Cobweb Forest (Cobweb Bride Trilogy) (40 page)

But Jack Frost was staring at a raven-haired handsome man before him, with a strong family resemblance. And Ebrai Fiomarre stared back with strange, intense, haunted eyes.

“Ebrai!” said Vlau. “My brother! Oh, my
brother!
You are alive!”

The older Fiomarre approached him, and reached out his hand. There was an instant of pause, and suddenly they came together in a tight embrace.

“Br-r-r!” Ebrai exclaimed. “You are so damn cold, little Vlau! But yes, both Father and I are blessedly alive, and have been working for the Liguon Emperor all this time, you sorry fool, so no dishonor stains our ancient family name. Father is well enough, although he has aged quite a bit, though now I believe he is in the Underworld along with the entire rest of the Sapphire Court. He will have a time of it, with all the political factions and clandestine machinations, now that they no longer have the Sovereign to plot against, whatever shall they do?”

But Jack Frost laughed, and suddenly he turned slightly blue—while all the chill seemed to be sucked out of the air around them—then he paled again, and kissed his brother on the cheek with as warm a kiss as could be. They stepped off to the side and started whispering, raven heads close together. Oh, the stories they had to tell!

“Beltain Chidair!” exclaimed the Snow Maiden, folding her arms. “Beltain, your father is well also, though you would not know it from the amount of huffing and puffing he does, blowing this winter air all about, thickening the overcast, and still furious at us for taking away some of his fun.”

“What of my father?” Beltain looked at the Maiden with bitterness. “What has befallen the madman who was Duke Ian Chidair, known as Hoarfrost?”

“You might be happy to know he is no longer a dead bitter old fool, but an immortal one. He is Old Man Winter himself, terrifying, bleak, and as vicious as is the nature of the season, and he will hold a grudge against you for some time, but not forever, this I promise.”

“What? What does that mean?”

“Your father is an elemental now, just as we are. He is Winter, and thus, you might beware some of the chillier northern climes, wherever you make your new home. However, do not let fear keep you away from us entirely. For I promise,” said the Snow Maiden, “I will always keep the snows away from you.”

“And I promise,” said Jack Frost, looking away briefly from his brother, “I will always keep the cold at bay, and the wicked bite of frost shall never harm you.”

“Then let my Father Winter blow and frown,” Beltain said with a smile, exchanging glances with Percy. “I think we will choose warmer lands for now, though in time we will visit you.”

T
hey stood thus outside the house with the freshly painted red door on a street of Luxembourg, speaking with hope and energy and making choices. At last Persephone, bright Goddess, motioned to Percy and Beltain, and they took a few steps after her, toward the shadowed spot at the corner between two houses.

Hecate threw Percy a warm glance from her very, very dark eyes, and she waived and nodded.

Percy glanced at her, saw her gaze of wisdom and love, and then she turned and followed Persephone into the sudden gathering of mist. Beltain stepped in right behind her.

They emerged into a Hall of bones and fluttering cobwebs, and immediately a serene sense of eternity came to them. The lighting in the Hall was once more somnolent soft dusk, and only a few steps before them was the dais and upon it Death’s Throne.

Hades, Lord Death Himself stood before it, on the top stair. He was in his silver Shadow aspect, harboring the White Bridegroom and the Black Husband in equal measure.

He was strong and hale and his handsome face wore a light, slightly sardonic smile.

It was a smile that touched Percy, for there was the wanton simmer of desire underneath, at the same time as there was compassion.

Persephone stepped aside and she pointed Percy toward the Lord of the Underworld.

“My Champion,” Death uttered. “Come!”

With a look at Beltain, Percy approached the dais.

Hades, great dark God, stood looking down at Percy as she climbed each step.

At last she stopped before him.

“My Lord Hades,” she said. “Here I am.”

