Foreword

There has always been magic. And magic has a life
of its own. It comes and goes without our control. It
flows through the world as it will.

This is how the world was Awakened.

Magical energy ran through the veins of the world
like blood through humans. It changed her. And it
changed her people.

And it came to pass that events shaped by magic
began to alter history.

Earthquakes tore the earth apart. The Four Horse-
men of the Apocalypse seemed to be riding across
the world. Conquest, War, Famine, and Death raged
unabated. The VITAS plague alone took almost a
quarter of the world's population in the year 2010.

Then came 2011: the Year of Chaos.

Governments fell. Famine gripped the poor and
stalked the wealthy. Nuclear power failed, causing
massive radiation fallout. War peppered the world,
toppling heads of state, creating new countries.

And then there were the children.

At first, they were called deformities. Then muta-
tions. The superstitious called them changelings, and
5

Foreword

saw the Hand of God at play. Finally, science of-
fered a label: UGE. Unexplained Genetic Expres-
sion. Everywhere you looked the media ran stories
about these babies, calling them elves and dwarfs.
The age-old specter of prejudice had found new vic-
tims.

At the end of 2011, the most dramatic event of the
newly Awakened world occurred. The great worm,
Ryumyo, rose from his long sleep inside Mt. Fuji.
Thousands watched as the first dragon the techno-
logical world had seen took to the sky. In dragon
fashion he ignored humans. Humanity got its first
close-up look at a dragon when Dunkelzahn con-
sented to a series of trideo interviews. The ratings
were fantastic and launched Dunkelzahn as an inter-
national celebrity.

In 2014, The Native American Nations claimed
responsibility for the eruption of Redondo Peak,
This cataclysmic event buried nearby Los Alamos in
volcanic ash. In a desperate measure to assert con-
trol, the United States government sent federal
agents in. to stop the NAN uprising. They were
swept into oblivion by tornadoes resulting from the
powerful shamanistic magic of the Great Ghost
Dance.

After this, the changes in the world began to
happen at a faster and faster pace. There was the so-
called goblinization of 2021. Overnight, people be-
gan to change into fantastic creatures once thought
to exist only in fairy tales. The stuff of legend.

And buried deep within the Awakening was a
mystery from the past.

6

Foreword

A time so far away from present events that only
a handful of people knew the truth.

About how the world once was. And how it might
become again.

When magic was as much a part of life as breath-
ing, or eating, or seeing, or feeling. And how the
world was made full of heroes and troubadours, and
mages, and wild things the modern world could not
fathom. And how the very magic that flowed
through this world also drew the greatest evil to it.

And when that evil came for the people, one great
race understood the futility of fighting this new
plague upon the land. The Theran Empire promised
a way to survive the hundreds of years this Scourge
would last. They sent the people of the world into
deep underground kaers where they would live mag-
ically sealed against the invaders until the time when
they could come back to the surface again.

But such generosity of vision always has its price.

However, that is another story.

And now we have come back again to the magic.
And to those who would guard the world from the
horrors of the past.

Those who have lived through it all before.

Prologue

Let me tell you a story ...

Once upon a time there was a woman.

Sometimes, in the story, her name is Pandora.
Sometimes it's Eve. And sometimes it's Lilith.

There are more names for her.

It all depends on who's telling the story.

At any rate, at one time everything in the world
was wonderful. Or so you're supposed to believe.
There was enough food for everyone to eat. Enough
water to drink. No one had to work.

In short: Paradise.

Except for one thing.

The woman.

You see, in this story she's at the root of all the
trouble.

Either she can't help opening the box. Or talking
to the snake. Or she's just too uppity for her own
good.

And she starts poking around in things. Things
We Were Not Meant to Know. And as a result, ev-
erything goes to hell in a handbasket.

Prologue

Or so the person telling the tale would have you
believe.

Of course, since everything in the world isn't total
drek, there has to be some sort of mitigating factor.

Like we're banished from the garden. But, if we
work and pray hard enough, we might be let back in.
Or we're told that the woman was banished to the
edge of time and there she mated with demons. And
her offspring come to us in our dreams and torment
us.

Seduce us.

Lead us astray.

And then, in some versions of the tale, at the bot-
tom of the box is Hope. Which, we're told, is the
only way to survive all the other horrors which have
already escaped from the box. It is the only thing we
have to hold on to.

Or so we're told.

But that's the way it is with stories.

You just don't know who you can trust.

PART I

"Oh fuck, not another elf!"

—Hugo Dyson, during the reading
of a manuscript by J.R.R. Tolkien

10

Across the frozen planes of time I've come.
Through fires brighter than a thousand suns.
Through darkness. Through the Void. Over the range
of the universe I've come.

I've come for you, Aina.

To take you again into my sweet embrace and
show you wonders from the darkness of your soul.
Then I'll make you yearn for death while I rip open
your mind and lay waste to everything you hold
dear.

But all that will come later. For we have centu-
ries, no, millennia to play our games. Come to me
now and let me show you... let me show everything
I have to offer.

1

Last night I dreamt again of Ysrthgrathe.

And when I awoke, the stench of death and cor-
ruption still lingered in the air.

Through my bedroom window moonlight poured
cold and blue. I rubbed my eyes, trying to convince
myself that it had only been a dream. That the de-
mons lurking in the shadowed comers were in my
imagination. A conjuring of my mind only.

I shoved the covers away, letting the night air
13

Caroline Specter

send gooseflesh across my arms and down my legs.
Here by the sea on the northern coast of Scotland the
weather stays chill and damp all year long. It had
never bothered me before. But tonight, I felt the cold
straight to my bones. All the better to keep me
awake, I thought.

My feet shrank as they touched the cold bare
floor. Grabbing my thick robe, I wrapped it tightly
about me. It was made of real, heavy, woven cash-
mere fabric, not that horrid synth stuff they sell
nowadays.

I went downstairs and made myself some tea. It
warmed my body, but I still felt chilled. I wanted
to read, but I hated using the foul contraption
Caimbeui had given me. The vidscreen gave me a
headache and I could never bring myself to have
cyberware implanted. Bodmod, cyberjunk, tickle-
wires—whatever they're calling them this week.

Hadn't I done enough of that sort of thing to my-
self in the past?

I shuddered as I thought about Ysrthgrathe.

Too soon, I thought. It's too soon.

But I knew it wasn't. The very thing I'd sought to
prevent seemed to be happening. That is, if dreams
could be trusted.

I dumped the tea into the sink and went and pulled
a bottle of scotch from the pantry and splashed a
hefty portion into a tumbler. It burned going down
and brought tears to my eyes. I suppose the elves in
Tir na n6g would be offended at my traitorous
choice of beverage, but frag them. I hadn't been on
speaking terms with either Tir for quite some time.
14

WORLDS WITHOUT END

But what to do about the dreams?

Perhaps the shamans in NAN would be willing to
listen. But then I remembered the dustup we'd had
before the Great Ghost Dance. They hadn't been too
happy to hear my predictions about the magical fall-
out from all the blood they'd planned to spill.

Idiots. If only they'd listened. I suspected then
that this would be the result. Like bees to honey, it
would draw the creatures again. And we'd had no
time to plan. To prepare. This time the monsters
from the past would lay waste to the whole world.

15

Are you waiting/or me?
Have you been waiting for me?
Does your flesh crave my caress?
Do you remember? Remember the centuries of
pain and humiliation?

Do you know how I have missed you?

1

The sound of his voice echoed inside me.

I went to the thermostat and pushed it up. To hell
with the regs about fuel waste, I thought. A century
ago, Caimbeui had given me a Renoir. I liked to
look at it when I felt like this. Afraid and lonely in
the dark hours before dawn when the past spreads
before me like a black spill of ink.

I flicked my hand and the illusionary wall I'd cre-
ated long ago vanished. It was a simple enough
spell, though in the past few centuries there'd been
little enough magic to go around.

That was changing.

The last few years—a human life span—just a
drop to me—had seen such a burst of magical en-
ergy and growth. The Awakening, they called it on
their ugly little trids. Oh, I know Dunkelzahn found
this brave new world far too fascinating, but he'd
16

WORLDS WITHOUT END

been dreaming for more than five thousand years.
What would he know of it? He hadn't seen what the
world had become.

I stepped into my room. The walls were win-
dowless and covered in heavy oak paneling. Art-
work and bookcases covered every available space,
crammed full of everything I found precious. Cen-
tered on the north wall was the Renoir.

It was of a young woman and a little girl sitting
on a balcony. The woman was wearing a brilliant red
hat and she had a face of such sweetness that just
looking at her almost hurt. I remembered when he'd
painted it. A beautiful copy used to hang in the Chi-
cago Art Institute, but I think it might have been de-
stroyed during the riots in 2011.

So much beauty was lost then.

Here in my secret room I kept the relics of so
many dead worlds. Of course dead worlds are all
around us. They're just so much a part of our lives
that we stop thinking about it. In London, five-
hundred-year-old buildings snuggle next to glass
columns built yesterday. Asphalt poured in nineteen-
fifty is worn down by the wheels of a thousand rigs
never dreamed of until five years ago. And the
sweetmeats dance in nightclubs with rags on their
backs sewn in sweatshops during the eighties. But
that was just a momentary madness. A fad. A pass-
ing whimsy of fashion.

The things I'd distract myself with at times like
that.

And here too were memories from a place and
time out of mind. A place as unreal to this world as
17

Caroline Spector

any trideo fantasy. What possessed me to recreate
what I could remember? That time was done. Over.
Dust.

Right.

Then why were there pictures painted by artists
far greater than I, depicting places described by me?
Why had I done it? Why had I asked Francisco
Lucientes to recreate those nightmare visions? What
madness had I unlocked from his mind? For surely
he saw them—saw the demons.

His painting leaned against the wall, face down. I
reached out and turned it around. Curators from ev-
ery museum of the world would kill to have this lost
treasure. Could they have understood it came not
from Goya's demented vision, but from mine?

It showed a forest of such expanse that it fled
from the viewer's sight back into a ghostly oblivion.
Standing in the foreground were two people: a male
and a female. She was human, slight of build with a
curious face. He was an elf, tall and lithe with dark
hair and a small goatee. Growing from his body
were thorns.

The skin was puckered where the thorns protruded
from his flesh. They ran across his face and showed
as stark points across the back of his hands. A thou-
sand slashes rent his tunic, letting the thorns escape.

I reached out and almost touched their faces with
my fingertips.

Tears were streaming down my cheeks as hot and
warm on my face as the blood that once fed that
great forest. Blood poured from the wounds of my
people.

18

WORLDS WITHOUT END

But that wasn't the worst of what had been in that
time.

My own complicity. Could such acts of evil ever
be forgiven? Or forgotten?

I tried to push these dark thoughts away. But the
dream wouldn't let me go. Wouldn't let me forget.
I'd let myself become distracted by worldly matters.
I'd forgotten why I was here.

I swallowed the last of the scotch. A pleasant heat
had settled into my limbs. Perhaps now I would be
able to sleep. With a simple gesture the illusionary
wall was once more in place. I went upstairs. After
closing the drapes, I settled under the quilts and
comforters. But I couldn't bring myself to turn off
the light. A childish notion, but it gave me some
comfort.

And small comfort was all I would have for a long
time to come.

19

A vast forest stretches out before her. Green and
lush. Beautiful and deadly. And there are secrets.
Terrible secrets. She steps forward and feels that she
is sinking into something. Looking down, she sees
her foot being swallowed by a pool of blood.

3

Dreams, I thought, can't hurt you.

The day was dreary and overcast. They usually
were here. It was well past noon before I managed to
pull myself from bed. Despite the scotch and leaving
the light on, I didn't manage to sleep until after the
sun rose.

Normally, I would have downloaded the morning
Times and printed it out while I made tea. But I felt
restless and penned-in by the house. I threw on
jeans, boots, and heavy sweater, then grabbed my
leather jacket as I went outside. It was late October
and already the wind was blowing colder from the
north.

It took me a few minutes to climb down to the
beach. During the night it had rained and the path
was muddy. I slipped a little as I ran down it. The
sharp tang of the air cleared my mind.

Dreams, only dreams.

20

WORLDS WITHOUT END

But I suspected they weren't. I'd had premoni-
tions like this before. Before the Great Ghost Dance
in 1888. And again before the one in 2014. Before
the first VITAS plague. Before the start of
goblinization in 2021. Each time I'd seen what was
to come and I couldn't stop it.

Oh I'd tried, but the others weren't willing to lis-
ten. But they rarely thought about the consequences
of anything that was happening. It has been that way
for far too long. They've forgotten. Or didn't believe
the danger was so close at hand.

I was so engrossed with my morbid thoughts that
by the time I looked up, I'd gone onto my neigh-
bor's property. He was a surly bastard and hated the
fact that he had an elf for a neighbor. What was it he
called me? Ah yes, a pointy-eared, pencil-necked,
daisy-eating nigger. The last I assumed had to do
with my skin color. It took every ounce of self-
restraint I had not to slowly pull his tongue out his
hoop the hard way.

But the Brits had an annoying habit of frowning
upon murder. Especially when it involved a human
and any sort of "meta" being. However, there were
plenty of elves among the nobility in the UK, and I
actually had good relationships with them. I hated
to bum karma with them on someone who would be
more annoyed by my continuing presence.

I turned and made my way back to the house. The
fog had burned off finally and it was looking to be
a rare sunny day. My security system let me back in
with a cheery, "Good morning. It's October 20,
2056. The temperature is 9 Celsius outside ..." It
21

Caroline Specter

rambled on and on, and once again I reminded my-
self to have the thing removed. But I always forgot.
So tomorrow it would be the same, "Good morning.
It's October 21, 2056. The temperature is ... blah
blah blah."

As I pulled off my boots in the mud room, I found
myself whistling an old tune. Well, maybe not whis-
tling, more a tuneless wheeze.

Look on the bright side of life . .. dee, dah, dee
dee deedilty dah.

I couldn't remember any more of the words. That
used to drive Caimbeui crazy when we were to-
gether. My inability to remember more than a few
snatches of lyrics from any song. Sometimes I even
got the words wrong. What was that called? Oh, yes,
mondegreens.

The kitchen was warm and I set the kettle on to
boil on the flat heating element. I went upstairs and
started the water for a bath. Stripping out of my
clothes, I grabbed my robe and wrapped it around
me. The kettle had begun to whistle and I went
downstairs to fix tea.

In a few moments I had a tray all set to take up-
stairs. Sheer decadence to dispel the night fears. Tea
and scones while taking a hot bath. Maybe later I'd
read—from a real book with pages.

I'd just settled into the tub when the telecom
beeped. Happens every time. As the machine picked
up, I heard Caimbeul's voice.

"Aina, I know you're there," he said.

I gave a universal gesture for contempt and went
back to drinking my tea. I hadn't heard word one
22

WORLDS WITHOUT END

from him in eight months. Frag him if he thought I
was going to get out of a nice warm bath.

"Look," he said. "I'm en route to the UK. I
should be landing in about an hour. Things have
been happening. Things you need to know about. I
have it all under control now, but we need to talk.
I'll be up to Arran in about four hours."

I closed my eyes. The uneasiness that I'd almost
dispelled was back. For Caimbeui to come here out
of the blue meant something was up. Something big.
The dreams came back to me. I shivered. The water
had gone cold and I suddenly didn't like lying there
naked and vulnerable.

Quickly, I finished washing my hair and got out of
the tub. As I dressed, I tried not to dwell on
Caimbeul's unexpected visit. Whatever the reason
for it, I would know soon enough.

And I doubted the news would be good.

23

It is dark.

A blackness so thick and heavy it feels like a
weight against her eyes. It is suffocating, this dark-
ness. It feels as though she is being swallowed up by
it. Being turned into it ...

4

Caimbeui was late.

Though I wasn't surprised, I was annoyed. It
wasn't as though I were looking forward to seeing
him, but if you drop in on someone with "impor-
tant" news, you'd bloody well better be on time.

I'd made tea with all the things Caimbeui liked.
Scones, of course, with lemon curd. Those ridicu-
lous little sandwiches with the crusts cut off, slices
of cake, tarts. He had a sweet tooth. But now the
sandwiches had gone hard and the cake was stale.

I'd switched from tea to sherry, then to scotch.
And still no Caimbeui.

Finally, six hours after he'd said he'd arrive, I
heard the crunch of tires across my gravel.

I waited until I saw him emerge alone from the
car before opening the door. Even though I had se-
curity sensors, you can't be too cautious.

"Prompt as usual, I see," I said.
24

WORLDS WITHOUT END

"Ah, Aina, still charming as ever," he replied.
"No 'How are you? Why are you late?' You wound
me."

I snorted.

"Please, spare me the usual dancing," I said. "It's
cold out here. Come inside."

I turned and went into the house. Behind me I
could hear him getting his bag and shutting the
doors to the car.

"Lock the door and switch the system back on," I
called over my shoulder.

He muttered something under his breath, but
oddly enough he did as I asked. I went into the great
room where I'd started a fire earlier that evening.
Sometime between the sherry and the scotch.

"Did you leave that woman at home?" I asked.

"Yes," he said as he shrugged off his coat and
tossed it on the couch. He flopped down into one of
the wing chairs in front of the fire. I handed him a
snifter of brandy and poured myself another scotch.

"I'm surprised. I'd've thought you'd bring her
along to iron your shirts. Or something."

"Or something?" he asked. Coy, that one.

"Whatever it is you do with girls young enough to
be your great-great-great-great-great-great-great-
great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-
great-great—"

He held up his hands. "I get the picture."

"Oh, please, I don't want to hear about your
peculiarities in that area."

"Do you care?" he asked. "What goes on between
us is none of your business."
25

Caroline Spector

I turned away from him, stung by his remarks. Of
course his life wasn't my concern. It hadn't been for
centuries. But old habits die hard.

The silence stretched out between us. Once I en-
joyed them. But now it felt awkward and tense. I
longed for things to be as they once had, but it was
far too late for that. As usual.

"I had a terrible time getting through UK cus-
toms," he said at last.

"Were you carrying anything?" I asked as I turned
and walked toward him. He gestured for me to sit
across from him as though this were his house and
not mine.

"No."

"Made any enemies in the UK lately?"

He smiled then. I was glad he wasn't wearing his
makeup. That awful mask he'd adopted out of some
perverse sense of humor. Wicked Caimbeul.

We chatted then about meaningless things. Things
to distract us from the free-floating tensions of a
failed romance and too many years of history.

The fire had begun to die down and we were both
a little muzzy.

"So," I said. But it came out more like "show."
"Why all the mystery about your visit?"

Part of me, foolishly, hoped that his surprise had
to do with the sudden realization that he'd been mo-
mentarily insane all those years ago when he'd left
me.

"I beat them," he said, his voice dropping into a
slightly drunken, conspiratorial tone. "You've been
26

WORLDS WITHOUT END

saying that NAN would bring them back with all
that blood magic. And you were right, Aina."

I felt a cold finger touch my heart. Suddenly the
alcohol warmth fled and I was wide-awake sober.

"What are you saying?" I tried to keep my voice
from shaking, but I failed. He didn't notice, though.

"They tried to get back, but I stopped them," he
said. "Ah, well, I did have some help. A group of
shadowrunners I enlisted. We went and played our
little games on the metaplanes. God, it was fantastic.
I haven't felt so alive since—I don't know when.
Can you imagine it? Just my wits against them.

"Oh, there was some business with them recently
in Maui, but that was easy enough to handle."

He gave a pleased laugh. Full and rich. I hadn't
heard that tone in his voice in so long I'd almost for-
gotten he could sound that way. Had it been any-
thing else to bring this joy about I would have been
delighted, but all I wanted to do was shake him.
Hard. Laughing and enjoying this ... this catastro-
phe.

It was just like him to think he'd finished them
off. What hubris. What ego.

"... And then I told them the story about
Thayla," he was saying. "And I sent them on a quest
to find her voice."

"Did it work?"

"Of course it did," he said, indignantly. "What do
you take me for? A dilettante? I know we've had our
disagreements, but even you can see what a feat this

is.

"What I see is your ego is out of bounds again. In
27

Caroline Spector

your endless fascination with being involved in the
machinations behind things, you've missed the
point. As usual."

"You're jealous," he said.

"What?"

"You're jealous."

"Of what?" I was baffled at this sudden turn in
the conversation.

"Of me. Of my power. You couldn't stand it when
I surpassed your abilities."

"Don't be asinine."

"Oh, do you deny it?" he asked. He had a compet-
itive, smirky expression on his face that I wanted to
slap off.

"I won't even dignify that with an answer. The
things which you pursue, Caimbeui, are vainglorious
and, ultimately, irrelevant."

"That's something else you do," he said. "You al-
ways call me Caimbeui. I haven't been called by that
name in three hundred years."

"Very well. Harlequin," I said. "But this is all be-
side the point. The point is you think the Horrors
have returned and that you have beaten them single-
handedly, don't you? Or at least once. I have no idea
what actually happened in Maui because you always
leave things out when it's not all about you."

He gave me an annoyed look.

"Very well, Aina," he said sullenly. "There was a
group of kahunas using blood magic on Haleakala.
They managed to open a portal—some of the Enemy
even managed to get through. But they were stopped
in time. They were sent back into the void.
28

WORLDS WITHOUT END

"See, nothing to worry about."

"Let's see. First, you encounter them on the
metaplanes. You manage to 'defeat' them there.
Next, some of them manage to breach this plane.
And you think they've been dealt with?

"Well, I've been having dreams lately and I think
you're wrong. I think you failed."

He laughed.

"Aina has a dream and we're all supposed to
tremble in our boots. Is that it?"

"I had forgotten this charming side to your per-
sonality, Caimbeui. I've been right before."

"And you've been wrong."

"Not often."

He didn't have an answer for that.

"I thought you would be thrilled at this news," he
said at last. "You're the only one who still under-
stands what it was like. Back then. During the
Scourge."

I shrugged. "There's always Alachia," I said.
"And Ehran. Oh, but I forgot about your tiff with
him. Surely they remember."

"Alachia sees it differently than we do. She al-
ways has. And Ehran isn't worth a pimple on a
troll's butt. As for the others—"

"Don't hold back, Caimbeui, how do you really
feel?"

After giving me a nasty look, he went and refilled
his glass.

"Bring me some water," I said.

In a moment, he placed a tumbler in my hand and
settled himself opposite me again. Another long si-
29

Caroline Spector

lence played out between us. The water was cool
and washed the strong taste of the whiskey out of
my mouth.

"Tell me what happened," I said at last. "The first
time."

He didn't answer me for a moment. Then he
spoke.

"They were constructing a bridge, of sorts, using
the energy spike from the Ghost Dance as a locator.
They are as foul as I remembered, Aina. No, perhaps
worse, for it has been so long since I'd seen them
that they'd begun to blur in my memory.

"I had to test the runners to be sure they had what
it took to stand against the Enemy. For the most part
they succeeded. One fell during the trials, but they
accomplished what I set them to do. They retrieved
the Voice, but didn't make it back to the bridge be-
fore a man named Darke captured me. The bastard
was working with the Enemy and had been follow-
ing me across the metaplanes the whole time. And
I'd thought I was tracking him.

"He was performing blood magic to corrupt the
site. How many children were sacrificed I'll never
know. But Thayla sang and the enemy fell back, and
now we're safe."

I almost choked on my water.

"Wait a minute," I said. "That all ties up a little
too neatly. Thayla may be able to keep them at bay,
but who will protect her from people like Darke?"

"Oh, some of the runners stayed with her," he said
casually.

"But you didn't volunteer for that duty," I said.
30

WORLDS WITHOUT END

"Don't be ridiculous," he said. "I'm far too valu-
able to be tied to one spot like that. Besides, as long
as she's there, they can't get through."

"Not there, at any rate," I said. "And you're sure
the creatures were driven back in Maui?"

"Of course," he said.

And how I wanted to believe him.

I stared into the fire. Long ago, according to our
legends, Thayla's voice had driven the Horrors off.
She had sacrificed herself for her people, like any
great monarch would. Perhaps Caimbeui was right.
Maybe he had accomplished it. Maybe he had driven
them back. For now.

I relaxed a little. Maybe now there would be time
to plan. To prepare. To warn those who needed to
know.

The telecom beeped, startling me out of my
thoughts.

"Who could be calling at this hour?" I wondered
aloud.

"It might be for me," he said. "I left this number."

Oh, splendid, I thought. Just what I need,
Caimbeul's little friends with my restricted number.

"Hello," I said into the old-fashioned videoless re-
ceiver I'd had installed in this room.

There was a long pause, then a loud burst of
static. I jerked back, dropping the receiver onto the
floor.

"Aina," I heard. The sound filled the room. An
impossibility. And, oh sweet mother, I knew that
voice.

31

Caroline Spector

"Aina," it said. "I have come back. I have come
for you."

Then the line went dead.

"What was that?" Caimbeui demanded.

The room was cold. Colder than the dead of win-
ter. Colder than the grave. For I knew from long ex-
perience that there were things worse than death.

"That," I said, my voice shaking, "was the past
come back to haunt us. Harlequin. You didn't stop
them from coming through on Maui, my dear. One
of them is here. Now. And he's coming for me."

32

She is standing on a cliff overlooking the sea. The
gulls dive for fish, crying with their broken voices.
Below on the beach, a boy and girl play. They chase
each other, leaving footprints in the sand that are
washed away by the incoming tide.

The children's high-pitched voices float up to her,
but she can't make out what they're saying. Then, as
she watches, the sea turns red and bleeds onto the
beach.

5

"Don't be ridiculous," Caimbeui said.

"Are you deaf?" I asked. "You were here. You
heard it."

"A prank, perhaps," he said.

"That was no prank and you know it," I said. "I
know 'that voice."

I turned away, running my hands over my arms to
warm them. It had been so long. A time out of mind.
Even so, I would never forget that sound. The sound
of Ysrthgrathe's voice.

Like chalk on a blackboard. Like the whisper of a
child. Like breaking glass. Like the dear departed.
Whatever would be most effective.

A fine, cold sweat broke out on my back. No, I
33

Caroline Spector

thought, I'll not give way to that so fast. I clamped
down on the panic. He'd be expecting that. No, I'd
have to be careful and deliberate.

"It's only one," Caimbeui said. "We can deal with
one."

"It's not just one," I said angrily. "Don't you re-
member anything I told you then about him? I seem
to recall that we did spend some time talking all
those years ago. Or is your memory as convenient as
it ever was?"

"I thought we agreed not to discuss that time," he
said. "But you keep bringing it up."

"I'm not discussing that time. I'm asking you if
you remember what I told you then about Ysrth-
grathe."

"That's a roundabout way of doing it."

"Will you shut up and listen? Frag it, you are so
oblivious to everything but yourself. Didn't you hear
a word I said then? Oh, I give up."

I spun about and strode from the room. I had to
get to my grimoire. There were preparations to be
made.

When the last of my defenses was in place, I be-
gan to relax a little. It concerned me that I might be
making even more of a target of myself. Strong
magic stuck out like a sore thumb these days. But it
didn't really matter, he'd already found me.

Caimbeui knocked on the door to my study.

"Go away," I said.

"Don't be difficult, Aina," he said. "Let me in."
34

WORLDS WITHOUT END

"No, no, dear Harlequin," I replied. "I don't wish
to trouble you."

I heard him sigh. Loudly and dramatically so I
would hear.

"Let me in," he said.

I walked over to the door and opened it.

"Oh, it's the great Harlequin come to pay a visit
to the poor unenlightened masses. Oh, please show
us your bountiful insight. We are honored by your
presence. May we kiss your hem?"

"I was a bit ... difficult," he began.

"No, you were an ass," I said.

"Very well, an ass. You always did get sarcastic
when you were upset."

"How insightful of you," I said. "But you've got
it a little wrong. I'm not upset. I'm scared. And if
you had a bit of sense, you'd be frightened too."

He began to circle my study slowly, gently touch-
ing the books, totems, scrolls, and other bits of ar-
cana I'd carefully catalogued. Some was only
theory, some was practical. I knew he had an im-
pressive accumulation of his own, but I also knew
that I had been at this longer.

"What's this?" he asked, pulling a thick tome
from a shelf.

"That," I said as I walked over and plucked it
from his hand arid stuck it back on its shelf, "is none
of your concern. I'm certain you have five or six just
like it at home."

An annoyed and interested expression crossed his
face.

"I don't understand why you're so worried," he
35

Caroline Spector

said. "You've dealt with him in the past. As I recall,
Vistrosh told me the most amazing story about how
you vanquished him."

Rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands, I
sighed.

"Did he tell what really happened?" I asked. "Or
was it turned into some of kind of ridiculous tale?
Let me see if I can recount his version: 'And then
Aina threw her arms wide to the skies and caused a
blast of heavenly fire to consume the monster. The
creature gave one last wail of angry despair and van-
ished into the void.' "

Caimbeui dropped into my heavy leather wing-
back chair and put his feet up on my desk.

"Yes," he said. "It was something like that."

"Well, you know as well as I that that's not
exactly how these things happen. Oh, certainly I
managed to overcome Ysrthgrathe, but it wasn't the
simple matter Vistrosh would have had you believe.
It almost killed me and I sacrificed more than you
can possibly imagine."

"Like your grimoire?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied. "I unmade myself. You remem-
ber what I'd done. All those scars. The years and
years of blood magic. Everything. I gave it all up to
send him back. To imprison him. And now he's re-
turned.

"Then I had so much power. Look at me now.
What are you doing?"

He had picked up my grimoire and was leafing
through it, making interested noises every few
36

WORLDS WITHOUT END

pages. I grabbed it from his hands, shocked at such
a breach of etiquette.

"And I don't expect you to be any help," I said.
"You're too damn selfish."

"The Enemy was stopped or we'd be dealing with
more than one of them now. You're letting some-
thing that happened millennia ago affect you now."

"Don't tell me the past has no hold over you,
Caimbeui. We both know what a lie that is."

"This is precisely the reason I left you," he
snapped. "You pick and pick and pick."

"That's right," I said. "I'm no Sally, or Susan, or
whatever-her-name-is-this-decade who fawns over
you like you were some sort of demi-god. Doesn't
fragging a sycophant lose its appeal after a while?"

He pushed himself up from the table in an angry
rush.

"This bickering isn't getting us anywhere," he
said. "What are you planning to do?"

Hugging my grimoire close to my body, I walked
to the window and pulled back the drapes. It had be-
gun to rain, and every so often the craggy land was
lit by lightning. Bare country, wild and untamed.

"I've put up some protections, but I'm not sure
how effective they'll be. I wish .. . Well, I might as
well wish for the sun to rise in the west. What's that
old adage? 'If wishes were horses, beggars would
ride.' "

Caimbeui came up behind me. I could see him re-
flected in the window. A flash of lightning; the des-
olate land outside. The darkness; Caimbeul's image
in the glass.

37

Caroline Spector

"I think you should tell the others," he said.

"Why don't you tell them? Your relations with
them have always been better than mine."

"Because, Aina, I'm not convinced. You are. You
will be more effective. Tell them."

"Tell them what?" I asked. "That I've had dreams
and there has been one very strange telecom call?"

"Don't dodge it," he replied. "They'll have to lis-
ten to you. The ones who matter will know what it
means."

I dropped the curtains and skirted around him. He
was close enough that I could feel the warmth of his
body.

"Why do you want me to do this?" I asked.
"What have you got up your sleeve?"

He shrugged.

"I suppose your reaction has something to do with
it," he said. "In all the time I've known you, I've
never seen anything unnerve you so much as that
call. Your hands are shaking even now. And when
you heard that voice I thought you might faint. And,
Aina, you're not the fainting type."

I smiled. I couldn't help it. He could still do that
to me. Even in the worst moments, he had a knack
for pulling it out of me.

"You're forgetting about Dunkelzahn and that an-
cient business," I said. "I doubt they're likely to
have forgiven me for that."

"Probably not," he replied. "But you must try."

"And where do you suggest I try first?" I asked.
"Tir na n6g? Let's see ... I have such close rela-
tionships with the Elders there. Alachia in particular.
38

WORLDS WITHOUT END

Yes, we've become the best of friends since that
nasty business with the dragons. Oh, I'm sure she'll
help my cause.

"And then there's Tir Tairngire. My relationship
with Aithne is particularly strong. After Hebhel and
Lily, I doubt he would piss on me were I on fire. Not
that I blame him."

"That was a long time ago," he said. "There are
more pressing issues than things and people dead
and gone."

I made a slow circuit of my study. So many years
of keeping track of the wisdom. Anticipating this
time. Now that it was here, I was reluctant to act.
No, afraid to act.

