Book Two: Fast Falls the Eventide (part 1)
“What do you mean, missing?”
Jenny Haniver, wrapped in a too-large brocade smoking jacket that looked like it had seen better centuries, stood in the front hall of Hartshorn looking around at the circle of faces whose expressions ranged from the anxious to the downright terrified. Even the unflappable Penrod, who had met her outside with the robe when she was halfway to the house, had a brow creased in worry.
“Well, it’s just like that, Magus,” said Freddy the Faun, wringing his gloved hands together. “We saw the fire out in the woods and came down to tell Her Lordship about it, and we thought maybe she’s already gone out without tellin’ us. So we started out to make sure. But then Gregor came up all croakin’ like anything, and the Professor said he’d just come from downstairs and Her Lordship wasn’t there, and wasn’t nowhere in the house or on the hill either. He was pretty worked up about it, from what the Professor said he told him.”
“I see. And where is the Professor?”
“He went with Anemone and Pagourie up the hill to see if she’d got the gate open for the dragon, and to talk to Argus and them. About when Gregor came back out to get you.”
Jenny nodded. She’d got most of this already, from Gregor’s worried report on the way back, after she figured the dragon would keep until later. She did allow herself a small relief that someone else had made it their problem while she tore into this one. “Alright,” she said, as evenly as she could manage. “Let’s have a look at the Lune Chamber.”
It was about as she’d expected. There was still a trickle of smoke wafting from the censers, and that odd… thickness to the air that told her there had been magic working in here. And other than that, and the stain left behind where Penrod had cleaned up baboon droppings, it was empty.
“Hmm.” She pulled the smoking jacket tight around her and knelt down. Marcie’s scent lingered here, sandalwood oil over a hint of musk, and she could feel the barest hint of crackle in the air as she passed her hand through. And there was something else, too; it was like a shape at the corner of her vision that she knew would flee if she turned to look, but if she half-closed her eyes, she could almost make it out. A shape like a doorway…
“Ah,” she said. “Ah. Aha. There. I think I get it.” She stood up. “I think… I think she’s here. Or near, anyway. Sort of. Just kind of… sideways. Same space, different frequency. If that makes any sense. Okay. Rayne.”
“Yes?” Rayne stepped up. To his credit, he’d been all set to comb through every acre of Otherwood on the search, and had only been persuaded with some difficulty to wait for her. She ran a hand through her hair and looked at him; she’d had worse help in the past.
“I need some things. Peppermint oil, wine, an athame. Chalk, blue if we’ve got it. A basin or bowl of clear water. Get the big clay one that’s over the sink.”
“Right. Got it.”
“Okay.” She started to roll up the fraying sleeves of her robe, and felt the trickle of warmth on her leg. “Ah, crap. And you know that tin that’s up on the vanity in the upstairs bathroom?”
“You mean the one that’s got all the—”
“That’s the one. Yeah, bring that too. And Rayne? You might want to hurry.”
*
Moving up the slopes of Temple Knoll, Professor Nandana was two strides ahead of Pagourie, who had his arms full of his books and was struggling to keep up. Beside Nandana was Anemone, her long legs eating the distance with great speed, but he was keeping pace without seeming to exert much effort. The Professor was, indeed, surprisingly nimble and light on his feet for a man of his size, and when he was in full stride it seemed like the landscape simply rolled away to accommodate him. He crested the hill and went to where the dragon was bound in a scaly ball beside the massive treestump, straining to no avail against its enchanted chains. The Wildish had thoughtfully roped it to the roots to prevent it rolling away.
“I can see this phase of the operation can be counted a success,” he said. Argus nodded.
“Aye. Is Her Lordship on her way, then?”
“I’m afraid Her Lordship has met an unforseen complication in the working tonight. Anemone can give you the details, I’m sure, better than I. But let’s see what can be done about this.” He walked up and knelt in front of the dragon. “Poor creature. I almost wish we could simply loose you here and leave you be. You would not be the first fearsome beast to haunt these lands, certainly.” He looked up and winked at Argus. “But, we must do what we must do. Please accept my apologies for the inconveniences we’ve inflicted on you, Master Wyrm.”
Argus chuckled. “I don’t suppose we’re just going to leave it here until Her Lordship’s ready, are we?”
“No, of course not.” Nandana straightened, brushed leaves from his trousers, adjusted his little spectacles. “A moment, if you please.”
He closed his eyes and hummed a low, deep, thrumming note, and held it for a long breath; and then he opened his eyes again, and lifted a hand, palm out, and smiled sadly.
The fabric of Otherwood, already all too fragile, tore just a fraction more…
“There. That should suffice.”
A door of golden light had opened out of the roots of the ash stump, shimmering and radiant. Behind it, Somewhere, was cool shadow and the sharp scents of old earth, ice, and blood; the assembled Folk Under all lifted their heads to its wind.
“Now, let us relieve you of these.” Nandana touched a hand to the chains, and they fell away like snipped threads. Instantly the dragon uncurled, and coiled, and reared, snarling, its eyes full of hate. It seemed about to call up its fire, but the Professor simply looked at it over his glasses, his hands folded in front of him. It paused, and hissed. Then it turned away and slithered away through the gate, the barb of its tail lashing. The light dimmed and faded in its wake, and then the door was gone.
“Obviously,” said Nandana, cleaning his spectacles on the hem of his kurta, “the Lord of Otherwood was successful in opening the doorway, and we simply had to let it go through.”
Argus nodded, half a smile crooking his mouth. “Obviously, aye.”
“Well, then. I believe that is that. I think we can all use some time in our cozy homes now. Thank you, my friends, for all your help.” He gave the knot of motley Wildish a deep bow.
“Professor, sir.” Pagourie ran up to him as he turned to go. “My lord. This is all… I mean… There’s more to it than just the dragon, isn’t there? Is something wrong?”
“Very wrong, yes. There is much work to attend to now, I’m afraid. And I think it means the time has come to use that strength we have to its best purpose.”
“What would you have us do?” said Argus, shouldering his long spear.
“Nothing yet, dread and watchful Captain. But prepare yourselves, I think. You may be called upon yet to defend your realm with such force as you can muster.”
“We’ll do that. What of you?”
Nandana sighed and looked around at the wood. “I’ll be leaving before long. I fear I cannot stay here without making what is happening worse. But I think I may stop by on my way out and call on your friend the king. May I have your leave, Captain, to come as a guest to the grottoes of the Folk Under?”
“Of course.”
“Then I shall see you soon, my friend. And in the meantime, may the Moon watch well over you and your people. And may the Mystery watch over us all.”
*
Marcie came to on a wooden floor, and wondered how long she’d been unconscious. Then she remembered that she wasn’t home, and didn’t know where she’d gone, or been taken to – the recollection was more than a little blurred. She breathed deep and willed herself not to panic.
She sat up. She could smell tea brewing, mint and chamomile, and hear the sounds of insects calling to each other outside. The room she was in was small but tidy: a little table with two chairs, a small set of shelves lined with neatly labeled jars, a round basket containing a quilt and several tight little skeins of wool yarn, with long needles stuck in them. Light came from an oil lamp and a number of fat candles, and made the place surprisingly bright and cheery.
“I was starting to be afraid you’d never wake up.”
She turned around. Behind her was a big, soft-looking armchair upholstered in green tapestry and lined with comfortable little pillows. It occupant was settled snugly in the middle of them, and smiled as Marcie looked up.
She was small and delicate-featured, with a heart-shaped face framed by hair the color of oak leaves in autumn. She had little oval glasses that the candlelight flashed on, and was dressed in plaid pajamas and fuzzy slippers, sitting cross-legged amid the cushions. In her lap was something half-knit that her long, pale needles were in motion on, clicking and sliding over each other, but the shape and even the exact color of it was hard to tell. On the floor beside the chair, a ball of yarn sat and danced as it payed out into the work.
Marcie bowed her head. “Hello, Mistress Intarsia,” she said.
“Hello, Branwen. Only, wait – you’re not going by that these days, are you? Marcie, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It, uh, started as a joke.”
“Sometimes they do. There are worse names, though. That one’s a warrior’s.”
“Is it?”
“I think it had better be.” Click, click, went the needles, the color of bone, and the thread pulled and looped and knotted. “How’s the family?”
“Uh, fine. We’re doing okay. Jenny’s, you know, Jenny.” She looked around the room again. “So is this where you… live?”
“What, here?” Mistress Intarsia laughed. “No, I wouldn’t say that. I’m not really an out-in-the-woods kind of girl, if you want me to be honest. Though it is an awfully nice place you’ve got. No, you might say this is just where I’m staying.”
Of all the Powers that have made themselves known in the worlds, perhaps the most enigmatic are the ones known as the Tessitori. It has become clear that they are working at the behest of something beyond themselves, but just what that might be, or what agenda they advance on its behalf, is a matter on which they are maddeningly vague. It has been suggested that they are manifestations of the unknowable Mystery itself, and since their goals appear to be what is generally thought of as benevolent, this may even be true. Any confirmation or denial of it is something that, along with anything other than the merest hint of their true natures, they have so far been steadfast in their refusal to reveal. They always appear as workers of cloth, and tend to speak in textile metaphors; it is, they claim, the closest they can come to getting physical, time-bound creatures to understand the work they do.
