Read Online 1633880583 (F) by Chris Willrich - Free Book Online Page A

them on. There were less common varieties, such as gray, wizened beings who looked as though all color had been drained away, leaving a cold core of purpose; these nodded gravely when Innocence’s escorts passed. And there were others who looked like human adults but with a child’s stature, with hair like lichen, bramble, or moss peeking from underneath conical hats of red, yellow, or blue.
    And sometimes he apparently saw some of the inhabitants “sideways,” for he spotted balls of living yarn of variable stature, from pebble-sized to boulder-sized to a hazy shape in the distance that rivaled the castle, and from which he quickly averted his eyes. When he nerved himself to look again it was gone.
    Now they neared the fortress, guarded by a stream that surged and retreated and expanded again like the edge of an ocean, for all that it was but twenty feet across. Upon the dagger-shaped drawbridge stood two warriors in strange armor that appeared to be tinted glass. As they were the transparent sort of denizen, Innocence could almost see right through them. The guards asked for no explanation but pointed toward the open gate with swords embossed with swirling geometric designs, each gleaming in the land’s wealth of colors.
    The castle itself was filled with servants clad in the richest of silks waiting upon a handful of nobles dressed in peasant clothes. The girls greeted these latter, and soon they had an entourage escorting them into a throne room. The throne was carved from an immense dead tree, twisting in designs recalling dragons, wolves, sea serpents, and beasts harder to identify. Upon it sat one of the wizened gray folk. He wore a simple brown robe tied with a golden rope, and a wide-brimmed straw hat.
    “So this is him?”
    “Yes, Father,” said the tail-less girl.
    “Let’s see his hands.” Innocence’s captors spread his fingers and lifted his palms for the old fellow to see. There seemed little point in resisting.
    “Hm. Very well, release him.” Freed, Innocence stretched his arms and clenched his fists. “So, daughter, would you have him?” said the fellow on the throne.
    The girl smiled. Innocence felt conflicted feelings. “He’s too young yet,” she said. “He should plow a field for a while first. Four years, I think. But we could get engaged right now.”
    “Wise,” said the lord. “Boy, what is your name?”
    “I am Askelad,” Innocence managed to say, bowing in the manner of Qiangguo. “What is this place? Who are you people?”
    “You are in Sølvlyss, and I am Earl Morksol. We are called by the Kantenings the uldra, and by the Swanlanders and Eldshoren the delven, though on the Spiral Sea we are often the fata. Yet many will simply say ‘the hidden folk.’”
    On impulse, Innocence asked, “Do your people live in Qiangguo? Do some of your girls resemble foxes?”
    “Qiangguo, Qiangguo . . .” The earl scratched his chin. “It seems to me we do have relations in such a land, though we are long out of touch. As for foxes . . . in adolescence we have some in-betweenness about our forms, as with my daughter’s friends the dairymaids. Perhaps in the land you name, our youth are fond of foxes. We are quite variable. Once we were nearly as limited as you, when we dwelled on the opposite side of the coin that is the Earthe. But when a great catastrophe drove us into the underground places, we wandered far in darkness and learned strange talents. Bereft of light and open air, we opened passageways into realms that had both, though we had to change ourselves to suit the new environments. Even when we reached your side of the Earthe, many of us still preferred the hidden places under the skin of reality. We still have cousins who live much as you do, in singular forms, out in the open. We call them sky-delven, and they in turn call us the deep-delven, though in these isles we prefer to say ‘uldra,’ as the Kantenings do.”
    Innocence was regaining his composure. It was