The Immortal Realm (7 page)

A warden had been put on the door of Cerulean Hall, but he stepped aside to let Tania and Sancha through. A floor of pale blue marble stretched away from them between sapphire walls. The hall was long and slender and empty of furniture or decoration; it seemed to Tania to be a place where grand balls might take place. The air all around her was awash with light that shimmered as it poured in through the huge open windows.

The cocoons of Gildensleep had come to rest along one wall, hovering a little above the ground, sending out their own golden glow. Tania's heart ached to see them. The number of sick children had grown to eleven—and there were now seven sick adults as well:
four men and three women. At Eden's insistence Earl Valentyne had been taken to a separate room, where she remained at his side behind a locked door.

Tania looked through the glaze of gold at the faces of the sleeping patients. They seemed peaceful, giving the impression that Oberon's enchantment had washed them clean of the sickness that was really only being held at bay.

A table had been set up on trestles under a window. It was filled with beakers and vials and bottles and jars of liquid and dried herbs and powders. Hopie pounded a mixture with mortar and pestle.

As Titania saw them enter, she stepped forward. “Tania, you should not be here,” she said. “We cannot risk you falling ill.”

Hopie pushed her long hair out of her eyes with one arm, her fingers darkly stained by her work. “No, Mother, by your leave, let her stay. She may be able to assist me.”

Tania looked beseechingly at her mother. “Please? I have to do something to help.”

The Queen nodded. “So be it. Stay, then, for a little while.”

“Put the books on the floor by the table,” said Sancha. They spread the ancient leather-bound volumes on the floor. Sancha knelt, opening some of the books, leaning in close to read the fine gothic script.

Tania stood at Hopie's side. A sharp, tangy scent rose from the stone mortar.

“What can I do?” Tania asked.

“I have mixed and brewed such potions and nostrums as I know,” Hopie said. “But I am working in darkness, Tania. I need you to tell me all that you know of the remedies that Mortals use for such ailments.”

“I don't really know anything about medicine,” Tania said. “It's all chemicals.”

“Indeed,” Hopie said with a hint of impatience in her voice. “But even in the Mortal World, these chemicals must surely come from natural sources? I must try to find these sources and replicate the formulas used by Mortal apothecaries. Think, now, Tania. Is there anything you can remember, any medicinal herb or plant or root of the Mortal World that grows also in Faerie? Something that I can use?”

“I'm not sure,” said Tania. “I know that aspirin has something to do with tree bark, but I don't have any idea which tree. And I have no idea at all how antibiotics are made.”

“A tincture of the bark of willow and myrtle relieves pain,” Hopie mused. “I know this, already, Tania. I need more.”

“I don't
know
any more,” said Tania, becoming frustrated by her own ignorance.

“What of the petals of the nasturtium flower?” said Sancha, looking up from her books. “A healer from centuries past wrote, ‘combined with honey and pure water, these petals purify the lungs and will eradicate fevers.'”

“Good. Good, Sancha. I will add a tincture of nasturtium,” Hopie said. “Tania, hand me the bottle with the red liquid in it.”

Tania watched as Hopie made up a new mixture, but she could not help glance every now and then at the golden cocoons, beautiful but sad in the blue light.

“How will you know when you've got the right formula?” she asked her sister. “Can you treat people while they're inside that…
light
.” She didn't quite know what to call the glowing shells of the Gildensleep.

“I will not have to,” said Hopie. “I will know when the potion is true.” She looked at Tania. “Did you think that my gift resided only in my hands, sister? Nay, it runs through my whole body. I will know if I find the cure. I will feel it in my soul.”

Sancha looked up again. “It is written here that the feather of an ossifrage can be of assistance in treating colic.” She frowned. “I do not know what manner of bird an ossifrage is.”

“I do!” exclaimed Tania. “It was in a crossword. My mum does them all the time.” She looked at Titania. “My other mum, I mean. It's an old-fashioned name for a lammergeier. It's a kind of vulture.”

“Such creatures dwell only in the crags of the far north.” Hopie sighed. “If all fails, mayhap Eden will ride the horse of air into far-off Prydein and fetch for us this feather.” Her voice became brisk. “In the meantime, Tania, you will assist me with my potions
even if you cannot unlock for me the secrets of Mortal medicines.” She looked sharply at Tania, and there was a glimmer of understanding in her eyes. “Fear not, sweet sister; I will work you hard. Under my tutelage you will have little time for brooding over things you cannot change. Now then, let us bind the tincture of nasturtiums with rosemary and rue, for repentance and for grace. Swiftly now, Tania. All the bottles are labeled. Be
helpful
!”

