Faerie Tale

  “Once,” she said in a voice almost plaintive in quality, “we stood as masters of this mortal world; then as contestants with man for our place upon it.” Her hand inscribed a circle, indicating the land inside the hill, in which they lived. “We discovered that world, and unraveled its secrets, its place in time, and the how and why of traveling between the realms of spirit and substance.” She sighed. “But when humans learned to use arts, then we suffered. It is the age of man, and we exist at his sufferance. His numbers grow daily while ours are as always, and his arts are powerful beyond belief. He has unlocked the secrets of metal and the hated electricity which robs us of our strength. And, beyond, he knows the secrets of the universe, or will soon, the very heart of mystery.” She looked up at Mark. “We are no longer your match. We must now depend upon your kindness.”

  Mark nodded in understanding. Phil came to his side and said, “What does she mean? Are we safe?” He looked upon his sons with concern.

  Mark nodded. “From the fairies? Yes. They’re energy beings. Knowing that, we could find a way to defeat them, even without magic. The Queen just said ‘hated electricity.’ I think we could build weapons.” His frustration showed. “So we find ourselves forced to cooperate with those who’ve kept them hidden from most of humanity over the ages.”

  “The Magi?” said Phil, keeping his boys close at his side.

  Mark took a breath, calming his ire. “Yes, and it’s a good bet that while we’re doing their work for them, they’ll be trying to make sure we don’t betray their existence. The Magi already have enough clout within the governments of the world to hush things up. We could all have ‘accidents.’ It’s a no-win situation if we talk. So we don’t talk.” Then he shook his head. “Not that anyone would ever believe this.”

  The Queen spoke to the two men. “I do not know of everything you say, but I sense you understand our plight. The Fool and his coursers might chase a lone man in the woods with their Wild Hunt, but you have armies without limit and machines that bring terrible destruction. What the Magi did ages past to the Shadow Lands would be nothing compared to what you are capable of now. All, the Bright Lands, the Dark Lands, all would become like that. The People would end.”

  “So,” said Mark, “we must ensure no one learns the truth.” He shook his head. “I’ll never write my book.” Then he said, “Majesty, there are so many things I would know, even if I might never tell another. So many things that concern the days so long ago. Thomas has spoken of angels and demons, and God placing you above the People—”

  Softly the Queen said, “Mortal friend, we of the People know our history less well than you know your own. The People have no lore keepers such as yourself, and we are not the first to rule, nor shall we be the last. We are but the most recent of those who guide the People in this guise. Our days do not number endless, though to your kind it must seem so. We do not remember back before the time of the Compact.”

  Mark looked confused. “But Thomas said—”

  “He brings his mortal understanding to what he sees, as do all of your people save the Magi. We are not as you. When she who first wore this form faded, another took it, the same form, yet a different essence, as I took it in my turn, and as another will from me someday. And she who went before is again as these little fliers.” She indicated the simple, tiny sprites who darted around their Queen. “Or the Quest Guide. They are all young beings, with little understanding, just beginning to grow. I may not make you understand. I am she who was first given to rule at my Lord’s side, yet I am not. It is all part of the cycle of things.”

  Mark considered. “When your energy state runs down, another comes and assumes the role, one whose energy is rising.” He glanced at Ariel. “As his is. And the predecessors’ energy runs down to where they begin again, as if they were children!” Mark’s eyes widened. He said to Ariel, “You’ll be the Fool!”

  Ariel shrugged. “It is not our fate to read the future.” With an insouciant grin he said, “And unlike you we have no wish to do so.” Then he winked as the fourth chime sounded at St. Catherine’s. “Though I think soon.”

  “We think you already know more of our truth than does our beloved Thomas,” observed the Queen. Nodding toward the youth called Ariel, she added, “I expect that one day it will be as you say, and I will discover that he has changed and become the one now lost in the Hall of Ancient Seasons. That one had remained unchanged much longer than I.” Her eyes became distant, as if remembering. “I think hatred for your race had fueled his existence.” She looked at Mark, eyes seeming to glow with emotion. “No, you will not learn more, human. And remember this above all, in every thing there is always Mystery, what you mortals call God.”

