"So where are we now?" Toni wanted to know, resting her longsword point first against the ground and leaning upon its quillons. She took a deep breath of relief, seeming to regain more strength with each passing moment.
Everything around them was grayish-white and misty, with the flat even illumination of indirect lighting, or of sunlight on a very cloudy day. Even the ground beneath their feet was colorless and springy, as if it were made of modeling clay.
Hosea stopped playing, and the banjo's silver strings whispered to silence. He rubbed his fingers, grinning at Eric reassuringly.
Eric grinned backit had worked! They were all here, all safeor as safe as you could be in the Chaos Lands. And they could find another way home.
"We're . . . exactly nowhere," he said in answer to Toni's question. She made a face. "No, seriously. This is what Underhill looks like when nobody decides to impose their own reality on it. They call it the Chaos Lands."
"Which means that nobody here better think too hard," Ria said, "because whatever you think about is likely to come walking out of that mist and bite you."
"We're shielded, of course," Paul said. "I'd say that being here is pretty similar to casting a spellthe magician had better keep a tight rein on his intention. But that may make it a little hard for Aerune to find us when the time is right."
"Oh, he'll find us," Ria said darkly.
"I don't think Aerune will notice us until we make him," Eric said hopefully. "Let's take a breather. Is everyone okay?"
The others nodded. The Guardians looked shaken, but not as worn down by their ordeal as Eric had feared. José was his usual imperturbable self, Paul looked like a cat with a new toy, and Hosea and Toni were looking better by the minute. Even Kayla managed a grin and an impudent thumbs-up when he looked at her. She reached down to pat Lady Day's neck, and the black elvensteed shook herself and tossed her head, making the silver bells on her tack jingle.
I wonder why she chose to be black for this trip? Eric thought. The question wasn't an idle one. Elvensteeds could look like anything they chose and Lady Day usually had a reason for choosing to be a particular color or shape.
"Everything's just ginger-peachy," Kayla said sardonically, swinging a leg over Lady Day's back and dropping to the ground. "Sheesh! And I thought L.A. had some bad neighborhoods."
"Jeanette says there're worse ones here. Much worse," Hosea said.
"I don't want to go there," Kayla answered simply.
Ria dismounted from Etienne, patting the elvensteed on the neck. The white mare was ghostly, almost insubstantial, in the formlessness of the Chaos Lands. It was good camouflage. She nuzzled her mistress as Ria reached into one of the saddlebags and pulled out a two-quart hiker's canteen.
"Water, anyone?" she asked, passing the canteen to Kayla.
The teenager twisted off the cap and drank thirstily, passing the canteen to Hosea. "Good job with the tunes, stud," she said.
Hosea actually blushed, pulling out a bandanna to wipe his face. "It wasn't anything more than a bit of plinking. If I thought this Aerune'd answer to that kind of medicine, the rest of you could have stayed home."
"So what do we do now?" José asked, looking from Toni to Eric.
Eric reached into the bottom of his gig bag for the little wooden box. He opened it and took out the maze-seed. Its magic buzzed in his hand like a trapped honeybee, stronger now that it was back in the world it had been made for. All they had to do now was get Aerune here and trap him inside.
"We call him," Eric said grimly. "And then we lock him up forever."
Aerune mac Audelaine, born to the Bright Court, later called among mortalkind the Lord of Death and Pain, sat in his dark throne room in the heart of the Goblin Tower, contemplating his own thoughts.
The encounter with the upstart Bard should have been more satisfying. Certainly it had been an elegant insult to gift him with Aerune's mortal hellhound, knowing that her dying would wound the soft-hearted mortal far more than the loss of her would inconvenience Aerune. But there was something about the whole matter that left Aerune feeling vaguely unsettled, as if he had made some unfortunate mistake.
But there had been no mistake. The hound's death was meaningless and completely inevitable, once he had lifted the spell of timelessness that kept her alive in mortal lands. She had never been more than a diversion for Aerune, her real worth lying in his ability to withhold her skills from his foes. It was true that he had so far forgotten himself to boast of his plans to the mortals, but again, there was no loss to him in doing so. Though the conspiracy was small and inconsequential now, what he had set in motion in the World of Iron would thrivewith his helpuntil it had consumed humanity utterly. Aerune was an excellent judge of men, and he had chosen Parker Wheatley well. The man's ambition and self-hatred would lead him to follow Aerune's plans blindly, unable to see anything beyond his own immediate advantage. The simple toys with which Aerune had provided Wheatley had helped to befool himartifacts from an Underhill realm where the memory of magic lost had caused the inhabitants to craft ever more subtle engines to counterfeit its actions. As the first small blemish upon the apple presages the destruction of the entire fruit, so did Wheatley's first faltering acts herald humanity's dooma war against the Underhill realms which would cause the Sidhe, both Bright Court and Dark, to rise up and destroy the World Above.
No, all went forward as it shouldbut in that case, wherein lay his unease? No enemy raised its banners before his gates, nor sought to gain entry into his realm by treachery.
But there was something . . . something well-known to the point of invisibility, that teased his ethereal senses with its elusive familiarity.
From the magic that surrounded him, Aerune formed a familiar, a part of himself in the shape of a great black bird, and sent it forth to search. It soared over the bone-wood, finding nothing, and he sent it through his Gate to the Chaos Lands beyond, searching.
There!
The hound. His hound. His toy and victim, hereUnderhilland alive!
Infuriated by the insult, Aerune sought no further. He strode from his throne room in a black fury, shouting for his horse and his hounds. He would reclaim her, whip her to his kennels, and make her beg for the death he would forever deny her.
The first hint they had of disaster was when the landscape around them began to darken. The mist boiled away to emptiness at the touch of another's mind.
:Trouble . . . : whispered the banjo. :He's coming.:
There was no need to ask who.
The Guardians formed a circle around Kayla, facing outward. Ria and Eric stood outside it, preparing to take the first assault. Eric heard a crashing major chordsomeone opening a Portaland then Aerune was there, astride his black stallion. Giant black dogs crouched at his horse's feet, and behind him, changing and nebulous as fog, rode the hosts of the damned, called from nothingness by the power of Aerune's will.
"Fascinating," Paul said. There was a hiss as he pulled his blade free of the sword cane. "A classical Northern European Wild Hunt."