"Once, a long time ago, someone said to me that
memory is all we have. Even as we speak, there is a
slight lapse in time between what we hear and what
we understand. All our experience is a kind of lag.

"Everything is memory, Caimbeul. Nothing has
any meaning without it. 'He who cannot remember
the past is condemned to repeat it.' See, even a hu-
man philosopher understood it. And he blinked out
in a heartbeat.

"Don't kid yourself, Caimbeul. The past is very
much with us."

I closed my eyes and let the past wash over me
like the sea rushing over the shore.

39

Three birds are sitting on a branch. They are
about to soar into the blue sky when an arrow
pierces the hearts of two of them.

The third bird flies away, frightened and lonely.
She knows the hunter is after her. Will always be af-
ter her.

6

We have always been a meddlesome race of beings,
we Elders.

I suppose it comes from a long time of being priv-
ileged. Few have known of us. And none have been
able to stop us from doing what we wanted. Oh,
well, there was that business with the great worms,
but even they must sleep eventually.

What was that amusing little saying from the
comix? "Who Watches the Watchmen?" I used to
see it scrawled across the bottoms of bridges and on
the sides of buildings during the late nineteen-

nineties.

So, though we'd been given a thrashing, while the
cat's away (or the monstrous serpents), the mice will
play. And so we did.

Myself, I have always preferred a low profile.
None of the flash that has marked the passage of my
40

WORLDS WITHOUT END

fellows. The tales that have floated about me were
easily written off as fables. That wasn't by accident,
for I have believed for a long time that our presence
is more a danger than a boon.

Perhaps had I been more vigilant, certain events
of the past wouldn't have come to pass.

I had been traveling to England. Why, I can't re-
member now. Although I believe it had something to
do with that collection of stones in Wiltshire. There
were rumors of power there. Tremendous magical
power. It was whispered in the harems and in coun-
cil rooms. In market places and among the nomads.
There were always places of power and this was one
of them.

Stupidity.

That's how I came to be there. Had I bit of sense
in my head I would have left them all to die. Hack-
ing their lungs out, puking up what they'd barely
managed to down a moment before.

Ignorant, superstitious peasants.

I knew there was a reason I'd stayed in the east
for so long. In the east I wasn't looked upon as a
black devil. The color of my skin was hardly com-
mented upon.

But here among these backwards Englishmen with
their pasty skin and bad teeth I was something to be
feared, hated, and possibly killed. And the place
they'd put me in might well do that.

It was called the Tower, but, of course, it wasn't.
More like several castles and towers collected to-
gether. Not that I'd had much of a chance to see any
of it. I'd been brought here in the middle of the
41

Caroline Specter

night and hadn't seen much of the light of day since.
Sometimes I wondered if anyone even remembered
I was there.

Once a day a jailer slid a plate of bread and por-
ridge through the grate. I could hear him muttering
catechisms under his breath. It would do him little
good and likely lose him his head, given the political
mood. But don't we all fall back upon the icons
from our youth? The stories we recite to keep the
monsters at bay.

And that was how I knew I must appear. Oh, I'd
lost the pointed ears, thank goodness. The more ob-
vious signs of my elven condition were muted now.
Magic was at a low ebb, though for some reason be-
lief in it had never been higher. There were more
charlatans and mountebanks claiming to turn lead
into gold than you could swing a dead cat at. And
they did a great bit of that, too. To drive out the de-
mons.

Demons like me with my black skin and my white
hair. My hair I could dye. Luckily, my eyes had
changed to a brownish-gray color; otherwise I'd
probably already be dead. What would they make of
Vistrosh and his ceathral skin and pink eyes? I won-
dered.

But here I was locked up tighter than a miser's
hoard.

And how had I come to be here? My own weak-
nesses, as usual.

"Help us," I'd heard.

I looked down and saw a young child, a girl,
maybe eight. She wore a ragged tunic and her feet
42

WORLDS WITHOUT END

were bare and dirty. What desperation drove her to
ask for help from any passing stranger? Much less
one who looked like me.

"They're sick," she said.

"Who is sick?" I asked.

"Everyone," she replied. "Everyone except me."

But she didn't look well herself. Her eyes were
bright and glassy and as I drew closer, I could feel
the heat of fever radiating off her.

"Please," she said. Her hands reached out and I
thought she might actually touch me, but she pulled
away.

"What makes you think I could do any good?" I
asked.

"Someone has to," she replied. "Or I'll be all
alone. They'll ... die."

I didn't want to help them. For as far back as I
could remember I'd been trying to keep out of these
things. To let Fate take her own course. It wasn't for
me to decide. There were other matters that needed
my attention. But as I looked into that pale feverish
face another child came to my mind, and I found
myself being led into the rude thatched hut.

The air was thick with the odor of a low-burning
peat fire. There was a hole cut in the roof to let the
smoke escape, but that only helped a little. Pallets
lined the edge of the room. On them lay several peo-
ple, all of whom were in various stages of the same
sickness.

The grippe.

Why these people were so ill from it I didn't
know. It was a common enough problem—not as
43

Caroline Spector

frightening as the plague or cholera, which could
pass through a town and leave it devastated hi a mat-
ter of days or weeks.

At my feet lay an elderly woman. I knelt down
beside her and took her wrist in my hand. Under my
fingers her pulse felt erratic. I was closer to the
power here; the pull of it too tempting to resist. As
my eyes closed I began to see the pattern of her life.
Thin and threadbare. Bleak colors woven together
with an odd shock of bright blue.

It was so difficult to hold on to what I was seeing.
The images were blurred and hazy, slipping away
from me if I hesitated for a moment. But, healing
her would be simple enough, I saw suddenly. It had
been so long since I'd taken the risk. Since I'd
wanted to.

There was a faint sound. It broke my concentra-
tion and I turned toward it. There, shadowed in the
doorway, stood the girl. For a moment her image
blurred with one from my memory. I knew then I
would help them, regardless of the risk.

Again, I took the woman's wrist. Tapping into
what little reserves I'd tucked away, I focused all my
concentration into bringing back the weave of her
life. The heat flew through me then, sliding into her
body, burning out her fever and pain. Hot ribbons of
health wove themselves into her body.

I released her wrist then, exhausted by this minor
act. I smiled a bit at this, I who had brought armies
to their knees with a flick of my wrist, swooning at
this child's play.

And what did my generosity get me?
44

WORLDS WITHOUT END

A private room in the bloody Tower.

The people I helped weren't to blame. They
couldn't have been expected to keep quiet about
their miraculous healings, I suppose. Though I sus-
pect the tale was embellished by the time it reached
the ears of the clergy.

The Protestants and the Catholics had been going
at it ever since Mary came to the throne, but the one
thing they agreed on was that anything smacking of
witchcraft was to be dealt with severely.

For some reason the local priest, who was the first
person to see me after I was captured, didn't want to
kill me right off. Perhaps it was my skin, or maybe
he hoped to gain points with bishop. At any rate, I
was taken to London and then sent to the Tower.

Where I remained for months.

I'd heard that there were prisoners here who'd
been forgotten for years. But I tried not to dwell on
that.

Spring passed, then summer.

All Hallows Eve.

Dark came early. Through my slit of a window, I
could see the fine mist ushering a heavy fog. The
flickering torches looked unreal and ghostly. A per-
fect night for the devil's work. If you believed in
that sort of thing.

I'd been'sitting in the dark for several hours. The
worst thing about imprisonment was boredom. But
this wasn't the first time I'd been in such a situation.
Then I heard it. A faint sound from down in the base
of the tower.

Then footsteps on the stone steps. They were
45

Caroline Spector

coming to kill me, I knew it. After all this time, they
had remembered and were dispatching me at last.
The least I could do was go to my death on my feet.
But somehow I couldn't force myself to move from
the cold stone floor where I sat.

The sound of voices. I thought they might be ar-
guing. Then more footsteps. The lock was opened
and the door swung in.

I put my hand up against the sudden brightness of
a lamp. A rustle of fabric. Any moment now I would
feel the bum of the blade.

"You may leave us now," a voice said.

A voice I knew.

I dropped my hand and blinked. It couldn't be, yet
it was.

Standing across from me, robed in heavy velvet
and fur, was Alachia.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

She frowned. "You never have learned any man-
ners," she said. "Do you not know that you are to
rise in the presence of a queen?"

I snorted. "Blood Wood is long gone," I said. "Its
ashes have been forgotten more times than either of
us can remember. You're no more a queen than I."

"You never were ambitious," she said.

"No, just not foolish and vain."

Her frown deepened. Even with such a withering
expression on her face, she was still beautiful. The
skin was as pale, the hair as fiery red, and the eyes
as blue. Not as stunning as she'd been, but part of
that was due to the changes in the magic. Now her
beauty was more human.
46

WORLDS WITHOUT END

"You are an annoyance," she said. "But you are
my cross to bear. Isn't that an amusing expression?
Tell me, aren't you curious as to why I am visiting
you?"

I didn't answer. I knew it would annoy her. How
odd that even after all this time we fell back into our
old patterns.

"Well, I'll tell you," she said. Her voice was glee-
ful and fairly danced with excitement. "In a fort-
night, I am again to gain a throne. Admittedly, not as
impressive as those I've left behind me, but it will
do in the meantime."

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"Haven't you heard?" she asked. "Mary is dying
and Elizabeth is to be crowned queen. Don't you
think Henry is turning over in his grave? Killing off
that poor girl's mother because she couldn't give
him sons. Brutal bastard."

"What has that to do with you?"

"Why, my dear, haven't you guessed yet?"

I stared at her for a moment, then, through the
dullness of my mind, comprehension.

"Are you mad?" I asked.

"What do you mean?" she said coyly.

I was staggered. She'd been interfering for years
in things that weren't our business—but this—this
was too-much.

"How do you propose to achieve this miracle?" I
asked. "Don't you think people will see the differ-
ence between you?"

"Ah, I have been planning this for years," she
said. "It has taken an immense amount of time and
47

Caroline Spector

energy. Do you think that I just popped up yester-
day? Oh no, I have been Elizabeth for quite some
time."

"But her servants, teachers, surely someone .. ."

"A simple enough matter to arrange. A spell here,
a spell there .. . and patience. Such patience as you
have never known. And now, at last, I'm in a posi-
tion where I can do something."

I could only stare at her. It was madness—sheer
and utter madness. How she could possibly think she
could maintain such a farce was beyond me.

"Aina," she said, "you have always been so short-
sighted. We can control what happens over the next
thousand years. Make the world over in our image.
Think of it—the power will come back again. Not
this trickle, but a deluge of energy to rip loose the
moorings of the world—unless we make certain of
the proper order of things. Humans are sheep. We
will always rule them.

"The legends and tales you strew about aren't
enough. We must have more. We must control them.
This is our destiny."

Even had I wanted to stand, I didn't think my legs
would hold me. What she was proposing was mon-
strous. It went against everything I believed about
our place. Our purpose. We had a duty to perform.
We were to keep the world safe so that the knowl-
edge would survive from age to age.

She knew what I did—how could she discard it all
for so clumsy a form of power? But then, power had
always entranced her. And so much of her mind
would never be known to me. She was far older than I.
48

WORLDS WITHOUT END

And I have lived so long that Sisyphus's chore
looked like a blessing to me.

"You pervert what we are," I said.

"This pious attitude is quite boring, Aina," she
said. "I think I liked you better before you lost your
faithful companion. He certainly would never have
tolerated such an attitude. And he could goad you
into so many things."

I felt the blood draining from my face and blessed
my dark skin. Cruelty was her hallmark. How could
I have let my guard down for even a second? The
energy drained from me then. I didn't have the
strength now to battle with her.

"What has all this to do with me?" I asked.

She walked closer to me. The wide span of her
skirts just touched the ragged hem of my cloak.

"I want your assurance that you won't interfere
with my plans," she said. "I know you could make
things difficult for me and I won't have it. There has
been too much time and energy devoted to this for
you to create problems."

"How did you know I was in England?" I asked.

"That was a happy accident," she said. "For the
last few years I've made it my business to keep
abreast of any rumors of witchcraft. When I heard
about a dark-skinned woman with white hair who'd
been arrested for sorcery, well, I assumed it must be
you."

"Have you known all along that I've been here?"
I asked.

"Of course," she said. "I just couldn't take any
49

Caroline Spector

action on it for a while. Besides, I wanted you out of
the way until I decided what to do with you."

I closed my eyes. Knowing Alachia, she could
keep me here for decades before letting me go. By
that time I might well have lost my mind.

"What do you propose?" I asked.

"Just what I said. You keep out of my way in this
matter. I will act as queen to this tiny nation."

"This is madness, Alachia," I said. "Why would
you want this?"

"Because I need to rule," she said.

"And if I don't agree?"

"I'll find someplace where I can leave you to rot,"
she said. "You won't die, unfortunately. But you'll
certainly wish you had. That is, if you still have
your sanity intact after all those years locked up and
alone. It's really not much of a choice, is it?"

She had me there. I couldn't stop her from what
she was about. But I could certainly see my way
clear to making her life difficult once she let me out.

"Very well," I said. "I agree."

She came to the throne on November 17, 1558
and ruled for an astonishing forty-five years. And at
every turn I made her way as difficult as possible.
Oh I didn't act directly; that has never been my way.
But I knew people on both sides, and it was a simple
matter to sow the seeds of distrust and paranoia. All
I had to do was stir the pot. Between juggling the
French and Spanish, she was forced to look to the
welfare of the country.

50

WORLDS WITHOUT END

Besides, it was a source of constant amusement to
me that she was referred to as the Virgin Queen.

That wasn't the first, nor would it be the last, time
she did such a thing. But the brazenness with which
she acted in this matter always amazed me. And af-
ter that time, I always made sure to stop her when-
ever I could.

51

Do you think you'll escape me through the past?

Do you think that by telling them you'll be safe?

Don't you know that I've been waiting—

as patient as time itself?

Don't you know you can never stop me?

"I tried to stop her," I said.

"What?" asked Caimbeul.

I hadn't realized I'd spoken aloud.

"Nothing," I said. With a quick snap of my wrist
I pulled the drapes together and shut out the storm.
"I suppose I should pack."

There was the creak of leather as he settled back
into my chair.

"So," he said, "you're going to tell them. Where
will you go first?"

"The Seelie Court," I said. "It should be the least
hostile reception."

"If you can find them."

This made me laugh.

"Ah, Caimbeul," I said. "That will be the easy part."

It was drizzling the next morning as we loaded
our bags into Caimbeul's rental car. I'd set the alarm

52

WORLDS WITHOUT END

and cast spells, and as I locked the front door I had
the terrible feeling that this would be the last time I
would ever see Arran.

Damn them all, I thought. If they would only have
listened. If they 'd stopped playing with things they
only barely understood. Then I wouldn't have to
leave my house and venture into matters I've spent
hundreds of years avoiding.

But I knew the worst of the bunch were the ones
who knew the dangers and went ahead with their
foolishness anyway. Damn them, too.

Caimbeul had opened the passenger-side door and
stood there waiting for me to get in. I dropped into the
synthleather seat, sniffing the vinyl scent of new car as
I did. After shutting the door behind me, Caimbeul
came around the front of the car and got in on his side.

"I made some plane reservations while you were
still asleep," he said. "It was bloody expensive and
I expect to be reimbursed."

"I can't believe you're bringing up money at a
time like this," I said.

Out the comer of my eye I saw him shrug.

"I know you're good for it," he said.

"So are you. You've got piles of the stuff hidden
everywhere. What's a plane ticket to you?"

"That's not it," he said, primly. "It's the principle
of the thing." '

"The principle of the ..." And then I couldn't
continue because I was laughing too hard.

I contented myself with watching the passing sce-
nery and playing with the vid, trying to get some de-
53

Caroline Specter

cent signal to come in. But all I found were walls of
noise and static. Finally I managed to tune in a pre-
historic station that was doing a retrospective of
tum-of-the-century music. Snapping off the trideo
portion, I let the sounds wash over me. I confess I
liked the older flat-screen stuff: Nine Inch Nails,
Cold Bodies, Sister Girl's Straight Jacket. Nothing
like a little atonality with my angst.

Every so often I would glance over at Caimbeul.
Excuse me. Harlequin. I don't think that name will
ever come trippingly to my lips. And I hate what it
represents even more.

Yes, I know you think you understand him. You
might even think you know him well, but you don't.
I've known him for longer than either of us cares to
remember. And he wasn't as you see him now. That
stupid painted face. Though he wasn't what many
would call handsome, I have always found him at-
tractive. Maybe even beautiful. Oh, I know that
sounds peculiar, but there is an aspect of ugliness
that is so shocking and strange it becomes beauty.

And his wild hair, all gold and brown woven to-
gether. He'd let it grow long again, which I like. But
he insisted on pulling it back in that ridiculous pony
tail. It made me want to sneak up behind him with
a scissors and cut it off. Either you wear it long or
you don't was my way of thinking.

His hands lay easily on the wheel. I knew they
were smooth and feminine with calluses on the fin-
gertips. There was a hint of yellow between the first
and second fingers where he held those Gaullets he
smoked. And he smelled of tobacco and clean linen.
54

WORLDS WITHOUT END

And I wondered whether he remembered those
sorts of things about me. The little details that only
come from intimacy.

"Will you turn that off?" he asked.

"I like it," I replied as I leaned forward and
nudged the volume button up a little.

"I know," he said. "You always did have terrible
taste in music."

"No, I've always had broad taste in music. Unlike
you who only seem to like classical music and the
occasional jazz group."

"I prefer to think of it as a refined taste."

"I know you do."

We didn't say anything else and I went back to
watching the kilometers slip by as the rain streamed
across the windows.

Edinburgh was crowded. Old ladies were crying
and hugging uncomfortable-looking teens. Suits hur-
ried by, oblivious to everything but their own sense
of self-importance. I've never been too fond of cor-
porate thinking. That whole bigger is better drek was
what had led to most of the problems in the world,
as far as I could tell. Okay, indoor plumbing was the
one exception to this rule, but otherwise ...

We found the gate for the flight to Tir na nOg. As
we came around the comer, I saw that the usual se-
curity measures were in place. All our luggage was
going to be searched. There would be the usual
weapons scan and the endless procession of bureau-
cratic red tape. Like I said: corporate thinking.
55

Caroline Spectw

The worst of it was that once we got to the Tir, all
this would begin again.

As we approached the head of the line, the elven
official looked up from the display screen where he
was sliding credsticks to check documentation. He
gestured us forward, ignoring several people ahead
of us.

"May I see your passports and visas?" he said. He
tried to keep it polite, but you could tell he wasn't
going to take no for an answer.

We handed over our sticks with our IDs and travel
permits on them, and he asked us to step into a small
room off the main corridor. As the door shut behind
us I could hear the other passengers whispering to
each other. You could cut the paranoia with a knife.

"Is there a problem?" Caimbeui asked.

The security drone didn't answer as he sat down
at a display on the far side of a small formica table
in the center of the room. The walls were a dirty
white and one of the fluorescent lights flickered on
and off erratically. I read his name off his badge:

Clovis Blackeye. No wonder he was an officious
prig. With a name like that I'd be a drekhead, too.

He was gaunt and stoop-shouldered for an elf. His
hair was tied back into a ponytail and was shot
through with premature gray. A perpetual expression
of misery lined his face and made his eyes look
sunken and bruised. He knew he would never be
anything more than a low-level bureaucrat.

Sometimes there was no explaining UGE.

"I said, 'Is there a problem?' "
56

WORLDS WITHOUT END

Clovis finally looked up from the screen. His
beady eyes swung from Caimbeui to me.
"It says here that you're visiting relatives in Tir

na n6g. But it doesn't list who those relatives might
be."

"Is that necessary?" I asked.

"How do we know you really have relatives in the
Tir? Maybe you're from that other place, come to
cause trouble."

"That other place?"

"Tir Taimgire. The fallen ones."

I glanced at Caimbeui and he rolled his eyes.
Nothing worse than a patriotic officious prick.

"And perhaps we have relatives who don't want
every low-level clerk knowing who their relatives
are," I said.

His flat piggy nose flared slightly.

"That's not for you to decide," he said. "Now tell
me or you don't get on that plane."

I leaned forward across the table then and grabbed
his collar. For a moment I thought he might resist,
but the force of my will kept him from moving. It
was as easy as a snake hypnotizing a rat.

"Listen to me, little brother," I said in Eireann
sperethiel. My accent might have been a bit off, but
otherwise I was letter perfect. "You are playing in
things far beyond your knowledge or concern. You
wish to know who we are to visit? Then come closer
and I shall tell you."

I jerked him across the table and whispered a
name in his ear. The blood fled from his already
pasty cheeks. As he pulled away, I let him see me—

57

Caroline Spector

really see me. These are the kinds of tricks I hate—
obvious displays of power—but he'd slotted me off.

"Now you can well imagine how annoyed this
person would be if they discovered their name came
up in this sort of situation," I said. "So I would sug-
gest that we all forget this unfortunate incident."

Old Clovis was only too happy to oblige. He gave
us back our papers like he'd just discovered they'd
been tainted with VITAS. We were ushered onto the
plane without further delay. I settled into the thick
leather upholstered seats of the first-class section
and smiled at the attendant who handed me a glass
of single malt scotch.

"Was that really necessary?" asked Caimbeui after
she moved away.

"What?" I said, letting my eyes go wide and inno-
cent.

"That show you put on back there."

The plane gave a little lurch as it backed from the
gate. I glanced out the scratched window. Below me
I could see the orange lights on the ground.

"No," I said. "We could have missed the flight
snaking around with him. But I didn't have the pa-
tience for it. Besides, he's going to be too scared to
tell anyone. He believes in the omnipotence of the
Elders. You could see it in his eyes."

"But you showed him ..."

"I showed him what would impress him the most.
Some people are so literal."

"I missed you."

"What?" It was a strange and unexpected non-
sequitur. And I couldn't believe my ears.
58

WORLDS WITHOUT END

"Well, I didn't miss the arguing. But I missed you
when you get like this."
I didn't say anything to that.
It wouldn't have made any difference anyway.

59

She's running.

The forest is alive with sounds and smells. In the
distance, the dying rabbit cries sound like a child's
screams. The heavy scent of new-dug earth hangs in
the air. Branches slap against her face, and no mat-
ter how she tries to push them away, they keep com-
ing back.

Something is behind her. She doesn 't know what it
is—only that it will kill her if it can. Looking over
her shoulder, she tries to see what it is. So she
doesn't see when she steps off into space.

She's falling now.

Falling with nothing to save her.

8

I jerked awake as the plane passed into the Veil. It
was a nasty jolt of reality, being sound asleep one
moment and wide-awake the next. A tingling started
at the nape of my neck and worked its way up my
skull.

Pushing the plastic shade up, I peered out the win-
dow. There was nothing but thick gray and white
clouds like the smoke of burning leaves. I struggled
against the effects of the Veil. The clouds tried to
form themselves into shapes. What part of my sub-
60

WORLDS WITHOUT END

conscious was being dredged up? I didn't want to
know and pulled the shade down with a snap. We'd
be on the ground in half an hour. I could hold out
against the effects until then.

"Pretty potent stuff," said Caimbeul. "The Veil. It
makes me wish they would use some other sort of
protection."

I shoved a hand through my hair. It was virtually
gone now. After centuries of having it long, I'd fi-
nally cut it all off. All that was left were spiky white
sprouts about an inch and a half long. My head felt
smooth and cool under my fingers.

"Too potent," I said. "They're only aggravating
things."

"You've said that every time anyone's used magic
on any scale."

I didn't answer him, knowing that we'd just run
over the same ground again. The engines whined
and I felt the thump as the landing gear lowered.
Then I shoved the shade up again. We broke through
the clouds and I could see buildings below us. From
here everything looked small and not at all real. Up
here we were still safe.

I closed my eyes then, breathing slowly and
deeply to relax myself. I had my usual landing
death-grip on the chair arms. Blowing up in a ball of
fire was not the'way I wanted to end my unnatural
life. My ears popped several times and I opened and
closed my mouth to help. Then I felt it.

The smooth calluses and the suede glide of
Caimbeul's hand closing over mine. I didn't pull
away. It was too comforting and familiar. I kept my
61

Caroline Spector

eyes closed, not wanting to see when we burst into
a huge ball of fire.

There was a sudden bounce and we were on the
ground. Caimbeul's hand disappeared and I was left
with only the memory of his warm touch.

Once, years ago, I lived in the United States.

I'd come to America during the eighteen-hundreds
when news that the Sioux were using ritual magic
drifted across the Atlantic to the fashionable parlors
I frequented then. It was a topic of much conversa-
tion for a few months, until other, more interesting
scandals pushed their way into idle gossip.

But I knew the Sioux were playing with danger-
ous mojo.

The reports told of self-mutilation to help the
magic. Blood magic. It was too early for that sort of
thing—unless they'd found a place of power. They
were playing with forces they couldn't understand
and wouldn't be able to control, even if by some
freak chance they did work.

I booked passage on the next available steamer
and was making my way west in a matter of weeks.
There was no time for me to admire the rawness of
the country. Everything was new here. Fresh starts
for anyone willing to take it. The weight of history
had barely settled onto the land.

But that is another part of the story. The time I am
thinking of came later, in the late nineteen-thirties
and early forties. I was living in Texas then. The war
known as the War to End All Wars was barely cold.
The embers of it still smoldered in the battlefields of
62

WORLDS WITHOUT END

Europe. But apparently they weren't ready for them
to be out yet. That little Austrian man stirred it all
up again and the depths of his hateful vision
wouldn't be known for another six years. But by
then, it would be too late for us all.

But in Austin we didn't know about any of that.
The world came to us through newspapers, maga-
zines, radio—and through the movies.

It was a blistering hot summer. But that was noth-
ing unusual. Most people left the city for cooler
parts of the Hill Country. The ones who remained
made do with fans, ice blocks, and shade. In the eve-
ning the temperature would drop into the high sev-
enties. It was almost bearable.

Once the initial shock of the war wore off, life
went on as usual. For the most part. Most Americans
thought they would be exempt from the conflict. Af-
ter all, what did it have to do with them, this bloody
war in Europe?

And so, on this summer night with the heavy
scent of lantana and moonflowers in the air, I went
to the movies. Some people were afraid of being in
closed places because of the polio, but that was
never a concern of mine.

The theater was dimly lit and I used a fan given
away at the local Herbert E. Butts grocery store to
push the sweltering air about. The lights went down
and the newsreel began. Of course, the war in Eu-
rope was the first item. I watched as scene after
scene of destruction flashed across the screen. Many
things were being blown up in Poland and France
and England.

63

Caroline Spector

Then we were looking at images of happily wav-
ing crowds. The little man rode through them mak-
ing his straight-arm salute to the frantically waving
masses.

And then I saw her.

At first I couldn't believe my eyes, but the shot
held and I knew what I was seeing was true. It was
Alachia.

She was sitting in one of the cars in the rear of the
procession. An expression of perfect happiness was
etched in her face. A blond man with his hair slicked
back and perfect Aryan features waved at the crowds
while his other arm encircled her waist. He smiled
down at her and she smiled back. They were gone in
an instant, replaced by the image of refugees fleeing
down some unknown road.

The screen went black and then the Parade of
Fashions appeared. Sweat rolled down my face but I
was suddenly cold. So very cold.

We rode the shuttle bus headed south toward Dub-
lin, hooking up to Dorsett Street once we were in the
city proper.

We'd made it through customs relatively easily.
There was no need to resort to the sort of tactics I'd
used on that idiotic bureaucrat from before. Like
many of the Dublin streets, this one turned and bent
and changed names. We took a left onto Church
Street and headed south toward the river. Four
Courts was to our left. The dome of the central
building was covered in the green patina that comes
to all copper as it ages. It was a beautiful piece of
64

WORLDS WITHOUT END

neoclassical work. All white columns and statuary at
every corner. The fact that it was standing after all
this time gave me a fleeting feeling of permanence.

As we crossed Whitworth Bridge, I looked out the
window. Below us the Liffey River flowed a gray-
jade color, the dark clouds of the late-October sky
barely reflected in its depths.

At the next stop, we left the tram and cut across
West High Street. It was a strange experience, to see
almost as many elves as humans walking about. No
one gave us a second look. Oh well, perhaps one or
two. We were dressed better than the average Dub-
liner. I know the reports out of the Tir have it that
the land is green and milk and honey flow from ev-
ery stream, but after all, this is Eire.

Poverty has been at the throat of the people for
generations. And goblinization hadn't changed that.
Perhaps no one was starving, but all was not well in
the Tir.

At St. Nicholas Street we headed south and cut
west before we reached St. Patrick's Park. I glanced
back to see if anyone was following us. An old
woman pulled a shopping cart filled with vegetables,
but as far as I could see there was no one tailing us.

"How long since you've been here?" I asked
Caimbeul.

"Oh, I get about," he said, shrugging.

"Meaning you've been here recently."

He gave me hard stare. "Yes. I was here recently.
I was invited to attend a wedding."

"Whose wedding?"

"I'd rather not say."

65

Caroline Spector

"Because I wasn't invited?"

"Well, yes."

"Well, I don't care about that," I lied. Weddings
were highly symbolic events in the elven commu-
nity. Full of alliances and power-jockeying. Not
being invited meant I wasn't considered a pow-
er anymore. That would hurt me when I went to
the Court. No doubt Alachia's hand at work once
more.

We worked our way across the maze of streets that
led to St. Stephen's Green. Nestled next to ancient
stone buildings were brick flats put up in the
nineteen-hundreds next to chip-implanting shops.
Dublin wasn't a flash city like New York or LA. She
crept up on you and worked her charms in subtler
ways. A hint of the past here. A bit of the future
there.

Once we were in St. Stephen's I relaxed a little. I
was certain no one was tailing us: the old woman
had turned off on Bride Street. Since then, the crowd
thickened and thinned, but no one seemed at all in-
terested in Caimbeui and me.

"Where do you want to stay?" Caimbeui asked.

"Stephen's Hall?"

"Do they have a decent security rating?"

"Good enough," I said. "It's not like we're going
underground."

The hotel overlooked St. Stephen's Green with its
emerald grass and drooping willows. We checked in
and followed the troll bell boy up to our suite.

We left a wake-up call for six.
* * *

66

WORLDS WITHOUT END

The rains came at four. I woke to a crash of thun-
der and the sound of hail hitting the windows. For a
moment I was disoriented and thought I was back in
the kaer. A suffocating darkness pressed against me.
But then I saw the night sky as Caimbeui opened the
drapes.

"Where did this come from?" he wondered aloud.

"If I were more superstitious," I said, "I would
say it was a sign."

"A sign?"

"Yes. They know we're here. But it's more likely
this is the Doineann Draoidheil."

He didn't say anything to that. Knowing he was
watching there at the window made me feel safe.
And as I drifted back to sleep, I smiled.

67

Tonight she doesn't dream.

9

Bells.

I swam up from the murky depths and realized be-
fore I opened my eyes that it was the telephone.
Couldn 't they afford to replace these fraggin' an-
tiques? I thought. Swatting at the phone, I managed
to drag it from its cradle and sent the base crashing
to the floor. Damn things, I never got used to them
when they appeared and now that they were obso-
lete, I was still plagued with them.

"Whazzit?"

"Your wake-up call." The voice was computerized
and pretematurally perky. I hate that.

I let the receiver drop. It missed the base and
thudded on the carpet. Burrowing further into the
covers, I let the lovely blackness drag me down
again.

"Aina," said Caimbeui, pulling the covers off me.
"Time to get up."

I lay there for a moment not moving. It occurred
to me that though we Elders weren't supposed to
mortally wound one another, there was always a first
time for everything. Instead, I rolled onto my back
68

WORLDS WITHOUT END

and glared at him in what I hoped would be a fright-
ening manner.

"That won't work," he said. He was dressed in
black. His hair was pulled back into that annoying
ponytail. At least he'd laid off dyeing it red for a
while. "I'm not even a little intimidated by your bad
moods. I lived with them for years. They just don't
impress me anymore."

I muttered something unintelligible, hoping it
would be taken for a scathing remark. But it wasn't.
He knew me too well.

Stumbling to the bathroom, I hoped that there was
at least hot water for a shower.

We rented a car and made our way west from
Dublin out of Dublin County through Kildare to Of-
faly and into Galway. A heavy mist lay over the land
making the greens muted and soft. Much of the land
had gone wild. I knew this was part of the Awaken-
ing.

