Isle of Winds (The Changeling Series Book 1) (6 page)

“I thought you were coming to teach me schoolwork,” Robin asked weakly.

Phorbas made a distasteful face. “There’s time enough for frivolities like that when you are older,” he said. “A child like you needs to be tutored in the Arcania.”

“The what?”

“The arts of casting,” Phorbas said, with an extravagant gesture of his arms.

Robin looked at him blankly.

“Magic,” the satyr explained, grinning. “Fire, water, earth, wind, light, darkness and spirit! The seven towers of the Arcania! The seven fields of magical expertise. All of our kind learn these. Some specialise, some are hopeless. We will not know your limits, Master Robin, until we test them.” He smiled. “And test them we shall.”

The satyr walked towards the staircase. “Come, the Netherworlde awaits us!”

“The what?” Robin asked, following the quick stepping goat man.

“The Netherworlde,” Phorbas repeated. “I thought perhaps your aunt had exaggerated when she said you knew nothing, but I see she was, as ever, most carefully accurate with her descriptions. The Netherworlde, Master Robin, the flip side to what you know as the human world.”

Robin didn’t really know how to process this. He settled for the simplest question. “How will we get there?”

“Through Erlking of course,” Phorbas replied. “Erlking is a station.” He noticed the confused look on Robin’s face. Robin was remembering the small blue boy from the previous night. He had mentioned stations too. “There are permanent pathways between here, the human world, and the Netherworlde,” Phorbas explained, leading Robin on at a quick pace up to the third floor. “These passing places are called stations, and are governed mainly by Janus, which is our doorkeeper.”

He turned a corner and set off down a long corridor, trailing Robin behind him.

“There are a few…” he continued, “… a very select few, independent stations, ungoverned, unmonitored by the peacekeepers, Eris’ people. Erlking is one of these.”

“Why’s that?” Robin asked.

“Erlking is a law unto itself, and cannot be governed.” He glanced at Robin. “You would do well to bear that in mind, Master Robin. While your aunt holds mastery of Erlking, while she watches over, no harm can come to you within its walls. It is a fact most irksome to her enemies.”

They ascended a couple of steps and turned a corner. Robin was trying desperately to take all this on board.

“Why have I never heard of any of this before?” he wanted to know, still struggling with the fact he was following half a goat upstairs.

Phorbas laughed. “Very few humans know of the Netherworlde. We would never get any peace if they did.”

“So why me? Why tell me all this?” Robin asked.

Phorbas gave him a sidelong glance. “Because you, Master Robin, though I appreciate it may come as something of a shock, are not altogether human. You are the last of a long, long line.”

He stopped at the end of the corridor abruptly and turned to face the shocked boy. Robin’s eyes were very wide.

They had arrived at the locked red door. The same door which he and Henry had found the previous day. The door that according to the other boy, had never previously been there.

“You,” Phorbas said, leaning down and peering into Robin’s face intensely. “You, my young Master Robin, are the world’s last changeling.”

Before Robin could query him, the satyr slipped a slim silver key from the pocket of his waistcoat. It turned with a polite click and the door opened.

Robin peered within.

The room beyond was bizarrely out of place with the rest of the corridor and house. The walls and floor were rough stone, like an old castle. There was another door on the opposite wall, very old fashioned with huge black hinges and a ring of iron for a doorknocker.

What struck Robin was that the room looked so old and partly ruined. There were large green bushes here and there, growing through the cracks. Ivy covered much of the dark walls. There were even a couple of wizened trees pushing up through the flagstones, their leafy canopies hiding much of the ceiling.

There was a large stone table at the centre of the room, covered in odd paraphernalia and scrolls, and a lantern casting a golden glow over the odd room.

The strangest thing, however, in an ever-growing list of exceedingly strange things, was that through the window in the room, the sky outside was dark and dotted with bright stars.

Considering that on this side of the door it was eleven o’clock in the morning and quite sunny, Robin found this quite hard to take in.

“Come on through,” Phorbas said. “Take your first steps in the Netherworlde.”