Aerune glanced at him, eyes blazing red, but Paul did not hold his interest. Toni did. The Latina Guardian held her sword in her left hand as she crossed herself, her lips moving in soundless prayer.
"So . . . you would use your iron nails to slay Faerie?" Aerune growled. "Die as all who have set the White Christ's magic against me have died!"
Eric was barely fast enough to shield Toni from Aerune's first attackcrash of major chords, high skirl of a piccolo, deep booming of a chorus of hornsbut somehow he couldn't draw Aerune's attention to him no matter what he did. Something about Toni infuriated Aerune to the point of recklessness. He concentrated his fury upon her, and she barely held her own, though her blade glowed so brightly that Eric couldn't even look in her direction. He had problems of his own, thoughthe shadowy creatures that rode with Aerunemonsters and damned souls all, if the legends held any truthwere spreading out to encircle them. He moved forward, searching for an opening, his fingers clutched around the maze-seed, raising it up and
rubbing the smoothing stone gently along the shaft of the bone flute.
The afternoon sun was warm against his back as he squatted here in the clearing in the center of the crescent of turf huts that made up the village of his people, and from time to time he would stop, holding his work up to the light so he could judge his progress. Once he had scraped the bone smooth it would be time to drill the holes along its length with a sharp deer-horn drill, then polish it again with fine sand and deer hide until it was as smooth as river-tumbled stone, then rub it with beeswax until the bone turned a translucent gold. When he was but an apprentice Bard, his teacher had told him it was important to make the bone as thin as possible so that the sound would be pure, and he had always remembered that. Only the very best was worthy to be offered up to the Bright Lady Aerete, source of all Bardcraft and magic.
Eric frowned, his thoughts elsewhere. They would need their best if they were to win their next battle with the Eastmen, who had come to the Isle of the Blessed in their wooden boats to kill and enslave the Folk, armed with weapons of the gray metal that broke stone and bronze as if they were nothing more than rotted wood.
But they would win. Eric was a Bard of a Hundred Songs, blessed by the Lady herself, and his apprentice, whose instrument was the harp, had already learned his spells and genealogies, and had made a good start on learning the songs which contained all the wisdom of the Folk. In the doorway of their hut he could see Hosea putting fine new strings of deer gut upon his bride-harp, whose white body was carved from the shoulder of a black bull which had been slain at the start of the Dark Year. His songs could soothe the sick and ailing, ease a wounded soul's transition to the Summer Lands.
Reluctantly, Eric set aside his work, wrapping it tightly in a painted doeskin to keep it safe. He could not spend as much time as he wished here. It was time to go among the wounded once more, to add his magic to the Healers' craft. Too many of their village's warriors lay wounded, kissed by the deathmetal of the Eastmen despite all the protection spells Eric had laid upon them.
He got to his feet. Hosea looked up, willing to follow, but Eric gestured for him to stay. It was more important now that he finish restringing the harp, so he could play their warriors into good heart for the morrow. Meanwhile, Eric would see to their wounded.
Eric walked through the village, greeting his clan-fellows. His creature was the lark, as was fitting for a Bard, for birds were especially sacred to the Bright Lords. All bowed their heads in respect, for a Bard was second only to the Lady herself, and the equal of kings and the Chief of all the clans.
The High House was his destination. The great hall stood upon the earthen mound his ancestors had erected when they had first come to this land, beneath which, in vaults of dressed stone, their deadtoo many dead, these dayswere laid to rest to provide counsel and wisdom to their children. He walked up the hill, toward its carven gateway painted with the totem animals of each clan of the tribe, along the path bordered in white stones.
Ria, chief of the fighting women, approached him as he neared the door. She wore a loincloth of white doeskin, and gold at her throat and upon her arms, for she was a lady of high rank and a king's daughter. Her hair was braided into one long queue, wrapped with a red cord and studded with the raven feathers of her totem. The marks of warrior's magic still showed, pale azure against her fair skin. Tonight she and the other warriors would dance to his playing, singing the war-songs and painting themselves afresh for tomorrow's battle.
"I greet you, Bard," she said formally, though Eric could see that she seethed with impatience at being denied entry. Those whole in body, and not bound to the Bright Lords as Eric was, were not permitted to enter the High House when there were injured present, lest their war magic disturb the healing magic.
"I greet you, Ria of the warriors," he answered. "How may I serve you?" I would serve you in all ways I have not pledged to the Lady, did you but allow it.
"I would know how it will go with us upon the morrow," she answered, her voice as harsh as that of the battle-raven.
"Only the Bright Lords may know that," Eric said sharply, for in truth he was afraid to look into the future again for fear he would see another defeat. "Ask of the Lady, not of me."
He frowned, seeming for a moment to hear the echoes of battle in another place, but surely it was only the ghosts of the newly slain, hovering among their kinfolk to give what comfort they could before making their journey to the Summer Lands to dwell forever with Aerete in her shining palace.
Ria sighed, as if he had given her only the answer she expected. "Then tell me how my sword-sister, Toni, fares, of your courtesy, Bard. I would sorrow to go into battle without her to drive my chariot."
Eric smiled, glad to be able to give some good news. Toni had taken a blow from a deathmetal sword in the last battle, but had killed her attacker with her spear. The cut was healing nicely, without fever.
"You will have no cause for sorrow," he said, "for she will be at your side. The Lady wills it."
The Bright Lady Aerete had been tireless in employing her healing magics for the good of the tribe, and many more than had died in the battles would have been lost without her protection. But no one was all-powerful, not even the Bright Lords, and even her power could not save those whom deathmetal had wounded too deeply. Fortunately, Toni's cut had been shallow.
"That makes good hearing," Ria said. "I will leave you to your work."
She bowed to him formally and turned away, walking down the path to the village through the pale spring sunlight. Eric watched after her for a long time, before turning and ducking through the hanging hides that shielded the doorway to enter the High House.
Inside, a peat fire smoked fragrantly on the round stone hearth, giving heat to the injured. He could see Paul and José moving among them, bringing healing brews and changing the poultices upon wounded limbs. The Lady Aerete had taught them all that mortals could learn of her healing magics, and even Eric stood in awe of their power, that could trick Death when even his songs could not.
He went first to Toni, who was drinking soup from a wooden cup. She smiled when she saw him, though her dark eyes were shadowed by recent pain.