Marcie nodded, as much as anything in acknowledgment that that was all the answer she was going to get. “So, are we still in Otherwood, then?”
Mistress Intarsia bobbed her head from side to side, as if weighing the question. “You wouldn’t be wrong to say that, no. But back-side of it, I think, would be the way of putting it. The same thing, but the other way round. Purl-wise.”
“Okay. Why?”
“Well, what do you think?”
Marcie took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The last moments of the time before she woke up were slippery, and a blur, but she remembered the working she’d been trying to do, and the terrible confusion that came with seeing why it was going awry. “I was… trying to open a gate. But everything was wrong. Tangled. Out of place. I guess what I was trying to do pulled me here instead.”
Mistress Intarsia smiled and looked down at her dancing needles. “Well, I’m not going to say I had nothing to do with that. But so far, not bad. Go on.”
“Um. I think I… failed, because something’s wrong. With the whole realm. Something’s… something’s wrong with Otherwood.”
“That’s plain enough, yes. Can you tell what, or why?”
Marcie shook her head. “I don’t know. It looks… when I saw it, the whole of it, it looked almost inside-out. And it kept changing, warping.”
“Warping. Ha. And wefting, I imagine, too. Well. All right.” Candlelight flashed on the glasses as she looked up. “You’re the Lord of this place, Marchess Branwen Bishop-Ashleigh. What is it about Otherwood that such a thing would happen? What is Otherwood, then?”
“It’s a gate.”
“Is it?”
“Um, okay. It’s… it’s a borderland.”
“Closer to the mark. Otherwood, my dear, is a seam.”
Marcie nodded. “Alright, I should have figured that’s where you were going. Okay. It’s a seam. Explain.”
Mistress Intarsia’s needles danced and clicked. “A seam, because it is a joining-together of two places. Necessary to make a whole out of different parts. But seams bear a lot of strain, duckie. The pulling of the fabric in different directions takes its toll. And one break in the thread that binds can lead to a great unraveling. Do you see now?”
“I think so. You’re telling me that something’s missing that’s holding Otherwood together, right?”
“More that something is missing in Otherwood that binds together those realms to which it is adjacent. If your domain is a seam, then it is also a boundary, and if that seam were to burst and the boundary fall away – what then?”
“Then…” Marcie swallowed. “Then there’s no telling what can get through, is there?”
“Right again. You’re not so bad at this after all.” She looked up and smiled. “Tea, then?”
“I don’t…” Marcie shook her head again. “No, thank you. I don’t understand. What am I supposed to do? How am I meant to fix what’s happening?”
The room around her shimmered, just for a moment, like a pebble dropped in a still pool. Mistress Intarsia looked off to one side. “Ah, that would be your clever and skillful wife, knocking at the door for you. No time for tea anyway, after all. Next time, maybe.”
“Wait, no! Mistress Intarsia…”
The shimmer again, stronger this time. The candle flames flickered.
“You’re asking me?” The light in the room dimmed, but the flames of the candles still shone in the little glasses, and on the ends of the pale needles going back and forth, in and out of the pattern they made. “It’s yours to keep and make whole, after all. And you know well how to repair a seam.”
The candles guttered, and the light shimmered one last time, and faded away on the words:
“Sew, Otherwood. Sew.”
*
Jenny Haniver, wine goblet in one hand, athame in the other, stepped carefully across the circle she’d drawn in chalk on the carpet of the Lune Chamber directly under the disk of the open skylight. She took a deep breath and sat down in the middle of it, set the goblet down beside her, and laid the dagger across her lap. Off to the side, Rayne held the water basin in both hands.
“Okay. Hand it across. Don’t break the line.”
“Got it.” Rayne knelt and eased the bowl over in both hands. She took it in one, and set it down directly in front of her, the wine on one side and the athame on the other. “Now what?”
“Okay. Widdershins around. Any kind of chant or cantrip of opening you know, get it going and keep it going. Sprinkle the peppermint oil as you go. Don’t worry if it runs out, just keep on with what you’re doing.”
“Check.” He stood and breathed in, eyes closed, and took the little bottle out of his pocket and pulled the stopper. The sharp, cold smell of mint flooded the room. “Powerful stuff. Okay.” He turned and took a careful step. “Nuath, Domnu, Deargu, Riganna Mor. I call on you and invoke you. Make clear the way and lift the veils of my sight…”
Jenny nodded and let the rhythm of it come over her, her breath pulling in deep and letting out slow. She lifted up the wine goblet in both hands and brought it to her mouth, and drained it all at once. The heat of it flowed out from her center to her hands, her legs, her head. She set the cup back down and took the athame in her left hand, felt the line of fire flow from her heart and down her arm all the way to the tip of the blade, and began to pass it in a slow spiral over the surface of the water.
“The moon comes forth from the mask of dark and the wind parts the clouds. The air itself makes way for the thunder’s fire. The lands of the world rise and divide the waters. Let then no door be bar to me. Nuath, Domnu, Deargu, Riganna Mor…”
She brought the dagger’s tip down into the center of the water, just puncturing the surface. Ripples danced out to the rim, the light breaking over them. Something shifted in the circle, in the room. She began the spiral again.
“…makes way for the thunder’s fire. The lands of the world rise…”
Again she pierced the water. Again the energies around her moved, further this time; a twisting and a snapping back. Almost, almost. She breathed deep and moved the athame back around to begin its slow circling again.
“…and lift the veils of my sight. The moon comes forth…”
“Come on, damn you, open up!”
She thrust the athame down into the bowl again, and let all the fire she’d lit up inside her flow out through it. The ripple in the bowl spilled out over the sides. Then everything inside the circle seemed to flow with it for a moment, as a shimmer spread out from the tip of the dagger throughout the room.
“…no door be bar to me…”
A sound rang out, like a low chime or a thrum. It bent the light, and the room folded for a heartbeat; and when it righted itself again, Marcie Branleigh was in the circle, sprawled backwards across her wife. The water bowl lay upended where one of them had kicked it over.
Marcie half sat up. “What?” she said.
“Hi, sweetie,” said Jenny from under her. “Nice trip?”
*
Ten minutes later, they were in the kitchen making tea. Rayne, knowing the edge of a crisis when he saw it, asserted two catch-all solutions and produced them both: a bottle of good brandy and a box of chocolate-covered cherries. A healthy measure of first was poured into the cups when the tea was ready, and the second was set upon with some abandon almost as soon as it hit the table.
“I step out for a few minutes,” said Marcie, “and you’re all doing graffiti on the carpets and playing with sharp objects. No wonder my realm is falling apart.”
“So we know that for sure, then?” said Jenny around a mouthful of cherry cordial. “She told you it was true?”
“No, she was distressingly vague like she always is and gave me a gold star when I worked it out on my own. You know how they are, Jen.”
“I don’t,” said Rayne. “Who’s Mistress Intarsia?”
“One of the Tessitori,” said Jenny. “The Spinners-and-Weavers. The meddling-cryptic-pokers-and-prodders, as they’re also known. They do something or other, you know… backstage, except when they’re going around manifesting in Creation to be worrisome and ambiguous at people and expecting them to be all impressed.”
“Alright, it’s not quite like that,” said Marcie.
“No, it’s pretty much just like that. I’m not saying she’s wrong or anything. Just pointing out that it’s the fuckers on the ground who get to do the real legwork, and the running around being frantic and hoping we’ve figured it out right.”
“We know for absolutely sure that something is wrong with Otherwood, though,” said Marcie. “You should’ve seen it, Jen. It’s awful. Something’s making it all fall apart in a bad way. And from what I can figure out, it’s something that’s missing. I just don’t for the life of me know what it would be.”
“I do.”
They all turned. The woman standing in the doorway was shedding her gray overcoat and handing it to Penrod, who would normally be looking tight-lipped at not being allowed to announce a guest, but was instead wearing what usually passed for a puckish smile on him. She was dressed in dark, loose, practical clothes, and had hair the color of dark chocolate except for a long silver witchlock over the left temple, cut to her shoulders. A silver pentacle crowned with a crescent hung at her neck. She folded her arms and smiled at the room.
“Well,” she said, leaning against the doorframe. “It’s nice to know I’ve picked up your knack for making an entrance, Jen.”
Jenny blinked, and took off her glasses to rub her eyes.
“Hi, Alyson,” she said.
*
Outside Hartshorn, the only sounds were the whisper of heavy shears and the soft snap as they closed on branches. Above the roof, a half moon was rising and casting light and sharp shadow across the yard.
“I don’t suspect you’re going to get much growth out of that hedge this season, my friend.”
“Professor.” Sagacious Fan straightened and nodded. “Sorry, didn’t hear you comin’ up. No, I’m just too worked up to settle in for the night. Started on the holly trees, and, well.”
Nandana smiled. “As I passed the bungalow a moment ago, I believe I saw Master Frederick had come up with his own solution to the same problem. I’m sure there’s enough in the bottle for two.”
“I was tempted, but feeling like I’m accomplishing something is better. Besides, I’ve been in a drinking contest with Freddy, and nobody wins one of those.”
“True. You are indeed as wise as you’re named.”
Fan chuckled. “Maybe. Damned useless except with a pair of shears, though. At least Her Lordship’s back and that’s all sorted out. How’d it go up on the hill?”
“Taken care of, I believe, for now. But I don’t have to tell you that the trouble is only beginning. There are hard times ahead for us all, I fear.”