Robin followed the satyr into the room. The air shimmered a little in the doorway as he passed through, as though in a heat haze. He couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious that he took his first steps in the Netherworlde, apparently the world’s last changeling, in his socks.

Chapter Six –
Magics and Mana-stones

Phorbas followed Robin into the large, ruined room. A cool midnight breeze rolled in through the windows, carrying with it the sweet smell of night-time grass and odd flowers. Was this really happening, he wondered? He breathed deeply. There was a faint smell, like jasmine, autumn and burning wood, beneath the breeze. It smelled … familiar. Stepping through the locked door felt inexplicably like coming home.

“Ah,” said Phorbas, noticing Robin breathing the sweet dark air. “Nothing quite like it is there, Master Robin? The night blooming scents of the Netherworlde. No fresher air anywhere else you care to look, I would wager my beard upon it, and a beard is a very serious thing for a satyr to wager, I don’t mind telling you.”

Robin didn’t reply; he was still taking it all in. A small and slightly frantic voice kept jabbering in the back of his mind. He felt slightly dazed, drunk on the unremitting weirdness of it all.

Phorbas turned and looked at the door which led back to the side of Erlking Hall which reached into the human world. The corridor stretched away unassumingly. In the distance, very faintly, Robin could hear Hestia grumbling to herself as she hoovered. The normal, everyday sound seemed ridiculous in context. To be standing in a ruined castle in the middle of the night in one world and be able to hear someone vacuuming noisily in the sunshine in another. The satyr frowned, as though he wished to shut the door, cutting off anything mundane that might detract from the experience, but he gave a rueful look and thought better of it. “Your aunt has granted us use of Erlking’s doorway so that I might show you this. A small slice of our world,” he said. “She thought you might be more easily convinced by this than my merely telling you about it, but perhaps she is wise in forbidding us to close this door while we are on the Netherworlde side. It is not the … safest place at the moment, for you to linger.”

Robin had to admit, seeing was believing. He doubted he would have swallowed Phorbas’ revelation about a hidden world whole if they were sitting downstairs sipping tea. He looked back at the goat man. “Not safe?” he asked with raised eyebrows, as his new tutor’s words sunk in.

Phorbas ushered him further into the room with a flap of his hands. “Oh, worry not, young sir,” he said lightly. “You are still in Erlking, even if the Netherworlde side of it is rather larger than the mortal world’s. No harm can come to any in Erlking as long as your aunt watches over the place. And she is watching over the place, even if she isn’t in it. As long as her eyes are working, and no one has sharper eyes than she.”

He noticed Robin glancing toward the window. “Go then,” he chuckled indulgently. “Take a look at the Netherworlde for the first time, why don’t you?”

Robin made his way across the room, rustling against a large bush covered in tiny flowers which looked like small golden trumpets. He startled a little as they turned silently to follow his progress. One or two of them seemed to sniff in his direction.

“Try not to brush against those,” Phorbas said conversationally, as he made his own way across to the paraphernalia-covered table. “They’re Snapping Foxgloves. They won’t kill you but they can give a heck of a nip.”

Robin gave the bush a wide berth as he made his way past, staring at it with wide eyes. He was sure he heard some of the tiny flowers growling quietly as they shuddered like angry Chihuahuas.

He reached the window and leaned out into the night.

On this side, he was more than four stories up. Much more. The wall fell away beneath him, many stories down into the darkness, studded everywhere with windows, turrets, balconies and a good smattering of ivy. In the darkness, low hills rolled lazily away, rippling in the breeze like a dark ocean. There was a tangled-looking forest beyond, the trees made an impenetrable black wall in the darkness.

Robin’s gaze travelled upwards to the sky. There was a fat moon hanging in the darkness. It looked three times bigger than the moon had ever looked back in what Robin couldn’t help thinking of as ‘the real world’. The rest of the sky was dotted with countless unfamiliar stars, winking in and out of view behind grey-silver clouds as large as full-sailed ships.

Robin tore himself away from the view of this strange land and turned back to the room. Phorbas was leaning against the table patiently.

“This place, you said it’s called the Netherworlde?” he asked Phorbas, aware that his own voice sounded a little shaky. “And it’s really real? A whole other world? I mean, I haven’t just gone mad or anything? I’m not really sitting in some hospital somewhere dribbling cornflakes down my pyjamas?”

