“Why do you let your heart be troubled?”
Caer’s head snapped up to see Mab moving toward to her. Mab’s folded her hands as she moved with grace across the floor, gliding and her feet soundless.
“My heart grows troubled whether I wish it to be or not.” Neither cross nor angry, Caer appeared complacent, her voice seeming to have a deeper understanding. “Evil things I have seen, and I fear for us.” She paused. “All of us.”
“You fear what you do not know. The future awaits us all. The gods alone know what will be, and what must come in the fullness of time. We must not trouble ourselves with worry of things beyond our understanding.”
“And yet nonetheless I worry.” The last statement seemed to carry little weight, muttered, yet in the expansive castle Mab heard every word.
“You are not wicked as Belial became. You know this.” Mab’s eyes softened. “You have been washed clean by the blood of the gods, and been given their grace. No evil can touch you now.” The ancient fairy saw tears and sorrow in Caer’s eyes, and she realized just how deep Caer’s knowledge went.
“I have seen many things,” Caer said. “I have seen the future, and its great hopelessness there. It may not be, but evil will be drawn to us here. And I fear the will of Lord Belial will come even to the protection of this place.”
“Perhaps it will. Perhaps stronger than any would have guessed. Perhaps you will overcome this wicked enemy. You know your destiny, daughter of the light. You are born to destroy evil.”
Caer’s mind eased for the moment. Yet she could not help but think some unknown purpose gave her the vision of the city burning.
“Trust in yourself. Listen to nothing else.”
“I am unsure what my heart says,” Caer said, her voice almost a whisper, her eyes dark with shadows.
“The mind and the heart alone are the sure truths we possess,” the Fairy Queen said, her voice echoing in the throne room. “Truth lives and love grows in the heart. In love truth abides, for the way of good is love. In your blood lives magic, and in your heart Náströndir. Trust in those places, for they are where your faith must lie.”
Caer nodded and walked away, her heart uncomforted, as she headed deeper into the long-darkened halls of Idalir, under the Fairy Queen’s watchful gaze.
*****
Headred wandered the city, lost, though he lived here since his childhood. His thoughts remained on Caer and the worry plaguing her, the visions tormenting her mind.
He felt something strange, an omen, as she walked in Vingólf.
The shadow of evil touched her there and shattered her gift and her confidence in it. Without it they could not hope to overcome Belial, and Sul would crumble in her fire.
Mab saw him walking, looking for the love now lost to him.
Perhaps there hope could be kindled again.
“Headred,” she said, touching his arm.
Her cousin turned to look at her, his face fallen. “I prefer to be alone.” He walked on.
Mab followed. “Others prefer to be by themselves as well.”
“You have spoken with Caer?”
“I come from Idalir where she battles the troubles haunting her mind and her heart.” Mab studied his face for reaction. Sorrow clouded his features.
“She leaves me alone to seek my own path,” he said, turning from her.
“If you seek her, you are best left to yourself.” Her gaze turned to pleading. “Go to her, comfort her, and tell her of the shadows plaguing your heart.”
The castle arch waited not far away. He would search, and he would find, and perhaps the damnation of the demon would not be upon them, as their hearts and spirits remembered their oneness.
“She does not want to talk with me.”
Her eyes softened. “She does not wish to speak at all. But she must address the doubt coming upon her. Belial used every wicked trick at her disposal to tear asunder all we have tried to build. You must ensure she sees Belial and the evil she stands for; lying and deceit are her ways, that she may she have hope.”
The door stood before them, and beyond it, the dead gardens and the castle.
“Go to her. Help her to find peace again.” She smiled and touched his cheek.
For a moment it seemed he would walk away. At last he went through the entry.
Mab closed the door. She started back into the city to find her people.
As Headred searched the gardens, Caer wandered, listless, within the white walls and dead gardens, walking toward the castle and the mountain. Behind her the people went about their lives, serving the gods and themselves while time allowed. But Caer found every moment in the city to be a burden, for soon she would leave it behind and follow her destiny.
