Unquiet Dreams

Chapter 18

The street swarmed with activity. A high-profile fey dying, never mind murdered, simply did not happen often. Everyone from street kids to ranking politicos roamed about, checking out the crowd and trying to get in the background of the live-TV camera shots. Meryl and I skirted around the rubberneckers and walked up the driveway to the cemetery.

Forest Hills Cemetery covers almost three hundred acres in the city of Boston. If there’s one thing the old Brahmins did well, it was die in style. Fine landscaping, rolling hills, public art, and even a lake with an island. The trust that ran the place even encouraged the public to use the grounds as long as the graves were respected. I liked the attitude of life and death coexisting.

We went through the first security checkpoint at the main gate. I didn’t know what Keeva’s criteria were for access, but Guild members and guests were all allowed through with no questions. Once inside, the volume of curiosity seekers went down considerably. At a turn off the main path, the Boston P.D. had its own checkpoint for humans. Murdock strolled out from behind a van.

“I have some seats for us,” he said as he fell into step with us.

“You’re not on duty?” I asked.

He smiled. “I’m always on duty. They’re only letting bodyguards into the main site. I said I was yours.”

“Who’s going to protect you from him?” Meryl asked.

He grinned at her. “I thought that’s why you came.”

“Don’t go there,” I said. Meryl jabbed me in the side.

He checked his watch. “Almost dark. The ceremony’s going to start soon.”

We walked briskly along the tidy lanes as dusk fell. Monuments stared at us with solemn gravity, growing luminous in the fading light. The essence of a cemetery is a strange thing. It’s tinged with melancholy, of course, but also an unsettling amount of want and even rage. Not everyone goes gentle into the good night, and they leave a resonance behind them. I couldn’t sense individual essence like Joe apparently did. It’s more like a stew of emotion, each new voice adding to it, changing it, inflecting it. Ultimately, getting lost in it. Because that’s how we end. Lost in the mix.

The mix ramped up as we came around a curve in the path and walked through an essence barrier. Murdock didn’t feel it. From our brief passing, I could tell it had a sensory ability, registering the essence of everyone who passed through. Whoever was monitoring the shield must have been puzzled by a high-powered druidess, a human normal who felt fey, and a druid who reeked of troll traveling together.

The path rose between two oaks. With all the members of the Grove wandering through, the trees gave off a low hum, their essence glowing with the Power of the wood. I looked up at a majestic white oak, its many limbs branching and tangling, its thick roots gnarling into the ground, and thought of Hala, trapped in the last living bit of a tree, confined to nothing more than a sliver of a memory.

The crowd thickened over the rise. All manner of fey had come to pay homage to Kruge, a fitting final tribute to a man who had advocated unity. If anything summed up the difference between Seelie Court and the Teutonic Consortium, their approach to death did. Fairies dimmed their wings and walked, eyes downcast, as if acknowledging that even in their immortality, death was always hovering in the shadows. The elves, though, they strode forward, heads up, singing dirges, honoring life and defying death. Brownies and dwarves were not as dramatic as their more powerful cousins, but brought their own drama to the party.

A surprising assortment of solitary fey haunted the edges the crowd. Usually they avoid being noticed, fearing the domination games that go on among them. In the gathering shadows beneath the trees, I could see them furtively moving, their limbs glistening silver or red or green. Most solitaries make people uncomfortable. To human eyes, they resemble the stuff of nightmares, long-snouted faces and horned heads, hairy coats instead of skin or oddly jointed arms and legs that spoke of birds or lizards. Some wore smiles that sent chills and others held such sadness that no comfort could touch. Their eyes glittered in the dark, streaks of red and yellow as they moved among the graves, clawed fingers leaving white lines on tombstones.

Human normals make the mistake of thinking all solitaries are Unseelie, standing in opposition to High Queen Maeve. It’s more complicated than just that. The Unseelie Court exists, but it shifted alliances more often than the weather, with solitaries moving in and out as the wind blew. Only when they all stood together did they form a true Court, and when they did, wars broke out. Of all the fey, they enjoyed Convergence most, if only because Seelie and the Consortium were too involved with each other to bother them. Kruge’s unity message had to have rung deeply with them.

Torches lined the final path to the burial site, their flames edged in white and blue. Not ordinary fire, but druid-fire. They enhanced the ambient light and gave off a comforting heat as night fell, no small feat on a cool October evening.

People stood to the sides of the lane watching us pass with odd resentment. We shuffled behind others as one by one they passed two druids, one on each side of the path. Beyond them, I sensed an enormous shield barrier, extending up and to either side. Murdock passed through without stopping. As Meryl followed, one of the druids held up a hand. “The High Druid mandates the ladies of the Grove join a reinforcement circle outside the airbe druad.”

