The Naked, in the Realm of the Faerie

Jane followed Eaving across the summit of The Naked, as astounded as Louis had been. How had she never known this existed? How could she have been so blind?

No wonder they picked Cornelia, she thought.

Frankly, she was stupefied to find herself here at all. She thought she would have been close to the last person invited to this faerie assembly (well, second to last; Jane thought that Weyland might actually be slightly more reviled than she). But then, had she been invited here only to be judged? To be condemned and belittled?

Eaving stopped here and there to greet members of the Faerie with obvious pleasure. Jane followed, her movements stiff, her eyes averted. When Eaving stopped to greet Mag, Jane could barely breathe. Surely she would be struck down now?

But nothing happened, Eaving moved off, and Jane followed, burning with humiliation as she felt Mag’s eyes on her. Jane could hear the whispers, feel the fingers pointed at her back, and shivered under the weight of so many stares of cold hatred.

In an effort to distract herself, and to concentrate on something other than how much people loved Eaving and loathed her, Jane looked forward, to where Louis stood with the Lord of the Faerie. Jane’s heart beat a little faster when she saw Coel, for he seemed to her to be her only friend and her only hope of refuge in this nightmarish assembly.

Louis looked as out of place as she herself felt, dressed in his court finery, and with that same slightly disorientated cast to his eyes that Jane was sure she must also exhibit. She blinked, and in that moment Louis’ appearance rippled and altered. Now he still stood in the same place, still staring at Eaving, but dressed as Jane had first seen him so long ago, when he had been Brutus and she Genvissa.

He hadn’t taken Brutus’ form: he remained as Louis, taller and leaner than Brutus had ever been, but he was now dressed as a Trojan prince.

Save for the golden bands of Troy. His limbs were unadorned.

Eaving came to the central space, spoke briefly to Louis, and then stepped up to the Lord of the Faerie, and was enveloped in his tight embrace.

Then, as Eaving stood back, the Lord of the Faerie looked at Jane, smiled, and held out a hand. “Jane,” he said.

She hesitated, and his hand waggled a little impatiently.

Tense, Jane stepped forward—and received as tight an embrace as Eaving had.

“When will you start to believe,” the Lord of the Faerie whispered into her ear, “that I have no intention of murdering you?”

“If not you, then most of the gathered throng here would be happy to wield the knife,” she said.

He placed his palm against her cheek, very briefly. “I have welcomed you here,” he said, “thus there shall be no murdering. Although if I were you, I would stay out of Mag’s way.”

Then he motioned Jane and Louis to one side and, taking Eaving’s hand so that she stood at his side in the centre of the circle of leaves, addressed those atop The Naked.

The creatures gathered were now congregated into one mass a little distant from where the Lord of the Faerie and Eaving stood in their circle of leaves.

“Behold!” the Lord of the Faerie cried. “The Faerie Court convenes!”

The assemblage roared, and Jane jumped.

“I bid you welcome, one and all,” the Lord of the Faerie continued, “for you are all beloved to this land.” The Lord of the Faerie paused, and Jane swore that his stature literally grew an inch or two as he studied the throng before him.

“We convene tonight for one most magical reason—to witness the anointing of he who is to rise as the Stag God.”

Jane saw Louis frown, then look away, as if irritated.

“A man most ordinary, and yet extraordinary,” said Eaving.

At this point she gazed at the Lord of the Faerie with such emotion that Jane was not surprised to see Louis’ expression turn angry. She felt a moment’s sympathy for him; what the Lord of the Faerie and Eaving did here was cruel, to say the least, as they flaunted their love and power before Louis.

“It matters only,” Eaving said, turning away from the Lord of the Faerie and dropping his hand, “that he accept the responsibility for the Ringwalk, the track of the stag through the forests, and accept the challenge that his rising shall encompass. Brutus, once William, reborn again as Louis de Silva, will you accept the responsibility of the Ringwalk, and the challenge of your rising?”

Jane looked to Louis, and knew then that she was truly alone in the world. Everyone else moved ever forward into greater power, and a greater understanding with, and connection to, the Faerie.

Only she, of all, slid ever backwards towards irrelevance and dismissal.

He thought it was a cruel jest, that somehow this was his punishment for all the hurt he had done to Cornelia and Caela. He thought that this was the true purpose of the Faerie Court, to humiliate and torment him, and that at any moment the expression on Eaving’s face would turn from loving joy to terrifying contempt.

