The Iron Sword (The Fae War Chronicles Book 1) (8 page)

“Half-blood?”

“Yes. It isn’t considered polite to call them that. But mostly all of us left are full-blooded, since the Overworld became bound in iron and smoke. Most of us haven’t taken mortal lovers for years upon end.” Allene’s lovely pale face looked a bit sad at her last statement. Her pale gray eyes, lit from within by her thoughts, reminded me of the moon.

“You took mortal lovers often?” I couldn’t help myself. Curiosity made me sit up a little straighter in the bed.

Allene sighed longingly, turning her head half away from me as she gazed into the distance. I glanced at the intricate braiding of her dark hair, woven like a tapestry, and felt a twinge of envy at the very beauty of it. “Often enough to miss it now.” Then she glanced at me and the girlishness left her face. “But that’s neither here nor there,
saell doendhine.
”

“What’s that mean?” I felt like an idiot, asking question after question, and what little strength I had was beginning to fade.

“
Saell doendhine?
It means…” Allene searched for a moment for the words. “Young mortal. Human. It’s…an endearment.”

“My little mortal,” I said, and chuckled to myself softly. Allen seemed not to hear me as she busied herself with several small containers on the bedside table.

“Here,” she said. “Before you fall asleep again, take these. I will get you more
laetniss
.”

I didn’t particularly want more of the strangely sweet and biting drink, but I obediently held out my hand. Allene put what felt like pills into my palm. I looked down in surprise to see several white pills of various sizes that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a modern emergency room.

“Painkillers and antibiotics,” Allene said. She smiled a little at my dumbfounded expression as she handed me the cup of
laetniss
. “Just because we haven’t taken mortal lovers in a while doesn’t mean we don’t keep ourselves up to date with mortal medicine. Just in case.”

“Well,” I said honestly, “I’m glad you do.” I washed the pills down with a swallow of
laetniss
, and drank the rest of the cup for good measure.

“Good,” Allene said. She rearranged the blankets around me. “Now you’ll sleep more, and when you wake up again you should be mostly well.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Am I going to sleep for three months then? I’m pretty sure my arm was broken.”

“There is your mortal medicine,” said Allene, “and then there is Sidhe healing. You have the benefit of both.” She rearranged my pillow. “I didn’t say your arm would be
completely
healed, either. You will be
mostly
well.”

I couldn’t help but smile a little. I lay back on the pillow and yawned. A comfortable warmth spread from my stomach…a product of the
laetniss,
I suspected. Part of me wanted to ask Allene about Finnead, but sleep stole over me so quickly that I had no choice but to close my eyes. I drifted into dreams again, Finnead’s face the first image in my mind.

Chapter 8

W
hen I opened my eyes again, firelight danced on the walls of my small room. Allene still sat by my bedside, her dark head bent slightly and her long fingers moving gracefully as she drew a needle and thread through blue cloth. Then she looked up, and her moon-pale eyes brightened as they met mine.

“You’re awake again,” she said, deftly tying a knot in the silver thread. She cut the thread with a small pair of scissors and shook out the blue cloth. It was a long shirt, with a broad scooping neckline and loose sleeves. A delicate pattern of silver vines and leaves shimmered about the wrists and neck of the shirt. Allene smiled at me. “You have impeccable timing,
saell doendhine
. I’ve just finished.” She put her needle and thread aside and stood, draping the shirt over the back of a chair, adding it to the other pieces of clothing folded and arranged there. “Are you thirsty?”

I nodded, finding my throat too dry to speak. She gave me a cup and I was relieved to find that it was water. Sweet, crisp water, but nothing like the
laetniss
. Allene watched me, a small smile still turning up one side of her mouth. I looked at her once I was finished drinking, unsure of what came next.

Allene took my cup and put it on the bedside table. “If you feel strong enough,” she said, “your friend Molly has been asking for you.”

While I felt much better, just the thought of walking anywhere made my arm ache a little. “Can she come in here and visit?”

Allene shook her head. “This is the healing-room. It is only for those who are injured or sick, and those caring for them. It has…” She paused, searching for the words. “It has a certain kind of power. We call it…I think in your tongue it is called holy.”

I thought about that for a moment. “The power in this room…could it do strange things to a person?”

“Like what?” Allene asked, smoothing a wrinkle out of the bed-sheets with her graceful hand.

“I’ve had strange dreams,” I said. “Dreams that felt real.”

“They very well may have been. You might have been seeing things that were, or are, or could be,” Allene said. “Especially since you are from the Overworld
.
” Before I could ask, she clarified. “We also call it Doendhtalam, the mortal world.”

“And what’s the name for your world?” I asked, intrigued by this mellifluous language.

“Faeortalam,” Allene replied. “The true world, the fair world.”

“Dreaming is different here than in Doendhtalam?” I asked, trying out the word. I probably pronounced it wrong, but Allene looked pleased.