“I figured that was the case. I see it too, now I know what I’m looking at. I was hoping it was just another winter in its way, but I should’ve known better.” Fan closed his shears and slid them into his toolbelt, brushed twig fragments from his hands. “Just wishing I had something more I could do than this. Something useful.”
Nandana put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t undervalue yourself, old friend. The House must hold if anything is to hold. So the Lord of Otherwood is in need of you, of gardeners and housekeepers and all who help to keep the chaos at bay with a hundred little acts of workmanship and care. And perhaps of silly old professors of Lore as well, though it’s more interference than I strictly ought to be up to. Let us all be what we are, and it may even be enough.”
A smile crept over Fan’s broad face. “You always know what to say. I hope you’re right. It’s hard, though. I asked for this job a long time ago because I didn’t want all the responsibility that… well, you have, sir. I didn’t know it’d be so hard to do it in the face of everything else.” His brow furrowed. “So you’re going, then, aren’t you? It’s written all over you, you know.”
“Yes, I’m sure it is.” Nandana sighed. “I have a few cards I can play to tilt the odds, I think. And a few favors to ask, or call in. We’ll see if it yet helps. In the meanwhile, will you take care of this place, you and the others?”
“I will, Kshipra. You know that I will. Anything I can do, anyway.”
“That is all any of us can do. That, and trust the rest to the great Mystery that all will be well.”
*
“I’m starting to be glad,” said Alyson, “that I spent all day with nothing more exciting than a pile of books. I’m almost sorry I missed the dragon, though.”
“Don’t be,” said Jenny. “Trust me.”
“If you say so. But I’m afraid it’s a sign of things to come, in any case. We might all be wishing for dragons before long.”
“Wonderful,” said Marcie. “What do I need to do?”
Alyson sighed. “Well, if you don’t mind, let me get to that in a minute, my Lord. There’s a bit of background to it.”
“Take your time. And you don’t have to call me that, you know. Especially not if you’ve got anything like good news for me.”
“We’ll see. I think, though, we need to find out just what it is your father might not have been able to tell you before he was killed. About this house, for one thing.”
Marcie shook her head. “There’s so much. I think he was trying to shield me from knowing too much before he thought I was ready. I don’t think he realized how much danger he was in. He thought he had… more time.”
“Who doesn’t? Well, alright. Let’s start with Temple Knoll, and the tree that used to be there. What do you know about it?”
“A little. I know it was used to make the beams of this house, way back when the first human Lord Otherwood came into power. And that it was very old, probably at least as old as the forest itself. What am I missing?”
“Only one of those easily overlooked details,” said Alyson. “That tree, it seems, sprang from a seed from Yggdrassil, the World Ash. It was the reason Otherwood came into being as a border between here and, well, everywhere else. And it was pretty much the reason the place held together at all.”
There was a long moment of silence. Finally Jenny said, “Well, that… kind of makes sense. So how come everything didn’t fall apart when it was cut down?”
“The short answer is, some seriously powerful magic.” Alyson stirred honey into her tea. “First off, it seems World Trees are pretty damn hard to kill. There’s something still living deep down in those roots, a little spark. It helps that the Knoll was consecrated by a gathering of the first coven here, as part of the rites that were used to lay the foundations of Hartshorn. And they used everything from the tree, too. Any branch or twig that couldn’t get used to build with was ritually burned and the ashes mixed into the mortar, so it’s all, after a fashion, whole. Or it was.”
Marcie’s mug of tea stopped halfway up. “Was?”
“Yes. That was your father Ingram’s gamble, and he lost. See, when the house was built, it had to… become the tree, in a way. Stand for it, as a growing, organic thing, and be the soul of Otherwood. Like I said, powerful magic. And it worked pretty well, because they did it carefully and right. But a house can’t quite be a living thing in the same way a tree is, and I think Ingram knew that. He knew that there would come a time when the spells would start to fail, and he started to do research on what he could do to prevent it.
“Unfortunately, he wasn’t as cautious as he should have been in making friends. Somehow, somewhere, he managed to hook up with the Ephesian.”
Eyes widened around the table as that sank in. “Okay,” said Jenny. “Sweetie, no offense meant here, but… was he an idiot?”
Alyson shook her head. “No, that’s not really fair. Lord Ingram’s fault was more that he always wanted to assume the best of people. And the Ephesian is really, really good at playing on that. He’s a monster, but he’s a persuasive monster; it’s one of his gifts. And he’s a master at making you think he’s let you in on the conspiracy. He warned Ingram that there was a danger in letting too many people know that Otherwood might become vulnerable, and hinted that he had resources at his disposal that might be of use. Even then, Ingram was too cautious to take the bait, but the Ephesian made him a deal. He offered Ingram the True Names of his three most dangerous enemies in the Enclave. And Ingram cut a wand from the roof-beam of Hartshorn and gave it to him.”
Marcie set down her tea and rested her forehead in the palms of her hands. “Gods and Powers, why? And why did nobody tell me about this?”
“Almost nobody knew. He talked with Calangaeaf about it, and Fra Myron, and they both warned him that the Ephesian’s gifts always have a hook in them. And it looks like they were right. He destroyed his three enemies, all right. But he underestimated their servitors and lieutenants, because they were the ones who had him assassinated. Meanwhile, all the Ephesian had to do was sit back and let it all happen without lifting a finger.
“As to why… well, he needed someone to help him study the spells that went into his house – enormously powerful, primordial magic, beyond the skill of the Guild or the witches. He needed a Covenantus, and the Ephesian was the one he had. And he knew the Ephesian already had more power and domain than he knew what to do with, and was unlikely to move in and take Otherwood. And as far as that goes, he was right. What he underestimated was the Ephesian’s drive to annihilate for its own sake. He really didn’t want Otherwood. He wanted to watch it come apart.”
“So why didn’t he step in during the interregnum? He had years in between when my father died and I got Otherwood back. Why didn’t he make a move?”
“Well, first of all, the fact that he didn’t has a lot to do with why nobody came to you earlier with any of this, because, yes, you’d think that if he was going to do anything, that’d be his chance. That was exactly what he wanted everyone to think, too. Keep in mind that the Ephesian is thousands of years old, and bored, and cruel; he spins out plots in the hope that they’ll keep him entertained for as long as possible. And boy, did this one. The chaos that came on after your father’s death was just the first act. I’m sure he had a grand time watching the games go on here, first with the Enclave and then with Lord Yasha in power, knowing all the while that it was only a matter of time before you came back. See, we think he wanted you here, without all the secret knowledge of your realm and so not at your full power. It’s more… fun for him that way.”
A visible shudder passed over Marcie. “Oh, gods. That’s…”
“I know. But that’s the way his mind works. There was no point, to him, in breaking an already broken realm; much better to make it fall apart in the hands of the rightful Lord and turn the horror and tragedy all the way up. So he did nothing, and everyone who had any idea of the danger assumed he wasn’t going to, and then eventually half-forgot about it at all. Because he does like to have things nobody else does, and it seemed like a piece of the Hartshorn ash was exactly the kind of item he’d want in his hoard. So the years went by, and the time started to come when you’d have to stand the Domanda, and it was figured this was something that could be worried about when it was clear you’d be Lord Otherwood for a while.
“Which turned out to be a perfect time for the Ephesian to make his move. From what Calangaeaf and Myron can figure, he just used good old sympathetic magic and destroyed the wand, and tore a big rip in the forces holding Otherwood together. Which brings us up to where we are now.”
“I think,” said Rayne, “that I’m going to need more of that brandy now.”
Jenny passed it over. “Save some,” she said.
“Look,” said Alyson, “I didn’t come here to pronounce doom on Otherwood. There seems to be an answer. An obvious one, whe you think about it.” She took a long drink from her mug. “We need another Tree.”
“Is that all?” said Rayne. “Give me a minute to pull that out of my ass.”
Marcie’s brow furrowed. “A World Tree, right?”
“Right,” said Alyson. “Actually, I think what we could use is a cutting. From Yggdrassil, to graft onto the stump on Temple Knoll. Like I said, there’s life in there yet if we can wake it up. Maybe a branch with a nice spray of seeds…”
“Seeds!” Marcie threw her head back and slapped a palm to her forehead, and laughed. “Of course. I didn’t see it before.”
Jenny folded her arms. “What? Am I missing something, or are you just losing your damn mind?”
“Mistress Intarsia. The last thing she said to me. I thought she told me to sew, with a needle. Even for her, it didn’t make any sense. But what she told me was ‘Sow Otherwood.’ Sow. Seeds. Right?”
“Barrel of fucking laughs. I know if I was an unfathomable Power, I’d make sure the fate of the worlds hung on figuring out a really crap pun.” She turned back to Alyson. “Okay. This is getting somewhere, at least. You think I can take a day or so to get things in order before I go?”
Alyson laughed. “I wasn’t intent on sending you, Jenny. I was going to go myself. I just wanted to get your wife to open the way for me.”
“No, absolutely not. You’re not going all the way across Creation to the One Wood, and certainly not on your own. This is what I do.You should know that by now.”
Alyson’s eyes narrowed. “I suppose I should. But I’m not asking for your permission. This is my duty, too, you know. You don’t always have to be the one to jump and save the world every time.”
