Thaumatology 11 - For Whom the Wedding Bells Toll Read online

  For Whom the Wedding Bells Toll

  The Eleventh Thaumatology Novel

  By Niall Teasdale

  Copyright 2012 Niall Teasdale

  Amazon Kindle Edition

  Contents

  Preface

  Part One: The Spring Bride

  Interlude

  Part Two: Never Make Deals with Fae

  Interlude

  Part Three: Discord

  Interlude

  Part Four: Morrigan’s Daughters

  Interlude

  Part Five: Hieros Gamos

  Preface

  Kennington, London, June 27th, 2007

  The earthworm squirmed in the grip of something invisible, but far more powerful than it was, twisting and writhing as it was pulled slowly, inexorably, from the ground beneath a small privet bush. Gloriandel swept forward on bright, blue-white wings and ran her hunting sword through its primary neuron cluster. The writhing grew more violent for a second, but the fairy’s telekinesis was very strong and she had no trouble holding it. Two more violent stabs of the hatpin-sized weapon and the thrashing slowed and then ceased.

  The worms at home were considerably sweeter than the ones she caught here, but she was used to the taste now. She had been eating them for almost half her life and had figured out long ago the best way to season them. A little magic was all it took and they made an acceptable breakfast. Occasionally she allowed herself a wistful wish to be able to hunt on her family’s lands where the meat was far more succulent, but that was out of the question so she made do with what she had. That was especially the case now, when she had almost let herself get caught.

  In retrospect, coming to London had been a bad idea. There were far too many fae here, Seelie and Unseelie, and unaligned. The latter were not so bad, but she could not really trust them. Even if they were unlikely to report her immediately they might sell her out. She needed somewhere to hide for a while. Just a while. Somewhere she could lick her wounds. The park had made a useful place for the night, but she needed to move on before anyone managed to track her down.

  Dropping the remains of the worm on the grass where some lucky bird might finish it off, she wrapped herself in the veil of obscurity which all fairies could generate and flew off toward the eastern side of the park. She would head out and then south, maybe make her way down to the sea. Perhaps she could find a cave or something to hide in at the coast… Then she saw the house.

  It was three storeys high, plus an attic, plus a flat roof with a waist-high railing around the edge. A gothic sort of building which, at first glance, seemed to be unused. The windows had cobwebs in them, several of the panes were broken. The paintwork had seen far better days, and some of the good paint appeared to be resting on rotten wood. But then there was the high, wooden fence around the property, which looked to be in perfect condition, and the garden, which was not well kept, but also not overgrown. This house was something of a curiosity.

  She felt the wards along the line of the fence as she flew over it. They had once been very strong, but they had not been maintained in a long time and they were weakening. That was a plus in the “disused column.” She was sure these wards would have allowed her through anyway; they felt like a first line of defence, something to keep out direct threats, and small animals who might make a mess on the lawn. Then there was the big minus in her thoughts that the place was unoccupied; she could hear voices from above.

  Rising up, she passed a window and realised almost instantly what was so odd about the house. While there seemed to be a cracked pane of glass in front of her, she could see through neither hole nor glass. It was all fake! Someone had created an illusion of a scary old house to wrap their real house in. Quite why was an enigma, but that was not currently a question the fairy was concerned with. She edged up to the railing and peeked over the edge of the roof.

  There were two humans up here, laid out on wooden loungers in the sun. The contrast was a little striking and Gloriandel lifted higher and flitted closer, watching carefully to be sure neither of the two women was able to pierce her invisibility. Neither seemed to and she hovered between their feet, looking between them.

  On the right was a tall woman with short, black hair, dressed in a rather conservative swimsuit. Her lounger was pulled up to give a better seated position and she was reading a copy of what looked like a cheap magazine, The Wednesday Witch. This one had slightly masculine features, a firm jaw, moderately long nose, high cheekbones, narrow face. Her eyes were quite a startling blue, her skin was pale and freckled, and that black hair had a rebellious sort of red streaking in the fringe. She had a slim body with narrow hips, long legs, and a chest which was not flat, but was not winning any contests either. As she turned the page, Gloriandel spotted the tattoos on the insides of her forearms and a frown creased the fairy’s tiny brow; the tattoos looked magical, an enchantment of some sort.