The land was going back to what it was before hu-
mans had put their mark upon it. Remnants of that
earlier time existed before the Awakening. The
Giant's Causeway in Antrim was one such place.
Some said it was cooling lava that produced the
hexagon-shaped stones leading from the mountains
down to the sea, but I knew better.

"How are you going to find the Court?" Caimbeui
asked. "They could be anywhere."

"Yes, but those who know where they are keep to
certain places. We're going there."

"To the tombs?"

69

Caroline Spector

"Yes, and other places."
"You know how I hate the tombs."
"Life is suffering, Caimbeul. Didn't you know
that?"

Because of the fog, it took us four hours to reach
The Bun-en. The land here was wilder than other
areas of the Tfr. Perhaps because the people who
lived in this part of Ireland had never been far from
their Celtic roots. Even before the Awakening,
Gaelic was the primary language for large sections
of Galway.

As we passed, I saw fingers of gray rock clawing
up through the thin soil. Dark green thorn trees
twisted against the fierce ocean wind. Sheer cliffs
dropped down to rocky seashores.

The Burren was a flat plain of gray limestone
rock. Deep fissures cut down into the slabs of stone,
scarring the rock. The only things that grew there
were wildflowers that sprang up between the cracks.

I parked the car and we started up the Burren.
Once there would have been tourists clambering
over the outcroppings. Now there was a stillness that
hung in the air and seeped slowly into my bones.

"Come on," I said softly.

We made our way, for once not bickering about
how fast or slow one or the other was going. I
stopped every so often to pluck flowers that grew
from the crevices. I wove them into necklaces as we
walked. I kept one for myself and handed one to
Caimbeul. He gave me a skeptical look, but slipped
his into his pocket.

70

WORLDS WITHOUT END

The mist was getting thicker and thicker as we
walked. I stumbled over the uneven rock and wished
I'd thought to bring a walking stick. Then we were
upon it. A large fissure in the rock. It was large
enough for one of us to slip through at a time.

"Well," I said. "I'm going down. You can wait
here for me if you want."

Caimbeul gave a disgusted snort.

"You think they'll listen to you without me?" he
asked.

I looked up at him then, deep into his forest-green
eyes. We knew each other well, Caimbeul and I, and
I knew this ploy for what it was.

"Oh yes, dear Harlequin," I replied. "I think they
will listen to me very well. They know who I am."

It was cool in the cave. We were crawling on our
stomachs down a long passageway with only a small
light to lead us. I'd cast the spell once we'd found
ourselves in this narrowing corridor and I couldn't
hold my flashlight any longer.

"Remind me to tell you how much I enjoy crawl-
ing through a cave in my very best shoes and coat,"
Harlequin said.

"Don't complain," I replied. "It could be worse."

"How so?"

He ran into my heels and gave a little oomph.

"It could be wet."

"Oh, what a lovely thought."

Just then I crawled around a comer and popped
out into a large cavem. Stalactites and stalagmites
grew down from the ceiling and up from the floor.
71

Caroline Spector

In the center of the cavern was a lake. Its surface
was mirror perfect and black as night.

I turned around and helped Caimbeui as he too
crawled out. There was dirt and dust covering his
clothes. He slapped at it, but it didn't help. When he
looked up at me again, I could see the annoyance in
his face. I put my finger to my mouth, then pointed
at the lake.

I walked away from him toward the edge of the
water. The only sound was the crunch of stones
under my boots. As I reached the edge of the lake,
I leaned over and picked up a small stone. Straight-
ening, I spoke,

"Hear me, Fin Bheara, King of the Daoine Sidhe,
King of the Dead. It is Aina. I would speak with
you."

My voice rang out and echoed against the silent
rocks. For a long moment there was nothing. No an-
swering sound. Then, there was a grinding noise.
The ground trembled and I stumbled a bit before re-
gaining my balance.

The water began to bubble and boil. Steam rose
from the surface and soon blanketed the entire room.
From the water rose a boat. It was made of wood
and gold. A throne was affixed in the center of the
deck. Sitting in it was the spirit who liked to be
known as Finvarra.

He was as I remembered, perhaps even larger than
before. The power of the Awakening had seeped into
his veins as well as mine.

The boat moved toward the shore where I stood,
cutting smoothly through the water, leaving only the
72

WORLDS WITHOUT END

slightest wake to mar the perfect sheen. I could see
no oarsmen or sails, but that is the way of faerie. It
stopped about a meter from shore and rested there.
"Greetings, Finvarra," I said. "You do me a great
honor."

He laughed. It was harsh and grating, and yet it
sounded like music to me.

"Aina," he said. "Sweet mother. How may I
help?"

"I would find the Seelie Court, Finvarra," I re-
plied. "Though to hear some tell it, I am no longer
considered a power in Tir na nOg."

"Come down from there, Caimbeui," Finvarra
said. "You make me nervous lurking about."

I heard Caimbeui curse as he slipped and slid his
way toward us.

"You haven't answered my question," I said.
"Where is the Seelie Court?"

Finvarra leaned back on his throne and studied
me. I returned the favor. His gray eyes were as
piercing as ever and the sharp planes of his face
were more cruel than kind. A thin gold circlet rested
on his brow. Long thin hands rested on bony knees.
His clothing, made of leaves and bark and animal
pelts, reminded me of what we'd worn in Blood
Wood all those centuries ago.

Then I noticed that lying at his feet was a young
woman. She was dressed in a tight purple dress with
thigh-high black patent leather boots. Part of her
head was shaved so the datajack she'd had im-
planted could be easily accessed. She seemed to be
asleep.

73

Caroline Spector                         X

"Up to your old tricks again," I said.             f
" "Tis nothing," he said. "A harmless amusement."  m
"What would Oonagh say?" I knew I had to play J
along.

"What she doesn't know . . . Besides, this is all
rather off the point. You wish to know where the
Seelie Court is currently residing."

"Yes."                                        |
"Perhaps they don't wish to be found."          '
"No. I suspect they don't. And I suspect I know
why they don't want to hear from me."

Finvarra smiled at me. His teeth were yellow and ,
very long.                                       |
"Now we're getting somewhere," he said. "Per- |
haps I can help you. If you are willing to do some- ;

thing for me."                                   |
"And what might that be?" I asked.             "\
"A test," he replied. "A simple challenge of your
will. My subjects will be more than happy to admin- ,
ister it. If you succeed, we take you to the Court. If -H
you fail, well, that will be your lookout, won't it?" •
"And who decides whether I win or lose?"      J
"Why that, dear mother, you will have to figure «
out for yourself."                                 •

With that, the boat sped away from me. It left u
barely a ripple in the water and the mist closed m
around it, hiding it from my sight. I stepped forward, J
the edge of the lake touching my toes. What now? I J
wondered.                                      j»
"Well, that was helpful," said Caimbeul.        !•
I spun about, ready to give him a cutting remark J
74

WORLDS WITHOUT END

when behind me something burst forth from the wa-
ter and grabbed me.

In a flash I was being pulled down into the black-
ness. The water was freezing and I hadn't caught a
breath. I fought against the urge to inhale. My eyes
were open, but I couldn't see much. I looked down
and saw that I was being held by a each-uisge. My
legs were helplessly stuck to its chest and forelegs.
Its clawed hands were clasped about my thighs. The
head was that of a horse with razor-sharp teeth.

It would pull me down into the water until I
drowned and then feast upon my flesh, except for my
liver, which it would no doubt spit up at Caimbeul's
feet. It was a prospect I didn't relish.

I let myself go limp, playing dead, hoping this
would slow its descent. It did. Then I jerked my
arms apart and uttered the words. Between my hands
a whirling of water started. It began to glow and lit
the each-uisge with blue light. The water spun faster
and faster until it narrowed into a fine, laser-like
point. I pointed it downward at the each-uisge's
head. There was the muffled sound of a shriek, and
then the creature's head disappeared. Its claws went
slack on my thighs, but I was still stuck to its chest.

My lungs were burning and spots floated before
my eyes. The dead weight of the each-uisge was
pulling me down. I had a panicky moment as I
started to inhale some water. With every ounce of
power left in my arms, I swam up to the surface.
Just as I thought I would never reach it, I broke
through. The air hurt as I gasped. I floundered for a
75

Caroline Spector

moment before Caimbeui grabbed me by my collar
and pulled me from the water.

He laid me, none too gently, on the stony bank. I
coughed up water and hacked out some bile. My
legs felt heavy, and I realized the each-uisge was
still stuck to them.

"Cut it off," I said.

"That won't work. You'll have pieces of it stuck
to your pants forever."

"Well, it's better than dragging the whole thing
along with me," I said, coughing up more water.

"Take off your pants," he said.

"Oh, fragging hell," I said. I unbuttoned my jeans
and skinned them off. It took a while between the
wet and the each-uisge.

"And so that was the test?" he asked.

"N-n-no," I stammered. My teeth were chattering
and gooseflesh had broken out over my body. "T-t-
that was a warning. They're serious about the test."

"Well," he said, looking chagrined that he hadn't
helped, "we'd better get you out of those wet
things."

He wrapped his arms around me. I let myself lean
against him and take in his warmth and scent. It was
good to be there, if only for a moment.

76

She can't move. Legs and arms like lead. But she
hears ... things.

Things rustling beyond her line of sight.
Things with evil intentions.

10

"What next?" Caimbeui asked.

I was sitting in the back seat of the car pulling dry
clothes on. My coat and boots were ruined, so I
wadded them up in a towel I'd taken from the hotel.
Under normal circumstances I wouldn't have in-
dulged in that sort of petty larceny, but these weren't
normal times.

Caimbeui was driving. We were heading south-
west away from The Bun-en. I pulled a heavy gray
sweater over my head, then slid on black jeans.
Sneakers were next, after which I climbed over the
front seat to the passenger side.

"Better?" he asked.

"Drier, at least," I replied. "But that brackish
smell is going to stay with me for a while."

"Not just you."

"My apologies," I said. "Next time a each-uisge
decides to have me for a snack I'll be sure to tell it
not to get you wet at the same time."
77

Caroline Specter

"I'd appreciate that," he replied.

"De nada, babycakes."

"You know I hate it when you call me

babycakes."

"Like I said, 'Life is . ..' "
"I know. I know."

We stopped in a small town south of The Burren
for food. It was fast approaching dusk and I wanted
to be out in the countryside as soon as possible. The
air was tanged with sea salt and humidity. Though it
wasn't that cold, the damp seemed to seep into my
bones, making them ache.

Leaving the car at the restaurant where we'd
eaten, we walked to the edge of the town. The road
out of town was little more than dirt and cobble-
stones. It had played hell on the suspension of the
rental. I imagined Caimbeui was making a running
ledger in his head of all the expenses of the trip.
When this penurious streak had come on him I

didn't know.

"Look," he said, grabbing my arm and pointing.
Off to one side of the road was a grove of trees. It
was shaded purple and gray in the twilight. A fog
had rolled in from the sea and made everything look
fuzzy and insubstantial. Surrounding the grove were
a series of tiny flickering lights that bobbed and
floated three meters above the ground.

Then I heard the faint, delicate tones of music. A
flute and recorder, I thought. Perhaps a viola thrown

in there.

"Ignis fatuus," I said. "Will-o'-the-wisps."
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

The flower necklace I'd made while we were
walking The Burren was waterlogged, but still ser-
viceable. I'd rescued it from my coat after we'd
reached the car. Now I put it around my neck.

"I can't believe you're using that," Caimbeui said.

"Whatever works."

"Primrose necklaces to reveal faeries?"

"Yes," I said. "And you'd better put yours on. I
don't want to lose you."

He snorted.

"I know it hasn't occurred to you before. Harle-
quin," I said. "But you don't know everything.
Some magic isn't complex—some is made up of
simple things. And sometimes, that's the most potent
magic. Because it's so obvious that everyone over-
looks it."

"But I thought this was to allow humans to see fa-
erie," he said.

"Oh, come now," I replied. "How many humans
were ever able to see faerie without their permis-
sion, help or no? No, this magic is from before hu-
man memory."

He pulled the necklace from his pocket. It was
wilted and droopy. With a sigh, he slipped it over his
neck. It hung there limp and pathetic, faded green
and pink against his black leather jacket.

Sucker.

I hid my smile and went back to following the
lights. Every time I thought we were about to catch
up, they moved away. This went on undl my pa-
tience began to wear thin. Then, all at once, we were
at the top of a hill.

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Caroline Spector

A group of oak trees stood to one side, their
leaves mostly gone. A circle of toadstools ringed
around the trees. Inside the ring, the lights flickered
and bobbed about. They melted and changed shape,
and eventually I saw what I had come for.

Dancing around the ring were an assortment of
the strange and fearful creatures of faerie. Please,
no laughing. I know that in recent times the idea of
faerie has come to mean something other, and much
more pleasant, than what it really was. But since the
Awakening, I suspect that Disney notion has flown
out the door.

For the most part they were dressed in rags or
pieces of plants. Their thin, sinewy bodies were
pulled and bent into grotesque shapes. With their
mouths opened to smile, they revealed rows of
sharp, pointed teeth. Some sported wings while oth-
ers had antennae flowing back from their brows.
They all had the pointed ears that we elves share.
Giving rise, no doubt, to the rumors that they are our
descendants.

Spriggans danced with leprechauns while fir
darrigs tripped the unwary. Goblins and pixies tried
to swing each other out of the circle. They whirled
and danced and laughed. The shadows they cast
flickered and strobed. It was Dante's vision of Hell.

One of the dancers broke from the group and ran
over to us. It grabbed my hand and pulled me for-
ward.

"Welcome, mother," it said. "We've been waiting
for you."

"What of my friend?" I asked.
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

"He is of no account right now."

We were in the center of the ring. The sharp, wiz-
ened faces of the faeries jerked in and out of
shadow. I had thought they were much smaller than
me at first, but now I saw we were the same height.
Or perhaps I was shrinking. Like Alice.

My feet moved along with the music now. I
looked down and saw my jeans and sweater were
gone, replaced by a long flowing gown made of
silver silk. We spun around and around and sud-
denly .. .

I am on the deck of a large ship. It floats in the
sky. Magic propels it. Magic that brings both good
and evil to this world.

I'm dancing here.

Dancing with trolls. We sail through the dark
night sky, laughing and dancing like children. One
of the trolls is old and wizened. He wears a long
robe embroidered with patterns. His flesh is wrin-
kled and thick like an elephant's. But he is kind.
And he is my friend.

The faces of these trolls flash before me, the
memory of them clear and bright as day. I'd thought
I'd forgotten them. But no, that was just a story I
told myself.

Now I'm standing'on the deck of the ship. It is the
afternoon. The ship is in the middle of a battle. The
trolls are fighting, but where is my friend? I go to
look for him.

I find him below-deck lying in a pool of blood.
He's broken his leg. I have some knowledge of heal-
81

Caroline Spector

ing and I try to help him. But I've brought more than
my healing magic along on this trip. I've brought
him: Ysrthgrathe.

I know what happens next. I've played it out in
my head so many times that I think I've grown
numb from it.

But I'm wrong.

There are some things you never get used to.

The faeries danced around me, laughing. Cruel
tricks are their stock and trade.

"Did you like the dance, mother?" one of the
spriggans asked.

I couldn't answer because there was no breath in
my chest. Tears stung my eyes. But I kept dancing.

I couldn't stop.

82

There's a car. She's driving it through rain-slicked
streets. The headlights make yellow beams against
the oily pavement. There's no other traffic. Every-
thing is deserted.

She stops for a red light. There's a tap against the
passenger-side glass. She looks up. A pockmarked
face appears at the window, broken fingernails trail
across the wetness down to the door handle. Too
late, she realizes that the doors are unlocked.

She can't keep him out.

11

Where was Caimbeui?

I couldn't stop dancing now. This was part of it.
Part of the test. And perhaps a bit of revenge at the
same time. I know they thought they had just cause,
but that was part of the past, too.

I looked down and saw that my dress had changed
again. Glamour. Nasty tricks of the first water. I
wore a long white dress made of rose petals. Not un-
like the ones Alachia had favored in Blood Wood.

I open my eyes. The faeries are gone.
about, I notice that the trees have died.
nothing more than hollowed-out stumps.
83

As I look
They are
It's cold.

Caroline Spector

Colder than it should be this time of year. Or any-
time in Tfr na n6g.

Looking up, I see that the sky has turned the color
of old oysters. And the air smells of burnt flesh.

I start to run down the hill, back to the town
where Caimbeui and I left the car. The fields I run
through are fallow, dead, and brown. Where there
was once a cobblestone road, now only small jagged
pieces of stone show against the dun-colored earth.

A stillness hangs in the air. But this is not the si-
lence of a quiet afternoon.

The buildings I pass are crumbling. Finally, I come
to the tavern where we stopped for lunch. No vehi-
cles are parked outside. The windows are boarded up,
but the door hangs open, listing on one hinge.

I go inside.

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the
dark. Broken chairs litter the floor. Glass crunches
under my feet. There's no one here.

I walk outside again.

All around me, everything crumbles to dust.

And I am alone.

Tears streamed down my face. The spriggans
grabbed my hands and spun me about harder and
faster. The world revolved around me until all I saw
was a blur of light and motion. Shutting my eyes, I
tried to block it out.

I open my eyes.

We spin about under the azure sky, hands locked
with one another.

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WORLDS WITHOUT END

"Faster," he says.

"You'll make yourself sick," I reply.

"Faster."

So we turn and turn until we both fall down onto
the soft grass.

"The sky is spinning," he says.

I put my hand on his forehead. He is warm, but
not unusually so. My hand looks so large against his
tiny forehead. I can hardly believe that this creature,
this small boy, came from me.

He pushes my hand away, impatient again to be
going. In a flash he is up and off and running.
Chubby legs pump and I see he's beginning to lose
his baby fat. In another few months he'll be a little
boy, a baby no longer. And I find I can't bear the
idea of his growing older. I would keep him like this
forever.

From high in the sky, a bird cries out. I look up,
shadowing my eyes with my hand. It begins a slow
descent, circling around and around. Black with yel-
low wing-tips.

I hear a shout and turn. The sky has turned dark
as ink and rain slices down.

Standing next to our small stone house are my son
and an old man. Somehow I have missed something.
Something important, something I must understand.
Then the man drags my son into the house. The door
slams shut. An eternity passes, and then a crimson
pool seeps slowly under the door.

Tears ran down my face.

"Mother, did we make you weep?" asked one of
85

Caroline Spector

the spriggans. He looked at me with a concerned ex-
pression, then burst into laughter.

"No, no," said another. "She only cries for her
dead children. The rest of us must shift for our-
selves."

"That's enough of this nonsense," I said loudly. I
was having trouble breathing. After all, I was getting
awfully old for this sort of thing. "This is a ridicu-
lous game. Tell me what I need to know. Now."

This caused nothing but giggles from them.

"You know it's no good demanding anything from
us," they said. "We always do what we will. Disobe-
dient children."

And then they spun me around faster.

The room is spinning. The fire in the hearth is hot
and I feel as though it's burning my bare skin. I'm
burning up. Hotter and hotter until I think I'll go
mad from it. Maybe I already have.

Pain blossoms bright inside me. I shut my eyes
and see red against black. Hands touch me trying to
soothe, but it is no use. There are some things for
which there is no balm.

Then the pain is over. They bring me something
bundled up.

I hold my arms out to receive this gift. I pull back
the blanket. Inside is a horrible apparition.

"This is not my baby," I cry. "What have you
done with my baby?"

They take the bundle away from me.

"It's a changeling," says one in a voice she thinks
86

WORLDS WITHOUT END

is too soft for me to hear. "The faeries have stolen
her baby."

"You can't blame us. Mother," said the spriggan.
"That was your own doing."

"Oh, be quiet," I snapped. The spriggan skulked
away.

Sweat ran down my face. I was growing tired of
their games.

"Tell me where they are," I said.

"Patience, Mother," they replied.

I'm running away. The earth rushes below me as
I fly. Cradled in my arms is a child. This is no
changeling, but my own flesh and blood.

At last we come to our home. Inside, the air is
stale and musty. But that doesn't matter because we
are home and safe.

The storms come. Rain pounds against the roof
and makes the windows "rattle. But we don't mind,
we're warm and dry. Then I remember, someone is
coming. Coming for us.

The door slams open. He is here. But he's not the
real threat. I don't realize this until it's too late.

Foolish foolish woman.

Something jerked me.

Someone.

Caimbeui had hauled me from the dance. Looking
down, I saw I no longer wore the petal gown. Just
my own gray sweater and black jeans. Orange
streaks colored the sky to the east.
87

Caroline Spector

"Why did you do that?" I asked.

"I just now found you."

"What?"

"You went running off, and I couldn't find you for
three days," he said angrily. "Do you think I enjoyed
tramping all over this jerkwater place? I used up a
hell of a lot of goodwill trying to figure out where
they took you. Not to mention the energy."

"Thanks," I said.

"Thanks? Thanks. She said, 'Thanks.' Is that it?"

He was beginning to annoy me. I was searching
the ground trying to see if they'd left anything be-
hind for me to go on. And all he was doing was
blathering away.

"Yes, thanks for coming after me. What do you
want. Harlequin?"

"Perhaps some gratitude," he said. "I've been all
over Connaught looking for you. It's taken a hell of
a lot of casting to locate you."

"I hope you're up to some more," I said.

"Why?" A suspicious look crossed his face.

"Because the only way I know now to reach the
Court is by calling up the Hunt."

He looked a little pale. I was glad to see he still
had some respect for the old ways.

"The Chasse Artu?"

"Yes," I said, feeling a little happier at the
thought. "The Wild Hunt. It's been so long since
I've called one, let alone two. We really must make
preparations."

"Are you mad? You can't possibly call up the
Hunt yourself," he said. There was a frightened look
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

in his eye. "It would take more power than you or I
possess, even combined, not to mention the time in-
volved."

I smiled. "Of course I can't call up the entire Hunt
myself. No one could. But I can bring up the steeds.
Come along. I'll sleep while you drive. By the way,
where are we?"

89

There is a barren plain. No grass grows here. No
tree mars the vastness of land. Only the long unbro-
ken earth stretching out beneath the sickly yellow

sky.

A moon hangs large and low. It casts a green glow
and turns her skin the color of illness.

Of death.

12

When I woke, it was getting near dark. The sun
rested low on the horizon, showing its face for the
first time since we'd come to the Tir. Caimbeui had
turned the vid to some music station as he drove.
The vid flickered and changed, turning his pale face
a rainbow of colors.

It took me a moment to orient myself. I felt
groggy and irritated at the sensation. My scalp
itched and my eyes felt gritty. A few hours of sleep
to make up for the three days I'd missed weren't
enough.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"Just south of Galway City," he replied.

"Has it changed much?" I asked.

"Has what changed?"

"Galway City."

90

WORLDS WITHOUT END

"Compared to what?"

"Compared to what it was before the Awakening."
"A bit," he said. "The old ways have taken hold
pretty firmly there."

I pulled my bag out from under the front seat and
began rummaging through it. Gum wrappers, ciga-
rettes, shoelaces—then I found it: a small tin whis-
tle. It rode on a thin copper necklace that I slipped
over my head and nestled down between my breasts.
I looked out at the passing countryside.

It had gone wild here. No fences marked property
lines. The roads were mostly unpaved, little more
than dirt ruts. It reminded me of a time long ago,
long before this world. Back when another world
was young. No, it was me who was young then.

I remembered what happened in that place so long
ago. How could I ever forget? And now it seemed
that the mistakes of the past would be repeated. This
world would be torn apart unless I stopped them.
Unless I stopped him.

Just as the sun was setting, I saw the place. Stone
tombs silhouetted against the red sky.

"Pull over here," I said.

Caimbeui slowed the car.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "I can't feel any-
thing ..."

"It'll do. This place is lousy with caims. The
whole area is Awakened."




A blast of cool air hit me when I opened the car
door. The magic was heavy here. It made the hair on
the back of my neck stand on end. Then I noticed a
strange feeling I hadn't had in a time out of mind:

91

Caroline Spector

excitement. Things couldn't be worse, yet I felt alive
for the first time in years. Had the centuries finally
worn me down? I knew they had for some of the
others. Some until they resorted to terrible means to
stop the emptiness.

'But I had a reason to live. I knew my purpose. It
was a sacred task. To keep the world safe. To protect
it. To protect the people in it. Or so I'd told myself.

As I started for the tombs, Caimbeui grabbed my
arm.

"Are you certain this is the only way?" he asked.

I turned and looked at him. In the flat red twilight
his face looked like the very vision of Lucifer. A
dark, yet beautiful, angel.

"Why, Caimbeui, I almost think you care," I said.

He frowned. "Don't be flip," he said. "If Ysrth-
grathe has found you . . . how can you be safe?"

I reached up and touched his face. I can't describe
how it felt, only that it felt like him. Like Caimbeui.
My flesh remembered his as surely as it might re-
member the smoothness of velvet or the scratch of
sandpaper.

"Nothing is safe anymore," I replied. "Besides,
I've been alive for so long, it might be good to rest.
Don't you ever want to just ... stop?"

"No," he said. An angry look crossed his face,
and he pulled away from me. "It's always better to
be alive. Life is better than death."

I wanted to stay and argue with him, but there was
no time. It almost made me laugh. After so many
years, to have no time.

Instead, I turned and began walking to the caims.
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

The sun had disappeared and the sky was fading
from scarlet into plum. The wind had died down,
and the air was still. No birds sang. No leaves rus-
tled. No animal noises carried to me.

Once I reached the cairns, I turned to see if Caim-
beui had followed me. He was a shadow against the
fading light. I held my hands out to him and, after a
moment, he took them. Though I didn't need him to
call up the Hunt, I wanted him to be there with me.

I closed my eyes and relaxed. In my youth, I had
learned magic as part of the fabric of life. I saw it
not as a force to be manipulated, but as integral to
life itself. A thread broken here could cause some-
thing there to unravel. Pulling threads together could
create something where there had been nothing.

But the mages today saw magic as something else.
Their way of seeing the world was strange and alien
to me. I objected to any kind of cybernetic enhance-
ment. Machines can't create. They can only do what
they're told.

As I began to chant the words to the spell, I
opened my eyes. The moon was dark and the stars
had yet to appear. I couldn't see Caimbeul's face,
but could just make out the shape of him before me.

My eyes adjusted, and gradually I could see
again. The granite of the cairns glowed ghostly pale.
Caimbeul's face looked as though it floated in the
air, unattached to his body. He joined me in saying
the words to the spell. It was a strange duet, our
words conjuring up the Hunt. I blew the whistle,
and it made no sound that either I or anyone else in
this world could hear.

93

Caroline Spector

At first there was nothing but our voices breaking
the silence. Then the wind began. It howled across
the open fields and whistled through the tombs.
Caimbeul's hair was pulled free of his ponytail and
whipped across his face. The ground began to trem-
ble.

The magic flowed through me. Into me. It filled
me and shook me. My muscles screamed with the
agony of trying to hold this power. To mold it to my
will. Sweat broke out across my face. It ran down
my back and streamed over my breasts.

It was terrible, this force. This chaos and madness
which threatened to engulf me. It wracked my mus-
cles. I felt as though it would rip me apart. Tear
from me my soul. That it would allow the insanity
of the past to come and claim me again.

In the distance I could hear the thundering of
hooves. I raised my voice, barely able to hear my-
self. Barely able to force the words from my throat.
Caimbeul's words were snatched away by the wind
as he uttered them.

The magic trembled in me, flew around me,
pulled at the world and drew things from me. Terri-
ble things. Apparitions from the past. Nightmares
from the future. We stood there, trembling, and
chanted the old words. Words of power. Until our
voices grew hoarse and our throats were raw and our
legs would barely support us.

At last we stopped.

Abruptly, the air was still and silent.

I released Caimbeul's hand and turned.
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

Below us, at the base of the hill where the cairns
stood, was what we'd called.

They looked up at us expectantly. Their eyes re-
flected red iridescence. Black coats melted into
black night.

In the distance, I heard the howling of the hounds
and wolves. The gabriel ratchets. Their cries were
lonely, as though they realized that they'd been
abandoned by the steeds which led them. At their
head was a tall, cloaked form. Though I knew that
this was the apparition who tended the beasts, its ap-
pearance was so close to Ysrthgrathe's that, for a
moment, I thought my enemy had come for me.

A long, bony arm appeared from the depths of the
apparition's cloak. It beckoned us. I glanced for a

moment at Caimbeul. His lips were set in a hard
line.

"You don't have to come," I said.
"What?" he replied. "And miss all the fun?"

At the bottom of the hill we were gestured to two
horses. These were the horses of the ancient Tuatha
de Danaan. Created from fire, not earth, and able to
live for hundreds of years. I had not ridden one in a
thousand years.

As we tried to mount the horses, they began to
dance away and reached back every now and again
to nip us with their long, yellow teeth. I grabbed a
handful of long mane to help pull myself up. I hoped
I would have enough strength left in me for the ride
I knew was ahead.

95

Caroline Spector

There was no noise as we mounted. No rattle of
harnesses. No sound at all. I turned to the master of
the horses, who stood looking at me. "To the Seelie
Court," I shouted over the din. The apparition nod-
ded.

Just then, I had a strange tingling sensation, as if
someone unseen was watching me. I looked around,
and there, in the distance, atop one of the far hills,
were the hounds, stags and wolves. They swirled to-
gether, writhing like a thousand snakes, and disap-
peared from my sight. I shuddered at their terrible
power.

The horses lunged forward, jerking us in our
seats. From then on we were no longer in control.
As if we ever truly had been.

We thundered down bare fields and into muddy
flats. Fences were hurdled without a falter. Streams
and meadows slipped away. Sparks flew as hooves
struck rocky expanses. Lather foamed up on the
horses, but they never slowed. My cheeks became
chilled and chapped; my hands ached from holding
onto the reins. Tears streamed from my eyes.

We overtook cars on the road, causing accidents.
Still we did not slow.

Then we were at the shore. We pounded across the
sand, plumes of it spraying into the air. Then into
the tide, never slowing as we rode up and over the
water. Galloping across the top of the ocean as
though it were a puddle.

Across the water I saw a misty turquoise glow. As
we came closer, I saw that there was an island sur-
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

rounded by this light. In moments we were on the
beach thundering across the sand.

This was not one of the Aran Islands, for we had
passed those as we sped across the bay. This was
one of the isles of fable. From legends I had helped
create and had forgotten in the long expanse of time.

This place must be Hy-Breasail, the island be-
lieved to rise from the sea only once every seven
years. I barely had time to realize this before the

Horses surged across the beach and went crashing
into the forest.

A path opened up before us. Whether it was there
to begin with or the Horses created it as they went,
I cannot say. The trail began to climb upward. We
plunged on through the forest, shattering the silence
with our passing, At last we burst forth into a great
open plain and stopped.

Though it was autumn in Tir na n6g, here spring
held sway. I could smell it in the air, could feel the
warm and gentle caress of the breeze. It was balm to
my sore, chapped face.

I looked about and saw a castle perched on a cliff
above us. So much a part of the island it was that
there was no telling where the castle began and the
rock it sat upon ended. As I watched, lights appeared
on the pathway below the castle. They bobbed and
floated downward toward us.

Closer and closer they came, and we waited for
them, silent and patient.

At last they appeared on the edge of the clearing,
riming it in gold and silver light.

Such a congregation of the Sleagh Maith. It al-
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Caroline Spector

most made me forget my own mission, so good was
it to gaze upon them again. The sprites and sprig-
gans, brownies and hags, boogies, leprechauns,
gnomes, and goblins all clustered around, throwing
their crooked shadows against the rocky cliff behind
them.

I could hear their shrill cries and nasty whispers.
They knew who I was even if there were those who
would have it otherwise. There was but a moment
for these impressions. They parted and a procession
of elves appeared. Each was dressed in tight-fitting
dun-colored leather garments. Some bad tattoos
marking their arms and faces. Others had datajacks
glistening in shaved skulls. I ignored them as they
surrounded us.

I glanced over at Caimbeul. He was a bit paler
than normal, but after the night we'd had so far, that
was to be expected. He looked up at me and gave a
little smile. I found myself smiling back, oddly
happy at that moment.

"This is hardly a laughing matter," came a voice
from beyond the edge of the faerie light. All the
elves and faeries bowed down immediately. I
squinted into the darkness. A ghost-like form moved
forward. As it stepped into the ring of light, I saw
that it was a woman. She was dressed in a white
flowing gown. Her fiery hair was pulled back se-
verely from her face, but left to cascade down her
back almost to her heels. The brilliant blue eyes
were unchanged. The skin as pale and white as milk.