“It is from Faeortalam that dreams come,” she said. “Mortal dreams…the very substance of them, it comes from this world, through the gates where Faeortalam
and Doendhtalam
meet.” Her gray eyes grew distant. “In recent years, most of the gates have closed. And there are only a handful left that our Knights may pass through. Our historians have been scouring the scrolls. We do not know if it is the fate of Faeortalam to die slowly, choked by the smokes of your factories and the death of your dreams.” Her face darkened. “And the evil from our own world…it spreads like a poison.”

I pushed down the covers with my left hand, moving my legs experimentally. I felt weak and a little sore, but other than that everything seemed functional. “If dreams come to us from your world, what does our world give you?”

“Substance itself,” Allene replied. She held up a hand as I opened my mouth to ask another question. “I am no great scholar,
saell doendhine
. I do not know how to explain it very well, only that without your world, we would probably be little more than shadows, dreams passing through the light now and again.”

I pushed myself into a sitting position with my left arm, and swung my legs off the edge of the bed. Allene stood close by as I stood. Other than a slight head rush and a bit of tremble in my knees, I felt fine. I pulled at the hem of the white nightgown awkwardly, not really wanting to think about how I had gotten out of my jeans and t-shirt.

“Would you like to bathe?” Allene asked.

I put a hand to my hair and grimaced. “Yes, please.”

Allene guided me to a small room off to the side, really only an alcove in the wall with a heavy curtain partitioning it from the rest of the room. To my surprise, it concealed an intricately wrought shower-head. Allene showed me how to work the levers and dials, and then explained the different soaps and creams laid out in small dishes on a ledge. She left two towels folded on a chair just outside the curtain, along with a set of fresh clothes.

I didn’t waste any more thought on wondering at the existence of the shower. Obviously the Sidhe were a sophisticated people, not stuck in medieval times or anything of that sort. Awkwardly, I managed to pull the nightgown over my head. I still had my elastic pony-tail holder in my hair, which somehow gave me a little bit of comfort as I turned on the stream of water, slipping inside the curtain. Turning the dials so that the water steamed, I let the hot stream sluice over my body, easing my aches. My arm hurt a little, but nothing like the hot pain that had radiated from it before, and there was no cast, just the cloth sling that I reasoned would dry eventually.

Washing my hair one-handed proved to be frustrating, but the sweet scent of the hair-cream that served as a shampoo mollified me. I scrubbed my face and then washed my body, noting the fading bruises across the right side of my ribs. I hissed when the soap got into some half-healed scrapes—the worst ran up the side of my right leg. The thought of the
garrelnost
surfaced suddenly in my mind and I jumped a little at the clarity, the precise reality of the image in my head. I could see the beast’s glistening fangs and evil eyes as plainly as if I were looking at a photograph. I shook my head a little, putting my face under the hot water to wash the thought away. If this world affected my dreams, then perhaps it would affect my waking mind as well, I thought. The idea made my stomach twist uncomfortably. Photographic memory had never been on my wish list.

I wrapped one of the towels around my body and the other around my hair. Allene had politely left the room, leaving a set of fine new clothes laid out carefully on a chair. The blue shirt, embellished with Allene’s remarkable embroidery, fit loosely over a plain white undershirt, reaching halfway down my thighs. I carefully took my right arm out of the sling, grimacing a little at the tender pain as I slipped my arm through the sleeve. The dark pants fit snugly, and they were made of some slightly elastic material that reminded me a little of my favorite blue jeans. A belt the same color as the pants nipped in the volume of the blue shirt at my waist, and there was also a pair of soft, boot-like shoes that fit as though they had been molded onto my feet.

“Good,” said Allene from behind me. “You’re dressed.”

I tried not to show that she had startled me. No sound that I’d heard had betrayed her return to the room.

“Here,” she continued, “if you sit down I’ll braid your hair.”

I sat down in the chair that had held my clothes. Allene picked up a comb from the bedside table and came to stand behind me. Her hands were gentle and methodical as she combed my hair.

“How does your arm feel?” she asked as she worked through a tangle.

“It’s sore,” I admitted, “but a lot better than I expected.”

“Mortals are very slow to heal,” Allene said, “but you healed more quickly than we expected as well.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Going through the Gate didn’t kill me, and I healed more quickly than you expected. I’m two for two.”

Allene began braiding my hair. I could feel her twisting and weaving the strands together, much more gently than my mother had ever braided my hair when I was younger.

“You’re lucky,” Allene said seriously. “It may not be my place to say…” She hesitated.

“What? I won’t be offended.” I closed my eyes, enjoying the feel of her fingers working through my hair.

“I don’t think the other Knights would have saved you,” Allene said softly. “Since the Gates began closing, since you…your kind…began wreathing your world in smoke and fire, we haven’t exactly looked charitably upon mortals.”

I thought of the alien beauty of the night landscape that I had glimpsed after Finnead brought me through the Gate. “I think I can understand that.”

“You say you understand,” Allene said gently, “but I do not know whether you do.” Her voice changed. “And we love your world, though it seems like we might not. You are all…fascinating. So warm and fiery.”

I sat silently for a few minutes, thinking. The Sidhe, though they weren’t too happy with the modern turn of the human world, did really
like
humans. And though Allene only looked a few years older than me, I supposed she was…ancient. Literally. When I finally found the words to speak again, I said, “Is it impolite to ask a Sidhe’s age?”