“And here you are.” His fathomless eyes surrounded her. “You have done well, sweet Persephone Ayren, and you have done even more than I asked of you. You have restored to me my Cobweb Bride, and my one true love, and the mortal world persists because of you.”

Percy gazed into his eyes and she asked. “Might I ask a boon of you, My Lord? Since I have done all I can for Death, will you now take the dark power of death away from me? For in this world I want to never again lay anyone to rest.”

Hades smiled.

He neared Percy and he placed his clawed hand upon her cheek, drawing it down softly. Where he touched, a chill ran through her, and Percy shivered, feeling the chill of the grave.

“Regretfully, I can never take the reality of death and dying from you, Persephone. You are mine ultimately, as is all your kind. However, I will ease this burden from you for the rest of your days.”

Hades bent his head, and he placed a light kiss upon her forehead, a touch that left no sensation at all, but in that moment Percy felt something profound—a darkness—leave her, and in its place entered a measure of light.

Such a strange relief came to her, that Percy wanted to cavort like a silly goose and spread her arms and dance. Instead she smiled at Lord Hades and she said, “Please take care of my parents and my sisters, for they are now of your Kingdom and you are their King. Oh, if only I could visit them!”

King Death nodded at her and he said, “I shall care for them as my own children, of which I had none before and now I have as many as there are diamond stars upon the roof of my subterranean heaven. As for visiting them, know you not, child that you can visit them every night in your dreams? Simply ask Queen Mab before you sleep, and she will grant you dreams of your loved ones in the Underworld.”

Percy glanced behind her where Persephone stood like the essence of spring, bringing a living glow to the shadowed Hall.

“What of Melinoë?” she dared to ask softly.

For a moment, Persephone and Hades both remained silent.

And then Persephone raised her gentle gaze at her. “My child Melinoë is already with us, in the realm Below. Her memory is sweet, and I have shaped her beloved ashes into a luminary upon the sphere of subterranean heaven, and she shines brightly there, one of the stars—but nothing more.”

Persephone paused then, gathering herself, and she continued, “There is one secret that I had not admitted to anyone before all this, a secret which I have never spoken but which I can now divulge at last, for I am renewed and healed and made strong enough to bear the revelation—all because of your own act of sacrifice.

“Truth is, I had taken Melinoë my child up with me to the world Above, knowing very well that it would destroy her, because I
wanted
her to die. . . . I knew that Melinoë was a vaporous thing of shadows, and she was made wrong and incomplete, a mistake of my own creation. She could neither have a true life nor a true death, all because of my own selfish hubris—for I birthed her Below in a moment of anger and pique.

“And thus I, who regularly give birth to so many—indeed to all in your mortal world—I made the terrible decision to end her existence. I was a murderess mother! And it was the guilt at what I had done—her creation and her destruction—that broke me. As my mind went darker with despair and self-hatred, I blamed Demeter the Bright Mother of Harvest, but it was I who sat Melinoë on my lap and together we rose Above, and in the doing I shattered the Sapphire Throne.

“For as soon as we went through the rebirth, and Melinoë fell apart, the Sapphire Throne received a hairline crack, and thus the sickness of
instability
was initiated. Guilt drove me for a hundred years, together with self-hatred. I was rid of her who was ‘my mistake’ and in doing so I myself became the greater mistake, the instrument of the end. For you cannot escape yourself, especially if you are immortal.”

Persephone sighed, then a bittersweet light came to her. “But enough, it is now behind us. For to dwell on evil is to call it into being, and I call only the spring and joyful life force.”

“And thus,” Hades spoke in a ringing voice of power, to dispel the sorrow, “it is time to live, and to love, Percy Ayren. You are no longer my Champion, for you are now
your own
. You have done your duty to the divine and now all the freedom of mortal choices is before you. Take your human lover and live your lives in joy and mortal wonder—a thing that even the gods envy you who see all things of the world with innocent eyes.”