Alachia.

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Silence stretched out between us. I hadn't seen
her in the flesh since 1941.

"So," she said at last. "You've come. And the
hard way, too."

"Well, we can't all have the prerogatives of age. I
wish to speak to Lady Brane Deign," I said. "She
rules here now."

Alachia smiled. It was chilling.

"Power is a fluid thing," she said. "You'd do well
to remember that."

Once that sort of remark from her would have
frightened me. But that was far in the past. Now
there was a larger threat at work. Not just to me, but
to the survival of the world. And then, I was older
now, too.

"Perhaps you should mind your own advice," I
said. "You've let so much pass through your own
hands."

"Caimbeul," she said brightly, ignoring my last
remark. "How good it is to see you again. But really,
you need to improve your choice of companions.
You know what they say about the company you
keep."

She slipped past me and took his arm, leading him
away from me toward the castle.

"Do come, Aina," she called over her shoulder.
"We mustn't keep Lady Brane waiting."

I watched her lead him into the night until all I
saw was the white blur of her dress.

99

She opens her eyes. The world is upside-down.
No, it's her perspective that's off. But isn't that al-
ways the way of it?

Sitting up, she sees that she's been lying on the
ground. The fall leaves covering her rustle and slide
away, revealing her naked body. How she came to be
here in this wood she doesn't remember. But she
thinks she should know.

Then comes the pain.

It burns and stings like a thousand hornets. Her
skin is on fire and she cannot stop it. As she looks
on, small, round welts appear on her flesh. Sharp
points burst through the welts, puckering the skin.

Thorns.

13

No mortal being could have traversed the path to |
Lady Brane Deigh's castle. But then, it wasn't de- |
signed for mortals. The Sleagh Meath loved any- |
thing that might confuse or baffle mortals and so If
took great delight in the corkscrew turns, disappear-
ing paths, and other annoying tricks to fool the un-
wary traveler.

But I had seen all these games before. The Seelie
Court was but another incarnation of something
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

much older and more sinister. How many of them re-
membered, or even knew, the full story?

Politics was a tricky business, and I'd done my
best to stay out of it for most of my life. But now it
seemed I had no choice. I was the only one who ap-
peared to be willing to take the chance. No, I was
the only one willing to see the threat of the Enemy
for what it was—the ruination of the world.

I had to grasp hold of this thought because all my
old fears came back to me in this place. Once I fool-
ishly thought that power would protect me from
harm. How I discovered the error of that belief is an-
other tale.

For now, I kept up with Alachia's lead. She glided
over the rocks as though they weren't there. Each
turn was taken with a casual nonchalance, and all
the while I could hear her keeping up a steady banter
with Caimbeul.

I knew their history was a long one, and I won-
dered if she knew how much my life had been en-
twined with his. And how far back it extended. Part
of me hoped she didn't know, relishing the secret.
And a part wanted her to know. Wanted her to know
that even when she wielded so much power that
most of my people trembled before her, I had won a
small victory over her.

But there was no more time to wonder over such
childish things—we had reached the gate of the cas-
tle.

Alachia waved and the gates swung silently in-
ward. The courtyard was bathed in the light from
thousands of floating will-o'-the-wisps. They flut-
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Caroline Spector

tered around us, rising and falling with the breeze. It
was like walking through a rain of stars.

Then we were moving up the wide, white, marble
steps leading to the great doors. Made of oak and
tall as a two-story house, they were banded in brass
in deference to the faerie hatred of iron. As the
doors opened, a radiance spilled forth. I stepped into
the brilliance.

The great hall of the castle dwarfed any I had seen
before or since. This was no mean feat given what
I've seen in my time. I could feel the magical ener-
gies flowing through this place. The magic to pull
Hy-Breasail from the sea, to create this castle upon
it, to gather the members of faerie who still re-
mained here on Earth, and to pull back those who
had left for other planes. An impressive feat indeed.

At the far end of the hall, I saw a group of elves.
Alachia moved toward them with her usual single-
mindedness. As she approached, the group parted
and allowed her to pass. I squeezed in just as they
closed ranks again.

Standing at the center of all this attention was a
tall elf wearing a black leather breast plate over a
long white dress. Her fine hair was bobbed off short,
one side shorn away so short I could see the fragile
shape of her skull beneath. Her skin was the color of
amber and I saw that her eyes were blue, transparent
and glittering as ice. Though she was only as tall as
Alachia, there emanated from her a power that I
found compelling. The same sort of power that
Alachia had once wielded so many lives ago.
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She glanced at Alachia, then at Caimbeui, and fi-
nally, at me.

"Lady Brane, may I present Aina Sluage," said
Caimbeui. Alachia shot him a hateful look, but
didn't say anything.

I stepped forward, but didn't bow. Though I knew
she was made as I, she was only a child compared to
me. Just as I was a child compared to Alachia. And
even if she did hold sway over this court, she did so
at the sufferance of myself and the other Elders. So,
instead of bowing, I offered her my hand. For a mo-
ment, I thought she might not take it, but then her
smooth, cool hand was in mine. I felt an odd shock,
and then our eyes met.

Yes, she was fit to rule, I saw. Though I had ab-
stained from participating in the new politics be-
tween the Tirs, I was glad to know that there was
someone strong enough to deal with whatever was to
come. The only question was: Could I convince her
that the threat was real?

"I have heard your name," Lady Brane said. Her
voice was sweet as summer wine. "When I was
younger I almost thought you were a ghost, invented
to scare children."

So that was to be the way of it. Well, I'd handled
worse in my time,.

She released my hand, then beckoned me to her
side as she turned to leave the group. I heard the
murmuring of the others as we passed, but I ignored
it. Alachia's face was even paler than normal and I
saw her eyes narrow as we passed. Good, I thought.
Let her worry a bit. I suspected the nature of the
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Caroline Spector

poison she had managed to spread about me while I
was gone worrying about more important matters.

"You've created quite a stir," she said. "Calling
up the Hunt's horses. A most impressive feat. And,
from what I understand, only you and Harlequin
were present."

"That is correct," I said. "There are those of us
... who are of an age ... who have found such
things to be ... within our grasp." I looked around
for Caimbeui, surprised to see him hanging back. It
was so unlike him.

She stared ahead, leading me toward the back of
the hall. I caught the scent of her perfume. A com-
plex scent: grasses, sandalwood, and a few other
notes of which I couldn't be certain. Elusive.

"And why did you call the Chasse Artu?" she

asked.

"I have been away a long time," I said. "I needed
to find the Court."

"Yes," she replied. "I thought as much. No other
way would have found us so quickly. We have been
careful for a while now. But you come to us with the
toss of a spell so powerful it would take half my
court to cast it. I see some of what I've heard is
true."

We had come to the back half of the hall. A great
feast was laid out. Row after row of tables were cov-
ered with white linen, fine gold eating utensils, and
bone china. Garlands of flowers were swagged onto
the tablecloths. Most of the tables were filled with
members of the Sleagh Meath and Awakened elves.
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

Invisible hands served and took away platters of
food and jugs of wine.

Lady Brane led me to a raised table in the center
of all the others. She took a seat and motioned me to
take mine next to her. As I sat down, I noticed
Caimbeui finding a place down at Alachia's end of
the table and I wondered how best to approach the
reason for my visit. I didn't know precisely what lies
Alachia had spread about me. My cup was filled
with wine, and food appeared on my plate. I didn't
eat. Couldn't.

Lady Brane, however, was having no such prob-
lems. She drank heavily from her cup and tucked
away the feast like she'd been starving for a year.
All this was done with a grace and delicacy that
made it look like the most delightful thing I'd ever
witnessed.

"You aren't eating," she said with a little frown.
"Is the food not to your liking?"

I pushed a pea with my fork and shook my head.
"No, thank you. I'm not hungry. Lady Brane," I
said. "I am not a threat to the Seelie Court, nor to
you."

She turned and looked at me, her expression un-
readable.

"And what makes you think I find you threaten-
ing?" she asked.

"I just assumed that you had been told . . .
things," I said. Good, Aina, I thought, stick your
foot in it right off.

She picked up a pear and bit into it. I could smell
the sweet aroma of it. It took her a few moments to
105

Caroline Spector

finish off the pear. Daintily, she dabbed at her mouth
with a napkin before speaking again.

"Yes," she said. "I have heard stories. From sev-
eral sources. You have not endeared yourself to
many of the Elders. But there are other, more pow-
erful, voices who seem to value you. So, I decided
I should see for myself what sort of creature you
are."

"What sort of creature?" I said. "That hardly
sounds impartial. Unlike Alachia, the politics of men
have little interest for me. But your court deals with
matters that do concern me. Magic and mysticism
have long been intertwined for our people."

She shrugged. "Perhaps some of what I've heard
does concern me," she said. "I am proud of being an
elf and I am proud of our Tir. It has come to my at-
tention that you have chosen others over your own
kind in past disputes."

Alachia's fine Italian hand at work, no doubt.

"Yes," I said. "There was a time when I had to
make that painful choice. But there were reasons for
my choice and I was not the only one who made that
decision. I, too, am proud of my people. But we are
not perfect, nor are we always right. I am not blindly
devoted to every act. And those matters have no
bearing on the dangers before us now."

Lady Brane took a sip from her glass, then swirled
the contents around as she stared into them.

"Yes," she said at last. "These dangers. How is it
you know of them and the rest of us do not? Are you
so special? So powerful?"

Yes, I wanted to say. Yes, / am special. I haven't
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

forgotten why I am here. I haven't forgotten the past.
If that makes me special, then so be it. As for power,
how could I have survived for almost eight thousand
years without it? But of course I said none of this.
She would discover in her own time what a curse
immortality was.

"Perhaps it would be easier if we were to discuss
this in a less public place," I said. "There are some
things that should only be spoken of in private."

"You're right," she said. "I was hoping only to
come to a quick resolution of this matter."

"That is my most fervent wish," I said.

"Very well," she said. "Come with me. You, Har-
lequin, Alachia, and I will discuss this matter."

I rose, and without even a backward glance at
Caimbeui, I followed her from the hall. It had been
a long time since I'd had to call upon the good
graces of my fellow elves. I suspected the reception
to what I was about to say would be chilly indeed.

107

She opens her eyes. Darkness suffocates her,
pushing against her like an old lover. Putting her
hands up, she feels the smoothness of satin. She
pushes, but there is resistance. A hardness under the
soft fabric.

A spell. There is light.

This is no kaer. This is a coffin.

And she's been buried alive in it.

14

Lady Brane motioned for me to sit. The room was
an odd mixture of magic, antiques, and hardware.
Though I dislike the technology that Caimbeui so
adores, even I was impressed with the array of
hyper-edged toys. Any shadowrunner would have
been drooling at the chance to get his hands on Lady
Deigh's high-tech toys.

I didn't sit. Instead I wandered about the room,
looking at the collection of elven artifacts. Encased
in a glass box was a long silver sword whose hasp
was plated in gold and set with cabochon emeralds
and rubies. So, this was where the Sword of Nuadha
had finally come to rest. I thought it had been lost
long ago.

Next to it was a plain cup roughly carved from
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

hom. It should have seemed prosaic, sitting there
next to the glory of the sword, but it was the other
way round. The Sword of Nuadha seemed coarse
and obvious.

I'd just stepped over to a lovely painting of
Caimbeui in some costume I didn't recognize when
he and Alachia came into the room. Lady Brane
smiled at her and she smiled back. My heart sank
when I saw this. Already I was at a disadvantage. I
could only hope that Caimbeui would provide a
strong argument for my position.

"Now that we're all here," began Lady Brane.
"Shouldn't we start?"

"You are the only Elders?" I asked, more than a
little shocked.

"No, of course not," said Lady Brane. "But the
others have agreed to let me handle this situation as
I see fit. They have deferred to Lady Alachia and
me."

I glanced over at Caimbeui, who kept his face
blank. And I wondered if he knew this would be the
situation going in.

"Very well," I said. "It's really quite simple. The
Horrors have returned."

Alachia let out a silvery laugh that I just knew
would enchant any man who heard it and which set
my teeth on edge.

"You are still so melodramatic, Aina," she said.
"Good heavens. It is far too early for them to have
returned."

When I answered and my voice was calm, it sur-

109




Caroline Spector

prised me. For as long as I could remember, Alachia
had the power to anger me with her flip comments.

"I realize that you are far older than I," I said.
"But my experience with what you so blithely refer
to as the Enemy is hardly inconsiderable. Even you
would have to admit that."

She gave a small nod of her head, the best ac-
knowledgment I could hope for.

"Caimbeui came to me the other day and told me
of his recent experience with them."

Alachia and Lady Brane looked at him expect-
antly, and he preened a bit under the attention.
What an ego. But he did manage to tell them about
Thayla and the bridge from the astral planes and
how he had stopped them.

"Well," said Alachia. "There you have it.
Thayla's there protected by one of those hirelings,
and we're all quite safe."

"Are you completely mad?" I asked, losing my
temper at last. "Hasn't anything he's said sunk in?
Oh, I expected him to be full of beer and sausages.
He's always had this messiah complex, but you
know better. If they don't get through that way,
they'll find another. They're coming back now be-
cause they can. Look at what happened in Maui."

And then it dawned on me. I almost hit myself for
being such a fool. Of course, she knew the dangers.
But she didn't care. I thought back over our history
together and realized that Alachia had been at her
most powerful during the times when we faced the
Enemy. Her dark knowledge had been as much a
bane as help. But it hadn't mattered because we
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

would do anything to survive. And I knew what she
wanted was for that time to come again. She was
tired of waiting.

But perhaps I could reach Lady Brane.

"Lady Brane," I began, "I know you have heard
terrible stories about me. Some are even true. But
that isn't what is important here. What is important
is that I'm telling the truth. I know better than most
the evil these creatures will unleash should they
come through before we are prepared. They will lay
waste the world and everything in it. And this time
we aren't prepared to stop them. We haven't the
power."

"You seem powerful enough," said Lady Brane.
"You call down the Hunt, or part of it, at least. You
live beyond the rule of either Tir. You consort with
the Great Worms as though you were one of them
instead of one of us."

"Now, now," said Alachia. "Let's be fair. Aina
has always been very forthright about what she be-
lieves in. She has never challenged the authority of
the Tirs. Nor has she sought temporal power for her-
self. I prefer to think that she has been terribly mis-
led and will someday see her error and come back to
us."

I looked at Caimbeui, trying hard riot to lose what
little I'd had to eat in the last few days. The expression
on his face was shocked, then suspicious. Yet, still he
didn't speak up. What was wrong with him?

"Alachia is right, of course," said Lady Brane.
"What other proof do you have that the Enemy is
near?"

Ill

Caroline Spector

"Dreams," I said, hoping she would understand
the importance of this. "And the certain knowledge
that one of the most powerful of them is already
among us."

"And where is this dread creature?" asked
Alachia.

"I know not," I said. "Only that he is here now.
He has contacted me."

"And why would it bother to come for you?"

"Because," I said. "It knows me. I am the one it
wants."

"And you are so special?"

"Yes," I said. "You should remember. It was the
monster who marked me so many millennia ago."

I thought I saw Alachia go a little paler. Lady
Brane seemed a bit confused, and I suspected there
was much that Alachia had left out of her history
lessons.

"How do you know for certain that it is this one?"
Alachia asked. "This could be the work of another
Elder. You have your enemies, my dear."

My eyes narrowed. "I know of no enemy of mine
who would use such matters for the Game. That
would be a gross breach of etiquette. No, it is he."

"But what would you have us do about it?"
Alachia asked. "It seems that this is really your
problem."

"Now, perhaps," I said. "But it means they can
get through. We are not safe any more. We must pre-
pare for them, and also curtail our use of magic."

Lady Brane came out of her chair. "Stop using
magic? Now I think you are the one who is mad,"
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

she said. "I hardly think one of these creatures is a
serious enough threat to us. You are terribly power-
ful. Why don't you just kill it?"

"I've tried," I said bleakly. "I thought I had rid
the world of him long ago. But I was mistaken. That
is why it is vital for us to put a stop to them now—
before they get a better foothold in the world."

"How are you going to stop everyone from using
magic?" asked Lady Brane.

"It isn't small magics that are the danger. It's the
great acts that draw them. The Great Ghost Dance.
The Veil, I'm certain, is creating a pull. While it will
protect you from them, it will also bring them like
carrion to a carcass."

"Not a very appetizing thought," muttered
Alachia.

"You know what a danger they are," I said. "Why
haven't you told her?"

"I have told her. But I've also told her we dealt
successfully with them before."

Caimbeui and I both laughed—harsh and sarcas-
tic.

"Did Alachia tell you what was done to survive?"
I asked Lady Brane.

"Not yet," Alachia said coldly. "What difference
does it make now? We survived."

"Do you thi'nk Aithne would agree with you?" I
asked.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. But he would no doubt
agree with me long before he would agree with
you."

I turned away and walked to a small tray set up in
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Caroline Spector

one comer of the room. Bottles filled with amber,
gold, and red liquid glowed softly. I picked one at
random and splashed a healthy amount into one of
the cut crystal glasses. It bumed going down. Irish
whiskey.

"I have a proposal," said Lady Brane. "Though I
am inclined with Alachia to think you are overesti-
mating the threat of this creature, I do not wish to
completely disregard your warning. You are, after
all, one of the Elders. And you have not meddled in
our affairs unnecessarily.

"So I suggest that you go to Tir Tairngire. Though
we are at cross-purposes with them in many things,
this matter could certainly constitute a danger that
concerns the entire elven nation. If you can convince
the Elders there that the threat is real, then I shall
lend you any support you might need."

A politician's answer, but better than none. Or an
unequivocal "no."

"Thank you, Lady Brane," I said. "I see the Tir
chose well in you."

A little flattery never hurt.

"Yes," said Alachia. "I knew you would do the
right thing. And Aina, do say hello to Aithne
Oakforest for me."

114

The sky is blue as a robin's egg. Blue as only a
summer's day can be. Blue as the eyes of her child.

Where is her child? He should be here. No, that
was long ago. He's dead now.

Then why does she hear his voice?

Momma, she hears. Momma, where are you?

Here I am.

Then she sees him. The rotting corpse shuffling to
her with outstretched arms. And she runs to embrace
him.

15

"Well, that went pretty well, I thought," said
Caimbeul.

We were sitting in the Dublin International Air-
port waiting for our flight to Tir Tairngire. Well, we
weren't going directly to the Tir. I wanted to stop
over in Austin and take care of a few things there
first. Rubbing my eyes, I tried not to snap at him.
How he could have thought things were going well
was beyond me.

Oh, we were certainly given the royal treatment.
But underneath I could feel the tension. The hostil-
ity. Things were changing and the Seelie Court knew
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Caroline Spector

it. They just didn't want to face what was happen-
ing. And he'd said barely a word the whole time.

But isn't that always the way of it? We hate
change. Consider it the enemy. Yet it is the one con-
stant in our lives.

I pushed an impatient hand through my hair,
which had grown out just enough to be a nuisance.
Sticking out every which way. Even in these dire
times, I was vain enough to be concerned about my
appearance. Or maybe it came from spending so
much time alone with Caimbeul.

Had it really been almost two hundred years since
we'd been together? I wondered at the thought that
time could slip away so quickly. Why didn't I do
something to stop it? I shook my head.

Stop what? Stop us from hurting each other? Stop
us from being who we were?

"Something wrong?" Caimbeul asked.

"No," I replied. "Nothing much. I was just... re-
membering."

His eyes were bright and curious. Oh, Caimbeul,
you wicked creature to make me remember such
things.

"Paris?" he asked. "That cafe on the Rue Saint-
Jacques ... what was it called?"

"Well, Monsieur Rimbaud called it 'L'Academic
d'Abomphe.' But I can't remember what it was re-
ally called."

He laughed. "I almost had a heart attack when I
saw you there. You were wearing the most peculiar
outfit . . ."

"It wasn't peculiar. It was the height of fashion.
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

Besides, I had to keep people more concerned with
my dress than my nature. Unlike you, it hasn't al-
ways been easy for me to pass through human soci-
ety. The color of my skin made it difficult at best.
And my hair ... I guess those are things people
might remember."

"I remember," he said. His voice was soft, and
suddenly it was as if we were all alone. That was a
gift of his, making you feel as though you were the
only person in the world. "The dress you wore was
gray silk, shot through with jet beading. You had a
hat on which had an enormous feather on it. Ostrich.
Or was it peacock?"

"Peacock," I said softly.

"And you were drinking absinthe. I remember it
looked as though you were embracing a lover when
you drank."

I shut my eyes ...

The first clear day of April. Paris, 1854. I sat in a
cafe on the Rue Saint-Jacques. At the time, I didn't
know its name. After a while, I wouldn't care. I had
found something powerful enough to distract me
from the horrors of living: absinthe.

My own sweet mistress. My dearest friend. The
green fairy in the bottle who would steal a little bit
of my mind every day. And how I adored it.

The rituals I'd built up. First, a stop at the bank
where my pounds would be converted into francs.
Then on to the small bakery for a pastry before I
went to my first real appointment of the day. I told
myself that as long as I ate something before I drank
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Caroline Spector

I was fine. Hence the obligatory croissant, most of
which I threw away on my way to meet my little
friend.

That's what I called it: ma petite amie. Perhaps I
should have said mon amour, for that was indeed
what it had become: my dearest friend, my closest
confidant, my love. And, just like all lovers, we had
our rituals.

There were a number of cafes that sold absinthe,
and I was well-known at all of them. In the spring
and summer, I would settle myself at one of the
outer tables. To take the air, of course. The air was
very important—far more healthy than the smoky at-
mosphere indoors. In the winter, well, I just endured
the smoke and noise. The things you will go through
for a loved one.

After I sat at a table, a waiter would come over
with the jade bottle, a water jug, and a glass. He
would line them up neatly in front of me, then fill
the glass with water. I tipped generously, and they
knew what I wanted.

From inside my reticule, I would pull my silver
absinthe spoon. It was slotted and diamond-shaped,
intricately carved with flowers and scrolls. The
spoon was placed over the glass. Plucking a sugar
cube from the jar on the table, I would place it
neatly atop the spoon.

Next came the moment I liked the best. First, I
uncorked the bottle. The aroma of the absinthe
floated to me. Licorice-scented and bitter.

Then I slowly poured the absinthe over the sugar.
It dripped through the spoon into the water, swirling
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

the color of new leaves, turning the water cloudy
like a stormy day. The sugar cube sometimes
wouldn't completely dissolve, and I would take it
into my mouth, sucking my first bit of ecstasy from
it.

When it crumbled into nothing, I would take the
spoon from the glass, then slowly lift the glass to my
lips. What wonders will it show me this day? I would
think. What sweet remembrances from the past
would come to me? What memories would be cre-
ated to fill my mind and keep me from the truth?

And as I felt the warmth rush through my veins—
sliding into my mind, seducing my thoughts—I
would smile. Sometimes men would come to me and
tell me how beautiful my smile was. So I would
smile at them until they became nervous and went
away.

And so, on that clear spring morning in April,
when I saw Caimbeui for the first time in many a
century, I thought, at first, that he was a product of
my imagination. That I had conjured him up from
the pretty places I went in my mind.

"Hello, Aina," he said.

I smiled. He smiled back. I didn't say anything;

neither did he.

He didn't go away.

"I suppose it really is you," I said at last.

"I'm wounded," he said as he touched his chest
over his heart. "Have you forgotten me so easily?"

I poured more water into my glass and put the
spoon on top.

Sugar cube.

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Caroline Specter

Absinthe.

"No," I replied. "Not so easily. Would you care
for some?"

He took his pocket watch out of his waistcoat and
opened it with a little click.

"Isn't it a bit early for this sort of thing?" he
asked. "I hadn't figured you for the type."

The sugar cube crumbled in my mouth. My
tongue was already numb and felt a bit grainy. Won-
derful numbness.

"What type is that?" I asked. "The type that in-
dulges in pleasure? Think of it, Caimbeul. All the
years and years stretching ahead of us. All the ones
behind. And it doesn't mean anything. Nothing we
do matters. It all keeps happening again and again.
I've spent plenty of time worrying about what has
happened. And far too much concerned with what
will happen. So, now, I don't care.

"This"—I raised my glass—"gives me a brief
taste of happiness. I have had far too little of that."

Silently, I toasted him, then drank. Ah, nectar. I
was borne up by angels into clouds of gossamer and
silk.

He said nothing then. Just sat down there with me
as I drank, then walked me home as the sun sank full
and red into the gray twilight.

Every day he came and sat with me as I drank.
Sometimes, I would go to a different cafe, but he al-
ways managed to find me.

One day I woke and discovered that I no longer
wanted to go to the cafes. Caimbeul's presence had
muddied the pleasure of the absinthe for me. I hated
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

him for it. I dressed hurriedly, rushing out without
my hat.

He was waiting for me at the cafe on the Rue
Saint-Jacques.

"I hate you," I said.

"I know."

"You've ruined everything."

"Perhaps."

I stood there, frustrated, not knowing what else to
say.

"Would you like to go for a walk?" he asked.

I narrowed my eyes. "Why?"

"Because it's a beautiful day," he replied. "And
I'd like you to come with me."

I saw the waiter coming toward the table with the
absinthe and water. My hands started shaking and I
felt my mouth go dry. Caimbeul and I didn't say
anything as the waiter put them on the table and left.

"Well," he said. "Are you coming?"

I looked at the absinthe. Ma petite amie. My life,

Just one more, I thought.

I could feel my mouth pucker, anticipating the
bite of the sugar, the anise bitterness of the absinthe.

Caimbeul held his hand out to me. Slowly, very
slowly, I took it.

"Why did you stay?" I asked Caimbeul.

"When?"

"When you found me in Paris at that cafe. You
could have left. It might have been better if you had.
It was certainly out of character."

He looked out at the drizzling rain. The sky was
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Caroline Spector

overcast and made the greens outside brilliant and a

little surreal.

"I suppose it was the shock of seeing you there.
You looked so ... human. It surprised me. I had al-
ways thought of you as indestructable. No matter
what knocked you down, you just kept getting back
up. But there, in that place, you weren't ever going
to get up again. I just couldn't stand to see the waste
of it all."

The light from the fluorescents gave his skin a
corpse-like pallor. It seemed almost incomprehensi-
ble to me that I had once held him in my arms. I felt
like that had happened to a different person. A dif-
ferent Aina.

"Did I ever thank you?" I asked.

He turned toward me and smiled. The smile was
crooked and made his face look lopsided. And I
found it utterly endearing.

"Yes," he said. "You did."

"Good," I said.

And we sat there wrapped in our memories until
the announcement came for our flight.

122

You have been hiding from me, Aina.
You must know there is nowhere you can run
where I cannot find you.

No place that will afford you sanctuary.
I am coming.
Coming soon.

16

The international flight was cramped and exhaust-
ing. I jerked awake from another dream about Ysrth-
grathe. He was in my mind again. Invading my
thoughts and dreams just like he had all those years
ago. It made me feel unclean. Like something slimy
had crawled across my skin.

Caimbeui was asleep next to me. He snored a lit-
tle and I gave him a bit of a push to make him stop.
I wanted to wake him and tell him about my dream,
but I didn't. I had learned long ago that it was better
not to involve anyone else in matters concerning
Ysrthgrathe. -

Outside it was dark. I found flying to be strange,
as though I were suspended in time and space. An-
other manifestation of my distrust of technology.
Perhaps all this metal and cold, analytical thought
reminded me too much of the Therans. The result of
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Caroline Spector

their devotion to purity had ruined so many. Like the
Huns, they thought nothing of conquering and laying
waste to any and all who opposed them. And like the
Romans, they swallowed whole civilizations and di-
gested them into unrecognizable pieces. They so be-
lieved in their own purity that they sacrificed the
world.

But all of that time was gone. I had to stop letting
it pull me into the past. What was important now
was the future. I had to save it.

We landed in the Atlanta airport and made our
connecting flight to Austin without any real delays.
Oh, there's always some sort of drek that pops up
when you enter the Confederated American States,
but I still had a few connections of my own. A few
hours later, we were catching a cab from Robert
Mueller Airport to my sometime-residence in the
western hills of Austin.

"I don't remember this place," said Caimbeul.
He walked about the room pulling dust covers off
the furniture and sneezing as dust flew up his nose.

The house smelled stale and I was opening win-
dows. The clean, sweet scent of fall floated into the
room. It was warm here, even in late October. I like
that about Austin.

"I didn't come by it until nineteen thirty-four," I
said. "As I recall, you were out of the picture by, oh,
about fifty years."

"We did fall out of touch," he said. "I'm sorry
about that."

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WORLDS WITHOUT END

"I'm not," I said. "We had said so many things by
then. Things neither of us could take back. No, it
was better that we got away from one another."

He opened the French doors leading to the bal-
cony that wrapped around the front of the house
overlooking the beginning of the Hill Country. Ce-
dar and mesquite trees grew low and crippled by the
fierce summers. It was as close to an alien landscape
as I could imagine. Even now, when technology
tried to cover every centimeter of earth, I believed
that this land would reclaim itself if given half a
chance.

"I like it here," he said. "It reminds me of another
place—before ..."

"Before the Enemy came," I finished. "Yes, it
doesn't look the same, but it feels the same. Wild
and untamed. There used to be more development
here, but since the Awakening, it has gone back
somewhat.

"After the Great Ghost Dance, the water spirits
inhabiting the Barton Creek Watershed rose up and
drowned a number of developers. They were having
some kind of big ground-breaking on yet another big
project. Apparently, the water spirits didn't like the
idea, because they carried off the great-great-
grandson of Jim Bob Moffett and several of his
banker friends.

"There hasn't been much development since then,
and the people who were living in property that
was polluting the creek found themselves being
tormented by water spirits. Most of them have
left."

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Caroline Spector

"Why are you still here?" Caimbeui asked.
"Professional courtesy."

We'd stopped for groceries on the way in, and af-
ter a quick meal of eggs and soylinks, we retired
back to the balcony. Luckily, my freezer was still
working and I had a supply of unground coffee
beans laid in. We watched the brilliant red sun go
down while sipping Kona blue and cognac.

"Why are we here?" Caimbeui asked. I had been
waiting for him to get around to it, but I was sur-
prised it took him so long. Perhaps he had gained
some patience over the years.

"I wanted to get in touch with Thais," I said.
"When last we spoke, he was in this area."

"Thais?"

"My child."

After I left Europe and Caimbeul's warm em-
brace, I came to America. I was achingly lonely for
him, a fact that, in retrospect, seems rather foolish
and trivial. But there it was. The rumors of the Great
Ghost Dance had brought me here, or so I told my-
self. What I was really about was trying to forget
Caimbeui and make something new out of my life.

I took a westbound train from New York to Saint
Louis. Then I caught a stage to Sioux Falls. I knew
Wovoka (he also used the Anglo name Jack Wilson,
I recall) had convinced the Sioux that they had to
use the great ritual magics to rid themselves of the
whites and bring down retribution on their heads.
He was right, of course, but wrong about the time.
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

The world wouldn't have enough magical energy in
it for another hundred and thirty years.

But what concerned me was the news of his "vi-
sions." He claimed that God was sending him mes-
sages. I suspected there was another explanation,
one I hated to consider: Thais.

I thought I'd stopped this passion of Thais's for
popping up and causing mystical visions in magical-
thinking cultures, but he was at it again. As I rode
on the stage, my spine feeling as though it were be-
ing pounded through the ill-sprung seat and dust and
dirt settling into everything I owned, I hoped I was
early enough to put a stop to things before they blew
out of hand.

By the time I reached Batesland, news was al-
ready making its way east about the massacre at
Wounded Knee. I was too late.

It didn't stop me from looking for Thais. I knew
I needed to rein him in again. How I hated the
thought of another confrontation with him.

"I was wondering when you would come."

Thais.

He was hidden in the shadows of a low-hanging
outcropping of rock. I wanted to see him, but, as if
he knew that was my wish, he remained back in the
darkness.

The wasted scenery of the Badlands spread out
around me. It reminded me too much of how the
world was after the Scourge. And to see Thais here,
in this ruined place made me sad and angry at the
same time. I'd told Thais that the world was not the
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Caroline Spector

one he had grown accustomed to. That he must learn
to change—but he refused.

My child.

Even after all these many centuries, I still worried
about him. Wanted to know that he was safe. Would
he ever forgive me for bringing him into a world
that would never understand him?

"Hello, Thais," I said. "I see you've been busy."

