Chapter Twenty-Two – The Essence of Life

Tara gathered her thoughts. She couldn’t believe she was even thinking about telling the fey the truth of her situation, when so much was at stake. What if he reacted like Acalon? But she didn’t remember the fey, and not knowing him made their interaction feel somehow more natural, less dangerous.

“Where I’m from,” said Tara, “I’m no one. I’m not a warrior or any kind of hero. I’m an office clerk.”

Kell’s amber gaze narrowed. “An…office…?”

“An office clerk,” repeated Tara. “Like a scribe. Or a messenger. It’s someone who handles a lot of documents—I mean, scrolls. I make sure letters are properly written, formatted, and delivered. I write what my manager tells me to. I take phone calls—I mean messages—from people to deliver to others.”

“It sounds exhausting,” said Kell.

“It’s worse than that,” said Tara. “It’s boring and exhausting.”

She glanced around at the grim leafless trees. “Back there, I don’t even have family that I know of. My parents died when I was really young, I think. At least that’s what the orphanage told me. I don’t know any details, nothing. I don’t really want to know anymore. I’ve been alone for most of my life, working through high school, college, before finally getting an entry-level position after literally two years of unemployment.”

“These words you speak,” murmured Kell. “They are strange to me.”

“High school—that’s like an apprenticeship in your world, I guess, only ten times worse.”

Kell’s laughter was soft and dry. “Worse than an apprenticeship? Ah, Tara MacQueen. I don’t believe you.”

“Well, maybe not. I don’t know much about apprenticeships,” admitted Tara. “But high school’s pretty tough. College is, too. And as for my job, what I do for a living…ugh.” She rested her face in her hands. “I don’t really have friends, except for Juliana. She’s nice, though she doesn’t quite get me. I try to connect with people, but it isn’t easy. Maybe it’s my fault. I’m shy and I don’t have a lot going on—”

“It sounds like you have a great deal ‘going on,’ as you put it,” said Kell. “You mustn’t blame yourself for poor relationships, Tara MacQueen. I, too, spend a great deal of time alone. But I welcome company when it is near me, and I don’t find you at all unpleasant. In the short time I have known you, you seem to be uncertain of yourself, yes—but determined, brave, and generous. Perhaps these traits are not valued where you come from. But among my people, generosity and kindness is revered.”

“Your people,” said Tara, curious. “The Elder-Folk? I don’t know a lot about them.”

“There isn’t a lot to tell,” said Kell, musing over his curious instrument like a parent watching over a sleeping child. “We do not spend much time dwelling on the past. We wander at will and settle where we choose. But we are loyal to each other. And we each share a great passion for song.” The fey paused, and his voice took on a slight edge. “You have heard, of course, of how we survive?”

“You feed on the essence of life,” said Tara. She wished that phrase didn’t make her so uneasy, as if Kell might be a vampire thirsting for blood. “I don’t really know what that means.”

“We have faced much grief because of it,” Kell sighed. “But the truth is, the essence of life is not what most imagine. You think that life is breathing perhaps, or the beat of your heart. No—these things are part of living, but they are not life itself. It is expressions of life, the true essence, that satisfied us. Stories, song—these are what the fey feast on. Even what you tell me now is satisfying. It makes me strong.”

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Tara was interested, doubtful. “That keeps you alive? Stories?”

“It’s really very uncomplicated,” said the fey. “All life tells a story. These trees, the ground beneath us. Even that ox-like Fenman. Yes, yes—I listen to it all, and am grateful I have the ears to hear. But it is a double-edged gift, this need of ours.”

“What do you mean?” asked Tara.

“Ah, enough of me,” said Kell. “You were explaining about yourself and where you come from. Is your homeland near? I admit, it sounds quite strange. Is it across the Winter Sea in the lands of Long Summer? I have heard of lands where it is warm and golden, a joyous paradise. I don’t know if such a thing is possible here. It doesn’t sound like the strange place you describe.”

Tara took a deep breath. She raised her arm to point to the sky above them. “If I told you I’m from one of those stars up there,” she said. “What would you say?”

The fey weighed his answer. “I don’t believe you’re lying to me,” he murmured. “But I do not understand. You are from the sky? You’re not one of us?”

Tara felt a rush of panic. “No, no,” she said. “I’m definitely one of you. I’m only human. It’s just I’m not from here. That’s all.”

“You were born in another world,” Kell murmured, “and came to us, here in Allerion, from all that great distance. But why? You don’t seem unfamiliar with our world, even if you are far from wise in it. How is this possible?”

Tara felt she had risked too much already. The last thing she wanted was to cause an existential crisis.

“I don’t fully understand it myself.” This, like everything else she had told the fey so far, was true. “All I know is, I’m here. And I’m glad.”

Kell’s mouth twisted. His grimace was sudden, and Tara was afraid she had said something wrong.

“I find it extraordinary,” the fey said, “that anyone would be glad to be here. Yet it is strangely comforting to know that someone like you—who I believe is far from intentionally cruel—finds pleasure in Allerion. Your world must have been savage indeed, to make ours a relief.”

Remembering the slave ship and all the dead people there, Tara could see his point. Perhaps in some sense, all of this was still too dreamlike for her. But it was also true that she had no desire to go back to her apartment just yet.

“The thing is,” she murmured, “you’re right. I have in a sense, been here before. I know Wenrik, Elita, and Horon. I knew Berga at the Old Troll tavern the minute I saw her. I can’t explain, but I’ve known them for years because of—something like visions. So despite all that I’ve seen so far that is evil and cruel, I know there’s good, too. And that means a lot to me.”

The fey’s yellow eyes were half-lidded. “Do you know me?”

The question struck Tara as left-of-center. She hesitated. “I should,” she said. “But no, I—it’s like I almost remember, but not quite.”

“No matter.” Kell was dismissive, almost relieved. “At least I have the opportunity of making your acquaintance for the first time. I confess, you do fascinate me. Is there really no good in your world? This makes you desirous of ours?”

Tara was perplexed. “There is good,” she said awkwardly. “It’s just—it isn’t so clear sometimes. In Allerion, good guys are obvious. So are bad guys. In our world it’s way more dangerous.” For one thing, psychopaths and losers don’t show up like red dots on your game compass, and don’t have red highlights around them warning that they’re hostile entities.

Kell glanced down at the hurdy-gurdy in his lap. “You may find our world is not so transparent as your visions led you to believe.”

“What do you mean?”

“Be careful.” The fey seemed to shrink further into his cloak, huddled under the crude fur. “It is possible to be deceived and betrayed here. It is possible to be hurt beyond healing. Take care, Tara MacQueen. It will take a true Hero of Allerion to survive.”

Tara thought of Acalon. She understood some of what Kell was saying. The more time passed, the more the sting of her last interaction with the dragon rider seemed to become more bitter, more painful. She had handled the whole situation so badly. Acalon had been to blame too, certainly. It wasn’t all her fault. But she had been so stupid and now it was too late.

I should have told him why he was so important to me, thought Tara. I should have let him know that in my “visions,” we’ve faced so much together, and I know he’s more than his faults. But maybe that would have made everything worse.

The fey’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Why don’t you rest? I can keep next watch. I’m not tired, and you look exhausted.”

Tara nodded. She lay down slowly. “Could you wake Wenrik next?”

“Yes, of course.”

Tara’s eyes drifted shut. Her dreams were uneasy and disorienting, haunted by an uncertain danger, and strange music she had never heard before.