Dreams and Shadows

chapter FORTY-THREE

COLBY AND THE FIVE STONE COUNCIL

Most noble council,” began Colby, his tone humble, his heart heavy, his head bowed, his hands folded in front of him. “I come to you on behalf of my dearest friend.”

Before him stood the Five Stone Council, the night air cool and crisp, the forest humming with crickets. Meinrad loomed large and foreboding next to his stone, his cold expression offering no comfort. Coyote leaned lazily against his—one foot propped up against it—grinning proudly, wholly aware that this mess was his doing. King Ruadhri stood rigid and stiff before his stone, glowering at Colby, disgusted. Rhiamon the Gwyllion, however, smiled wryly, tickled by the knowledge of the havoc playing out at the hands of her redcap thralls.

Finally, at the fifth stone stood the newest member of the council, Ilsa the salgfraulein. In the absence of genuine leadership after the death of Schafer, the redcaps had no worthy representative to take their place on the council. Thus a largely ignored block of seelie had put forth Ilsa to take his place. The most charming and delightful of her kind, even outgracing the noble King Ruadhri, Ilsa was a woman of few burdens and fewer enemies. There was something very genuine about her, as if she were incapable of telling a lie; she was, quite literally, enchanting. The eldest of five sisters, she spoke not only for her kin, but for the woodwives and pixies as well. The Limestone Kingdom was not a place particularly crawling with those of the seelie court, so the few there were put their faith and voice behind Ilsa. And her presence alone offered Colby some comfort.

“We know of whom you speak, lad,” said King Ruadhri. “It was not long ago that this council convened and decided upon his fate, a fate you yourself chose to circumvent.”

“Yes, sir,” said Colby. “I speak of Ewan.”

Ruadhri nodded. “And you come to plead for his life once again?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Funny,” said Ruadhri, “that it is never the boy who pleads his own case, but his friend who presumes to know his will.”

“I speak for him, sir.”

Meinrad dismissed the statement with a wave. “And yet, this council does not recognize you as possessing such capacity.”

Colby gritted his teeth, trying to hide his frustration. “Sir?” he asked.

“Ewan bears a cap, does he not?” asked Ruadhri.

Colby nodded. “He does.”

“And he’s worn it?”

“He has.”

“And you have seen with your own eyes that the transformation has begun?”

Colby swallowed hard. “I have.”

Ruadhri offered his hands outward, as if to rest his case. “Then what would make you think that, before this of all courts, a man could speak in the stead of a fairy?”

“Because he is not a fairy,” said Colby.

Meinrad shook his head. “You just told us that the transformation has begun, and this is not the first we’ve heard of it.”

“No,” said Rhiamon, “it is not. I’ve heard it myself.”

Coyote agreed. “He is a fairy, Colby. You have no place speaking for him here.”

“He is not of your world,” said Meinrad. “He was never meant for your world. He is of ours, a world of which you are no part, and yet you try to meddle in affairs that are none of your concern.”

“They are entirely my concern,” Colby retorted.

“Only because you make them so,” said Meinrad. “This is neither your council nor your court. You insult us with your presence, and we must ask you to leave.”

Colby clenched his fists, his blood slowly boiling from the insult and dismissal. He could lay waste to several of these fairies, powerful though they were, before a single one of them was able to retaliate. But power was one thing; numbers were another. The last thing he wanted was open war with the Limestone Kingdom.

“It appears the boy grows angry,” said Rhiamon, delighted by his silent seething.

“It would appear so,” said Coyote. “I wouldn’t taunt him, though. There are always fairies who would love your place here on the council.”

Ruadhri grimaced at Coyote. “Let the boy make his own threats so we might respond in kind.”

“Oh, he’s too smart for that, Ruadhri,” said Coyote, winking at Colby. “He knows we need no display to know what he can do.”

“Then perhaps you would like to make his case for him now,” offered Ruadhri, “since he is about to be dismissed.”

Coyote grinned like a satisfied cat, a mouse firmly between its paws. He pointed out to the tree line. “I believe that is what she’s here for.”