"Ria was asking after you, warrior," Eric told her, smiling as he knelt beside her. "I told her you would be with her soon."
"The healers say I may leave the High House at sunset," Toni told him proudly. "And I will stand with her at the war-fire tonight."
"And ride with her to victory on the morrow," Eric said, feigning a confidence he did not feel. Toni was Ria's charioteer, and such brave warriors, who rode into battle unprotected by bull's-hide shield, faced greater peril even than the foot spearmen.
Suddenly the air was filled with music, and Toni's face lit with pleasure. "Ah, Bard, seethe Lady comes!"
Eric got to his feet, turning toward the dais of limewashed stone that stood at the north end of the High House. A light as bright as the sun shone there, and as it faded, the form of Aerete the Golden was revealed.
She wore a white gown woven of Underhill magic, and her long golden hair was garlanded with blue flowers that shone as brightly as the stars in the night sky. Their perfume filled the High House, mingling with the scent of peat smoke and healing herbs. She was more beautiful than any woman of the Folk, tall and supernaturally fair, and her long graceful ears proclaimed her Otherworldly lineage plain for all to see. Since before Time began, Aerete had been their Lady, guarding and guiding them, protecting them from the dark spirits of glade and pool. She had taught them the arts of music and poetry, of healing and metalworking, protecting women in childbed and sending game to the hunters' nets. She was Aerete, and they were her people.
Eric knelt in reverence, as did Paul and José. Aerete moved slowly among the wounded, pausing to caress a bowed head or bring ease to a painful wound. At last She came to where Eric knelt, and he shuddered with pleasure at the touch of Her hand. All he asked from life was to serve Her, who was so wise and just.
Again that moment of discordant music. But when he looked up into Her sky-colored eyes, the pang of unease faded.
"Bard," She said, and Her voice was a melody. "Walk with Me, and tell Me how goes the day."
Jesus. Kayla made a rude noise of disgust. She didn't know who the blonde elf-bimbo was, but the way Eric was looking at her made Kayla want to puke. He was practically drooling.
She aimed a hearty kick at his backside, but though she felt it jar through her as she connected, he didn't react.
None of them reacted. Not Eric, not Ria, not José or Paul. Even Hosea hadn't noticed her, no matter what she did.
It was creepy. One moment they'd been in Hell's Own Kitchen, with Aerune about to eat them all for breakfast, and the next minute . . . here, in some kind of place that looked like a cross between a retro Braveheart and Merlin: The Lost Years. The whole Quest For Fire look had been amusing for about five minuteswho'd'a thought José was so buff under all those workshirts?but the whole body paint and loincloths thing got old real fast. Everything looked real, felt real, smelled realbut her friends couldn't see or hear her. She wasn't even a ghost.
What had Aerune done to them? Was this realwhatever "real" meant, when used in the same sentence with "Underhill"? And if Aerune was behind this, shouldn't there be more dead people around? Shouldn't they be dead?
Helpless, angry, and far more frightened than she was willing to admit, Kayla trailed after Eric and the elf-lady. Everybody was talking like an episode of Masterpiece Theateras if they'd forgotten all their usual words. Hosea'd even lost his homefolks accent, and Kayla would have been willing to bet good money this morning that wasn't possible.
And Eric . . . ! Eric didn't grovel, which was what his conversation with this "Aerete"-bimbo sounded like to Kayla. It was like they'd all been replaced by pod people. And if they had, why wasn't she included?
Were they dead? Was she dead? And if not, could I just wake up and go home? Please?
She trailed farther and farther behind Eric and Aerete, not having the stomach to listen to them. If Eric was groveling, then Aerete was talking to him like he was the family dogkindly enough, but not as if she was particularly impressed by his intelligence.
Kayla passed the hut where she'd seen Hosea before, but he wasn't there. Probably off making daisy chains or something.
:Kayla . . . :
She stopped with a gasp. Someone was calling her from inside the huta faint voice, almost a whisperbut when she went in, there wasn't anyone there, just a bunch of bearskins and the harp Hosea'd been working on before, sitting on top of the pile.
:Kayla!:
It was the harp.
"Okay, the harp is talking to me."
:It's Jeanette.: The harp sounded impatient. :Can you hear me? Kayla, this isn't real.:
"News flash," the young Healer muttered, going over to pick up the harp. When she touched it, she almost dropped itit was warm, and seemed to vibrate faintly in Kayla's hands. "So it isn't real. I got that. So what is it?"
:I don't know. I think Aerune's dreaming. They don't sleep, you know, but they dream sometimes while they're awake. And he's caught the others up in his dream.:
Elves dreamt awake, she meant. But somehow the humans had gotten caught in it.
"So why not you or me?" Kayla asked.
:I'm dead,: the harp whispered, and Kayla could swear the thing sounded smug about it. :And I don't know. Maybe you can fix whatever he does to you before it affects you.:
Wonderful. "What do I do? We have to get out of here," Kayla announced, hating the fear she heard in her own voice.
:Follow Aerete. Maybe she'll lead you to Aerune and you can find out what's going on. Maybe you can wake the others up . . . :
The harp's whispering speech stopped. Kayla stared at it for a long moment, then set it down gently and ran out of the hut, looking around wildly. Aerete and Eric were standing a few yards away, talking. She leaned down and kissed him on the forehead, the way a mother might kiss a small child. Then he turned back toward the village, and she walked on.
Kayla hesitated, unsure about which of the two to follow, then shrugged. Might as well take Jeanette's advice. How could she be in worse trouble than she was now? She sprinted after Aerete.
If she'd hoped Aerete would be able to see her, Kayla's hopes were quickly dashed. The woman walked on as if she were alone, though Kayla was beside her close enough to touch her dress. The elf-woman's destination seemed to be a ring of standing stones that stood on the crest of a low hill. They weren't all that impressive by Stonehenge standardsthe tallest of them came up only to Kayla's shoulderbut if you had to find them, dig them up, and hump them up to the top of the hill with muscle power alone, she guessed they represented a considerable effort. The hill was taller than it looked, too. By the time they reached the top, Kayla was panting, though her companion showed no sign of strain.
Aerete walked into the ring of stones and vanished.
For a moment Kayla stood watching, unable to decide what to do; then, muttering curses, she followed.
