The Lock and The Key: Chapter 2
(in case you need a refresher)
Orpheus Wren
"May I ask your name? Or at least what I may call you that I am capable of remembering?" Lane asked, peeking into the cabinets with candle while he searched for dishes.
"Keith."
He paused pulling a coffee mug out of a cupboard and blinked over at the Fae lord, who was peering curiously into the oven. "Keith. Is that like a nickname?"
"It is what you may call me that you are capable of remembering."
He grinned. "Touché. Ah, oh no, man... I should have realized these cups would be filthy." He pulled down another mug and set it on the counter. "Do you mind if I wash these first? I didn't get to clean as much today as I’d hoped to."
"Certainly. May I ask how you knew we were returning?"
Lane shrugged as he turned on the tap. "Personally I didn't, but there's a number of people with oracular abilities around the world who kept giving us the same images. The desert turning green was pretty common, I think everyone got that one."
Keith grunted. "Then why are you the chosen emissary? Not one of these oracles?"
He reached into his box for the bottle of dish soap and started to scrub the first cup. "The oracles had some input on that as well, but also I'm one of the strongest spell casters we have. The leaders wanted to be sure I could keep myself safe. That's also somewhat why the six month delay before I came here, after we located the hill. Magic only really got reliable after that first burst from… From what The Bridge started with The Architect."
A somber silence stretched between them, barely broken by the splash of water in the sink.
"The Bridge lives," Keith said, his voice losing the arrogance it had held. "He is holding. He is… He is very strong. We thought he had support. If Prince Sanduryel had known what he was suffering through, and all alone..."
Lane said nothing, still able to see the human Keith meant burning with uncontrolled mage fire as he tore down the barricades between realms with his mind. Everyone with magical ability had seen it, had it seared into their minds. At the last moment a Fae prince had torn an unstable rift between the realms to help him, but by then the mage fire had burned much of his mind to cinders and his body had been horribly scarred.
At the end of this received memory was a voice saying, "It's not impossible, I refuse to let it be! Our peoples need each other, Sanduryel! Our worlds are dying! If it takes my dying breath to bridge this gap, then I will go to Grandfather Death's side willingly."
Then the shout of another voice, anguished, screaming "No! Grandfather Death, no, I won't let you have him! Please, even if it takes my life, let him live! I… I didn’t know he was alone…! Please, let him live!"
And finally, something that wasn't a voice at all.
ATTEND THE BRIDGE; STRONG, BUT UNSTEADY AND FAILING. ATTEND THE ARCHITECT; LONG SIGHTED, BUT UNREADY AND BREAKING. LET THE LOCK FIND THE KEY AND BOTH LEARN TO YIELD, THAT THE BRIDGE MAY FIND STEADY GROUND. LET THE DOOR CHANGE THE WAY THAT THE ARCHITECT MAY LEARN READINESS. ONLY THEN MAY THE ARCHITECT SEE HOW THE BRIDGE WAS BUILT, THAT MAY ALL THAT IS FINALLY COMPLETE THE WORK BOTH HAVE STARTED.
"And the Prince?" Lane asked at last, setting down the last dish and turning off the sink. He picked up a rag to start drying the dishes.
Keith sighed. "He still holds as well. But his sister will stand as heir now, unless— until The Bridge awakens. Their fates, we fear, are forever linked."
“Our oracles say the same.” He sighed. “Anyway, I had some use of magic before that and was starting to teach myself when... um. So I already had all of the will, but almost none of the knowledge. And I’ve had to deal with um. Creatures of similar nature. So I was basically just in magical cram school. I apologize for the delay.”
“There is nothing to forgive. We assumed someone with knowledge of how to deal with our kind would come to the gate when time permitted. Things here remain chaotic?” He picked up a dry mug and turned it over in his hands, his expression bland.
Lane snorted. “The more things change, the more things stay the same, Keith.” He turned the mug he’d just dried off over in his hands as well, feeling his mouth pull into a sardonic grin. “Good gracious. I suppose this technically qualifies as a mug, Mrs. Reynolds...”
There was nothing really wrong with the dishes that had come with the “fully furnished” house, but they were glazed the same color as shit and the glaze had bubbled in places with a weird yellow sheen that really did make them look like poop.
“So this is not the norm.” The Fae sounded faintly relieved.
He shook his head. “Not remotely. My apologies, Keith. I’ll see if I can get literally any other dishes tomorrow when I head into town to get a few extra groceries. I assume we will be interacting periodically until my business here is concluded.”
“I assume this as well. Would you be offended if I cast a permanent glamour on these dishes?” Keith’s voice was carefully polite.
Lane glanced up from the plate he was drying. “Just a glamour on the dishes? No other spells?”
