by And so, we went rolling up to the distant Yllanfalen town with an entourage of meadowlands creatures and a mantle of magickal music. One of the more exhilarating experiences of my life, without a doubt.
Shame that our arrival met with only the echoing silence of deserted streets.
Not quite empty, in fact, but close. The silvery gates stood open; we entered a pretty, ancient town, its buildings as tall, slender and elegant as the few inhabitants we saw. I’ve rarely seen a more verdant settlement, either: climbing vines clambered up every wall, twined with relish around chimney-pots and window frames, and carpeted some part of the stone-cobbled streets to boot. Many of them were in full bloom as well, opening flurries of azure, lavender or ice-white flowers to the sun. The place smelled heavenly.
But it was not populous. We travelled the length of one narrow, winding street before we saw anybody at all, and then we saw only a woman going into what appeared to be a shop. She barely glanced at me, in all my magickal glory.
When the next few people we passed exhibited the same utter lack of interest, I gave up playing.
‘Well,’ said Jay. ‘That was unexpected.’
I nodded, feeling crestfallen and trying not to show it. Honestly, who were these people? Did colourful young women so often prance through the town, wafted on a tide of magick and melody and pursued by an entourage of adoring creatures? Surely not. I couldn’t believe it, not even of a place one might reasonably term a part of Faerie.
Jay elbowed me. ‘Ves.’
I looked where he was pointing. A lady came towards us down the street — definitely a lady, not just a woman, for she was draped in the finest fabric money and magick can procure, and walked with the grace of a queen. She was decked in jewels to a degree bordering upon tasteless, at that.
Of all her ornaments, it was her necklace that caught, and held, my attention, for strung on prominent display upon a light silver chain was a set of tiny syrinx pipes. Hers were the colour of brass, not silver like mine, but in every other respect they were identical.
‘Um,’ I said. ‘Mother?’
Mother dearest stood in silence for a while, watching the ethereal lady pass. Her face registered something very like personal offence.
I kid you not, tiny flowers bloomed where the lady’s feet had lately trod.
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘What’s the Faerie Queene doing wandering the streets of an Yllanfalen backwater all by herself?’
‘I told you,’ said Mother. ‘They have no monarchs anymore.’
‘Are you sure? Because you don’t seem to have seen the duplicate-pipes thing comi—’ I broke off because Jay elbowed me again. ‘Ow. What?’
‘Incoming,’ he said, turning me around to face a side-alley adjoining the street upon which we stood. There came another denizen of Faerie, a man this time, wearing long jewel-green robes. He had stars in his hair and magick in his eyes and he, too, bore a set of syrinx pipes on a ribbon around his neck. Gold, this time.
I groaned. ‘New plan?’
My mother looked from my silvery pipes to the gold ones worn by the Faerie-King-Who-Probably-Wasn’t, and sighed. ‘It’s just possible these aren’t King Evelaern’s pipes after all,’ she allowed.
‘You think?’
The next half-hour confirmed the hypothesis beyond doubt, for we found every inhabitant of that impossible town to be as dripping in grace and glory as those early few, and many of them had pipes. Too many.
‘What the bloody hell is this place?’ said Jay after a while. ‘These people are unreal.’
I had to agree. I’m not given to feelings of inadequacy, but when you’re a plain, ordinary human (fabulously magickal hair excepted) surrounded by such ethereally beautiful beings, it is difficult to help feeling somewhat diminished.
Even my mother felt it, what with her filthy clothes and hair and her wounded arm. That’s saying something. Mother is usually impervious to such trifles as appearance.
‘Enough dithering,’ I said after a while, having arrived at a central square dominated by a lofty white clocktower. ‘I’m going to ask—’ I stopped. An open doorway to my left offered a peek into a small shop premises, what probably passed for humble in this peculiar place. Hanging from the rafters was an array of tiny objects which sparkled in the sun.
I veered inside.
‘These pipes,’ I said to the proprietor.
