Fairest

Chapter 17 #2

I shake my head, but even as I look at him, his appearance changes.

His shoulders broaden, and his face changes, becomes more rugged.

His eyes grow darker, and his hair and beard grow longer, thicker, bushier, plaited in places and threaded through with intricately carved wooden beads.

He’s just as handsome, but in a different way.

‘How are you doing that?’

He shrugs, ‘I have more than one form and can change between them. Human eyes see me through a magic called Glamour that means you see what I want you to see. We’re all different.’

‘What are you?’

‘Not completely human. I’m one of the many types of Kinfolk who lived originally in the Underworld. We spend our lives in the mountains, mining for precious jewels and metals.’ He sighs as if he misses it.

‘The Underworld,’ I whisper. The voices in the mist last night mentioned it and suddenly I remember that growing up my parents told me stories about another world, one which overlaps the one I know.

It exists in the same place, but not, and these two worlds connect at certain points, known as thin places.

Sometimes, the unwary or the foolish find these places and pass through – usually with disastrous consequences.

Is that what I’ve done?

And the stories weren’t just about a place, but about people, too.

Kinfolk. How could I have forgotten? Every detail they told me about the magical powers each Kin held was so elaborate and intricately described I thought they must have read it in a story, or in a book about folklore.

Were they actually telling me something true?

That the Kinfolk I thought they’d made up to entertain me, might really exist?

I loved those stories. How did I forget them?

With every piece of information Declan tells me, I feel more questions coming, and then more answers unlocking in my memory. But there’s still more I want to find out from him about the Hunters, about this place, about my future.

Somewhere in the depths of the monastery a bell tolls, and Declan shakes his head.

‘Enough,’ he says. ‘It’s dinner time. Put this on, and I’ll take you downstairs to meet the others. You must be hungry.’

‘Starving.’

‘As well as meeting the other seekers, you will also begin your duties shortly. Dominic and I have discussed it, and we agree that while you are here you must cook and clean to pay your way. It’s what will make you most useful, but also keep you safe.

You must also mind your own business. There are secrets here.

Don’t dig. You’ll only get hurt. Understand? ’

‘But I have questions about this Underworld you’re talking about. Given everything I’ve been through in the past day, you owe me. And just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I should get stuck with the cooking and cleaning. Is there nothing else—’

‘You know how to operate a brewery?’

‘No.’

‘Then there’s nothing else. And believe me, your tasks are going to earn you the most popularity points with the rest of the Seven. We owe you nothing. You’ve been granted sanctuary here, just like us.’

‘The Seven?’ I swallow the lump in my throat as I follow him out of the room.

‘There’s currently seven of us here. And now you, Gléigeal. For now you will be in charge of the domestic chores the rest of us despise.’

I roll my eyes, but I know nothing about breweries and cooking and cleaning is at least in my skillset whether I think they’re being sexist or not.

‘How long have you all been here?’ I ask not really expecting him to answer.

‘Remember what I said about not asking questions,’ he says. ‘Besides, time moves differently here.’

‘All right, then. Can I ask what Glay-gyal means?’ I do my best to copy his pronunciation.

‘It’s Irish. It sort of means Snow White,’ he says and chuckles. ‘One woman, seven men, hiding somewhere beyond the enchanted forest. Hair like ebony, lips like blood. And you’re so very, very pale. I don’t remember it all now. Life here is far from being a fairy tale.’

‘I don’t think there are many monks in fairy tales.’

‘Monks?’ Declan chuckles and looks down at his robes. ‘Aye, we certainly live like monks. Not by choice, though. And certainly not for a higher purpose.’

I had never truly believed the story that the brewers here were monks.

It always feels wrong somehow that they, of all people, make a product that causes so many problems in the city.

According to the people who sell it, it’s not the product but how it’s misused that’s the problem, and that’s down to the customer.

Which sounds just like the kind of excuses business owners would make to maintain their profit margins or whatever.

Brother Declan leads me through the building, our footsteps echoing against the flagstone floor.

We descend a spiral staircase with me clutching the iron handrail to avoid tumbling around the twist. The door at the bottom opens into an internal courtyard surrounded by cloisters similar to those along the water’s edge.

In the centre of the neatly mown grass is a huge stone Celtic cross engraved with interlaced knotwork and what looks like four figures carrying staffs or spears.

