Three
The problem of love is that it is a task for two individuals. – Alfred Adler
ooo
Holly padded into the library, her pulse thrumming in her ears.
Fowl Manor's library was more than a small cubby hole with a few shelves; it was a library in the grandest sense of the word, a two story affair with vaulted ceilings and a narrow balcony allowing access to the upper level. The walls were manned by tall, oak bookcases, darkly varnished, like looming sentinels more than twice Holly's height. Books of varying ages, some brand new, others showing the wear and tear of generations, lined the shelves, filling the air with the musty scent of old paper and bindings.
She moved without a sound over the parquet flooring toward a dim pool of light in the far corner of the room. Sound was so muted here that it wasn't until she turned the corner and found herself at Artemis' back that she heard his voice.
"'The problem of love' says Adler, 'is that it is a task for two individuals.'"
Holly froze.
"'For many people this is bound to be a new task. To some degree we have been trained to work alone; to some degree, to work in a group. But we have generally had little experience of working two by two.'"
He was seated at a desk, alone, his back to her, a small lamp providing the only illumination, and a book lying open before him. Her heart was in her throat until she glimpsed the tiny recording device held up in his right hand.
"When I first read the passage a decade ago, I was unimpressed. Subsequent experiences have altered the matter somewhat. I had always worked alone or with Butler at my side, but Butler was bound to obey my directives. More or less. He is a friend but also an employee. It was not until much later that I learned what it is to work with another as an equal and came to fully understand its appeal. As a child I had knowledge without true understanding."
She should leave. She knew she should leave or clear her throat or call his name, but she stood there, stock still, fixed by the sound of his voice as her heart hammered in her chest.
"Adler goes on to note that there 'must be equality. If there is to be intimate devotion, neither partner can feel subdued nor overshadowed. Equality is only possible if both partners have this attitude. It should be the effort of each to ease and enrich the life of the other. In this way each will be safe; each will feel that he is worthwhile and that he is needed.' I've discovered that what Adler proposes is not an easy thing."
Holly's heart ached. Oh, Artemis...
"Adler's view is at once more grounded than the norm and more idealized insofar as it's at odds with much of the source material and human behaviour. So often the aim of the lover is to possess: consumption rather than union, hence the prevalence of the metaphor of the hunt. The lover becomes the hunter, the beloved, the hunted, a prize to be won – or devoured. And though the metaphor has appealed to me in other contexts and once would have in this context as well perhaps, it falls apart with the realization that one does not wish to gain possession, but affection in its truest form, as an equal partner, neither possessor nor possessed."
He shifted the recorder from his right hand to his left so that he could massage his right temple before going on. "Having, in my youth, taken on the role of captor, I can say with great assurance that it is not an experience I wish to repeat, either literally or figuratively."
Holly took a step back, prepared to leave, to shield if necessary so that he would not see her, not know she had hovered there, listening to his private musings, this "research" he was engaged in. Where was all his coolness now?
She had seen nearly a century pass by, yet never in all her life had she felt so uncertain as she did at that moment, torn between flight and a sudden desire to wrap her arms around him.
"Tell me, Holly, is the issue handled much differently in your literature? I realize that most elves would revile hunting."
D'Arvit! She nearly leaped out of her skin and instantly chided herself. No better than a silly schoolgirl, an elf one quarter of her age. She was a captain in the LEP, she'd faced trolls and demons, yet Artemis could unsettle her like no one else.
"Surely," he said, without turning to face her "you had to study a fairy ballad or two in your school days."
She sighed and took a step forward. "One or two maybe. Poetry wasn't my strongest subject."
"And you've never stooped to read a romance, I suppose. I used to write them now and then when I was a child." A dry chuckle. "They sold well and it amused me to create something using only the knowledge of form. Those books were all form without substance. I could compose with only a superficial understanding of the topic."
"Artemis..."
"Surely you must remember something."
She sighed. "All right..." She wracked her brain for memories of love poems, of stories she'd paid little heed to so focussed had she been on her goal. Let her classmates twitter about love; she'd wanted adventures, excitement. She'd wanted to fly into a sky so wide it made her bones ache. She'd been so young then... "Fairy authors usually compare it to the relationship between a fairy and the earth, or to the Ritual sometimes."
"A relationship of mutuality, then."
"Yes."
He set down the recorder. "Very apt."
She crossed the distance between them and placed a hand on his shoulder, his body tensing beneath her touch. "Artemis," she said firmly.
"It's nothing," he said, shifting away from her. "Fatigue."