There was the eye-blink transition she'd gotten used to going through the Gates. She was in a hall. It was like the one back in the villageround with a round firepit in the middlebut everything here was of finer construction, as though someone had taken the other and improved upon it. Eric says the elves can't create things, only change them. So I guess if this is the Bronze Age, they've got to be Bronze Age elves. The walls here were of polished golden oak, and the torches set in the walls in golden brackets burned with a clear smokeless flame. Where the dais had been back at the High House was a block of polished white marble draped with bright silks, and on it were two chairsRoman, by the look of themand a table with a goblet and decanter on it.
Aerune was sitting in one of the chairs.
Kayla shrank back with a hiss of dismay, but he didn't seem to see her. He was looking at Aerete. Kayla studied him. Aerune looked different than the dark monster she had faced twice before. He wore a golden crown around his forehead, and was dressed in tunic, leggings, and boots in shades of green and gray.
Aerete walked forward until she stood at the foot of the dais, and knelt. Aerune sprang to his feet to raise her up.
"Aerete, my heartyou must never kneel to me!"
"But I would ask for your help, Lord Aerune," Aerete said, and there was real pain in her voice for the first time.
Guess she can drop the Lady of the Manor act here.
"Anythingyou know you have my heart, Aerete. What can you ask for that I would not give you?" Aerune told her passionately.
"Kindness for my people, Lord Aerune."
Kayla saw him wince, as if Aerete had touched on a sore point. "They are not worthy of your love, my heart. Creatures of mud who return to the mud in the wink of an eye. How can we, who are formed of the stuff of stars, care for such as they?" There was pleading in his voice, as though it was an old argument he knew he couldn't win.
"I had hoped your love for me had softened your heart, my lord Aerune," Aerete said softly. She settled into the chair he offered her, and Aerune hurried to pour her a cup of wine.
"Have I not avoided their villages at your request? No longer does my Hunt ride among them. I take neither their children nor their maidens for my sport, all because you have asked it of me. Tell me what troubles you," Aerune begged, leaning toward her.
He really loves her, Kayla realized, impressed. She knew that Aerune was old even as the Sidhe reckoned years, and that what she was seeing now had happened a long time ago, if it had ever happened at all, but right now Aerune seemed a lot like the bangers she'd known back in East L.A.proud, touchy, desperately in love and afraid of looking stupid.
He seemed very young, somehow. Young, and vulnerable.
"They die," Aerete said sorrowfully. "They die and I can do nothing to save them. Strangers from across the water invade their lands, and harry them far worse than you ever did, Aerune. Many die, and I am powerless to save them. I have gone to the chief of the Eastmen and asked for peace. The Isle of the Blessed is wide, and surely there is room for all to live there in peace. But he does not know our kind, and there is a strangeness about these Eastmen. My magic has no power to soften his heart."
"Let me rip it from his chest, and you will find it soft enough, Bright Lady," Aerune said. Aerete sighed and turned her face away, bowing her head.
"They live so short a timemust we take even their brief span of years from them? I want peace, Aerune, not more death."
Aerune sighed and shook his headunwilling to say anything that would hurt her, but certain he was right, Kayla could tell.
"The mortalkind are not like us, Aerete. Their lives burn as hot and brightand briefas the fires they kindle upon the hills in spring, and their hearts seethe with emotions so raw and ardent that to feel one tenth of their passion would destroy any of Danu's Firstborn. Their lives are too short for them to value life; they spend their hatreds thoughtlessly, welcoming the death they have not the wit to understand. And so I tell you plainlythe only comfort your folk may find is in death. And the only peace you can find for your mortal pets is in the death of their enemies."
Aerete bowed her head. "I know you would never lie to me. But is it the only way to save them? I had hoped for another answer."
"Would you bring them Underhill and dare Oberon's wrath for your disobedience?" Aerune asked. "Or fly for sanctuary to the Dark and put yourself and them at the mercy of Queen Morrigan? The halls of the Dark Court are not for such as you, my love. I have walked them. I know."
"Then must they die?" Aerete asked, and Kayla saw tears glittering in her eyes. "Must they all die?"
"They must fight against the Eastmen, and live as best they may," Aerune answered. "Only with the death of their enemies can they live as you hope them to."
Aerete rose to her feet, her face sad. "I thank you for your wise counsel, Lord Aerune. I must go now. They face their enemy in battle on the morrow, and I would not deny them what comfort I may give them in the little time that remains."
"Will you come to me again?" Aerune asked her eagerly, reaching for her hand. She clung to him a moment, as if drawing strength from his touch, then pulled away.
"When the battle is done. When they are safe, Lord Aerune, I will come to you again."
This is bad, Kayla thought. For all Aerune's fancy talk about not having human feelings, she could tell he loved Aerete with all his heart. I've got to warn him that she's gonna die tomorrow
But suddenly Aerune's hall was gone. Kayla stood upon a hillside overlooking a wide valley through which a shallow stream meandered. It was early morning, and she shivered with cold even with the protection of her mail tunic. Mist still covered the ground, and the sun hovered just above the horizon. Below her, on the hill, she could see the warriors of the village gathered in battle arraychariots at the front, pikemen behind. She saw Ria and Toni in one of the chariots, Eric standing beside them with a flute in his hand, his hair garlanded with flowers. Hosea, Paul, and José were at the back, among the spear carriers. There were too many people here to count, but less than a hundred, Kayla thought. More like one of those SCA events Elizabet took me to in L.A. than a real army.
And across the valley, five times their number. The enemy wore armor, not painted skins, and she could see strong wooden shields and spear tips glittering with metal.
They're gonna get creamed!
There was a shimmer and a flash of light, and suddenly Aerete was there beside Eric. She was mounted bareback upon a white elvensteed, dressed now in the fashion of her people, wearing nothing more than the white doeskin loincloth and short red-dyed leather cape that her lady warriors wore into battle. Painted runes gleamed on her skin, as blue and bright as neon, and her hair was braided and feathered as theirs was. She obviously meant to ride into battle with her warriors, to ensure their victory by fighting beside them. Was she that braveor did she not know what the iron spears the enemy carried could do against elven magic?
"No! Don't do it!" Kayla shouted, running down the hill toward the war host.
