Amber Magic

Chapter Seventeen

When Myrrdin was yet young, he lived with the Faerie. As many have claimed, he indeed has much Faerie blood in his veins. Some say that his mother was a human princess exchanged for a changeling at birth, others that his father was an elf of almost human stature. All this aside, there is no doubt that Myrrdin is a man of rare talents.

In his early life, he was raised by the Faerie themselves. He lived in their wondrous lands, which as all know can be found by mortals only at twilight or midnight, and only at the foot of a rainbow or widdershuns nine turns 'round an enchanted fairy mound. In this place, Myrrdin grew wise and tricksy, and though he was not ageless, age took a great while to catch him.

It was on his hundredth birthday or so that manhood finally began to take him. He began to know the females among the Faerie then, in their mryiad forms. He was quite popular among them, as his true youth and semi-mortal life were refreshing and innocent to the ancient ones. He knew enough to avoid those that would kill with their embraces-as I said, he had grown wise in their tutelage. The lovely green-complected mermaids of the sea and the elusive dryads of the forests were his favorites.

It was on a day like many others that Oberon came to find him. Myrrdin had been chasing a fleet-footed dryad with exquisite brown eyes like burning knotholes through a forest of hazel trees. Oberon appeared to be only a boy of twelve summers or so, but Myrrdin knew him to be much older. He was in fact, a lord among the Fair Folk, and Myrrdin's benefactor.

“What service can I perform for you, my lord?” Myrrdin asked respectfully. With some regret, he gave over chasing the dryad. He stood nonchalantly as always when facing one of the powerful ones. His muscles sang like the taunt wires of his fiddle, but he hid his tension by leaning against a tree trunk. His eyes he let fall to the ground, that he would not meet Oberon's sparkling, terrible gaze.

“It is time, I think, to expand your knowledge of men, my adopted son,” Oberon said, “I wish you to follow me.”

“Myrrdin did as he was told and though he was long of limb and fleet of foot, he was soon winded and panting as he chased Oberon through the endless forests. After a time they came to a wall of black rock that had no seam or opening, but somehow Oberon made one with the touch of his hand. They stepped through and Myrrdin, for the first time in his memory, found himself in the world of men and the Kindred. He stood, in fact, in an open field of grasses, not far from here, where an ancient human lord's barrow had formed a fairy mound. The time was twilight, when the sun touches the sea and turns the sky red. This last was a shock to Myrrdin, for in the lands of the Faerie, it is ever brightest day or blackest night, with no in-between.

“How is this possible, my lord?” he asked. “The sun bleeds red like a dying creature.”

“There are many things of wonder here,” answered Oberon, who led him further toward a nearby farm. There, working in the fields, they found two maidens wearing woolen skirts and hats of woven straw. Such was the softness of their approach that they were very near the maidens before they were noticed. One took fright, dropping her hoe and running home, but her sister stood frozen, having met Oberon's gaze.

Then, in the way of the Faerie, Oberon enticed her to dance with him. Myrrdin too, he begged to dance. Which Myrrdin did, but with some reluctance, as he had never danced before with a mortal. She was one who was not to be feared, but rather was at his mercy. They both danced with the maiden, Oberon playing pipes and Myrrdin playing his fiddle, and in time Oberon did lead them back to the fairy mound. There, in the last dying gleams of light, they made sweet music and danced upon the mound and around it in a circle with many others of the Faerie, who had come forth to join in. Winged sprites, flaming bright, danced alongside those with hooves and those with the faces of white-skinned children and even the pointed-eared goblins.

When these last came near the girl, Myrrdin saw fit to intercede, placing his dancing form between the twisted flesh of goblin and fair face of the girl. He knew all too well that evil things delighted these weakest of the Dark Ones and he did not trust them. As he was part mortal and therefore not tireless, he began to weary as the dance went on and on in the darkness with the same wild intensity that it had began. Even as he felt the first pangs of fatigue, it was clear that the girl was exhausted. Still, she danced on. She knew nothing but the wild thrall of the dance, and her body twisted and twirled with the frenzied energy of one overcome.

Eventually, she fell to the earth, and then Oberon, who had been touching her lightly smiled down at her. At last, Myrrdin could take no more. He dropped his fiddle and dared to reach out a long arm, pushing back his lord.

Oberon turned his gaze upon him, and this time Myrrdin met it, although the effort was painful to him. “Are you Faerie, or mortal, manling?” demanded Oberon, enraged at being touched.

“I am both, and neither,” said Myrrdin. “To see the Faerie as a mortal is a thing apart from seeing a mortal from the eyes of the Faerie. It is not in me to prey upon weakness and innocence.”

“It is I then who have taken in a changeling and treated it as my born son!” cried Oberon. His arms he raised up, holding aloft the Blue Jewel known as Lavatis. He wielded Lavatis, calling to the rainbow for the power to strike down his adopted son.

Such was his greatness that even in the absence of light and rain the rainbow did march from across the seas and lands to do his bidding.

Myrrdin took these moments to grab up the fallen maiden and run with her toward the farmhouse. Before he reached the door, a savage rainstorm brewed up and lightning chased the rains and came crashing to the earth. At the door the farmer who was the girl's father came to his hammering. But instead of joy, he was met only with despair: The girl was already dead, her heart exploded within her chest like a horse ridden to death by a drunken lord.

Myrrdin looked down at the maiden's dark wet ropes of hair and bloodless white limbs without comprehension. He knew less of death than the maiden had known of the Faerie. He and the farmer regarded one another.

Myrrdin, soaked and cradling a dead girl, learned much of what it was to be mortal that night. He gave over the farmer's daughter with what grace he could, and then ran into the storm and into a new world that he little understood.

His childhood and upbringing at the hands of the Faerie were at an abrupt end. Never again would he call Oberon his sire, and never again would any of the Faerie call him kin.