“So, what, you’re going to go get yourself killed just to spite me? Alyson…”
“Both of you, cut it out.” Marcie was standing, leaning on the table. Her eyes were hard, and the voice she’d used had a tone that rang so firmly with command that even Jenny was stunned into silence. She breathed deep. “I’m not sitting here listening to the two of you have a Whose Is Bigger contest when so much is hanging in the balance. Whatever issues you’ve got to work out with each other from the ancient past, don’t fucking do it on my time. Now.” She sat back down, slowly. “It’s become clear to me what needs to be done and who needs to do it. This is my responsibility, and mine alone.” Everyone started to speak at once, and she held up a hand. “No. No discussion. It’s time for me to be Otherwood, and do what I have to do. My realm, my job. My ordeal to undertake.”
A long moment passed. Rayne, tentatively, raised a finger.
“Yes?”
“Is there any point at all in me attempting a chivalrous objection now?”
“None.”
“Okay, I won’t, then.”
Jenny sat back heavily and ran a hand through her hair. “So you really think that’s the best plan? You, alone, off through the worlds, braving gods-alone-know what peril?”
“Out of all the options I have, yes, I think that’s the best plan. Jenny, I’m about to face a test to see if I’m fit to keep my title and all that goes with it. I’m not going to stand before the Kyr and tell them I let someone else brave all the danger for me. If for no other reason, because I couldn’t do that and still think myself worthy of it, much less convince anyone else. That’s the first thing.
“The second thing is, I’m not going alone. It occurs to me that I’m probably going to want to take along someone whose expertise I can trust.”
*
Beneath a blood-red firmament
They arrived, two great magicians:
Jenny of the Uranticas
And Saint-Germain, the Ancient One.
She, the Eldritch scion, asked him:
“What is this cold measureless place?
The plain is endless, without life.
Tell me, Comte, where you have brought me.”
Saint-Germain said:
The veil is yours to pull aside.
See, here appears a great city,
Empty and vast, full of secrets;
Do you wish to know its making?
It is mine, my own design,
Fashioned all of dreams and fragments
Here on this plain in Yetzirah:
The palace of my memory.
Nandana sighed and closed the book, and slipped it into a drawer on his writing desk with his extra ink and quills. He’d hoped to come further along in it than he had, but it would wait for him to come back, if he could. If he could not… well, the world would have worse problems to face than a tale untold. But it still pained his heart to think of it lying unfinished.
He packed himself a small bag. He could certainly shoulder great burdens if the need arose, but traveling light seemed the wiser option. He rolled up a change of clothes, and also permitted himself a couple of books and the box of chocolates Jenny had brought him. Everything else would take care of itself. He sat down at his desk, pulled out a small stack of blank paper, and dipped his pen.
A croak sounded behind him. He turned in his chair and looked over his spectacles at Gregor, who had alighted on one of the long-unopened trunks in a corner.
“Yes, my friend, I’m afraid so. At first light. No point in disturbing everyone when they’ve so much on their minds already. They will have their own work to do, as I now have mine.”
Another croak, low and rattling.
“Thank you. I do appreciate it. And believe me, I have every intention of returning as soon as I can. You understand, I’m sure, that I cannot stand by idly while all around me my friends are in peril.”
Gregor fluttered and danced to one side, and croaked again.
Nandana scratched at his beard. “Well, since you ask, there is indeed something I could use some assistance with. I have a certain number of missives that will require delivering in the morning, if it would not be too much trouble to you to gather some friends here for the purpose. Some may have to go… far.”
The raven nodded and coughed. Nandana smiled. “Again, thank you. And now I’m afraid I must become a less than perfect host, and beg your leave to finish the business at hand. It seems the time has come when there is much that must be attended to, and the hours are far too brief.”
*
In the upstairs bathroom, Jenny Haniver was reclining in the massive claw-foot tub, letting the warm water soak into her taxed muscles after a long overdue scrubbing-off. Clouds of bubbles – an indulgence she managed to convince herself was a secret only her wife knew – bobbed on the surface and clung to the sides. She’d lit candles, too. After some consideration, she’d stopped short of bringing up the rest of the bottle of brandy; she needed warm and dark and calm, not oblivion.
She’d just managed to get relaxed and centered again when a knock came at the door. She opened one eye.
“Yes?”
“Hello?” Marcie’s voice. “Are you allowing visitors?”
“Yes, I’m hoping for a nice big audience. See if Freddy’s still up, will you?”
“Is that a no?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, come in. It’s not locked.”
The doorknob clicked and turned. Marcie, in a silk robe and pajama pants, stepped in and shut it behind her, smiling. “Hello, darling. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
“Not that, no.” Jenny pulled herself up in the tub. “What’s up?”
“I missed you, babe. Is that okay?”
“Um, yeah. How’s… everyone else?”
“Rayne’s gone off with Alyson to talk coven stuff. She’s got that cabin up on the Morion she’s been working in. Everyone else is in bed. We got the place all to ourselves.”
“You’re awfully cheerful for someone about to set off on a Perilous Quest.”
Marcie grinned. “I have the high spirits that come with grim determination. And it’s a couple of weeks on the outside. If I can’t handle that, I have no business doing any of this. And it’s not like it’s my first time out of doors, or anything. Give me a little credit for knowing what I’m doing.”
“I should be going with you.”
“Yes, to make sure I’ve got my shoes tied and my coat buttoned. Come on, Jen. I can do this. You know what I’m capable of and you know I can take care of myself. What’s really going on in that head of yours?”
Jenny rubbed her eyes with her palms. “I’m not allowed to just be worried about you?”
“If that’s all that’s going on, I’m a coin-palmer. But I’ve got a theory. Want to hear it?”
“No.”
“I think you’re afraid of not being needed to do this. I think you’re terrified to death of irrelevancy. It’s probably the only thing left you’re really still scared of. The same way Rayne makes you afraid I won’t need you any more.”
“Oh, shut up. Yes, because I’m thirteen. Come on, Mar.”
“You come on, sweetie. I see it on your face when you think you haven’t let anything slip. It’s in your eyes whenever he’s around, you waiting for the axe to fall and me to kick you aside. And I really like to think I’ve said this in as many ways as I can think of, but just in case: it’s not going to happen.”
Jenny closed her eyes and said nothing. A long quiet moment passed. “I know,” she said.
“Do you?”
She opened her eyes. “Most days. Except when I can’t help it. Because I know it’s stupid and I’ve talked myself out of those thoughts every way I know how, and they still find a way of catching me unguarded. It’s horrible. I mean… I know you love him.”
Marcie knelt down next to the tub and leaned against the rim, resting her chin on her arms. “It doesn’t change anything about what I said. Nothing at all.”
“Does he know?”
“I haven’t… told him, no. It’s different with him. A little strange, I must say. We’re still figuring out the rules as we go.” She reached out a hand and ran her fingers over Jenny’s hair, slick and wet. “It still doesn’t change anything. It’s not a zero-sum game. Nothing has faded in the way I feel about you. I still surprise myself with being in love with you as much as I ever was, and more. And I think you understand how that works better than you want to admit.”
“What do you mean?”
“Baby, I see the way you look at Alyson. Maybe you don’t realize it, but your eyes get a light when she’s in the room. There’s some part of you that never stopped being in love with her, much as you’ve tried to push it down. If you had the chance at half an hour alone with her, don’t think I’m not aware it would kill you to say no.”
Jenny caught her hand, kissed her fingers. “And if I said yes? That would be okay with you?”
“Are you kidding? It would make me insane. I mean, look at her. She’s gorgeous.” She laughed. “But I like to think I’d get over it somehow. Does it make any difference in how you feel about me?” Jenny shook her head. “Well, there you are. See if that helps keep those nasty little thoughts at bay.”
“I can’t imagine that’s going to happen. With Alyson, I mean. I think she’s pretty happy these days. I hope so.”
“How about you?”
“Happy? Yes. Of course. Even with him in the picture. Gods help me, I know he makes you happy, and I can’t bring myself to stand in the way of that. And I guess I…”
“Yes?”
“Alright, dammit, I kind of like him. He’s funny. And he’s a good guy. I know what you see in him. So help me, if you tell him I said that, I will beat you senseless.”
“I won’t. I think he probably knows already, though. You’re not as good at hiding things as you wish you were.”
“Yeah, I’m getting that.” Jenny leaned her head back against the tub. “And I really am okay. I trust you. I guess I just need a reminder every once in a while.”
“Well,” said Marcie, standing and letting her robe fall away, “let’s make sure you’re good and reminded.”
“Oh, sweetie, you don’t want to get in this water with me. It’s been a rough day.”
“We can draw another one,” said Marcie, loosing the cord from her pants and stepping out of them. “Make room, there.”
“Maybe we should wait till morning…”
“Not a chance. You’ve been away, I’m leaving in two days, and I’m feeling impatient. So suck it up, bitch.” She stepped over the rim of the tub and settled into the warm water. “You can help get me clean in a little bit. The night’s young.”
“Dammit, I’m tired and I’m cranky and I’m on my period and, oh, for the love of all gods, do not stop what you’re doing.”
“I won’t.”
She didn’t. The candles flickered, and the only sounds that followed for a long while after were the soft splash of water, and the equally soft drawing of breath.