“The Gods,” Percy said softly. “What strange creatures you are! Indeed, knowing now all that I know, whom shall we mortals pray to? To you, Grecian gods? Perchance to other gods of ancient times and distant lands? To angels? Or to the One God?”

“Pray to One, pray to many, pray to none,” the dark God replied. “The world turns regardless. What matters any of it, as long as a true prayer is forged in your heart and it calls for a true answer? Sometimes, the only true answer is nothing at all, for there can be none. But it is always
heard
by at least one of us—the one who can make a difference.”

Hades turned to Persephone then, and he held out his hand. “Come, fair Goddess Persephone, my only love! We have come to the end of speeches and farewells here. And while spring comes to reawaken the land, you and I shall tarry and bide our ghostly time here Above, in my shadow Hall—You in your Bright Aspect, and I as a mere shadow, the Lord Death—until next season when you again return to me Below in the flesh!”

Persephone strode forward with a light step, and approached her immortal lover and husband.

Percy meanwhile descended the dais, and took Beltain’s hand. They stood watching while Hades took Persephone to him in an ethereal embrace, and the snakes around his hair stood up, while a strong wind arose through the Hall, sending up dust and cobwebs in a silver funnel about them. Faster and faster the maelstrom spun, while the immortal forms of the God and Goddess blurred, and soon there was only dusk and light.

Fare thee well, and blessed be, beloved!
sounded both their voices.

Percy and Beltain had no time to blink, for they were back in the mortal world.

T
he ship sailing from the busy port of Marseille left the harbor and entered the balmy waters of the Mediterranean, with a fair wind and a cargo of goods and passengers.

Percy and Beltain stood on deck, watching the foam and the strange greenish-blue rich waters. Catrine and Niosta were somewhere below deck, together with their father who had arranged everyone’s passage, including a number of former Goraque soldiers and civilians, half the town of San Quellenne and various other stragglers from Lethe, Styx, Morphaea, Balmue, Solemnis, Serenoa, and Tanathe. They were all seen as harmless but incomprehensible foreigners by the ship’s crew of Frenchmen, who could not understand—no matter how much they tried—who the devil these people were and where on earth they had all come from.

“Might they be those wandering Romany folk?” muttered an old sailor.

“Maybe Egyptians?” another said, biting into a knot of rope he was tying.

“I think that tall knight, the one who stands with the pretty round-cheeked lass, is a Norse Dutchman. . . . He has the look of a fighting man, and a great built on him, well muscled. Those arms,
tres magnifique!
No wonder the
mademoiselle
is sweet on him.”

“About as much as he is on her. It’s a pleasure to watch the young lovers, eh?
Vive l’amour!
”

The shores of France were receding and Percy cast a soft glance at the misty morning haze and then at Beltain.

The young man was looking down at her with a frankly enamored soft gaze of his slate blue eyes. His arm was about her, and Percy leaned into him, and saw underneath the smooth linen of his shirt, open at the neck, the bronze planes of his chest with its light sprinkling of brown hair. She was staring at the spot right above his heart. The skin was pristine, smooth, with not a trace of an old mortal wound—as if it had never happened.

Percy breathed a sigh of infinite relief as yet again she placed her fingers upon his chest and felt its strong heart beating. “Promise me,” she said, “you will not die!”

“I promise,” he said with a smile. “Not for a very long time. Not until you are so sick of me that you send me packing as a ninety year old man. And now you must promise the same.”

“Do not die! Not ever!” she said. “Do not even jest, for I cannot bear it, this much I know now. I will end the world myself if anything happens to you, Beltain!”

“But, sweet Percy,” he whispered in her ear. “You are no longer Death’s Champion.”

“I am my own Champion and yours.”

“Will you then wed me, a poor landless knight, with only a good name of Chidair that no one on this earth remembers, duke of a long-gone land, and no fortune except my great black horse, my retired suit of armor, and my sword? Will you give me sweet fat children? Will you strike me lovingly with a skillet once a year in memory of all good things?”