Baros shook her head. “Not rebellion, not yet. But in the woods we listen, and we wait, as we have done here. They grow restless here, and in the woods they grow pleased without the hand governing from the White City. Men desire power, and they will not give it to another without fighting.”
“I do not want power,” Caer said. “My mother yet lives, and may yet be free. She remains Queen of these lands.”
“All witches have power,” Baros replied. “For now your mother sleeps, and you rule in her stead.”
A shout resounded behind them. A fight broke out in the mortal camp.
“We will meet again, daughter of Beren,” Baros said, as a younger nymph took her arm and led her away. “In the morrow’s council, we will stand with Y Erianrod.”
“The morrow’s council?” Caer questioned.
Mab paid no attention, gazing past her to the gathering of men. Elric approached.
“Elric,” Headred said, eliciting a small nod from the newcomer.
Over his long, silver robes Elric wore a hooded cloak of woodsy brown, his face hidden.
“Mother,” he said, kneeling before Mab. “The mortals grow restless. They have seen Y Erianrod and fight among themselves over her fate.”
Mab appeared worried. Caer never saw a troubled fairy. Mab’s eyes darted to the mortal’s camp, where fires gleamed and their banners blew in the icy gusts.
“Perhaps our entrance should have been guarded,” Mab said, motioning to Caer.
Elric nodded. “They know Caer comes, for she bears the face of her mother. The elders of their lands, once the Lords and Ladies under the Queen, have taken power for themselves and raised armies. They do not desire to return such power to a woman.”
“The hearts of men never change,” Mab sighed.
Torches lighted the camps of men, and what looked like swords raised in the air, as the shouts continued.
“Will they fight?” Caer asked.
The fairies turned toward her. “Some may,” Mab said in bitterness. “But blood will not be spilled tonight. The centaurs and nymphs and fairies have gathered also, and the men will not stand against so many enemies quite so easy.”
“They see her and us as their enemies?” Headred asked.
Mab nodded.
“How will we fight the demon if the men do not stand with us?” Caer asked.
Mab turned. “What do you mean, daughter?”
“They are born of this world, as Dana and Goewin, and the line of the prophets. They rule over this world, as the witches rule over them. If they would surrender it to the shadow, we already lose this war.”
Mab chuckled. “They do not surrender to the demon. They will fight her, and their blood will flow as rivers. No, they would not join her, but neither would some among them join you.”
Headred glanced at Mab.
“Not all men would keep the power they hold,” Mab said. “Ull awaits the coming of its Queen, and those within it have held hope for many years. Inside the city an army awaits Y Erianrod. And some of the lands beyond would join her as well, though others would fall to the demon rather than surrender to the light.”
“You know this?” Caer asked.
Mab’s deep eyes bore into her, and in her mind Mab whispered words of comfort.
Histare, tomilai nostelheleth.
Do not fear, my daughter.
“I know this, as Elric knows this,” Mab said aloud. “By the grace of the gods, the world of mortals, ruled by men, does not fall to the powers of greed. But already it turns against the old ways, against magic.”
Elric spoke before Caer could question Mab further. “There are places in the lands ruled by men where they no longer welcome the line of witches. Among the Lords of men who fancy themselves Kings, there are rumors of burning wise women and prophets. Some whisper now to do this to the witch walking among them.”
Caer shivered.
Mab looked to where the men gathered. “Such remains the fate of men. For they above others suffer the most of war and disease and the ravages of mortality, and their hearts grow rotten as the trees of the forest grow rotten, and turn to evil.”
The group fell silent, and with Mab’s motioning they turned toward the fairy encampment.
Caer turned at a shout from the direction of the mortals. A group of men came toward them, bearing torches, swords and curved daggers, blood-hunger in their eyes.
Headred pulled Caer aside and handed her to Huma, before he went to Mab. Behind them the fairies gathered, and in the distance centaurs crossed the hill, ready to join them.
“So it begins, as always it begins,” Mab said, and a single tear fell into the snow.