Jenny Haniver, wrapped in a too-large brocade smoking jacket that looked like it had seen better centuries, stood in the front hall of Hartshorn looking around at the circle of faces whose expressions ranged from the anxious to the downright terrified. Even the unflappable Penrod, who had met her outside with the robe when she was halfway to the house, had a brow creased in worry.
“Well, it’s just like that, Magus,” said Freddy the Faun, wringing his gloved hands together. “We saw the fire out in the woods and came down to tell Her Lordship about it, and we thought maybe she’s already gone out without tellin’ us. So we started out to make sure. But then Gregor came up all croakin’ like anything, and the Professor said he’d just come from downstairs and Her Lordship wasn’t there, and wasn’t nowhere in the house or on the hill either. He was pretty worked up about it, from what the Professor said he told him.”
“I see. And where is the Professor?”
“He went with Anemone and Pagourie up the hill to see if she’d got the gate open for the dragon, and to talk to Argus and them. About when Gregor came back out to get you.”
Jenny nodded. She’d got most of this already, from Gregor’s worried report on the way back, after she figured the dragon would keep until later. She did allow herself a small relief that someone else had made it their problem while she tore into this one. “Alright,” she said, as evenly as she could manage. “Let’s have a look at the Lune Chamber.”
It was about as she’d expected. There was still a trickle of smoke wafting from the censers, and that odd… thickness to the air that told her there had been magic working in here. And other than that, and the stain left behind where Penrod had cleaned up baboon droppings, it was empty.
“Hmm.” She pulled the smoking jacket tight around her and knelt down. Marcie’s scent lingered here, sandalwood oil over a hint of musk, and she could feel the barest hint of crackle in the air as she passed her hand through. And there was something else, too; it was like a shape at the corner of her vision that she knew would flee if she turned to look, but if she half-closed her eyes, she could almost make it out. A shape like a doorway…
“Ah,” she said. “Ah. Aha. There. I think I get it.” She stood up. “I think… I think she’s here. Or near, anyway. Sort of. Just kind of… sideways. Same space, different frequency. If that makes any sense. Okay. Rayne.”
“Yes?” Rayne stepped up. To his credit, he’d been all set to comb through every acre of Otherwood on the search, and had only been persuaded with some difficulty to wait for her. She ran a hand through her hair and looked at him; she’d had worse help in the past.
“I need some things. Peppermint oil, wine, an athame. Chalk, blue if we’ve got it. A basin or bowl of clear water. Get the big clay one that’s over the sink.”
“Right. Got it.”
“Okay.” She started to roll up the fraying sleeves of her robe, and felt the trickle of warmth on her leg. “Ah, crap. And you know that tin that’s up on the vanity in the upstairs bathroom?”
“You mean the one that’s got all the—”
“That’s the one. Yeah, bring that too. And Rayne? You might want to hurry.”
*
Moving up the slopes of Temple Knoll, Professor Nandana was two strides ahead of Pagourie, who had his arms full of his books and was struggling to keep up. Beside Nandana was Anemone, her long legs eating the distance with great speed, but he was keeping pace without seeming to exert much effort. The Professor was, indeed, surprisingly nimble and light on his feet for a man of his size, and when he was in full stride it seemed like the landscape simply rolled away to accommodate him. He crested the hill and went to where the dragon was bound in a scaly ball beside the massive treestump, straining to no avail against its enchanted chains. The Wildish had thoughtfully roped it to the roots to prevent it rolling away.
“I can see this phase of the operation can be counted a success,” he said. Argus nodded.
“Aye. Is Her Lordship on her way, then?”
“I’m afraid Her Lordship has met an unforseen complication in the working tonight. Anemone can give you the details, I’m sure, better than I. But let’s see what can be done about this.” He walked up and knelt in front of the dragon. “Poor creature. I almost wish we could simply loose you here and leave you be. You would not be the first fearsome beast to haunt these lands, certainly.” He looked up and winked at Argus. “But, we must do what we must do. Please accept my apologies for the inconveniences we’ve inflicted on you, Master Wyrm.”
Argus chuckled. “I don’t suppose we’re just going to leave it here until Her Lordship’s ready, are we?”
“No, of course not.” Nandana straightened, brushed leaves from his trousers, adjusted his little spectacles. “A moment, if you please.”
He closed his eyes and hummed a low, deep, thrumming note, and held it for a long breath; and then he opened his eyes again, and lifted a hand, palm out, and smiled sadly.
The fabric of Otherwood, already all too fragile, tore just a fraction more…
“There. That should suffice.”
A door of golden light had opened out of the roots of the ash stump, shimmering and radiant. Behind it, Somewhere, was cool shadow and the sharp scents of old earth, ice, and blood; the assembled Folk Under all lifted their heads to its wind.
“Now, let us relieve you of these.” Nandana touched a hand to the chains, and they fell away like snipped threads. Instantly the dragon uncurled, and coiled, and reared, snarling, its eyes full of hate. It seemed about to call up its fire, but the Professor simply looked at it over his glasses, his hands folded in front of him. It paused, and hissed. Then it turned away and slithered away through the gate, the barb of its tail lashing. The light dimmed and faded in its wake, and then the door was gone.
“Obviously,” said Nandana, cleaning his spectacles on the hem of his kurta, “the Lord of Otherwood was successful in opening the doorway, and we simply had to let it go through.”
Argus nodded, half a smile crooking his mouth. “Obviously, aye.”
“Well, then. I believe that is that. I think we can all use some time in our cozy homes now. Thank you, my friends, for all your help.” He gave the knot of motley Wildish a deep bow.
“Professor, sir.” Pagourie ran up to him as he turned to go. “My lord. This is all… I mean… There’s more to it than just the dragon, isn’t there? Is something wrong?”
“Very wrong, yes. There is much work to attend to now, I’m afraid. And I think it means the time has come to use that strength we have to its best purpose.”
“What would you have us do?” said Argus, shouldering his long spear.
“Nothing yet, dread and watchful Captain. But prepare yourselves, I think. You may be called upon yet to defend your realm with such force as you can muster.”
“We’ll do that. What of you?”
Nandana sighed and looked around at the wood. “I’ll be leaving before long. I fear I cannot stay here without making what is happening worse. But I think I may stop by on my way out and call on your friend the king. May I have your leave, Captain, to come as a guest to the grottoes of the Folk Under?”
“Of course.”
“Then I shall see you soon, my friend. And in the meantime, may the Moon watch well over you and your people. And may the Mystery watch over us all.”
*
Marcie came to on a wooden floor, and wondered how long she’d been unconscious. Then she remembered that she wasn’t home, and didn’t know where she’d gone, or been taken to – the recollection was more than a little blurred. She breathed deep and willed herself not to panic.
She sat up. She could smell tea brewing, mint and chamomile, and hear the sounds of insects calling to each other outside. The room she was in was small but tidy: a little table with two chairs, a small set of shelves lined with neatly labeled jars, a round basket containing a quilt and several tight little skeins of wool yarn, with long needles stuck in them. Light came from an oil lamp and a number of fat candles, and made the place surprisingly bright and cheery.
“I was starting to be afraid you’d never wake up.”
She turned around. Behind her was a big, soft-looking armchair upholstered in green tapestry and lined with comfortable little pillows. It occupant was settled snugly in the middle of them, and smiled as Marcie looked up.
She was small and delicate-featured, with a heart-shaped face framed by hair the color of oak leaves in autumn. She had little oval glasses that the candlelight flashed on, and was dressed in plaid pajamas and fuzzy slippers, sitting cross-legged amid the cushions. In her lap was something half-knit that her long, pale needles were in motion on, clicking and sliding over each other, but the shape and even the exact color of it was hard to tell. On the floor beside the chair, a ball of yarn sat and danced as it payed out into the work.
Marcie bowed her head. “Hello, Mistress Intarsia,” she said.
“Hello, Branwen. Only, wait – you’re not going by that these days, are you? Marcie, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It, uh, started as a joke.”
“Sometimes they do. There are worse names, though. That one’s a warrior’s.”
“Is it?”
“I think it had better be.” Click, click, went the needles, the color of bone, and the thread pulled and looped and knotted. “How’s the family?”
“Uh, fine. We’re doing okay. Jenny’s, you know, Jenny.” She looked around the room again. “So is this where you… live?”
“What, here?” Mistress Intarsia laughed. “No, I wouldn’t say that. I’m not really an out-in-the-woods kind of girl, if you want me to be honest. Though it is an awfully nice place you’ve got. No, you might say this is just where I’m staying.”
Of all the Powers that have made themselves known in the worlds, perhaps the most enigmatic are the ones known as the Tessitori. It has become clear that they are working at the behest of something beyond themselves, but just what that might be, or what agenda they advance on its behalf, is a matter on which they are maddeningly vague. It has been suggested that they are manifestations of the unknowable Mystery itself, and since their goals appear to be what is generally thought of as benevolent, this may even be true. Any confirmation or denial of it is something that, along with anything other than the merest hint of their true natures, they have so far been steadfast in their refusal to reveal. They always appear as workers of cloth, and tend to speak in textile metaphors; it is, they claim, the closest they can come to getting physical, time-bound creatures to understand the work they do.
Marcie nodded, as much as anything in acknowledgment that that was all the answer she was going to get. “So, are we still in Otherwood, then?”
Mistress Intarsia bobbed her head from side to side, as if weighing the question. “You wouldn’t be wrong to say that, no. But back-side of it, I think, would be the way of putting it. The same thing, but the other way round. Purl-wise.”