The waters of a fountain, frozen long ago, captured her attention. Frozen waves lapped against the sides of the fountain, entertaining her. Caer imagined a water spirit lived there, and still slept in the fountain’s frozen depths. It drew Caer to commune with her thoughts and witness the faded beauty of this place.
And yet she feared for her people. The future became clouded. And though she knew what to do, a lingering cloud came among her people, into the deepest place of her soul, and defiled all she built. The cold overcame the heat and light in her magic, and the flickering candle burned lower and lower, closer to death.
Caer never asked for the life foretold in prophecy, or asked to be taken from the life she loved. But she saw the memories of Belial’s wickedness in others’ eyes, and saw how Belial tormented them, tormented them all.
She understood why she must go, for long ago Headred foretold she would return from Fensalir and bring hope to Sul, so long suffering under the Belial’s winter. Without her, the Dark Army would destroy the people, and all of the lands of magic.
Even so she lingered in the gardens, reluctant to leave the home she never knew, or to say farewell to the people who showed her such kindness.
For Beren she felt turmoil and pity, for Beren allowed her worry to turn to doubt by the machinations of Belial and the fears it put upon her. Beren forsook her oaths, her gods, and her daughter, listened to the whisperings of Belial and believed them, as Mab tried to tell her. For her transgression Beren would meet her own damnation.
Soft footfalls alerted Caer to the presence of another. She knew Headred came to her. She felt his gaze upon her, of lust, of power, and of love, the emotions intermingled, unable to separate.
She stopped near the fountain. Beside her stood the dead plants where Belial showed Berwyn evil, dead buds once blooming in beauty.
Beyond the fountain carved white stones glittered with snow. These steps would not take her to the land beyond, the forest and the trees, though they heralded her return to the place of her birth, a place soon to be spoiled with pain and sorrow. But the city will not see Belial’s wrath, Caer thought. I will take the battle to her.
“I know why you are here.” She turned to Headred.
Headred stood unmoving, enchanted by her beauty and power, a power destined to turn back the course of the war with the demon and free their kingdom from Lord Belial’s winter.
An ancient wisdom lingered in Caer’s eyes. He knew the history of the fairies and the prophets, the mortal children of the earth and the immortal, beautiful, and ageless fairies, destined to keep the powers of the magicks safe from mortal men.
She spoke. “The time draws ever nearer, my love, when the land of your father became beset with turmoil. And yet in this dead garden, far from the fairy sidhes and the places of the prophets, you linger. Why?”
“You know, milady, why I linger,” he said, stepping closer.
Caer stood unmoved, and he leaned nearer until their faces stopped inches apart.
“In all of my life I have never seen any so beautiful as thou art, fair Caer.” He gazed into her eyes, entranced by the wonders they held. “I would linger for a thousand years in this garden, even if the fires of the Earth rose up and consumed the city around me, rather
than leave such beauty in the wilderness.”
“Or such power.” Caer felt her heart break, but she could not let him enter this battle. It would be her battle, and if she fell at Belial’s hand, she wanted the surety he would live.
He stepped back, free from the enchantment drawing him close.
“Whatever beauty you see in me, my love, you see also power, and you possess power yourself even as you would possess me.”
“I would possess no woman, my love. I do not force you to love me. I ask you to see my love for you, and if you will return it, and sit with me in the beauty of this garden when the winter ends.”
Caer pondered these words, not expecting this. In her visions, she saw herself as he saw her, full of grace and beautiful, flawless and perfect, destined to save them all. And yet the choice stood before her, and she needed to decide to fight or to give in to the distress of the Ice Queen.
“You must seek visions and find the gods’ wisdom in this matter.” Caer explained.
Headred sighed and turned to leave.
“Headred.” Her voice echoed.
He turned. She waited beside the fountain, her gown milky white in the light of the fading sun, her hair as pale strands of amber, and her eyes brighter than the stars shining from above.