On the far side, Declan pushes open a heavy wooden door, smooth and polished from generations of hands touching it.

There are metal studs all over its surface and an old-fashioned latch mechanism that appears still fully functional.

And then I’m following him down a short, cool corridor, and the smell of food grows stronger with every step. My stomach growls.

‘Be careful with the Seven, Gléigeal. Some of us have been here for a very long time and we’ve seen no women here but you.’

‘You never have women here?’

‘Only the Hunters can come here.’

‘Why? Isn’t that a bit of a contradiction?’

‘One might think so,’ he says. Then laughs. ‘Do you argue over everything?’

‘Mostly,’ I say. ‘I’m training to be a lawyer.’

‘Then you should understand the contradiction. The Hunters do their job for the Court, but if any of the accused reach here and claim sanctuary, then it is up to the Hunters to ensure they are protected until they are ready to face the Court.’

‘You make them sound almost noble.’

‘It may not follow human standards, but yes, the Huntsman is a noble man. Far more so than our current king.’ He shrugs. ‘But be careful. We are all guilty of something here. Well, most of us, at least – even if that is simply pissing off the Rialis.’

‘Guilty of what?’

‘Many of us here have killed, Gléigeal. These are not men to be trifled with.’

‘What about Matt? Why is he here? Rose thinks he’s dead.’

Declan frowns a little, then tilts his head to one side. ‘You don’t know?’

I shake my head. ‘I just heard that he died. I didn’t … I didn’t ask Rose too much about it, she was too upset.’

‘Matt killed Christopher Riali.’

‘What? No.’

Declan pushes open the door to the refectory, and several more monks follow us into the room, all of them moving almost silently. They move past us, their heads covered by the hoods of their robes, leaving their faces in shadow.

‘We have a visitor?’ one says, his deep voice sending a shiver down my spine.

‘Yes, Brother Salvatore, this is Niamh,’ Declan tells him.

‘Niamh? That doesn’t sound like a prostitute’s name.’

My breath catches, and I cough.

‘Sal—’ The warning is clear in Declan’s tone, but Sal ignores it and takes a step towards me, reaching out to touch my hair.

At that, I turn and run straight into another hooded figure standing in the doorway. I didn’t even hear him coming. He flips back his hood, and I look up into Declan’s face and scream.

‘Going somewhere?’ he asks. ‘I don’t think that’s allowed.’

How can Declan be standing in front of me, blocking the exit? I turn, and sure enough, there he is, behind me. I turn back.

‘Let her go, Lachlan,’ Declan says, sighing. ‘Niamh, this is my twin brother. Lachlan, meet Niamh. Cillian Hunter sent her here. I’d say touch her and die, but in all honesty, I think you’d be more likely to find yourself in Cillian’s basement being tortured for all eternity if you dare to.’

‘She’s Cillian’s?’ Lachlan asks, and I notice that Sal, too, looks a little less cocky.

‘I don’t belong to any—’ I begin, but Declan cuts me off.

‘You’d better hope you do, Niamh. You have a much better chance of surviving this place if you belong to him than if you don’t. Believe me.’

‘Why is she here, then, if not for us to—’

‘Enough, Sal. She is a fellow seeker.’

‘Really?’ That single word turns my blood to ice, and when Sal throws back his hood, I’m struck dumb by his appearance.

He’s a beautiful man, with black hair, deep brown eyes and olive skin, the planes of his face smooth, as if carved from solid marble.

But there’s a darkness in his expression, a tense, coiled evil that gives the impression of a fallen angel rather than a saint.

‘She’s pretty. I am surprised the Huntsman let her go and did not simply keep her locked up for his own private use. ’

He tilts his head to one side, observing me carefully. ‘I don’t even get to touch her just a little bit? Not even if she asks me to?’

I swallow, fear and indignation filling me from top to toe.

The way he talks reminds me of the men in Sussurri.

A shot of rebellion surges through me. I’ve just spent four years studying to be a lawyer.

If anyone should be able to get the Court to do what they want it to, it should be me.

Part of my law course has involved regular mooting, taking part in competitive court cases, and I’ll draw on everything I’ve learned to face this man down now.

‘If you harm me and have to face the Court, what will happen to you?’ I ask Sal.

