Thorn Boy and Other Dreams of Dark Desire (48 page)

Ricardo’s
companion – a young man, silent and unremarkable in shadow – was
overlooked during the first flurry of greeting, the inevitable
shower of city gifts, the exclamations, comments, mandatory viewing
of the tall, black house and the gardens beyond, the quickly
offered refreshment, quickly prepared. Ricardo’s companion kept his
head hung low, shuffling behind the others, quite invisible, a
satellite in orbit round Ricardo’s sunshine.

‘
You
have yourself a palace here!’ Ricardo declared, nodding round the
rooms.

It would cost
a fortune to own such a place in Celestia or Grote, even more to
build one. Filerion thought waspishly how Ricardo would probably go
and commission himself a copy of it immediately when he got home,
using his father’s money, without a second thought.

‘
I would
have come before if I’d known you lived like this!’ Ricardo
said.

Filerion
flinched. ‘I prefer to live alone,’ he said, and then added
hastily, ‘but it is good to see you, Rico, after all this
time.’

Filerion laid
out a table with white linen in the porch. He set a bowl of
smouldering resin by the door, which exuded a delicious smoke into
the heavy, sensual evening air. He carried out bowls of salad
chopped freshly from his garden and arranged one of the cooked
fowl, which Ricardo had brought him, on a plate. The little group
sat down to eat.

Ricardo smiled
at Filerion’s exquisite, delicate wines and then shook his head.
‘Delightful! So clever! But tonight, a treat!’ He had brought
expensive liquor with him from Celestia, fiery with spice, smoky as
the town itself on Fall nights. It did not taste of the green
forest at all.

As they sat
down, Ricardo indicated his companion and said, almost as an
afterthought, ‘Ah, this is Fairen De’ath. He had a whim to
accompany me here. Needed a rest too, I expect.’ He laughed
heartily, offering no more explanation or introduction than
that.

Fairen De’ath
ducked his head and shrank into a seat.

Filerion
thought it looked as if the young man was shrouded in smoke, as if
he was somehow fuzzy at the edges. How strange. He blinked quickly
and the smokiness vanished. Perhaps a trick of the light, something
in his eye...

Ricardo didn’t
stop talking, throwing his arms about, indicating further gifts
he’d forgotten to mention. Filerion wondered if Ricardo was faintly
embarrassed coming to a place like this where the silence of the
forest was so huge and its strength so pure and near. ‘So how is
your life going now?’ Ricardo enquired boisterously. ‘Quiet,
eh?’

Filerion
smiled sweetly and replied that all was going very well, thank you
and, yes, it was quiet, but he liked it that way, having got used
to it.

Fairen De’ath
sat silently, his head bowed as if in timidity. Filerion was
reminded of the boys and girls he had known in the town, too young
to solicit alone, too desperate not to, who had fallen under the
protection of older men and women, who undertook to manage their
business. They too used to sit bowed and humble, deaf to the
haggling that occurred over their heads. Was Ricardo Fairen’s
patron in some way?

The moon rose
over the chimneys of the black house, which stood nearly as tall as
the tallest tree. Nimble bats flitted in and out of the eaves,
peeping out their high, navigational squeaks. Below, sitting
comfortably in the glow of a lighted globe of glass, the three
talked long and deeply. The presence of the forest stole over them,
seeming to bring the mysteries of life very close to hand. It was
inevitable the conversation should turn towards the mysterious, the
baffling, the arcane.

Ricardo
Neathtree squinted nervously at the black, rustling forest and
said, ‘It must unnerve you often, Fil, living here.’

‘
No,’
Filerion answered, ‘I am never afraid.’ It was true. He feared what
he had left behind in the town more.

‘
No
ghosts then? Not even in this dark old house?’ Ricardo’s smile held
an edge, as if he had only just realised he too would be spending a
night inside it.

Filerion
grinned. ‘No ghosts,’ he said, sipping his glass of liquor. Had it
tasted this harsh back in Celestia or had his palate become refined
these past two years?

‘
You
don’t get lonely?’