Meryl peered at the man’s hand as if it were a dead bird and not one she wanted. She looked back at the druid’s face. “Tell Gerin that Meryl Dian said she’s no lady.”

His mouth dropped in surprise, as she swept by him. “Oh. It let her through. I guess that’s okay then,” he said.

He eyed me suspiciously as I approached and held up his hand. “I’m sorry. There’s something not right about you.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Meryl called back.

I ignored her and took out my Guild badge. He held it for a moment, testing the essence on it, then looked at me. “You feel right, but have you had any encounters with trolls lately? We’re supposed to look for troll essence.”

“Yeah, I did. It’s hard to get the smell off.”

He nodded sagely. “Yes, I’ve heard that.” He handed the badge back. “Don’t be surprised if someone else gives you trouble.”

“I never am,” I said.

The mass in my head spasmed as I moved through the barrier. Essence shields don’t usually bother my head. They either let me in or they don’t. Curious, I opened my sensing ability and found a web of essence forming an intricate net. From the inside, I could see that it formed an enormous dome laced with druid essence, a sparkling white of lines against the deepening violet sky. It was the largest hedge I’d ever seen.

“That thing has to be covering a hundred acres,” I said.

Meryl, of course, could see it, too. “It’s huge. Gerin must have dozens of people powering it.”

Murdock looked up. “I don’t see it. We were told it was like the one druids use on the Grove. No one can get in without permission.”

Meryl caught my eye. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

We came to a wide shallow bowl ringed with ancient oak trees. Among them, fire pits had been dug and filled with more druid-fire. Down in the center of the clearing, an earthen ramp led into a freshly dug pit. Chairs fanned out like an amphitheater around the grave, most already filled with Consortium and Seelie Court representatives. A small section reserved for state and local human politicians sat near the edge of the field. Murdock led us to seats in an upper row that gave a view of the proceedings.

Down near the pit, Keeva paced. She kept tapping the side of her head in a way that told me she was wearing an earpiece. I could imagine she was sending just as much as listening to the earpiece. She probably had a multitasking nightmare on her hands. Not far from her, Gerin Cuthbern stood in a cluster of druids, but his eyes were more interested in the gathering crowd than anyone near him.

“Anyone see Nigel?” I asked.

“He’s at the Guildhouse. He and Gerin were concerned that the entire Guild leadership in one place was a security risk.” How Murdock manages to find out these details, I’ll never know.

Farther along the section of seats where Gerin stood, I could see several high-level Guild administrators, but not the Guildmaster. “What about Manus?”

Murdock came through again. “Too ill to travel. Gerin’s going to do the tribute for the Guild.”

Among the human normals, ranking politicians ranged around the state governor and Boston’s mayor like moths. A few men who were obviously police out of uniform, but not many. “Why so few Boston P.D.?”

“Will you relax? I’ve seen the plans. This place is locked down tight.” Murdock was a helluva lot more confident than I was.

I cocked an eyebrow at him. “What could possibly go wrong, right?”

He smiled and shook his head.

At full dark, music began playing, a mournful dirge filtering down from beyond the druid-fires, Celtic pipes weaving in and out of the sad strings of dulcimers. People took their seats to watch the royal dignitaries from both sides of the fey world process in a wave of green mourning finery. High Queen Maeve’s envoy stepped delicately along the main aisle, a ridiculous fop wearing an ornate brocade tunic over green leathers, his hair and wings fluttering around him like a peacock fan. His melodramatic expression of sorrow was priceless. A long line of courtiers followed him, intently aware of their spectators, as they moved with mincing steps behind the envoy. Next to the envoy, the Elven King’s ambassadors strode, a male and a female, both dressed in battle armor painted green. They trooped in formation ahead of a company of archers and infantry. The male ambassador held a broken spear, while the woman walked with an unstrung bow and empty quiver. The two contingents separated as they reached the center of the clearing, winding their way into seats that faced each other across the open grave.

Horns blew and everyone stood. A solemn drumroll began as four elves in dark green livery pulled a cart along the ridge of the bowl. They turned onto the earthen ramp and eased the cart down into the pit. As they came even with us, I could see Kruge’s remains, a linen-wrapped form wearing ceremonial battle armor. Someone had had the dubious honor of putting his body back together. His arms were crossed on his chest, and a ceremonial sword lay grasped in his hands, blade down. The cart bristled with weapons, an accumulation of years, part of the ritual burial of a warrior. The liverymen marched out of the pit and stationed themselves at the top of the ramp. More attendants appeared and placed a small wooden bench at the top of the pit ramp.

