Dream Magic (27 page)

Trev
experienced a hard, lonely journey through the wilds of the Great Erm to find Oberon and his elves. The trail itself had grown cold, and although there were still broken branches to mark the passage of Myrrdin through the forest, the trees were quickly recovering. The branches were green again, as it had been weeks since they’d been snapped by the rampaging monster Myrrdin had become.

As he followed the leagues-
long trail, Trev had to wonder at a few things that seemed glaringly obvious to him: first off, why had the elves not followed this exact trail to find Myrrdin? Secondly, why had Myrrdin himself not covered his tracks, nor even thought to do so?

He was not sure, but he thought he knew the answer to the second mystery: Myrrdin was mad. Not just
filled with a bit of idle eccentricity, which was to be expected of any wizard, but stark raving
mad
.

Trev
suspected that Myrrdin’s stay beneath the earth had so unbalanced the wizard’s mind he’d become something other than himself in both form and spirit. Be that as it may, the first mystery still puzzled him. Elves were mercurial creatures, and thus they might well take their time in exacting revenge. But they would eventually come hunting for a being who’d slain them in number. Of this, Trev was certain. And yet, for some reason, they had never bothered to do so.

A single possible answer to this confounding fact came to him as he climbed over fallen logs, broken trunks and thickets of wild thorns and vines. Could it be that Myrrdin had slain more elves than he’d realized? Had he gone mad for weeks, marching from one village to the next, killing all of them in t
he region? This seemed unlikely but chilling if true. In his heart, Trev hoped this was not the case. He didn’t want to find countless bodies strewn here and there throughout the forest as he sought Oberon. It would be a terrible thing to discover the people who represented half his heritage were all dead.

And so it was with trepidation that he approached the elf village when he found it at last.

The signs were all there, and they were not good. There was a woven wall of wood, but it was knocked down in one section—the section directly in the path of Myrrdin’s rampage. No one had bothered to repair it.

He crept to the gap in the wall and stared inside. Just as Myrrdin had told him, it was a scene of vast devastation. Dozens of huts were flattened. Only a few sto
od tall and proud, as if fresh-grown from the loam of the forest floor.

Trev
used great stealth as he passed the walls and entered the village. The mushroom huts here were different. They were lighter in color and shorter than the others…

He smiled to himself. The elves were rebuilding. This place was not
all
dead. His people lived yet.

“Quite a rude way to introduce yourself,” said a melodious voice behind him.

Trev jumped and whirled around with a start. There, standing alarmingly close, was an elf. He had his arms crossed and his foot was tapping. A smile played over his lips, and his face seemed to Trev to be both youthful and infinitely old at the same time.

“I’m sorry,” Trev said. “I’m Trev, and I’ve come to seek the elves. When I saw the damaged wall and the crushed homes inside, I feared the worst and proceeded with caution.”

The elf nodded slowly and stared at him for a time when he’d stopped speaking. Then he lifted his finger, pointed it at Trev and said: “Ah-ha! I see it now! You are Puck’s child!”

“Uh, yes sir.”

The elf walked around him in a slow circle, examining every inch of him.

“Well grown. No deformities. Stro
ng arms…young, but full-grown. A wise investment.”

“Excuse me, sir? Can I ask your name?”

“Rudely spoken. You know who I am in any case.”

Trev felt embarrassed. He didn’t want to guess and be wrong—but he decided to go with his gut on this one. “You’re Oberon. My father’s father.”

“Just so. Welcome to my damaged village, grandson. Will you have something to eat?”

“Uh, sure.”

The old elf bounded away then, and Trev was startled that someone as old as the biggest tree in the Erm could be so spry. He followed at a trot, and soon found himself led to the new region of mushroom growth. A few dozen others were there as well, and they looked at him coldly.

“This is Puck’s child,” Oberon said. “Trev, meet your uncles and aunties. We are not so numerous as we were last year, but we will recover in time.”

“Are there—other villages?” Trev asked hopefully.

Oberon laughed at him. “Of course. There always seems to be another, if you look long and hard enough. I doubt
that even I have found them all.”

Trev nodded, relieved. No one in the Haven had any real idea how many elves there were, or if there were other elf lords as powerful as Oberon. The prevailing opinion was that there were, but that Oberon was odd among the patriarchs of his people in that he had frequent interaction with humans. No one knew exactly why he did so, but it was undeniable. The records and stories of his visits, tricks and battles were centuries old.

After a few hours, Trev felt more at ease in the village. He ate their food and sipped their drinks—which were, if anything, more powerful than his Aunt Kaavi’s had been.

When he felt comfortable enough to ask questions, he brought up the topic of Myrrdin. Oberon did not seem surprised.

“I wondered when you would get to that,” he said.

Trev blinked. “What do you mean, grandsire?”

“I mean, when a man is sent to do a task, he’d best get about it when he is in my employ. You seem lackadaisical. I wouldn’t be surprised if Myrrdin docks your pay when you return to him with your tales.”

Trev glanced around at the others. They were supping together on seeds the size of stones and drinking mugs of nectar in carven pea pods. The meal was oddly flavored, but delicious and strangely filling. When he met the eyes of the others around him, they looked away and quieted.

“Grandfather,” Trev said, “I don’t understand your meaning.”

A new person stepped to the edge of the circle then, and stared at him sternly. It
was none other than Morgana herself.

When Trev saw her, he had to admit to himself he felt a pang. Gone from her eyes was any warmth or feeling for him. He could tell in an instant that he was just one of many, and that their brief time together had meant no more to her than a single pleasant luncheon might
have meant to Trev.

“Hello Morgana,” he said, greeting her brightly. He wanted to hide his inner
emotions. The elves would not understand any such sentimentality, and from the look on her face he doubted that she would, either.