  The Queen looked around as the sky seemed to change hue, losing some of the alien blue under the black that had come into existence with the Queen’s appearance upon the scene. I now comes that we must begin to move, so this world and our own will stay in harmony. The People must troop to a new hill on this earth. We must choose our destination.” To Ariel she said, “Let us away. We must decide where our courts shall be for the next six turns of the moon.”

  Mark touched Phil’s arm and pointed, and Phil saw what Mark indicated. While the humans were filthy from all the muck and rain, none of the fairies showed any trace of mud upon their bodies or clothing. Mark said, “They are illusions, in all their forms. They are energy beings. I wish I could know more!” He felt a deep sadness at all the unanswered questions. Then he remembered the problems still unresolved, and said, “And we must hurry, as well. I don’t know how much time we have before the Magi catch up with us, and I have no doubt of what they’ll do to us.”

  “I’m afraid you’re given to an overblown sense of the dramatic, Mr. Blackman.”

  All eyes turned to the author of those words, a man who stepped out of the shadows on the path from the Troll Bridge. The man who emerged was attired in an expensive vicuna topcoat, trimmed with mink. He was neither young nor old, possibly thirty-nine or possibly fifty-nine, it was hard to tell. His beard was closely trimmed, in a natty fashion not widely seen since the thirties, and his hands were manicured. He wore a homburg and carried a gold-tipped walking stick in one hand. In the other he held an efficient-looking gun, pointed at Mark and Phil.

  The man executed a slight bow. “Mr. Hastings?” Phil nodded. “My name is Anton Wycheck, Mr. Hastings.” His accent was slightly Middle European. “I’ve come after your friend Mr. Blackman to settle a few matters.”

  Phil said, “Somehow, Mr. Wycheck, that doesn’t surprise me in the least.”

  Mark said, “Hello, Anton.” He said to Phil, “It was Anton I spotted in the car. Anton was one of my hosts in Germany.”

  “A regrettable misunderstanding, Mr. Blackman. We have since divined the truth of things. And we would have no need of that proof, in light of what I have just witnessed.” To the Queen he bowed and spoke in a language completely unrecognizable to Phil. He then spoke with equal deference to Ariel.

  Phil felt his boys both trembling and said, “I’d feel a whole lot easier if you’d point that thing somewhere else, Mr. Wycheck.”

  The man regarded the gun and put it in his pocket. “I apologize. I was uncertain what I would find here, and felt the need. I forgot I was carrying it.” He then spoke in a different language, something Eastern European, over his shoulder, and three men appeared, all dressed in black turtleneck sweaters and Levi’s. Two carried the gold chest Jack had uncovered, and the third some of the robes from the secret room and a shovel. The chest was put down and the robes handed around to the four men, who changed. “We must be quick, my brothers,” said Wycheck. “Midnight is upon us.”

  Phil glanced at the Queen, who along with her court stood silently observing the four newcomers.

  “The Compact is honored,” said Wycheck, turning to face the Queen. He bowed, produced a gold coin, and held it forth to be seen. It was placed in the chest, and at once one of the other men began digging, while the
others stood on each side of the chest.

  “The Compact is honored,” she answered. “The gifts of the Magi are tokens of good faith. There was never a breach of that faith on your part. It was only a misguided one’s dreams of ages long dead. We thank you for your good faith.”

  It was Tom who spoke next. “Stand you there, and come no closer, for all here shall go in one instant to that new place where faerie and mortal realms meet. I stand near and travel with my Queen, but you have no such wish. By yon stump is safe. Fare you well; it is close to All Saints’ Morn, and we must depart.”

  Mark hesitated, as if the thought of so many unanswered questions was more than he could endure, but at last he simply nodded and waited.

  Sean hung close to his father and looked at Patrick. His twin seemed to be more relaxed, more himself, as he also watched the spectacle of the fairy court departing.