Keith opened his mouth, then grinned widely. “Oh, working with you will be fun. You’re sharp enough to keep up! Yes, my prickly mortal host, only a glamour so we do not fear we are drinking tea and wine from feces."
He tried to bite back a snicker and failed. “I heard that implied ‘actually’ about me being sharp! Is there any price I must pay for this service?”
Lane set the plate down and looked up, still grinning, to find the Fae lord staring at him some something like surprise, which he swiftly masked by looking thoughtful. There was something very intense happening behind his eyes, Lane felt with a shiver of… A shiver of what? He felt it jolt through him and almost backed away. Only his own pride and his knowledge of the Fae kept him still, but his smile faded.
“I wonder…” The Fae murmured, then seemed to realize Lane had asked him a question. “Ah, yes... Yes, for this small service, I would ask a small favor only. I would ask that I may touch your arm, at times. I will cast no spells upon you, in doing this. It will merely be to… to draw your attention, I suppose, or perhaps to comfort, for example.”
He raised an eyebrow at this. A strange request, but… “As long as you’re not being sexual about it without my consent.”
Keith smiled, and something about this one felt very gentle. “Never, never, never without your consent, my prickly mortal host.”
Lane felt that smile, the warm tone of his voice, settle over his shoulders like the comforting arm of a friend or a lover. It was difficult to shake the effect, the desire to let his guard down more with Keith. But that intensity was still behind his eyes, the one that made Lane’s legs want to shake. So he held that guard up, although he felt suddenly that it was a wall that would be eroded in time if he wasn’t careful.
Would he mind, if his guard fell to that kind of gentle intensity and thoughtful regard? No, no, best he not think that way. Too much was at stake right now. Two lives, two realities, hanging in the balance… and too much of that resting on his shoulders at the moment. He took a calming breath to steady himself a little further, eyeing the horror show masquerading as dishes to remind him of the current state of affairs.
He grimaced, looking at them. “Then yes, if you are willing to glamour these dishes while we use them in exchange for the ability to touch my arm under the agreement that you will do this without bespelling me and as long as it is not sexual without my consent, I would be very appreciative.”
“Excellent.”
Keith flicked a finger and the disgusting looking mugs were replaced by mugs of similar but less awkward shape with a blue glaze that shimmered somehow, looking almost like it contained nebulae. The similarly awkward looking plates smoothed in shape, becoming less clunky, almost graceful, with the same shimmering glaze. The effect was so much better Lane couldn’t help letting out a sigh of relief.
“Glamours,” Keith confessed, “are not my best skill. And those were ugly enough that even the most skilled of my kind would have struggled.”
“I like this,” Lane responded, picking up a plate. “That’s beautiful, I almost feel like they’re too pretty to use! But since I know what they really look like, I won’t worry about it. It’s curious though…” He stared intently at the plate in his hands.
“What is it?”
Lane struggled for a moment, grasping for words. “I’m not certain how to describe it. It’s like my eyes see one thing but my mind knows I’m seeing something else. It… looks like a lie, I suppose?”
Keith’s hand touched Lane’s wrist as he was still turning the plate over in his hands. “This is a rare gift you speak of, even among my kind. You see the glamour, but something in you sees only what is true.”
Lane looked up from the plate to find the Fae lord staring at him even more intently and mentally held himself very still so he did not back away. “Yes, it’s um. It’s not always been a gift to me here in… in my world, I guess.”
There was something electric, though not remotely magical, in Keith’s touch. It was a nice feeling… A dangerous feeling, when dealing with the Fae. He struggled in the balance between wanting to lean into it and pull away.
Fortunately, the hand fell away. “I can see how that would be the case here. The world you live in breathes lies at present, it seems.”
He sighed, setting down the plate and reaching into his box of supplies for a green ceramic teapot, one that could take being heated, and a jug of water. “It certainly feels that way,” he agreed as he filled the teapot. “It’s actually almost better, since uh. Since The Bridge did whatever he did. But it seems somewhat erratic. Sometimes things come to light, honesty blooms for a week or two in one place… then gone and all is as it was, but slightly changed for the better. And then it happens again somewhere else.”
He set the teapot on the electric stove and turned it on. He reached in for the box of tea and realized he was still standing in the kitchen in a bathrobe and nothing on underneath but underwear. Hardly how he thought he’d be dressed for this interaction… Not that he’d particularly planned that either. How did one dress for an unexpected visit from a Fae lord, anyway? Even if they were half expecting it?
“We have similar effects happening in our world. Not dishonesty, but pride. Where pride is misplaced, power fades. Where humility has always waited, power grows. It is gradual, it is not all… but is has disrupted many imbalances of power.” He sounded like he was trying to sound bland but struggling because he was gleeful.