For the rest of the morning, as Sancha read the age-old texts, Tania sifted powders and poured thick liquids into spoons and cut dried herbs with a sharp double-bladed, crystal mezzaluna while Hopie brewed potions and elixirs that filled the air with a heady brew of pungent smells.

They could only hope this would help.

 

A sudden knock sounded on the doors of Cerulean Hall.

“Who can this be?” muttered Hopie. “Have we not work enough without interruption?”

The knocking became an urgent hammering.

“Bid them depart!” said Sancha.

Tania nodded and ran to the closed doors.

“Do not let anyone in!” called Titania.

“What do you want?” Tania called through the doors.

“Tania—quickly—open the door!”

“Edric?” She jerked the bolt free and pulled one of
the doors open a fraction.

“Edric, you can't come in here, it's not—” She stopped dead as she saw the disturbed expression on his face.

“Quickly,” Edric said. “It's Cordelia. She's ill.”

Tania arrived at Cordelia's bedchamber to find the door locked against them and Bryn hammering on the white wooden panels.

“Let me in, Cordelia; you are not well. Hopie is here.” He paused but there was no reply. He banged the flat of his hand on the door. “Cordelia? You must open the door.”

Bryn looked at Tania. “She is alone in there. She will not even speak with me.”

Tania pressed her ear against the door. “Cordelia?” she called. “It's me. What's wrong? Open the door, please.”

There was no reply.

Hopie rapped on the door with her knuckles. “Cordelia? What nonsense is this, sister? Come now, open the door and let me in. I shall not harm you.” She listened for a few moments then shook her head and turned to Bryn. “Does she have the symptoms of the plague?”

Bryn's voice shook as he replied. “All was well but then she became pale and complained of a tightness in her chest. She collapsed onto the floor, clutching at her stomach and coughing. There was blood on her lips. I tried to help her, but she screamed at me and tore at my face. I ran for help. When I returned, the door was barred against me and Cordelia would not speak.” His eyes were full of dread. “I fear she is too sick to respond.”

“But why bar the door?” asked Hopie. “No matter. Edric, Bryn, use what force you must.”

The two young men hurled themselves at the door. Once it resisted, the second time Tania heard wood splintering, and the third time the door burst open. Hopie was the first into the room, Tania close behind her.

They came into a white chamber with open windows and silk curtains flying in the wind. But there was no sign of Cordelia.

They moved quickly into the bedchamber.

“Cordelia!” called Hopie. “You must let us help you.”

Tania noticed that the bedclothes had been torn from the mattress. An odd, sick feeling grew in her stomach as she walked slowly around the bed. She swallowed hard.

“She's here,” she said. Cordelia was huddled in the corner of the room wrapped in sheets and blankets so that only her face was visible, flushed and running,
with sweat. There were flecks of blood on her lips and chin. Her eyes were strained wide open.

Tania knelt in front of her and reached out very slowly. “Cordie? Don't be scared. It's only me.”

The feral eyes focused on her, and Cordelia's mouth twisted into a bloodstained snarl. She shrank away, pulling the covers closer around herself.

“Why is she like this?” murmured Edric. “No one else is showing these symptoms.”

“None other have animal spirits so deep in their souls,” said Hopie. “Her gift of empathy with the beasts of Faerie runs through her like the blood in her veins, and the sickness has set her animal spirit loose. She is lost in it.”

Now Tania understood.
She's acting like a sick animal would.

“Cordelia, my love?” Bryn moved closer to her, a hand reaching tentatively out. “Have no fear—”

“Touch me not!” Cordelia's voice was guttural and savage.

“No, Cordie,” Tania said. “Don't be daft. It's Bryn. He won't hurt you. He loves you, remember?”

Cordelia's face turned to her.

“Tania…?” she said hoarsely, a glimmer of recognition igniting. “Leave me, dearest sister. Leave me now. I would die alone.”

“Listen to me, Cordie. You're not going to die,” Tania said. “Hopie will give you some medicine—and if that doesn't work quickly enough, the King will
come and put you in a lovely deep sleep.” Cordelia still stared at her, but her lips had relaxed and the manic snarl faded.