Eorla Kruge approached from the ridge, resplendent in her widow’s weeds, a long tunic coat embedded with small gems that flickered in the light of the druid-fire. She wore a small diadem of gold and a long sheer veil draped over her head, a gossamer net of faint green that trailed across the ground behind her. In her hands, she held another diadem, plain and large. With careful steps she entered the pit, placed the large diadem on Kruge’s chest. She removed one of her rings and tucked it into his hands. Everyone watched respectfully as she stood solemnly, her hands on his in final good-bye. She returned up the ramp. When she reached the wooden bench, she turned to face the grave and sat. The drumroll stopped.

A woman cloaked in dark blue stepped up to the opposite side of the pit from Eorla. With no introduction, she began to sing the Teutonic death ritual. Sitting between Murdock and me, Meryl groaned. “Wake me when she’s done.”

I suppressed a laugh. Teutonic priestesses had put more than one person to sleep with their songs. True to form, this one launched into a mind-numbing aria on life in High Elven German. Meryl squirmed. As the priestess sang, servants brought a vat of mead before her, and she blessed it with her song. The servants ladled the drink and passed the cups into the crowd.

Murdock’s hand went to his ear. He leaned across Meryl. “Fighting at the outer perimeter. I have to go.”

As Murdock hustled his way out of the aisle, I watched security agents, both elf and fairy, reposition themselves along the ridge. Keeva leaned toward Gerin Cuthbern to speak to him. Gerin rose from his seat, bowed to Eorla, and walked up the ramp.

The ceremony continued uninterrupted. Word of the fighting outside must have filtered through the crowd because I could feel body shields activating around me. The calling of so much essence in such a confined area made my head ache. I could see it, my own body activating my sensing abilities instead of its almost useless body shield. Essence of all colors glowed around me like small lanterns of light.

The mead reached the last row of seating and made its way toward us. Distracted by more security, I took the cup from my neighbor and began to sip.

Meryl’s hand came up suddenly and grabbed my arm. “Wait!”

I looked at her curiously, and she took the cup from my hand. She peered inside, consternation on her face as she swirled the dregs. She inhaled and blanched, her body shields coming up so quickly she shuddered.

“It’s Float,” she hissed under her breath.

As soon as she said it, I caught another wave of essence rolling over the gathering. It tickled into my nose, laden with the spell I had felt at Carnage. I tried to shake my head to clear it, but only felt dizzy. My vision blurred suddenly, then my sensing abilities went into overdrive. All around me, essence crystallized sharply in my vision, a disconcerting overlay of color outlining everything. I could see the spells working in the druid-fires, the glamours that people wore, their innate body essence marking them by strength and species. And marking everyone was a malevolent green essence that matched the glow coming from the vat of mead.

It was just like when I held the drys, her essence boosting my ability to its greatest potential, but twisted by the compulsion spell C-Note had put on it. As essence materialized more distinctly around me, I realized why.

“I can feel the drys. C-Note is here, Meryl.”

A collective gasp went up from the crowd. Heads that had been nodding with boredom shot to attention. At the top of the low ridge, C-Note leaned on his black staff. Keeva leaped to her feet before anyone else and moved into the aisle. Brownie and druid security materialized from the crowd and surrounded C-Note in moments. Eorla angrily rose from her seat as Consortium agents closed ranks around her.

“So much for security,” Meryl muttered.

C-Note raised his staff. “Look at you, facing each other across the corpse of unity. You speak to unity, but you still plot against each other. Even now, some among you seek revenge for age-old grievances.”

Surprised murmurs rippled through the audience as more people got to their feet. Keeva made her way up the ramp toward C-Note. He waved the staff, and she froze in place. Not a good sign. More people stood to watch the confrontation. The Teutonic ambassadors began to push their way up the ramp. Not to be outdone, the Seelie envoy led his own security closer.

“How the hell did he get through,” I muttered.

Around us, the druid-fires flickered and smoked. My head buzzed with surging essence. Keeva should have been backing the crowd out. Trolls are tough to move physically, but she didn’t even seem to be trying to break the spell on her. A few feet in front of her, the druids and brownies had an essence shield around C-Note, a nice piece of joined spell-working meant to hold him in place, presumably until the bigger guns showed up to cart him off.

C-Note was still talking, but the noise of the spectators drowned him out. Angry, rapt faces surged forward. The Guild security guards should have been down on the ground by now. They responded directly to Keeva via sendings, and she had to be calling them. Instead, they remained hovering along the periphery, white blazes of essence ringed above us. Something wasn’t right.

I searched the crowd, but could see nothing other than people boosting their body shields. I paused as my eye slid over a trough of druid-fire near me. I could see the essence that powered it, but behind the normal flame, it seemed to be drawing essence from the trees around us instead of being powered by people. Anger swept over me. That wasn’t how you worked a Grove shield. You didn’t draw directly from the oak It was an insult to the spirits of the trees to use them for such a utilitarian purpose.