“My Lady,” he said, bowing.
She touched his face, moving his eyes up toward her.
Headred thought her to be a goddess, to be worshipped and respected. He saw no other now, and no beauty could he perceive save for hers.
“What do you desire?” he asked her.
“I would have you stay with me.” She moved closer. “I would have one night of peace, of passion, of love without the wicked war overshadowing my existence. I would have you look at me the way you do and never turn away.” She paused, staring into his eyes. “With you I have come to the lands meant for me to one day rule. I will be your love this night and stand by your side in the halls of my mothers, until the day when the world forever changes.”
Headred stood speechless before her. She touched her lips to his cheek, kissing him in the moonlight.
“Come now with me, my love, for the time of prophecy draws near upon us, and the time will come when the fate of Miðgarðir will be decided.”
“See not the evil of the demon, who seeks to deceive you,” he said, holding her. “Do not despair any longer, for whatever darkness holds you, free your heart with me and see the hope again.”
“I see no despair,” she lied to him and would not let him speak as she covered his mouth with hers.
Headred wished he could believe her. Caer offered him all he ever wanted, all she could give. In the gardens they kissed.
“My love,” she whispered and led him into the castle, toward her bedchamber. Soon they descended into the throes of passion, in perfect fusion and harmony, in the castle of the cold, dead world given small light and warmth in these final hours.
*****
Yidrith ran to his home and threw open the door.
In the front room, Dunstan swung a wooden toy sword, stopping to glance up at Yidrith.
“Are we going to fight now?” Dunstan asked.
Yidrith almost wept at the thought. “You are not going to fight, little brother.” He patted Dunstan’s head as the boy glared at him.
Yidrith yelped as Dunstan swung the sword and hit Yidrith’s ribs. “Yes I am!” Dunstan shouted and made for the door.
Yidrith caught his brother and wrestled him to the floor. “No you are not!” Yidrith shouted back. “What are you going to fight with? A wooden sword cannot flesh. Wolves and golems march for this city, and you will be the first they devour!”
Dunstan stopped struggling. Yidrith released his grip and sat against the wall. Dunstan sat, holding back his tears.
“But I want to help,” Dunstan said, his voice shaking.
“I know, and you will,” Yidrith smoothed his brother’s hair.
The door to the kitchen swung open and their mother entered, her glare moving from one son to the other, and stopping at last on Yidrith. “As though these times did not grow hard enough, you have made your brother cry,” she seethed. Dunstan shook his head.
“I’m not crying,” he insisted.
Aaren sighed and walked over to them. “What caused this, Yidrith?” She scooped Dunstan in her arms.
“The Dark Army marches on the city.”
Her eyes grew worried. Dunstan wriggled free of his mother’s grip and slid to the floor.
“You must take Dunstan and gather as many women and children as you can. Lead them through the tunnels under the temple, and when you have left the city, make for Tir fo Thuinn on the coast.”
“Tir fo Thuinn? What good will a city do us if Ull falls?” Aaren threw her hands into the air in desperation.
“There are ships in Tir fo Thuinn, and I have heard rumors people gather there to sail for a new land across Mael Duin, the eastern ocean. You must try to save yourselves.”
“You do not believe Beren’s daughter will deliver us?” Aaren asked, her eyes misting.
Yidrith nodded. “I believe, but our salvation may not come before the gates of Ull are shattered, and the golems and wolves feast on our flesh. We must be prepared.”
“But I want to stay and fight!” Dunstan insisted.
“You may yet fight, Dunstan,” Yidrith told him, ignoring his mother’s reprimanding gaze. “No men or warriors will be with you. It will be up to you to defend them on the way to the coast.”
Dunstan nodded, satisfied.
“And what of you?” Aaren cried, choking Yidrith with her hug.
Yidrith struggled free and gripped her shoulders. “I must stay,” he said, his heart determined and his tone flat. “‘Tis my duty, as it would have been father’s duty.”