Not far away the band of men stopped and looked at the Fairy Queen and her followers, vengeance, vehemence and fury in their eyes, with fear wrapped around them.
“Where do you hide the daughter of the Ice Queen?” shouted their leader, an older man, not yet bent with age, grey hair and beard trimmed, clutching in his hand a jeweled sword, with rusted armor on his back. He seemed to Caer a sign of a once-great race now bereft of glory.
“First tell us your business with her,” Headred demanded.
“Our business does not concern you or the fairy wench,” he shouted. “I am Gavial, King of the Black Forest. We seek the life of the cursed witch who lived while her people died, people she now wishes to rule.”
“Her life does not yet become forfeit to you, Gavial of the Black Forests,” Mab said. “Not long ago you ruled a small land. Did you conquer others, and spill the blood of your people to increase your lands?”
“We have no Queen; we need no Queen!” he retorted. “We are Kings of our own land, of our own people.”
“You served as a vassal of the Queen in my childhood,” Headred said. “Even in those days you desired power not yours to take.”
“Give us the girl,” Gavial demanded, “or we will take her by force.”
“And risk war with your allies?” Gehrdon asked, trotting forward. “Are you blind? Do you not see the fortress of Eliudnir in the barren land of Óskópnir lives again with the power of Belial? Would you sacrifice all you are, all the power you desire, to kill the one who could save you all?”
Gavial glared at Gehrdon as a stupid mule and turned back to Mab.
“Give us the girl.” He raised his sword.
“Take her from us,” Headred suggested and unsheathed his own sword.
The men shouted and stomped. The centaurs reared, drawing their bows. The nymphs hissed, and the fairies drew their curved scimitars. Beren walked among them, a shadow of a specter, speaking words Caer alone could hear, touching the men and the weapons held by their sides, and the group who stood with Caer, caressing them for comfort.
So it begins…
Beren strolled beyond the sight of the others. Her fingers touched the sword blades and the tips of the bows. Beren’s eyes turned to Caer, bored into her as she shoved her mind deep inside Caer’s, unlocking the power and the light laying there sleeping for so long.
…as the world of men falls before us…
She strode before Headred and Mab, before Gehrdon and the centaurs and Baros and the nymphs. Her eyes stayed locked on Caer as their minds became one. And in her thoughts Caer could see the end, the endless winter, the blood and flesh of Miðgarðir buried beneath the tumult of the demon’s victory. Her eyes turned away, and the Ice Queen cried crystal tears falling on the frozen earth.
…here it will end…
Her mother walked before the line of men. The light of the Ice Queen revealed a wave of shadowy mist; the spells and enchantments of the demon wrapped around the mortals as a plague, a disease of evil. The shouts continued, and the people made ready for battle. Caer felt the light of her mother unlocked by the Ice Queen within her daughter’s mind. A black mist bubbled on the ground, moving like a snake’s shadow, writhing among the gathering’s feet. And cold, colder than the winter, a cold worse than death, hung in the air.
…
and the world falls…
Caer saw what would come. The arrows loosed upon the ranks of men, the blood seeping into the snow, the fall of the fairies, of Headred, of Huma and the nymphs, the death of Gehrdon and the centaurs, and Gavial’s weak smile of victory as his spirit passed into the heavens. The laughter of the demon as she saw victory for herself in Eliudnir, as Beren’s tears fell to the frozen world.
…by the demon’s dark power.
As the world returned, she saw the battlefield, and the bloody mud, covering the face of the Earth.
“Stop!” she shouted and broke free from Huma.
Mab sighed and looked at Y Erianrod, visible to her people.
“See here,” Gavial said in a self-agonizing way. “The child of the damned witch gives herself to us. She makes her death her own choice.”
“I give myself to no one,” Caer retorted. “Least of all one who already serves the demon.”
No one moved; no one spoke at her revelation.
The silence broke with Gavial’s laugh. “Stupid girl, your tricks and whisperings will not sway the warrior hearts of men.”