  While the black-haired girl was certainly not unattractive, beside her companion she could almost be thought of as ugly. She was certainly far less confident! The second girl was lying in the sun, stretched out as flat as her seating would allow, without a stitch of clothing on. Of course, Gloriandel was naked herself; she had a few bits of clothing in her travel sack, but fairies did not find wrapping themselves in bits of cloth appealing. The difference between the two humans was noticeable, however.

  Beyond the difference in confidence, the second girl’s beauty was undeniable. Gloriendel was used to fae who frequently used glamours to make them better looking if they were not simply inhumanly attractive anyway. This girl would have given Titania a run for her money. The face was pretty, delicate, with an upturned nose and wide cheek bones. It was surrounded by a mass of gorgeously lush, auburn hair which fell down to the upper slopes of a phenomenal pair of breasts. Despite being exceptionally large, the girl’s breasts were firm, unsagging, and the rest of her body was just as perfect, right down to her skin which was creamy, smooth, apparently entirely unmarked. Gloriandel’s brow furrowed again; there was no way this beautiful creature was entirely human.

  The black-haired girl put her magazine down on the surface of the roof, twisted around to lower the back of her lounger, and turned onto her front. She rested on her elbows long enough to say, ‘Lil? Would you do my back?’ and then she was lying down flat, her arms on either side of her head.

  The auburn beauty swept her legs from her lounger and rose to her feet with far more grace than any human should have. Gloriandel backed away. The girl was not human, not entirely human. The dark eyes, more or less black, the way she paused slightly on the way to rub oil into her friend’s back. She was sensing something, but unable to quite determine what. Giving a shrug, “Lil” sat down on the edge of the brunette’s lounger and picked up a bottle of oil, and Gloriandel turned in the air, spotting the open hatch in the middle of the roof. She flitted across toward it with a smile on her face.

  The attic below was spacious and heavily warded, and there was a lot of old furniture, boxes, trunks, and general clutter at one end. Lots of places for a fairy to hide where the humans would not notice. She would find herself somewhere safe in there, stay for a few days, perhaps a couple of weeks, until the noise had died down and the people tracking her had lost the trail. Sure enough there was a box of old sheets near the back and an old, wooden, child’s cot which would be perfect.

  Yes, a few days here and it would be safe to move on and find somewhere outside the city…

  Part One: The Spring Bride

  Kennington, London, January 31st, 2013

  Ceri opened the front door of High Towers to find a tall, inhumanly attractive,
black-haired woman smiling at her. She blinked at the woman, not expecting her to be there. ‘Ophelia.’ The smile broadened, showing too many perfect, white teeth. ‘I was expecting...’

  ‘A Seelie fae?’ Ophelia suggested. ‘I’m just your travel agent.’

  ‘Well,’ Ceri said, not wanting her expectations to suggest prejudice, ‘one of Twill’s… uh, one of Gloriandel’s family.’ She stepped back from the door to allow the tall Sidhe to enter.

  Ophelia paused. ‘I am Ophelia Silvershield. I seek entry past your threshold in good faith and peace, seeking nothing but your good will.’ She was some sort of envoy of the Unseelie Court in London and many were a little wary of the Unseelie fae. The formality was, Ceri figured, to put her at her ease, but it also served to ensure Ophelia’s safety in the house of a very powerful magician.

  ‘I am Ceridwyn Brent,’ Ceri replied. ‘Enter without malice, leave without hindrance. Do no harm here and none will be done to you, Ophelia Silvershield.’

  The fae walked in as the big, circular sigil on the floor of the portico flared into life. ‘Thank you.’ Was there a hint of relief in the woman’s voice? ‘I’d be grateful if we could make a little haste. The sun comes up in twenty minutes and it’s easier to cross over while it’s still dawn.’

  ‘We’re ready,’ Ceri replied, following her through the inner doors into the hall. ‘We didn’t know what to bring so we’re travelling light.’

  Ophelia gave a short nod. ‘The Wintergreens can supply suitable clothes and such. You’re honoured guests, even if they don’t really want you there. Hospitality demands that they do all they can to make your stay comfortable.’