But before she could reach them, a horn blew from somewhere in the ranks of the villagers, answered by a deeper horn from the other side of the valley. A cheer went up, and the chariots began to roll down the hill. As the enemy saw the host begin to move, they began to howl, beating their swords against their wooden shields with a sound like distant thunder, surging forward to meet their foes.
Kayla barely reached the bottom of the hilltoo late to stop the chargewhen the first bright agony lanced through her as one of the spears found its mark. She had one brief moment to realize that coming to a battle was probably a pretty stupid thing for a Healer to do.
She concentrated on her shields, gritting her teeth and forcing herself to stand where she was, willing herself not to feel. In moments the orderliness of both armies had dissolved, and there was only a mob of men and women armed with swords and spears trying to kill each other. Aerete was in the forefront of the charge, as visible as if God was shining his own spotlight on her, and even in the brightening day Kayla could see the flashes of blue fire as she struck at the enemy with her levin-bolts. Kayla felt every strike, every sword-blow, that either army landed, but distantly, as if the pain were being felt by someone else. Shunt it aside, Elizabet had told her. Be the rock in the stream, unharmed by the water's flow.
Kayla was glad to be so far away that she could not see what was happening clearly. What she could hear was bad enoughthe screams of people and horses, the dull thick sound of metal hitting meat. She held her breath, crying without knowing it, digging her fingers into the palms of her hands. What could possibly be worth this much pain? Couldn't they seecouldn't they feelwhat they were doing to each other?
For a while it seemed as if Aerete's presence would be enough to gain victory for her folk. Despite their superior weapons and numbers, the enemy had little taste for facing one of the Sidhe upon the battlefield, and stayed away from her as much as possible, allowing the spearhead of Aerete's warriors to plunge deep into the shield line. But Kayla knew how this story ended.
She didn't see who threw the spear. She only saw the moment when Aerete's white horse plunged sideways, the moment when its shining rider fell to earth. There were groans and cries of dismay from Aerete's folk; Kayla watched through tear-blurred eyes as they clustered around, trying to save her. But the blow delivered by the spearhead of Cold Iron was mortal.
Suddenly the sky darkened, as if there were about to be a thunderstorm, though a moment before the sky had been clear. Cold winds whipped up, driving black clouds before them, covering the sky. Aerune appeared, standing where Aerete had fallen. He knelt beside her and saw that she was dead, then rose to his feet with a howl of despair that could be heard above every other sound upon the battlefield.
And then he began to kill.
Kayla watched in horrified fascination, unable to look away. He must know now that the weapons the enemy carried could kill him, but it didn't seem to matter to him. None of them touched him or the creatures he summoned to aid himblack wolves the size of ponies, ravens bigger than the biggest eagle ever hatched. It was like watching something out of a horror movie, like watching a harvester move over a field of standing grain. Aerune moved across the field, his sword spinning in his hand, and every time it struck an enemy died.
The Eastmen would have fled or surrendered, but Aerune did not let them. His creatures harried them from behind, keeping them on the battlefield, herding the invaders toward Aerune's sword as the storm he had summoned gathered and finally broke, the rain turning the blood-soaked battlefield to a sea of red mud. In the end, the Eastmen were fighting one another to stay away from him, killing nearly as many of their own in their frantic attempts as Aerune did.
Aerete's people watched in stunned amazement, the survivors of their army standing huddled together about their fallen lady. At the bottom of the hill, Kayla watched it all, battered by their pain and grief, too numb to think about what she was seeing. It was so horrible it was unreal.
It's a dream, it's a dream, oh please please please let it be a dream
At last no Eastmen were left alive. Aerune turned back in the direction of his fallen love, and saw her people gathered around her, weeping. For a moment he hesitated, and Kayla held her breath.
Then he slew them all, lashing out at them with levin-bolts until none stood, howling his anguish over the sound of the storm. Kayla screamed toono shielding could withstand such agony. She fell to the wet grass, trying not to see what she could not help seeing. She saw the Guardians die, Eric and Ria and Hosea all cut down by Aerune's madness, and screamed until her throat was raw.
And then the storm and the screaming was gone, as if someone had changed the channel.
For long moments she was too stunned to care, huddling in a tight ball of misery, feeling the anguish of the dead vibrate along her nerves. She tried to breathe as Elizabet had taught herslow deep breaths that drew strength from the earth and let the pain flow awaybut it was hard. She choked and gasped, fighting against herself, until at last she found the rhythm. Slowly her muscles relaxed, and the memory of the pain eased. At last Kayla came back to herself enough to realize that her eyes were closed, and opened them warily.
The sun of an unblemished spring day shone down upon the small village. She was huddled beside the well, curled against its rough warm stone. In the doorway of a nearby hut, Eric and Hosea worked on their instruments. She pulled herself to her feet and leaned against the sun-warmed stone, dizzy with nausea and disorientation. The screams of the dying still echoed in her ears, but the battle had been wiped away as if it had never been.
Because it has never been. It's still in the future, from here. This is the way it started when the Chaos Lands went away. This is where I was when it began. Oh, God, is it all going to happen again? I can't watch that happen again. I can't!
Maybe she was dead, because living the same two days over and over again, with the same terrible ending, was a pretty good approximation of hell, in Kayla's opinion. She took a deep steadying breath, welcoming anger.
No. It ain't gonna work out that way. This time I'm gonna make them hear me if I hafta grab each one of them and wrestle 'em to the ground to do it!
"Jeanette!" she shouted at the top of her lungs, but the harp that was Jeanette Campbell's form in this world was in Hosea's hands. Unstrung. Voiceless.
Kayla wasn't in the mood to let something like that stop her. She wanted to talk to Jeanette, and concentrated with all her fear and frustration, all her Healer's power, on making that happen.
"What?"
Jeanette walked around the well and stopped in front of Kayla, hands on hips. She was hard to look at; her form kept shifting back and forth between the sleek leather-clad hellhound that Aerune had made of her, and a dumpy irritated woman in a leather jacket and jeans. Neither form seemed really real.
"Why are we back here?" Kayla asked hoarsely. "If this is Aerune's way of attacking us, he won. So why do we have to start over?"
"Oh, you aren't dead yet," Jeanette said airily. "Out there you're still fighting. None of you will stay dead here until he kills you there."
"That's comforting," Kayla muttered shakily. Even if trying to think about it makes my head want to explode.