‘Yes?’ She was rather taller than me, and (to my chagrin) much better dressed. I was wearing baggy trousers and trekking boots; she wore a flowing sky-coloured gown with trailing ribbons, an array of starry jewels, and she had fireflies glimmering in her hair.
Gods damnit.
‘What are they?’ I said, waving my own about. ‘Why does everybody have them?’
She looked me over in a none too friendly fashion, then turned her attention to Mother, and Jay. ‘Visitors?’ was all she said.
‘As you see.’
‘And how did you come here?’
Jay and I swapped a look that said, cripes, good question.
So it fell to Mother to say: ‘Through the Old King’s Halls.’
The ethereal goddess’s interest sharpened. ‘And how came you there? Those halls have long been closed.’
‘Through a portal. Don’t worry, it is well hidden in Britain proper. No one’s going to find it.’
‘Except for you.’
‘Well. I was looking rather hard.’
The proprietor’s forbidding frown did not in the smallest degree lessen — until she looked again at my pipes. ‘How came you by those? It is too much to imagine that anybody gave them to you.’
‘Someone did, in a manner of speaking,’ I said. ‘Just not today.’
Apparently tired of wasting words on me, the lady merely raised one pale brow.
‘A unicorn,’ I supplied.
‘A unicorn,’ she repeated.
‘Yes.’
‘Gave a rare set of skysilver pipes to a human.’
I was beginning to feel that these beauteous people were somewhat xenophobic. ‘That’s right. Ten years ago, or thereabouts.’
‘Eleven,’ said Mother.
‘What?’
‘It was eleven years ago.’
‘How do you know? You only found out like, last week—’
Mother directed a quelling look at me, effectively shutting me up. ‘I’ve known for a while.’
‘I—’
‘Can you play them?’ interrupted the lady.
I blinked. ‘Of course I can play them. Do you think any halfway sane witch would just sit on a Treasure like these for eleven years?’
She folded her arms, silent. Her look said: oh really?
So I played.
‘Ves,’ sighed Jay after about twenty seconds. ‘You’re not seriously— that isn’t—’
He gave up.
I played on. What, I’m compelled to play faerie music or something? What’s wrong with John Farnham? I’d got halfway through the chorus of You’re the Voice when the lady waved a hand. ‘Enough.’
I played a few bars of Tears for Fears, but didn’t get as far as the chorus as she growled, ‘Stop!’ and glared at me.
I stopped.
‘You play well,’ she said, possibly through gritted teeth.
I checked her perfect ears for signs of bleeding. Nope.
‘So, the pipes?’ I said. ‘We’ve scarcely seen a soul who wasn’t wearing a set.’
‘We are a musical society.’
‘I guessed that much.’
‘Could King Evelaern’s pipes really call up the winds?’ said my mother abruptly.
The proprietor looked sharply at Mother. ‘So the stories say.’
‘You don’t know for sure?’
‘They have not been played since the King’s passing.’ Her eyes strayed to the pipes in my hand, as did mine. I began to doubt again. Were these the King’s pipes? Had they passed out of Yllanfalen knowledge because Addie had been keeping them? ‘It is possible that the winds responded to the King’s magick, rather than the pipes,’ she continued, without commenting upon mine.
‘Perhaps that’s so,’ agreed Mother affably.
The proprietor-lady smiled, for the first time. ‘We have a fine range of music for syrinx pipes,’ she said, and glided away to an oak-wrought rack filled with sheet music scribed elegantly upon thick paper. ‘Perhaps you would enjoy expanding your repertoire?’
A sales pitch? Seriously? I was about to say no, but Mother forestalled me. ‘Delightful,’ she said firmly, and to my surprise fished a quantity of silvery coins out of a pocket in her begrimed trousers. They were no type of currency I’d ever seen, but she poured half of them into the proprietor’s hands and they were accepted with a gracious nod. ‘Might you have some recommendations for my daughter’s interest?’