“Does it seem real to you?” his new tutor asked, his head cocked to one side.

One of the biting foxgloves near Robin’s elbow growled quietly, and then abruptly sneezed, dislodging several leaves. The flagstones, cold under his socks. They felt real.

“Yeah, it does,” he said wonderingly. “It’s hard to explain, but it feels … realer … than anywhere else I’ve ever been.”

The satyr nodded sagely. “And so it should, young Master Robin. You were, after all, born here. You are the world’s last changeling.”

“You said that before,” Robin said, trying to step over some vines. The idea that he had come from such a place as this, to be raised in the human world, seemed outlandish. Ridiculous. “I don’t really understand…”

“Aha!” said Phorbas, holding up a finger. “And that is the crux! That is why I have brought you here. To explain to you about the Netherworlde, and of course, about who, and indeed what, you are.” He indicated a battered old three-legged stool next to the table. “Sit!” he commanded.

“Your first lesson, under my tutelage, is a history lesson.” He removed from his belt a slender, ornately-carved dagger of shining silver which he fiddled with as he spoke, twirling it on its point absently on the table top. There was a bright orange garnet gemstone set in the pommel, which flashed as it caught the light.

“The Netherworlde has existed, side by side, as long as there has been the mortal world,” Phorbas began. “The mortal world is the realm of humans, of mankind. The Netherworlde is the realm of your people, Robin. Of the Fae.”

“The Fae?” Robin asked helplessly.

“Don’t interrupt,” Phorbas said, waggling his knife at Robin in a bizarrely unthreatening manner.

“Sorry,” Robin mumbled.

“The Fae,” Phorbas continued, looking off into middle distance. “A race as proud as they are wild, as pure as they are varied. Humans have always known, even if only in dreams, of the existence of the Fae. They called them faeries, or goblins, or elves, or any number of strange fairytale names. But they were not make-believe tales. They were real. They still are … what’s left of them.” He glanced sharply at Robin. “For there are fewer Fae than there were. Far, far fewer, and those that do remain are hidden and secret even here in the Netherworlde. And with good reason,” he said darkly.

Robin opened his mouth to question this, but then remembered he was not meant to interrupt.

“It is essential that you understand, Master Robin, that the Fae have ruled the Netherworlde for time immemorial,” Phorbas explained. “Led by the noble King Oberon and the fierce Queen Titania, they have watched over the provinces of this land for as long as there have been mortals in your world.” His face grew serious. “All of that began to change one hundred years ago.” He paused, peering at Robin oddly. “For even timeless peoples must face change, young Master Robin. Even the noble and undying must submit to the whim of the Fates.” His eyes narrowed thoughtfully, as though he were thinking of times long past. “You see, something happened in the Netherworlde a century ago. Another race of beings appeared at that time, a people distinct entirely from the Fae. These were the Panthea, and they were every bit as wise and old and varied as Oberon’s people. Their own history is muddled, and forgotten even to them. They were, in effect, refugees. A lost race.”

Robin nodded to show he understood.

“The Fae accepted these new people into their homeland,” Phorbas continued. “Into the Netherworlde, and for many, many years, the two races lived alongside one another, the Fae and the Panthea, in relative harmony. The Netherworlde is a large place, young Robin, there is more space on this side that in your mortal world.”

He sighed ruefully. “But although they lived together … they did not share power. The Fae ruled supreme, the sovereignty of Oberon and Titania was unquestionable, and they held power over the fair land by wielding the ultimate magic. This was, and still is, known as the Arcania.”

He spoke the word reverently, and a little greedily, as though he were speaking of some great treasure. Robin could not hold his tongue this time.

“What’s that?” he asked.

Phorbas tilted his head to one side, making a lazy circle in the air with his knife, “What is the Arcania?” he said. “A weapon, some would say, of a kind. Or perhaps the ultimate source of magic. Used for good or for ill as the wielder sees fit.” He looked directly at Robin. “The Arcania, my pupil, is the source of all the magic in the Netherworlde. It is the strength and raw energy of Oberon and Titania, and they were without equal while they possessed it.”