Morgana put her hands upon her hips. She still wore her white gown and her face and form were still pleasing to the eye—but not so much so that he was dazzled by her beauty. Perhaps it was the comparative presence of so many elves nearby. They were much more perfect and refined in appearance and manners.
It was difficult for a human woman to compete.

She looked at Oberon and made a harsh gesture toward Trev. “This is taking too long. We have a schedule, and I’m not impressed by the rigor
with which any of you follow it.”

“Rigorous schedules?” laughed Oberon. “Such things are not in our nature. Sit and eat, woman.”

Instead, she glared at him and touched the Jewel at her throat. Trev could not miss the interplay. The moment she did so, Oberon was pulled to his feet as if someone had circled his waist with a rope and yanked it taut.

He turned to Trev, and his face darkened. “Grandson,” he said, “I have something to show you.”

“As you will, my host.”

Trev stood and followed Oberon, who led him to an area at the very edge of the village. Here, a huge tree had been ripped from the ground. The hole was deep and dark, and seemed to exude unpleasant odors.

“What’s this?” Trev asked.

“You’re new home, I’m afraid.”

Trev looked at him in shock. He opened his mouth, but he did not know what to say. He looked around himself, and saw that the other elves had followed them quietly. They stood in a circle and as Oberon spoke, they slowly came closer. Morgana was among them, and for the first time, she was smiling.

Trev began to suspect she was behind all of this, so he turned to her now.

“Why this?” he asked aloud. “Why now, after seducing me in the wood? Did I not please your sensibilities? Should I have brought flowers the next day?”

The elves twittered at this, but as Morgana’s smile faded to anger, they quieted.

“Impudent,” she said. “From the first to the last.” She turned to Oberon and with a gesture indicated Trev, as if he were some kind of odd exhibit. “Did I not tell you?” she said. “I gave him a mission, and he did as he pleased. For a time I was fooled, but no longer.”

Oberon nodded slowly.

“I have done so much on your behalf,” Trev said, becoming angry in turn. “Did you know that Old Hob tried to waylay me and outright kill me on multiple occasions? And did you know that a Kindred Warrior—an individual named Harrdin who claimed to be working on your behalf, did his damnedest to sell me to a dragon? And that was just the beginning.”

She shook her head. “Listen to that tone, that angry stance. It
can’t be denied. You are a mad-thing, Trev. You must be contained and controlled.”

“It is my fault,” Oberon said.

“How so?” asked Morgana.

“I made him what he is.”

“You mean with your seed?” she asked. “I’ve found no other full-blooded elf or human so recalcitrant.”

“No, not exactly,” Oberon said. “I mean that he is immune to your charms, and there can only be one answer as to why.”

Morgana furrowed her brow and stared from face to face. “His mind is clear and not broken, so I should be able to bend it.”

“Just so. But there is one thing that can stop you.”

“Are you saying he possesses the Quicksilver? Nothing else could withstand my power…” Here, Morgana broke off and angrily walked to Trev. She put out her hand and extended it toward Trev.

“I understand now,” she said, raging. “You have it, don’t you? You found it along the way, and you have it hidden upon your person. That is how you resist me now, and did
so earlier.”

“I have nothing—certainly nothing like a Jewel of Power. I’m seeking it, among others, on your behalf. I admit, I was more taken with you the first time we met, but perhaps that was because you were in a more pleasant mood.”

Morgana made a growling sound of frustration.

Oberon approached them both, lifting his hands and chuckling. “Such foolishness!” he said. “Morgana, he doesn’t
possess
the Quicksilver, he
is
the Quicksilver.”

Her mouth opened
then closed again. Trev’s shock was even greater.

“Grandfather, what are you saying?” he asked, but even as he did so, he thought of a dozen things that made perfect sense when viewed in this new light. As a child, he’d been able to escape King Arawn of the Dead, one of the most powerful creatures to ev
er wield a Jewel. And his hair—

“My silver locks,” he said aloud. “They cannot be cut—at least, if they are cut, they grow back the next day as full as before.”

He reached up then and removed his cap. His hair fell loosely to his shoulders, as silvery and perfect as ever.

“Yes,” Oberon said, “your
hair. But it is only an external detail. You
are
the Quicksilver Jewel. You, in your entirety. As the bloodhound is the Red.”

Trev shook his head, and took a step backward. “But I can’t be a Jewel! I’m a person. I’ve got a life, parents and memories.”

“The Quicksilver is like that,” Oberon said. “It’s odd—even for a Jewel.”

“You knew this all along and you withheld it
?” demanded Morgana with sudden fury.

“Nonsense, woman,” Oberon laughed. “You asked me to find the Quicksilver, and here he is standing before you. I daren’t ask what else might please you.”

Morgana fumed, but she turned to Trev and stared at him as if he were some kind of curious insect.

“How does he work? How can we utilize him?”

“We can’t. He is an independent entity. He can’t be attuned or held in one’s hand. He can only be befriended. And from my experience in these matters, I’d say you’re doing a rather poor job of that.”

Trev had to agree with his grandsire on that point.

“Grandfather,” he said. “I don’t know why you listen to this unpleasant woman. I did at first, but it is easily overcome. I would suggest we turn her out of the village now that she’s insulted us both so thoroughly.”

Another growl of rage came from Morgana. Trev gathered that she was highly unaccustomed to being mistreated in any way.

Oberon shook his head sadly. “This will not end that way, I’m afraid.” He gestured toward the yawning hole at his feet again. “Now, step inside boy. I will grow a great tree here to mark the spot. It will cost me the blood of my fallen elves to do it, so you should be prideful of their sacrifice.”