Thais shrugged and looked a bit bewildered. "I
don't understand," he said. "The magic should have
worked." A frown crossed his face and I wanted to
hold him and comfort him, but I knew that would
not be allowed. It frightened me sometimes, how
much he grew like his father.

"Magic isn't as powerful now," I said. "You know
that. Why did you lead them to this destruction?"

"They loved me," Thais said. "It was just like in
the old days. They looked at me and they didn't see
a monster—they saw me. I was trying to help them.
All they wanted was to have their land back. I could
give that to them." He looked mournful. It made my
heart ache. "I should have been able to give them

that."

"Once," I said, "you might have. But no more.
Those days are gone. Thais, you must stop this. I
know what you've been doing. Those stone heads
they dug up in the bed of the Trinity River. From the
Pleistocene. I heard them described as obviously not
human. My god, Thais, it was you. How could you
have let them see you revealed?

"And what about Indochina? At least you tried to
disguise your shape, but a seven-headed snake god?
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

I've told you that we aren't to interfere. There's too
much at risk. What if they'd discovered what you re-
ally are? They might have killed you."

"I'm as hard to kill as my parents," he said, bit-
terly. "I am what you've made me. There is no place
in this or any other world where I may live peace-
fully. Why did you make me?"

I looked away. Thais was right, of course. He
never should have been born. But I was mad at the
time. Out of my mind with remorse and grief. Self-
ish Aina.

"You must not do this again," I said. "It will only
end in ruin. If not for you, then for your followers.
Even now, when the magic is at a low ebb, you still,
by your nature, have some power. Why don't you
use it responsibly?"

"Oh, that's rich," he said, laughing harshly. Even
so, it made me want to hold him and gaze into his
eyes. Such power in my child. "You—talking about
responsibility. You don't have the right."

"Mark my words, Thais. These tragedies will con-
tinue if you don't do something about it."

"What would you have me do. Mother? Exile my-
self to some mountaintop the way you did? Hide
myself and live in isolation until the world is some-
thing else again? I need them and they need me. You
cannot imagine how I feel when they look at me and
love me. When they fall to their knees and beg for
my blessing and I give it to them. I was born to be
a god. To be adored and worshipped. You can't take
that away from me."

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Caroline Spector

"I'm not trying to take anything away from
you ..."

"You took my father away."

"Don't be a fool, Thais," I said. "That was an ac-
cident of birth."

He shrugged and looked away. I knew there was
no use discussing this further. Thais had shut off
from me, and nothing I could do or say would make
any difference. How I wished that things could be
different between us, but I knew I could as much
wish for the moon for all the good it would do me.

And so we stood there, in that bare and barren
place, divided by worlds and walls and the past that
could never be undone.

130




She floats in a warm embrace. Hands touch her.
Stroke her. Caress her until she trembles. Opening
her eyes, she sees a faceless man. This doesn't
frighten her—it's what she wants. To fall into the
comfort of anonymity.

Safe and nameless.

17

"How are you going to contact Thais?" Caimbeui
asked.

"A summoning," I said. "His nature is such that
he won't be able to resist. I wish it hadn't come to
this, but we haven't spoken in so many years. Since
that terrible time after Wounded Knee."

"Why didn't you just call him up while we were
in Tfr na n6g?"

"Too many enemies there," I said. "And Ala-
chia doesn't know about Thais. At least not as far
as I know.'I would keep it that way. There are
some things she should never know. And I want
him to be on my ground. Not his; not someone
else's."

A wave of exhaustion swept over me. Suddenly, I
wanted nothing more than to go and sleep for the
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Caroline Spector

rest of my natural life. But I didn't have that choice.
There was too much at stake.
I got up and walked back into the house.

Caimbeui drew the drapes as I turned off all but
one light. Though it made little difference to my
casting, I preferred less light. That way I could con-
centrate on what was happening with the spell rather
than my surroundings.

"This would be a lot simpler if you let me help,"
said Caimbeui.

The edges of the room faded back into shadows.
The few pieces of furniture still covered in sheets
looked ghostly against the far walls. The night
noises were muffled by the drapes. Occasionally, I
could still hear the drone of a low-flying Lone Star
Security chopper.

"Are you ready?" I asked. I wasn't sure which of
us I was asking.

Caimbeui nodded and stepped back into the shad-
ows. I knew if anything untoward happened, he
would take care of me.

Taking a deep breath and closing my eyes, I let
myself relax and block everything out but the spell
I was about to perform.

I saw Thais in my mind. As he was when he was
born, then later when I finally met him again. Grown
up and changed into something so like me, and so
like his father, that I wept until he made me stop
with his voice and eyes.

That was Thais's gift, after all.

As I pictured him in my mind, I let myself slip
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

into astral space. There was the usual nauseating tug
as 1 slipped between the veils. The ribbons flowed
around me and into me until I couldn't tell the dif-
ference between them and myself. I was filled with
the power. Exhilarating and fierce. This was what
I was bom to. I never doubted myself here. Here I
knew who and what I was.

The veils parted as I remembered my task. I
reached out my will, calling Thais to me. Command-
ing him to come to my summons.

Time passed interminably slow. Then sped to
light.

I float then fall.

The universe is around me. Inside me. I am the
universe: waiting and watching.

Across worlds I come. Through the blazing heat
of a thousand suns. From the Void. Into the dark-
ness.

From the darkness, I pull light.

My child.

Some things you cannot resist. The bond between
a mother and child.

The brilliance of Thais blinds me as I pull him
closer and closer.

Come to me, child.

And he cannot refuse.

Then we are falling. Falling through space and
time. Back to earth.

"What do you want?"

Thais was standing in the center of the room. A
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Caroline Spector

circle of blue energy surrounded him. I waved it
away and he relaxed visibly.

"Was that really necessary?" he asked.

"Would you have come if I asked?"

He shook his head. "You abandoned me long ago.
Why should I do you any favors now?"

I had hoped that old hurt had passed. But no, I
was not to be forgiven any of my sins. Thais was
still a child in so many ways. I had protected him
too well.

"Very well, Thais, consider it a demand then," I
said wearily. "I haven't the energy to fight with you
about this now. There are other, more important,
matters at hand."

Thais slid along the floor and pulled himself up
onto the couch with his powerful arms. His thick,
snake-like tail wrapped around his torso once, then
hung down off the edge of his seat onto the floor.

"What does the Great and Powerful Aina want of
me today? Perhaps I should go to the Wicked Witch
of the West and retrieve her broom. Maybe I'll
throw water on her and watch as she melts into
brown sugar. Or there is always popping down a rab-
bit hole . . . Which will it be?"

"Mind your manners, junior," said Caimbeul.
"That's your mother you're addressing."

Both Thais and I turned toward him, open-
mouthed. He shrugged.

"I think you've coddled him, Aina," said
Caimbeul. "You've always protected him from ...
the world."

"Coddled?" Thais said. "You call being bom a
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

monster coddled? Look at me. Why did she make
me? It was her selfishness ..."

"Oh, grow up," snapped Caimbeul. "This isn't
about you. ..."

"Thank you," I interjected. "But why don't you
let me get on with it?"

"Very well, but—"

I held my hand up and Caimbeul fell silent. A
tight expression set on his face and I knew he was
angry. It made me feel very warm inside.

I turned to Thais.

"Ysrthgrathe is back," I said.

Thais didn't say anything.

"Has he contacted you?" I asked.

"Why would I tell you if he had?" he asked.

"Thais, he's a liar. He spreads his misery that
way. I know you want to believe . . . only the best."

"You don't know what I want," Thais said. "Why
should I trust you more than him?"

"You know what he is," I said. "I've never kept
that from you. There is more at stake here than your
grudge against me. If he is back, then the world is at
risk."

Thais rolled his eyes.

"It's always so dramatic with you, Mother," he
said. His voice was that of a smirky, sarcastic
fifteen-year-old. "How is it that you're always on
hand to save the country, the planet, the universe?
Don't you ever get tired?"

"Yes, Thais, I get very tired. I am intensely weary
right now."

His tail twitched and tapped against the floor. The
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Caroline Spector

scales that covered his skin were iridescent and
gleamed in the low light. I wondered what happened
when he had to shed his skin. So many little details
about his life I didn't know.

"Very well," Thais said. "I'll tell you. He is here,
on this plane. He contacted me a few days ago. But
he didn't come to me in person—I had a dream. It
was so vivid, unlike any other dream I've ever had.

"He explained ... everything. He told me why
you hated him. Told me the truth."

Caimbeui made an ugly noise and I looked over at
him. A frown pulled at his mouth and he gave me a
Why-the-frag-don't-you-just-shut-the-little-
wackweed-up? look. I doubted he'd ever had chil-
dren. I couldn't expect him to understand.

Thais had uncoiled himself from the couch and
was slithering along the floor to the doors leading
outside.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"Outside for some fresh air," he replied.

I followed him. The temperature had dropped
more than I expected. I rubbed my arms as goose-
flesh broke out. We stayed there for a long time,
wrapped in night sounds.

"Thais," I said at last. "I know I've been a disap-
pointment to you. All those years apart, then later,
when things turned bad for all of us. But ..."

"Shut up," he said, turning violently toward me.
"Just stop talking. How do you think I felt when he
came to me? How could I deny him? You've cursed
me with him."

He began to weep then. Terrible wracking sobs
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

that shook his frame. I wanted to go and embrace
him, but I was afraid to. Afraid that he would reject
me again. Oh, what agony it was to hear him in pain.
I wondered how Caimbeui could resist the sound of
it, for it tore me inside. Like I'd swallowed glass.

I forced myself to wait and watch until his tears
began to dry and he seemed more in control of him-
self.

"Thais," I said. "I am so sorry. I never wanted
you to have to face this. I tried to protect you."

"I know," he said. His voice was shaky and rough.
"But you haven't been very good at that. Have
you?"

And how could I answer that? But I suspect he
didn't mean me to.

I don't know how long we stood there in the chill-
ing night air. The stars frosted the sky in diamond-
hard brightness. Then, later, I noticed that the black
sky was turning purple-gray.

"What did he say?" I asked at last. I felt drained
and exhausted. So empty that it didn't matter what
he told me.

"He said you would come for me. He told me that
you would try to stop him and it would do you no
good." Thais's voice sounded weary. I wondered
how I could help him, but then I realized there was
nothing I could do for him now. That there are some
things a parent cannot do for her child.

"Did he tell you if there were any other of the En-
emy here?" I asked.

"No," Thais said. "But I didn't sense any others.
I have always been sensitive to that sort of thing.
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Caroline Spector

Your friend," he said, giving a jerk of his head to-
ward the house. "He managed to stop something
from happening a while ago. But the world has more
than one point of entry. They are there waiting.
Waiting for the moment when they can return."

"Did he say anything else?" I asked. "Anything at
all might be important."

"Only that he's been waiting for you to come to

him."

The sky was light now, moon hanging low against
the horizon, looking strange and out of place so near
the sunrise. We stood there in silence as the night
fled from the day.

138

Aina sits before an old woman who has black
witchy-hair and who wears gypsy colors. The air
here is thick with incense and patchouli.

"Cut the cards," the woman says. Aina does so,
feeling the coolness of the deck beneath her fingers.

The reading begins.

The cards lie face down—hidden and hiding their
meanings. The first is turned up. The old woman
gasps.

The Devil.

In a moment, he's crossed by the Moon and
crowned by the Tower.

Aina shoves away from the table, unwilling to see
what comes next.

"But you don't know how it ends, " the old woman
says.

"Why should I want to know?" Aina says. "After
all, they're nothing but a pack of cards."

18

"You must send me back," Thais said.

We'd returned to the darkened interior of my liv-
ing room shortly after sunrise. Thais was not fond of
the light. He said it was too cruel.
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Caroline Specter

"Why don't you stay here with me?" I asked.
Caimbeui gave me a sharp look, which I ignored.

"I cannot," Thais said. "And you know why. But
there is something I will tell you. Ysrthgrathe is not
the only one of the Enemy here. There is another,
just as subtle and as deadly."

"But where . . . how ..."

"Deal with Ysrthgrathe first," Thais said.

I tried to get him to tell me more, but he refused.
Finally, I had no other choice than to send him back.

The house seemed empty after Thais was gone. How
I wanted to spend time with him. Get to know him.
Figure out his peculiarities. But I had denied myself
that long ago. And there was no going into the past to
fix things.

We closed up the house again. Sheets covered the
furniture. The alarms were set. I didn't look back as
we drove away.

140

PART II

Millions long for immortality who do not know
what to do with themselves on
a rainy Sunday afternoon.

—Susan Ertz

She sleeps. And dreams. Safe happy dreams of
times never lived and not imagined. They comfort
her and calm her until she sinks. Sinks down into the
long black darkness of her night.

19

Once, a human discovered what I was.

Like most curious men, he thought that the knowl-
edge would gain him something. As though knowl-
edge is a safe thing. Inert and powerless on its own.

It was 1998.

Fin de siecle fever was at an all-time high. There
were riots and hysterical sightings of UFOs, messi-
ahs, and dead celebrities. I'd bought my home in
Scotland a few years earlier for an obscenely cheap
price. An earldom, no less. Imagine, me a countess.
It was to laugh.

I had settled into a smaller house on this property.
The castle held no interest for me, being large and
'hard to maintain. I'd acquired quite a large fortune
over my many eons. I could afford to take the, uh,
long view on investments. There are some uses to
being immortal—even if they're only financial.

It was from this vantage point that I was watching
everything happening around me with great interest.
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Caroline Spector

The signs were beginning. I knew it wouldn't be
long before the magic returned.

So I began to gather together the things I would
need to be prepared. For many centuries I'd hidden
artifacts away, waiting for this time. It was on one
such trip that I noticed him,

I'd just arrived from Scotland. The United States
was still whole back then. The turmoil that would
rip it apart was years away. Though I had spent
many years in America over the last two centuries,
I tried to stay away from the politics of the place.
They seemed entirely too messy to me. But that's al-
ways been the nature of freedom.

As I ran to catch my connecting flight to New Or-
leans, I saw him. He was leaning against one of the
pillars that lined the concourse in O'Hare. He wore
a black T-shirt and faded blue jeans. A scuffed duf-
fel bag lay at his feet like a lazy dog.

There was a look of intense concentration on his
face, as though he were looking not at how I ap-
peared, but at what was inside me. I didn't like it.

This was before the Awakening, and there was no
way he could know what I really was for I'd found
ways to disguise my true form. Oh, I appeared hu-
man, for the most part. My features were more del-
icate, perhaps, than most. And I was very thin. But
my skin was as black as it ever was, and my hair
was dark then, too. Some of the developments in the
twenty-first century weren't all bad. I'd seen that
blondes really don't have more fun, and I found that
auburn really didn't suit me.

As I passed, the light reflected off his glasses, ob-
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scuring his eyes from me. I noticed that he had
straw-colored hair sprinkled with a little gray. His
beard was clipped neat and close, giving him an al-
most scholarly look. But then I could see his eyes
again and once more I had the sensation of being
looked through.

Frowning, I turned and hurried on down the corri-
dor. I wouldn't have given him another thought, ex-
cept that he boarded my plane not more than fifteen
minutes later.

He was the last passenger on, probably flying
stand-by. But why was he on this flight? And why
had he been standing there in the corridor, as though
he were waiting for me?

But he passed by me, not even making eye con-
tact. What an imagination I had, I thought. The idea
that he was following me. It was nothing. A chance
meeting of the eyes, nothing more.

Despite the air conditioning, the air was hot and
soupy. The smell of beignets hit me as I walked
through the airport. One of the charms of the New
Orleans airport was the immediate realization that
this place was like none other in the United States.
That Puritan priggishness was utterly cast aside here.

Maybe it was the weather, or perhaps the strong
hold the French had placed upon the place centuries
before, but here there was no hand-wringing over
drinking, or gambling, or eating. In short, it was
heaven, of a sort.

I caught a cab to the Fairmont Hotel, a gorgeous
place with nine-meter-high ceilings in the foyer,
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Caroline Spector

crystal chandeliers, thick rugs, and the almost phys-
ical sensation of decadence. They also made the
most fabulous pecan pie there. A southern confec-
tion that I've never liked anywhere else.

As the elevator was closing to take me up to my
room, I thought I caught a glimpse of Black T-shirt
through the milling hotel guests, but I knew it must
be my imagination.

The French Quarter was a five-minute walk from
the hotel. New York was the only other place in
America where history butts up so closely with the
present. I went down Chartres Street, then cut over
to Royal. The heavy smell of the olive trees in
bloom sweetened the air and almost masked the odor
of the river.

Lined in antique shops and small art houses,
Royal was my favorite street in the Vieux Carre.
Bourbon may have been more famous, but the smell
of vomit every few steps always put me off. There
were some beautiful homes at the eastern end of
Bourbon, but they hardly made up for the foul
smells and lingering air of dissipation.

I slipped into one of the antique galleries: de
Pouilly's. Over the years I'd made friends with the
owners of many of these stores. They knew me as
selective and willing to pay well for what I wanted.
In return, I expected them to keep quiet about my |
visits and to let me ... wander ... in their shops. |
The whole Quarter was rabbit-warrened. You might |
enter an unpretentious storefront, only to discover a |
maze of rooms that led you through any number of
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

connected buildings. I doubt there was anyone who
knew all the twists and turns in these places.

A middle-aged man approached me as I entered.
He gave off the superior air of someone who just
knew I wasn't the sort who could afford to buy here.

"May I help you?" he asked in a tone that let
me know in no uncertain terms that he thought he
couldn't.

I picked up a bronze piece (not a very good repro-
duction at that) and turned it over as though consid-
ering.

"Tell Mr. Hyslop that Ms. Sluage is here," I said.
I began fingering a porcelain bowl that looked to be
an original Meissen. The clerk was obviously torn
between telling me not to touch the pretties and try-
ing to decide if I was, indeed, on speaking terms
with his employer. Fear won out over officiousness,
and he scuttled off like a cockroach.

A few minutes later (I was by now poking around
in a large, intricately appointed armoire looking for
secret doors), Mr. Hyslop appeared with the now
very sweaty clerk in tow.

"Ms. Sluage," Mr. Hyslop said as he held out his
hand. "It's so good to see you again. I trust you've
been able to amuse yourself?"

As I backed out of the armoire and gave a little
sneeze, Mr. Hyslop produced a handkerchief like a
magician performing a trick.

"Bless you," he said as he pushed it into my hand.
'I always get the sneezes when I start looking into
these old pieces. No matter how hard we try to keep
up, they seem to bring the dust with them."
147

Caroline Spector

"That's quite all right," I said, taking the prof-
fered hanky. "I was just investigating to see if I
might want this piece."

"Take your time, take your time," Hyslop said as
he waved his clerk away. The clerk slunk off to go
harass a couple who'd just stepped inside from the
sweltering October air.

"What I'd like to do is take a look at those items
you've been keeping for me, and make some ar-
rangements for their transport."

Hyslop looked a bit concerned. "Are you not sat-
isfied with our arrangement?" he asked. "I thought
that—"

"No, no," I said, cutting him off. "It's nothing like
that. I've just finally settled down in one place and
I'd like to spend some time enjoying the things I've
bought."

"Of course," he replied. "How foolish of me.
Please, this way."

I followed him through the shop into a series of
dimly lit twisting and turning hallways. Then up
three flights of narrow stairs painted over so many
times there were lumpy bumps like Braille on the
railing and walls. It was very quiet here. You
couldn't hear any of the usual street noise that bub-
bled through the Quarter day and night. He led me
into his office, then fumbled around with his keys
until he had the right one.

"Here we are," Hyslop said proudly as he flipped
on the light switch.

The closet was small, but crammed to the top with
arcana. Shelf after shelf with boxes labeled in a code
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

we'd designed. One shelf held only boxes of books.
Another, rare pottery. On yet another, articles of
clothing. All had special significance. All were pre-
cious only to those who knew what to look for.

I could feel the pull of the energy in that little
closet.

"I doubt anyone has a better collection of oddi-
ties," Hyslop said. "I just recently added this." He
pulled a small box from one of the shelves and
opened it. Inside was a long white veil, the kind
women wore for their weddings and first commu-
nions. "It is rumored to have belonged to Marie
Laveau's daughter."

"I didn't know she had one," I said. "A daughter,
that is."

Hyslop nodded vigorously. "She kept her hidden
away. She was afraid that when she died, the whites
might kill her to keep the Voodoo under control."

"More than likely to keep the people under con-
trol," I said.

"That too, no doubt," Hyslop agreed.

"I'd like to look through these," I said, motioning
to the closet.

"Of course," Hyslop said as he wiped his forehead
with another clean white handkerchief. I wondered if
he had a pocketful of them, magically pristine and
freshly laundered.

"Alone," I said in a firm but kind voice. After all,
I would need Hyslop and his unusual connections
for some time to come.

"Of course," Hyslop said as he pocketed his hand-
kerchief. "Just let me know when you're finished."
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Caroline Specter

I smiled at him then, and he gave me a surprised
smile back. I suppose I don't do that often. Smile,
that is.

It took me the better part of the afternoon to go
through the boxes. Most of the items were shams.
The bones of some shamanistic practitioner, pur-
ported to have special curative powers. Shrunken
heads, embalmed monkey remains, fossilized eggs.
Books supposedly written in Crowley's own hand
detailing his cabalistic findings.

I'd taken care to hide my most precious finds
among these harmless trifles. They would be over-
looked with all the other folderol. One hopelessly
obscure book of cabalistic writings revealed com-
plexities of such an esoteric nature that even I had
trouble following it. The challenge of it excited me.

There were other items as well: suspicious bones,
the source of which I knew only too well. How had
they come to this place again? And so obviously
long ago.

There was also a small painting depicting a crea-
ture I knew for a fact had not walked the face of this
planet for at least seven thousand years. Yet here it
was depicted in a piece that could not have been
more than fifty years old.

I wrapped my treasures carefully and returned
them to their innocuous hiding places.

I felt grimy and hungry all at once. It was almost
five by Hyslop's grandfather clock. I pulled the
chain to the light, then shut the closet door. It had an
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

automatic lock, but I still jiggled the doorknob to
see if it would open. It didn't.

On the whole, things were going well. I would
have Hyslop crate everything up and ship it to my
estate in Scotland. I'd already made the necessary
arrangements with Customs^ so there would be little
delay in my receiving them once I was back home.
I felt quite smug and pleased with myself and de-
cided that I needed a decadent dinner to celebrate. I
picked up the phone on Hyslop's desk and made a
reservation for one at Antoine's for eight o'clock. I
would feast tonight.

Walking back to the Fairmont, I noticed a van
parked on a comer of one of the side streets I passed.
It was painted dull black and had reflector stick-on
numbers on the back window: 666. I glanced inside
the van as I passed. A man, about forty-five or -six
with a scraggly beard, sat in the passenger-side seat.
He had a large potbelly barely covered by a faded-
gray T-shirt. Around his neck he wore a pentagram. I
had obviously just seen—Satan's Van.

Uh oh, I thought. I better watch out because
someone is going to come and carry me off in . ..
Satan's Van. The Armageddon starts tonight be-
cause—Satan's Van is in town. Oh, you better watch
out, you better not cry, 'cause Satan's got his Van to-
night. Satan's Van is coming to town.

I really needed dinner.

Antoine's was unchanged. I'd been coming there
for years whenever I was in New Orleans. I knew it
151

Caroline Spector

was a bit touristy, but I couldn't help myself. They
had the most marvelous Baked Alaska.

The elderly maitre d' seated me at a small table in
the front room. Like the rest of the buildings in the
Quarter, Antoine's was made up of many rooms.
People came through the front doors and disap-
peared like they were going down Alice's rabbit
hole. There was even a hidden door or two in the
place.

I'd just ordered and was admiring myself in
the mirror over my table when I saw him. The black
T-shirt from the airport. Only he wasn't wearing a
black T-shirt now. He never would have been al-
lowed inside in that. He wore a black jacket over a
white shirt and muddy green tie. The jeans had been
set aside for dark trousers.

I didn't take my eyes away from his image in the
mirror as he talked to the mattre d' for a moment,
then walked toward me. I couldn't believe his brass.

"Dinner for one?" he asked. "That seems a lonely
proposition."

"I like it," I said as I turned toward him. "And
who the hell are you?"

"Ah," he said. "Well that's not as interesting as«
who the hell you are."                           i

"Look," I said, beginning to get impatient. "I
don't know anything about you except that I saw
you at O'Hare—and now you pop up here acting as
though you know me. I don't like mysteries or peo-
ple who think they're being clever when in fact^
they're just annoying."                         |

He pulled out a chair and sat down opposite me. |
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

"You haven't been invited," I said, frowning. "Go
away."

"Now, now," he said. His voice had the faint
twinge of British lower-class to it. "Someone your
age shouldn't get so excited. It might not be good
for your health."

I looked around for the mattre d', but he was talk-
ing to a new group who'd just arrived.

"I must say, you look awfully good for someone
who's at least five hundred years old by my calcula-
tions."

He had my attention.

I looked at him carefully. He was working far too
hard at being nonchalant. There was a telltale shine
to his upper lip, and I could hear the dry click of his
throat as he swallowed. Whatever he knew, it wasn't
as much as he wanted to let on.

The waiter came with my soup. Vichyssoise.
Thick and heavy with cream. He looked inquiringly
at my new companion.

"Be so kind as to bring my friend here the same,"
I said. The waiter nodded and went away.

"What's that?" Black T-shirt asked.

"Vichyssoise," I replied.

He looked blank.

"Cold potato soup," I said.

He wrinkled his nose.

"Beggars can't be choosers and neither can you."
I leaned back and studied him. This seemed to make
him preening and nervous at the same time. "What's
your name?"

"John Mortimer."

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Caroline Specter

"And what precisely is it you want of me, Mr.
Mortimer?"

He leaned forward, I resisted the urge to do so
also. Habits die hard.

"I want to know the secret," he said. "I want to
know how to be immortal."

"What on earth makes you think I'm immortal?".
I asked.                                       J

He got a big grin. It was toothy and surprisingly 1|
sweet. I almost liked him for that smile.          |

"It started out by accident about four years ago,"
he began. "I was doing some research after reading]
an article in the newspaper." He pulled a small, yel-
lowed newspaper clipping from his pocket. The
headline read: Mystery Buyer Purchases Earldom for
$700,000. I glanced over the article. It pretty much
gave the dry facts of my acquisition of the Earldom
of Arran. Everything except my identity, which I'd
had them keep quiet.

"What has this to do with me?" I asked, handin|
the clipping back.

"You bought it," he said.

"And what makes you think that?"

"I like computers," he said. "I'm quite good wit
them. Every aspect. Programming, hardware—yc
name it. It's just this knack I have. Well, for son
reason this article caught my attention. So I got c
the Web and started trying to find out what I couM
about this mystery buyer. But pretty much every-1
thing after you bought the place was under deep|
wraps. Oh, I know all about the history of the place|
That earldom was created in 1503 by King James IV|
154

WORLDS WITHOUT END

The title is linked to the land instead of by blood.
All that stuff. History is easy enough to find out.

"But about the new buyer—bloody nothing. That
got me curious. Who would want so much privacy
and why? So I started contacting other Net surfers in
Scotland and eventually I came up with a few who
knew all about the island. They were day workers
hired to refurbish the house the new owner would be
occupying.

"That's when I found out about you. It was quite
a stir you being, well, not white. I even got along so
well with my Scottish connection that they invited
me for a visit. You were off on one of your myste-
rious trips. Everyone who worked for you always
talked about your trips.

"So I went to visit my friends, and they showed
me around the castle and the grounds. You've done
a wonderful job keeping up the place. By the way."

I snorted and went back to eating my soup. The
waiter came and placed a bowl in front of him. He
frowned slightly at it, then took up his spoon and
gave the soup a small taste. Apparently it was to his
liking, for I got no more of his tale until he had fin-
ished the whole bowl.

"I never would have thought cold potato soup
could taste so good," he said as he wiped his mouth.

"The things you leam every day," I murmured.

"So, as my hosts were showing me around, I be-
gan to notice a couple of things. There was all this
°ld stuff around, but not all of it seemed to belong
Asre, if you know what I mean. Not the usual rich
155

Caroline Spector

collections of plates, clocks, and the like. No, your
choices were so much more—peculiar.

"But the thing that got me most excited was this
picture of you. A painting, I mean. Paul—that's the
friend who I was staying with—had gone off to the
bathroom and he left me alone in your study. There
was a photo of you and some guy on your desk.
Then noticed a stack of paintings against one wall. I
flipped through them and came across this portrait.

"It was you. But it wasn't. I mean you looked just
like you do now, only you were wearing some weird
costume. Later, I learned it probably came from the
Renaissance. I heard my friend in the hall and put
the painting back. But, you know, that painting
stayed with me."

"People have portraits done everyday," I said.

"But this one looked like hundreds of years old.
The paint was dried and cracked. It felt old."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, I didn't realize that among
your many talents you are also an art historian. Let
me see, you're a crack computer wiz, a clever de-
frauder of people's trust, and now you're an expert in
dating paintings. What other talents do you have up
your sleeve?" I asked.

His face flushed red, but he didn't answer me. The
waiter came and took our dishes, then presented us
with the pate. I broke off a bit of the French bread
on the table and proceeded to smear a generous
amount of my pate on it. I gestured to him to do
likewise.

"Really," I said. "You must try your pate. It's
marvelous."

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WORLDS WITHOUT END

"What is it?" he asked.

"Goose liver, butter, cognac, pepper, and cream,
most likely," I said. "Do go on with your tale. It's so
unusual to have such a fascinating dinner story."

He poked at the pate as if it would leap off the
plate and attack him. Then he put the knife down.
No guts, no glory.

"But see, the painting reminded me of another one
I'd seen, in some class I'd had in school. So after I
went to the library and started looking through
books of artists ..."

"Was this while you were still in Scotland?" I
asked.

"Yes," he replied. "I was staying for a couple of
weeks. Paul was glad to get me out of the house ev-
ery now and again so he could have his girlfriend
over. They were wanting to ... well, you know."

"How touching."

"Anyway, I found the book I was looking for. It
was on Rembrandt. It had all his paintings in it with
little descriptions of what they were about and who
owned them. But most of them are in museums. Ex-
cept the one you have.

"But you obviously had all this money so I fig-
ured you could buy a Rembrandt if you wanted, but
you couldn't have a portrait of yourself by him un-
less you'd'been there."

"I hate to interrupt your psychotic ramblings," I
said. "But haven't you ever heard of copycat paint-
ers?"

"Yeah, I heard about them when I was doing my
research on you, but from what I came up with, that
157

Caroline Specter

wasn't your style. You go for top-notch stuff if you
bother with it at all."

"How flattering."

"Look, just stop trying to play like you don't
know what I'm talking about. I've done research on
you for the last four years. I know you've taken the
identities of a number of other people. Graves are
full of. the babies whose names you've used. You've
passed yourself off as your own granddaughter, as
missing cousins. You're very good, I'll grant you
that. But I have the documentation to back up every-
thing I've found."

He pulled an envelope from his inside pocket and
dropped it on the table. A sick feeling nestled in my
stomach.

"Go ahead," he said. "Look inside."

Slowly, I wiped my fingers on my napkin. Mov-
ing slowly seemed to be a very good idea at the mo-
ment. I pulled the envelope to me and slid the
contents out. There were letters from registry offices
in several countries, copies of birth and death certif-
icates, copies of land purchases in the names of
some of the pseudonyms I've used. There was even
a photo of the Rembrandt.

"How did you get this?" I asked holding up the
photo. I was getting angry, but I didn't let him know.
This was too terrible to let a foolish burst of temper
out.

"Paul had to go back to your house for some re-
pairs while I was there on my visit. I came along and
snuck up to your study to make some shots."
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

"What do you want?" I asked. I felt sick.
"Money?"

He shook his head furiously. "No," he said.
"That's not it at all. I want what you have. I want to
be immortal."

"And what makes you think I can make you so?"

"Because that's how it works," he said. "Like
vampires, only I don't think you're a vampire. At
least not the blood-sucking kind. You've got some-
thing and I want it. Why shouldn't I be like you? I
figured out that you were immortal. I mean,
shouldn't there be some kind of reward for that?"

I closed my eyes. Mortals. Humans. There were
times when I thought Alachia's attitude toward them
was dead on.

"And you think your reward should be that I
make you into what I am?"

He smiled. "Yes, that's it exactly."

"Very well," I said. "Since you've asked so
nicely."

I forced myself to choke down the rest of dinner.
The lovely salmon, the delicate potato souffle, the
oysters, the escargot, even the marvelous Baked
Alaska were all like ashes in my mouth.