‘Certainly.’ The lady extended her slender, perfect hands and selected a few sheets. ‘Llewellir is a song for sleep. Very popular with insomniacs. Syllphyllan, a favourite with gardeners and orchard-tenders, as the sprites adore it. Ah yes, Yshllyn Ara Elenaril is a fine choice, if you are interested in weather magick? I cannot promise the winds, but it has been known to muster a little rain on occasion.’ She handed all these to me, and considered the rack for a thoughtful moment. ‘One more. Ellyall dy Iythran, a song for the stars.’
That last made little sense to me, and as I accepted the page in question from her I opened my mouth to enquire.
‘What about lyres?’ said Mother, forestalling me. ‘Do you sell those?’
‘Naturally,’ said the gracious proprietor.
‘I’m looking for something in moonsilver.’
That sharp look came again. ‘You are well informed as to the old tales, aren’t you? Only one such lyre was ever made.’
My mother gave a smile I can only describe as sharkish. ‘Can I buy that one?’
‘It is not for sale.’
‘Why not? I have money.’
‘I daresay, but none among the Yllanfalen would sell you King Evelaern’s Lyre, even if we could.’
Mother’s ears pricked up. ‘Cannot you?’
‘That is lost.’
‘But it wasn’t lost thir—’ Mother stopped.
‘Yes?’ prompted the lady.
‘Nothing.’
I intervened, saying more graciously, ‘How did it come to be lost? Is there a story about that?’
‘That is not known,’ she said.
‘Where did it used to be kept?’ Mother was insistent.
‘In a vault built for the purpose, in those very halls you claim to have but lately exited.’ She smiled coolly. ‘It is perfectly useless to go there, if that is what is in your minds. The vault is quite empty.’
‘Who was the last person to see the lyre?’ said Mother, getting right into detective mode.
‘I have not the smallest idea.’ The proprietor’s patience was wearing thin, her smile becoming strained. ‘Will that be all?’
‘Yes,’ I said hastily. ‘Thank you. Come along, Mother.’
‘A moment,’ said the proprietor, halting me in the process of striding out of the shop.
I turned back. ‘Yes?’
‘I would like to meet the unicorn who gave you those pipes.’
I met her gaze levelly. ‘Why?’
‘It is a remarkable tale.’
‘Also a true one.’
‘No doubt.’ Her tone suggested she was by no means so convinced as her words implied.
I paused to consider. If I summoned Addie, she would know I spoke the truth; and then what?
No idea. Right, then. Time for another exciting round of Trial and Error.
‘Come hither, then,’ I said, and led the way out of the shop. I’ve no doubt Adeline would follow me right into the store, and that would be about as successful as ye olde bull-in-a-china-shop scenario.
The moment the sun hit me, I played Addie’s song. Just hers, this time; no requests for companions layered in with the melody. I had the satisfaction of seeing our supercilious shopkeeper’s face register surprise, even incredulity — and Addie hadn’t even shown up yet.
She arrived a few minutes later, spiralling lazily out of a half-clouded sky. Trotting straight up to me, she whickered and bumped me with her soft nose.
‘I haven’t got any more chips,’ I whispered. ‘Sorry.’
Adeline gave an unattractive snort.
‘Where,’ said the proprietor softly, ‘did you learn that song?’
I opened my mouth to answer, and realised that I had no idea. ‘It was the first song I played,’ I said. ‘When I first set the pipes to my lips.’
‘You had no skill with the syrinx before?’
‘I’d never so much as seen a set before.’
‘I see.’ The lady looked me over slowly, and then gave the same wondering look to pretty Adeline. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and walked back into her shop.
‘I’m not sure what I’ve just done,’ I admitted to Mother and Jay.
‘Given her something to think about,’ said Mother.
I’d hoped that showing off Addie would have answered a question or two. Was she King Evelaern’s favourite mount? Were these extra-super-special-and-magickal pipes or just the common-or-garden, incredibly-rare-and-rather-very-magickal variety? Inquiring minds were not to be satisfied today.
