Vidar
Ihave fitted the small boat for my needs and set it to sail with only my magic needed to guide it. So much easier than sailing with other fae – each with his own dissipations and lusts that draw his heart from the task – and easier still than sailing with mortals and their constant physical needs.
I’m surprised by how my heart leaps at the sight of stark black rock rising from the ashen sea.
I’ve come at dawn. I won’t waste a moment that might be spent here. I came for the answer, of course. The answer that I so desperately need. Not because I’m obsessed with the woman in the cage. Not because she’s haunted me for these decades. Just for the answer.
And her safety isn’t why I’ve carefully backtracked and hidden and kept all my course carefully free of pursuit or the eyes of those who watch me. It’s because I don’t want to give up my advantage. That’s the only reason why.
The dawn is splitting the sky behind me as I approach. It is just as golden where it tears the silken grey clouds as any gift I might wish to give.
But though I sail with the speed of the east wind, when I arrive, she is not there. My heart seizes in my chest as if caught in an ice storm.
There is only an old man sitting on the steps of the black rock before a kindled fire, a mantle of black bear resting over his shoulders, and a gnarled staff in his hand. I tie up my boat and alight on the land, curious.
“Well met, stranger,” I say as I approach his fire. “A game of cards or merrels to entertain you on this night?”
He makes a ripping sound, and I am afraid he is tearing apart and shedding his mortal body right before me, like a snake shedding his skin. I freeze, horrified, but it is only a laugh. A rasping, old laugh.
“Stranger, is it, fae lord? You name him stranger who showed you this very place?”
I feel my features set in ice, hard so they will not show the sudden pulse of my heart.
I do not like this.
I am still young among my kind – young enough that I have not seen for myself the passing of mortals and their mayfly lives. Now that it is upon me, I revile it. There is nothing so wrong as how this bearded mortal has aged and gnarled under the weight of the years I’ve felt so lightly.
“And a greater gift, I cannot imagine,” I say smoothly. “But now here you sit, alone. Will you bargain for company?”
He laughs again. “I have all the company I need in the memories that haunt me. I have no need of yours. But perhaps we can come to an arrangement. I’m about to fry sausages over this fire and I will share them and my story with you if you will share your games and whatever drink you’ve brought with me.”
This pleases me, so I smile, and I see the knowing glint in the man’s eyes. He knows the fae and what we find acceptable. No gift has been offered, only a mutual benefit. Perhaps his hoary locks and stooped shoulders give him a wisdom I have yet to possess. Maybe I shall never possess it – if it takes the breakdown of your whole self to achieve it.
We sit a while in companionable silence as he fries the sausages and I bring out my games and then as I pour ambrosia spirits from my flask for us, he begins to speak.
“When you knew me last, I was a young prince, eager and strong. I fought and won the kingship of my people.” He glances at me as if wondering how I will take his news. I deal a hand of cards. I have no special respect for mortal kings. “I have been king now for a long time and I have seen my sons grown and their sons are nearly grown.”
It’s really hard not to choke over those words. He looked to be of an age with me when first we came to this spot- though he was hairy and coarse while I was fine as spun silk. But now, he approaches his sure death, and here I sit, without any thought of those who might descend after me. I have yet to even fledge my wings. I am fresh as a tight bud and he is full-blown, his petals nearly flown.
“It is for my grandson Elihein that I sit this night. My days have been long, and our Mayfly Seer has shown I have but a fistful of years left in my hand. I have given over my crown to my son and seen to the futures of my children and grandchildren, but one remains who is unhappy with his lot in life. He came to me and begged me to help him in his foolish quest. He ought not to succeed in it – and he will not – but I will give him this last bit of aid and hope to tell him when his heart breaks that it should set itself on better things.”
The sausages he has made are delightful, dripping with fat and filled with softly crumbling meat. We do not make or eat such substantial fare in Iceheim, and I am so taken with the feel of them burning with spice upon my tongue that I do not interrupt as he continues.
“He has set his mind to marrying our Mayfly Seer.” For a moment, my heart freezes and I do not know why because what is that to me? What would I even do with her, were I to steal her away from this place? She would fade and die before my eyes while I was hardly changed. She would be tortured by my kind and in the end, she would beg to be caged again.
No, jealousy is a worthless thing. I cannot have what I suddenly find I want. And yet, envy sits in my throat – a hard lump I cannot swallow down.
The old man is still talking while I stare grimly at my sausages. “He has asked that I sit and watch for her appearance tomorrow so that I can speak to her as a father does and tell her he is coming to claim his bride.”
“Tomorrow?” I ask, wary. “I had thought today was May Day.”
The old man coughs, a rumbling, thick cough full of something that will kill him. “Mmm. But she is ours, yes? And so subject to the calendar of our people and one year in ten May Day shifts for us to seal our calendar. It shifts back and aligns with the rest of the world the year after. ‘Tis a trivial thing.”
I feel my heart lift. I had not realized it was heavy. I have not missed her. She will be here tomorrow. And what will I say? What will I ask? Will I ask for the answer I need – or for the answer that has begun to gnaw at me since he mentioned marrying?
The old man looks at me sharply. “Like you, she has not aged a day, but why should she? For her, these long years are little more than two cycles of the moon while for me they have been a lifetime.” He coughs again. I doubt he has a fistful of years left. The Mayfly Seer was being generous with him. “She was just a slip of a thing. Born with hair black as a raven, though it turned white when they put her into the cage. The mothers chose her. They always do the choosing. And they sealed her for the Undertide. It’s the Undertide that claims the girl and gives her the sight of past and future both – for the sea sees all and knows all. It is never changing, embracing all the world. It holds both past and future in its watery grave. This cage is its gift to us – given to my father’s father’s father.”
Despite his words, I know this place is a lot older than that. And so is this magic. But mortals are not well able to express long lengths of time. Their memories are shorter than their pale lives.
