Chapter Three: The King of Moonlight
As soon as he spoke, the music died completely. His voice, a deep sigh that seemed to whisper and vibrate simultaneously, rolled across the room and filled up the spaces between us; every creature and every child went completely silent.
He stepped down along a small set of carved wooden stairs that led from throne to floor. His movement was perfect, with no more effort than was needed, and with perfect, poised control. Each step reverberated through the hollowed tree, as his solid boots, made of some black material that seemed to shimmer in and out of sight, touched down on the solid, unyielding wood.
He exuded what I can only describe as majesty. The expression slashed across his face existed somewhere between a thunderhead and a craggy mountain precipice. It was rough and rugged, and though his cheeks were free of stubble, thin scars crossed the skin, marring its perfection like the pitted surface of the moon. His jaw was solid, and his cheekbones high, and though his eyes stared out at the world with perfect clarity and must have at least once beheld a pleasing sight, it looked as though he never once had smiled.
He came to a stop when he reached the level of the floor, and when he did my eyes slid sideways for the space of a second.
There was a man behind him, off to my right, who seemed somehow out of place. He was slight of build, much smaller than the king, and though his clothing matched that of the man who wore the crown of silver leaves, there was nothing similar about them. His skin was golden, even in the wan silver light of the hall, and his eyes burned like fire in a setting full of earthy greens and browns. His face was sharp and angular, and a small smile played about his mouth that put me in mind of sourceless mischief.
Even then, Robin Goodfellow did not quite fit.
“Do any of the gathered Fae wish to assert prior claim?”
I don’t know why it took me so long to realize that he was addressing the others, but eventually I came to the understanding. They were still and silent at first, but then there was rustling and whispering, and I realized they were looking at each other and speaking in tongues I didn’t know, tongues that sounded like wind running through trees.
I don’t remember why I did what I did next, only remember feeling that something was forcing me to do it. Maybe it was some part of the madness that was to follow, though I can’t be sure.
I lurched forward, pulling my dank, tangled hair out of my eyes.
“Why are we here?”
Silence fell like a stone. My heart thudded within me like a drum, and I wrapped my arms around my stomach, feeling exposed and vulnerable. His eyes landed on me and never wavered from my face.
“She’s a brave one,” murmured the smaller man by his side, the man I hadn’t noticed at first. He had bright golden eyes, and when he smiled he revealed a set of perfect teeth, save for one canine tooth that was twisted so that it stuck out slightly along the side of his grin. It ruined the otherwise perfect symmetry of his face, and turned what would have been a charismatic smile into something rugged, almost wicked. I shivered as he examined me.
“Silence, Robin,” the taller man said simply, not even looking back. He watched me for a long time, and I could see the decision being made somewhere behind his eyes, deep in an impenetrable mind.
“You’re here because you must be.”
The sound of his voice raced through my mind and shattered into a thousand new questions that wanted to come rippling through my mouth, but I had no time to speak again before he looked up and away from me, cutting our connection.
“I say again – do any of the Fae assert prior claim? I will not ask a third time.”
More shifting, and a distant humming and whispering that slowly faded away. No one responded directly, though. I didn’t know what it meant, but I was certain my first guess hadn’t been far off. Somehow, this King was offering us to his gathered vassals. I’ve thought about that many times, and wondered how different everything would have turned out if any of the gathered Fae had spoken.
“Nobody?” quipped the honeyed baritone voice of Robin. He grinned again, looking feral in the moonlight. “I think the lean black-haired one might have your chin, Gwyn,” he continued, addressing someone off to my right in the crowd. “Sure you didn’t have a tryst with a milksop of late? Oh no, I forgot, you’re not interested in women unless they’re related to you by blood.”
One of the forms came forward immediately, solidifying into an actual figure out of the bluish-silver haze the fires cast. He resolved into a man both beautiful and terrifying, the only other being that came close to rivaling the king who stood before the throne. He had fair skin half-covered in black fur, and wore oiled leather armor that covered his arms, shoulders, and lower body, leaving his chest, hands, and feet bare. Wild black eyes, sunk deep in his head, stared out at the world and demanded submission, exuding power in a way that was harsh and deadly. His black hair was so long and thick that it covered him almost like a garment of clothing, draping over his shoulders and down his back, free from tangles and snarls, a feat which baffled me. He stood straight-backed and tall, towering over those around him. His face was set in fierce lines, pulled tight along the jaw and across the forehead where his snarl creased his skin; his powerful hands were clenched into heavy fists. When he snarled at Robin, his breath smelled like beautiful flowers rising from a pile of filth, and his teeth were yellowed daggers.