“You stay….” Cordelia rasped. “It is acceptable. You are not of Faerie born. But the others must go—” She spread her hand over her face. “They cannot see me die.”

“No!” cried Bryn. “I won't leave you.”

Cordelia's mouth opened wide and she let out a shivering, wailing howl that chilled Tania to the heart. There was nothing human in that howl; it was the wretched screaming of a trapped and dying animal.

“You'd better go!” Tania cried. “All of you. I'll make sure she's okay. Get Oberon.”

“Come,” said Hopie. “Do as she says. Master Chanticleer, fetch the King, and quickly!”

Hopie and Edric went, but Bryn stood hesitantly in the doorway, reluctant to leave his new bride.

“I'll look after her,” said Tania. “I promise.”

His face misshapen by grief, Bryn turned and left. Cordelia's howling died away to a harsh, grating panting, but her eyes still brimmed with a wild light.

“They're gone now, Cordie,” Tania said, her voice soft and low, using a tone she would have used on a frightened cat or dog. “Come on, there's no need to be scared. I'm here. No one's going to hurt you. It'll be fine.”

Very slowly Tania drew the covers back. She saw that Cordelia was still wearing the blue-and-gold wedding dress. Fear filled Cordelia's eyes. She was taking
quick shallow breaths now, her whole body trembling. Tania shifted so that she was beside her sister, holding her against herself, pressing Cordelia's head to her shoulder.

“That's it, Cordie,” she crooned, wrapping her arms around her. “Nothing to be scared of. Everything's going to be all right.”

But although Cordelia allowed herself to be held, her body was rigid, every muscle tense as a bowstring. And the trembling did not stop.

 

“How fares my daughter?”

Tania looked up at the sound of Oberon's voice. Her arms were still around Cordelia, but her sister's breathing had calmed to a low rasp. Her eyes were closed now and her head was resting on Tania's chest.

Tania looked into her father's face and saw his agony as he gazed at Cordelia from the doorway. She knew what he must be feeling. It was only a few short weeks since Zara had been killed, and now death threatened another of his children.

“Can she be lifted to the bed?” asked Oberon.

Tania nodded. She kissed the top of Cordelia's head and smoothed her hair. “Cordie?” she crooned. “I need you to get up now, just for a moment or two. Will you do that for me?”

Cordelia's head snapped up. Her eyes were insane and her body rigid. She hissed, her fingernails digging into Tania's arm. Tania winced but tried not to flinch away.

“It's all right. It's me.”

“Tania?” The voice was puzzled. “Have you walked with me into death?”

“No. No one is dead. I need you to get onto the bed. You'll be more comfortable there.”

Tania got slowly to her feet, drawing Cordelia up with her. Suddenly Cordelia lifted her face and sniffed the air. A confused, startled look came into her eyes, and she turned her head to the doorway where the King stood.

“Ahhh!” she breathed, her eyes widening, her body trembling from head to foot. “My lord…the noble beast…eagle of the mountain, lion of the vale, stag of the forest…He has come for me…. He will lead me safe into the Great Darkness, where my furred and feathered and scaled brethren await me.” She pulled away from Tania and stumbled toward Oberon, her hands reaching out for him.

He opened his arms and gathered her to him, holding her against his broad chest, lowering his head to kiss her hair. “Daughter, mine!” he murmured. “I am not the harbinger of death. I am your father, and while I have breath in my body, I will stand forever between you and that deadly portal.” His arms tightened around her for a moment. “Sleep now, Cordelia, and awake to the eternal bliss that is your birthright.” His voice rumbled. “Sleep!”

Tania watched as the golden light came threading out from his fingers, writhing and braiding in the air, encompassing Cordelia's quivering body, surrounding
her with its gentle glow.

Cordelia's feet lifted from the ground, and she turned slowly as the cocoon of the Gildensleep knitted around her. Tania saw the desperate animal light fade from her eyes; tranquillity suffused her face as her eyelids peacefully closed.

The golden cocoon floated to the bed. Tilting and adjusting so that Cordelia was lying now on her back, it came lightly to rest on the mattress.

Tania stared at her father. “Will she recover?” she asked. “I mean, will she get
completely
better?”

She was thinking of what Hopie had said about Cordelia's animal spirit.
The sickness has set her animal spirit loose. She is lost in it.

“I know not,” said the King, standing at the bedside. “I have done all that I can for her.”

Tania turned as she heard others coming into the room: Bryn and Hopie, with Edric close behind.