“So … what happened?” Robin asked. “What changed?”

“The peace between the two peoples, alas, was fated not to last,” Phorbas said sadly. “There are always those who will seek power. There will always be those unsatisfied with their lot, and they will always seek to rule. A group of Panthea, jealous of the Fae, resentful of the king and queen who had once given them sanctuary, plotted against them. They were tired of being ruled. They wanted to seize power for themselves. They were led by a very powerful and dangerous Panthea named Eris.”

As he spoke this last word, Robin felt the breeze which drifted in the window cool a little. It rustled the leaves on the trees in the room, making them whisper. All of the Snapping Foxgloves closed their petals, retreating into themselves and growling quietly.

“Lady Eris,” Phorbas continued. “Majestic. Charismatic. Manipulative. Calculating. Ruthless. She waged a war against the ruling Fae. She was determined to wield the Arcania for herself, and to make the Panthea the new rulers of the Netherworlde.”

He shook his head forlornly. “The war was terrible, Master Robin. As all wars are. Many lives were lost. Much blood was spilled, and the Netherworlde became a darker, more dangerous place for us all. Lady Eris was fierce and unrelenting. The numbers of her followers swelled and swelled, but though they were powerful, still they could not hope to overcome the Fae king and queen. Not, at least, while they held the power of the Arcania. The war raged across the whole Netherworlde for almost a hundred years. And then…” His eyes widened. “… Something unexplainable happened.”

Robin, who was now perched on the edge of his wobbly stool, looked up into the satyr’s eyes. “What happened?” he asked eagerly.

“The two sides were so equally matched, they were at loggerheads, stalemate,” Phorbas explained. “And then, one day, King Oberon and Queen Titania simply…” He spread his hands, like birds taking flight. “… disappeared.”

Robin frowned. “Disappeared?” he asked incredulously.

“No one could explain it,” Phorbas continued. “They vanished completely.” He narrowed his eyes. “There are many who believe they were betrayed by one of their own. Without King Oberon and Lady Titania, the Fae could not stand against the rebelling Panthea. Their loyal commanders, known as the Fae Guard, were decimated. Lady Eris was victorious. The Panthea ruled the Netherworlde.” He sighed and stabbed his dagger into the table-top, where it lodged in a crack in the stone. “There was much confusion as to what happened. As it is said, when war is declared, truth is often the first casualty. Many said that Eris had managed to have the Fae king and queen assassinated. Others said they had fled, deserting their people. In the end, no one knew the truth. But the facts remained: the Panthea were, and are now, the true rulers of the Netherworlde, and under Eris’ cruel rule, they persecuted the Fae. Enslaving many, imprisoning some, killing more. Eventually, those few Fae who remained free went underground. Hidden, on the run. Outlaws in what was once their own land.”

“That’s terrible,” Robin said.

“One would think,” Phorbas said, “… that Lady Eris would be happy. She now rules the Netherworlde supreme. She is the Empress of all she surveys. But her fury is terrible to behold, because she does not yet wield the ultimate power.”

Robin was confused. “You mean this Arcania thingy?”

The goat man nodded, pleased Robin was keeping up. “Indeed. It had vanished along with the king and queen. Rumour said that, rather than let the ultimate power of the Netherworlde fall into Lady Eris’ murderous hands, the King and Queen of the Fae shattered the Arcania. They split it into seven pieces, and then they scattered these pieces throughout the Netherworlde. Even the loyal members of the Fae Guard did not know where. Hidden forever from Eris’ eyes.” Phorbas looked deeply troubled.

“Without the power of the Arcania, Lady Eris can never crush the remaining Fae. Those who have formed a secret resistance against her.” He held up a long finger to Robin. “And … without the power of the Arcania, the Fae can never hope to overcome Lady Eris, and claim back rulership of their homeland.”

Phorbas stood and walked through the foxgloves to stare out of the window. “The Netherworlde under Eris’ rule is a dangerous place, young Master Robin, especially for a changeling such as yourself. It is a shame you could not have seen it before the war.”