Lane grinned. “I’m guessing you’re about as upset by this as I am about the sudden influx of honesty.”
Keith nodded, the picture of serenity. “Undoubtedly.”
He snorted and shook his head, but decided to change the subject. “Listen, the water is going to take a minute to get hot, would you mind if I got some actual clothing on very quickly? It won’t be fancy, I’m afraid my suit and tie are in another castle. Oh, uh, that’s a reference to something. Sorry.”
The Fae lord nodded. “It is forgiven. And by all means, get dressed. We should both be as comfortable as possible for the conversation we have been directed here for.”
“Thank you. I’ll just be a moment."
He stepped out of the kitchen and into the bedroom. A moment of rummaging in his suitcase in the dark produced a shirt of some kind and pants of some kind, plus a binder. He put them all on by feel, grateful for his years doing theater in high school. There were some skills you only learned by doing, and putting clothing on quickly and in pitch dark was definitely one. He emerged from the bedroom when he was done and found he was wearing a baggy pair of patched jeans and a band shirt he’d rescued from a thrift shop.
So, as usual, he was a ragamuffin. Nothing new there.
“I apologize for the delay,” he said as he walked over the tea pot and listened to it. This one wouldn’t whistle, but he didn’t think it was boiling yet. A quick glance inside told him the water wasn’t even bubbling.
“There was so little it does not concern me. I have never met a mortal, but do you all dress so quickly?”
He flashed the Fae a fierce grin. “Not remotely. Most are MUCH slower.” He peered into the tea pot again, noting the small bubbles forming. “I suppose we have silently agreed to wait for the serious matters until at least we have some tea?”
Keith hummed contemplatively. “Yours, perhaps, we could discuss tonight, if you prefer. The matters of my people may change depending upon what it is you are here for. And I must speak to them about you before I may say much, as yet.”
Lane nodded. “I suppose that makes sense. I’m renting this place for a minimum of six of our months. We know that this is going to take time. As knowledge and understanding are exchanged, we may each better understand what’s happening and what must be done. As for what I say changing the matters of your people… The same could be true from my end, for all we know. But still, we can start from my side. I have a basic briefing on the most pressing issues and our most recent understandings of things. Which isn’t much, I’m afraid, just…”
The Fae held up a hand and Lane trailed off. “Then let us discuss this over tea and this fine bread.”
He hesitated, then smiled. “Yes. It’s a good thing the saying is about watched pots and never boiling, not watched tea pots. Water should be hot shortly.”
Keith’s expression went blank. “Is that saying true? If you watch a pot, does it not boil? How does that work?”
He shook his head, grinning. “It’s not true, Keith. I promise the laws of thermodynamics are still alive and well, most of the time. In fact…” He frowned for a moment, considering. He was tired, but not that tired…
He reached out and held a hand over the tea pot, reaching for the energy he had stored in a necklace rather than the ambient energy around him, and directed that magic into the tea in a carefully controlled trickle. The temperature in the tea pot rose as he did until the water began to boil. He drew his hand away and snapped off the heat under the water. He reached for the box of tea and added a scoop of it into the cotton, reusable tea bag he’d prepped for this. He tied it carefully closed and put the bag in the tea pot, then put the lid on it.
Only then did he look up at Keith.
The Fae lord was frowning at him in puzzlement. He glanced down at Lane’s hand and Lane felt himself tense involuntarily. What was it going to be this time? Every single person who knew anything about magic asked, of course a Fae lord would…
“How do you know how to do that?”
Lane blinked. “Magic? Uh, we have a few magic traditions that did survive…”
Keith shook his head firmly. “No. That spell, using those energies…”
He felt himself go still. The look on his face must have been clear for the Fae lord to read because he saw comprehension dawning. And with it, horror.
“You don’t know. None of your human magic users know what you’re reaching for. You are all, all of you, reaching blindly.”
Lane sighed, feeling his shoulders slump. He stared at the kettle, not seeing it. Instead, he saw something all too recent, all too long ago. He shuddered, hugging himself against a chill he knew didn’t reflect in the air temperature around him. Keith’s hand touched his elbow and he flinched away from it before mastering himself, but he couldn’t repress another shudder, his eyes tight against a time that was not now.
He shook his head and forced himself to look up. “No, Keith, it’s not all of us. As far as I know… As far as any human magic user knows, it’s just me. Most humans work differently, harnessing the power of the sun, the moon, the stars, the earth… I accepted this mission in part because I was hoping one of you can tell me what I’m doing. What I’m reaching for. Because I am terribly afraid I know and I desperately want to be wrong.”