Colby turned as the council leveled their gaze at the diminutive spirit making her way across the field. She stepped into the firelight, at once instantly recognizable. Mallaidh.

“I speak for Ewan,” she said.

“And why would you do that?” asked Rhiamon.

“Because I love him.”

“That’s hardly a reason to speak for someone,” retorted Rhiamon. “Why, I offer that your perspective is clouded.”

Mallaidh shook her head, a single tear rolling down her cheek. “I love him.”

Ilsa looked upon Mallaidh with sadness. “Dear girl, I’m afraid you might not be entirely sure what that is.”

“I am,” said Mallaidh. “It’s when your heart hurts so much you’d rather pull it from your chest than lose the one it beats for.”

“What do you ask of us, child?” asked Meinrad, his demeanor more delicate than with Colby.

“Safe passage,” she said. “Out of the Limestone Kingdom.”

“You can leave at any time,” said Ruadhri. “You are not bound here.”

“Safe passage for myself and for Ewan. And you know that.”

“That is much more complicated,” said Rhiamon.

“It isn’t, actually,” said Colby, now furious. “It is quite uncomplicated.”

Ruadhri scowled, his temper barely contained behind the strain in his face. “You have no say here; this is not a matter for you.”

“It is, and I will say my piece,” Colby said hotly. “It was your fairies who took him from my world, your fairies who robbed him of his humanity, you yourself who put him on the sacrificial stone, and now it is your fairies again who set out to slaughter him for offenses he has not committed. You came into our world, you stole our child, and now you pretend that it is your place to judge his fate. Frankly, you can kiss my f*cking ass and taste my fist as I ram it down your cocksucking throat, you uptight son of a bitch.”

The wind rose up, rustling the trees as the very earth tensed beneath them. Dreamstuff was abundant out here, like water in the ocean, and Colby could feel it pulse about him with the ebb and flow of his emotions. The eyes of the council showed their alarm, even Ilsa beginning to cast an unfavorable and fearful eye upon him. They were scared, and rightly so; Colby was struggling at the very edge of fury, trying to contain himself. Only Coyote seemed relaxed, almost smiling at the outburst. No one could tell if he was enjoying himself, faking it, or merely aloof and entirely unconcerned.

“I think everyone needs to calm down,” said Coyote. “There is no need to tear apart the very fabric of the universe to prove a point. We understand, Colby, you’re upset.”

“Don’t patronize me,” said Colby.

“I won’t. Just promise me you won’t send Schafer some friends.”

Colby nodded.

“Passage for Ewan and yourself?” asked Meinrad of Mallaidh. “That’s all you ask?”

She nodded.

“She doesn’t know what she’s asking,” said Ruadhri. “He’ll be dead in a week.”

“She knows exactly what she’s asking,” said Rhiamon. “She’s just not sure why she’s asking.”

“He killed one of the court,” said Ilsa. “Would you have him go free without punishment?”

“It was self-defense,” said Mallaidh.

“And how can you be so sure?” asked Ruadhri.

“I was there. They used me to lure him out to kill him.”

All eyes fell upon Rhiamon, who shook her head. “I know nothing of this,” said the Gwyllion. “They came to me with their story after his brutal attack upon them. I’m not so sure the girl is even telling the truth.”

“She’s telling the truth,” said Meinrad. “But someone must pay the price.”

Ilsa nodded to Mallaidh. “Would you be willing to suffer punishment in his stead?” she asked of Mallaidh.

Mallaidh looked around nervously, fidgeting with her delicate hands. “What kind of punishment?”

Rhiamon smiled. “The only punishment there is for killing another member of the court. Death.”

Mallaidh looked around the council in shock.

“Someone must pay,” said Coyote.

Colby looked on in horror.

“Do you love him enough to die in his place?” continued Coyote.

Eyes swimming in tears, expression teetering on the edge of complete breakdown, she nodded very slowly. She looked at the ground, tears spilling upon the dirt. “Yes,” she said softly. “I do.”