"Artemis, let me look at you." The words stilled his protests. She came to stand before him and look into a face haggard and waxy pale. He met her eyes, though he squinted as if even the pale, yellow light of the lamp were painful to him. She reached up and put her hand to his cheek. "Tell me what's wrong." Her voice was as insistent as the mesmer, but there was no magic in it.
He groaned and held his head in his hands. "Oh, Holly, my head aches so. But if it were only that I could bear it well enough. How do you stand it?"
"What?"
"The voices. The racial memories that come with the full moon."
She gasped. "How do you know about that?"
"I've been able to sense them since we returned from Hybras. The migraines are only a side effect, a neural overload. I'm rarely affected anymore except now and then through the lunar cycle such as today."
"It's the Beltain moon," she told him.
He nodded – and then pressed his palm to his temple, wincing. "I suspected as much," he said after a moment. "Traditionally there's said to be a thinning of the veil between our world and the Otherworld at Beltain and Samhain."
"Magic is stronger then," Holly supplied. "Something to do with the lunar cycle and magical synchronance. Don't ask me to explain. Magical astrophysics wasn't my strongest subject either."
"Lunar radiation," he murmured, palm still pressed against his forehead. And then, "What was your strongest subject?"
She'd majored in magic in college, she loved to read, but this was too good to pass up. She winked. "Phys. Ed."
A smile, slight, but definitely there. "Of course. A Recon jock. How could I forget?"
"Come on," she said, snagging his elbow and giving him a tug.
"Where?"
"Outside. This isn't something you're going to fix by thinking about it, Artemis."
She was grateful that, for once, he didn't protest.
ooo
On any other night, Holly would have delighted in the cool breeze that caressed her face and the thrill of the moonlight tickling through her with the promise of magic. The sky above was a tapestry of stars and the leaves of the gnarled oaks and chestnuts rustled like living beings, whispering to each other. But Artemis's hand, clasped in her, was clammy and the moonlight gave his pallor a sickly sheen.
She paused in a clearing where they could see the moon high above them and let go of his hand. "This should do."
"Explain," he said, fingers pressed to his right temple again.
"No questions. Just sit."
He stiffened. "On the ground?"
She rolled her eyes at his scandalized tone. "Is this really the time to worry about grass stains, Artemis?"
"No. You're right of course." He cleared his throat and eased himself onto the grass. He grimaced for a long moment.
"Are you all right?"
"Yes. Discomfort stemming from movement is a common effect of migraines."
She knelt down next to him and took his face in her hands. "Heal." Magic seeped from her fingers, flitting across Artemis's skin and sinking into his pores. "How's that?"
He took a deep breath. "Better. Somewhat. The discomfort is dulled now, but you've only treated a symptom not the root cause so it's not likely to have a lasting effect."
She huffed, exasperated. Even when ill his mind never stopped racing, did it? "One step at a time. Now lie down." He seemed about to protest but her glower quieted him and he lay down, gingerly settling himself into the grass.
"Is this absolutely necessary, Holly?" His arms were pressed against his sides and his entire body was rigid.
"Yes," she said curtly. "I think it is. The moon is what's causing your problem so we need to be under it to fix things." She lay down next to him, hands interlaced beneath her head, her elbow brushing against his shoulder. It was glorious to breathe fresh, non-recycled air, and she inhaled deeply, taking in the scents of wet earth and flowers and pines. When she glanced over at Artemis, she saw him flicking an insect off his sleeve with an air of distaste. "You have the world at your reach and you never go outside to enjoy it, do you?"
"I have an appreciation for the natural world," Artemis said. "I simply prefer to observe it from a less direct standpoint."
She sighed. Artemis could never appreciate the surface as she could. After all, he had never been deprived of it. Might as well get down to business. "The voices, Artemis. Tell me about them. What do you hear?"
"Voices. A cacophony of voices."
"What language are they speaking?"
He squeezed his eyes shut. It was a moment before he spoke again. "I can't tell. It's garbled and overlapping."
"Try to pick out one voice."
He fell silent again and Holly watched him, his face a mask of tension. Sweat trickled from his brow in spite of the cool, night air. Finally he opened his eyes and shook his head. "I can't isolate one. There are too many."
She turned onto her side to look at him. Holly bit her lip. His skin was chalky white against his raven hair and his entire body radiated tension. She had hoped the voices would be more distinct out in the open, that it would be easier for him to sort through it. "Concentrate. You can do this, Artemis. One voice. A few words." He closed his eyes once more. She switched to Gnommish. "From the earth thine power flows, given through courtesy, so thanks are owed. Pluck thou the magic seed where full moon, ancient oak and twisted water meet. And bury it far from where it was found, so return your gift into the ground."