“Perhaps not.” She paced before Mab and Headred. “But I see the darkness the demon surrounds you with. I hear her whisper in your ears what she wants you to hear. By her power Belial will cleave her sword through the lands of mortals. She divides you now, lest you stand against her.”
Gavial remained unconvinced. But under the glare of the fairies and Y Erianrod, one by one some of his followers sheathed their weapons.
“What are you doing?” Gavial shouted. “Kill her now!”
“Gavial,” Mab said.
He turned to look at her.
“Once the people of this world held council to reveal to them the true ruler of these lands. Three of each, the sacred number, gathered, and three of the mortal magicks. Tomorrow morning this council must gather again, and there, without blood, may your voice be heard.”
He still seemed unconvinced, but he nodded. Some of the men put their arms around him and led him away. Others glanced at Caer and followed.
“Come, Caer,” Mab said, leading her to the pavilions. “We will go to my camp, and there we will rest and prepare for the council.”
One last time Caer looked back over her shoulder as Mab and Headred led her to the fairy camp. The fires of war flickered in the mortal camp. She wondered what fate would be decided for her tomorrow.
Hours later, Caer sat on the cushions in the fairy pavilion beside Headred and felt the warmth seep back into her. Her mind became tormented by the shadows and visions she saw. Could it be a warning, or an omen of what would come anyway?
Headred took her hand, stopping her thoughts. “What troubles your heart, my lady?”
“They want me dead. I do not know why my life sacrificed would bring them peace.”
Headred sighed, and Mab gazed at her, before departing.
“What do all fear to say?” Caer asked “Why are there things I do not know yet, when you believe I am a savior sent to you?”
“You are the light, Y Erianrod.” He sighed again. “Your grandmother, Enyd, brought forth the demon from her womb.”
Caer stared at him, incredulity written on her face. “And they hate me for Enyd’s sin?”
His features turned apologetic, and his eyes sad as his mouth curved into a wry smile. “No, Caer, ‘tis not of the reason why they loath you. Enyd could have ended this. Enyd held in her power to choose not to bear the child, to sacrifice the child when upon its birth, but she refused.
“Instead she chose to keep the child and vowed to teach Belial the ways of the light. For in her heart she hoped her child would not choose the evil of her father, and see the light.”
“Yet my mother did not suffer her sister’s evil.”
“She did, my lady. For your mother also made a choice, to honor Enyd’s dying words and teach Belial the ways of the witches, instead of breaking the vow her mother laid upon her, and taking the babe’s life. Yet for many years she suffered her sister and watched as Belial spread her evil within Ull and the lands of light. And so she too betrayed her people to the darkness and the death of Belial.”
“I do not understand,” she said, concerned. “What does this have to do with me?”
“Ah,” Headred said with a rueful laugh. “You see, my Queen, your mother twice betrayed her people. For though she loved these lands, she did not trust the gift of power the gods gave you. And so she sent you to hide, while the lands and the people suffered under the wrath of the demon. And while you lived in safety, many other children died in the harsh winter and the vengeance of the shadow. Nor do the people trust the witches as they once did. They believe your mother betrayed them to this long winter, and they believe you will betray them also.”
Caer wondered, could it be possible the gods gave their messiah to the people of Sul, and a babe could wield the power to destroy evil? Could she have stood in her power against the demon, when now she could not be sure?
No, she decided. Beren chose the one path meant to be, and damned Sul and all of Miðgarðir for it.
The curtain separating the pavilion from outside opened. Elric, Beoreth, and Mab strode in.
“The council will begin in the morn,” Mab informed them. “Messengers have arrived from men, nymphs, and centaurs. They have chosen their representatives. Now we must choose the representatives of the mortal magicks and the fairies.”
“Who will they be?” Headred asked.
Mab smiled. “I will see to the wishes of my people on the council. My sons, Girth and Elric, will join me.”
“And I will stand for the mortal magicks, the prophets,” Headred decided.
“And Beoreth, for the wise women.” Mab wondered over at Caer. “And last, for the witches, Y Erianrod will at long last be revealed.”