Coyote looked over at Meinrad.

Meinrad nodded. “I vote that we grant passage. For the both of them. What say the rest of the council?”

“Passage,” seconded Ilsa. Mallaidh looked up, her eyes alight.

Rhiamon shook her head. “No, I vote passage only for him. She dies or he does.”

Ruadhri nodded, extending a hand toward Rhiamon. “I agree with the Gwyllion. Passage must be earned with sacrifice.”

Once again, all eyes fell upon Coyote. He nodded, grinning. “Passage. For both.”

Mallaidh hopped up and down in place, clapping excitedly. Tears flowed freely, only now streaming out of joy. “Thank you! Thank you, all of you!”

“I’d leave now,” said Coyote, “before we change our minds.”

There came a sudden rustle from a nearby thicket, and from the darkness stumbled a figure, staggering in the moonlight. With it came panting—pained moans chasing each unsure step. The night shrouded the figure with shadow, only at the last moment revealing her in the torchlight. A nixie, covered in blood, dripping from a gash across her stomach, took her last few steps before them, finally crashing into the dirt, exhausted.

The nixie looked up at Meinrad, extending an outstretched hand. “Please,” she said softly. “The boy. The Tithe Child.”

“Please what?” demanded Ruadhri, shocked at the appearance of the dying creature.

“Kill him,” the nixie pleaded. “As he killed my sisters.”

“What?!” cried Colby. “What is this?”

“It would appear your friend has killed again,” said Coyote.

“That’s impossible, I just left him,” said Mallaidh, shaking her head.

“Perhaps the nixie runs far faster than you,” said Rhiamon.

The nixie nodded. “It was him,” she coughed. “He looked like our boy, only uglier. I would know him anywhere. He dipped his hat in our blood as I ran.”

Meinrad looked sadly upon the nixie. “It would seem he has turned completely, and now dips his hat in our blood.” He then looked at Mallaidh. “Passage is revoked. The boy must die.”

“NO!” cried Mallaidh. “No! No! No!” She glanced around wildly, at once both frightened and furious. Then, without warning, she bolted, running as far and as fast as she could.

Ruadhri was the first to step away from his stone. “I must marshal our forces. Meinrad, grant me the right to raise an army.”

Meinrad nodded. “Granted. But raise no more than fifty. Then meet here and you may lead them.”

Ruadhri bowed, taking his leave. Rhiamon smiled wickedly, fading into the night. Ilsa immediately took a knee beside the dying nixie, comforting her as her spirit passed, her last breaths drawn with strained moans sounding like squeaking doors in a creaky house. Meinrad sank into the earth, becoming one with it, his presence vanishing from the circle.

Coyote turned—a satisfied smile on his lips—and walked off toward the woods. Colby rushed after him, ready to tear him limb from limb.

“I know what you did,” said Colby.

Coyote came to a stop, but did not turn around. “Do you?” he asked. “Do you, really?”

“Yes.”

“But do you know why?” asked Coyote.

“Because it is your nature.”

Coyote smiled, his copper skin rippling with wrinkles. “I see you’ve traded your youth for wisdom.”

“It’s easy to spot evil.”

Coyote’s smile dropped into a look of disappointment, the wrinkles settling sadly upon downturned lips. He turned around. “But not so wise yet as to fully grasp the world around you.”

“Wise enough to know why we’re both here.”

“And why are you here, Colby?”

“To kill you.”

“Ah, so it’s come to that, has it?” asked Coyote, a glimmer in his eye.

“Yes, it has.”

Coyote shook his head. “Perhaps I was too quick to judge your wisdom, confusing it with your swelling pride.”

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t kill you.”

“Apart from you having to ask for a reason?”

“Yes.”

“Because you know people only ask that when they don’t intend to kill someone.”

Colby narrowed his eyes. “You don’t have one.”