“Okay. Why?”
“Well, what do you think?”
Marcie took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The last moments of the time before she woke up were slippery, and a blur, but she remembered the working she’d been trying to do, and the terrible confusion that came with seeing why it was going awry. “I was… trying to open a gate. But everything was wrong. Tangled. Out of place. I guess what I was trying to do pulled me here instead.”
Mistress Intarsia smiled and looked down at her dancing needles. “Well, I’m not going to say I had nothing to do with that. But so far, not bad. Go on.”
“Um. I think I… failed, because something’s wrong. With the whole realm. Something’s… something’s wrong with Otherwood.”
“That’s plain enough, yes. Can you tell what, or why?”
Marcie shook her head. “I don’t know. It looks… when I saw it, the whole of it, it looked almost inside-out. And it kept changing, warping.”
“Warping. Ha. And wefting, I imagine, too. Well. All right.” Candlelight flashed on the glasses as she looked up. “You’re the Lord of this place, Marchess Branwen Bishop-Ashleigh. What is it about Otherwood that such a thing would happen? What is Otherwood, then?”
“It’s a gate.”
“Is it?”
“Um, okay. It’s… it’s a borderland.”
“Closer to the mark. Otherwood, my dear, is a seam.”
Marcie nodded. “Alright, I should have figured that’s where you were going. Okay. It’s a seam. Explain.”
Mistress Intarsia’s needles danced and clicked. “A seam, because it is a joining-together of two places. Necessary to make a whole out of different parts. But seams bear a lot of strain, duckie. The pulling of the fabric in different directions takes its toll. And one break in the thread that binds can lead to a great unraveling. Do you see now?”
“I think so. You’re telling me that something’s missing that’s holding Otherwood together, right?”
“More that something is missing in Otherwood that binds together those realms to which it is adjacent. If your domain is a seam, then it is also a boundary, and if that seam were to burst and the boundary fall away – what then?”
“Then…” Marcie swallowed. “Then there’s no telling what can get through, is there?”
“Right again. You’re not so bad at this after all.” She looked up and smiled. “Tea, then?”
“I don’t…” Marcie shook her head again. “No, thank you. I don’t understand. What am I supposed to do? How am I meant to fix what’s happening?”
The room around her shimmered, just for a moment, like a pebble dropped in a still pool. Mistress Intarsia looked off to one side. “Ah, that would be your clever and skillful wife, knocking at the door for you. No time for tea anyway, after all. Next time, maybe.”
“Wait, no! Mistress Intarsia…”
The shimmer again, stronger this time. The candle flames flickered.
“You’re asking me?” The light in the room dimmed, but the flames of the candles still shone in the little glasses, and on the ends of the pale needles going back and forth, in and out of the pattern they made. “It’s yours to keep and make whole, after all. And you know well how to repair a seam.”
The candles guttered, and the light shimmered one last time, and faded away on the words:
“Sew, Otherwood. Sew.”
*
Jenny Haniver, wine goblet in one hand, athame in the other, stepped carefully across the circle she’d drawn in chalk on the carpet of the Lune Chamber directly under the disk of the open skylight. She took a deep breath and sat down in the middle of it, set the goblet down beside her, and laid the dagger across her lap. Off to the side, Rayne held the water basin in both hands.
“Okay. Hand it across. Don’t break the line.”
“Got it.” Rayne knelt and eased the bowl over in both hands. She took it in one, and set it down directly in front of her, the wine on one side and the athame on the other. “Now what?”
“Okay. Widdershins around. Any kind of chant or cantrip of opening you know, get it going and keep it going. Sprinkle the peppermint oil as you go. Don’t worry if it runs out, just keep on with what you’re doing.”
“Check.” He stood and breathed in, eyes closed, and took the little bottle out of his pocket and pulled the stopper. The sharp, cold smell of mint flooded the room. “Powerful stuff. Okay.” He turned and took a careful step. “Nuath, Domnu, Deargu, Riganna Mor. I call on you and invoke you. Make clear the way and lift the veils of my sight…”
Jenny nodded and let the rhythm of it come over her, her breath pulling in deep and letting out slow. She lifted up the wine goblet in both hands and brought it to her mouth, and drained it all at once. The heat of it flowed out from her center to her hands, her legs, her head. She set the cup back down and took the athame in her left hand, felt the line of fire flow from her heart and down her arm all the way to the tip of the blade, and began to pass it in a slow spiral over the surface of the water.
“The moon comes forth from the mask of dark and the wind parts the clouds. The air itself makes way for the thunder’s fire. The lands of the world rise and divide the waters. Let then no door be bar to me. Nuath, Domnu, Deargu, Riganna Mor…”
She brought the dagger’s tip down into the center of the water, just puncturing the surface. Ripples danced out to the rim, the light breaking over them. Something shifted in the circle, in the room. She began the spiral again.
“…makes way for the thunder’s fire. The lands of the world rise…”
Again she pierced the water. Again the energies around her moved, further this time; a twisting and a snapping back. Almost, almost. She breathed deep and moved the athame back around to begin its slow circling again.
“…and lift the veils of my sight. The moon comes forth…”
“Come on, damn you, open up!”
She thrust the athame down into the bowl again, and let all the fire she’d lit up inside her flow out through it. The ripple in the bowl spilled out over the sides. Then everything inside the circle seemed to flow with it for a moment, as a shimmer spread out from the tip of the dagger throughout the room.
“…no door be bar to me…”
A sound rang out, like a low chime or a thrum. It bent the light, and the room folded for a heartbeat; and when it righted itself again, Marcie Branleigh was in the circle, sprawled backwards across her wife. The water bowl lay upended where one of them had kicked it over.
Marcie half sat up. “What?” she said.
“Hi, sweetie,” said Jenny from under her. “Nice trip?”
*
Ten minutes later, they were in the kitchen making tea. Rayne, knowing the edge of a crisis when he saw it, asserted two catch-all solutions and produced them both: a bottle of good brandy and a box of chocolate-covered cherries. A healthy measure of first was poured into the cups when the tea was ready, and the second was set upon with some abandon almost as soon as it hit the table.
“I step out for a few minutes,” said Marcie, “and you’re all doing graffiti on the carpets and playing with sharp objects. No wonder my realm is falling apart.”
“So we know that for sure, then?” said Jenny around a mouthful of cherry cordial. “She told you it was true?”
“No, she was distressingly vague like she always is and gave me a gold star when I worked it out on my own. You know how they are, Jen.”
“I don’t,” said Rayne. “Who’s Mistress Intarsia?”
“One of the Tessitori,” said Jenny. “The Spinners-and-Weavers. The meddling-cryptic-pokers-and-prodders, as they’re also known. They do something or other, you know… backstage, except when they’re going around manifesting in Creation to be worrisome and ambiguous at people and expecting them to be all impressed.”
“Alright, it’s not quite like that,” said Marcie.
“No, it’s pretty much just like that. I’m not saying she’s wrong or anything. Just pointing out that it’s the fuckers on the ground who get to do the real legwork, and the running around being frantic and hoping we’ve figured it out right.”
“We know for absolutely sure that something is wrong with Otherwood, though,” said Marcie. “You should’ve seen it, Jen. It’s awful. Something’s making it all fall apart in a bad way. And from what I can figure out, it’s something that’s missing. I just don’t for the life of me know what it would be.”
“I do.”
They all turned. The woman standing in the doorway was shedding her gray overcoat and handing it to Penrod, who would normally be looking tight-lipped at not being allowed to announce a guest, but was instead wearing what usually passed for a puckish smile on him. She was dressed in dark, loose, practical clothes, and had hair the color of dark chocolate except for a long silver witchlock over the left temple, cut to her shoulders. A silver pentacle crowned with a crescent hung at her neck. She folded her arms and smiled at the room.
“Well,” she said, leaning against the doorframe. “It’s nice to know I’ve picked up your knack for making an entrance, Jen.”
Jenny blinked, and took off her glasses to rub her eyes.
“Hi, Alyson,” she said.
*
Outside Hartshorn, the only sounds were the whisper of heavy shears and the soft snap as they closed on branches. Above the roof, a half moon was rising and casting light and sharp shadow across the yard.
“I don’t suspect you’re going to get much growth out of that hedge this season, my friend.”
“Professor.” Sagacious Fan straightened and nodded. “Sorry, didn’t hear you comin’ up. No, I’m just too worked up to settle in for the night. Started on the holly trees, and, well.”
Nandana smiled. “As I passed the bungalow a moment ago, I believe I saw Master Frederick had come up with his own solution to the same problem. I’m sure there’s enough in the bottle for two.”
“I was tempted, but feeling like I’m accomplishing something is better. Besides, I’ve been in a drinking contest with Freddy, and nobody wins one of those.”
“True. You are indeed as wise as you’re named.”
Fan chuckled. “Maybe. Damned useless except with a pair of shears, though. At least Her Lordship’s back and that’s all sorted out. How’d it go up on the hill?”
“Taken care of, I believe, for now. But I don’t have to tell you that the trouble is only beginning. There are hard times ahead for us all, I fear.”
“I figured that was the case. I see it too, now I know what I’m looking at. I was hoping it was just another winter in its way, but I should’ve known better.” Fan closed his shears and slid them into his toolbelt, brushed twig fragments from his hands. “Just wishing I had something more I could do than this. Something useful.”
