The Faeries' Harp

28: Frustration

“None of this makes any sense,” Saoirse groans, slumping defeatedly onto a conveniently placed decorative boulder in the gardens where she has been practicing magic with Magister Diarmaid. The lichen on the boulder flutter away, having been transformed into tiny butterflies when Saoirse touched the stone.

“I assure you, there is a rhyme and reason to it,” Magister Diarmaid tells his ward, eyes quickly scanning over a scroll. “Our greatest concern at present is your lack of control over the magic. You have great power.”

“Why, though? Why me? Do either of my parents—”

“No one can say what their talents might be. They only use their magic when it benefits them. Any talent either of them has is squandered and not worth discussing.”

“Then where did mine come from?”

“Perhaps a more worthy ancestor. Sometimes talents skip generations.”

Saoirse groans again and shakes her head, not finding this explanation satisfactory. The grass near her feet dissolves into a cloud of ladybugs that flits away on the breeze.

“You want to escape,” Magister Diarmaid observes.

“Why would you think that?” Saoirse asks, suddenly defensive.

“You cannot hide what the magic reveals. The last two accidental transformations have turned stationary or rooted things into things that could and did leave.”

So that’s it, Saoirse realizes, the lesson that Magister Diarmaid has been trying to impress upon her finally sinking in after what feels like an eternity of song-spells and accidental magicking.

“To control the magic, I must control my emotions.”

“Yes. That is exactly it, for you.” Magister Diarmaid kindly refrains from telling Saoirse ‘I told you so,’ which Saoirse greatly appreciates. “And from what little I know of you, I suspect that will not be easy. Have you always been so impulsive and…tempestuous?”

“More or less. Mother died when I was quite young, and the man I was forced to call Father wanted no part of childrearing, just the bride-price I would fetch him,” Saoirse informs her guardian sadly. “The servants did the best they could with me, I think, under the circumstances, but even they complained of my wildness. Riding horseback and playing my harp were about the only things that could keep me relatively still and focused for extended periods of time.”

Magister Diarmaid feels he can see Saoirse clearly now, with this new information about her time in the human realm. To her, the Duke and Duchess of Chrysanthemum are much the same as what she left behind. This is perhaps the first time someone she does not outrank has cared about her in any capacity, he muses, then asks gently, “Would you be willing to learn another instrument? Harps are not the most portable thing, and you seem a bit self-conscious singing, but a flute or an ocarina might help you focus your abilities into more consistently productive directions.”

“I would be most interested in learning the ocarina,” Saoirse agrees immediately, grateful that Magister Diarmaid has not given up on her or deemed her troublesome.

“I can have one for you tomorrow. Did anything else come easily to you in the human realm, besides riding and music?”

“I enjoyed spending time in the greenhouse, tending the plants, and when I could convince the cook to let me help in the kitchen, I found that a pleasant diversion, as well. But I wouldn’t say either thing came particularly easily to me. Cooking in particular could be overwhelming, because of how little I know in the face of all I had to learn.”

“But you still liked to work at it.”

“Yes. Progress was measurable. I could taste my improvements, when I had them.”

“Magic is much the same.”

“Except that all of the ingredients are inside of me.”

“Aye, but in some ways that makes it easier. Give yourself permission to struggle, Saoirse. These things take time.”

Tears of gratitude prick Saoirse’s eyes and she blinks them back with determination that Magister Diarmaid should not notice. He does notice, however, just as he notices the slight tremor in Saoirse’s voice when she says, “Thank you.”

“My Lord!” one of the Queen’s pages interrupts before Magister Diarmaid can say anything else to Saoirse. The page is flying as fast as she can through the gardens, evidently relieved to have found them. “Magister Diarmaid and…young ward, I am so glad to have found you!”

“What ails you, Peigi?” Magister Diarmaid addresses the page.

“The Faerie Queen requests your attendance at an audience between herself and the Duke of Wisteria and his son.”

“Is aught amiss? May Saoirse come along?”

“I have told you all I know. The Queen wishes you to make haste.”

“Then make haste we shall.” He gestures to Saoirse, who has been on edge since Peigi mentioned Rhys, and she joins him in flying after the page, who is leading them to the Throne Room. Her flying, at least, has measurably improved in their time in the gardens, and Saoirse tries to comfort herself with that modicum of progress in adjusting to her life as a faerie.

I wonder if Lord Rioghnan knows I’m gone. What would he think, if he knew what I am, where I am? she contemplates on the way. Likely he would just be calculating how to enrich himself from the fae realm. I would be of no importance to him unless he thought I could bring him profit, somehow.

Already she senses that Magister Diarmaid is different, and she is grateful to have, at long last, a guardian who has taken a genuine interest in her. Or at least, in my power, she reminds herself. It is too early to be sure.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice, Magister Diarmaid,” the Faerie Queen greets her High Mage as Peigi lets him and Saoirse into the Throne Room through a door to the right of the throne. He bows and Saoirse curtsies in response. Saoirse quickly surveys the room to find that there are only a few fae courtiers in attendance; most of the space is blissfully empty. “The Duke of Wisteria seems most concerned about his son’s magical abilities.”

“What seems to be the issue?” Magister Diarmaid inquires. Saoirse is also curious, but feels she must hold her tongue unless she is spoken to.

“It seems he has great power, perhaps comparable to that of your own ward,” the Queen replies, gesturing to Saoirse, who blushes and decides that the floor is the most interesting feature of the room at this particular moment in time. “However, his power seems to be naturally destructive in nature. He is capable of repairing that which he destroys, but that takes enormous effort by comparison.”

Saoirse frowns at the Queen’s words, easily distracted from her contemplation of the floor. This sounds much unlike the Rhys she met, who accompanied her on her impetuous adventure. The only one in the fae realm who might possibly understand any of what I’m feeling. He seemed so focused on building, on making things better for himself and his mother. How can his magic be so different from who he is?

“Saoirse,” Magister Diarmaid addresses her, jolting her from her thoughts. “I know little of the young man in question. What are your thoughts, on what the Queen has told us of his gifts?”

“I…am shocked, My Lord,” Saoirse answers carefully. “They seem quite at odds with who I have known him to be, but admittedly I have not known him long….”

“My impression is much the same as yours.”

“Is there perhaps something in your library that might help explain this?” the Faerie Queen prompts. “The Duke and his son should be here any moment now, and I should like to have something more than befuddlement to offer them.”

“Hmmm….” Magister Diarmaid thinks hard about what relevant texts might be in his collection of scrolls and parchments and other paraphernalia. From the aether come two blooms, one of darkness, one of light…but which manuscript does that come from? What is the rest of it? “There is perhaps something, Your Majesty, if you will give me leave to search for it?”

“By all means. Take your leave.” Magister Diarmaid immediately rushes from the Throne Room, knowing that time is of the essence. “Saoirse, you will manage in his place, should the meeting start without him.”

“If you think that the best course of action, Your Majesty,” Saoirse replies, a diplomatic way of saying that she is in no way prepared for this but feels she cannot say no to the Queen.

“After the customary greetings, we will have him demonstrate his power and perhaps tell us more about himself. Surely you can handle that.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

“Announcing His Excellency, the Duke of Wisteria, and his son and heir!” Peigi declares loudly from the direction of the main entrance to the Throne Room. Saoirse stifles her lingering questions and concerns and directs her attention to the doorway, hoping that she will be able to rise to whatever challenges may present themselves in this audience.