“Of course I don’t. I’m Coyote. You’ve read the stories, you know my tales. I’ve died a thousand deaths before and I’ve a thousand more to die before the end of time. This is a death hardly worth telling. What I’ve done cannot be undone by killing me, nor will you bring an end to my mischief. You will only reset the cycle anew. Perhaps next time I will be a kinder, gentler Coyote, playing pranks on children and concerning myself with finding delicious stew. Or maybe I will come back vindictive and meddlesome, eager to set nation upon nation while reveling in the bloodbath. You never know. I don’t even know who I’ll be next time around. I only know who I am now, and what I intend to do. And once you figure that out, then and only then will you know whether there is reason or not to let me live.”

“Or maybe,” said Colby, “you’re just another wily spirit, overinflating his own legend, seeding storytellers with tales of your many past lives in hopes of convincing guys like me that the devil we know is better than the devil we don’t, when in truth you have but one life to give and your only defense is to convince us not to take it.”

Coyote smirked, beaming with pride. “Now that’d be a trick, wouldn’t it? That’d be a trick indeed.”

“You’re pathetic.”

“Do you really think so little of me?” asked Coyote. “Do you honestly believe I did all this because I give a shit about your little friend? About a boy who cheated death only to dangle his feet over the edge every day since, waiting for nothing more than to fulfill his destiny? Dying alone and anonymous in the street? That’s what the great Colby Stevens thinks of Coyote? That I spend my time putting bumblebees in jars to watch them fight?”

“Well . . . I . . . ,” stammered Colby.

“You do think that of me, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You have much to understand about the nature of man.”

“You’re no man.”

“No,” said Coyote. “I am his unflattering reflection.” He shook his head. “I have outlived billions of gallons of blood, and you think I somehow delight in the spilling of a few more pints. You see my hand in the affairs of a few mortals and you think that I’ve but wound them up so I can watch them bounce off one another in the night. Never have you asked yourself why I might do such a thing—to what end this bloodshed might serve. The trouble with human beings is that when examining the actions of others, they always apply their own ethics and point of view, hoping to understand them in the context of what they might do and why they might do such a thing. When no answer lies in that examination, they always ascribe malice. Malice, you see, is the only thing people understand without explanation. You are born with it and thus come to expect it.

“Do you know the difference between a good man and a great man? A good man looks around at his brothers, sees their ignorance, finds himself horrified by it, and sets out to educate them. A great man instead finds himself elated by realizing that his brothers will never know any better, using it to his advantage to forge an army of the ignorant, fighting to leave the world a better place. Ignorance is the only one truly unstoppable force in this world. And the only difference between a despot and a founding father is that the founding father convinces you that everything he does was your idea to begin with and that he was acting at your behest all along. Yes, people are sheep. Big deal. You need to stop trying to educate the sheep and instead just steer the herd.

“No one wants to admit that they’re not smart enough to understand what’s going on, so they create such elaborate fictions to convince themselves otherwise. Fairies are the construct of man and bear with them both his arrogance and his ignorance. You look at what I’ve done and you think this is about tormenting your friend. If I told you now that the blood about to be spilled would change the world as you know it, would you deign to stop it? Would you believe me at all?”

“No, I wouldn’t,” said Colby.

“Good,” said Coyote. “Were you to believe me, you might not do what I need you to do.”

“And all this is supposed to stop me from killing you?”

“Who cares if you kill me, Colby?” he said, rolling his eyes. “The machine is sprung. Mallaidh’s run off at full speed to save the man she loves, while you’ve stood here threatening an old man. The events unfolding as we speak can no longer be held at bay, but a moment will come when you will be forced to make a choice about what sort of man you really want to be, and that is where my gamble lies.

“When fate finally comes for you, who will you be, Colby Stevens? Who will you choose to be?”

Coyote turned and walked into the thick blanket of brush, disappearing into a tangle of branches, Colby staring, standing still in stunned silence.

“This isn’t over between us,” called Colby into the dark wood before him.

“Nor would I want it to be,” called back Coyote’s distant voice.

Colby stared, bewildered, into the night, fully aware that he’d most likely just been conned. But there were worse things than finding yourself fooled by the Trickster himself. Then worse things sprang to mind. Ewan!