Worlds Without End (5 page)

“Ah, I have been planning this for years.” she said. “It has taken an immense amount of time and energy. Do you think that I just popped up yesterday? Oh no, I have been Elizabeth for quite some time.”

“But her servants, teachers, surely someone . . .”

“A simple enough matter to arrange. A spell here, a spell there . . . and patience. Such patience as you have never known. And now, at last, I’m in a position where I can do something.”

I could only stare at her. It was madness—sheer and utter madness. How she could possibly think she could maintain such a farce was beyond me.

“Aina,” she said, “you have always been so shortsighted. We can control what happens over the next thousand years. Make the world over in our image. Think of it—the power will come back again. Not this trickle, but a deluge of energy to rip loose the moorings of the world—unless we make certain of the proper order of things. Humans are sheep. We will always rule them.

“The legends and tales you strew about aren’t enough. We must have more. We must control them. This is our destiny.”

Even had I wanted to stand, I didn’t think my legs would hold me. What she was proposing was monstrous. It went against everything I believed about our place. Our purpose. We had a duty to perform.

We were to keep the world safe so that the knowledge would survive from age to age.

She knew what I did—how could she discard it all for so clumsy a form of power? But then, power had always entranced her. And so much of her mind would never be known to me. She was far older than I.

And I have lived so long that Sisyphus’s chore looked like a blessing to me.

“You pervert what we are.” I said.

“This pious attitude is quite boring, Aina.” she said. “I think I liked you better before you lost your faithful companion. He certainly would never have tolerated such an attitude. And he could goad you into so many things.”

I felt the blood draining from my face and blessed my dark skin. Cruelty was her hallmark. How could I have let my guard down for even a second? The energy drained from me then. I didn’t have the strength now to battle with her.

“What has all this to do with me?” I asked.

She walked closer to me. The wide span of her skirts just touched the ragged hem of my cloak.

“I want your assurance that you won’t interfere with my plans.” she said. “I know you could make things difficult for me and I won’t have it. There has been too much time and energy devoted to this for you to create problems.”

“How did you know I was in England?” I asked.

“That was a happy accident.” she said. “For the last few years I’ve made it my business to keep abreast of any rumors of witchcraft. When I heard about a dark-skinned woman with white hair who’d been arrested for sorcery, well, I assumed it must be you.”

“Have you known all along that I’ve been here?” I asked.

“Of course.” she said. “I just couldn’t take any action on it for a while. Besides, I wanted you out of the way until I decided what to do with you.”

I closed my eyes. Knowing Alachia, she could keep me here for decades before letting me go. By that time I might well have lost my mind.

“What do you propose?” I asked.

“Just what I said. You keep out of my way in this matter. I will act as queen to this tiny nation.”

“This is madness, Alachia.” I said. “Why would you want this?”

“Because I need to rule.” she said.

“And if I don’t agree?”

“I’ll find someplace where I can leave you to rot.” she said. “You won’t die, unfortunately. But you’ll certainly wish you had. That is, if you still have your sanity intact after all those years locked up and alone. It’s really not much of a choice, is it?”

She had me there. I couldn’t stop her from what she was about. But I could certainly see my way clear to making her life difficult once she let me out. “Very well.” I said. “I agree.”

* * *

She came to the throne on November 17, 1558 and ruled for an astonishing forty-five years. And at every turn I made her way as difficult as possible.

Oh I didn’t act directly; that has never been my way.

But I knew people on both sides, and it was a simple matter to sow the seeds of distrust and paranoia. All I had to do was stir the pot. Between juggling the French and Spanish, she was forced to look to the welfare of the country.

Besides, it was a source of constant amusement to me that she was referred to as the Virgin Queen.

That wasn’t the first, nor would it be the last, time she did such a thing. But the brazenness with which she acted in this matter always amazed me. And after that time, I always made sure to stop her whenever I could.

Do you think you’ll escape me through the past? Do you think that by telling them you’ll be safe? Don’t you know that I’ve been waiting—as patient as time itself?

Don’t you know you can never stop me?

7

“I tried to stop her.” I said.

“What?” asked Caimbeul.

I hadn’t realized I’d spoken aloud.

“Nothing.” I said. With a quick snap of my wrist I pulled the drapes together and shut out the storm. “I suppose I should pack.”

There was the creak of leather as he settled back into my chair.

“So,” he said, “you’re going to tell them. Where will you go first?”

“The Seelie Court.” I said. “It should be the least hostile reception.”

“If you can find them.”

This made me laugh.

“Ah, Caimbeul.” I said. “That will be the easy part.”

* * *

It was drizzling the next morning as we loaded our bags into Caimbeul’s rental car. I’d set the alarm and cast spells, and as I locked the front door I had the terrible feeling that this would be the last time I would ever see Arran.

Damn them all,
I thought.
If they would only have listened. If they’d stopped playing with things they only barely understood. Then I wouldn’t have to leave my house and venture into matters I’ve spent hundreds of years avoiding.

But I knew the worst of the bunch were the ones who knew the dangers and went ahead with their foolishness anyway. Damn them, too.

Caimbeul had opened the passenger-side door and stood there waiting for me to get in. I dropped into the synthleather seat, sniffing the vinyl scent of new car as I did. After shutting the door behind me, Caimbeul came around the front of the car and got in on his side.

“I made some plane reservations while you were still asleep.” he said. “It was bloody expensive and I expect to be reimbursed.”