‘
Only
once.’ Filerion remembered, with mixed feelings, that sad, cold
night he’d sat and written the letters telling people where he was.
Thank All That Breathed Ricardo had been the only one to respond.
Ricardo shrugged petulantly, perhaps affronted his old friend
didn’t seem more relieved to see him. Filerion hoped this presaged
no further surprise visits and then silently reprimanded himself
for being so anti-social. He smiled at his friend. ‘I’m glad you
came,’ he said. ‘Really.’

Ricardo
grinned roguishly. ‘I half expected to find you’d already know I
was coming!’ He indicated their surroundings. ‘You were always
mystically inclined. I was not surprised when you left so abruptly,
or at your letter telling where you’d decided to root. No, not at
all. You are a proper witch now, of course. Did you sense me
coming? A scrying ball wouldn’t be out of place here. Do you have
one hidden away perhaps?’

Filerion shook
his head and laughed. ‘I cannot read the future,’ he said.

Fairen De’ath,
nudged from his silence by alcohol, said suddenly, ‘Upon the table
in my house there stands a sphere of perfect crystal. I look into
it often.’

‘
And
does it tell your future?’ Ricardo asked, winking at
Filerion.

The brow of
Fairen De’ath, which was pale and high, wrinkled in thought.
‘Sometimes. I have seen hints, presentiments perhaps.

Ricardo
laughed. Though he would not dismiss the existence of sorcery, he
clearly doubted whether his young companion had any knowledge of
it.

Filerion
merely looked on warily.

‘
So tell
us, tell us,’ Ricardo chided. ‘What hints present themselves to
you? Daughters of rich houses clad in jewels, I should
hope!’

Fairen De’ath
shook his head seriously. ‘No, nothing like that. Other things.’ He
looked up.

Filerion was
shocked from a lazy comfort by the glance. Dark eyes in a pale
face, wistful as a slave, perhaps lovely. What had Ricardo brought
here, and why? Discomfort pooled itself in Filerion’s breast. He
felt as if a rushing wind, foul with destruction, had come gusting
up the south road, and not two travellers on iron-shod horses. He
sensed turmoil.

After a
moment, Filerion excused himself, rose, and went into the shadows
of the house. He let its cool, sinuous presence invade his troubled
mind and closed his eyes. Balm. Security. Sighing, he padded into
the kitchen and poured himself a long, cold glass of clearest water
to rid his palate of the sting of Ricardo’s liquor. His brain
seemed full of the echoes of past noise; voices, laughter, hot,
smoky taverns, yellow light and stale air. He did not want that
here, in this house. He would be glad when Ricardo and his strange
companion left him alone, to bask in the luxury of solitude once
more.

Fairen De’ath,
he considered; even the name inspires fear. Loveliness he disguises
with smoke. A trickster. No, a boy, shy and faltering. Pretty boy.
Dangerous. Like all those pretty boys who’d come to the Footways,
their brief attraction to his light. And yet... A look? Desire? Was
it there? No. No. Too long alone here. A mistake. He is Rico’s
plaything. Must be. A mistake...

Then, in the
darkness behind him, there was a movement, so slight Filerion
wondered whether he had really perceived it.

A voice came
out of the darkness, a furtive whisper. ‘In the crystal... It was
you, Filerion. Just a moon ago, the crystal showed me, told me.
You, you, you.’

Filerion
turned and saw the pale shape of Fairen De’ath, standing in the
doorway. ‘I beg your pardon?’ False confidence. False cool. It was
an angel gliding towards him.

Fairen De’ath
advanced into the room, his hands wrestling each other in
discomfort. ‘The letter you sent. I read it. Months ago. And then,
in the crystal, I saw you. I saw all of this!’

‘
You
must have been mistaken,’ Filerion said coldly, filled with dread.
‘I do not know you at all.’

Fairen still
crept forwards into the moonlit room, still wringing his slim, pale
hands. ‘No, but I know you,’ he said, babbling, almost incoherent.
‘I’ve seen you. Before. Many times. If only I’d spoken, but you
seemed so distant, so aloof... I watched. I saw. Others came,
others touched you. But not me. Not me. And then you were gone,
vanished. It was like the light went out of the town. When Ricardo
showed me the letter, months after you’d sent it, I wanted to come
then, but I was nervous, shy. Ricardo kept mentioning he would
visit you one day, but that day never came. I waited and waited,
and then... the crystal. I had to act. I was out of my mind. I
persuaded Ricardo to come here. He was tired. Needed a rest. The
forest, I said, would do him good. I asked him to bring me with
him, introduce me to you. Two years. I have not forgotten you. I
had to see you. I had to tell you this. You are my life!’

