On the southern hill, Evanescent looked up, reading his thoughts, then told the waiting fairy, “Give the New People a chance to reform. Take away their pain and see if they behave.”
“Even so.” The fairy turned and sang to another, who darted away into the night.
Minutes later, the Clancies all relaxed with a massive gasp, then pulled themselves up, blinking and white-eyed. Looking out through the windows, they remembered where they’d last seen their enemies. One or two reached for their rifles, then hesitated.
On the ground and in the trees, elves loosed more darts, and the Learies relaxed with shudders that shook their whole bodies, then slowly pushed themselves up to their knees. They looked down at their rifles, looked up at the darkened windows of the Clancy house, looked again at the rifles—but only looked. Inside the house, Zachariah hobbled up to Grandma. “I don’t know how that bard did it, Grandma, but everyone who aimed a rifle seized up with pain like we’ve never felt.”
“I know,” the old woman replied, white-knuckled and gasping. She looked up at Zachariah, her eyes rolling. “I felt it, too.”
“They haven’t started shooting again,” Moira said.
“No, they haven’t,” Alea agreed, “but that doesn’t mean they won’t, as soon as they think we’ve gone.”
“Then we’d better stay,” Gar said. “Kerlew, you’d better compose some new verses, just in case.”
Both sides stayed in place, watching through the night, hands never far from their rifles but never quite touching, either. As the stars began to dim, Aran said to Amanda, “I’ve been thinking.”
“What?” she asked, exhaustion making her voice ragged. “It was the bard who laid the satire on us that’s caused this pain, right?”
“I figured that out for myself,” she said with withering sarcasm.
“Okay, how about this? We kill the bard and we kill the pain!”
Amanda was silent for several minutes, staring out the window at the dark masses of bushes that hid Learies. Finally she announced her verdict: “Won’t work. It’s the Old Ones who are bringing the pain, just as the satire told them. They’ll still heed its words whether the bard’s there or not.”
Aran growled resentment. “Why should the Old Ones obey a bard all of a sudden?”
“Because this one’s satires really work,” Amanda answered. “Who knows what verses he laid on the Wee Folk?”
Aran was silent awhile, seething with frustration and anger. Finally he said, very softly, “How about if we kill the Old Ones?” Pain ripped through his head. He clutched his hair, rolling on the floor, choking down screams into a gargling mutter. Then the pain ceased and he went limp, panting.
Amanda looked down on him with sympathetic eyes but said, “No. I don’t think we’d better try that.”
Outside, Patrick slipped through the gloaming to his fellow captain. “Caitlin,” he said, “when did the Old Ones become this mighty?”
“Guess they always have been, Pat,” she answered. “They just never thought to use the full weight of their power before.” Patrick frowned. “What made ‘em do it now?”
“The bard,” Caitlin answered.
“Yeah, the bard,” Patrick growled in disgust, “and it’s the priests and the seer who’ve made him realize he can do it.” Caitlin turned a cold glance on him. “What damnfool notion are you cooking up?”
“You know,” he said..
“Then its damnfool indeed!” she answered. “Those fairies and elves know what they can do now! Killing the bard and the priests won’t change that.”
Patrick turned to gaze out at the dark bulk of the house, scowling. After a while, he said, “The seal’s been broke and the jar’s opened. No way to lock it tight again, is there?”
“Not unless you got one hell of a kettle to boil it in,” Caitlin answered, “no.”
Atop the northern hill, Kerlew asked anxiously, “Will they try to fight again?”
Gazing off into the darkness but seeing another world, Moira told him, “No. They’re too smart for that.”
Alea nodded. “They’ve thought it out and found it’s too late to stop the Old Ones.”
“You mean they’re afraid of elves and fairies?”
“Not afraid,” Gar said. “In fact, they could probably withstand the pain long enough to loose a few shots now and then—but only a few. They’ve begun to realize that the feuds are going to be too difficult to manage any more.”
“You mean the price is too high?” Kerlew asked.
“The price has always been too high,” Moira answered, tightlipped.
Alea nodded. “But so far, they’ve had a chance of winning. Now they know that they’ll all lose, and nobody can win any battle.”
“As they should have all along,” Gar said.
“So they’ll stop feuding because the cost is too high?” Kerlew asked. “Not because it’s wrong?”
Alea gazed off into space, sampling the thoughts below her. Then she reported, “One or two of them are beginning to think that. Just one or two, mind you.”
“But it’s not even morning yet,” Moira reminded her.
Inside the great house, Aran said slowly, “You don’t suppose the gods are real, do you?”
A week later, neither Clancy nor Leary had moved to attack the other again, though each still kept its sentries stationed round the clock. Monitoring their thoughts, Alea found that each clan had told its neighbors about the episode. Two of those neighbors had marched out for a final battle before the Druids managed to reach them with their message of peace or doom, but as soon as any of them put finger to trigger, they collapsed in agony. There were many, many Old Ones, and they were watching all the New Folk like hawks.
So, when the sky lightened a fortnight after the abortive battle, Alea and Gar led Moira and Kerlew up to the bald top of a high hill, then turned to reassure them.
“They’ll only need reminding from now on,” Alea told the two young folk. “The rumor mill is in full swing, and half the land has already heard that the gods have finally forbidden the feuding.”
“But what if they ambush us to keep us from preaching to them?” Kerlew asked, eyes wide with fright.
“How can we manage without you now?” Moira cried. “Quite well, I think,” Gar told them. “Wherever you go now, the Old Ones will be watching—and anyone who makes any move to hurt you will feel as though he’s been plunged into fire.”
“Or will wake up the day after you’ve passed and wonder what put him to sleep,” Alea added. “If a whole clan chases you, you’ve only to run to the nearest fairy Mound, and the Keepers will give you sanctuary. No one will dare follow you onto the slopes of the Mound itself.”
They could see the edge of hysteria fade from the eyes of the young folk, see them stand a little straighter, a little more firmly, even though Moira said, “What if they simply lurk in the woods around the Mound and wait for us to come out?”
“Then you have simply to wait until the Old Ones drive them away,” Alea told her. “If they won’t scare from simple accidents, a few heart attacks and even one or two dead will certainly make them go.”
“Besides,” Gar said, “even if some assassin does manage to get past your elfin bodyguards, do you really think this cause isn’t worth your life?”
“Of course it is,” Kerlew said instantly, his jaw squaring with obstinacy.
“My life, yes.” Moira glanced at the young man out of the corner of her eyes. “His life, no.”
“But your life is more important than mine!” He turned to take her hands. “I can’t go on preaching and wandering without you! Besides, who’d listen to the bard without the seer?”
Moira stared into his eyes for a long moment, then said, “I guess we’ll have to travel together, won’t we?”