  The young man sitting on the stairs looked up at that comment. ‘They don’t want us there?’ He was in his late teens, good looking in a rough sort of way with blue eyes and a long, straight nose, and black hair which refused to accept the idea that it should be combed. His body was all lean muscle and there was a strong hint of the animal about him. That was reasonable; Michael was a werewolf.

  ‘Gloriandel insisted on you being her sheelvhori,’ Ophelia told him, ‘despite her family’s wishes.’ As she spoke, Lily came down the stairs, pausing to give the fae a look of surprise combined with mild disgust.

  ‘We were wondering about that,’ Ceri said before Lily could comment on Ophelia’s presence. ‘What exactly does “ar sheelvhori an shailis” mean? It’s on all our invitations.’

  ‘Literally, “the bearers of the chalice.” The position is somewhat like a bridesmaid.’ She smiled at Michael. ‘Pardon the expression. The sheelvhori can be either sex and their job is to keep the bride safe, and to ensure that she gets to the ceremony, on time and alive. There is an equivalent group for the groom, “the bearers of the staff.”’

  ‘The chalice and the staff,’ Lily said. ‘How symbolic.’

  Ophelia gave a little grimace. ‘I find it rather insulting, personally. I told my last husband in no uncertain terms, that I was not simply a receptacle for his “staff” to be plunged into, and if he thought I was he’d have a very rude awakening.’

  Lily raised an eyebrow. ‘Didn’t your last husband vanish mysteriously?’

  The fae’s smile was positively wolfish. ‘He did. Of course, I miss him terribly.’ The smile turned into a curious frown. ‘You’re rather more pierced than I’ve seen you, Lily. Are you going like that?’

  Lily had selected a short, long-sleeved, woollen dress and some flat, leather boots to wear. Her only piece of visible jewellery was a silver chain which hung between her right ear and her lip. ‘It’s a slave chain,’ Lily replied.

  ‘I haven’t had time to get it cut off,’ Ceri said. ‘The rings are soldered shut. Mind you, Lil seems to like it.’ Ceri pushed down her own discomfort at that. Lily was trying to deal with the aftermath of spending too much time as the plaything of a malicious demon, and if that meant Ceri had to be mistress to Lily’s slave, then she would try her hardest to do it.

  ‘I do,’ Lily agreed. ‘I want a replacement I can take off when necessary.’

  ‘That reminds me,’ Ophelia said, reaching into a pocket in her long, black coat. ‘You’ll need these.’ She produced three bracelets; simple chains made from a bright, white silver. Ceri recognised the metal; she had a similar chain around her right ankle under her britches, and Lily was wearing its twin beneath her boot. It was fairy-silver, mined in Otherworld and commonly used for enchantments. ‘These will keep you attached to this world. Without them you’ll likely return to find it’s next century. I made sure these ones had translation charms on them. They’ll let you speak Low Fae. And they’re hexed to stay on once they’re put on. I didn’t want to risk them getting lost.’

  ‘How come you’re being so nice, Ophelia?’ Lily asked, her tone suspicious.

  Ophelia smiled, handing a chain to Ceri, and then to Michael. She stepped up toward Lily and held out the last bracelet. ‘I’m a politician, Lily. I know you know what that means to a fae, but know that it also means knowing who to stay on the right side of. Gloriandel has chosen some very good sheelvhori. You people are the kind of people to stay on the right side of.’ It was a selfish motive, as one might have expected of an Unseelie, but at least she was being honest. ‘If you’re ready, we should get moving. We just need to get up to Kennington Park Road, but sooner is better.’

  Ceri walked over to the side of the staircase and picked up her bag and staff. She was wearing the outfit she had bought in Shilfaris, a city in the demons’ world; tight pants in heavy cotton, heeled, leather boots, a leather kirtle and bodice, and heavy leather shoulder pads with attached cowl. She felt it fitted the place they were going. The bag contained various items she thought might be useful, and one thing she was carrying purely to impress the Wintergreens. ‘I think we’re set,’ she said and then looked across to the kitchen door under the stairs. ‘Gwyn? We’re leaving.’

  Two women emerged from the back room, both with long, black hair. One was shorter and Oriental, the other taller and Caucasian. Both carried themselves with the kind of poise it took centuries to develop. Both were millennia old and had been dragons until the previous Samhain.