My head ached as I watched lines of essence from the druid-fires crawl across the gravesite. So much essence was in the air, it actually fed into my ability, amplifying it beyond what I normally could sense. The dark mass in my head seemed to ripple in my mind, pushing the bands of Power away from it like it did when I tried to call essence on my own.

Color cascaded in my sight, tangles of light like a multi-colored ball of fraying yarn. I could see links had formed among all the druid-fires around the clearing. The lines entwined, forming a dense spiral of Power that began to funnel down toward Kruge’s grave. The spiral pulsed and grew as the heart essence of the oaks fed it. The druid-fires pulsed brighter as they fed more essence into the spiral. A huge pulse rolled along the lines, swirling along the spiral as it tightened into a nexus. Not at the grave. At C-Note’s feet. He planted the staff on its very center and a shimmering barrier flowed up to meet the pulse. It was a hedge spell. C-Note was sealing off the entire clearing.

I grabbed Meryl’s arm in alarm. This couldn’t be good. “Get everybody out! Get them to run! Do it now, Meryl!”

I had to give her credit. Having just slammed me for telling her what to do, Meryl responded with trust. Without hesitation, she shouted a spell that sent a burst of primal fear into the crowd. Terrified without knowing why, people who had been gathering around C-Note suddenly spun away and ran up the slope. The few who didn’t run, hardened their body shields in battle mode and reached for weapons.

The pulse reached C-Note. He absorbed the energy into his staff and slammed it on the ground. Bolts of yellow fire shot out and enveloped the brownies and druids around him. In unison, they turned away from him and started firing essence into the crowd. Keeva sailed up into the night sky in a radiant halo of white fire, a look of ecstasy on her face.

As the exchange of fire heated up, I pulled Meryl behind a large burial monument. We could see the whole of the clearing below us as a confusion of people turned on each other with weapons and essence-fire.

The Seelie Court ambassador took a blast of druid-fire full in the chest. Blood sprayed from his back as he soared through the air with the force of the blow. Chairs scattered as his body tumbled roughly through them. When his body finally came to rest, his essence wavered and vanished. At the same moment, the Guild agents above began firing at the Consortium ambassadors.

With a guttural moan, Meryl lurched forward, grabbing her waist. I sank to my knees as pain screamed through my head. Essence ricocheted around me, blinding my vision with red pain. I could feel myself losing consciousness, the pain increasing until I thought my mind would burst under the strain. Just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, I felt a cool static flow over me, blocking it. I opened my eyes with a relieved gasp, realizing Meryl held my arm, her body shield forming an envelope of protection around the both of us.

Meryl was breathing heavily. “The essence is tainted. I can’t touch it without his spell grabbing me.”

I lifted my head, shaking off the subsiding pain. I couldn’t believe that in the space of a few moments, fighting had broken out in all directions. Essence-fire sparked from their hands and chests as they struggled, groups scattering into the cemetery, taking their fights with them. Shouts and screams surrounded us as essence meant to kill tore through the air.

Down near the grave, bodies lay prone everywhere, with no visible essence emanating from them. Dead. Dozens dead from both Seelie Court and the Consortium. In the center of it all stood C-Note, using his staff to draw more essence from the Power spiral he was creating.

One lone figure remained before him, tall and defiant. Eorla Kruge’s torn veil rippled in the wind as she held her head high. She had an enormous body shield around her. “What the hell is she doing?” I started to get up, but Meryl pulled me to the ground.

“I can’t protect you down there, Grey. We have to get out of here.”

Eorla thrust one hand into the air. “Enough,” she commanded.

C-Note peered down at her and grinned. “You’re too late. I’ve lit the spark. I control the flame.”

A wave of light spilled from Eorla as she shouted again. The light rolled off her and hit C-Note full on. He staggered back as her essence struck. C-Note held his black staff out, absorbing the blow. The image of an oaken staff flickered into view for a moment before resuming its black appearance. It had done the same thing at Carnage when it flew from my hands to his.

Eorla’s eyes blazed with emerald light. “You’re no troll.”

He laughed with bitter scorn. “Nothing is ever as it appears to be, Eorla.”

She drew a ball of essence from the air and threw it at him. It shattered on C-Note, grappling with his body shield. Impressively, it broke through. The level of Power I had sensed in her when we first met was not mistaken. C-Note’s body shimmered, became a blur of color, and the glamour he wore slipped away.

Gerin Cuthbern leaned on the oak staff, staring at Eorla with a malevolent white light in his eyes.