John Mortimer was having no such problem with
his meal. He attacked the food like a hungry dog.
When he didn't recognize a dish, he would look to-
ward me inquiringly and I would oblige with the in-
formation. Except with the escargot. I told him it
was a rare kind of seafood, like oysters. Luckily, he
159

Caroline Spector

knew what oysters were. The one culinary achieve-
ment of his previous life.

That's how he referred to it: His Previous Life. As
though he'd already moved out of it and into a
greater place. He rambled on about the places he
would go, the things he would do, never once telling
me how he might acquire the means to achieve all
these tremendous feats. It had taken me centuries to
establish my own fortune. And still more time to at-
tend to it. Money is like any other profession. You
had to look in on it, make sure no one else had de-
cided they liked it better than you did and run off
with it. I found such things boring and loathsome in
the extreme. But I still had to do it. I just don't like
to talk about it.

"... and then I thought you and I could .. ."

This jerked me back to my companion and his
ramblings.

"You and I could what?" I asked.

"Well, I mean, I thought that ... I just assumed
that because you were going to make me like you
that we would be together. I mean until, you know,
whenever."

"Whenever what?"

"Whenever we got, you know, tired of each other.
Or until I was ready to be out on my own."

"I see, so not only am I to ... convert you to your
immortality, but then I'm to be your nursemaid as
well?"

He blushed. "Not nursemaid, exactly, but, well
you know." He gave me quite a look then, and, had
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

I not been furious, I would have found it a bit inter-
esting. But that was neither here nor there.

"So, I'm to become your um, paramour, shall we
say, and make you immortal. And what exactly is it
that I'm supposed to achieve from this equation?"

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is, what's in it for me? Why should
I make you, of all people, like me? Is it your charm-
ing personality? Or perhaps it's your wit? Maybe
your sexual prowess? Come now, why should I
bother with you?"

He was red again, but not from embarrassment. I
think I might have offended him. What a pity.

"You'll do it because I'll expose you if you
don't."

"Expose me to whom? The Agency in Charge of
Finding and Keeping Immortals? Or maybe you'll
go to the police. 'I beg your pardon, but there's a
woman I know who's immortal.' They'll laugh you
out of the office. Your whole story is preposterous.
There won't be a dry seat in the house."

"All I have to do is make one phone call to the
nght sort of newspaper. They love this sort of thing.
Only when they start digging, they'll find out it's
true."

"They'll wet themselves laughing."
"Do you really want to risk it?"
The little maggot. I hadn't thought he had the
brass for it.

"I thought not," he said. And smirked.
He really shouldn't have smirked.

* * *

161

Caroline Spector

I paid for dinner and we began walking through
the Quarter. I didn't want to lead him straight toward
the hotel, though I suspected he already knew where
I was staying. What to do with him? I wondered.
The crowd was thicker now that it was getting on to-
ward nine o'clock. Mostly there were badly dressed
tourists in too tight T-shirts with cute sayings on
them. Some carried plastic cups with drinks in them.
The smell of beer and sticky-sweet Hurricanes was
overpowering.

I led us toward Chartres Street, then on toward the
riverwalk. The smell of the Mississippi was heavy
and thick like new-cut earth. It blended with the
sweet aroma of the olive trees. For some reason it
gave me a stab of hope, this strange combination of
odors. It reminded me of another time and place. But
such pleasant memories would get in my way now.
I needed to attend to the matter at hand.

We walked past the homeless people who were
sleeping in the park and stepped over the ones who
had simply lain down where they were. Every few
paces or so, we were approached by someone asking
for money. Most of the panhandlers had a ready
patter, some hard-luck story about why they needed
just another dollar. I gave to them willingly. Life
presented us with enough indignities in just the
living of it, so why make it worse if you could
help?

"Why are you giving them money?" hissed John.
He glanced around as though he expected someone
to jump up at him and demand money.

"Because I have it. They need it. And I don't
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mind giving to them," I said. "Why do you care any-
way? It isn't your money."

"You're just encouraging them," he said. "If
no one gave them any money they'd have to get a

job."

"Let me see if I understand you," I said. "You
think these people prefer to live meaner than any an-
imal. That they are so unwilling to work that they
would rather sleep on the ground in the cold, go
without food, beg coin from strangers in the most
humiliating way possible, and live in filthy rags?
That is, of course, assuming that they are mentally
stable enough to hold work or even have such rudi-
mentary skills as reading, writing, or arithmetic.
How silly of me to be so completely fooled by their
clever charade.

"Of course, I'm in the company of someone who
wouldn't sully his hands with something as vulgar as
say, extortion."

"You know, you can be a real bitch," he said.

I touched my hand to my heart. "I'm mortally
wounded," I said.

We walked down by the river for a while, until the
sidewalk petered out and there was a sudden lack of
street lights. John looked nervous, but I knew there
was nothing to worry about, yet.

"So you want to become immortal," I said.
"What if I told you I can't do it? That this is some-
thing you're born with or not. That I can no more
make you immortal than any stranger off the street
could."

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Caroline Spector

He frowned. "You're just trying to confuse me,"
he said. "You told me at the restaurant ..."

"I told you that so you wouldn't make a scene.
Even if I wanted to, I couldn't change you from
what you are. I don't have that power. Why would I
lie to you?"

"Is this a test?" he asked.
I groaned. "No, it is not. It's the truth."
"You just don't like me. That's why you're doing
this. Well, it won't work. And it doesn't matter any-
way. I figured out what you are, and that's worth
something. Don't think you'll fool me the way
you've fooled everyone else."

"Oh, no," I said. "I wouldn't dream of that."
/ think you're a special kind of fool, I thought.
"You know, becoming immortal doesn't just hap-
pen overnight. It takes a while for the process to
work."

"But you can start it soon, can't you?"
"Oh, yes," I said. "But first, I must make some
preparations." I tossed him the key to my hotel
room. "I'm in room 1650 at the Fairmont. I'll be
back before midnight."
"I'll be waiting," he said.

I didn't say anything, just turned and went back
toward the Quarter.

I knocked on the door of my room at 11:45. The
vid inside was loud enough for me to hear it through
the door. Then the door swung open. I had half-
hoped Mortimer might realize how foolish this

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whole thing was, but no, there he was, sans jacket,
and barefoot.
"Glad to see you've made yourself comfortable,"

I said.

"Yeah, well, given the circumstances, I didn't
think you'd mind."

"Push that bed up against the wall," I said. As he
did so, I also pushed every other piece of furniture
in the room against the walls, making a nice-sized
space in the center of the room.

"We're going to do it here?" he asked.

"Why not?" I asked. "This place has always had
a great deal of magical energy. Besides, this is just
the start of the process, and I know how anxious you
are to embark on your new life."

"Yeah, well, I guess I thought I'd have more
time."

"Time for what?"

"I don't know," he replied. "To say goodbye."

"You can't say goodbye, but you can go back and
make some preparations," I said. "I'll explain every-
thing after the ceremony."

I crouched down and poured out the contents of
the bag I'd brought back with me. Luckily, Marie
Laveau's House of Voodoo had just the sort of
things that would help in my little charade. Candles,
skulls, charms, unidentifiable bones, incense, and
assorted effluvia tumbled onto the carpet. Feathers
I'd picked up in the park came from my jacket
pocket.

I shoved everything to one side. "Stand here," I
instructed, pointing to the center of the room. I
165

Caroline Spector

placed the candles around him in a rough circle,
then lit them. The incense I lit and stuck in-between
the drawers of the bureau. Then I switched off the
lights and went over to the window and drew the
drapes.

The effect was getting pretty good. Lots of sandal-
wood smoke wafting through flickering candle
light. I made him hold out his hands and dropped a
skull into one and the strange bones into the other.
Then I made him open his mouth and popped one
of the charms inside. I almost started laughing at
the face he made, but I knew that would break the
spell.

The rest of the charms I placed in his pockets and
down his shirt. Then I began to chant softly and
wave my arms in front of him. In Sanskrit I told him
what a complete imbecile he was and how his mother
was probably a goat-herder who slept in cow dung
for fun while she mated with snakes at the bottom of
a cesspool.                                     |

From the expression on John Mortimer's face<a
I knew he thought he was being transported to|

the next level of existence. And how close hel

•^
was.                                           ^ |

It took me a while to run through his entire familyS
lineage back to his great-great-grandparents, but I|
managed to think up appropriate comments for all ofi|
them. Now it was time for the big finish. I distractedr|
him as I tossed flash paper into one candle after an-1
other. He gave a little squeal and jumped.

"Ack," he said. "I've swallowed the charm."
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

"That's all right, you're supposed to," I said.
"How do you feel?"

He looked down at himself as though he expected
to see something different.

"The same. I'm getting a bit of a headache
from all the incense," he said. "Are you sure it
worked?"

"Oh, I almost forgot," I said. "The most important
thing."

I leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his fore-
head. I held it there for a long time. I could see the
weave of his life. Could feel the singsong of his
blood as it raced through his veins. His delicate and
vulnerable veins. Especially those in his brain. So
thin. So easily stressed. It took a bit out of me, the
subtlety of it, but I had no other choice.

He stepped back from me.

"What's this?" he asked, reaching out and touch-
ing my cheek.

There, suspended on the tip of his finger, was a
single blood tear.

"The price of immortality," I said.

"I think I felt something," he said.

"I'm sure you did." I reached out and gently
wiped the tear away.

The aneurysm killed him on his flight back to
London. I had told him to go home and get his be-
longings and meet me in Scotland. It being a slow
news day, his death actually made the paper in a
small item. Freak accident, the report said. A terrible
tragedy for one so young.

167

Caroline Specter

November 21, 1998

Anna Sluage
Earldom of Arran
Arran Island, Scotland

Dear Countess,

It is my most embarrassing duty to tell you that my late
client, one John Mortimer, had apparently become fixated
on you during the last few years of his life. Upon his
death, I was instructed to open a parcel he 'd left with me
a few months ago. In this parcel were documents and
writings of Mr. Mortimer claiming a tale as regards
you, of the most fantastic sort. His instructions to
me, as his solicitor, were that should he die under unusu-
al circumstances I was to go to the media with this
story.

Due to the nature of my client's death, I recognized
these bizarre accusations as the demented ravings of a
mentally ill man. It is a great sadness to his family that
they did not realize how ill he was until his untimely de-
mise.

Please rest assured that I have forwarded all these ma-
terials to you for you to dispose of as you will. No copies
have been made by me or my office. I can only hope that
my client did not make himself a burden on you. Rest as-
sured that this matter will go no further.

Sincerely yours,
Mecham Bernard, Esq.

Several months later I received a note from John
Mortimer's mother. She had gone to clean out his
flat and had discovered his diary and a bulletin
board covered with photos of me. In her letter, she
said that she hoped her son had not bothered me.
She explained that his obsession with me was no
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

doubt caused by the same weakness in his brain that
killed him.

She also told me that she had destroyed all the pa-
pers and pictures of me she had found.

I wrote her back, thanking her for her concern,
and assured her that her son had never bothered me
in the slightest. We actually developed a bit of a cor-
respondence, which lasted until her death in 2021.

169

She's traveling in a car. Or maybe it's a bus. She
isn't sure, because it continually shifts shape and
form. Caimbeui is driving. He is wearing that hor-
rible makeup. Garish and clownlike. A hideous red
gash of a mouth. Black diamonds over his eyes. Hair
streaked with blond and orange. His usual garb is
replaced with faded blue jeans, cowboy boots run
down at the heels, and a washed-out T-shirt that
says: Ninety percent of everything is drek.

"7 was wondering when you 'd get here,"
Caimbeui says.

"Where is here?" she asks.

"You know, " he replies. "It's wherever you want it
to be."

She glances out the window, which shows an end-
less display of black night. The headlights occasion-
ally catch a scrubby tree, then slide back over the
broken road. Looking back at Caimbeui, she sees
that the saying on the shirt has changed: I prefer the
wicked to the foolish. The wicked sometimes rest.

"Didn't? Wasn't?" she asks.

"Oh," Caimbeui says looking down at his shirt
and shrugging. "It's your dream. Don't ask me. I'm
just along for the ride."

"You always did steal your best lines," she says.

He drops the car into overdrive. It surges ahead,
the G-force slamming both of them back in their
seats.

"Hang on," he shouts over the roar of the engine.
"It's going to be a bumpy night."

170

20

Runner's Revenge was blasting a cover of the old
tune "Do You Believe in Magic?" over the trideo
system at LAX. They'd done something strange to
the song, pumping a reggae beat under the glass-
shattering shriek of the cyberjacked vocals of the
lead singer, whose species, much less gender, I had
yet to determine.

As the lead singer seemed to pop from the trideo,
I looked around for connecting flight info. Nothing
as simple as a screen showing takeoffs and depar-
tures, I thought. Just as I was about to get on a tear
about the uselessness of technology without practi-
cality, Caimbeui grabbed me by the arm and steered
me to a bank of flatscreens on the opposite side of
the trideos.

We had ten minutes to make our connection to
Portland on Cinanestial. Wasn't that always the way
of it, though?

"We'll never get through Tir customs in time," I
said. "When's the next flight out?"

Caimbeui grabbed my bag and slung it over his
shoulder.

"Oh ye of little faith," he said. "While you were
puttering about with Thais, I was making a few
calls. No need to tell me how much you appreciate
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Caroline Spector

it. Let's just say we'll be experiencing no trouble
about our VAVs. And, most importantly, there will
be no need for your strong-arm tactics. Now, don't
give me that look."

"I'm not giving you a look," I said as I raced
along beside him. Though I am long-legged, I had to
break into a quick trot to keep up with him. After
all, he is a good head taller than me.

"I knew you'd never give up a tissue sample, and
you know how persistent these low-level customs
security types are. I didn't want you to do to them
what you did to our friend in the UK."

"It got us in, didn't it?"

"But here it might set off alarms. And I want our
arrival to be as quiet as possible. I've arranged
things with a friend. We should have no problems."

I frowned. "And who are we going to be beholden
to for this favor?" I asked. "I don't like owing any-
one anything if I can help it. This will be dicey
enough. You know what the politics are like here.
They make the Borgias look like a close and friendly
family."

"I'm the one with the favor owed, not you," he
said. He sounded a bit exasperated. "I had forgotten
how difficult you can be on a trip. At least you've
learned to pack a little lighter."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?" I said.
But it came out more like, "And .. . just (gasp) what
... isthatsupposedtomean?"

"Nothing," he said. "Do you have your Visitor's
Authorization Visa ready?"

"Yes," I said. "And don't change the subject. I
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

don't recall you ever complaining about my luggage
before. Have you been nursing this grudge for long?
As I recall, the last time we traveled together for any
length of time was back in eighteen ninety-eight. Vi-
enna. And everyone had trunks, not just me. You
had two of them. Plus a rather large leather portman-
teau that never would have fit on any horse ..."

"We're here," he said.

I slid to a stop. The sleek silver, green, and white
of the Cinanestial counter was in front of us. A male
elf stood at the counter with a datacord jacked into
a silver slot in his left temple running to the 'puter
hidden behind the top of the counter. At the door to
the plane stood another elf, who looked pleasant
enough until you noticed that she had cyberware im-
plants in both arms and a nasty-looking taser slipped
into a tasteful sleeve on the side of her uniform.

Both elves were wearing the Cinanestial uniform:

skin-tight dark-green material with bold color blocks
of silver and white. Though I suspected they were
both expert at being polite and serving the passen-
gers, anyone who gave them any grief would likely
be pulling pieces of his favorite anatomy part from
his throat for a long time to come.

Before we even reached the counter, another uni-
formed elf appeared in front of us. I didn't see where
she came from, and the fact that she got the drop on
me irritated me to no end.

"I need to see your VAVs, please," she said. The
please was a mere formality. I had spent most of my
time avoiding Tir Taimgire—and with good reason.
Now I was waltzing in chin-first. Even with
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Caroline Spector

Caimbeui as my companion, I wondered if this
wasn't a bigger mistake than facing Ysrthgrathe
alone.

I passed my VAV across to Caimbeui, who put it
with his and gave it to her.

"Stay here," she said. She turned and walked over
to the elf at the desk. They talked together in low
voices for a moment, then the counter-elf said some-
thing to the one with our passports. The customs elf
put a deliberately blank expression on her face, then
walked back to us.

"Go on through," she said. "Have a good flight."

Caimbeui took our papers and walked past with-
out saying a word to her. I followed, trying hard not
to give a smug grin. I failed. Oh, well.

Just as we reached the door to the loading ramp,
I heard a commotion behind us. I looked over my
shoulder in time to see the customs elf tossing a
scared-looking troll to the floor as if he were a rag-
doll.

All brawn, no brains. Some things never change.

The flight to Portland was about two and a half
hours. I didn't make small talk with Caimbeui. I was
afraid I might blurt out that he'd been in my dream,
and then I'd have to listen to him crow about that for
the rest of the flight.

He was a conceited bastard under the best of
situations—I didn't want to think about how obnox-
ious he would become if I told him.

And what was going on with my dreams anyway?
I hadn't dreamed of Ysrthgrathe in several nights. It
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scared me because if he wasn't coming to me
through that window, where was he going to come
from?

Was he already here and waiting for me? Waiting
to rip my life apart again? Or had I just dreamed him
up? Pulled him from my nightmare past as surely as
I had pulled him to me all those millennia ago? I
wasn't sure now. No, I had to be sure. The fate of
the world was riding on me. There was no room for
mistakes.

We sank into the gray clouds as we made our ap-
proach to Portland. From up in the golden sky to
down into the rain and muck. I could barely make
out the green land below as we popped in and out of
the clouds. Rain smeared the double-paned win-
dows.

"How are we going to get the Council to hear
us?" I asked.

"I'm going to petition the High Prince," he re-
plied.

"Lugh Surehand?" I asked. "I didn't realize you
were on such close terms."

Caimbeui looked away.

"Don't tell me," I said. "He has no idea that we're
coming, does he?"

"I'm sure he knows we're coming. There's very
little that goes on in Tir Taimgire that he doesn't
know. But I haven't contacted him directly. I thought
it would be better to wait until we're actually in
Portland."

"Why? And stop fidgeting."
175

Caroline Specter

"I'm not fidgeting. I don't fidget. That's an awful
word. Fidget. You make me sound like a three-year-
old."

"If the age fits."

He ran a hand through his hair, dislodging the
band that held his ponytail. Then he cursed when the
band got tangled up in his hair. The more he tugged
at it, the worse the snarl became. I slapped his hand
away and gently began to work it loose.

"It's Aithne, isn't it?" I asked. "You're worried
that when Aithne knows I'm in Portland, he'll do
everything he can to see that I'm not heard."

I was surprised to see him look so embarrassed.
The band came loose and I ran my fingers through
Caimbeul's hair to make sure there weren't any
more tangles. It was as silky as I remembered, cool
on top and warm near the nape of his neck. It was an
odd moment, filled with promise and regret. Then I
pulled my hands away and held out the band to him.
His fingers slid over mine as he took it, and lingered
there for a moment.

"It's been so long, and he still hasn't forgiven
me," I said. "I know I have no right to expect that
he would, but all the same there's the hope in me
that he might."

Caimbeui took my hand and gave it a little
squeeze. "He attends his grudges like a jealous wife.
Age hasn't tempered him. It's only made him more
of what he is. But isn't that the way it is with all of
us?"

"I suppose. But what about you and Ehran? I
know you engaged in the Game some time ago. Did
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

that resolve any of your differences? Or did it
merely let you keep them simmering for another
hundred years or so?"

"Simmering, my sweet, simmering always. I
never like to bring things to a boil."

I held his hand tightly for a moment, then released
it.

"I seem to remember a time or two when that
wasn't the case."

"You are an evil woman, Aina."

I just smiled at him, then went back to looking out
the window.

We passed through Tir customs easily. Whatever
mojo Caimbeui had worked with his friend, it
breezed us through the usual tediousness of the bu-
reaucracy. I'd made it a point in the past to avoid Tir
Taimgire at all costs. Oh, I'd been here a few times,
but always as quickly and discreetly as possible.
Though I knew Aithne would never act against me
directly, I wasn't about to force the issue.
Tir Taimgire was, after all, his baby.
He'd cooked the idea up with Sean Laverty, Lugh
Surehand, and Ehran. They'd moved with a purpose
and precision to establish the Tir that preempted
anyone who might have stood in their way. Not that
I would have been foolish enough to try. I like to
think that I've developed some measure of sense in
roy old age.

They tricked the Salish-Shidhe Council into giv-
ing over part of their land to the elves. Oh, I had to
admire their cunning. Like all good mundane magic,
177

Caroline Spector

it was done with clever distractions and sleight of
hand.

It was Ehran who did the initial dirty work. And
how he must have enjoyed the charade—posing as
an Amerindian—Walter Bright Water—newly re-
leased from the Pyramid Lake Re-Education Center.
He pretended that his wife and children had died
there, then deceived the tribal elders with his knowl-
edge of Cascade Crow tribal rituals. The treachery
of it astounds.

Perhaps I am letting my history with Caimbeui
color my comments, for his and Ehran's relationship
is a bitter one from long ago. The enemy of my
friend is my enemy. Not that Ehran had the slightest
idea of my opinion of him, of course. That would be
foolishness of the first water.

Anyway, eventually, he received a place on the
S-S Council, and parlayed that into his final plan. He
encouraged the segregation of metahumans, saying
that Awakened individuals were better off away
from humanity and their prejudices. But, at the same
time, he encouraged the Salish-Shidhe and the other
Native American Nations to welcome metahumans
into their territories.

This brought metahumans into NAN and the
Salish-Shidhe territories in ever-increasing numbers
over the years just before the establishment of the
Tir. Before Bright Water disappeared (faking his
death, by the way.. Something I know he is quite
proficient at), he encouraged the metahuman popula-
tion to segregate itself into the southern region of
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the Amerindian territories. They did so, and this was
the beginning of what would later become Tir Tairn-
gire.

Of course, Aithne and the others hadn't been sit-
ting by doing nothing, but they did let Ehran have
all the fun. After "Walter Bright Water's" death,
they appeared on the scene and began to lead the
"renaissance in the south." By the time there was a
formal declaration of independence by the Tir, the
Salish-Shidhe was no longer a cohesive power and
there was nothing NAN or any other nation could do
to stop them.

By this time, of course, Ehran had re-emerged as
himself. The rest, as they say, is history. The Tir
went on to be recognized by every other nation, with
the notable exception of Aztlan. But then they are
both special cases unto themselves.

Now they had set themselves up as Princes, no
less. Of course, that is how most of us thought of
ourselves. After all, we had always ruled, whether
overtly or covertly. The hand that guides the puppets
does not have to seen.

They had made all the preparations, but I sus-
pected they still didn't believe the time would come
when they would have to use them. Only that they
would have the world made over in their image and
no one would stop them.

None but those who had always stopped us be-
fore.

Caimbeui had booked us into the best hotel in
Portland. It overlooked the Willamette River and
179

Caroline Spector

was as lush and palatial as any Louis the XIV wet
dream. I'd never been particularly impressed by the
elven fondness for royal pomp and circumstance. It
seemed pretentious and ultimately destructive to me.
But then no one had ashed my opinion on the matter,
had they?

I wasn't sure what influence Caimbeui wielded
here, but there was enough bowing and scraping to
make even Alachia happy. We were shown to the
uppermost penthouse, being informed along the way
that the High Prince had resided here while having
his home remodeled.

Caimbeui and I were suitably blase about the
whole situation. And why not? We'd seen Versailles
at its height. And the Taj, that jewel of a building,
small yet almost perfect. How could any hotel room,
no matter how sumptuous, compare?

Finally, we were left alone. The staff would have
to be spoken to about the hovering. I dropped down
onto one of the brocade sofas, sinking into the real
feather cushions.

"Well, what now?" I asked. "How long do you
think we have until Aithne finds out I'm here?"

Caimbeui went to the French doors leading out to
the terrace and pushed them open. The air was sweet
up here, with none of the sour, acrid smells I nor-
mally associated with cities. I knew they'd done
much to manipulate the land in the Tir. The magical
energy fairly pulsed in the air. If they'd put out a
large neon sign telling the Enemy "Come and get
us," they couldn't have done better.

I knew there were now old-growth forests where
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only a few years before there had been fallow land.
Extinct species populated these forests—how they'd
managed that I suspected I knew, but I hoped I was
just being paranoid.

"Not long," Caimbeui said. "Aithne has spies ev-
erywhere. Fortunately, he's away from Portland right
now. And we know Alachia was in Tir na n6g.
Though I suspect after our visit she might be here al-
ready. But I've never been very good at predicting
what she will do next.

"There's a celebration planned for this even-
ing. Something to do with The Rite of Progres-
sion."

I got up from the couch and came over to where
Caimbeui stood by the open doors. It was already
getting dark. The gray misting sky oppressive and
bleak.

"You don't like it here," I said.

"No."

"Neither do I. It reminds me too much of the days
when Alachia was Queen. What she turned so many
of us into. It frightens me because I think it could all
happen again. Especially when I see that the Enemy
is coming again."

Caimbeui stepped behind me, then wrapped his
arms about my waist. It was very comforting to
stand there in the slowly falling chill night with him
warm and solid against my back. He rested his chin
on my head.

"But things are different now," he said. "The
world is different. We can keep the past from hap-
pening again."

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Caroline Spector

"I hope you're right."
"I am," he said. "I am."

And we stayed there for a while, in the darkness,
resting against each other for support.

182

"Did you think I had forgotten you?" Ysrthgrathe
asks.

She freezes, finding herself not in the safety of
Caimbeul's arms, but embraced by her enemy. His
arms are thickly muscled and hold her so tight that
even though she struggles, it's as if she has never
moved.

Then his mouth is at her ear, breath hot against
the tender flesh. "I have been waiting for you so pa-
tiently, my sweet. This delay is but a heartbeat for
me. The blink of an eye. And there is nothing you
can do that will stop me this time. Not running to
your precious Aithne. Not dragging that clown be-
hind you. None of them will save you from me this
time."

Somehow, she manages to slip free of his grasp,
but then he laughs and she knows he's let her go.

"This isn't the past, Ysrthgrathe," she says. "I'm
not that foolish girl anymore. You can't frighten me
like you did then."

"Liar," he says.

21

Caimbeui had insisted we bring formal attire. I had
wondered at this, but as we entered the grounds of
183

Caroline Spector

Royal Hill where Lugh Surehand occupied the Royal
Palace, I was glad of his foresight. An elf attired in
livery opened the door to our limo.

I'd also wondered at Caimbeul's choice of vehicle
until I saw the battery of armaments, assault weapon
controls, and other trinkets loaded onto the seem-
ingly innocuous luxury car. The driver was a nasty-
looking troll who seemed to know Caimbeul. Or at
least they exchanged those knowing sort of nods that
men think are very casual but anyone with half a
brain can see right through.

I wasn't sure whose Rite this celebration was for,
but Surehand had gone all out. There were white
tents scattered across the manicured lawns. Path-
ways between the tents were lit by magical means—
nothing so mundane as electric lights for Lugh
Surehand's guests. Garlands of flowers were draped
over anything that stood still. Staff dressed in|
Surehand's colors circulated among the guests carry-
ing tray after tray of wine and Epicurean delights.
Even the weather had been manipulated. It was cool
but not chilly, and the rain that had plagued us all
day was finally gone.

I noticed that all the servants seemed to be orks
and dwarfs and almost all the guests elves. I knew
that when the Tir was established they'd made a big
show of inviting non-elven metahumans, but I sus-
pected that it was more the desire for cheap labor
than altruism.

Hanging back at the edge of the party, I stayed in
the shadows, pulling Caimbeul with me.

"What are they?" I hissed, pointing at several
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elves dressed in solid-black partial body armor that
resembled the plate mail worn by knights in the thir-
teenth century. Some sported SMGs, others more
lethal-looking weapons. Around them I could dis-
cern magical auras.

"They're Paladins," he replied. "Part of
Surehand's personal guard. He takes younger sons
from the noble families and makes them swear fealty
to him. Ehran started the whole thing, I think.

"It keeps them out of trouble. Otherwise they'd be
brawling among themselves, or plotting to do in
their older siblings. Let's face it, this hierarchical so-
ciety they've reinstated has some serious draw-
backs."

I nodded. "Only so many can be on top, and since
who ends up there is already decided, it leaves ev-
eryone else with any ambition pretty much hosed.
It's actually a pretty clever solution. Channel all that
brawn and energy into supporting the status quo.

"But why would Surehand need them here? I
know he has some sort of magical wards to protect
this place. And I'm sure there's a mundane security
system in place. Is there really that much chance for
assassination?"

Caimbeul shrugged. "Probably not, but would you
wantJour bully boys to think they're being shirked
socially? Much better to keep them handy."

"And you wonder why I've never been much for
society," I said. "This all seems like such a waste of
time to me. I don't have the stomach for it."

Caimbeul reached out and placed his hand lightly
on the small of my back. I was wearing a gown cut
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Caroline Spector

very low in the back. The contact of his hand against
my naked flesh made me shiver.

"I think we'd best make ourselves known," Caim-
beui said. "I wouldn't want to get caught lurking
here in the shadows."

We moved forward then, stepping into the golden
wash provided by the floating wisps of light.
Caimbeui guided us from one group to the next with
the practiced grace and smoothness I'd forgotten he
possessed. After- all, he'd spent time both in
Alachia's court as well as the courts of the Northern
Kingdoms, while I had made myself an outcast from
society many times over.

With each group, we moved closer and closer to
Lugh Surehand. It was a ballet of conversation,
compliments, and jockeying for position. I was so
caught up in admiring Caimbeui's easy skills as a
courtier that I forgot for a moment to pay attention
to who was moving toward us.

"Aina," came a deep voice to my left. "It has
been far too long. How are you, my dear?"

I found myself being kissed on both cheeks by a
tallish man dressed in an exquisitely cut suit of
black worsted wool. His long, steel-colored hair
hung unbound down to the middle of his back, and
he had almond-shaped, preternaturally golden eyes.

"Oh come now, Aina. Don't you recognize me?"

I blinked, taken aback by the unexpected inti-
macy. Then I looked more closely at him. "Lofwyr,"
I said. "I didn't expect to see you in such a place.
Nor in this guise."

The dragon laughed. "When in Rome and all
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that," he said. "But what about you? Sheep's cloth-
ing? Or is it a new designer? As I recall, you were
more fond of Chanel than anything else. But this
doesn't look like anything I've seen lately."

I smoothed a hand over the gray velvet of my
dress, a nervous gesture that I caught and made my-
self stop.

"I had no idea you were so interested in fashion,"
I said. "A new hobby, or are you just bored?"

"Nothing is boring for long here," he said. "And
now you have appeared after such a long time. Have
you come to be reunited with your people?"

I gave him an incredulous look. "I believe my po-
sition on 'my people' was made long ago, Lofwyr.
And you'd best not forget it. It makes my task here
all the more difficult."

"So, you have come to play Cassandra," Lofwyr
said. "You'd do well to remember what happened to
her."

I took a drink of my champagne to keep from
frowning at him. At least it was Krystal and not a
bad vintage. The privileges of power. Caimbeui had
listened to pur conversation without saying any-
thing. I glanced at him to judge his mood, but he
was looking past Lofwyr. I turned, following his
gaze, and'saw that a young man was staring at us.

I froze, for a moment thinking that I was seeing
Aithne Oakforest, but this elf was too young to be
Aithne. On second glance I saw the differences be-
tween them. The slightly petulant mouth. The
spoiled expression on his face. The bored gaze. He
had some of his father's coloring and bone structure,
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Caroline Spector

but the hair was too light and the eyes darker. Still,
there was no doubt in my mind that this was
Glasgian, Aithne's oldest son. Or at least the oldest
surviving one.

The thought of Aithne's son pushed the breath
from me. That I could still feel the pain of this mo-
ment, even after all this time, astounded me. And I
knew that my hopes for Aithne's forgiveness were in
vain.

I felt Caimbeul's hand on my elbow and heard his
voice in my ear as though it were coming from a
long way off, like an old-fashioned radio broadcast.
"I know seeing him is a bit of a shock, Aina,"
Caimbeui said. "But don't let it throw you. He isn't
Aithne, and he's not the ghost of Hebhel come back
to haunt you. Remember what's important now."

I turned toward Caimbeui, pulling my gaze from
Glasgian. "I'm sorry," I said. My voice was reedy
and thin in my ears. "He gave me such a start."

"Are you all right, Aina?" asked Lofwyr. "You
look positively green. Maybe you should sit down."