"Of course, each time he kills the others here, he weakens them there. It's quite elegant, really. As for you, you might just go mad, seeing the same disaster happen over and over." Jeanette sounded wistful, as if death were something desirable.
Should'a thought of that before you decided to become a banjo until the end of time! "You are being so fabulously helpful," Kayla said through gritted teeth. "I thought you wanted to make up for killing all those people."
"I don't know how!" ghost-Jeanette cried in real exasperation. "I'm no good at being niceonly at knowing things and telling them to people if they want to listen. If you want to change things, you've got to make the others realize this is a dream. There's no point trying to wake up Aerete or any of the other villagers. Only Aerune or the people you came with can deviate from the script, because they're the only ones who are real. And if you wake them up here, it might distract them enough so he kills them there. And then he'll have you." Jeanette shuddered and bowed her head. "Don't let him. Die first."
"But you know what's going on in both places," Kayla said. Jeanette nodded reluctantly. "So tell Hosea there, so he can tell the others, while I try to wake them up here. Are you with me, Banjo Girl?"
"You say it like it's so easy," Jeanette said sullenly. "It might not workdon't you understand? If I try, if I do it wrong, I could kill them!"
"That's what you're here for," Kayla said grimly. "To try. Do it."
Jeanette turned away, and her jangling discordant image vanished. Kayla was alone again in Fantasyland.
What do I do? What do I do? She felt a panicky flutter in her chest. It wasn't as if she was a stranger to tough situations and sudden death, but this time she wasn't just fighting to keep herself or her friends alive in a place where she knew what the ground rules were. She was trapped in a dream world whose rules she didn't understand. It wasn't enough to get outif she couldn't figure out the right way out, she and all her friends would be tortured to death, and then Aerune would start on everyone else. Everyone she'd ever met. Everyone she'd ever known. Just . . . everyone.
The pressure made her feel ill, made her want to go off somewhere and hide and pretend it wasn't happening. And if she did that for long enough, everything would come crashing down and she'd never have to try . . . and fail.
She wished with all her heart that she could believe she was going to do that.
She squared her shoulders and headed over to where Eric sat.
"Eric." She kicked at the squatting figure halfheartedly. He didn't move. "Eric!"
That didn't work either.
How did you wake someone up who was already awake? It was like trying to heal somebody who wasn't hurt.
Hurt . . . heal . . .
Eric wasn't hurt, but he certainly wasn't all right. Could she tap into the power she used to heal to rouse him to wakefulness? And if she did, would it doom him in whatever passed for the Real World here?
If it's a choice of dying quick or dying slow, I know which one Elizabet's favorite apprentice picks. . . .
She stepped up behind him, and hesitated. Healing someone was easyor at least, it was natural to her. The injury itself was what called forth her power, and though she directed its use, its scope was defined by what it healed. Most of a Healer's training involved learning to not use her power: to shield, to disengage, to hold herself back in the face of a serious hurt, lest in trying to heal it, she spent all of her own life-force.
Now she was essentially trying to call up that power without that sort of stimulus, doing consciously what she normally left to instinct and reflex. It was like trying to figure out what you needed to do in order to walk. Biting her lip, Kayla touched her fingers to Eric's temples, trying to push the power out through her skin. For a moment nothing happened, then it welled up and rushed out of her as if she'd pulled the cork out of a bottle.
Eric, wake up! Eric, see me! And try not to get killed in the process, she added as an afterthought.
Eric jerked as if he'd been stung. He turned and looked up at her, his eyes foggy and unfocused. "Who are you?" he said blankly. He didn't know her, but at least he saw her. That was a start.
"I'm Kayla. You're EricEric Banyon. None of this is real, Ericit's some kind of a dream!"
"We're all dreaming," he told her kindly, getting to his feet. "Are you a spirit?"
Kayla ground her teeth. He could see her, but the rest didn't look promising. "I'm your friend. New Yorkthe GuardiansAeruneHosearemember?"
"Hosea is my apprentice," Eric told her, still with that maddening kindly smile, like he'd joined some kind of mind-control cult. "Have you come to bring him visions? I think he will be a very powerful Bard, when he is trained."
"I think you are all going to die tomorrow, if you don't get with the program! This is Aerune's nightmare, and it's only got one ending. You've got to change that!"
"Your words are strange," Eric said. "And your clothes are, too."
Look who's talking. "Eric, please, try to grow a brain! Remember Aerune, the psychopath on the big black horsie? This is his dream. He's cast some kind of spell on you to make you forget."
"I forget nothing!" Eric snapped, suddenly very haughty. "Spirit, I am a Bard of a Hundred Songs."
Kayla wanted to shake him. "Then be a Bard! Wake up! Try to rememberyou, and Hosea, and Ria, and the other GuardiansAerune's got you all playing roles in his dreams, but you've got to make the dream come out differently."
"Ah." Comprehension seemed to dawn, and for a moment Kayla believed she'd reached him, until his next words made her heart sink. "You come to bring word of the future. Tell me, Spirit, what shall I do to save our folk?"
"Tomorrow the Eastmen are going to kill Aerete. You have to stop them."
"Aerete the Golden cannot die." Now Eric looked troubled, but he was worrying about the wrong thing. "She is one of the Bright Lords. No weapon made by men can harm her."
"Iron can. The Eastmen are carrying iron weapons. She's going to die."
"Master?" Hosea came over to Eric. "Master, you speak to the air."
"A spirit has come to foretell the battle," Eric said, turning to Hosea. Kayla tried not to lookit seemed as if wherever this was, it was strictly clothing optional.
"Do we win?" Hosea asked.
Kayla saw the sorrow in Eric's eyes, and knew he was going to lie.
"Yes. She promises us a great victory."
Hosea smiled with relief. "We should tell the others."
"Tell Aerete!" Kayla urged, knowing that warning her would do no good. Eric had his stubborn look onthat hadn't changedand she could tell he'd made up his mind not to pay any attention to her. She turned to Hosea, grabbing his arm.
"Hey! Farmboy! Look at me!" The power flowed out of her more easily this time, as if it had learned what to do.
Hosea's eyes focused on her and alarm replaced relief. "Kayla?"
"Hosearemember Jeanette! None of this is real! It's a dream that repeats over and overyou have to change the ending or we aren't going to be able to get out of here to fight Aerune!"