Aaren covered her mouth with her hand and cried. She did not stop crying when Yidrith saw her one final time, as night deepened, leading a procession of women and children into the tunnel beneath the temple and to safety, on their journey to the coast.
*****
As Caer curled beside Headred in her chamber, Beren walked in the nighttime forest in spirit. Some of the tree nymphs sang praise to the gods in the language of old; no mortal remembered their ancient tongue. In time she came upon Vingólf where her body lay, a place she always found comforting.
Her strength faded as Belial renewed the war. Beren sat on the snow beside her crystal tomb and watched the eternal blue light of the torches.
She knew the forest by heart, for she spent a lifetime there, searching for answers to the tormenting whispers of her sister, and a link in them to her visions of her daughter’s fate.
Beren perceived Belial returned to Vingólf. Evil lived in Miðgarðir for too long and defiled their holiest of places. And yet she knew her child remained safe, for Belial did not yet have the power to destroy Caer.
It will come to pass, Belial hissed, Caer will destroy you and all you have built here. You have seen all this.
Beren glared at her sister and ignored her.
Her very steps bring doom to these lands, Belial continued. Her shadow grew stronger, wrapping cold tendrils of mists around Beren. They will bring evil here, and I will destroy all you love.
Beren laughed, and the Dark Lord retreated. “What do you seek in these places, Belial? Would you not destroy us if given the chance?” She turned to her sister without fear.
Her power will always be bound both to you and to Miðgarðir. And by her death I will destroy you. She will come to this sacred place, and I will look upon the face of your daughter and watch as she dies. She will never leave here, and Miðgarðir will be mine.
Once again Belial wrapped her icy tendrils around Beren, and Beren did not resist. The touch felt as ice, and a frigid wind seemed to blow. It felt like death, and death she craved, to be taken from this existence of pain.
“But I have seen within the realms of dreams what will come, and I know she will destroy you,” Beren whispe
red. “The doom of these lands will not come so long as my daughter remains unbroken.”
Do not let the foolish wills of the gods deceive you, Belial replied. The gods you serve, the gods of the places far away, have shown you what they want you to see. Her return will not be the salvation, but the doom of this age.
Beren felt Belial creep into her mind, whispering to her. Belial told her what might be, if Caer did not succeed.
Oh, my sister… you do not see what now must be. I will reign from Eliudnir. The kingdom of men will fall beneath the mighty wave of my army. The whole of the earth will belong to me, and I will rule it in despair and in terror for all of eternity.
Beren allowed Belial to build images in her mind: a future of unending cold and damnation, the kingdom Belial would dare to create, a Queen of the all lands, powerful and vengeful, whose sword would cleave all who stood against her, and the lands would fall down in horrified praise before her.
She would bring order to Miðgarðir and spread her will upon it, until all of the earth fell under her dominion. The centaurs and the men would perish without crops, as the animals faded into extinction. The nymphs too would fade away into sleep in their trees, until at last the golems cut them down to fuel the fires of Belial’s order. And in tears the fairies would retreat to their sidhes, closing forever the entrances to Elphame. In the end Belial would reshape the world in her image, an image of death. At Belial’s command the waves would rise, and by her will the earth would tremble. A few men and other creatures would be kept alive, herded and bred to feed her hungry minions.
When at last the whispers passed, and the images faded, Belial laughed and backed away to leave Beren in her thoughts.
Beren sank to her knees, envisioning all Belial showed her. She did not notice when her sister disappeared, and the mist evaporated behind her. Beren heard the creatures of Miðgarðir, fleeing from the coming battle.
And her tears fell onto the frozen land.
Moonlight shimmered; the stars and the gods in their celestial homes drew grace from Miðgarðir below. The White City glowed as if carved from the Frigg’s home itself, stretching along the base of the gods’ mountain.
In the night Ull became a place of peace and rest. For in the coming days, there would be no comfort, no solace.