Worlds Without End

11

Where was Caimbeui?

I couldn't stop dancing now. This was part of it. Part of the test. And perhaps a bit of revenge at the same time. I know they thought they had just cause, but that was part of the past, too.

I looked down and saw that my dress had changed again. Glamour. Nasty tricks of the first water. I wore a long white dress made of rose petals. Not un- like the ones Alachia had favored in Blood Wood.

I open my eyes. The faeries are gone. about, I notice that the trees have died. nothing more than hollowed-out stumps.

As I look They are It's cold.

Colder than it should be this time of year. Or any- time in Tfr na n6g.

Looking up, I see that the sky has turned the color of old oysters. And the air smells of burnt flesh.

I start to run down the hill, back to the town where Caimbeui and I left the car. The fields I run through are fallow, dead, and brown. Where there was once a cobblestone road, now only small jagged pieces of stone show against the dun-colored earth.

A stillness hangs in the air. But this is not the si- lence of a quiet afternoon.

The buildings I pass are crumbling. Finally, I come to the tavern where we stopped for lunch. No vehi- cles are parked outside. The windows are boarded up, but the door hangs open, listing on one hinge.

I go inside.

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dark. Broken chairs litter the floor. Glass crunches under my feet. There's no one here.

I walk outside again.

All around me, everything crumbles to dust.

And I am alone.

Tears streamed down my face. The spriggans grabbed my hands and spun me about harder and faster. The world revolved around me until all I saw was a blur of light and motion. Shutting my eyes, I tried to block it out.

I open my eyes.

We spin about under the azure sky, hands locked with one another.

"Faster," he says.

"You'll make yourself sick," I reply.

"Faster."

So we turn and turn until we both fall down onto the soft grass.

"The sky is spinning," he says.

I put my hand on his forehead. He is warm, but not unusually so. My hand looks so large against his tiny forehead. I can hardly believe that this creature, this small boy, came from me.

He pushes my hand away, impatient again to be going. In a flash he is up and off and running. Chubby legs pump and I see he's beginning to lose his baby fat. In another few months he'll be a little boy, a baby no longer. And I find I can't bear the idea of his growing older. I would keep him like this forever.

From high in the sky, a bird cries out. I look up, shadowing my eyes with my hand. It begins a slow descent, circling around and around. Black with yel- low wing-tips.

I hear a shout and turn. The sky has turned dark as ink and rain slices down.

Standing next to our small stone house are my son and an old man. Somehow I have missed something. Something important, something I must understand. Then the man drags my son into the house. The door slams shut. An eternity passes, and then a crimson pool seeps slowly under the door.

Tears ran down my face.

"Mother, did we make you weep?" asked one of the spriggans. He looked at me with a concerned ex- pression, then burst into laughter.

"No, no," said another. "She only cries for her dead children. The rest of us must shift for our- selves."

"That's enough of this nonsense," I said loudly. I was having trouble breathing. After all, I was getting awfully old for this sort of thing. "This is a ridicu- lous game. Tell me what I need to know. Now."

This caused nothing but giggles from them.

"You know it's no good demanding anything from us," they said. "We always do what we will. Disobe- dient children."

And then they spun me around faster.

The room is spinning. The fire in the hearth is hot and I feel as though it's burning my bare skin. I'm burning up. Hotter and hotter until I think I'll go mad from it. Maybe I already have.

Pain blossoms bright inside me. I shut my eyes and see red against black. Hands touch me trying to soothe, but it is no use. There are some things for which there is no balm.

Then the pain is over. They bring me something bundled up.

I hold my arms out to receive this gift. I pull back the blanket. Inside is a horrible apparition.

"This is not my baby," I cry. "What have you done with my baby?"

They take the bundle away from me.

"It's a changeling," says one in a voice she thinks 86

is too soft for me to hear. "The faeries have stolen her baby."

"You can't blame us. Mother," said the spriggan. "That was your own doing."

"Oh, be quiet," I snapped. The spriggan skulked away.

Sweat ran down my face. I was growing tired of their games.

"Tell me where they are," I said.

"Patience, Mother," they replied.

I'm running away. The earth rushes below me as I fly. Cradled in my arms is a child. This is no changeling, but my own flesh and blood.

At last we come to our home. Inside, the air is stale and musty. But that doesn't matter because we are home and safe.

The storms come. Rain pounds against the roof and makes the windows "rattle. But we don't mind, we're warm and dry. Then I remember, someone is coming. Coming for us.

The door slams open. He is here. But he's not the real threat. I don't realize this until it's too late.

Foolish foolish woman.

Something jerked me.

Someone.

Caimbeui had hauled me from the dance. Looking down, I saw I no longer wore the petal gown. Just my own gray sweater and black jeans. Orange streaks colored the sky to the east. 87

"Why did you do that?" I asked.

"I just now found you."

"What?"

"You went running off, and I couldn't find you for three days," he said angrily. "Do you think I enjoyed tramping all over this jerkwater place? I used up a hell of a lot of goodwill trying to figure out where they took you. Not to mention the energy."

"Thanks," I said.

"Thanks? Thanks. She said, 'Thanks.' Is that it?"

He was beginning to annoy me. I was searching the ground trying to see if they'd left anything be- hind for me to go on. And all he was doing was blathering away.

"Yes, thanks for coming after me. What do you want. Harlequin?"

"Perhaps some gratitude," he said. "I've been all over Connaught looking for you. It's taken a hell of a lot of casting to locate you."

"I hope you're up to some more," I said.

"Why?" A suspicious look crossed his face.

"Because the only way I know now to reach the Court is by calling up the Hunt."

He looked a little pale. I was glad to see he still had some respect for the old ways.

"The Chasse Artu?"

"Yes," I said, feeling a little happier at the thought. "The Wild Hunt. It's been so long since I've called one, let alone two. We really must make preparations."

"Are you mad? You can't possibly call up the Hunt yourself," he said. There was a frightened look 88

in his eye. "It would take more power than you or I possess, even combined, not to mention the time in- volved."

I smiled. "Of course I can't call up the entire Hunt myself. No one could. But I can bring up the steeds. Come along. I'll sleep while you drive. By the way, where are we?"

There is a barren plain. No grass grows here. No tree mars the vastness of land. Only the long unbro- ken earth stretching out beneath the sickly yellow

sky.

A moon hangs large and low. It casts a green glow and turns her skin the color of illness.

Of death.