Filerion made
a dismissive gesture. ‘This is... a shock. What you are saying
sounds like madness.’

‘
It is!’
Fairen agreed. ‘I had no alternative but to obey the call of this
insanity.’

‘
You
don’t understand,’ Filerion said. ‘I have chosen this life, this
privacy. I have no desire to share it with anyone, no desires at
all, in fact. I am touched by your feelings, it’s very flattering,
but...’

Fairen came
and put his hands on Filerion’s arm, and oh, how cool that touch
was, so cool yet vibrant with promise. How dark were the eyes that
implored to be recognised, how winsome the face. Filerion could
smell the maleness of him, young and vibrant. He looked away,
pierced by a swift, insidious spear of lust. He’d forgotten the
bittersweet poignancy of such attacks. ‘I have no wish to share my
life with anyone,’ he repeated and paused before adding, ‘not even
someone as lovely as you.’ The words hung like crystal in the air
between them.

Then, Fairen
De’ath made a bitter sound. ‘I will not leave here,’ he declared
fervently. ‘Do not underestimate my feelings. I will stay until I
make you want me to stay.’

‘
Does
Ricardo know of this obsession?’

Fairen shook
his head.

Filerion
sighed deeply. He felt as if he was being offered a flaming torch
and, although the torch could give him light, it might also burn
him fearfully. In the past, such offers had been made before and
from accepting he had only brought himself pain.

‘
You are
not of my world,’ Filerion said gently. ‘I am here in the forest to
escape civilisation. Do you really want to cast off the luxuries of
your life and live here, in this quiet place, for the sake of
desire?’

‘
If it
means I will be with you, yes!’ Fairen replied without a
pause.

Filerion
sighed again, prompting Fairen to say, ‘It is more than desire, I
swear it.’

‘
You
might find, if your desires are satisfied, your feelings are not as
enduring as you presently believe,’ Filerion said dryly.

Fairen
made an angry sound. ‘I should hate you for that,’ he said,
‘insulting my love for you, because it
is
love. Can’t you imagine the risk I’ve taken
approaching you like this? Would I do such a thing
lightly?’

Filerion
looked at the glowing, pale form of Fairen De’ath. Had the house
brought him this final, complete miracle? He had everything now but
human love. Was it possible he was now being offered that too, in
the shape of this pretty, effeminate boy? Impulsively, he held out
his arms. ‘It may be you are simply mad, or misguided, or even
lying to me, but for tonight at least, then I am here for you,’ he
said, and in the moonlight, they embraced.

When they went
back to Ricardo, it was to carry an air of celebration with them.
No more talk of dark mystery. Now Ricardo regaled them with ribald
tales of his experiences and the glade rang with the sound of
laughter, the clink of glasses being refilled. The air was redolent
of the smoky thrill of anticipation. When at last, they all retired
for the night, Fairen De’ath crept to Filerion’s room, his voice
hot with the passion of his desire; his hands, his eyes, his lips.
Filerion swam in a sweet delirium of ecstasy. So long since he’d
touched warm skin, so long. Fairen De’ath told him a hundred times
with what impatience he’d waited for this moment, with what dread
it might never be fulfilled. Filerion’s happiness was so exquisite,
it almost made him afraid.

So
followed a blissful week. Ricardo was content to drink his liquor
in the porch of the house and in the gardens all day, reading some
of Filerion’s books, so that Filerion himself was free to initiate
the fey Fairen De’ath into the mysteries of the forest. Filerion
showed him the icy pool where he bathed in the light of the sickle
moon, obeying a suggestion one of his books had mentioned.
Have I ever wished for love on those
nights?
Filerion wondered silently, thinking about all
the wishes he had made, while sluicing himself with the water.
Hadn’t they all been for good harvests, for health, for more rain,
for less rain and such like? Never this, surely? And yet...
This feels like heaven. If I didn’t wish for it,
I should have done.

He and Fairen
made love in the pool and Filerion marvelled at the svelte contours
of Fairen’s body, the cleanness of limb, the sweep of hair, the
deep, sulky eyes. Perfection.