughed without humor.
"He knows that much, at least," said a cool male voice.
Darkness seemed to condense itself into a shrouded shape. The shape took a step forward, tossing back the folds of its black cloak, and revealed itself as a man of Faerie, too tall, too lithely slim ever to have been mistaken for humanity. Magic played about him as it had about the rune, casting its own soft glow, revealing him as elegant from the sleek fall of his long silver hair to the sharp, fierce, refined planes of his narrow face to the folds of his fine green silken tunic richly embroidered in silvery thread in a design more intricate even than the Rune of Entanglement. There was nothing at all to be read in his sharply slanted eyes of flat smoky green, but silent strength and menace was in every supple line of him. My Power stirred uneasily in response to his presence, the call of magic to magic, but I knew I wouldn't stand a chance in combat against a being of Faerie.
He doesn't like a human daring to love a woman of his race, I thought, quite calmly. Now I'm going to die. I suddenly recognized the man as the Faerie group's leader, and added with desperate humor, At least I'll have the honor of dying at the hand of a Lord of Faerie.
Because I had nothing to lose, I asked boldly, "You set that rune for me, my lord? Why?"
"So-o! The boy has courage, too." He spoke Cymraeth with a lack of accent that was somehow alarming in its perfection. Clinging for straws of comfort, I wondered if there could have been the faintest glimmer of amusement in that clear voice. "Or is it foomardiness," he continued, "to dare woo such as Ailanna?"
"I love Ailanna!" The shock of actually saying it out loud nearly staggered me, but I repeated defiantly, "I love Ailanna—and she loves me."
Now go ahead and kill me, I added silently. I've told you the truth.
But to my amazement, he waved my outburst aside impatiently. "Of course you do. We all saw it happen. It could be no other way."
"I'm . . . afraid you've lost me."
His stare was contemptuous. "I did not come here to lecture a raw human boy on the subject of matching auras. I wished the chance to study you, alone."
Without any by-your-leave, the strange green eyes were burning into my own, the cold, quicksilver, alien mind was beating at mine, trying to learn who I was, what I was. For a bare flicker of time I was too stunned with outrage to resist. Then I angrily slammed down every barrier of will my mother had ever taught me, and felt the Faerie presence shy away. But no barrier I could ever hope to create was going to repel a determined Lord for very long. That realization frightened and angered me so much I forgot caution. My voice as cold as his, or as nearly so as I could manage, I told him:
"No, my lord. Not at your demand. With my permission."
And as he stared at me, astonished that a mortal should dare reproach him, I deliberately let my barriers fall.
I had shaken that inhuman calm. Though the frozen mask of his face never thawed, this time his mental touch was almost gentle, almost . . . apologetic. The contact lasted for perhaps five heartbeats. Then he withdrew, and though there was still no softening of his proud bearing, I sensed I'd passed some arcane test.
"Satisfied, my lord?" I asked daringly.
"As much as I can be with one of your kind." A corner of that thin, elegant mouth quirked up in a grim imitation of a smile. "Were I not, you would be dead."
"Look you, if that was supposed to scare me, you're wasting your time. I'm already scared, my lord—"
"Tairyn. Call me Tairyn."
The Faerie Folk never lie. But since he hadn't actually said his name was Tairyn, this was almost certainly nothing more than a powerless use-name. Still, that he'd granted me that much was a concession. It also meant, I realized with a blazing of hope, that I probably wasn't going to die that night.
"As you will it, my Lord Tairyn," I said carefully, then added even more carefully, "Are you Ailanna's . . . father?"
He looked barely old enough for it, perhaps a score and five years at the most—except for those ageless Faerie eyes. Tairyn laughed, this time with genuine humor. "Youngling, mortal youngling, I am the father of Ailanna's mother's father." As I stared, speechless, he continued softly, "Ailanna's mother's mother was of your land. She aged and died too swiftly, a brief blaze of fire, then . . . nothing. But you, with the magic in your blood, should last somewhat longer. Particularly in Faerie."
"Your pardon," I cut in hastily, "but I haven't quite finished with this world yet."
His smile was sharp. "I wasn't planning to steal you away. You are already too old and stubborn to make a fitting changeling." Faerie humor. The cool green eyes narrowed in sudden speculation. "Can you ride?"
The question caught me by surprise. "Uh . . . no."
"Use a sword?"
"Sorry, no."
"Sing? Dance?"
"I . . . no."
Tairyn's quick glance said plainly, Human dolt! But then he gave me his cold flash of a smile. "No matter. The capability is there. You will learn. And," he added mildly, "you may, with time, actually become something near to a fitting mate for Ailanna. If you survive the learning."
I wasn't sure if that was meant as a compliment or a threat. "Ah—thank you."
He stared at me. If there wasn't anything remotely resembling friendliness in his gaze, at least there wasn't open hostility, either. "Make no mistake, human. I am not at all pleased with what has happened this night. I could find it in me to wish Ailanna had never strayed into mortal lands. But things are the way they are, and only a fool would deny it." Tairyn paused, and now his dance was coolly speculative, full of chill, ageless wisdom that summed me up yet again, what I was, what I might be. "And," he added slowly, "it just may be that someday you might be of use to us. Will you swear with me, numan?"
"Uh . . . swear what, my Lord Tairyn?"
"We will give you the learning to be a fitting mate to Ailanna—as far as such is possible for one of your race—if you will agree to come when we have need of you."
What need could the Faerie Folk possibly have of me? Uneasily, aware that I was very much out of my realm, I said warily, "If it's nothing that will endanger or enslave my soul or honor, Lord Tairyn, I do, indeed, so swear."
He gave me the barest hint of a gracious bow. "So be it." Tairyn glanced up at the brightening sky. "The dawn is near. You will return here tomorrow night for the first of your lessons. Perhaps we can make you just a little bit less blatantly . . . human." He swept his cloak regally about himself. "You will, of course, say nothing of this to your own kind."
If he was trying to cow me, Tairyn was succeeding nicely. But I refused to grant him the satisfaction of knowing it. Bowing my most courtly bow, I said sweetly, "Good night to you, my Lord Tairyn."
When I straightened, he was gone.
"Duwies glân," I said aloud. "What a night. What a wonderful, terrible, amazing night."
Not certain whether I wanted to laugh about it, or shudder, or weep, I set out for home.
It was full morning by the time I reached my home, and by then wonder and joy and sheer exhaustion had won out over fear. With Ailanna's love to shield me, I told myself, how could I ever possibly be afraid of anything ever again?
My mother showed no surprise at my having been away all night. She asked no questions. But the corners of her mouth hinted at a smile, so that I wondered if she did not, indeed, know perfectly well where I had been.
But all she said was:
"New wisdoms are often the sweetest."