Modern Magick

Music and Misadventure: 10

What lay on the other side was not a room at all, but an expansive cave. Whether this, too, was some kind of magickal manifestation created by the Yllanfalen, or whether it had always been there, I had no way to determine. If the latter, it had been co-opted into service as some kind of sacred site, by the looks of it, for it had a hushed, hallowed air. Stone worn smooth by time stretched before us, the ground sloping gently into the centre. The walls of the cavern swooped up into a kind of natural vaulted ceiling, far over our heads. They were empty of things one might expect to see in a cave system, like stalagmites and stalactites. Instead, they bore extensive carvings depicting scenes of Yllanfalen life. Many featured an unusually tall fellow with a crown, a lyre in hand, and pipes hanging around his neck, so, no prizes for guessing who was revered here.

They liked their jewels, the Yllanfalen. Quartz and beryl and spinel and a hundred other gems adorned everything, and I could see that because they were all lit up with the same clear fire that had emblazoned the portal through which we'd entered (I'm giving up terming it merely a door. No word but portal could befit such absurd— I mean, such wondrous grandeur).

The fountain occupied the central position in the middle, where the ground arrived at its lowest point. It rose to the height of three Baron-Albans, composed of five tiers, and as far as I could tell from this distance it was made out of clear glass radiating moonlight. Lovely.

All the cavern around it would fill up with water, I supposed, to form that mythical lake we were looking for. Which presented one immediate problem: if we managed to switch on the Magick Fountain of Dreams, how were we to avoid promptly drowning in the Faerie Lake of Bespelled Waters?

One problem at a time, Ves, hm?

My wonderfully prosaic mother stood taking in all this magickal magnificence with an expression profoundly unimpressed. 'Right,' she said. 'And how do we persuade that frippery thing to start spewing water?'

Ayllin looked pained at my mother's soulless choice of words, as well she might. She made no answer, however. Instead she took up her own syrinx pipes and began to play a tune I can only term ethereal. The melody echoed around the cavern, swelling in volume and richness with every note. That softly-glimmering moonlight centred upon the fountain grew stronger, and clear water began to pour from its spout.

The melody was not a complicated one; I soon had its measure. I joined in, playing a low counterpart, and to my surprise the water flow promptly tripled. The skysilver really did give these things a bit more oomph, huh?

The fountain might be pumping away merrily, but it still seemed to me that the wide cavern would take weeks to fill. Soon, though, water was lapping at our toes, and then we were soaked to our ankles. 'Er,' said Jay. 'Got a boat, or something?'

No sooner had he spoken than a boat appeared, drifting up to us with the serenity of a construct whose existence is in no way impossible. Never mind that it, too, appeared to be made of glass, and it shone with the same pale moonglow as the fountain. It had one of those fanciful swan's head arrangements, too, and a slender set of oars. I eyed it with misgiving, but Jay got straight in and picked up the oars. Since he didn't disappear through the bottom of the boat, I followed suit. As did Mother.

Ayllin, though, did not. She had levitated herself — standing, incomprehensibly, on some kind of a giant silvery leaf, and where had that come from, hm? Is the entirety of Yllanfalen made out of magick or something? She did not cease to play, even as her leaf rose smoothly to the ceiling, taking her with it.

My mother looked as though she'd like to take the boat's pretty oars off Jay, but remembered her missing hand with chagrin. She sat scowling at him instead. 'Don't tickle the water. Row!'