“Do not test me, Puck,” rasped the man. He spoke in a harsh, guttural voice that carried with it the martial quality of drums and trumpets; his wicked teeth glinted in the light.
“I apologize for my fool,” the king said in a causal way, his gray eyes turning to burn down at the new participant in the night’s revelries. “Apologize, Robin.”
Immediately, the smaller man bowed low, sweeping an imaginary cape in courtly obeisance.
“I apologize, great Gwyn ap Nudd, for the fact you have no sense of humor, or perhaps lost it on one of your Hunts.”
Several of the watching figures laughed, an odd collection of sounds that made me flush all over with apprehension. My heart was still hammering in my ears, and I couldn’t seem to think straight.
The hunter stepped forward, his black eyes burning with outrage as he made a move toward the smaller man, but before he’d gone more than a dozen steps, a hand closed over his arm and he was held back by another such man, clad in gray instead of green, with a thick beard covering the lower half of his face. Strangely, the beard, completely out of place though it seemed, was what turned him human in my mind. Suddenly he wasn’t a creature at all – in fact, he even looked strangely noble.
“Peace,” the second man-creature said, his voice a deeper rumble instead of a rasp. His voice was sweet but with an undercurrent of steel. “We are in the court of the Erlking – hold in your pride, brother. We rule the wilds, but the Bower is his domain, as we agreed long ago, and we are very grateful for his sanctuary.”
It was clear that he wasn’t speaking only to his brother, but that his words were meant to be overheard by the king and the rest of the gathered congregation.
“Your brother speaks sense,” Robin said, a wicked smile splitting the golden glow of his face. “You grow more savage by the year, Gwyn. Maybe you should keep away from the hounds – it seems they’re having an effect on you, not the other way around.”
The others laughed again, particularly a group of heavy-set shadows that seemed to bristle far from the two man-creatures on the other side of the hollow. Gwyn snarled at Robin again, but allowed himself to be drawn back by his brother.
The king, all this while, did nothing. As soon as it was clear Robin had been chastised and Gwyn’s brother was attempting to stop him from doing something foolish, he had turned his eyes back to me, and despite the few glances I’d spared for the others, I was looking back at him with equal intensity, matching him stare for stare without really understanding why. He was so … beautiful.
I do not mean that word in the lewd sense – I w
as ten, and he was old enough to be my father. It is not beauty in that such way, not attraction. It is a charismatic compulsion that flows from him, from his eyes, from his stance, his voice, even the way he carries himself. Even standing still, surrounded by otherworldly creatures and half-men, he was perfectly at ease, and the way he stood told everyone in the room that he was in command. There was no question – he ruled this place, whatever it was.
I’d seen much of ugliness in my short life. In those days, I could count on one hand the number of beautiful things I’d ever seen in the world, and I was one of the lucky ones: Most people outside didn’t have even one thing of beauty to hold on to – most people stopped looking for them.
But I’d seen sunrises that turned oceans and skies colors you can’t describe, and stone buildings that gleamed white in the sun, and those things were beautiful, I knew they were. But this was more than I’d ever been able to grasp in my limited understanding of life. Until this moment, I hadn’t understood what it was like to live in a world where greatness existed. He was that and more, and as I stared back I longed to be a part of this world. I didn’t know anything about it, and everything in me should have been primed to run and run as far and hard as I could. But I knew I wouldn’t, knew I couldn’t. It was a compulsion born of the music, I know that now, but it was something more as well, something created and nurtured by me alone.
I belonged there.
“Very well,” he said, his voice once more sighing out of him, but with the undercurrent of distant thunder, a threat of the violence that would come forward if any dared question his unwavering authority.
“Then they are mine.”
A shout went up, and I stumbled backward, shocked by the noise, but I soon realized it was a cheer. The crowd of gathered creatures began to move about the room. Music swelled, coming from all around, and my mind went blank. I remember turning around, trying to understand what was happening, and remember seeing the other children of the group with me. I had nearly forgotten them, and still, as I looked at them, I didn’t really take them in. Only one thought floated across my mind before the night closed in and there was only darkness:
We had come home.