“I can’t believe you’re bringing up money at a time like this.” I said.

Out the corner of my eye I saw him shrug.

“I know you’re good for it.” he said.

“So are you. You’ve got piles of the stuff hidden everywhere. What’s a plane ticket to you?”

“That’s not it.” he said, primly. “It’s the principle of the thing.”

“The principle of the . . .” And then I couldn’t continue because I was laughing too hard.

* * *

I contented myself with watching the passing scenery and playing with the vid, trying to get some decent signal to come in. But all I found were walls of noise and static. Finally I managed to tune in a prehistoric station that was doing a retrospective of turn-of-the-century music. Snapping off the trideo portion, I let the sounds wash over me. I confess I liked the older flat-screen stuff: Nine Inch Nails, Cold Bodies, Sister Girl’s Straight Jacket. Nothing like a little atonality with my angst.

Every so often I would glance over at Caimbeul. Excuse me, Harlequin. I don’t think that name will ever come trippingly to my lips. And I hate what it represents even more.

Yes, I know you think you understand him. You might even think you know him well, but you don’t. I’ve known him for longer than either of us cares to remember. And he wasn’t as you see him now. That stupid painted face. Though he wasn’t what many would call handsome, I have always found him attractive. Maybe even beautiful. Oh, I know that sounds peculiar, but there is an aspect of ugliness that is so shocking and strange it becomes beauty.

And his wild hair, all gold and brown woven together. He’d let it grow long again, which I like. But he insisted on pulling it back in that ridiculous pony tail. It made me want to sneak up behind him with a scissors and cut it off. Either you wear it long or you don’t was my way of thinking.

His hands lay easily on the wheel. I knew they were smooth and feminine with calluses on the fingertips. There was a hint of yellow between the first and second fingers where he held those Gaullets he smoked. And he smelled of tobacco and clean linen.

And I wondered whether he remembered those sorts of things about me. The little details that only come from intimacy.

“Will you turn that off?” he asked.

“I like it.” I replied as I leaned forward and nudged the volume button up a little.

“I know.” he said. “You always did have terrible taste in music.”

“No, I’ve always had broad taste in music. Unlike you who only seem to like classical music and the occasional jazz group.”

“I prefer to think of it as a refined taste.”

“I know you do.”

We didn’t say anything else and I went back to watching the kilometers slip by as the rain streamed across the windows.

* * *

Edinburgh was crowded. Old ladies were crying and hugging uncomfortable-looking teens. Suits hurried by, oblivious to everything but their own sense of self-importance. I've never been too fond of corporate thinking. That whole bigger is better drek was what had led to most of the problems in the world, as far as I could tell. Okay, indoor plumbing was the one exception to this rule, but otherwise . . .

We found the gate for the flight to Tír na nÓg. As we came around the corner, I saw that the usual security measures were in place. All our luggage was going to be searched. There would be the usual weapons scan and the endless procession of bureaucratic red tape. Like I said: corporate thinking.

The worst of it was that once we got to the Tir, all this would begin again.

As we approached the head of the line, the elven official looked up from the display screen where he was sliding credsticks to check documentation. He gestured us forward, ignoring several people ahead of us.

“May I see your passports and visas?” he said. He tried to keep it polite, but you could tell he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

We handed over our sticks with our IDs and travel permits on them, and he asked us to step into a small room off the main corridor. As the door shut behind us I could hear the other passengers whispering to each other. You could cut the paranoia with a knife.

“Is there a problem?” Caimbeul asked.

The security drone didn’t answer as he sat down at a display on the far side of a small formica table in the center of the room. The walls were a dirty white and one of the fluorescent lights flickered on and off erratically. I read his name off his badge: Clovis Blackeye. No wonder he was an officious prig. With a name like that I’d be a drekhead, too.

He was gaunt and stoop-shouldered for an elf. His hair was tied back into a ponytail and was shot through with premature gray. A perpetual expression of misery lined his face and made his eyes look sunken and bruised. He knew he would never be anything more than a low-level bureaucrat.

Sometimes there was no explaining UGE.

“I said, ‘Is there a problem?’ ”

Clovis finally looked up from the screen. His beady eyes swung from Caimbeul to me.

“It says here that you’re visiting relatives in Tír na nÓg. But it doesn’t list who those relatives might be.”

“Is that necessary?” I asked.

“How do we know you really have relatives in the Tír? Maybe you’re from that other place, come to cause trouble.”

“That other place?”

“Tir Tairngire. The fallen ones.”

I glanced at Caimbeul and he rolled his eyes. Nothing worse than a
patriotic
officious prick.

“And perhaps we have relatives who don’t want every low-level clerk knowing who
their
relatives are.” I said.

His flat piggy nose flared slightly.

“That’s not for you to decide.” he said. “Now tell me or you don’t get on that plane.”

I leaned forward across the table then and grabbed his collar. For a moment I thought he might resist, but the force of my will kept him from moving. It was as easy as a snake hypnotizing a rat.

“Listen to me, little brother.”
I said in Eireann sperethiel. My accent might have been a bit off, but otherwise I was letter perfect.
“You are playing in things far beyond your knowledge or concern. You wish to know who we are to visit? Then come closer and I shall tell you.”

I
jerked him across the table and whispered a name in his ear. The blood fled from his already pasty cheeks. As he pulled away, I let him see me—really see me. These are the kinds of tricks I hate—obvious displays of power—but he’d slotted me off.