  Then Sean looked to where the adults looked. All eyes were fixed upon the Queen, who rose up, followed an instant later by Ariel. All became light, and in an instant two shimmering columns of energy pulsed in silent rhythm. All the fairies upon the hill rose into the air, and from out of the woods came others, scampering, leaping, flying, dozens and dozens to join with those upon the hill. All glowed brightly and in an instant were small pillars of energy, the tiny winged ones becoming little more than firefly lights, while the youth called Ariel was a pillar almost equal to the Queen. Then the distant bell of St. Catherine’s chimed again, the tenth or eleventh—Phil had lost count. The fairies began to move in a strange ritual-like pattern around the two who were brightest. They picked up tempo, moving faster. Thomas the Rhymer stood beside the twin columns of light, unfazed by the display. Again came the chime and again the pace increased. Just before the last stroke a voice was heard. “Take not this victory for granted, mortals. Who can know what fate may allow another day?” Sean gripped his father’s hand, for the voice might have been Ariel’s, or it might have been the Shining Man’s.

  Then came the last stroke, and the light and the fairies were gone. Yet sounds filled the glade, and the Queen’s aura, preventing the rain from falling, was still surrounding them all. For a long moment the humans stood in a quiet island, then it was dark.

  Suddenly only Barney’s flashlight illuminated the clearing as rain again fell upon them and cold wind bit at them.

  Then the voice of Ariel sang out, “Your debt to me is discharged, lore keeper. May God watch over you.”

  With a hint of regret, mixed with humor, Mark shouted, “Farewell, merry wanderer of the night; indeed thou art a shrewd and knavish sprite!”

  From thin air Ariel’s shrieking laughter pealed like a small bell, then faded into silence.

  Wycheck said, “Gentlemen, it is a poor night to be out in the woods. May I suggest we retire to Mr. Hastings’ home? From all appearance, you have had a night of it.”

  They discovered Wycheck and his companions had removed their robes. “I don’t suppose you’d care to fill us in on some things, Mr. Wycheck?” asked Phil.

  “Only this,” said the dapper stranger, his tone warm and friendly, but his eyes like nothing so much as blue flint. “The universe is a vast place, and few have an opportunity to even glimpse a portion of its true scope and nature. Of those who do, even fewer survive the experience. Simply count yourself and your family as among those very few and fortunate souls, Mr. Hastings. Put all this behind you and let it fade from memory. Should we—my associates and myself—ever discover you involved in our affairs again … we shall be forced to take measures.” The last was said without any hostility or threat. He was simply stating facts as he saw them. “Now I suggest we return to Mrs. Hastings and your daughter and her fiancé, Mr. Hastings. I am sure they are anxious to know you are well, and your sons look in need of a hot bath and warm beds. We shall speak more when we reach your home; we have much to discuss.” To Mark he said, “By the way, your associate Mr. Thieus and his lovely lady friend are also waiting there for you, Mr. Blackman.”

  Watching one of Wycheck’s companions cover the chest with shovelfuls of dirt, Phil said, “How did you get that out of the police station?”

  Mr. Wycheck motioned with his hand in a courtly gesture for Phil to precede him on the path. “As Mr. Blackman has no doubt told you, Mr. Hastings, we are well connected.”

  “The Magi?”

  The man only smiled as he said, “We prefer to keep our identity to ourselves. Now, if you would be so kind, I think we’d best get your two tired boys home.”

  Phil couldn’t argue with that, for both boys were al most asleep on their feet. He put a hand on each of them, relieved he could again do so, and, as Barney recovered his flashlight, took them home.

  44

  Gabbie nearly flew through the screen door when she heard her father’s voice in the night, and Gloria was a step behind her. Sean and Patrick trudged alongside their dad, obviously exhausted. Phil and Mark spoke in quiet tones, discussing what they had encountered.

  “Dad!” cried the girl. “There’s these strange men with guns.…” Her voice trailed off as she saw Patrick. Gloria hurried and grabbed both her sons, hugging them fiercely. She couldn’t stop herself from crying as she rocked back and forth, holding them tight. After a minute Patrick said, “Mom, you’re squeezing the breath out of me!”

  Phil felt something inside break and tears ran down his face. Nothing else could have told him that things were back to normal with his son as well as that complaint did. He realized how much he had held down his feelings over the last few weeks, and how much more he had forced his mind to accept on this wild and improbable night. Now he felt his knees go wobbly. To Barney and Mark he said, “Gentlemen, let me buy you a drink—if you’ll take Scotch, Barney, for I’ve no Irish.”