  Gwyn, the taller of the two, smiled. ‘Good journey and good luck,’ she said.

  ‘I hope things work out as you wish,’ Mei, the shorter woman added. She stood a little back as Gwyn stepped up and gave Ceri a brief hug. Mei was still a little hesitant around Ceri and Lily, and not too confident in her own right.

  ‘We’ll take care of the house while you’re away,’ Gwyn added. She was all confidence, but Ceri could tell she was worried. Of course, compared to Ceri leaving on a solo mission to rescue Lily from the Demon Realm, a trip to a wedding in the fae Otherworld ought to be easy.

  They said nothing else as the little party made their way out, around to the arbour gate at the side of the garden, and across the park to the main road. Traffic was quite heavy, even now, as people headed toward Vauxhall Bridge and The City. They ignored the odd looks as Ophelia moved to the edge of the pavement, her hand reaching out, fingers spread, as though searching for something.

  ‘There’s an old road running through here,’ she said, sounding distracted. ‘The ley line that follows it is weak, but it will suffice for our needs. Ah! Here we are.’ She held out her other hand. ‘Grab on and… well, taking a deep breath is usually a good idea.’

  ‘We’ve done the travel by ley line thing before,’ Michael said, laying his palm over Ophelia’s. Ceri and Lily did the same. One of the drivers of a stationary car beside them looked on as though they were all mad.

  ‘Probably not between worlds,’ Ophelia said. Her free hand reached out and clenched into a fist as though she was grabbing something. ‘I hate this…’ The rest of her sentence was lost as the world suddenly vanished into a blur.

  ~~~

  Wintergreen Estates, Otherworld

  Four figures fell out of the air in front of a huge set of white stone gates, tumbling across the dirt track before coming to a stop in a
tangle of limbs, all of them gasping for breath. Four men with spears marched out from the gatehouse as they disentangled themselves, collected their belongings, and regained some control over their breathing. Oddly, the guards did not seem particularly surprised at the sudden arrival.

  ‘That,’ Ceri gasped, ‘was rough.’

  ‘Yes,’ Ophelia replied. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I got into the Demon Realm more smoothly.’

  The Unseelie fae gave a short laugh. ‘Perhaps I should have got you to work the transport spell.’

  ‘I didn’t know where we were going.’ She looked around at Lily and Michael. ‘Everyone okay?’

  ‘If we have to do his a lot,’ Lily commented sourly, ‘I want a gate.’

  Ophelia was turning to face the four Sidhe in bronze-splinted, leather armour advancing on them. ‘Lady Ophelia of the House Silvershield, here under treaty with the Family Wintergreen. I bring Gloriandel Wintergreen’s bearers.’

  One of the men who was wearing a short sword as well as carrying a spear, nodded. ‘Follow me,’ he said curtly, and turned on his heel to return to the gate. Ceri glanced at Lily and then fell into step behind Ophelia as she made her way toward the gate. The other three guards moved around them, one to either side and one to the rear.

  Michael’s eyes narrowed. ‘Either they’re expecting trouble or they don’t trust us.’

  ‘Possibly both,’ Ophelia replied. ‘I’m Unseelie and I did say that Gloriandel’s choice of you three was unpopular with the family. Add to that the fact that this marriage is unpopular with one or two power groups within both courts and we’re right at the middle of a potential mess.’

  ‘Great,’ Ceri growled. ‘I just got out of one political conflict.’

  ‘Molech wasn’t exactly a politician,’ Lily commented. ‘More of a tyrant.’

  ‘Tyranny is a form of politics,’ Ophelia said. ‘We’ve had our share of tyrants here.’

  Inside the gates the basic layout of the family castle became obvious. It looked distinctly strange, but it was obvious. A tall, circular wall with four turrets surrounded the compound. The top appeared to be crenelated, with a walkway along the inner edge where they could see guards patrolling. There were a number of one storey buildings set within the circle. The largest of these took up the centre, and that one looked particularly strange since there was a sort of miniature castle on top of it. Well, the Wintergreens were fairies, so their family stronghold had suitably sized buildings. In this case, some rather spectacular, spired buildings, even if all ten floors were only about seven feet in height.