"No," I said, more firmly this time. "I just felt a
little strange for a moment there."

Lofwyr glanced over his shoulder at Glasgian.
"Ah, he does look quite like his father, doesn't he?
No wonder it gave you a start. There's no love lost
between you and Aithne. Is there?

"I've always wondered about that. It seemed so
strange ..."

"Perhaps some other time," said Caimbeui as he
led me away from the dragon.

He steered me about the perimeter of the party,
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keeping up a steady flow of nods and polite remarks
as we strolled.

"Surehand is just ahead," he said. "Do you think
you're up to meeting with him?"

I nodded. "Of course," I said. "It was just a mo-
mentary lapse."

Tilting my glass then, I drank the rest of the
champagne with one large gulp. A waiter passed
close by and I grabbed another glass from him. How
I wished it were something stronger.

"You don't suppose Surehand has a supply of
Taengele lying about, do you?" I asked.

Caimbeui gave a little frown. I returned it and he
knew better than to go over that old ground with me.
Oh, I knew that particular demon was never far
away, but I didn't succumb to it anymore.

"I'm certain there is little that Lugh denies him-
self," Caimbeui said. "But we haven't time to
indulge that particular vice of yours right now."

I downed the second glass and got a small head-
ache from the bubbles.

"Very well," I said, giving him a grand wave of
my hand. "Lead on, MacDuff."

He rolled his eyes, but said nothing as he took my
hand and led me to the small circle where Lugh
Surehand stood.

"May I present Aina Sluage, Lugh," said Caim-
beui.

I extended my hand and Lugh Surehand brought it
UP to his Ups and kissed it. He was much taller than
I. with a slender build. His hair was dark red, almost
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Caroline Spector

the color of newly turned maple leaves in fall. His
eyes were green as summer grass.

I thought he might have looked quite at home in
Elizabethan times with his goatee and the rakish scar ,
he sported on his neck. I knew from Caimbeui that
it was an old injury, one that ran across and down
his neck and across his shoulder.

There was an aura of command about him, though •
I thought he might have toned it down somewhat to
accommodate the temperaments of the other Elders.
I suspected that Aithne, Ehran, and the others would
never tolerate the idea that they were being led by
anyone.

"Ah, so you are Aina," he said. "I have heard so
many things about you. How is that we have not met
over the years?"

I smiled very slowly at him. "My misfortune, no
doubt," I said. "I have always been cursed with bad
luck."

"No, madam, the ill fortune was mine," he mur-
mured. He had not yet released my hand.

So that was how it was to be. All so very polite
and civilized, until, of course, the knives came out.

"Would you like a tour of the grounds?" Surehand:

asked.                                           ;

"Delighted," I said. "I understand they are most
impressive."

I let him pull me to his side and tucked my hand
into the crook of his elbow. "I am curious," he said
as he led me away from the small circle of people
and down toward his great house. "I understand you
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knew Goya. I have always been a great admirer of
his work. Tell me, was he mad there at the end?"

I glanced over my shoulder at Caimbeui, but he
was already engaged in conversation with a pretty
young woman to whom we'd just been introduced,
the Countess Teargan. She was Surehand's constant
companion, and even Caimbeui was unable to ascer-
tain the nature of their relationship.

"I suppose all humans go mad upon realizing that
they will die soon," I said. "Isn't that their great
misfortune?"

Surehand glanced at me, his face shrewd for a
moment before the pleasant mask slipped back into
place.

"I don't believe you find it to be," he said. "I've
always found that peculiar about you. You seem to
despise your immortal state."

"Despise is a bit strong," I said lightly. "I find the
proposition a bit strange. It occurs to me that we few
have had so much time, yet we have not done any
great good with it. And often we have done such
harm in the name of ourselves."

"Perhaps we are beyond such notions as good or
bad," he said. We were crossing the broad expanse
of green lawn. Lawn that should have been brown
this time of year.

"But isn't that the very problem?" I asked.
"So you concern yourself with loftier matters than

ours—is that it?" he asked.
I could hear the edge in his voice. "No," I said. "I

only know that my choices are those I can live with

"ay to day."

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Caroline Spector

We reached the foot of the wide steps leading up
to a terrace outside the house. In the dim light, it
looked gray-white and unreal. As though it were
some creation conjured up to amaze.

"Yet you come here to ask for my help," he said
as he led me up the steps. It was getting colder, and
I shivered. He pulled off his jacket and draped it
over my shoulders. It smelled of orris root, tobacco,
and musk.

"Yes," I said. "I have news that I believe must be
told not only to the Elders, but to the world at
large."

Pushing open the wide glass doors, Surehand ges-
tured for me to enter the house. Inside it was dark
and shadowy. I banged my knee on something and
gave a little yelp. Instantly, the room was bathed in
golden light.

"It's that damn ottoman," he said. "I keep telling
the maids not to leave it here, but they never listen.
Are you all right?"

I flopped down on the ottoman and pulled my
skirt up to look at the damage. It was minor, but I
could tell there would be a bruise the next day.

"It's nothing," I said as I smoothed my skirt back
down. "Is it safe to talk here?"

"Yes," he replied. "The house and grounds are
swept on a regular basis for any sort of bugging—
magical or otherwise. I'm curious, though. You are
here with Harlequin. Surely you know he is at odds
with Ehran."

"I know," I said. "But his relationship with you is
still intact. And I have much more severe problems
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among the Elders of this Tir myself. Aithne and
Alachia, for example. From whom I suspect you
have received much of your information about me."

He dropped into a chair opposite me and looked
me over.

"You are both not at all what they described and
quite like their descriptions," he said after a mo-
ment. "But I'm not so foolish as to acquire all my
information from only two sources—and those with
grudges, no less."

"And what have you found?" I asked. My ego
speaking, no doubt.

Surehand settled into his chair, then propped his
feet next to me on the ottoman.

"You have stayed out of political dealings for
most of this cycle. You disapprove of the way we've
been handling matters thus far; According to Aithne,
who rarely allows any mention of your name, you
are worse than any nightmare."

That stung, coming from someone else. So he
hated me enough still to try and sabotage me at ev-
ery turn. Well, perhaps it was no more than I de-
served.

"Ah," I said. "Aithne always did have a way with
words."

, Lugh Surehand laughed. It was deep and rusty, as
though he didn't use it often.

"Alachia underestimates you," he said. "She said
you had little wit."

I shrugged. "Alachia underestimates anyone who
doesn't automatically worship her—or those who
cannot be led around by portions of their anatomy."
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Caroline Specter

"I know little of the animosity between the three
of you. Aithne refuses to speak of it, and Alachia
holds it out like a trinket, then snatches it away
when one gets too close."

I smoothed the velvet of my gown across my
knees. In the warm light it took on a deep silver cast.
Anything to distract me from memories of the past.

"Do you know the story of Scheherazade?" I
asked.

For a moment, Surehand looked startled, but I
knew he would quickly replace that with his usual
bland expression. I wasn't disappointed. And it oc-
curred to me that for all his show of calmness and
balance, he was really quite formidable. After all, he
had managed to remain High Prince since the found-
ing of Tir Taimgire. With all the political intrigue so
rife among the Elders, he should have been ousted
long ago. But here he was in complete control of the
Tir.

"She was married to a sultan. He killed every
other wife he took after only one night with her," be-
gan Surehand. "On the first night of Scheherazade's
marriage to him, she refused to lay with him, in-
sisting instead that she would tell him a story. Each
night continued after the first the same way. She
kept him spellbound with her wit and stories. It con-
tinued thus for a thousand nights.

"At the end of the thousand nights, the sultan had
fallen in love with Scheherazade and couldn't bring
himself to kill her. Thus was she spared."

I clapped my hands softly together. "Bravo," I
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

said. "Nicely told. You will go far should you ever
become the wife of a sultan."

"Am I to take it that you have no desire to be-
come my Scheherazade?"

"I think now would not be the time for those sto-
ries. I would not cloud the danger of the present
with tales from the past."
"And if I were to insist?"
I shut my eyes. "Then I would oblige," I said.
"Then this must be a very serious matter indeed,"
he said.

I opened my eyes. He was looking at me with an
unreadable expression. I knew then that I would
never willingly make an enemy of him. To do so
would be far too dangerous, even for me.
"I would not come here otherwise," I said.
"Very well," he said. "What is it you wish?"
"For you to call an emergency meeting of the
High Council."

C

195

She's in a dark house. At first, she thinks it is
Lugh Surehand's mansion, but then she realises this
is no place she's been before.

Outside, she hears the roar of helicopters. Bril-
liant lights come streaming around the edges of
the drawn shades. Then the door bursts open and
shadow figures are coming inside. They hold weap-
ons and they are grabbing. Grabbing the other peo-
ple who are here. There are screams and she starts
to run. Run away from the faceless things breaking
into her dream.

22

"It went well then?" asked Caimbeul.

We were in the back of the limo again. I still had
Surehand's jacket around my shoulders. I'd forgot-
ten to take it off as he led me back to the party.

"He agreed to call a meeting of the High Coun-
cil," I replied. "It went much better than I expected.
But I suspect he'll want something in return."

"And what might that be?"

"I have no idea," I said. "But I think he might be
more dangerous than both Aithne and Alachia."

"Lugh Surehand?" Caimbeul was incredulous.
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

"He's good enough at compromise and juggling the
players, but a threat? Please."

Ignoring his arrogance, I stared out the tinted win-
dows. The rain-slick streets flashed by. On a corner
I saw a pair of trolls dressed in the height of fashion.
I wondered briefly what they were doing here in this
neighborhood, then let them fade from my mind.

"You're a fool if you underestimate him, Caim-
beul. He has neither Aithne's temper nor Alachia's
ego. How has he managed to stay in power all this
time? That isn't the feat of someone who should be
taken lightly.

"Didn't I read something about an assassination
attempt, not too long ago? Despite that, he's still in
power. More the wonder if one of us was behind it."

"You sound impressed," he said. "I can't remem-
ber the last time anyone impressed you."

"What are you talking about?"

"You sound like a school girl."

"Don't be asinine," I said. I was getting impatient.
"You haven't been listening. Yes, I find him interest-
ing, but not in the way you seem to think. He's a
force to be reckoned with and not just some puppet
put in place by Aithne, Ehran, and Laverty."

Caimbeul made a smug little noise. I turned to-
ward him.

"What was that?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said.

"Why are you making such an issue out of this?"

"You're the one who won't let it drop."

I gave an exasperated sigh and turned away from
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Caroline Spector

him. Sometimes there was no knowing what was in
Caimbeul's head.

The main room of the penthouse was dark when
we entered. Some pale light filtered in through the
terrace windows. The light from the hallway made a
wide triangular shape on the floor and cast our shad-
ows long in it.

I banged my injured knee on something and let
out a curse. Enough of this, I thought, and caused a
light to appear. The room leapt into view, and it took
my eyes a moment to adjust to the light.

There, sitting on the couch, was Aithne's son,
Glasgian Oakforest.

"Ah, perhaps the very last person I might have
expected," said Caimbeul. His voice was pleasant,
but I knew from his far too casual stance that he was
very angry.

Glasgian stretched and made himself more com-
fortable. A trick he'd learned from his father.

"My business doesn't concern you. Harlequin," he
said. He had a spoiled rich-kid way of speaking. I
didn't know who I was more disappointed in—him
or Aithne.

"I beg to differ," said Harlequin. "It most cer-
tainly is my business when I find an intruder in my
hotel room. Besides, aren't you worried about what
Daddy would say?"

Glasgian blanched and clenched his fists. That
was his father's temper showing. "I've reached my
majority, Harlequin. I don't answer to my fa . . .
Aithne anymore."

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"Stop it, Caimbeul," I said. "Just let him state his
business, then he'll be on his way."

"I don't want to talk with him around," said Glas-
gian.

"Why should I talk to you alone?" I asked.

"Because of who my father is."

"All the more reason not to trust you."

Glasgian began to look a little desperate. What a
baby he was, trying so hard to play in a game he
didn't even begin to understand.

"Very well," I said. "Caimbeul, I'll deal with
him."

"But ..."

"What can he do?" I asked in Theran. "He's a
child."

"What better way to get your guard down?"

"Aithne would not sacrifice his son. Not to me."

Caimbeul shrugged, then gave Glasgian one last
hard look before casually moving off toward his
bedroom.

I slipped off my high-heeled shoes, giving a little
sigh as I did so. Murderous things, high heels. Im-
practical too. Who could run or defend herself in
them? I stayed away from them as much as possible.

Ignoring Glasgian for the moment, I went to the
portable^ bar. My feet sank into the thick carpeting
and I wriggled my toes against it as I poured myself
a healthy snifter of cognac. I didn't bother to ask
Glasgian if he wanted any. He'd already helped him-
self.

I was tired and didn't relish any more verbal
wrangling. Lugh Surehand had worn out what little
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Caroline Specter

sociability I had in me. What I wanted right now
was to be alone. The Council meeting would be held
day after tomorrow, and I would need all my energy
for that.

I turned and looked Glasgian over. Here, one on
one, he seemed less cocksure and full of himself.
For a moment, I felt a surge of protectiveness, but I
pushed it aside. Those sorts of things were always
messy, in my experience.

"What do you want?" I asked. It came out sharper
than I'd intended. He looked a bit wounded.

"I ... I was wondering ... That is ... uh .. .What
are you to my father?" he blurted out.

I walked over to one of the large armchairs that
flanked the couch and sat down. The polished cotton
fabric was cool against my back.

"Why do you ask?"

"Because he hates you more than he loves my
mother."

"They are separated now, are they not?"

He nodded and looked more like a child than the
man he had just become.

"I am his past," I said. "And he would rather not
remember it. I don't think anyone reaches a reason-
able age without some regrets. Not if you're doing it
right."

"But, were you in love? He won't say anything
about it. Just that you are something awful. When I
saw you, I couldn't believe you were the one he'd
been talking about."

"What did you expect? Horns sprouting from my
forehead and long fangs?"
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"I guess I thought I'd see something that would
explain, but all I see is you. And you don't look so
terrifying."

I laughed. "I'm surprised you're allowed out on
your own, Glasgian. You are refreshingly naive, but
I fear you're a bit stupid as well."

He flushed deep red at that.

"Where did you get the rather peculiar idea that
you could tell how dangerous someone is by their
appearance? Good heavens, not from your father,
I'm sure."

"I didn't come here to be insulted," he said.

"No, you came here to invade my privacy and
your father's. Not terribly polite of you, if we're
counting coup. If that is the reason you came, you'd
better go now. I'm tired and I have no patience for
indulging a child's curiosity."

I thought this would send him on his way in an in-
dignant huff, but he surprised me. He got up and
came toward me, sinking to his knees in front of me.
Taking my free hand in his, he brought it to his lips
and kissed it. Quite a workout that hand was getting
tonight, I thought.

"Do you think you'll send me on my way with in-
sults?" he asked.

"Yes, that was the idea."

"It won't work. I saw how you looked at me when
you first saw me. Don't deny it, you wanted me."

I snatched my hand away from him. "Stop it," I
said angrily. "This has really gone far enough. I was
startled for a moment because you look like your fa-
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Caroline Spector

ther. For obvious reasons, I didn't want to encounter
him."

"Yes, I do look like him," he said softly, lean-
ing toward me until I could smell the whiskey and
cinnamon on his breath. "You could pretend I am
him. Imagine it, a way to go back and undo the
past."

I stood up and stared down at him. How very like
Aithne he looked at that moment. But he was only a
simulacrum, a faint copy of his father. And twisted
in such ways that I wondered at what had caused it.

"What sort of rotten plan do you have in mind?"
I asked. "You thought you'd come here, seduce me,
then run back to Aithne and throw it in his face. I
can't imagine what your father may have done to
make you angry enough at him to do such a thing."

Glasgian wrapped his arms around my legs and
buried his face in the material of my skirt. "It's
more than that," he said. "When I saw you tonight,
something happened to me ... I've never felt like
this."

With a quick jerk, I put my knee to his chest. He
toppled over, letting go of my dress. I danced away
from him, putting several pieces of furniture be-
tween us.

"It is only my respect for your father that keeps
me from treating you as you deserve. This display
was shameful and not worthy of either me or your
father. Get out before I lose my temper."

He gave me a smug smile as he straightened his
clothes. "It doesn't matter that nothing happened
here tonight. I'll tell Aithne it did."
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"You are an evil little shit," I said flatly.

He gave me a low bow, but before he could
straighten, something caught my attention. Spinning
about, I saw that the doors to the terrace had blown
open. There, standing in the doorway was the Hor-
ror, Ysrthgrathe.

He was as I remembered. Cloaked in deep brown,
power radiating off him like a corona. Though his
face was shadowed by his hood, I knew how it
would appear: cadaverous, with the sienna flesh
pulled taut against his skull. The collapsed nose, the
yellowed teeth, the heavily muscled arms that
burned my flesh as he held it. Under the cloak was
his tail. Thick as a man's waist, with protruding
bony ridges.

"Ah, I see I must again rescue you from those
who would deprive me of my pleasure," Ysrthgrathe
said. "You look quite faint, my dear. Is it such a
shock to see me again after all this time? I'm
wounded. I thought you would have expected me by
now."

The air was gone. It felt as though everything was
going black. I thought I heard Glasgian's panicked
cry, but it seemed to come from some far-off place.
I struggled to overcome my panic. In the seconds it
took me to regroup, Ysrthgrathe had slid across the
floor and grabbed Glasgian.

Backing away from me, he held Glasgian against
his chest as a shield. Around Glasgian's neck were
Ysrthgrathe's long fingers tipped by razor-sharp
nails. Glasgian was making little hiccuping noises.
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Caroline Spector

"Let him go," I said. "This doesn't concern
him."

Ysrthgrathe threw back his head and laughed. It
bounced off the walls and echoed inside me like a
low-throbbing ache.

"Aina, it has indeed been too long. I've missed
these little tete-a-tetes. Do you think I don't know
who this child is? Come now, I'm not that much of
a fool. The irony is almost too perfect. Is it not?"
Then he gave a sigh of such perfect rapture that I
felt as though a shaft of ice had been driven into my
heart.

"How long have you denied me this most perfect
of pleasures?" he asked. "I've been waiting for you
patiently. You've denied me for far too long. And
now you shall pay."

He began to draw his nails across Glasgian's
neck. The blood welled up after a moment and trick-
led down into the white shirt. Glasgian gave a moan,
and a dark spot appeared on the front of his trousers
and grew.

"Stop it," I shrieked.

Just then, there was a violent flash, a purple jolt of
energy, behind Ysrthgrathe. The force of it lifted
him and Glasgian off the floor and hurtled them to-
ward me. I dropped to the floor, but still, my shoul-
der was caught by one of them as they flew by. The
force of the impact rolled me over and over until I
came to rest against a table.

I looked up and saw Caimbeui standing just be-
yond the door to his bedroom. There was a crackling
of energy around him. Then I heard another sound
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and turned my head to see what it was. Ysrthgrathe's
robes burst into flame. With the briefest nod of the
head, he extinguished the flames, and turned to Har-
lequin with a smile. But he'd also let go of Glasgian,
who was making whimpering noises and clutching
his throat.

Cursing my long skirts, I struggled to my feet and
raced over to him. I pulled his hands away from his
neck and looked at the wound. It was bleeding pro-
fusely, but wasn't as deep as I'd feared. Placing my
hands on the wound, I began to pull the weave of his
life together. My hands grew warm, then hot as the
magic worked its way into his flesh. Glasgian tried
to move away from me, but I tightened my hands
and that stopped him.

I heard a cry, and looked up to see Caimbeui fall-
ing backwards, arms and legs splayed out. A bright
orange flash blinded me for a moment, and when I
could see again, Ysrthgrathe stood over Caimbeui.
The sweet smell of burning flesh came to me and I
fought against the memories it called forth.

I opened my arms, and a blue light leapt between
my palms. It coalesced into a ball of blue-white bril-
liance. Turning my palms outward toward Ysrthgrathe,
I pushed the ball away from me. It hurtled across the
room and slammed into Ysrthgrathe's side.

The impact spun him around, and then he crashed
into the wall with a howl of indignation.

"Ah, Aina," he said, holding his side. "You still
care. But despite my gratitude to find that you are as
I remember, our sweet reunion must be cut short. I
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Caroline Spector

cannot say I approve of your choice of company, but
rest assured, I will rectify that in the future."

With that, he vanished.

I sank to the floor just as someone began banging
on the door to the penthouse.

206

No more dreams now.

The nightmares have merged with the waking
world. The time for running is over.

Now her sleep is covered by nothing. Nothing ex-
cept darkness.

23

The pounding at the door continued. Through the
thick steel door I could hear a voice calling.

"This is hotel security. Is everything all right in
there? If we don't hear an answer in twenty seconds,
we're coming in."

"Damn, damn, damn," I muttered as I pushed my-
self off the floor and stumbled to the door. The left
sleeve on my dress was torn, and it slid off my arm.
I shoved it up, but it fell down again. Reaching the
door, I flung it open.

"What do you want?" I said, trying to keep a bal-
ance between annoyance and huskiness in my tone.

"There was a report from the floor below," said
one of the uniformed guards. There were two of
them—big troll bruisers lugging heavy-duty artil-
lery. "Something about a lot of shooting and bang-
ing around. Is everything all right?"

"Of course," I said.

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Caroline Specter

"Mind if we come in?"

"I don't, but my companion might," I said. "He's
a bit ... tied up at the moment." I gave them a hot
smoldering look, and one of them looked distinctly
uncomfortable.

"Oh ..."

"But we're always to open to variety," I contin-
ued. "I can't remember the last time we had com-
pany. That is, if your boss won't mind letting you
off-duty for a while."

"Uh ..."

"Well, what's it to be?"

"I don't think we need to stay. As long as every-
thing is all right."

"We're both fine," I purred. "Really."

The trolls backed away down the hall. I watched
them for a moment, then gave them a slow, nasty
smile and shut the door.

"What are we going to do about Glasgian?"
Caimbeui asked me. He'd just finished off a spell to
. take care of the wounds he'd suffered in the struggle
with Ysrthgrathe.

Unfortunately, Glasgian was in no condition to of-
fer an opinion about his plans. A thin dribble of sa-
liva hung from one corner of his gaping mouth. His
eyes were vacant and glassy. When I touched his
cheek it was cold and clammy.

"We'll keep him here until after the Council
meets. If necessary, we can use him as a demonstra-
tion," I said.

"That wouldn't be advisable," replied Caimbeui.
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

"Aithne," I said.

"Yes."

"Help me with him," I said, taking one of
Glasgian's arms.

Together, we managed to drag him to my room
and lay him down on the bed. I disconnected the
telecom, then cast a spell to protect and hold him.
Back in the living room, we righted the furniture
toppled during the fight. I went to the terrace doors
and shut them.

After a couple of medicinal drinks, I felt more
like myself.

"I told you," I said as I finally came to sit beside
Caimbeui on the sofa. "I told you he was here. That
he'd found a way through." My hands shook and I
took another deep drink. And wished for something
else. Something more potent.

"I believed you," he said. "But I didn't think the
threat was all that great."

"Because you thought you'd already dealt with
them. But they're coming like locusts. And they
won't stop until they've all made it through."

"Things are different now."

"How?"

_ "The weapons. The Matrix. And the magic. There
is always the magic."

I snorted, then got up to pour myself another
drink. "Have you forgotten everything?" I asked.
"They leam. They're patient. The first few may die,
but there's no end to them."

"Don't you think you've had enough?"
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Caroline Spector

I turned and threw my glass at him. It disappeared
a moment before it would have hit his face.

"Aina," he said. "I'm on your side. I just can't
stand to see you destroying yourself over this."

"For heaven's sake, Caimbeui, I've just seen the
face of my most dreaded enemy after six thousand
years, and you're carping about a couple of drinks.
It would take far more than that to slow me down
right now."

"Pax," he said, holding up his hands. "I want no
more fights tonight. One was quite enough. Let's put
up a ward, then get some sleep."

"So, are you sleeping on the couch or am I?" I
asked.

"Well, it's my bedroom," he said.

"Very well," I replied. "I should have known
better than to expect you to be a gentleman about
it."

"You're a real pain, you know."

"Oh, I'm fatally wounded," I said. "Do you have
an extra blanket?"

He shook his head. "Look, why don't we just
share the bed? It's not like we haven't before."

I looked away. "That was different," I said. "It
was a long time ago."

"I promise to restrain myself," he said.

"I don't know whether to be flattered or of-
fended."

"You'll be whatever annoys you the most."

I swept by him, going toward his bedroom.
"You're right," I said.

* * *

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There was more than enough room in the bed for
both of us. Three full-sized orks would have been
comfortable in it. Despite, or maybe because of,
Caimbeul's promise, I couldn't sleep. I'd been afraid
to sleep because of the dreams. But now I suspected
there would be no more dreams.

Ysrthgrathe, my old enemy. More faithful than
any lover. The weight of my past with him hung in
my mind. I shut my eyes, but images kept coming to
me. The trail of death and blood that followed me
because of him.

A sick feeling settled into my stomach and
worked its way up my throat. I shuddered at the
thought of the pain and suffering that I knew Ysrth-
grathe would inflict. All in my name.

A low moan escaped my lips.

"Aina," said Caimbeui.

"Did I wake you?" I asked. "I'm sorry."

"No," he said. "I can't sleep. I'm feeling cold. Do
you mind if I hold you? Strictly for warmth."

I slid across the vast expanse of the bed into the
warmth of his arms. And still it was many hours be-
fore I slept.

A banging woke me the next morning.
"Doesn't anyone just knock in this hotel?" asked
Caimbeui. We were tangled up together, just like we
used to be in other, happier times. He threw off the
covers and grabbed his robe from the edge of the
bed.

I pulled the covers up over my head and tried to
go back to sleep, but then I remembered where I was
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Caroline Spector

and what that meant. With a groan, I threw the cov-
ers off and made my way to the bathroom.

Just as I shut the door, I heard the sound of
voices, so I poked my head out.

"What? Surprised to see me?"

Ehran.

I groaned. More bad luck. But wasn't that always
the case? I rummaged through Caimbeul's suitcase
and found a shirt, a pair of pants, and a belt. Not
fashionable, but it would have to do.

As I pushed open the door leading to the living
room, I could see them squaring off against one an-
other, even though they would never actually do
anything here.

"Well, well," I said brightly, stepping into the
room. "Ehran, won't you join us for breakfast?"

"Aina," he said. "It's been a long time."

"Isn't it always?" I replied. "I know the two of
you are just dying to go at one another, but I'm re-
ally famished. I'll call down. What are you in the
mood for?"

"Answers," Ehran said.

"I don't think that's on the menu."

He jerked his thumb toward Caimbeul. "Why do
you spend so much of your time with him?" I half
expected Caimbeul to take the bait, but he only
glared back at his old rival. Maybe he was keeping
quiet because he knew how important all of this was
to me.

"Slumming," I said. "It keeps me off the streets.
Really, Ehran, who knows why certain people al-
ways seem to end up together?"
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

"Then tell me why you're both here. And why did
you have a meeting with Lugh Surehand last night?
Which seems to have resulted in an emergency
meeting of the High Council being called."

"Good heavens, Ehran," I said. "With spies that
good, why do you need to come to us?"

"When I found out you were here as well as him,
I decided to come," Ehran said.

I opened the room service menu and glanced over
the selections. "Really, Ehran, I'm touched, but
we've never been close. And only rarely allied. Why
come?"

"Don't try to discuss anything with him, Aina,"
said Caimbeul. While Ehran and I had been talking,
he'd walked to the window and pulled open the
drapes. Weak sunlight filled the room. The sky was
overcast and looked like it might rain.

"Don't listen to him, Aina," said Ehran. "He just
thinks—"

"Would you both shut up?" I nearly shouted.
"Haven't you grown tired of all this bickering?
There are more important matters at stake than your
interminable feud."

"Well, now we're getting down to it," said Ehran.

"For heaven's sake, Aina," said Caimbeul. "Don't
breathe a word to him. He'll go running to everyone
else quick as you please, and you'll be sunk before
you've had a fair hearing."

Then they were off and running. Nothing ever got
solved between the two of them—it was still that old
business. I confess, my sympathies lay with Caim-
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Caroline Spector

beui—he was the aggrieved party, after all—but
that's another story, for another time.

I waited until they ran out of steam, which they
eventually did. They sat at opposite ends of the
room glowering at each other.

"So," I said. "What would you both like for
breakfast?"

"Why won't you tell me?" Ehran asked for per-
haps the thirtieth time.

I wiped my mouth with the napkin and dropped it
onto my empty plate with the remains of the lavish
breakfast we'd ordered. Caimbeui had loaded a plate
with food, then disappeared into his bedroom. Pour-
ing myself another cup of coffee—the real stuff, not
that awful soykaf—I got up and went to one of the
large armchairs and plopped down on it.

"First, because you and Aithne are long-time
friends. I suspect anything you hear from me goes
straight back to him. Second, you're also close to
Alachia. Oh, don't give me the surprised look. I
know she's been a member of the Council since the
beginning. You were smart to try to keep that secret,
though. There are still a few of us who remember
the old days.

"I would hate to think what might happen should
Alachia's influence become more ... assertive. I be-
lieve things might get very difficult indeed. Just re-
member, Lofwyr is keeping an eye on things."

Ehran didn't say anything, but leaned back in his
chair and lit a cigarette. I got up and went to open
the terrace doors. Nasty habit, that. I'd taken it up
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

briefly and put it aside as quickly. The Indians had
the right idea about tobacco. It wasn't a thing to be
taken casually. They understood that. Unfortunately,
the Europeans didn't.

"I might think that there was a threat in what
you're saying," said Ehran.

"No," I said softly. "I don't threaten. You know
better than that. I'm just letting you know my posi-
tion."

"Don't you think it's a bad idea to alienate me
right before the meeting of the Council?" He blew
little smoke rings and watched them float away from
him.

"I know you're willing to hear the truth. And that
you might be willing to overlook my unfortunate
choice in companions."

Ehran smiled at me. "I've always liked you, de-
spite your strange politics."
"That and Aithne."

"Yes," he said. "We've all made enemies of one
another over the years. It comes from time and con-
tact. Such a terrible thing—to be bound together
over such a span. Do you sometimes grow weary?"

"Oh, yes," I said. I rose from my chair and went
to the terrace doors to close them. Now that Ehran
had finished with his cigarette, I found the chill air
more than I could bear. It seeped into my bones to-
day. I tried to blame it on the humidity, the gray sky,
the wind.

"Sometimes," he said softly, "I wonder if we all
don't go a little mad from it. In our own ways, of
course,"

215

Caroline Specter

"How so?"

"Harlequin's and my ongoing quarrel. Alachia's
actions in Blood Wood. Your own rejection of your
people for the Great Worms. Are not all of these in-
sanity?"

"It all depends on where you're looking from," I
replied.

He pushed himself away from the table. "I won't
say anything to anyone about your being here," he
said. "You may count on my discretion. By the way,
whatever happened to young Oakforest? Glasgian,
you remember? He was seen coming up here, then
he never came out. Where is he?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I said.
"Maybe your spies got it wrong."

"I doubt it. They're quite good at this sort of
thing."

"Well, he's not here."

"Then you won't mind if I take a look—"

"Yes, I would," I said quickly. "You're treading a
fine line here, Ehran. Even if he were here, which
he's not, it wouldn't be any of your business. Let's
leave it at that. Shall we?"

He gave another faint smile. "Very well, Aina," he
said. "But this is a dangerous game you're playing."

I walked to the door and opened it. "I know, but
when has it ever not been?"

As soon as the door shut, Caimbeui opened the
door to his room and peered out.

"I thought he'd never leave," he said.
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

"I can't believe you left me here to deal with
him," I said. "And he knows about Glasgian."

"Yes, I heard that."

"Well, we've got to get him out of here," I said.
"I just don't know if he's up to anything but the con-
ventional means."

"We may have no other choice."

I nodded, then turned and walked over to my bed-
room door and opened it. The room was still dark,
the shades pulled. A wedge of light from the living
room spilled across the bed, which was empty. I hit
the switch on the wall, flooding the room with elec-
tric light.

The room was empty. Glasgian Oakforest was
gone.

217

24

"He's gone," I said.

"What?"

"He's gone."

Caimbeui elbowed past me into the room.

"Maybe the bathroom?" he asked.

I pointed to the open bathroom door. "Unless he's
thinner than I remember. Or he's hiding in the
shower stall."

Caimbeui went and checked in the stall. "No, not
here."