"Eric." The big man moved slowly, as if he were under water. "Eric, it's Kayla. Wake up. Jeanette says . . ."
For a moment the world shimmered, and Kayla caught a flash of the Chaos Lands. But before she could get her bearings, they were back in the village again, and both men were staring at her with identical looks of horrified comprehension.
"Jeanette. Jeanette. Kaylawhat?" Eric stammered.
"Oh, thank God!" Kayla gasped, but the moment of relief made her lose her concentration. The village blinked out of existence, and she was back on the hillside, overlooking the field of battle.
Nonono!
She closed her eyes, dropping to her knees where she stood. Once more she heard the cheers, the rumble as the two armies clashed.
The screams. She hugged herself, moaning, trying not to be there. She heard a howl of despair from the villagers, and knew that once more Aerete had died. Once again the storm came. Kayla opened her eyes, knowing she couldn't bear not to see, and Aerune moved through the enemy army, cutting them down with his sword of elvensilver. Once more they all lay dead, and Aerune turned upon the remnants of Aerete's army.
But this time Ria rode out to meet him, Eric at her side.
This isn't the way it went before! Kayla thought with a pang of hope.
Ria leaped down from her chariot, raising her spear. Aerune sliced it in half with a single blow, his sword so covered with blood that it sprinkled the Bard and the warrior who faced him with tiny drops of red.
Both knelt before him, offering their necks to his blow.
And Aerune stopped.
Turned away.
Left.
And Kayla stood once again beside the well in the sunlight, back in the village, staring at Eric, who was staring back at her, bewildered and appalled. Whatever had happened this time, he remembered it too.
It wasn't enough. It didn't work. Even if he spares the villagers, Aerune still blames humanity for Aerete's death.
"We have to get out of here," Eric said. He stared down at himself, frowned, and the loincloth and Celtic jewels vanished, to be replaced by elven Bardic silks.
"Get the others," Kayla said pleadingly. "Help me make them remember."
"The real question is, how long is this taking? What are we doing out there while we're in here?" Paul asked.
The four Guardians, Eric, Ria, and Kayla, were all gathered in Eric's hut, while outside the afternoon of the dream played itself out. It had taken hours of subjective time to gather them together and break the others free of the dream-spell, but even that wasn't enough to free them from the larger dream. They were still herethough at least they all had their own clothes back. That helped.
"It's a dream, you said. If that's the case, it shouldn't be taking any time at all," Toni said.
"That's about right," Hosea said, stroking the neck of his banjo. "I can see itwhat's going on therekind of, through Jeanette here."
"We don't dare let him keep the advantage. We have to get out of this loop, or we're going to diehere and there," Eric said. "If I used magic"
"Jeanette doesn't think that will work," Kayla said quickly. "She thinks trying that here will be enough of a shock to get you killed there."
"Maybe," Ria allowed grudgingly. "Maybe not. But I think we should save the heavy artillery for a last resort. If we're inside his mind, we're also inside most of his defenses. Maybe we can stop him here."
"How?" Eric asked. "I'm open to any and all suggestions." He looked at Kayla.
She took a deep breath. "We have to derail the dream, make it come out differently, break the cycle. Jeanette said that the only ones who can affect the outcome are usor Aerune."
"He isn't likely to want to help us," Ria said.
"But he will!" Kayla said. "Or at least, the dream-Aerune will. He's not like the other one." Although he's still a pain in the you-know-what.
"But he will become the Aerune we know, when his lady dies," José said. "Her death, it is a terrible thing. She was so beautiful, and so kind."
And treated you all like pedigreed lap dogs! Kayla thought rebelliously.
"And we stop thathow?" Ria demanded.
"Tell him," Eric said. "Tell Aerune she'll die if she rides into battle."
The others slowly nodded, agreeing. The dream-Aerune was the vulnerable point of the Aerune who was trying to kill them now in the Chaos Lands. If they could change him, they might be able to affect the outcome of that battle as well.
"Kayla, can you take us to the Gate Aerete used to get to Aerune's Hall?" Eric asked. "I think we'd better all stay together. That way, if anyone starts to . . . forget . . . the rest of us will be here to yank them back."
"Sure." Kayla got to her feet. The next mad elflord's dream world she got trapped in, she vowed, was going to have chairs. "Come on."
She walked to the door of the hut, and stopped. "Uh-oh."
Eric shouldered past her. "This isn't good."
The rest of the village was gone. When they'd gone into Eric's hut to plan, a cluster of sod huts had stood around the base of the fairy howe and the High House erected upon its summit. Now the mound was empty, and only a few huts besides their own remained, and those looked fake and shadowy.
"Have we gone further back in time?" Toni asked, bewildered.
"No . . . the High House was here first. I think," Eric said. "C'mon, we have to see if the Gate is still there."
The village wasn't the only thing that was different, Kayla realized, as they hurried along the path that led to the ring of standing stones. Before, everything had been realer than real, down to the tiniest detail of flower and leaf. This time, it looked almost like a soundstagethings near them were still sharp and clear, but the farther away they got from the main road, the less detail everything had. It was creepy.
"I just thought of something," Ria said suddenly. "What if we win? What if we kill Aeruneout there?"
Nobody answered her. But if they killed Aerune, odds were they'd die with him, dying as his mind died.
Kayla did her very best not to imagine what that would feel like.
To her immense relief, the standing stones were still there. Kayla ran up the hill and stopped at the edge of the ring. "She just walked through. And then she was there."
"Let's try it," Eric said, taking her hand. "Everybody, stay close together. Kayla, think hard about what you saw on the other side."
Holding hands, the seven of them passed through the stones. Kayla closed her eyes tightly, thinking hard about Aerune's Great Hall.
And they were there. Aerune sat upon his chair, a pack of shaggy black hounds at his feet. One of them lifted its enormous head and growled, staring at the intruders with baleful red eyes.
"Can he see us?" Paul asked in a half whisper.
"I hope so," Eric whispered back. "And I hope he doesn't recognize us."
"Who enters my domain?" Aerune demanded, staring around the room. "Show yourselves!"
He gestured, and Kayla felt magic touch her skin like an icy spray of water. Aerune leapt to his feet, staring at them in shock.
"Great Lord," Eric said boldly, stepping forward, "we come to bring you a warning." He managed a courtly bow.