“Mab, are you sure?” Beoreth asked.
Mab smiled a little, a shadow in her eyes. “The witch must be brought forth in the council so the others may trust her.”
“I will go,” Caer said.
Everyone looked at her.
“See, my good friend,” Mab told Beoreth. “She chooses this.” Mab took Caer by the hand and helped her to her feet. “Come, we must discuss much before the council. Afterward we will rest and comfort before it.”
Caer nodded as Mab led her into the chill of the night. Headred waited for her until the night grew long. When she returned she found Headred fast asleep. There she joined him, wrapped in the strong, warm comfort of his arms until the morning, when her fate would be decided.
*****
In the circle of the stones, the councilors sat, some serene, and some irritable.
At the top of the hill the bell for the council rang. Caer and Headred walked up the slope, and when they reached its icy, snow-covered top, Caer saw the place where the gods walked and held council.
Five benches, curved and in a perfect circle, surrounded a silver-shot altar, on which sat a silver basin of ice. The altar and the benches looked extraordinary, carved with the ancient language. On each bench runes wrote the names of the gods’ children, the runes gathering magic to Glasheim. Surrounding them Caer saw twenty-one perfectly quarried rectangular granite blocks of granite, upright and arranged in a circle. In later years, men connected each stone to the others by other quarried rocks laid on top. Two more stones jutted out from the earth as if parts of it, their shapes like rough arrowheads. The white stone of Frigg, goddess of the moon faced the north, and the golden stone of Woden, Lord of the gods, faced east.
Caer sat and pretended not to exist as she watched the others, all sitting on the stone benches. Headred and Beoreth settled on either side of her.
According to the ancient traditions, three of each race, and three of the mortal magicks would sit on the council to decide who would be worthy to rule.
“Who are they?” Caer asked Headred, her voice hushed.
“You see Cahros.” He glanced to a middle-aged centaur across the way, wh
ose feet stamped in the ice and snow. She recognized him from their childhood meeting. “He stands with Gehrdon, whom you met last night. Many centaurs consider him a leader of his people, though he remains an outcast. The centaurs feel the light of the witches fades, and he stands still with the witches, although his heart grows troubled.
“Gehrdon from the great centaur city Thrymheim you also know. Sestina also hails from Thyrmheim. Cahros comes from Sessrúmnir, a centaur city in the north. You have met them before, for both have watched over you. Gehrdon and Sestina are mother and daughter, and though she loves Cahros, she cannot be with him while he remains outcast, for her mother rules as the matron of the centaurs and keeps their ways.”
“Sestina?” Caer followed Headred’s gaze to a regal, crowned female centaur beside Gehrdon, who glared at Cahros.
“There,” he replied with a sour grimace and a nod to an older female centaur who glowered at Gavial. “She serves as the matriarch of the centaurs, who dwell in the north beyond the mountains of mist. She made herself an outspoken critic of Cahros, along with his father, Cheron. She does not like mortals or witches. Many years ago she lost her standing by making her son, Huma, an outcast.”
No wonder the goat-man did not tell anyone his past, although Gehrdon’s presence now made more sense. Still, she wondered why Sestina made no attempt to speak to her son, even when she must have seen him upon their arrival.
“Ah, Yidrith came from Ull,” Headred glanced toward a young man seated with the mortals. Caer noticed Yidrith’s stature to be the same as Headred’s, with brown eyes, black hair, and a darker complexion. Yidrith’s skin seemed drawn and tired, like the politicians surrounding him. “He lives in Ull, and I have known him all of my life. I remember his grandfather Raed, one of your mother’s favorite tower guards. You will find Yidrith to be a good-hearted man, but Gavial and Eadwine do not trust him and believe him to be too young to understand their plight. Even so, his father and grandfather stood among the elders in the time after the Witch Queen’s, and his word carries weight in Ull.”
“Eadwine?” Caer located the human priestess, a plump, middle-aged woman her silver-speckled dark hair flowing down her back and held by braids wrapping from her forehead to the back of her head. Eadwine studied in Caer in return.