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Authors: L. Jagi Lamplighter
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of the tithing procession, as if he was about to give the Water of Forgetfulness to the victim of the Tithe.”
“But if Mephisto had been tithed, wouldn’t he be in Hell?” I asked, agitated. “I mean tithed elves go bodily across the Styx… just like on Mephisto’s wall mural, right? He would just have vanished, right?”
“Unless he made a deal with his demonic captors,” Mab said grimly.
“You mean, like, he’ll take a chameleon cloak and hunt the Unicorn, or seduce souls like Faust, carry out other dastardly crimes for them, if they let him go to the surface world?” I shivered. It felt like cold fingers walking up the inside of my back. “And they gave him a bat-winged body as part of the deal?”
I stood and began pacing about the library. “I wish we knew what normally happened to elves who are tithed. Do the demons eat them? That’s what Gregor used to believe. He thought the demons consumed their essence and wore their skins like coats, so that they could slip out of Hell and pass among the elves, causing mayhem. He even theorized, at one point, that this was where the Unseelie Court came from, though he later abandoned that premise.”
“Don’t know, Ma’am. There are still a number of points that don’tquite fit. If Mephisto was tithed, he must know what happens to tithed elves. So, why did he ask the High Council at the Christmas feast?”
“With Mephisto, who knows?” I shrugged. Outside the window, I could see the mammoth rubbing its shaggy side against a pine tree. “To rile them up? To hint that he knew? Perhaps, if he drank of the River Lethe, he does not know himself why he asks. Could be anything.”
“If Astreus did tithe him, and this involved drinking water from the Lethe, it would definitely explain why your brother’s such a rattle brain,” Mab said. “It would also explain why, when he saw Lord Astreus with a cup in his hand, he freaked out and started shouting about not wanting to forget.”
“Having drunk from the River Lethe would go far to explain my brother’s condition,” I said slowly. “Everyone in my family forgets things. It’s part of living so long. Our minds weren’t meant to stretch over five centuries. Except for Cornelius—who’s made a study of memory—we all have days, years, even decades that have fallen into what Father calls the mists of time. Sometimes, things are forgotten entirely, other times our memory plays tricks on us. To this day, Theo and I cannot agree on who first introduced Leonardo da Vinci to our court in Milan. I swear it was Uncle Antonio, though Theo—who was also present—insists it was Uncle Ludovico. Mephisto, however, has brought this problem to a whole new level.
“He’s not so bad nowadays,” I continued, “but there have been periods where he didn’t seem to remember anything—and if the maenad’s telling the truth, he still has such spells, just not when family members are around.”
“You think he was tithed?” Mab cringed, clearly hoping I would disagree.
“Mab, I would dismiss this theory out of hand,” I replied slowly, “if it were not for one thing. You asked me once when Mephisto first showed signs of madness. The first time I saw Mephisto
sans
sanity was back in 1634, when he came to tell me that Astreus could not make our rendezvous. Mephisto and Astreus spent a good deal of time speaking together during that night in 1627 when we danced with the elves. And the first time I saw him without his sanity was exactly seven years later. The elves did not tell us why they were celebrating the first time we met them, but it could have been because the tithe was paid, and they were free for another seven years.”
“You never mentioned a rendezvous with an elf!” Mab stated accusingly.
“That’s because it never happened.” I gave a dismissive wave.
“Humph!” he snorted. “I hate to say it, Ma’am, but that about clinches it. Instead of tithing an elf, Lord Astreus tithed your
“But if Mephisto had been tithed, wouldn’t he be in Hell?” I asked, agitated. “I mean tithed elves go bodily across the Styx… just like on Mephisto’s wall mural, right? He would just have vanished, right?”
“Unless he made a deal with his demonic captors,” Mab said grimly.
“You mean, like, he’ll take a chameleon cloak and hunt the Unicorn, or seduce souls like Faust, carry out other dastardly crimes for them, if they let him go to the surface world?” I shivered. It felt like cold fingers walking up the inside of my back. “And they gave him a bat-winged body as part of the deal?”
I stood and began pacing about the library. “I wish we knew what normally happened to elves who are tithed. Do the demons eat them? That’s what Gregor used to believe. He thought the demons consumed their essence and wore their skins like coats, so that they could slip out of Hell and pass among the elves, causing mayhem. He even theorized, at one point, that this was where the Unseelie Court came from, though he later abandoned that premise.”
“Don’t know, Ma’am. There are still a number of points that don’tquite fit. If Mephisto was tithed, he must know what happens to tithed elves. So, why did he ask the High Council at the Christmas feast?”
“With Mephisto, who knows?” I shrugged. Outside the window, I could see the mammoth rubbing its shaggy side against a pine tree. “To rile them up? To hint that he knew? Perhaps, if he drank of the River Lethe, he does not know himself why he asks. Could be anything.”
“If Astreus did tithe him, and this involved drinking water from the Lethe, it would definitely explain why your brother’s such a rattle brain,” Mab said. “It would also explain why, when he saw Lord Astreus with a cup in his hand, he freaked out and started shouting about not wanting to forget.”
“Having drunk from the River Lethe would go far to explain my brother’s condition,” I said slowly. “Everyone in my family forgets things. It’s part of living so long. Our minds weren’t meant to stretch over five centuries. Except for Cornelius—who’s made a study of memory—we all have days, years, even decades that have fallen into what Father calls the mists of time. Sometimes, things are forgotten entirely, other times our memory plays tricks on us. To this day, Theo and I cannot agree on who first introduced Leonardo da Vinci to our court in Milan. I swear it was Uncle Antonio, though Theo—who was also present—insists it was Uncle Ludovico. Mephisto, however, has brought this problem to a whole new level.
“He’s not so bad nowadays,” I continued, “but there have been periods where he didn’t seem to remember anything—and if the maenad’s telling the truth, he still has such spells, just not when family members are around.”
“You think he was tithed?” Mab cringed, clearly hoping I would disagree.
“Mab, I would dismiss this theory out of hand,” I replied slowly, “if it were not for one thing. You asked me once when Mephisto first showed signs of madness. The first time I saw Mephisto
sans
sanity was back in 1634, when he came to tell me that Astreus could not make our rendezvous. Mephisto and Astreus spent a good deal of time speaking together during that night in 1627 when we danced with the elves. And the first time I saw him without his sanity was exactly seven years later. The elves did not tell us why they were celebrating the first time we met them, but it could have been because the tithe was paid, and they were free for another seven years.”
“You never mentioned a rendezvous with an elf!” Mab stated accusingly.
“That’s because it never happened.” I gave a dismissive wave.
“Humph!” he snorted. “I hate to say it, Ma’am, but that about clinches it. Instead of tithing an elf, Lord Astreus tithed your
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