Allene laughed, a musical sound that spilled like water over everything in the room. “Some things don’t change from world to world after all,
saell doendhine
. Yes, it’s considered slightly rude. But I think no one would fault you for it, because after all…” She checked herself, trailing off.

“After all, I’m only a mortal?” I asked, unable to help myself.

Allene began sliding silver pins in my hair. “Yes.”

I sat up a little straighter. “Why do you need Molly so badly then? She’s half mortal,” I pointed out.

“Why the Queen summoned your friend, I do not presume to know,” Allene said with a cool, aloof tone. She went on braiding my hair and when she was finished, she left me alone for a few moments. I took a few deep breaths, willing myself to hold it together. This was, after all, the adventure that I had wanted so badly. But the constant ache of my arm and the horrible weak feeling in the pit of my stomach illustrated very clearly that Molly had been right; this reality was not a charming fairy tale, told to children before their parents tucked them in at night. The Sidhe world was beautiful, yes, but it was real and dangerous—perhaps fatal
.
I felt very certain that if I died here in Faeortalam, I would still be very dead in my own world.

Allene announced her return by clearing her throat. A delicious smell wafted through the air, reaching me before her, and my stomach rumbled loudly. Allene handed me a bowl and a spoon. The bowl held what looked like very ordinary oatmeal with a liberal topping of brown sugar and dried fruit. I balanced the bowl on my lap and ate with relish, as fast as my awkward left-handed grip on the spoon allowed. Allene watched me eat and I was so hungry I didn’t care at all.

After I finished, Allene took my bowl and said, “Now I will take you to see your friend.”

I felt a new strength suffusing my body, and I thought that the bowl of oatmeal probably hadn’t been ordinary at all. I stood and Allene helped me place my arm in a new, dry sling. She held me at arm’s length, like a mother or older sister, inspecting my hair and the fit of the clothes. After a moment, she nodded, and said, “Follow me. Stay close.”

What would happen if I didn’t stay close? I wondered, feeling like a very large and awkward duckling trailing after the gliding Sidhe, who seemed not to touch the ground as she walked.

The door to the small healing room opened silently, without even a slight squeal to show that it even had hinges. A slight cool breeze swept over me, the air from the passageway as fresh and light as if it had just swept over a grass-covered hillside. The walls of the hallway sloped outward, meeting above our heads in a smooth arch. They were made of a smooth gray material that looked almost like marble, shot through with veins of a white substance that pulsated softly with the same light I had seen in the stand of silver trees. The veins of silvery white formed an intricate pattern on the walls, reminding me of Celtic designs. I reached out a hand to touch the glowing white substance, intrigued as I followed Allene further down the passageway.

“You might not want to touch that,” she commented without even turning around.

I let my outstretched hand fall to my side, feeling once again like a child caught drawing on the table by her teacher. “Why not?”

“Because,” Allene said, “that is the
taebramh,
the stuff of dreams.”

“What would happen if I touched it?” I took a few quick steps to catch up to Allene, who continued gliding onward down the passageway.

“The
taebramh
is powerful,” Allene said. “I cannot say for sure.”

Allene stopped, and turned to one side of the hall. If I squinted a little I could make out the bare outlines of a door in the silver-veined smoothness of the wall. She looked at me. “That is one of the differences between the Sidhe and the Doendhe. You humans, you cannot look at a tapestry and say, it is beautiful.” Her moon-silver eyes stared into the distance as she gestured with her delicate pale hands. “You have to bring it close to your face, and look at it under a lens, and finally start to pick the tapestry apart to find out how the very wool was spun into thread.” She looked at me with an inscrutable expression on her cool, beautiful face. “You cannot look at it and admire its beauty and think it is enough.” Her mouth thinned, just a fraction, but I was getting used to picking up on Sidhe facial expressions. “You have to tear it apart, thread by thread.” Allene smiled mirthlessly. “It has been many years since a mortal has done anything of worth for either Court. We do not expect much of you anymore. It is easier to think of you as children who do not know any better so we are not disappointed.”

“Finnead didn’t treat us like children,” I said. My argument sounded feeble even to my own ears. Why was it that I felt so…adrift? I needed something solid to anchor myself in this new, strange world. I felt as though I was sliding down off the deck of a sinking ship, into inscrutable waters. I suddenly became aware that there were other Sidhe in the hallway, passing noiselessly by, no doubt hearing every word of my clumsy protest.

“A knight of the Court must…treat Doendhe differently. The Named Knights are the hands of the Queen in the mortal world.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Why did the Fae get to meddle in our world, yet there was such mistrust and dislike of humans here in their world? I saw the glances directed toward me by the passing Sidhe; I clearly did not look as though I was carved from polished white marble, and my blonde hair, even though it was on the darker side, stood out among the raven tresses of the Unseelie Court. Would the Seelie Court have golden hair, then? Perhaps we should have waited for them, I thought in annoyance, waiting for Allene to open the door with a secret password or whatever Fae charm they used. But she merely put her hand out and pushed, and the door swung noiselessly inward.