Nandana put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t undervalue yourself, old friend. The House must hold if anything is to hold. So the Lord of Otherwood is in need of you, of gardeners and housekeepers and all who help to keep the chaos at bay with a hundred little acts of workmanship and care. And perhaps of silly old professors of Lore as well, though it’s more interference than I strictly ought to be up to. Let us all be what we are, and it may even be enough.”
A smile crept over Fan’s broad face. “You always know what to say. I hope you’re right. It’s hard, though. I asked for this job a long time ago because I didn’t want all the responsibility that… well, you have, sir. I didn’t know it’d be so hard to do it in the face of everything else.” His brow furrowed. “So you’re going, then, aren’t you? It’s written all over you, you know.”
“Yes, I’m sure it is.” Nandana sighed. “I have a few cards I can play to tilt the odds, I think. And a few favors to ask, or call in. We’ll see if it yet helps. In the meanwhile, will you take care of this place, you and the others?”
“I will, Kshipra. You know that I will. Anything I can do, anyway.”
“That is all any of us can do. That, and trust the rest to the great Mystery that all will be well.”
*
“I’m starting to be glad,” said Alyson, “that I spent all day with nothing more exciting than a pile of books. I’m almost sorry I missed the dragon, though.”
“Don’t be,” said Jenny. “Trust me.”
“If you say so. But I’m afraid it’s a sign of things to come, in any case. We might all be wishing for dragons before long.”
“Wonderful,” said Marcie. “What do I need to do?”
Alyson sighed. “Well, if you don’t mind, let me get to that in a minute, my Lord. There’s a bit of background to it.”
“Take your time. And you don’t have to call me that, you know. Especially not if you’ve got anything like good news for me.”
“We’ll see. I think, though, we need to find out just what it is your father might not have been able to tell you before he was killed. About this house, for one thing.”
Marcie shook her head. “There’s so much. I think he was trying to shield me from knowing too much before he thought I was ready. I don’t think he realized how much danger he was in. He thought he had… more time.”
“Who doesn’t? Well, alright. Let’s start with Temple Knoll, and the tree that used to be there. What do you know about it?”
“A little. I know it was used to make the beams of this house, way back when the first human Lord Otherwood came into power. And that it was very old, probably at least as old as the forest itself. What am I missing?”
“Only one of those easily overlooked details,” said Alyson. “That tree, it seems, sprang from a seed from Yggdrassil, the World Ash. It was the reason Otherwood came into being as a border between here and, well, everywhere else. And it was pretty much the reason the place held together at all.”
There was a long moment of silence. Finally Jenny said, “Well, that… kind of makes sense. So how come everything didn’t fall apart when it was cut down?”
“The short answer is, some seriously powerful magic.” Alyson stirred honey into her tea. “First off, it seems World Trees are pretty damn hard to kill. There’s something still living deep down in those roots, a little spark. It helps that the Knoll was consecrated by a gathering of the first coven here, as part of the rites that were used to lay the foundations of Hartshorn. And they used everything from the tree, too. Any branch or twig that couldn’t get used to build with was ritually burned and the ashes mixed into the mortar, so it’s all, after a fashion, whole. Or it was.”
Marcie’s mug of tea stopped halfway up. “Was?”
“Yes. That was your father Ingram’s gamble, and he lost. See, when the house was built, it had to… become the tree, in a way. Stand for it, as a growing, organic thing, and be the soul of Otherwood. Like I said, powerful magic. And it worked pretty well, because they did it carefully and right. But a house can’t quite be a living thing in the same way a tree is, and I think Ingram knew that. He knew that there would come a time when the spells would start to fail, and he started to do research on what he could do to prevent it.
“Unfortunately, he wasn’t as cautious as he should have been in making friends. Somehow, somewhere, he managed to hook up with the Ephesian.”
Eyes widened around the table as that sank in. “Okay,” said Jenny. “Sweetie, no offense meant here, but… was he an idiot?”
Alyson shook her head. “No, that’s not really fair. Lord Ingram’s fault was more that he always wanted to assume the best of people. And the Ephesian is really, really good at playing on that. He’s a monster, but he’s a persuasive monster; it’s one of his gifts. And he’s a master at making you think he’s let you in on the conspiracy. He warned Ingram that there was a danger in letting too many people know that Otherwood might become vulnerable, and hinted that he had resources at his disposal that might be of use. Even then, Ingram was too cautious to take the bait, but the Ephesian made him a deal. He offered Ingram the True Names of his three most dangerous enemies in the Enclave. And Ingram cut a wand from the roof-beam of Hartshorn and gave it to him.”
Marcie set down her tea and rested her forehead in the palms of her hands. “Gods and Powers, why? And why did nobody tell me about this?”
“Almost nobody knew. He talked with Calangaeaf about it, and Fra Myron, and they both warned him that the Ephesian’s gifts always have a hook in them. And it looks like they were right. He destroyed his three enemies, all right. But he underestimated their servitors and lieutenants, because they were the ones who had him assassinated. Meanwhile, all the Ephesian had to do was sit back and let it all happen without lifting a finger.
“As to why… well, he needed someone to help him study the spells that went into his house – enormously powerful, primordial magic, beyond the skill of the Guild or the witches. He needed a Covenantus, and the Ephesian was the one he had. And he knew the Ephesian already had more power and domain than he knew what to do with, and was unlikely to move in and take Otherwood. And as far as that goes, he was right. What he underestimated was the Ephesian’s drive to annihilate for its own sake. He really didn’t want Otherwood. He wanted to watch it come apart.”
“So why didn’t he step in during the interregnum? He had years in between when my father died and I got Otherwood back. Why didn’t he make a move?”
“Well, first of all, the fact that he didn’t has a lot to do with why nobody came to you earlier with any of this, because, yes, you’d think that if he was going to do anything, that’d be his chance. That was exactly what he wanted everyone to think, too. Keep in mind that the Ephesian is thousands of years old, and bored, and cruel; he spins out plots in the hope that they’ll keep him entertained for as long as possible. And boy, did this one. The chaos that came on after your father’s death was just the first act. I’m sure he had a grand time watching the games go on here, first with the Enclave and then with Lord Yasha in power, knowing all the while that it was only a matter of time before you came back. See, we think he wanted you here, without all the secret knowledge of your realm and so not at your full power. It’s more… fun for him that way.”
A visible shudder passed over Marcie. “Oh, gods. That’s…”
“I know. But that’s the way his mind works. There was no point, to him, in breaking an already broken realm; much better to make it fall apart in the hands of the rightful Lord and turn the horror and tragedy all the way up. So he did nothing, and everyone who had any idea of the danger assumed he wasn’t going to, and then eventually half-forgot about it at all. Because he does like to have things nobody else does, and it seemed like a piece of the Hartshorn ash was exactly the kind of item he’d want in his hoard. So the years went by, and the time started to come when you’d have to stand the Domanda, and it was figured this was something that could be worried about when it was clear you’d be Lord Otherwood for a while.
“Which turned out to be a perfect time for the Ephesian to make his move. From what Calangaeaf and Myron can figure, he just used good old sympathetic magic and destroyed the wand, and tore a big rip in the forces holding Otherwood together. Which brings us up to where we are now.”
“I think,” said Rayne, “that I’m going to need more of that brandy now.”
Jenny passed it over. “Save some,” she said.
“Look,” said Alyson, “I didn’t come here to pronounce doom on Otherwood. There seems to be an answer. An obvious one, whe you think about it.” She took a long drink from her mug. “We need another Tree.”
“Is that all?” said Rayne. “Give me a minute to pull that out of my ass.”
Marcie’s brow furrowed. “A World Tree, right?”
“Right,” said Alyson. “Actually, I think what we could use is a cutting. From Yggdrassil, to graft onto the stump on Temple Knoll. Like I said, there’s life in there yet if we can wake it up. Maybe a branch with a nice spray of seeds…”
“Seeds!” Marcie threw her head back and slapped a palm to her forehead, and laughed. “Of course. I didn’t see it before.”
Jenny folded her arms. “What? Am I missing something, or are you just losing your damn mind?”
“Mistress Intarsia. The last thing she said to me. I thought she told me to sew, with a needle. Even for her, it didn’t make any sense. But what she told me was ‘Sow Otherwood.’ Sow. Seeds. Right?”
“Barrel of fucking laughs. I know if I was an unfathomable Power, I’d make sure the fate of the worlds hung on figuring out a really crap pun.” She turned back to Alyson. “Okay. This is getting somewhere, at least. You think I can take a day or so to get things in order before I go?”
Alyson laughed. “I wasn’t intent on sending you, Jenny. I was going to go myself. I just wanted to get your wife to open the way for me.”
“No, absolutely not. You’re not going all the way across Creation to the One Wood, and certainly not on your own. This is what I do.You should know that by now.”
Alyson’s eyes narrowed. “I suppose I should. But I’m not asking for your permission. This is my duty, too, you know. You don’t always have to be the one to jump and save the world every time.”