"Who are you?" the Sidhe lord demanded, staring at them in something very much like fear. "Mud-born? I can send you to realms of nightmare with but a single thoughtand I shall!" He raised his hand, but hesitated, obviously bewildered by their outlandish appearance and clothing.
"Lord Aerune, how can it harm one of the immortal Sidhe to hear our . . . humble . . . petition?" Ria stepped out from behind Eric and bowed her head meekly.
"We beg this boon in the Lady Aerete's name," Paul added quickly.
"So you are her folk," Aerune said, sounding reassured. "You grow strong in your borrowed magic." He settled back into his chair, and reached down to stroke the head of the nearest hound. It stopped growling and licked his hand. "Speak, then. For my lady's sake, I will hear you."
So the dream-Aerune didn't recognize them as his enemies. That was a point in their favor.
Eric took a deep breath and stepped forward. "Tomorrow the village faces the army of the Eastmen, and Aerete will fight atourside. But the Eastmen carry deathmetal, which is proof against all magic, and death even to the immortal Sidhe. If she goes into battle, she will die."
"Die?" Aerune got to his feet again and strode from the dais to stand before Eric, glaring down at him. "That cannot be! Her magic arms her against all the weapons of the mud-born!"
"Deathmetal destroys all magic, and burns the flesh of the Bright Lords. She will die," Eric said.
Aerune raised his hand to strike Eric, and seemed confused when Eric didn't cringe away from the blow. He lowered his hand again.
"Great Lord, what does it matter if the Bard is right or not?" Ria said smoothly, diverting Aerune's attention. "Your course is plain. Fight in her stead, slay her enemies, and preserve her from harm. Is that not the duty of a lord to his sworn lady?"
"Am I to take counsel from mud-born animals?" Aerune growled. He looked more closely at Ria. "You are not as they. How can this be?"
"The blood of the Sidhe runs in my veins," Ria answered carefully, "and by that blood, you know what I say is true. You must save your lady from those who would harm her."
"I" Aerune began, and for a moment he looked very young, and very frightened. "I She cannot die!"
The world rippled around them. They were back on the hillside. By now Kayla was almost used to the jarring transition. Though she cringed inside at the thought of the slaughter to come, she tried to take comfort from the fact that this time they all stood together, watching the two armies prepare to fight.
"This has happened before," Eric said quietly. "I . . . remember it. I think. What happens now?"
"You fight, Aerete dies, Aerune kills everybody in sight," Kayla said tightly. She pointed, to where Aerete and her elvensteed stood beside the first line of chariots. "That hasn't changed."
"But we've warned him. And we're here, not there," Toni said.
"I've got an idea," Kayla began. Then the horn sounded, and the two armies rushed to converge.
But before they could meet, Aerune was there. This time he did not wait for Aerete to fall, but turned upon the enemy host, sword flashing.
Kayla closed her eyes and leaned against Hosea's shoulder, trying to shut it all out. Hosea put his arms around her and held her tightly, but she could still hear the shocked sounds of horror and dismay from the others as they watched. In a much shorter time than before, there was silence.
She turned in Hosea's arms and opened her eyes.
The enemy army lay deadall of them. Aerete's people were untouched. Some knelt. Other lay full-length upon the ground in terror, prostrating themselves before one of the Bright Lords. Only Aerete stood tall, proud and angry, mounted upon her shining white mare.
Aerune walked slowly toward her, his sword dripping red and wet in his hand. But when he would have knelt at her feet, she stopped him with an imperious gesture.
"Stay back!" Aerete cried, and in the utter silence, her words carried clearly to the watchers upon the hill. "You disgust me. How could I ever have thought to love a monster who kills so easily? Go, and never come before me again till the end of your days, Aerune mac Audelaine!"
"This isn't working," Eric said wearily.
They were back in the hut. Kayla supposed that soldiers in battle must look the way they did nowshell-shocked and browbeaten. She felt like crying, but refused to give in to it.
"It seems we are doomed to replay the seminal event that formed Aerune's character forever, in every possible variation," Paul said slowly. "Once he loses Aerete's love, he begins to hate humanity."
"And even if we save her, that doesn't change," José said flatly. "She rejects him for them, and he turns to the Dark."
"And breaking out of here by magic still carries the same risk. Kayla. Back there, on the hill, you said you had an idea," Eric said. "I think we could all use a good idea right now."
"I think . . . Paul and José are right," Kayla said slowly, piecing the words together as she spoke. "Aerune's hurt. That's why we can't make this come out right. When Aerete died, something inside him broke, and everything that comes afterward comes because of that."
"So what are you suggesting?" Ria snapped. "Tea and sympathy? He's trying to kill usand doing a damned good job of it!"
"We can't raise the dead," Eric said sadly, and Kayla knew he was thinking about Jimmie.
"No," Kayla said slowly. "But we can heal the hurt. If he never sees Aerete die, then all the rest won't happen."
"Kayla," Eric said gently, "we can't do that. We can't go back in time and change the past that way. What else would change? It's like that SF paradox: if you go back in time and shoot your grandfather, you're never born, so you never go back in time and shoot your grandfather."
"I'm not even sure that saving Aerete would be a good idea," Toni said musingly. "Irememberwhat it was like to be one of Aerete's people. She was a loving mistress, but Aerune was right about one thing. We were pets. And I don't want to be somebody's pet, no matter how kind they are."
"We don't have to change the past," Kayla insisted. "Just change his mind, change the hate. Look, this is one of the things Healers do. Take the bad memories and make them stop hurting so much. Elizabet told me once that a Healer can even erase memoriesmake them go away for good. But it's dangerousboth to the Healer and the person they're working on. And it takes a lot of power. More power than I've got."
"Which brings us back to 'how,' " Eric said. "If we broke out of heregot ourselves back into real time somehow"
"We'll be toast," Ria said succinctly.
"Sounds to me like the little 'un's right," Hosea said suddenly. "Can't we just make Aerune forget that his lady friend's dead? If we could, it wouldn't be in the past. We're in Aerune's mind now, not then."
"We can't make it so tomorrow never comes," Eric said. "But you're right. If we can make it so that Aerune doesn't remember that it ever did . . ."
The seven of them looked at each other.
"We'd better hurry," Kayla said, looking toward the door of the hut. "Because I think the sun is going out."