‘They will likely kill me, little one.’ He steps closer to me, and I refuse to flinch, keeping my eyes fixed on him as he circles me. Then he stops and frowns. ‘You … you’re human. What could you possibly have done?’

‘I killed Kin,’ The room falls silent at my words. ‘Someone tried to do to me what you’re suggesting. His two friends fared no better.’

‘He’s not going to harm you, little one,’ a fifth monk says, stepping through another door that might lead into a kitchen. ‘Now, can we eat? Is the dick-measuring contest over? The lasagne is getting cold.’

‘Lasagne? Again?’ Lachlan rolls his eyes.

I don’t think I breathe as Sal holds up his hands in surrender, then moves gracefully across the room, his robes brushing against me as he passes to take the farthest seat on the left of the table.

Declan pulls out the chair on the right-hand side for me, and I sit down.

Declan and Lachlan sit at either end with Duncan beside Sal.

The two other monks take the seats either side of me, lifting their hoods as soon as they are seated.

Dominic is one, the other is a handsome mixed-race man, who nods at me but remains silent.

That leaves an empty seat opposite me, which is filled by the seventh monk hurrying in.

I get a strong whiff of salt water and seaweed as he sits down, and judging from his build and height, I’m pretty sure he’s the swimmer.

Matt. I hold my breath as he lifts his hood and lets it drop.

His skin is far more tanned than I remember, his hair bleached an even lighter blond by the sun, but the man in front of me is most definitely Rose’s dead boyfriend.

‘Matt?’ I’m filled with excitement for a split second when I think how happy Rose is going to be when I tell her that Matt is alive, but then I realise that that’s probably not how this is going to play out. He’s here, I’m here – and Rose is alone, likely thinking that we’re both dead.

‘Hi, Niamh,’ he smiles at me. ‘Surprised?’

‘Hi,’ is the only thing I can think of to say. He watches me, his eyes full of the intense curiosity I remember, but he doesn’t ask any questions, nor does he volunteer any further information.

‘I’m James.’ The man beside me holds out his hand for me to shake. He has a tattoo that stretches from the back of his hand to where it’s covered by his sleeves, but I recognise the top of it – the staff and serpent of Aesculapius.

‘You’re a doctor?’

‘I am.’ He nods, but Sal laughs.

‘He used to be a doctor. He’s barred from practising in the human world.’

James’s hands clench into fists, his knuckles paling with the force, and I feel an urge to cover his hand with mine.

‘I’m not guilty of what they accused me of,’ James insists, and starts to push himself to his feet, which only makes Sal laugh harder.

‘You think you can take me? With those hands as soft and weak as a—’

‘Enough,’ Declan barks, and there’s a sudden silence.

Matt makes a face at me. ‘As you may have noticed, Sal likes to make his boring existence here more interesting by pissing off everyone around him. He’s harmless, really. He’s being particularly annoying today because it’s his turn to make dinner tomorrow.’

‘Actually, here’s the new deal. You’ll all keep a safe distance from our newest seeker, and in return, Niamh will be responsible for the cooking and cleaning, allowing the rest of us to work in the gardens and the brewery.’

‘Fine,’ I say, like I have any choice. But I promise myself it won’t be for long. That I’m going to work out how to get back to my real life.

‘Please tell me you know how to cook more than pasta?’ Matt asks, pushing his lasagne around his plate. I look down at my own plateful and sigh.

‘Lots of things.’

Matt grins at me, and I feel a pang. Rose would give anything to be here right now to see Matt again.

‘Good,’ Dominic claps his hands together, and we make it to the end of dinner with no further drama.

I look back at Matt, who is now intent on eating, any hint of a smile long gone from his face and only the same brooding sadness I so often see on Rose’s face left.

In the time he’s been exiled here, he’s aged a lot.

He’s been working out to keep his body much the same, but his face is etched with sorrow.

He’d just lost his friend, Chris Riali, four years ago when he…

well, I guess he disappeared as he’s obviously not dead.

I hadn’t liked Chris, but I know his death affected the Hunter family more than I’ve ever understood.

Perhaps Matt still being alive is connected?

But here, surrounded by all these strangers, is neither the time nor the place to ask.

Was it connected to my own devastating loss? I hadn’t been around for Rose during that time as much as I should have because of what happened right before Matt’s “death”. Too busy mourning what happened during a trip I’d taken to Edinburgh with him and Rose to be fully present for my friend.