“So, what, you’re going to go get yourself killed just to spite me? Alyson…”
“Both of you, cut it out.” Marcie was standing, leaning on the table. Her eyes were hard, and the voice she’d used had a tone that rang so firmly with command that even Jenny was stunned into silence. She breathed deep. “I’m not sitting here listening to the two of you have a Whose Is Bigger contest when so much is hanging in the balance. Whatever issues you’ve got to work out with each other from the ancient past, don’t fucking do it on my time. Now.” She sat back down, slowly. “It’s become clear to me what needs to be done and who needs to do it. This is my responsibility, and mine alone.” Everyone started to speak at once, and she held up a hand. “No. No discussion. It’s time for me to be Otherwood, and do what I have to do. My realm, my job. My ordeal to undertake.”
A long moment passed. Rayne, tentatively, raised a finger.
“Yes?”
“Is there any point at all in me attempting a chivalrous objection now?”
“None.”
“Okay, I won’t, then.”
Jenny sat back heavily and ran a hand through her hair. “So you really think that’s the best plan? You, alone, off through the worlds, braving gods-alone-know what peril?”
“Out of all the options I have, yes, I think that’s the best plan. Jenny, I’m about to face a test to see if I’m fit to keep my title and all that goes with it. I’m not going to stand before the Kyr and tell them I let someone else brave all the danger for me. If for no other reason, because I couldn’t do that and still think myself worthy of it, much less convince anyone else. That’s the first thing.
“The second thing is, I’m not going alone. It occurs to me that I’m probably going to want to take along someone whose expertise I can trust.”
*
Beneath a blood-red firmament
They arrived, two great magicians:
Jenny of the Uranticas
And Saint-Germain, the Ancient One.
She, the Eldritch scion, asked him:
“What is this cold measureless place?
The plain is endless, without life.
Tell me, Comte, where you have brought me.”
Saint-Germain said:
The veil is yours to pull aside.
See, here appears a great city,
Empty and vast, full of secrets;
Do you wish to know its making?
It is mine, my own design,
Fashioned all of dreams and fragments
Here on this plain in Yetzirah:
The palace of my memory.
Nandana sighed and closed the book, and slipped it into a drawer on his writing desk with his extra ink and quills. He’d hoped to come further along in it than he had, but it would wait for him to come back, if he could. If he could not… well, the world would have worse problems to face than a tale untold. But it still pained his heart to think of it lying unfinished.
He packed himself a small bag. He could certainly shoulder great burdens if the need arose, but traveling light seemed the wiser option. He rolled up a change of clothes, and also permitted himself a couple of books and the box of chocolates Jenny had brought him. Everything else would take care of itself. He sat down at his desk, pulled out a small stack of blank paper, and dipped his pen.
My dear friend, Dean Gideon:
I write this in the anticipation that circumstances may not allow me to return to my regular duties in the spring. In such a case, though it may be yet unlikely, it would be difficult for me to communicate this to you. I therefore wish to see to the disposal of my responsibilities, as well as my materials and various effects—
A croak sounded behind him. He turned in his chair and looked over his spectacles at Gregor, who had alighted on one of the long-unopened trunks in a corner.
“Yes, my friend, I’m afraid so. At first light. No point in disturbing everyone when they’ve so much on their minds already. They will have their own work to do, as I now have mine.”
Another croak, low and rattling.
“Thank you. I do appreciate it. And believe me, I have every intention of returning as soon as I can. You understand, I’m sure, that I cannot stand by idly while all around me my friends are in peril.”
Gregor fluttered and danced to one side, and croaked again.
Nandana scratched at his beard. “Well, since you ask, there is indeed something I could use some assistance with. I have a certain number of missives that will require delivering in the morning, if it would not be too much trouble to you to gather some friends here for the purpose. Some may have to go… far.”
The raven nodded and coughed. Nandana smiled. “Again, thank you. And now I’m afraid I must become a less than perfect host, and beg your leave to finish the business at hand. It seems the time has come when there is much that must be attended to, and the hours are far too brief.”
*
In the upstairs bathroom, Jenny Haniver was reclining in the massive claw-foot tub, letting the warm water soak into her taxed muscles after a long overdue scrubbing-off. Clouds of bubbles – an indulgence she managed to convince herself was a secret only her wife knew – bobbed on the surface and clung to the sides. She’d lit candles, too. After some consideration, she’d stopped short of bringing up the rest of the bottle of brandy; she needed warm and dark and calm, not oblivion.
She’d just managed to get relaxed and centered again when a knock came at the door. She opened one eye.
“Yes?”
“Hello?” Marcie’s voice. “Are you allowing visitors?”
“Yes, I’m hoping for a nice big audience. See if Freddy’s still up, will you?”
“Is that a no?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, come in. It’s not locked.”
The doorknob clicked and turned. Marcie, in a silk robe and pajama pants, stepped in and shut it behind her, smiling. “Hello, darling. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
“Not that, no.” Jenny pulled herself up in the tub. “What’s up?”
“I missed you, babe. Is that okay?”
“Um, yeah. How’s… everyone else?”
“Rayne’s gone off with Alyson to talk coven stuff. She’s got that cabin up on the Morion she’s been working in. Everyone else is in bed. We got the place all to ourselves.”
“You’re awfully cheerful for someone about to set off on a Perilous Quest.”
Marcie grinned. “I have the high spirits that come with grim determination. And it’s a couple of weeks on the outside. If I can’t handle that, I have no business doing any of this. And it’s not like it’s my first time out of doors, or anything. Give me a little credit for knowing what I’m doing.”
“I should be going with you.”
“Yes, to make sure I’ve got my shoes tied and my coat buttoned. Come on, Jen. I can do this. You know what I’m capable of and you know I can take care of myself. What’s really going on in that head of yours?”
Jenny rubbed her eyes with her palms. “I’m not allowed to just be worried about you?”
“If that’s all that’s going on, I’m a coin-palmer. But I’ve got a theory. Want to hear it?”
“No.”
“I think you’re afraid of not being needed to do this. I think you’re terrified to death of irrelevancy. It’s probably the only thing left you’re really still scared of. The same way Rayne makes you afraid I won’t need you any more.”
“Oh, shut up. Yes, because I’m thirteen. Come on, Mar.”
“You come on, sweetie. I see it on your face when you think you haven’t let anything slip. It’s in your eyes whenever he’s around, you waiting for the axe to fall and me to kick you aside. And I really like to think I’ve said this in as many ways as I can think of, but just in case: it’s not going to happen.”
Jenny closed her eyes and said nothing. A long quiet moment passed. “I know,” she said.
“Do you?”
She opened her eyes. “Most days. Except when I can’t help it. Because I know it’s stupid and I’ve talked myself out of those thoughts every way I know how, and they still find a way of catching me unguarded. It’s horrible. I mean… I know you love him.”
Marcie knelt down next to the tub and leaned against the rim, resting her chin on her arms. “It doesn’t change anything about what I said. Nothing at all.”
“Does he know?”
“I haven’t… told him, no. It’s different with him. A little strange, I must say. We’re still figuring out the rules as we go.” She reached out a hand and ran her fingers over Jenny’s hair, slick and wet. “It still doesn’t change anything. It’s not a zero-sum game. Nothing has faded in the way I feel about you. I still surprise myself with being in love with you as much as I ever was, and more. And I think you understand how that works better than you want to admit.”
“What do you mean?”
“Baby, I see the way you look at Alyson. Maybe you don’t realize it, but your eyes get a light when she’s in the room. There’s some part of you that never stopped being in love with her, much as you’ve tried to push it down. If you had the chance at half an hour alone with her, don’t think I’m not aware it would kill you to say no.”
Jenny caught her hand, kissed her fingers. “And if I said yes? That would be okay with you?”
“Are you kidding? It would make me insane. I mean, look at her. She’s gorgeous.” She laughed. “But I like to think I’d get over it somehow. Does it make any difference in how you feel about me?” Jenny shook her head. “Well, there you are. See if that helps keep those nasty little thoughts at bay.”
“I can’t imagine that’s going to happen. With Alyson, I mean. I think she’s pretty happy these days. I hope so.”
“How about you?”
“Happy? Yes. Of course. Even with him in the picture. Gods help me, I know he makes you happy, and I can’t bring myself to stand in the way of that. And I guess I…”
“Yes?”
“Alright, dammit, I kind of like him. He’s funny. And he’s a good guy. I know what you see in him. So help me, if you tell him I said that, I will beat you senseless.”
“I won’t. I think he probably knows already, though. You’re not as good at hiding things as you wish you were.”
“Yeah, I’m getting that.” Jenny leaned her head back against the tub. “And I really am okay. I trust you. I guess I just need a reminder every once in a while.”
“Well,” said Marcie, standing and letting her robe fall away, “let’s make sure you’re good and reminded.”
“Oh, sweetie, you don’t want to get in this water with me. It’s been a rough day.”
“We can draw another one,” said Marcie, loosing the cord from her pants and stepping out of them. “Make room, there.”
“Maybe we should wait till morning…”
“Not a chance. You’ve been away, I’m leaving in two days, and I’m feeling impatient. So suck it up, bitch.” She stepped over the rim of the tub and settled into the warm water. “You can help get me clean in a little bit. The night’s young.”
“Dammit, I’m tired and I’m cranky and I’m on my period and, oh, for the love of all gods, do not stop what you’re doing.”
“I won’t.”
She didn’t. The candles flickered, and the only sounds that followed for a long while after were the soft splash of water, and the equally soft drawing of breath.
posted by Dan L-K | 11:57 AM
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