I sagged against the dresser facing the bed. 'This
is very bad," I said. "What if he goes to Aithne?
We're lost then."

"I don't think he'll do that," Caimbeui said. He
touched the bed where Glasgian had lain. "It's cold.
He's probably been gone for a while. I suspect he
didn't leave by the usual methods, because other-
wise Ehran wouldn't have asked about him."

"Maybe Ehran took him," I said.

Caimbeui shook his head. "Not his style. Now, I'd
expect it from Alachia, except she'd be here now
crowing about it. And I don't think her network is as
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

sophisticated as Ehran's. What surprises me is that
we haven't heard from Aithne yet."

"Dumb luck," I said. "What are we going to do?"

"Nothing," he replied. "For right now. Whoever
has him will show their hand eventually, and if he
got out of here himself, then I doubt we'll hear any-
thing. He'll be too damn scared. After all, he's had
a look at what happens to people who get on the
wrong side of your faithful companion."

"Don't call him that," I snapped. "I haven't seen
him in millennia. I took care of him long ago. You
know that. I'm tired of paying for that mistake. It
won't just be me facing him this time. I'll have the
support of the others."

Caimbeui shrugged. "Perhaps," he said. "There's
no telling what they'll do."

I ran a hand across my scalp. "They've got to see
what's happening. After you tell them about Maui,
they'll understand. But what has me worried is how
anyone got past those wards."

Caimbeui didn't say anything.

The rest of the day dragged on interminably. After
the way the morning went, I kept expecting more
unwelcome visitors. But they never arrived.

The maids came and tidied the rooms, and I won-
dered which one of them was Ehran's spy. Or maybe
all of them were.

I jumped at every noise, and Caimbeul's annoying
habits became more and more glaring. Pencil-
tapping. Humming. Leg-jiggling. He twitched and
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Caroline Spector

fidgeted and moved around like a six-year-old need-
ing to pee.

I wondered why I'd ever had anything to do with
him.

The day of the Council meeting dawned clear and
cold. The drizzle and gray skies that had continued
for the last two days broke. It irked me that the ses-
sion had been set up for late afternoon. I had to
waste yet another day with the tension, boredom,
and Caimbeul's habits.

At four we began to get ready, and by five we
were in the rented limo heading for the meeting. It
was already beginning to grow dark as we finally
reached the estate where the meeting was to take
place.

It was located west of the city. As the car swung
into the wide gates flanking the drive, I saw that
there were hundreds of rose bushes lining the drive.
They were denuded of foliage. Their thorny canes
stark and skeletal against the fading October
sky.

Several other limos were parked in front of the
large house as we pulled up. There were also a cou-
ple of high-octane performance cars modified with
body armor.

"Looks like the joint's jumpin'," said Harlequin.
"Nice cars. I wonder who they belong to."

"Jinkies, Caimbeui, maybe you and the boys can
go drag racing after the sock hop," I said.

"You don't have to get snippy about it," he
said.

220

WORLDS WITHOUT END

"You're a gadabout," I said. "Utterly irresponsi-
ble. Can't you keep your mind on the matter at

hand?"

"Why should I?" he asked. "When you're per-
fectly capable of doing all the worrying for both of
us."

"Jerk."

"Shrew."

"Shmuck."

"Harpy."

I laughed. I couldn't help it.

"Well, shall we go and meet the crowd?" Caim-
beui asked. "I understand they've finished with the
pagans and are moving on to the Christians."

"I think they'll find us stringy and unpalat-
able."

"One can only hope."

•We were met at the door by a retinue of Surehand's
Paladins. They were attired in their Crusader-ish ar-
mor and toting SMGs, pistols, and other sidearms and
pieces of gear I knew nothing of. Such blind reliance
on technology could get these boys in a lot of trouble,
I thought.

We were escorted into the massive foyer and
down a wide hallway leading to the back of the
house. More like a palace. Fifteen-foot ceilings,
twelve-foot-wide hallways, heavy, cream-colored
damask wallpaper, marble tile underfoot. The Pala-
dins' boots made loud echoes against the floor.
Doorways leading off the halls showed enormous
221

Caroline Spector

rooms decorated in luxurious fabrics, woods, and
stone.

I wondered whose property this was. It dwarfed
Lugh Surehand's place in size and richness. I
couldn't imagine Aithne here. Nor Ehran. It hardly
seemed their style. Our invitation to the Council had
mentioned only the time and location: six p.m. at
Ozymandias. Caimbeui seemed to know where to
go.

At last we came to a set of doors at the end of the
hallway. The lead Paladin opened the doors and an-
nounced us.

"Aina Sluage and Caimbeui har lea Quinn," he
said.

I took a deep breath and stepped into the room.
Caimbeui was close behind.

Had I been Harlequin, I would have delighted at
the expressions passing over those faces, but I
was too nervous. I knew they wouldn't guess how I
felt. None of them knew me well enough to see
that.

"Courage," I heard Caimbeui whisper in my
ear.

Fires burned in the hearths at either end of the
hall. Oriental rugs were scattered over the inlaid
wood floor. Oversized chairs and couches were ar-
ranged in comfortable groupings. That is, comfort-
able if you're expecting a hundred or so of your
closest personal friends.

At one end of the hall were a handful of the Coun-
cil members. Lofwyr had changed from his black
suit into a lurid peacock-blue satin that would have
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

done a pimp proud. He smiled and bowed slightly at
me. I knew he'd probably remain neutral, no matter
what happened. Sometimes you just couldn't depend
on dragons.

Ehran was ensconced on one of the couches. He
wore his usual black, a habit that I found a trifle an-
noying. As though wearing black made you some-
how more imposing, or cool, or serious. Though it
did contrast nicely with his white hair and cold blue
eyes. We made eye contact, but I couldn't tell what
he was thinking. It was as though our meeting the
other day had never taken place.

Sean Laverty was perched on the arm of one of
the chairs. Unlike the other men, he was clean-
shaven. His eyes were clear leaf-green, his hair au-
burn. I knew he was against the technological
leanings of the Tir. Of the group, his garb was the
simplest. A T-shirt and jeans with a jacket thrown on
tqp. In one earlobe he wore a dangling silver dragon.
I wondered what Lofwyr made of that.

Sitting in the chair was Jenna Ni-Fairra. She was
whispering something to Laverty as I approached
the group.

"Sean, Jenna," I said.

"Aina," they replied in unison. I wondered for a
moment if they were joined at the hip.

"Did anyone miss me?" came a voice behind me.
An all too familiar voice. I turned. Alachia. She
glided over to Jenna and kissed her cheek. They
were remarkably alike. Except for the coloring, they
could have been twins. Where Alachia's hair was
deep red, Jenna's was platinum blond. Alachia's
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Caroline Specter

eyes were clear sapphire blue; Jenna's emerald
green. But the face was the same. Delicate and fey.
Unearthly beauty. What a bore.                  :

"Why must you wear these things?" asked
Alachia, grabbing Jenna's black leather jacket and
giving it a shake. "Upstairs I know you have a closet
full of ..."

Jenna gave her a hard look, and Alachia laughed
it off. "A mother's prerogative," she said lightly.
She glanced around the room. "Well, it looks as if
we're almost all here."

Just then there was the sound of raised voices
coming down the hall. We all turned. In a moment,
the doors flew open. Aithne burst in with the Paladin
guard hot on his heels. They tried to slow him down,
but he thrust one hand up behind him and they flew
back into the hall.

"What the hell were you thinking of with those/
damn roses?" said Aithne. "Alachia, if this is youir
sick idea of a jok—"

Then he saw me.

His face had been flushed. Now it went white.

"What the frag is she doing here?" he asked. His
voice was cold. Utterly devoid of emotion.

"Isn't it the nicest surprise?" said Alachia, coming
up next to him and tucking her arm in his. "Aina
asked Lugh to call a meeting of the Council. And he
agreed." She leaned against Aithne and beamed at
me.

I wanted to throttle her.

"I'm leaving," he said. "There is nothing that
woman can say that will interest me in the least."
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

He swung around and headed toward the door.

"You'd best not go," said Surehand. "I would
look unfavorably upon it."

Aithne stopped, then turned again, slowly.

"And what is that supposed to be?" Aithne asked.
"A threat?"

"No," replied Surehand. "I don't want you to let
old personal matters hinder your judgment of these
events. If you leave, you give tacit approval to any-
thing we decide."

"Not if I leave under protest."

"The result will be the same. We will make a de-
cision, and you will have to live with it."

Aithne glared at Surehand for a long moment.

"Very well. This woman," he said, pointing at me,
"is a treacherous bitch and nothing she says can be
trusted."

"So much for the impartial hearing," murmured
Caimbeul.

"Your taste in companions leaves much to be de-
sired," Aithne said to Caimbeul.

"People in glass houses," replied Caimbeul, look-
ing pointedly at Alachia. Aithne glanced down and
saw she was still attached to his arm. He jerked his
arm away and stalked to one of the large arm chairs,
where he flung himself down.

"All right," he said. "What's this all about?"

"Aina," said Lugh. "If you please."

Caimbeul gave me a little pat on the back, ther
went and took a seat on the couch next to Ehran
They began a subtle war of who could sprawl on tht
225

Caroline Specter

couch most. Aithne refused to look at me, while
Jenna and Sean whispered and giggled.

"As you all know," I began, "the magical forces
have been on an upsurge for the past fifty or so
years. Many of the old ways have returned, though
there have been some unforeseen changes due to the
technological state of this cycle. But that is neither
here nor there.

"In the past, great surges of magic have drawn the
Enemy to this place. The Therans solved this by
leading the world into the darkness of the kaers for
five hundred years. But we all know the prices paid
for those choices."

I paused for a moment and glanced around the
room. Ehran's expression was carefully blank.
Caimbeui gave me a little wink. Alachia yawned and
looked bored.

"There have been two serious encounters with the
Enemy in past months," I said. "Caimbeui defeated
them on the metaplanes. Then, more recently, he
told me about the encounter on Maui where the En-
emy actually managed to get through a portal
opened by kahunas of a tribe there during one of
their blood rituals."

"Did he say he actually drove them back?" asked
Ehran. "Aina, you know how he likes to take credit
for things he had nothing to do with."

"I don't recall you being there," said Caim-
beui.

"News travels fast. Harlequin," said Ehran. "You
always were a braggart."

"Would you both just stop," I said. I paced a bit.
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This was why I avoided them. All this petty bicker-
ing. We'd been in and out of each other's lives for
so long that everyone knew each other's sore spots.
Where to poke and prod. And yet, we still kept com-
ing together again.

"Who did what isn't important," I said. "The
point is, the Enemy is coming back. And they're
coming too soon. This world isn't ready. Its peo-
ple don't understand a damn thing about what's
happening. And we certainly haven't prepared
them."

"What do you think the Tir is?" asked Alachia.
"We're creating a place where the strong will sur-
vive."

"You mean where the elves will survive and ev-
eryone else on the planet can shift for themselves,"
I said.

"What's wrong with that?" asked Jenna, ever her
mother's daughter.

"Well, if you don't mind billions of innocent peo-
ple suffering unimaginable deaths," I said.

"Innocent blood has never bothered you before,"
interjected Aithne.

I looked at him and narrowed my eyes. As though
his loss had been greater than mine.

-"Things change," I said at last. "So do people.
Most people. But this is all beside the point. This
isn't some academic discussion. I believe that one
of the Enemy is already here. I don't know how he
managed to come across. Perhaps in Maui. Or may-
be there is another point of entry. All I know is that
he is here."

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Caroline Specter

There was a hush for a moment, then everyone
began to ask questions. Lugh called for them to calm
down.

"How do you know it's the Enemy?" Lugh
asked.

"He has contacted me," I said. "First, there were
dreams. Then I received a telecom communication.
Two nights ago he attacked us in our hotel room
here in Portland."

"What do you know about this. Harlequin?" asked
Surehand.

"Just what Aina has told you. You know about
the events in Maui," he said. This surprised me. I
didn't know he'd told them about Maui. "I was there
when the call came to Aina's place in Scotland.
And I was there when it attacked us in the hotel
room."

"Perhaps it's just one," said Sean. "It would be
easy enough to deal with."

"I don't see what the big fuss is about," said Ala-
chia. "We've defeated them before. We'll defeat
them again."

"Haven't you heard a word I've said?" I asked.
"It's too early for them to be coming through. We're
not ready. The world isn't ready. You've spent so
much time playing at politics and nations that
you've neglected the important things. It's as though
we've left nuclear weapons for cavemen to play
with. These people don't understand what's at stake.
And they certainly don't comprehend the nature of
the powers they're dealing with."

"Now we get down to it," crowed Alachia. "All
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

this time going on about how much more pure and
noble you are than us. You just don't want anyone
using the power. What's the matter, Aina, scared
someone will tread on your magical toes?"

I glanced over at Caimbeui, but he was busy try-
ing to annoy Ehran. "No," I said. "But these magical
spikes seem to be attracting the Enemy. As long as
people capriciously use blood magic, the risk will
grow."

"You would know about blood magic," said
Aithne.

"Yes, and you should be smart enough to lay aside
your hatred of me to see the larger issue at hand. We
must stop this one and prevent the rest from coming
through."

"I think you're overestimating the danger," inter-
jected Alachia. "Perhaps your experience is tinting
/ your perspective."

"Besides, we have plans," said Laverty. "Now is
not a good time to reveal such secrets."

"Have I been shut up with a bunch of lunatics?"
I shouted. "You don't pick when the Enemy comes.
They will come when the circumstances are right.
The best we can do is slow that event down. Which
means we must act now."

I stopped then, realizing they weren't listening to
me. They were staring gape-mouthed at something
behind me. Slowly, I turned.

A vortex of smoke was whirling up out of the
floor in front of the fireplace. A shape uncoiled
from inside the smoke and stepped forward. Ysrth-
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Caroline Spector

grathe. Hanging limply in his arms was Glasgian
Oakforest.

"I do so love to make an entrance," he said as
he dropped Glasgian on the floor. "But I know bet-
ter than to overstay my welcome. Aina, it is so good
to see you again. See, I've brought you a little
present. I shall see you soon, my dear. 'Til we meet
again."

Then he disappeared.

Lances of arcane fire cut through the space where
he'd been a moment before. Aithne rushed to
Glasgian's side. Surehand called for his Paladins.
Sean and Jenna hovered behind Aithne asking if
they could help. Ehran and Caimbeui had that odd,
distracted look in their eyes, the faintest traces of
energy crackling around them.

I turned away from the sight of Aithne holding
Glasgian's limp body. It was then that I saw
Alachia's face. She had a small, knowing smirk on
her face. And a notion so terrible filled my mind that
I immediately pushed it away. I couldn't think such
a thing. Not even of her.

I spun away from the sight of her. Now Glasgian
seemed to be coming around. When he saw that he ,
was in his father's arms, his face crumpled and he I
began to cry. Aithne cooed and cradled Glasgian in
his arms until his sobs diminished into irregular hic-
cups. At last, Glasgian seemed to fall into another
kind of stupor.

Surehand suggested that Aithne have Glasgian
carried up to a room, but Aithne refused and hugged
Glasgian tightly to him.

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WORLDS WITHOUT END

"This is all your doing," he hissed at me. "This
sort of thing follows wherever you go. I knew
we shouldn't ever have anything to do with you

again."

"For heaven's sake, Aithne," said Lofwyr. "She
didn't bring it here."

"Yes, she did," he said. "That creature has fol-
lowed her through space and time. It will destroy
anyone around her. This isn't the Enemy. It's her en-
emy. It has come for her and I say we let it have her.
She seeks to divert the issue. But we must see it for
what it is. This is Aina's battle. Not ours. Let her
deal with it."

"I must agree with Aithne," said Alachia. "Obvi-
ously, Aina wants us to become involved with this
personal matter. We don't know that she didn't con-
jure it up herself. After all, that was a specialty of
hers, as I recall. This isn't about the world—it's
abom her.

She has turned her back on us. I say we let her
shift for herself."

I had my back to her, but I knew she had plastered
a noble, righteously dignified expression on her
face.

Now they all would agree with her.

"This is a terrible mistake," I said. "If I cannot
stop him, he will bring .them all across. He has the
power to do so."

"Get her out of here," snarled Aithne. "If she says
one more word I think I'll . . ."

Caimbeui came and wrapped his jacket around
me. I hadn't realized I'd been shivering.
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Caroline Specter                      a

"Let's go," he said.
"But ..."

"You've done all you could," he said.
I let him lead me from the room. Our footsteps.
echoed down the long hallway as we left.

232

25

"What am I going to do?" I asked.

I was huddled in the back of the limo. Caimbeui
gave the driver instructions to take us straight to the
airport.

"We'd best get out of here as quickly as possi-
ble," he said.

"What about our things at the hotel?" I asked.

"Leave them," he replied. "It's just clothes."

"Where are we going?"

"I don't know. The next possible flight out. I
don't want Aithne or Alachia thinking they might
want to have us arrested."

"Arrested? What could they possibly arrest us
for?"

"You name it. All they have to do is convince
Lugh to send out the order. They could lock us up
and'keep us locked up for a long time. Have you for-
gotten when Alachia kept you imprisoned before?
They would be able to justify it."

I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jacket.
I'd failed, I thought. They'd rejected me and my
warnings. Now I would have to face Ysrthgrathe by
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Caroline Spector

myself. I didn't know if I had the strength to fight
him again.

The limo's headlights illuminated row after row of
dormant rose bushes.

Thorns.

So many thorns.

The first flight we could book passage on was a
small tour plane. They were doing a hop from Port-
land to Eugene, then on to a small airstrip near Cra-
ter Lake. After refueling there, the next leg was to
Eureka.

I hated small planes even more than large ones.
So many things to go wrong, none of which I had
any control over. How loathsome.

Luckily, the leg from Portland to Eugene was
quiet. While Caimbeui and I stretched our legs, they
took on more passengers. Lots of back-to-nature
types. A couple of humans who said they were go- |
ing to Crater Lake to perform research. The rest
were elves. Judging from their totems and tattoos,
they all appeared to be involved with some kind of
shamanistic magic.

This annoyed me. These shamans^

"Do you see?" I asked Caimbeui in a low whisper.
"They just don't see the large way of things. With |
them it's all power conferred through something
else. They don't see that the power is in them."

"You can't make them other than what they are,"
Caimbeui said. "They were shaped by a world
where magic didn't exist. Their understanding of it
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

will always be limited. Maybe the next genera-
tion ..."

I frowned. "If we don't stop Ysrthgrathe, there
might not be another generation."

The plane circled over Crater Lake before landing
on the small airstrip about five miles away. The sha-
mans and the humans all filed off with their back-
packs. I knew that Crater Lake had been sealed off
for some time by the military. It amazed me that
anyone would try to get close to it without some sort
of clearance.

Then it occurred to me—how stupid I was—that
they just might have clearance. If what Dunkelzahn
had told me about Crater Lake was true, then the Tir
could very well be pulling in magicians here and
there to help them.

Caimbeui and I also got out at this stop. There
was a two-hour layover. We followed the others into
the tiny terminal. It was just one large room with a
few benches. Through the plate glass window I saw
two army jeeps with soldiers waiting outside. The
shamans and the humans went immediately to them,
gave some papers to the soldiers, then piled into the
Jeeps.

"How much do you know about what's happening
down there at Crater Lake?" I asked Caimbeui.

"Enough to know it would only upset you," he re-
plied. "Are you hungry?"

I nodded. "Starved," I said. "But it looks like
there are only those vending machines over there.
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Caroline Spector

Stale, dried miso soup, dehydrated beans and rice,
maybe an old candy bar."

"Have no fear, madam," he said. "We have two
hours, and I happen to know of a place nearby that
has fabulous food and a hell of a view."

He led me outside and hailed what had to be the
only taxi for five counties. The driver actually
agreed to let us hire him for the next two hours.
Caimbeui gave him the name of the restaurant, and
we were off.

He hadn't lied about the view. We were at the top
of one of the higher peaks in the area. From this
vantage we could see the surrounding countryside.
Off in the distance was a blue glow that made me
very nervous.

"Is that what I think it is?" I asked Caimbeui.

"Shhh, no questions now," he said. "Just have
something to eat and think about getting out of here
after dinner. We'll talk later."

It annoyed me, but perhaps he was right. No mat-
ter what was happening, I couldn't stop it. Not now,
at any rate.

Slowly, I began to relax. There were mostly mil-
itary types in the restaurant. Some civilians, but they
looked to be locals. It was an old-fashioned Mom
and Pop kind of place. Mostly vegan dishes, with
one or two meat entrees for the non-elven types.
Given the makeup of the/trowd, I suspected they
didn't do a lot of business with the beef.

No one gave us much of a second glance. A little
odd, unless they were used to seeing strangers.
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

Caimbeui ordered some wine, but I declined. I
wanted to be as sharp as possible until we made it
out of the Tir. We lingered a bit over dessert, but
then it was time to head back to the airstrip.

Our driver had apparently gotten something from
the kitchen, because the cab smelled of eggplant ra-

tatouille.

I shut my eyes as the cab headed away from the
restaurant and down the hill. I must have dozed off
for a moment, because the next thing I remember
was being thrown to the floor. Caimbeui was curs-
ing; the driver was screaming.

"What's happening?" I yelled as I pushed myself
off the floor.

"Keep going!" shouted Caimbeui.

The driver didn't answer but continued to scream.
I poked my head up, trying to see what was going
on. The driver reached forward and pulled some-
thing from under the seat. A gun. Still yelling, he
began to fire it through the window. Just as he shot,
I looked.

There, illuminated by the cab's headlights, was
Ysrthgrathe standing in the middle of the road. Then
the glass shattered, and he was broken into a million
fragmented images.

I grabbed the door handle and yanked. It flew
open and I fell out after it, sprawling on the rough
asphalt of the road on my hands and knees.

"Ah, Aina," Ysrthgrathe said. "Don't you remem-
ber? You don't have to kneel to me."

I pushed myself off the ground. There were
scrapes on my hands. The blood welled out of them
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Caroline Spector

and stung. In the distance I could hear something. I
thought it sounded like a baby's cry. Then I realized
it was the driver.

"Most annoying, that noise," said Ysrthgrathe. In
a flash, he slid across the small distance between
him and the driver's door. Ripping the door off its
hinges, he then pulled the driver out by his neck.
Slowly, he began to squeeze.

The driver's face turned red, then purple. His eyes
began to bulge, and he grabbed frantically at his
neck. His feet began to spasm and became entangled
in Ysrthgrathe's robe.

"This is certainly sweet," said Ysrthgrathe. "But
it really isn't up to my usual. Of course, I have
only the faintest memories of that, now. You have
deprived me for so long. And you're not nearly
as fond of this one as you might be. Perhaps the
other . .."

He closed his hand then, and I heard the bones in
the driver's neck snap and pop like firecrackers.
Then Ysrtbgrathe tossed him away like a used-up
toy.

Caimbeui emerged from the back of the passenger
side of the cab then. He had a black eye and a nasty
cut on his lip. It was beginning to swell, making his
mouth look lopsided. It looked like he hadn't fully
recovered his senses.

"Go," I said. "He wants me."

Caimbeui shook his head. "He can't possibly deal
with both of us. Not now."

"You should listen to her," said Ysrthgrathe. "But
then, I wouldn't have as much fun if you leave. I can
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

taste how she cares for you. Her fear for your safety
is so sweet, but really, I must have more."

With that, he pushed his arms forward. A solid
beam of black energy shot out from them. It hit
Caimbeui full in the chest, sending him flying back-
wards. I heard him cry out in pain and could smell
the odor of burning clothes and skin.

"No!" I shouted.

His eyes glowed and he smiled. Another lash of
energy cracked like whip and I heard the bones of

Caimbeul's legs snap.
"No!" I screamed again. Was he going to break

Caimbeui bone by bone?

Then there was a roaring in my ears, like the
sound of jet engines. The blood was warm in my
hands. It tickled me. Calling to me. Asking me to
come and play again. To use it as I once had.

I dug my nails into my palms, wincing slightly,
and then I spoke the words. A language long dead to
this modern world. My mother tongue, that had
never left me and that would always be my secret

heart.

Ribbons of blood danced from my fingertips and
wove themselves around Ysrthgrathe. He roared in
anger at this, but I laughed. Oh, I had been careful
for so long. It felt wonderful to let the power out. To
revel in it again. I let it take hold of me. Slide
through me. Pill me. Fill the void inside.

Soon, Ysrthgrathe was encased in a blood-cocoon.
Using one hand to control the cocoon, with the other
I began to cast another spell. But Ysrthgrathe wasn't
so easily controlled. He shot into the air, dragging
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Caroline Spector

me along. We flew above the trees, and the upper
branches scratched and scraped at my legs.

I grabbed at the blood ribbons with both hands to
steady myself. What is he up to? I wondered. I
looked about and saw that he was flying us straight
toward Crater Lake.

If we went much further, we'd be shot down by
the Tir military for certain. Cursing, I let go of the
blood ribbons. Ysrthgrathe shot ahead, and I fell. I
was battered and bruised by tree limbs. It took me a
moment before I could cast a flying spell.

I flew up to the top of the trees and peered
around.

"Looking for me?" came Ysrthgrathe's voice
above me.

I looked up. His head was free from the cocoon,
but the rest of his body was still encased. He spat
out some words, and the cocoon shattered. It sent
drops of blood flying everywhere. My face and
clothes were spattered with it.

"What's that old saying?" Ysrthgrathe asked.
"Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice,
shame on me?"

I didn't reply, just furiously tore at my wrist
with my teeth. How I yearned for a knife at that mo-
ment. Oh, for the power I'd lost. For the power to
come.

"This is most annoying," Ysrthgrathe said.
"You've changed. You're not at all like you were be-
fore.

"Where is your fear? It was so sweet and deli-
cious. Your pain? Your agony? Have you forgotten
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

the dark years of your torment already? I remember
them as if they were yesterday.

"Your pain, my pleasure. Think of what I can
offer you. Don't you recall? The power. Imagine
what you could be here with that power now. They
would be forced to listen to you. You could make
them bend to your will. They would have to do your

bidding."

And I was tempted.

It had been so many years since I'd felt anything
close to the sensation of the power. Such a unity of
self and soul. Body and mind. Maybe only the ab-
sinthe had come close. But even that joy was fleet-
ing.

My blood sang to be used. To be taken again.

From Crater Lake I could feel the pull of even
greater power. It sang to me.

Take me.

Use me.

"Yes," he said. "Think of it. This world can't even
imagine what the power is. They play at magic like
a game. They don't understand. But you do, Aina.
You've always understood the true nature of the gift.
It's in your blood. Take my gift."

\ foolish mistake.

I hadn't thought him so clumsy. So obvious. To go
over old ground again.

"Oh, dear," I said. "What was it you said? Fool

me once ..."

The blood had been running into my palms. It
writhed, then began to whirl. It bubbled over my fin-
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Caroline Spector

gertips and began to slide toward the ground. It
wanted me to use it.

It craved that.

I craved that.

So I let us have what we wanted.

From over the horizon, the blue glow from Crater
Lake became brighter. The power surged into me.
And this time, this time, I didn't refuse it.

The spell burst out of me. It sang and jumped
from my lips. Insects flew into the sky in a great
cloud. The bones of long-dead animals rose up and
began to circle about Ysrthgrathe. The insects joined
them, and soon the blood danced out of my hands
and mingled with the bones and insects.

Surrounding Ysrthgrathe. Encasing him.

"Aina," he said. His voice was a soft whisper, but
somehow I could hear it above the buzzing of the
wasps. It was inside me. In my mind, like someone
lurking at a window. "Aina, don't turn me away. I
shan't forgive you this time. This time I will take ev-
erything away."

"Go ahead and try," I said. I released the spell
then. Let it surge out of me. Out of my soul. Out of
the centuries of solitude and loneliness. From the
pain of my loss and sadness.

And, oh, it made such a lovely sight.

Ysrthgrathe became darker and darker, until I felt
as if the very light was being drawn into him. Then,
in the matter of a nanosecond, there was an immense
radiance that blinded me.

When I could see again, there was nothing left of
the insects, or the bones, or the blood, or of
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

Ysrthgrathe. In the sky there was the faint azure
glow from Crater Lake, dimmer this time.

Then, there was only the faint twinkling of the

stars.

243

26

"Where will you go now?" asked Caimbeul.

We were standing in the Orly airport. It was some
three weeks after I'd faced Ysrthgrathe for the last
time.

I had found Caimbeul unconscious from the blow
Ysrthgrathe had given him. I'd healed him, and then
we'd gone looking for the authorities to notify them
about the cab driver's death. The tale Caimbeul had
spun was impressive, even by his usual standards.

We finally got out of Tir Taimgire the next day.

I contacted Dunkelzahn and told him about what
had happened. In dragon-like fashion, he merely
nodded and accepted what I said. If he had any other
opinions, he kept them to himself. Though he did in-
vite me to stay and visit.

Caimbeul and I decided to go to the Riviera. Per-
haps it was the foolishness of age, but we both
thought there might still be something between us.

By the time we parted at Orly, we knew that what-
ever had been there was best left in the past.

"Where will you go now?" he asked again.

"I think I shall travel for a bit," I said. "No place

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WORLDS WITHOUT END

too interesting. I think I've had enough interesting
things in my life for a while. I know that one day the
Enemy will come again, but now that Ysrthgrathe is
gone, I feel ... safer.

"Maybe they were right. Maybe it was my prob-
lem. Perhaps I've been wrong."

Caimbeul shrugged. He'd become very Gaelic
during our visit.

"I've always thought your instincts were pretty
good," he said. He reached out and pulled me to
him. The kiss he gave me was long, and hot, and bit-
tersweet.

It was some six months later that I made it back
to Arran.

It was spring.

The land had turned green again. The wind blew
from the south, bringing the delicate odor of grass,
peat, and heather to me.

I opened the house up, flinging wide the windows
to drive out the inevitable mustiness. Caimbeul had
stayed here at some point while I was gone. I saw a
few things were out of place. How like him, I
thought.

I tapped the print bar on my telecom, and material
began 1,0 spew out.

Since I'd put a hold on the dailies and the maga-
zines, I wondered what this glut could be.

Frowning, I picked up the first sheet. It was an ar-
ticle about Aztechnology. There were numerous
articles about Aztechnology. They came from main-
line papers as well as obscure, paranoid, end-of-
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Caroline Spector

the-world publications. Shaking my head, I read
another and another and another.

There were articles about many unrelated events.
They were scattered across the globe, and these arti-
cles were in Chinese, French, German, Swahili, Jap-
anese, and many other languages.

Mostly, they were about random occurrences of
mania. A woman goes crazy and kills her children.
There is no explanation and she doesn't remember
the event even happening. Later, she takes her own
life, scrawling images of obscene monsters in her
own blood on the prison walls.

A shaman loses control of a spell. Ten people are
killed, including the shaman. A witness says it
looked as if the shaman had changed into something
else the moment before the spell went out of control.

There were more.

Each told a similar tale.

I read them all, letting each slip to the floor until
I stood there empty-handed. But there was still one
more. I pulled it out. A letter from Dunkelzahn.

Aina,

In light of our last conversation, I thought these might
be of interest to you. By the way, I've been keeping track
of these things, and on the night you told me about, there
was a spike at Crater Lake.

Dunkelzahn

I stayed there, staring off into space for a long
time. Then suddenly I couldn't bear to stay inside
any longer.

The sun was going down as I left the house. There
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WORLDS WITHOUT END

was a bit of a nip in the air. Winter had not yet com-
pletely let go. But I didn't feel the cold.

I felt numb. As though encased in amber. Fossil-
ized.

Oh, what a fool I'd been. Thinking to protect
them all from the Enemy. To warn them. What ego.
What hubris.

For I knew now that I had done the very thing I'd
warned them against.

I had used the power wantonly. Wastefully. And in
so doing I'd made it easier for the Enemy to come
across.

I realized now that Ysrthgrathe had sacrificed
himself. His defeat was too easy. He'd played me.
Played my emotions, manipulated me all along until
I couldn't resist. It was his revenge. For he knew
that nothing would bring me greater pain than to live
with the knowledge that I'd had the means to stop
them, and had let anger and fear and foolishness rule
me instead.

My chest felt tight. There was nothing for me to
do now but prepare. Prepare for that day which was
as inevitable as death.

I stared up at the sky. The sun had set, yet a pale
radiance still lingered. Then it began to rain. Black
drops coming from a clear twilight sky.

I'stayed there for a long time, letting the rain
wash over me.

247