Brutus, once William, reborn again as Louis de Silva, will you accept the responsibility of the Ringwalk, and the challenge of your rising?

Louis staggered a little, unable to comprehend that Eaving could have said that in anything but contempt-ridden jest. He stared at her, then looked around, wondering if he dared to run, and if the throng would part for him if he did.

If they parted, would they laugh as he ran past? Pepper him with malicious jests?

How could Eaving and the Lord of the Faerie think that he would willingly hand over his powers as Kingman to the Lord of the Faerie after this particular piece of spite?

“Louis,” Eaving said, very softly. She had walked close to him now, and the expression on her face had changed, as Louis was sure it would—but not into terrifying contempt. Rather, into an even greater depth of compassion.

“How could you not have known?” she said, so close to him now that her breath played over his face. She leaned against him, her hand warm on his chest. “I tried to tell you so often, but you would never listen.”

How could you not have known? whispered the assembled throng of faerie creatures. How could you not have known?

Louis still could not speak, nor raise his hands to Eaving. He looked beyond her to where the Lord of the Faerie stood, an empathetic expression on his face.

“How could you not have known?” the Lord of the Faerie whispered.

“I…” Louis began, drifting to a close, not knowing what to say. His mind still could not grasp what had happened, or that Eaving now leaned so close against him.

“Will you run the forests?” she murmured. “Will you trace the Ringwalk?”

Will you run the forests? whispered the throng. Will you trace the Ringwalk?

“Will you be the land?” said the Lord of the Faerie, now also very close.

Will you be the land? echoed the throng.

“Come dance with us,” murmured Eaving.

Dance with us.

“Come dance with me, into eternity.”

Dance with us, into eternity.

“Walk this land with me, run its forests, be my Kingman, be my Stag. Complete the Troy Game with me, and dance with me…dance with me…dance with me…”

Dance with her, be her lover, dance…dance…dance…

Louis realised he was trembling, so badly he wondered he did not fall to his knees.

“I cannot…” he stumbled.

She withdrew enough so that her magical eyes could look deep into his. “Is it that you do not want to, or that you do not think yourself able?”

“How can I? Gods, I am not what you want.”

“You are everything that this land needs.”

He wanted to believe her. He wanted to shout yes! And yet…why did she not speak words of love? Why did she not promise herself to him? Why was he not everything that she wanted?

Now she was kissing his brow, his cheek, his ear, and Louis wondered why she would not look at him.

“The Lord of the Faerie shall show you the way of the Ringwalk,” said Eaving, her fingertips trailing down his naked chest.

“Oh, aye,” murmured the Lord of the Faerie, now standing almost as close to Louis as was Eaving. “And when you are risen, and the Stag God runs the Ringwalk, then shall you and Eaving be joined together in the Great Marriage, and so shall the land be whole once again.”

The Great Marriage. Louis could remember Genvissa telling him of it when he’d been Brutus. When the goddess of the waters joined with the god of the forests in the Great Marriage, then, and then only, would the land be whole.

“Is that what you want?” Louis asked Eaving, and she leaned back, and her eyes glinted and sparkled.

“What else?” she said.

Louis relaxed. He had been shocked. His thoughts had tumbled in disarray. She loved him. She wanted him.

He took Eaving’s face between his hands. “We will dance the final Dance of the Flowers,” he said, “and then we will walk forward, together, into eternity.”

“Yes,” she whispered, and if there was a shadow in her eyes as she said that, then Louis merely thought it the reflection of the throng gathering close about them.

“We will all walk with you about the Ringwalk,” whispered the faerie folk now encircled about them. “Into eternity.”

Eaving leaned back a little again, and put a hand against his cheek. “Brutus,” she said, “will you accept the responsibility? The challenge? Will you face the Ringwalk?”

Suddenly Louis felt the strangest sensation in his chest, and it took him a moment to realise it was joy.

“Yes,” he said. “I do so accept.”

He cradled Eaving in his arms, and kissed her as he should once have kissed her when they’d stood beneath the night sky at the Altar of the Philistines, so long ago, and felt that new-found joy in his heart deepen into a hope that he had not realised until now he had abandoned many years before.

When she pulled back from him, he did not think it anything other than her desire to share her joy with the assembled faerie folk.