Artemis's eyes sprang open. "Gnommish. It's an archaic form of Gnommish." Relief swept over her. For a moment she'd been worried that this would be too much for him. "I should have realized it sooner. I thought–"
"You're thinking too much already," Holly snapped. "That's the problem. Fairies don't think about these memories. We feel them. They wash over us and fill us like our magic does."
He bristled. "I'm not a fairy and I no longer have any magic," he said, shifting onto his side so he could look her in the eye. "You know that."
"You stole magic in the time stream, Artemis. You made it a part of yourself and now this is a part of you too. We are a part of you," she said, reaching out to place a hand over his heart. "The People." She could feel his heartbeat, feel it quicken beneath her palm. The warmth of his skin seeped through the fabric of his shirt into her hand. "Don't fight it. Just listen. Be open to it."
He closed his eyes for a moment and then nodded. "Very well."
"And stop thinking so much."
"You ask the impossible, Holly." And somehow the sight of that smug smile on his face could not but draw a smile out of her.
"And here I thought nothing was impossible for Artemis Fowl. I'm disappointed."
She moved to draw back her hand, but found herself prevented when his came to rest overtop, clasping it against his chest. Her eyes darted up from her hand. Their gazes locked. For a minute they were silent and then he gave her hand a squeeze and, taking a deep breath, shut his eyes.
ooo
Meditation was something Artemis had mastered as a child, but while no-mind was the goal of most meditation, he had adapted the technique for his own purposes. For him it was an exercise in concentration, a sharpening of his mental faculties that allowed for the free-flow of ideas. The emptying of thought that Holly was asking of him was not an easy task and his mind railed against the notion of letting the alien fairy voices and emotions override his own mental patterns. But she was right. He had forged a bond with the People and in so doing had made this a part of him as well. And Holly. They were a part of each other, quite literally so, each embedded with the other's DNA. The tangible quality of that connection was pleasing.
That was where to begin. With the concrete.
Eyes closed, he concentrated on the warmth of Holly's small hand clasped in his. Smooth skin, the jut of knuckles, long, slender fingers. He focussed until he could sense the pulse of elfin blood in her veins. The voices were those of Holly's ancestors, her kin. He let his mind slide into the rhythm of that rapid pulse, making it as comfortable and familiar as his own, and followed its beat to the voices, let them thrum through him, envelop him.
Carry me always, carry me well.
I am thy teacher of herb and spell.
I am thy link to power arcane.
Forget me and thy magick shall wane.
The opening verses of the Book. It was a balm, familiar and comforting. He felt his racing pulse begin to slow as the words washed over him, and with them a deep sense of their solemnity. These were sacred verses.
He tensed as something else washed over him. Foreboding... prickling his skin.
But, Fairy, remember this above all.
I am not for those in mud that crawl.
And forever doomed shall be the one
Who betrays my secrets one by one.
Artemis shuddered. Profaner. Defiler. Usurper. A Mud Man gorging on the secrets of the People. His hand clamped spasmodically around Holly's.
"What is it?" Her voice sounded far away. "Artemis?"
He opened his eyes and found hers, one hazel, one blue. The sight lulled the turbid flow of emotions that had threatened to engulf him. Though his relationship with the People had begun in theft, it had matured into something more. A bond. The People were a part of him now.
"It's all right," he said. "It has passed." He closed his eyes once more, and opened himself again to the moon-tugged tide of emotion.
There shall be peace among the People and goodwill towards the men of the earth, as long as I reign.
Artemis's mind floated in a time beyond human memory. King Frond, first elfin king, revered among the People as the greatest and wisest of fairies. His words eased the warlike hearts of men, the spear-bearers, hunters of beasts, mud-dwellers, stone-carvers. Through the long centuries of his reign they forged bonds of friendship and trust, and sometimes even of love.
The force of the breaking of those bonds struck Artemis like a jackhammer.
And then a scene, vivid before his eyes. Men shaking spears, hurling them. Stone spearheads piercing fairy flesh. Demons skewering men like lambs at slaughter.
We are not slayers of kin.
The People gathered at Tara, at the place of kings, the Lia Fáil, to hold sacred council. Angry words. "We will not fight," announced the king of the elves. "Though they've forgotten, the mud dwellers are kin to our kind and we will not slay kin."
The 8th family called them traitors, cowards but when battle was joined at Taillte, the dwarves retreated to their underground caverns and the elves refused to fight. The People's army was scattered to the four winds.
The battle grew distant, ebbed away, leaving Artemis empty, save for a few words that echoed still in his mind.
Fate has wrought these holy bands.