Bryn looked at Cordelia, and tears ran down his cheeks. “Be well, my darling, in good time,” he murmured. “I will not leave you again.”

They stood in silence around the bed. Hopie was the first to speak. “I must away,” she murmured. “Farewell, Cordelia, for the moment. I go to seek a cure.”

“And I must also go,” said the King. “Sickness stalks the corridors of this place, and there are others who need release from the turmoil of the plague.”

They departed together.

Tania was acutely aware of Edric standing at the foot of the bed with his head bowed. She glanced at him,
hoping that maybe he would look at her and hold out a comforting hand, that he would offer her some small moment of love or shared grief or understanding.

But it didn't happen. He walked silently from the room.

Bryn knelt at Cordelia's head.

Tania heard him singing softly to her.

Tania couldn't bear the sorrow that bled through the lovely melody. There was a pain in her chest like stones grinding her heart as she made her way into the corridor. She went back to her own chambers and lay on her bed, utterly exhausted. When had she last slept? Not for two nights now: one long night with Mallory, the second aboard the
Cloud Scudder
.

But how could she sleep when all around her people were succumbing to the plague that she had brought on them? How could she ever hope to sleep again?

 

When she awoke, the bedchamber was full of shadows and there was the steady patter of teeming rain.

She sat up. Beyond the tall open windows the sky was dark. Not the beautiful starry, velvet blue of a clear Faerie night, but the deep, brooding gray of rain clouds. She got up and walked to the window. The sill and the floor were wet from the windblown rain that pricked cold on her face.

Not for the first time she wished they had clocks in Faerie. It was disorienting never to know the exact time of day—and for all she knew she may have slept half the night away.

She lit a candle and caught her reflection in a circular mirror above the washstand. She leaned close, looking into her weary eyes. The sadness in her face startled her.

She remembered her dad's words.
What happens on the morning
after
happy ever after?

“Well? We're there now, that's for sure,” she said to herself. “So what's the answer? What happens now?”

Her reflection shook its head and said nothing. She straightened up, listening to the endless rain. She could hear no other sound.

Out of nowhere a sudden panic gripped her: the terror that she was the only person left alive in the whole of the palace—the overwhelming conviction that the plague had taken everyone else in Veraglad. That she was surrounded by corpses.

She ran for the door. The candle fluttered and went out. She paused, breathing heavily, trying to calm herself. She turned to the nightstand and relit the candle. This time she moved more slowly, cupping
the flame. She opened the door to her chambers and stepped out into the corridor.

The hallway was bright with candles set in crystal sconces all along the walls. Someone must have lit the candles; someone must still be alive.

She snuffed out her own candle and walked to the curved gallery that overlooked the main entrance hall to the palace, five floors below her.

Voices drifted up. Almost breathless with relief, she leaned over the banister. The hall far below her was awash with candlelight and movement. Figures were gathered there. She saw the King and the Earl Marshal Cornelius as well as several other folk of the royal court. They were greeting a tall silver-haired man clad in a heavy, rain-soaked black cloak. His deep, powerful voice came up to Tania. It was a voice she recognized, and the sound of it made her shiver.

“Ill met on a storm-wracked night, my lord Oberon,” said Lord Aldritch of Weir, father of the Great Traitor Gabriel Drake. “Are all yet gathered? The summons of the Queen was most urgent. The great lords of Faerie have stern work ahead, I deem.”

“Greetings, Lord Aldritch,” replied the King. “Not all the earls have yet arrived. Lady Kernow came with us from Dinsel, and Lord Tristan is with us, as is Fleance of Gaidheal. Marchioness Lucina and Lord Brython are also in attendance.”

“How fares Earl Valentyne?” asked Aldritch.

“I have bound him and many another in the Gildensleep,” said the King.

“Then time presses hard on us. Let us to Conclave ere all is lost.”

“We await the arrival of Lord Herne and Lady Mornamere,” said Cornelius. “Conclave cannot commence until all are present.”

“Then let us wish them good speed in their journey,” said Aldritch. “Who will deputize for Earl Valentyne?”

“Princess Eden, if she can be spared,” said the King.

“That is well. But I have given thought to our plight. I have summoned one who may be the surcease of all our woes.”

Tania leaned farther out, listening intently. She had begun to get used to the courtly manner in which the Faerie folk spoke to one another. “Surcease of all our woes” meant Aldritch believed he had found a possible cure for the plague.