  “Whiskey’s whiskey, when it comes down to it, and a guest has no right to complain over his host’s hospitality. Thank you, I’ll stay. But it’ll be the last, for tomorrow I’m back to A.A. and once more the pledge … unless they come again.” He glanced at Wycheck and his companions. “Assumin’ there’s no objections?”

  Mark shook his head. He knew how Barney felt. “Come on, Phil. Pour us all a round.” Looking at the dapper man, he said, “Care to join us, Anton?”

  The man only smiled and said, “No, my associates and I will only stay a short time.” But he followed them into the house. The other three men went around the outside of the house, toward the front porch. Phil noticed they were chanting softly, some odd ritualistic thing, and for an instant something in the words seemed to pull at his mind. He shrugged off the odd sensation and led the others into the house.

  As Phil entered the living room, he found Jack, Gary, and his girlfriend Ellen sitting on the couch, with two men, like the others in black turtleneck shirts and blue jeans, standing nearby. They appeared relaxed, but it was clear that up to a few minutes before they had been standing guard. Gary rose and crossed to Mark’s side, quickly speaking to him. Phil poured a round of drinks and began passing them around. Gabbie went to sit next to Jack, who looked grim-faced.

  Taking a swig, Phil watched Gloria turn to Mr. Wycheck. “The boys are exhausted. Can they get baths and go to bed?”

  With a smile, the man said, “By all means, Mrs. Hastings. Please, we wish to be as accommodating as possible.”

  Both Sean and Patrick came over and hugged their dad good night, and Gloria took them upstairs. With his wife and sons out of the room, Phil said, “So, then, Mr. Wycheck. What’s in store for us?”

  “Why, I wish to buy this house.” Seeing Phil’s face set in a grim mask, he took a check from within a coat pocket and said, “I think you’ll find this a more than fair offer, Mr. Hastings.”

  Phil read the amount on the check and nodded. “This is twice what I paid.”

  “We have no desire to take advantage of your need to sell. I know you and your family need to move quickly, before the first of the year. Is there any problem?”

  “No,” answered Phil. “That will be
ample time.”

  Wycheck said, “A lawyer will contact you with papers to sign, but you may cash the check now, if you like.”

  Phil shook his head. “‘Need to sell.’ I like that. It’s a nice euphemism for extortion.”

  “Hardly extortion, Mr. Hastings. You need to sell this house. Why, only this morning you heard from your agent that your studio wants another Star Pirates film. He strongly urged you to accept, since the money’s too good to say no. And as Henderson Crawley has declined to direct another, they want you to direct as well.” As he spoke, Phil’s mind seemed filled with odd echoes, as if each word heard was instantly repeated by another voice, somewhere inside Phil’s head, as if his agent’s voice were saying those words. He found the sensation disconcerting, but it ended the instant Wycheck stopped speaking.

  Mark said, “I thought we’d just all disappear.”

  “Mr. Blackman, the days where violence is required to solve problems is, alas, not yet behind us, but we do find any other means to resolve difficulties whenever possible. People of some celebrity vanishing causes too many concerns. Besides your own notoriety and that of Mr. Hastings, can you imagine the stir should the sole heir to the Larker fortune vanish without a trace? No, we try to be reasonable if at all possible. Those among our brotherhood who took a part in this unfortunate attempt to change the nature of our ‘agreements’ have been identified, isolated, and dealt with. Mr. Blackman, had you but stayed another day with us, you would have been given transport back here, rather than having to ride all those uncomfortable buses. You see, it was August Erhardt who was the last spy in our midst. Some of our brothers thought resuming conflict might offer opportunities for us to consolidate our already not inconsequential positions in the world, leading even, perhaps, to a unified world order. A Utopian dream, not unknown in our ranks from time to time, and more appealing in the light of present world tensions. Misplaced idealism, I’m afraid. We sent word—how, you do not need to know—identifying him as one sent to rectify the situation. His death was just reward for his activities.”